certainly at the Dijon covert, near the Rhine, when Praecursoris and I left Austria, and I must represent to you, sir, that it bears out all my worst fears: Bonaparte would not have brought him here if he were not wholly confident of victory against Austria, and I am sure more of the French dragons are on their way to assist Villeneuve.’
‘I was inclined to agree with you before, Captain; now I am sure of it,’ Lenton said. ‘But for the moment, all we can do is hope Mortiferus reaches Nelson before the French dragons reach Villeneuve, and that he can do the job; we cannot spare Excidium if we do not have Lily. I would not be surprised if that were what they intended by this strike; it is the clever sort of way that damned Corsican thinks.’
Laurence could not help thinking of the Reliant, perhaps even now under the threat of a full-scale French aerial attack, and the other ships of the great fleet currently blockading Cadiz. So many of his friends and acquaintances; even if the French dragons did not arrive first, there would be a great naval battle to be fought, and how many would be lost without his ever hearing another word from them? He had not devoted much time to correspondence in the last busy months; now he regretted the neglect deeply.
‘Have we had any dispatches from the blockade at Cadiz?’ he asked. ‘Have they seen any action?’
‘Not that I have heard of,’ Lenton said. ‘Oh, that’s right, you’re our fellow from the Navy, aren’t you? Well, I will be starting those of you with un injured beasts on patrolling over the Channel fleet anyway while the others recover; you can touch down for a bit by the flagship and hear the news. They’ll be damned glad to see you; we haven’t been able to spare anyone long enough to bring them the post in a month.’
‘Will you want us tomorrow, then?’ Chenery asked, stifling a yawn, not entirely successfully.
‘No, I can spare you a day. See to your dragons, and enjoy the rest while it lasts,’ Lenton said, with a sharp, braying laugh. ‘I’ll be having you rousted out of bed at dawn the day after.’
Temeraire slept very heavily and late the next morning, leaving Laurence to occupy himself for some hours after breakfast. He met Berkley at the table, and walked back with him to see Maximus. The Regal Copper was still eating, a procession of fresh-slaughtered sheep going down his gullet one after another, and he only rumbled a wordless, mouth-full greeting as they came to the clearing.
Berkley brought out a bottle of rather terrible wine, and drank most of it himself while Laurence sipped at his glass to be polite, while they told over the battle again with diagrams scratched in the dirt and pebbles representing the dragons. ‘We would do very well to add a light-flyer, a Greyling if one can be spared, to fly lookout above the formation,’ Berkley said, sitting back heavily upon a rock. ‘It is all our big dragons being young; when the big ones panic in that way, the little ones will have a start even if they know better.’
Laurence nodded. ‘Although I hope this misadventure will at least have given them some experience in dealing with the fright,’ he said. ‘In any event, the French cannot count on having such ideal circumstances often; without the cloud cover they should never have managed it.’
‘Gentlemen; are you looking over the plan of yesterday?’ Choiseul had been walking past towards the headquarters; he joined them and crouched down beside the diagram. ‘I am very sorry to have been away at the beginning.’ His coat was dusty and his neckcloth was stained badly with sweat: he looked as though he had not shifted his clothes since yesterday, and a thin tracery of red veins stood out in the whites of his eyes; he rubbed his face as he looked down.
‘Have you been up all night?’ Laurence asked.
Choiseul shook his head. ‘No, but I took it in turns with Catherine – with Harcourt – to sleep a little, by Lily; she would not rest otherwise.’ He shut his eyes in an enormous yawn, and nearly fell over. ‘Merci,’ he said, grateful for Laurence’s steadying hand, and pushed himself slowly to his feet. ‘I will leave you; I must get Catherine some food.’
‘Pray go and get some rest,’ Laurence said. ‘I will bring her something; Temeraire is asleep, and I am at liberty.’
Harcourt herself was wide awake, pale with anxiety but steady now, giving orders to the crew and feeding Lily with chunks of still-steaming beef from her own hand, a constant stream of en couragement coming from her lips. Laurence had brought her some bread with bacon; she would have taken the sandwich in her bloody hands, unwilling to interrupt, but he managed to coax her away long enough to wash a little and eat while a crewman took her place. Lily kept eating, with one golden eye resting on Harcourt for reassurance.
Choiseul came back before Harcourt had quite finished, his neckcloth and coat gone and a servant following with a pot of coffee, strong and hot. ‘Your lieutenant is looking for you, Laurence; Temeraire begins to stir,’ he said, sitting down again heavily beside her. ‘I cannot manage to sleep; the coffee has done me well.’
‘Thank you, Jean-Paul, if you are not too tired, I would be very grateful for your company,’ she said, already drinking her second cup. ‘Pray have no hesitation, Laurence, I am sure Temeraire must be anxious. I am obliged to you for coming.’
Laurence bowed to them both, though he had a sense of awkwardness for the first occasion since he had grown used to Harcourt. She was leaning with no appearance of consciousness against Choiseul’s shoulder, and he was looking down at her with undisguised warmth; she was quite young, after all, and Laurence could not help feeling the absence of any suitable chaperone.
He consoled himself that nothing could happen with Lily and the crew present, even if they had not both been so obviously done-in; in any case, he could hardly stay under the circumstances, and he hurried away to Temeraire’s clearing.
The rest of the day he spent gratefully in idleness, seated comfortably in his usual place in the crook of Temeraire’s foreleg and writing letters; he had formed an extensive correspondence while at sea, with all the long hours to fill, and now many of his acquaintances were owed responses. His mother, too, had managed to write him several hasty and short letters, evidently kept from his father’s knowledge; at least they were not franked, so Laurence was obliged to pay to receive them.
Having gorged himself to compensate for his lack of appetite the night before, Temeraire then listened to the letters Laurence was writing and dictated his own contributions, sending greetings to Lady Allendale, and to Riley. ‘And do ask Captain Riley to give my best wishes to the crew of the Reliant,’ he said. ‘It seems so very long ago, Laurence, does it not? I have not had fish in months now.’
Laurence smiled at this measure of time. ‘A great deal has happened, certainly; it is strange to think it has not even been a year,’ he said, sealing the envelope and writing the direction. ‘I only hope they are all well.’ It was the last, and he laid it upon the substantial pile with satisfaction; he was a great deal easier in his conscience now. ‘Roland,’ he called, and she came running up from where the cadets were playing a game of jacks. ‘Go take this to the dispatch post,’ he said, handing her the stack.
‘Sir,’ she said, a little nervously, accepting the letters, ‘when I am done, might I have liberty for the evening?’
He was startled by the request; several of the ensigns and midwingmen had put in for liberty, and had it granted, that they might visit the city, but the idea of a ten-year-old cadet wandering about Dover alone was absurd, even if she were not a girl. ‘Would this be for yourself alone, or will you be going with one of the others?’ he asked, thinking she might have been invited to join one of the older officers in a respectable excursion.
‘No, sir, only for
