Dulcia landed, and Maximus after her; the full formation was now assembled, and Laurence brought Temeraire back in to the courtyard. Celeritas had still not yet arrived. Lily was yawning widely; Praecursoris was quietly speaking with Nitidus, the Pascal’s Blue, who also spoke French, his egg having been purchased from a French hatchery many years before the start of the war, when relations had been amicable enough to permit such exchanges. Temeraire still looked at Praecursoris with a brooding eye, but for once Laurence did not mind, if it would provide some distraction.
A bright flurry of wings caught his eye; looking up, he saw Celeritas coming in to land, and beyond him the rapidly-dwindling forms of several Winchesters and Greylings, going away in various directions. Lower in the sky, two Yellow Reapers were heading south in company with Victoriatus, though the wounded Parnassian’s convalescence was not properly over. All the dragons came alert, sitting up; the captains’ voices died away; the crews fell into a heavy and expectant silence, all before Celeritas even reached the ground.
‘Villeneuve and his fleet have been caught,’ Celeritas said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. ‘They have been penned up in the port of Cadiz, with the Spanish navy also.’ Even as he spoke, the servants were running out of the hall, carrying hastily-packed bags and boxes; even the maids and cooks had been pressed into duty. Without being ordered, Temeraire rose to all four legs, just as did the other dragons; the ground crews were already unrolling the belly-netting and climbing up to rig the tents.
‘Mortiferus has been sent to Cadiz; Lily’s formation must go to the Channel at once to take the place of his wing. Captain Harcourt,’ Celeritas said, turning to her, ‘Excidium remains at the Channel, and he has eighty years’ experience; you and Lily must train with him in every free moment you have. I am giving Captain Sutton command of the formation for the moment; this is no reflection upon your work, but with this abbreviation of your training, we must have more experience in the role.’
It was more usual for the captain of the lead dragon of a formation to be the commander, largely because that dragon had to lead off every manoeuvre, but she nodded without any sign of offence. ‘Yes, certainly,’ she said; her voice came out a little high, and Laurence glanced at her with quick sympathy: Lily had hatched unexpectedly early, and Harcourt had become a captain barely out of her own training; this might well be her first action, or very nearly so.
Celeritas gave her an approving nod. ‘Captain Sutton, you will naturally consult with Captain Harcourt as far as possible.’
‘Of course,’ Sutton said, bowing to Harcourt from his position aboard Messoria’s back.
The baggage was already pulled down tight, and Celeritas took a moment to inspect each of the harnesses in turn. ‘Very good: try your loads. Maximus, begin.’
One by one, the dragons all rose to their hind legs, wind tearing across the courtyard as they beat their wings and tried to shake the rigging loose; one by one they dropped and reported, ‘All lies well.’
‘Ground crews aboard,’ Celeritas said, and Laurence watched while Hollin and his men hurried into the belly-rigging and strapped themselves in for the long flight. The signal came up from below, indicating they were ready, and he nodded to his signal-ensign, Turner, who raised the green flag. Maximus and Praecursoris’s crews raised their flags only a moment later; the smaller dragons were already waiting.
Celeritas sat back onto his haunches, and surveyed them all. ‘Fly well,’ he said simply.
There was nothing more, no other ceremony or preparation; Captain Sutton’s signal-ensign raised the flag for formation-go-aloft, and Temeraire sprang into the air with the others, falling into position beside Maximus. The wind was in the northwest, almost directly behind them, and as they rose through the cloud cover, far to the east Laurence could see the faint glimmer of sunlight on water.
The rifle ball passed so close it stirred Laurence’s hair; the crack of return fire sounded behind him, and Temeraire slashed out at the French dragon as they swept past, raking the deep blue hide with long gashes even as he twisted gracefully to avoid the other dragon’s talons.
‘It’s a Fleur-de-Nuit, sir, the colouring,’ Granby shouted, wind whipping away at his hair, as the blue dragon pulled away with a bellow and wheeled about for another attempt at the formation, its crew already clambering down to staunch the bleeding: the wounds were not disabling.
Laurence nodded. ‘Yes. Mr. Martin,’ he called, more loudly, ‘get the flash powder ready; we will give them a show on their next pass.’ The French breed were heavily-built and dangerous, but they were nocturnal by nature, and their eyes sensitive to sudden flashes of bright light. ‘Mr. Turner, the flash powder warning signal, if you please.’
A quick confirmation came from Messoria’s signal-ensign; the Yellow Reaper was herself engaged in fending off a spirited attack against the front of the formation by a French middleweight. Laurence reached out to pat Temeraire’s neck, catching his attention. ‘We are going to give the Fleur-de-Nuit a dose of flash powder,’ he shouted. ‘Hold this position, and wait for the signal.’
‘Yes, I am ready,’ Temeraire said, a deep note of excitement ringing in his voice; he was almost trembling.
‘Pray be careful,’ Laurence could not help adding; the French dragon was an older one, judging by its scars, and he did not want Temeraire to be hurt through overconfidence.
The Fleur-de-Nuit arrowed towards them, trying once again to barrel between Temeraire and Nitidus: the goal was clearly to split apart the formation, injuring one or the other dragon in the process, which would leave Lily vulnerable to attack from behind on a subsequent pass. Sutton was already signalling a new manoeuvre which would bring them about and give Lily an angle of attack against the Fleur-de-Nuit, which was the largest of the French assailants, but before it could be accomplished this next run had to be deflected.
‘All hands at the ready; stand by on the powder,’ Laurence said, using the speaking trumpet to amplify his orders, as the massive blue-and-black creature came roaring towards them. The speed of the engagement was far beyond anything Laurence had ever before experienced. In the Navy, an exchange of fire might last five minutes; here a pass was over in less than one, and then a second came almost immediately. This time the French dragon was angling closer towards Nitidus, wanting nothing more to do with Temeraire’s claws; the smaller Pascal’s Blue would not be able to hold his position against the great bulk. ‘Hard to larboard; close with him!’ he shouted to Temeraire.
Temeraire answered at once; his great black wings abruptly swivelled and tilted them towards the Fleur-de-Nuit, and Temeraire closed more swiftly than a typical heavy-combat dragon would have been able to do. The enemy dragon jerked and looked at them in reflex, and Laurence shouted, ‘Light the powder,’ as he caught a glimpse of the pale white eyes.
He only just closed his own eyes in time; the brilliant flash was visible even through his eyelids, and the Fleur-de-Nuit bellowed in pain. Laurence opened his eyes again to find Temeraire slashing fiercely at the other dragon, carving deep strokes into its belly, and his riflemen strafing the bellmen on the other side. ‘Temeraire, hold your position,’ Laurence called; Temeraire was in danger of falling behind in his enthusiasm for fighting off the other dragon.
With a start, Temeraire beat his wings in a flurry and lunged back into his place in the
