Maximus; look, I am back,’ Temeraire called out, circling back down to take his position alongside the big dragon, and they began beating up together to the formation’s flying height. ‘I took Laurence away from London,’ he added triumphantly, in what he likely thought a confidential whisper. ‘They were trying to arrest him.’
‘Did he kill someone?’ Maximus asked with interest in his deep echoing voice, not at all disapproving. ‘I am glad you are back; they have been making me fly in the middle while you were gone, and all the manoeuvres are different,’ he added.
‘No,’ said Temeraire, ‘he only came and talked to me when some fat old man said he should not, which does not seem like any reason to me.’
‘You had better shut up that Jacobin of a dragon of yours,’ Berkley shouted across from Maximus’s back, while Laurence shook his head in despair, trying to ignore the inquisitive looks from his young ensigns.
‘Pray remember we are on business, Temeraire,’ Laurence called, trying to be severe; but after all there was no sense in trying to keep it a secret; the news would surely be all over in a week. They would be forced to confront the gravity of their situation soon enough; little enough harm in letting Temeraire indulge in high spirits so long as he might.
‘Laurence,’ Granby said at his shoulder, ‘in the hurry, the ammunition was all laid in its usual place on the left, though we are not carrying the bombs to balance it out; we ought to restow.’
‘Can you have it done before we engage? Oh, good Lord,’ Laurence said, realizing. ‘I do not even know the position of the convoy; do you?’ Granby shook his head, embarrassed, and Laurence swallowed his pride and shouted, ‘Berkley, where are we going?’
A general explosion of mirth ran among the men on Maximus’s back. Berkley called back, ‘Straight to hell, ha ha!’ More laughter, nearly drowning out the coordinates that he bellowed over.
‘Fifteen minutes’ flight, then.’ Laurence was mentally running the calculation through in his head. ‘And we ought to save at least five of those minutes for grace.’
Granby nodded. ‘We can manage it,’ he said, and clambered down at once to organize the operation, unhooking and rehooking the carabiners with practised skill from the evenly spaced rings leading down Temeraire’s side to the storage nets slung beneath his belly.
The rest of the formation was already in place as Temeraire and Maximus rose to take their defensive positions at the rear. Laurence noticed the formation-leader flag streaming out from Lily’s back; that meant that during their absence, Captain Harcourt had at last been given the command. He was glad to see the change: it was hard on the signal-ensign to have to watch a wing dragon as well as keep an eye forward, and the dragons would always instinctively follow the lead regardless of formal precedence.
Still, he could not help feeling how strange that he should find himself taking orders from a twenty-year-old girl: Harcourt was still a very young officer, promoted over-quick due to Lily’s unexpectedly early hatching. But command in the Corps had to follow the capabilities of the dragons, and a rare acid-spitter like one of the Longwings was too valuable to place anywhere but the centre of a formation, even if they would only accept female handlers.
‘Signal from the Admiral: proceed to meeting,’ called the signal-ensign, Turner; a moment later the signal formation keep together broke out on Lily’s signal-yard, and the dragons were pressing on, shortly reaching their cruising speed of a steady seventeen knots: an easy pace for Temeraire, but all that the Yellow Reapers and the enormous Maximus could manage comfortably for any length of time.
There was time to loosen his sword in the sheath, and load his pistols fresh; below, Granby was shouting orders over the wind: he did not sound frantic, and Laurence had every confidence in his power to get the work completed in time. The dragons of the covert made an impressive spread, even though this was not so large a force in numbers as had been assembled for the battle of Dover in October, which had fended off Napoleon’s invasion attempt.
But in that battle, they had been forced to send up every available dragon, even the little couriers: most of the fighting-dragons had been away south at Trafalgar. Today Excidium and Captain Roland’s formation was back in the lead, ten dragons strong, the smallest of them a middle-weight Yellow Reaper, and all of them flying in perfect formation, not a wingbeat out of place: the skill born of many long years in formation together.
Lily’s formation was nothing so imposing, as yet: only six dragons flying behind her, with her flank and end-wing positions held by smaller and more manoeuvrable beasts with older officers, who could more easily compensate for any errors made from inexperience by Lily herself, or by Maximus and Temeraire in the back line. Even as they drew closer, Laurence saw Sutton, the captain of their mid-wing Messoria, stand up on her back and turn to look over at them, making sure all was well with the younger dragons. Laurence raised a hand in acknowledgement, and saw Berkley doing the same.
The sails of the French convoy and the Channel fleet were visible long before the dragons came into range. There was a stately quality to the scene below: chessboard pieces moving into place, with the British ships advancing in eager haste towards the great crowd of smaller French merchantmen; a glorious spread of white sail to be seen on every ship, and the British colours streaming among them. Granby came clambering back up along the shoulder strap to Laurence’s side. ‘We’ll do nicely now, I think.’
‘Very good,’ Laurence said absently, his attention all on what he could see of the British fleet, peering down over Temeraire’s shoulder through his glass. Mostly fast-sailing frigates, with a motley collection of smaller sloops, and a handful of sixty-four- and seventy-four-gun ships. The Navy would not risk the largest first- and second-rate ships against the fire-breather; too easy for one lucky attack to send a three-decker packed full of powder up like a light, taking half a dozen smaller ships along with her.
‘All hands to their stations, Mr. Harley,’ Laurence said, straightening up, and the young ensign hurried to set the signal-strap embedded in the harness to red. The riflemen stationed along Temeraire’s back let themselves partly down his sides, readying their guns, while the rest of the topmen all crouched low, pistols in their hands.
Excidium and the rest of the larger formation dropped low over the British warships, taking up the more important defensive position and leaving the field to them. As Lily increased their speed, Temeraire gave a low growling rumble, the tremor palpable through his hide. Laurence spared a moment to lean over and put his bare hand on the side of Temeraire’s neck: no words necessary, and he felt a slight easing of the nervous tension before he straightened and pulled his leather riding glove back on.
‘Enemy in sight,’ came faint but audible in the shrill high voice of Lily’s forward lookout, carrying back to them on the wind, echoed a moment later by young Allen, stationed near the joint of Temeraire’s wing. A general murmur went around the men, and Laurence snapped out his glass again for a look.
‘La Crabe Grande, I think,’ he said, handing the telescope over to Granby, hoping privately that he had not mangled the pronunciation too badly. He was quite sure that he had identified the formation style correctly, despite his lack of experience in aerial actions; there were few composed of fourteen dragons, and the shape was highly distinct, with the two pincer-like rows of smaller dragons stretched out to either side of the cluster of big ones in the centre.
The Flamme-de-Gloire was not easy to spot, with several decoy dragons of similar colouring shifting about: a pair of Papillon Noirs with yellow markings painted over their natural blue and green stripes to make them confusingly alike from a distance. ‘Hah, I have made her: it is Accendare. There she is, the wicked thing,’ Granby said, handing
