I will pick him up; wait until I am ready, then go as low as you can,’ he called; then lowered himself down the harness slowly and carefully to hang down from the belly, keeping one arm hooked through a strap at every stage. It was a terrifying progress, but once he was below, matters became easier, as Temeraire’s body shielded him from the rain and wind. He pulled on the broad strap that ran around Temeraire’s middle; there was perhaps just enough give. One at a time he worked his legs between the leather and Temeraire’s belly, so he might have both his hands free, then slapped the dragon’s side.
Temeraire stooped abruptly, like a diving hawk. Laurence let himself dangle down, trusting to the dragon’s aim, and his fingers made furrows in the surface of the water for a couple of yards before they hit sodden cloth and flesh. He blindly clutched at the feel, and Gordon grabbed at him in turn. Temeraire was lifting back up and away, wings beating furiously, but thankfully they could now go with the wind instead of fighting it. Gordon’s weight dragged on Laurence’s arms, shoulders, thighs, every muscle straining; the band was so tight upon his calves that he could no longer feel his legs below the knee, and he had the uncomfortable sensation of all the blood in his body rushing straight into his head. They swung heavily back and forth like a pendulum as Temeraire arrowed back towards the ship, and the world tilted crazily around him.
They dropped onto the deck ungracefully, rocking the ship. Temeraire stood wavering on his hind legs, trying at the same time to fold his wings out of the wind and keep his balance with the two of them dragging him downwards from the belly-strap. Gordon let go and scrambled away in panic, leaving Laurence to extract himself while Temeraire seemed about to fall over upon him at any moment. His stiff fingers refused to work on the buckles, and abruptly Wells was there with a knife flashing, cutting through the strap.
His legs thumped heavily to the deck, blood rushing back into them; Temeraire similarly dropped down to all fours again beside him, the impact sending a tremor through the deck. Laurence lay flat on his back and panted, not caring for the moment that rain was beating full upon him; his muscles would obey no command. Wells hesitated; Laurence waved him back to his work and struggled back onto his legs; they held him up, and the pain of the returning sensation eased as he forced them to move.
The gale was still blowing around them, but the ship was now set to rights, scudding before the wind under close-reefed topsails, and there was less of a feel of crisis upon the deck. Turning away from Riley’s handiwork with a sense of mingled pride and regret, Laurence coaxed Temeraire to shift back towards the centre of the stern where his weight would not unbalance the ship. It was barely in time; as soon as Temeraire settled down once again, he yawned enormously and tucked his head down beneath his wing, ready to sleep for once without making his usual demand for food. Laurence slowly lowered himself to the deck and leaned against the dragon’s side; his body still ached profoundly from the strain.
He roused himself for only a moment longer; he felt the need to speak, though his tongue felt thick and stupid with fatigue. ‘Temeraire,’ he said, ‘that was well done. Very bravely done.’
Temeraire brought his head out and gazed at him, eyeslits widening to ovals. ‘Oh,’ he said, sounding a little uncertain. Laurence realized with a brief stab of guilt that he had scarcely given the dragonet a kind word before this. The convulsion of his life might be the creature’s fault, in some sense, but Temeraire was only obeying his nature, and to make the beast suffer for it was hardly noble.
But he was too tired at the moment to make better amends than to repeat, lamely, ‘Very well done,’ and pat the smooth black side. Yet it seemed to serve; Temeraire said nothing more, but he shifted himself a little and tentatively curled up around Laurence, partly unfurling a wing to shield him from the rain. The fury of the storm was muffled beneath the canopy, and he could feel the great heartbeat against his cheek; he was warmed through in moments by the steady heat of the dragon’s body, and thus sheltered he slid abruptly and completely into sleep.
‘Are you quite sure it is secure?’ Riley asked, anxiously. ‘Sir, I am sure we could put together a net, perhaps you had better not.’
Laurence shifted his weight and pulled against the straps wrapped snugly around his thighs and calves; they did not give, nor did the main part of the harness, and he remained stable in his perch atop Temeraire’s back, just behind the wings. ‘No, Tom, it won’t do, and you know it; this is not a fishing boat, and you cannot spare the men. We might very well meet a Frenchman one of these days, and then where would we be?’ He leaned forward and patted Temeraire’s neck; the dragon’s head was doubled back, observing the proceedings with interest.
‘Are you ready? May we go now?’ he asked, putting a forehand on the railing. Muscles were already gathering beneath the smooth hide, and there was a palpable impatience in his voice.
‘Stand clear, Tom,’ Laurence said hastily, casting off the chain and taking hold of the neck strap. ‘Very well, Temeraire, let us—’ A single leap, and they were airborne, the broad wings thrusting in great sweeping arcs to either side of him, the whole long body stretched out like an arrow driving upwards into the sky. He looked downwards over Temeraire’s shoulder; already the Reliant was shrinking to a child’s toy, bobbing lonely in the vast expanse of the ocean; he could even see the Amitié perhaps twenty miles to the east. The wind was enormous, but the straps were holding, and he was grinning idiotically again, he realized, unable to prevent himself.
‘We will keep to the west, Temeraire,’ Laurence called; he did not want to run the risk of getting too close to land and possibly encountering a French patrol. They had put a band around the narrow part of Temeraire’s neck beneath the head and attached reins to this, so Laurence might more easily give Temeraire direction; now he consulted the compass he had strapped into his palm and tugged on the right rein. The dragon pulled out of his climb and turned willingly, levelling out. The day was clear, without clouds, and a moderate swell only; Temeraire’s wings beat less rapidly now they were no longer going up, but even so the pace was devouring the miles: the Reliant and the Amitié were already out of sight.
‘Oh, I see one,’ Temeraire said, and they were plummeting down with even more speed. Laurence gripped the reins tightly and swallowed down a yell; it was absurd to feel so childishly gleeful. The distance gave him some more idea of the dragon’s eyesight: it would have to be prodigious to allow him to sight prey at such a range. He had barely time for the thought, then there was a tremendous splash, and Temeraire was lifting back away with a porpoise struggling in his claws and streaming water.
Another astonishment: Temeraire stopped and hovered in place to eat, his wings beating perpendicular to his body in swivelling arcs; Laurence had had no idea that dragons could perform such a manoeuvre. It was not comfortable, as Temeraire’s control was not very precise and he bobbed up and down wildly, but it proved very practical, for as he scattered bits of entrails onto the ocean below, other fish began to rise to the surface to feed on the discards, and when he had finished with the porpoise he at once snatched up two large tunnys, one in each forehand, and ate these as well, and then an immense swordfish also.
Having tucked his arm under the neck strap to keep himself from being flung about, Laurence was free to look around himself and consider the sensation of being master of the entire ocean, for there was not another creature or vessel in sight. He could not help but feel pride in the success of the operation, and the thrill of flying was extra ordinary: so long as he could enjoy it without thinking of all it was to cost him, he could be perfectly happy.
Temeraire swallowed the last bite of the swordfish and discarded the sharp upper jaw after inspecting it curiously. ‘I am full,’ he said, beating back upwards into the sky. ‘Shall we go and fly some more?’
It was a tempting suggestion; but they had been aloft more than an hour, and Laurence was not yet sure of Temeraire’s endurance. He regretfully said, ‘Let us go back to the Reliant,
