LITMIR.BIZ

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‘I am sorry indeed we cannot have such a pleasure; but even if it were possible, it does not sound a very comfortable process from the story, nor one that could be reversed.’

      ‘No, and I would not like to give up flying at all, not even for reading,’ Temeraire said. ‘Besides, it is very pleasant to have you read to me; may we have another one? Perhaps the story about the dragon who made it rain, during the drought, by carrying water from the ocean?’

      The stories were obviously myths, but Sir Edward’s translation included a great many annotations, describing the realistic basis for the legends according to the best modern knowledge. Laurence suspected even these might be exaggerated slightly; Sir Edward was very clearly enthusiastic towards Oriental dragons. But they served their purpose admirably: the fantastic stories made Temeraire only more determined to prove his similar merit, and gave him better heart for the training.

      The book also proved useful for another reason, for only a little while after its arrival, Temeraire’s appearance diverged yet again from the other dragons, as he began to sprout thin tendrils around his jaws, and a ruff of delicate webbing stretched between flexible horns around his face, almost like a frill. It gave him a dramatic, serious look, not at all unbecoming, but there was no denying he looked very different from the others, and if it had not been for the lovely frontispiece of Sir Edward’s book, an engraving of the Yellow Emperor which showed that great dragon in possession of the same sort of ruff, Temeraire would certainly have been unhappy at being yet again marked apart from his fellows.

      He was still anxious at the change in his looks, and shortly after the ruff had come in, Laurence found him studying his reflection in the surface of the lake, turning his head this way and that and rolling his eyes back in his head to see himself and the ruff from different angles.

      ‘Come now, you are likely to make everyone think you are a vain creature,’ Laurence said, reaching up to pet the waving tendrils. ‘Truly, they look very well; pray give them no thought.’

      Temeraire made a small, startled noise, and leaned in towards the stroking. ‘That feels very strange,’ he said.

      ‘Am I hurting you? Are they so tender?’ Laurence stopped at once, anxious. Though he had not said as much to Temeraire, he had noticed from reading the stories that the Chinese dragons, at least the Imperials and Celestials, did not seem to do a great deal of fighting, except in moments of the greatest crisis for their nations. They seemed more famed for beauty and wisdom, and if the Chinese bred for such qualities first, it would not be impossible that the tendrils might be of a sensitivity which could make them a point of vulnerability in battle.

      Temeraire nudged him a little and said, ‘No, they do not hurt at all. Pray do it again?’ When Laurence very carefully resumed the stroking, Temeraire made an odd purring sort of sound, and abruptly shivered all over. ‘I think I quite like it,’ he added, his eyes growing unfocused and heavy-lidded.

      Laurence snatched his hand away. ‘Oh, Lord,’ he said, glancing around in deep embarrassment; thankfully no other dragons or aviators were around at the moment. ‘I had better speak to Celeritas at once; I think you are coming into season for the first time. I ought to have realized, when they sprouted; it must mean you have reached your full growth.’

      Temeraire blinked. ‘Oh, very well; but must you stop?’ he asked plaintively.

      ‘It is excellent news,’ Celeritas said, when Laurence had conveyed this intelligence. ‘We cannot breed him yet, for he cannot be spared for so long, but I am very pleased regardless: I am always anxious when sending an immature dragon into battle. And I will send word to the breeders; they will think of the best potential crosses to make. The addition of Imperial blood to our lines can only be of the greatest benefit.’

      ‘Is there anything— some means of relief—’ Laurence stopped, not quite sure how to word the question in a way that would not seem outrageous.

      ‘We will have to see, but I think you need not worry,’ Celeritas said, dryly. ‘We are not like horses or dogs; we can control ourselves at least as well as you humans.’

      Laurence was relieved; he had feared that Temeraire might find it difficult now to be in close company with Lily or Messoria, or the other female dragons, though he rather thought Dulcia was too small to be a partner of interest to him. But he expressed no interest of that sort in them; Laurence ventured to ask him, once or twice, in a hinting way, and Temeraire seemed mostly baffled at the notion.

      Nevertheless there were some changes, which became perceptible by degrees. Laurence first noticed that Temeraire was more often awake in the mornings without having to be roused; his appetites changed also, and he ate less frequently, though in greater quantities, and might voluntarily go so long as two days without eating at all.

      Laurence was somewhat concerned that Temeraire was starving himself to avoid the un pleasantness of not being given precedence, or the sideways looks of the other dragons at his new appearance. However, his fears were relieved in dramatic fashion, scarcely a month after the ruff had developed. He had just landed Temeraire at the feeding grounds and stood off from the mass of assembled dragons to observe, when Lily and Maximus were called onto the grounds. But on this occasion, another dragon was called down with them: a newcomer of a breed Laurence had never before seen, its wings patterned like marble, veins of orange and yellow and brown shot through a nearly translucent ivory, and very large, but not bigger than Temeraire.

      The other dragons of the covert gave way and watched them go down, but Temeraire un expectedly made a low rumbling noise, not quite a growl, from deep in his throat; very like a croaking bullfrog if a frog of some twelve tons might be imagined, and he leapt down after them uninvited.

      Laurence could not see the faces of the herders, so far below, but they milled about the fences as if taken aback; it was quite clear however that none of them liked to try and shoo Temeraire away, not surprising considering that he was already up to his chops in the gore of his first cow. Lily and Maximus made no objection, the strange dragon of course did not even notice it as a change, and after a moment the herders released half a dozen more beasts into the grounds, that all four dragons might eat their fill.

      ‘He is of a splendid conformity; he is yours, is he not?’ Laurence turned to find himself addressed by a stranger, wearing thick woollen trousers and a plain civilian’s coat, both marked with dragon-scale impressions: he was certainly an aviator and an officer besides, his carriage and voice gentle-manlike, but he spoke with a heavy French accent, and Laurence was puzzled momentarily by his presence.

      But the Frenchman was not alone; Sutton was keeping him company, and now he stepped forward to make the introductions: the Frenchman’s name was Choiseul.

      ‘I have come from Austria only last night, with Praecursoris,’ Choiseul said, gesturing at the marbled dragon below, who was daintily taking another sheep, neatly avoiding the blood spurting from Maximus’s third victim.

      ‘He has some good news for us, though he makes a long face over it,’ Sutton said. ‘Austria is mobilizing; she is coming into the war with Bonaparte again, and I dare say he will have to turn his attention to the Rhine instead of the Channel, soon enough.’

      Choiseul said, ‘I hope I do not discourage your hopes in any way; I would be desolate to give you unnecessary concern. But I cannot say that I have great confidence in their chances. I do not wish to sound ungrateful; the Austrian corps was generous enough to grant myself and Praecursoris asylum during the Revolution, and I am most deeply in their debt. But the archdukes are fools, and they will not listen to the few generals of competence they have. Archduke Ferdinand to fight the genius of Marengo and Egypt! It is an absurdity.’

      ‘I cannot say that Marengo was so brilliantly-run as all that,’ Sutton said. ‘If the Austrians had only brought up their second aerial division from Verona in time, we would have had a very different ending; it was as much luck as anything.’

      Laurence did not feel himself sufficiently in command of land tactics to offer his own comment, but this seemed perilously close to bravado; in any case, he had a healthy respect for luck, and Bonaparte seemed to attract a greater share than most generals.

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