the dispatch rider was due tomorrow, and the thought recalled him to an omitted duty: he had not yet written to his father. He could not let his parents learn of his altered circumstances from some secondhand account, or in the Gazette notice which should surely be printed, and with a sense of reluctant obligation he settled himself back down with a fresh pot of coffee to write the necessary letter.
It was difficult to think what to say. Lord Allendale was not a particularly fond parent, and punctilious in his manners. The Army and Navy he thought barely acceptable alternatives to the Church for an impoverished younger son; he would no more have considered sending a son to the Corps than to a trade, and he would certainly neither sympathize nor approve. Laurence was well aware that he and his father disagreed on the score of duty; his father would certainly tell him it had been his duty to his name to stay well away from the dragon, and to leave some misguided idea of service out of the matter.
His mother’s reaction he dreaded more; for she had real affection for him, and the news would make her unhappy for his sake. Then, also, she was friendly with Lady Galman, and what he wrote would certainly reach Edith’s ears. But he could not write in such terms as might reassure either of them without provoking his father extremely; and so he contented himself with a stilted, formal note that laid out the facts without embellishment, and avoided all appearance of complaint. It would have to do; still he sealed it with a sense of dissatisfaction before carrying it to the dispatch post by hand.
This unpleasant task completed, he turned back for the hotel in which he had taken a room; he had invited Riley and Gibbs along with several other acquaintances to join him for dinner, in recompense of earlier hospitality from them. It was not yet two o’clock, and the shops were still open; he looked in the windows as he walked to distract himself from brooding upon the likely reaction of his family and nearest friends, and paused outside a small pawnbroker’s.
The golden chain was absurdly heavy, the sort of thing no woman could wear and too gaudy for a man: thick square links with flat discs and small pearl drops hanging from them, alternated. But for the metal and gems alone he imagined it must be expensive; most likely far more than he should spend, for he was being cautious with his funds now that he had no future prospect of prize money. He stepped inside anyway and inquired; it was indeed too dear.
‘However, sir, perhaps this one would do?’ the proprietor suggested, offering a different chain: it looked very much the same, only with no discs, and perhaps slightly thinner links. It was nearly half the price of the first; still expensive, but he took it, and then felt a little silly for it.
He gave it to Temeraire that night anyway, and was a little surprised at the happiness with which it was received. Temeraire clutched the chain and would not put it aside; he brooded over it the candlelight while Laurence read to him, and turned it this way and that to admire the light upon the gold and the pearls. When he slept at last it remained entwined with his talons, and the next day Laurence was obliged to attach it securely to the harness before Temeraire would consent to fly.
The curious reaction made him even more glad to find an enthusiastic invitation from Sir Edward awaiting him when they returned from their morning flight. Fernao brought the note out to him in the field when they landed, and Laurence read it aloud to Temeraire: the gentleman would receive them whenever they liked to come, and he could be found at the seashore near the bathing pools.
‘I am not tired,’ Temeraire said; he was as curious to know his breed as Laurence. ‘We may go at once, if you like.’
He had indeed been developing more and more endurance; Laurence decided they could easily stop and rest if needed, and climbed back aboard without even having shifted his clothing. Temeraire put out an unusual effort and the island whipped by in great sweeps of his wings, Laurence crouching low to his neck and squinting against the wind.
They spiralled down to the shore less than an hour after lifting away, scattering bathers and seashore vendors as they landed upon the rocky shore. Laurence gazed after them in dismay for a moment, then frowned; if they were foolish enough to imagine that a properly harnessed dragon would hurt them, it was hardly his fault, and he patted Temeraire’s neck as he unstrapped himself and slid down. ‘I will go and see if I can find Sir Edward; stay here.’
‘I will,’ said Temeraire absently, he was already peering with interest into the deep rocky pools about the shore, which had odd stone outcroppings and very clear water.
Sir Edward did not prove very difficult to find; he had noticed the fleeing crowd and was already approaching, the only person in view, by the time Laurence had gone a quarter of a mile. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, but both of them were impatient to come to the real matter at hand, and Sir Edward assented eagerly as soon as Laurence ventured to suggest they should walk back to Temeraire.
‘A most unusual and charming name,’ Sir Edward said, as they walked, unconsciously making Laurence’s heart sink. ‘Most often they are given Roman names, extravagant ones; but then most aviators go into harness a great deal younger than you, and have a tendency to puff themselves up. There is something quite absurd about a two-ton Winchester called Imperatorius. Why, Laurence, however did you teach him to swim?’
Startled, Laurence looked, then stared: in his absence, Temeraire had gone into the water and was now paddling himself about. ‘Oh Lord, no, I have never seen him do it before,’ he said. ‘How can he not be sinking? Temeraire! Do come out of the water,’ he called, a little anxious.
Sir Edward watched with interest as Temeraire swam towards them and climbed back up onto shore, ‘How extraordinary. The internal air sacs which permit them to fly would, I imagine, make a dragon naturally buoyant, and having grown up on the ocean as he has, perhaps he would have no natural fear of the element.’
This mention of air sacs was a piece of new information to Laurence, but the dragon was joining them, so he saved the further questions that immediately sprang to mind. ‘Temeraire, this is Sir Edward Howe,’ Laurence said.
‘Hello,’ said Temeraire, peering down with interest equal to that with which he was observed. ‘I am very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me what breed I am?’
Sir Edward did not seem nonplussed by this direct approach, and he made a bow in reply. ‘I hope I will be able to give you some information, indeed; may I ask you to be so kind as to move some distance up the shore, perhaps by that tree which you see over there, and spread your wings, so we may better see your full conformation?’
Temeraire went willingly, and Sir Edward observed his motion. ‘Hm, very odd, not characteristic at all, the way he holds his tail. Laurence, you say his egg was found in Brazil?’
‘As to that, I cannot properly tell you, I am afraid,’ Laurence said, studying Temeraire’s tail; he could see nothing unusual, but of course he had no real basis for comparison. Temeraire carried his tail off the ground, and it lashed the air gently as he walked. ‘We took him from a French prize, and she was most recently come from Rio, judging by the markings on some of her water casks, but more than that I cannot say. The logs were thrown overboard as we took her, and the captain very naturally refused to give us any information about where the egg was discovered. But I assume it could not have come from much further, due to the length of the journey.’
‘Oh, that is by no means certain,’ Sir Edward said. ‘There are some subspecies which mature in the shell for upwards of ten years, and twenty months is a common average. Good Lord.’
Temeraire had just spread out his wings; they were still dripping water. ‘Yes?’ Laurence asked hopefully.
‘Laurence, my God, those wings,’ Sir Edward cried, and literally ran across the shore towards Temeraire.
