Laurence supposed he could cling to his rank until they reached shore; there were no regulations for a situation such as this one. But if he did, a new captain would certainly be put into his place when they reached Madeira, and Riley would never get his step up. Laurence would never again be in a position to do him any good.
‘Mr. Riley, the circumstances are awkward, there is no doubt,’ he said, steeling himself; he was not going to ruin Riley’s career for a cowardly avoidance. ‘But I think for the sake of the ship, I must put her in your hands at once; I will need to devote a great deal of my attention to Temeraire now, and I cannot divide it so.’
‘Oh, sir!’ Riley said, miserably, but not protesting; evidently the idea had occurred to him as well. But his regret was obviously sincere; he had sailed with Laurence for years, and had come up to lieutenant in his service from a mere midshipman; they were friends as well as comrades.
‘Let us not be complainers, Tom,’ Laurence said more quietly and less formally, giving a warning glance to where Temeraire was still glutting himself. Dragon intelligence was a mystery to men who made a study of the subject; he had no idea how much the dragon would hear or understand, but thought it better to avoid the risk of giving offence. Raising his voice a little more, he added, ‘I am sure you will manage her admirably, Captain.’
Taking a deep breath, he removed his gold epaulettes; they were pinned on securely, but he had not been wealthy when he had first made captain, and he had not forgotten, from those days, how to shift them easily from one coat to another. Though perhaps it was not entirely proper to give Riley the symbol of rank without confirmation by the Admiralty, Laurence felt it necessary to mark the change of command in some visible manner. The left he slipped into his pocket, the right he fixed on Riley’s shoulder: even as a captain, Riley could wear only one until he had three years’ seniority. Riley’s fair, freckled skin showed every emotion plainly, and he could hardly fail to be happy at this unexpected promotion despite the circumstances; he flushed up with colour, and looked as though he wished to speak but could not find the words.
‘Mr. Wells,’ Laurence said, hinting; he meant to do it properly, having begun.
The third lieutenant started, then said a little weakly, ‘Huzzah for Captain Riley.’ A cheer went up, ragged initially, but strong and clear by the third repetition: Riley was a highly competent officer, and well-liked, even if it was a shocking situation.
When the cheering had died down, Riley, having mastered his embarrassment, added, ‘And huzzah for – for Temeraire, lads.’ The cheering now was full-throated, if not entirely joyful, and Laurence shook Riley’s hand to conclude the matter.
Temeraire had finished eating by this point, and had climbed up onto a locker by the railing to spread his wings in the sun, folding them in and out. But he looked around with interest at hearing his name cheered, and Laurence went to his side; it was a good excuse to leave Riley to the business of establishing his command, and putting the ship back to rights. ‘Why are they making that noise?’ Temeraire asked, but without waiting for an answer, he rattled the chain. ‘Will you take this off? I would like to go flying now.’
Laurence hesitated; the description of the harnessing ceremony in Mr. Pollitt’s book had provided no further instructions beyond getting the dragon into harness and talking; he had somehow assumed that the dragon would simply stay where it was without further argument. ‘If you do not mind, perhaps let us leave it a while longer,’ he said, temporizing. ‘We are rather far from land, you see, and if you were to fly off you might not find your way back.’
‘Oh,’ said Temeraire, craning his long neck over the railing; the Reliant was making some whereabouts eight knots in a fine westerly wind, and the water churned away in a white froth from her sides. ‘Where are we?’
‘We are at sea,’ Laurence said, settling down beside him on the locker. ‘In the Atlantic, perhaps two weeks from shore. Masterson,’ he said, catching the attention of one of the idle hands who were not-very-subtly hanging about to gawk. ‘Be so good as to fetch me a bucket of water and some rags, if you please.’
These being brought, he endeavoured to clean away the traces of the messy meal from the glossy black hide; Temeraire submitted with evident pleasure to being wiped down, and afterwards appreciatively rubbed the side of his head against Laurence’s hand. Laurence found himself smiling involuntarily and stroking the warm black hide, and Temeraire settled down, tucked his head into Laurence’s lap, and went to sleep.
‘Sir,’ Riley said, coming up quietly, ‘I will leave you the cabin; it would scarcely make sense otherwise, with him,’ meaning Temeraire. ‘Shall I have someone help you carry him below now?’
‘Thank you, Tom; and no, I am comfortable enough here for the moment; best not to stir him unless necessary, I should think,’ Laurence said, then belatedly thought that it might not make it easier on Riley, having his former captain sitting on deck. Still, he was not inclined to shift the sleeping dragonet, and added only, ‘If you would be so kind as to have someone bring me a book, perhaps one of Mr. Pollitt’s, I should be much obliged,’ thinking this would both serve to occupy him, and keep him from seeming too much an observer.
Temeraire did not wake until the sun was slipping below the horizon; Laurence was nodding over his book, which described dragon habits in such a way as to make them seem as exciting as plodding cows. Temeraire nudged his cheek with a blunt nose to rouse him, and announced, ‘I am hungry again.’
Laurence had already begun reassessing the ship’s supply before the hatching; now he had to revise once again as he watched Temeraire devour the remainder of the goat and two hastily sacrificed chickens, bones and all. So far in two feedings, the dragonet had consumed his body’s weight in food; he appeared already somewhat larger, and he was looking about for more with a wistful air.
Laurence had a quiet and anxious consultation with Riley and the ship’s cook. If necessary, they could hail the Amitié and draw upon her stores: because her complement had been so badly reduced by her series of disasters, her supplies of food were more than she would need to make Madeira. However, she had been down to salt pork and salt beef, and the Reliant was scarcely better-off. At this rate, Temeraire should eat up the fresh supplies within a week, and Laurence had no idea if a dragon would eat cured meat, or if the salt would perhaps not be good for it.
‘Would he take fish?’ the cook suggested. ‘I have a lovely little tunny, caught fresh this morning, sir; I meant it for your dinner. Oh – that is—’ He paused, awkwardly, looking back and forth between his former captain and his new.
‘By all means let us make the attempt, if you think it right, sir,’ Riley said, looking at Laurence and ignoring the cook’s confusion.
‘Thank you, Captain,’ Laurence said. ‘We may as well offer it to him; I suppose he can tell us if he does not care for it.’
Temeraire looked at the fish dubiously, then nibbled; shortly the entire thing from head to tail had vanished down his throat: it had been a full twelve pounds. He licked his chops and said, ‘It is very crunchy, but I like it well enough,’ then startled them and himself by belching loudly.
‘Well,’ Laurence said, reaching for the cleaning rag again, ‘that is certainly encouraging; Captain, if you could see your way to putting a few men on fishing duty, perhaps we may preserve the ox for a few days more.’
He took Temeraire down to the cabin afterwards; the ladder presented a bit of a problem, and in the end he had to be swung down by an arrangement of pulleys attached to his harness. Temeraire nosed around the desk and chair inquisitively, and poked his head out of the windows to look at the Reliant’s wake. The pillow
