by Naomi Novik
Silently he repeated her title and name to himself; it would be very rude of him to make the mistake again, having been corrected once, but it was so strange he did not entirely trust himself yet. He took care to look at her face and not elsewhere. With her hair pulled back so tightly she did look boyish, which was some help, along with the clothes that had allowed him to mistake her initially; he supposed that was why she went about in male dress, appalling and illegal though it was.
He would have liked to talk to her, although it would have been difficult not to ask questions, but he could not be steadily talking over Rankin. He was left to wonder at it in the privacy of his own thoughts; to think that every Longwing in service was captained by a woman was shocking. Glancing at her slight frame, he wondered how she supported the work; he himself felt battered and tired after the day’s flying, and though perhaps a proper harness would reduce the strain, he still found it hard to believe a woman could manage it day after day. It was cruel to ask it of her, but of course Longwings could not be spared. They were perhaps the most deadly English dragons, to be compared only with Regal Coppers, and without them the aerial defenses of England would be hideously vulnerable.
With this object of curiosity to occupy his thoughts, and Rankin’s civil conversation as well, his first dinner passed more pleasantly than he had to some extent expected, and he rose from the table encouraged, even though Captain Harcourt and Berkley had been silent and uncommunicative throughout. As they stood, Rankin turned to him and said, “If you are not otherwise engaged, may I invite you to join me in the officers’ club for some chess? I rarely have the chance of a game, and I confess that since you mentioned that you play, I have been eager to seize upon the opportunity.”
“I thank you for the invitation; it would give me great pleasure as well,” Laurence said. “For the moment I must beg to be excused, however; I must see to Temeraire, and then I have promised to read to him.”
“Read to him?” Rankin said, with an expression of amusement that did not hide his surprise at the idea. “Your dedication is admirable, and all that is natural in a new handler. However, allow me if I may to assure you that for the most part dragons are quite capable of managing on their own. I know several of our fellow captains are in the habit of spending all their free time with their beasts, and I would not wish you based on their example to think it a necessity, or a duty to which you must sacrifice the pleasure of human company.”
“I thank you kindly for your concern, but I assure you it is misplaced in my case,” Laurence said. “For my own part, I could desire no better society than Temeraire’s, and it is as much for my own sake as for his that we are engaged. But I would be very happy to join you later this evening, unless you keep early hours.”
“I am very happy to hear it, on both counts,” Rankin said. “As for my hours, not at all; I am not in training, of course, only here on courier duty, so I need not keep to a student’s schedule. I am ashamed to admit that on most days I am not to be found downstairs until shortly before noon, but on the other hand that grants me the pleasure of expecting to see you this evening.”
With this they parted, and Laurence set out to find Temeraire. He was amused to find three of the cadets lurking just outside the dining hall door: the sandy-haired boy and two others, each clutching a fistful of clean white rags. “Oh, sir,” the boy said, jumping up as he saw Laurence coming out. “Would you need any more linens, for Temeraire?” he asked eagerly. “We thought you might, so we brought some, when we saw him eating.”
“Here now, Roland, what d’you think you’re about, there?” Tolly, carrying a load of dishes from the dining hall, stopped on seeing the cadets accost Laurence. “You know better’n to pester a captain.”
“I’m not, am I?” the boy said, looking hopefully at Laurence. “I only thought, perhaps we could help a little. He is very big, after all, and Morgan and Dyer and I all have our carabiners; we can lock on without any trouble at all,” he said earnestly, displaying an odd harness that Laurence had not even noticed before: it was a thick leather belt laced tightly around his waist, with an attached pair of straps ending in what looked at first glance like a large chain link made of steel. On closer examination, Laurence saw that this had a piece which could be folded in, and thus open the link to be hooked on to something else.
Straightening, Laurence said, “As Temeraire does not yet have a proper harness, I do not think you can lock on to the straps with these. However,” he added, hiding a smile at their downcast looks, “come along, and we shall see what can be done. Thank you, Tolly,” he said, nodding to the servant. “I can manage them.”
Tolly was not bothering to hide his grin at this exchange. “Right you are,” he said, carrying on with his duties.
“Roland, is it?” Laurence asked the boy, as he walked on to the courtyard with the three children trotting to keep up.
“Yes, sir, Cadet Emily Roland, at your service.” Turning to her companions, and thus remaining blithely unconscious of Laurence’s startled expression, she added, “And these are Andrew Morgan and Peter Dyer; we are all in our third year here.”
“Yes, indeed, we would all like to help,” Morgan said, and Dyer, smaller than the other two and with round eyes, only nodded.
“Very good,” Laurence managed, looking surreptitiously down at the girl. Her hair was cut bowl-fashion, just like the two boys’, and she had a sturdy, stocky build; her voice was scarcely pitched higher than theirs: his mistake had not been unnatural. Now that he gave a moment’s thought to the matter, it made perfect sense; the Corps would naturally train up a few girls, in anticipation of needing them as Longwings hatched, and likely Captain Harcourt was herself the product of such training. But he could not help wondering what sort of parent would hand over a girl of tender years to the rigor of the service.
They came out into the courtyard and were met by a scene of raucous activity: a great confusion of wings and dragon voices filling the air. Most if not all of the dragons had just come from feeding and were now being attended by members of their crews, who were busy cleaning the harnesses. Despite Rankin’s words, Laurence scarcely saw a dragon whose captain was not standing by its head and petting or talking to it; this evidently was a common interlude during the day when dragons and their handlers were at liberty.
He did not immediately see Temeraire; after searching the busy courtyard for a few moments, he realized that Temeraire had settled outside the exterior walls, likely to avoid the bustle and noise. Before going out to him, Laurence took the cadets over to Levitas: the little dragon was curled up alone just inside the courtyard walls, watching the other dragons with their officers. Levitas was still in his harness, but it looked much better than it had on the previous day: the leather looked as though it had been worked over and rubbed with oil to make it more supple, and the metal rings joining the straps were brightly polished.
Laurence now guessed that the rings were intended to provide a place for the carabiners to latch on; though Levitas was small compared with Temeraire, he was still a large creature, and Laurence thought he could easily sustain the weight of the three cadets for the short journey. The dragon was eager and happy for the attention, his eyes brightening as Laurence made the suggestion.
“Oh yes, I can carry you all easily,” he said, looking at the three cadets, who looked back at him with no less eagerness. They all scrambled up as nimbly as squirrels, and each of them locked on to two separate rings in an obviously well-practiced motion.
Laurence tugged on each strap; they seemed secure enough. “Very well, Levitas; take them down to the shore, and Temeraire and I will meet you there shortly,” he said, patting the dragon’s side.
Having seen them off, Laurence wove through the other dragons and made his way out of the gate. He stopped short on his first clear look at Temeraire; the dragon looked strangely downcast, a marked difference from his happy attitude at the conclusion of the morning’s work, and Laurence hurried to his side. “Are you
not feeling well?” Laurence asked, inspecting his jaws, but Temeraire was bloodstained and messy from his meal, and looked to have eaten well. “Did something you ate disagree with you?”
“No, I am perfectly well,” Temeraire said. “It is only— Laurence, I am a proper dragon, am I not?”
Laurence stared; the note of uncertainty in Temeraire’s voice was wholly new. “As proper a dragon as there is in the world; what on earth would make you ask such a question? Has anyone said anything unkind to you?” A quick surge of temper was rising in him already at the mere possibility; the aviators might look at him askance and say what they liked, but he was not going to tolerate anyone making remarks to Temeraire.
“Oh, no,” Temeraire said, but in a way that made Laurence doubt the words. “No one was unkind, but they could not help noticing, while we were all feeding, that I do not look quite like the rest of them. They are all much more brightly colored than I am, and their wings do not have so many joins. Also, they have those ridges along their backs, and mine is plain, and I have more talons on my feet.” He turned and inspected himself as he catalogued these differences. “So they looked at me a little oddly, but no one was unkind. I suppose it is because I am a Chinese dragon?”
“Yes, indeed, and you must recall that the Chinese are counted the most skilled breeders in the world,” Laurence said firmly. “If anything, the others should look to you as their ideal, not the reverse, and I beg you will not for a moment doubt yourself. Only consider how well Celeritas spoke of your flying this morning.”
“But I cannot breathe fire, or spit acid,” Temeraire said, settling back down, still with an air of dejection. “And I am not as big as Maximus.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “He and Lily ate first; the rest of us had to wait until after they were done, and then we were allowed to hunt as a group.”
Laurence frowned; it had not occurred to him that dragons would have a system of rank among themselves. “My dear, there has never been a dragon of your breed in England, so your precedence has not yet been established,” he said, trying to find an explanation which would console Temeraire. “Also, perhaps it has something to do with the rank of their captains, for you must recall that I have less seniority than any other captain here.”
“That would be very silly; you are older than most of them are, and have a great deal of experience,” Temeraire said, losing some of his unhappiness in indignation over the idea of a slight to Laurence. “You have won battles, and most of them are only still in training.”
“Yes, though at sea, and things are very different aloft,” Laurence said. “But it is quite true that precedence and rank are not guarantors of wisdom or good breeding; pray do not take it so to heart. I am sure that when we have been in service a year or two, you will be acknowledged as you deserve. But for the moment, did you get enough to eat? We shall return to the feeding grounds at once if not.”
“Oh, no, there was no shortage,” Temeraire said. “I was able to catch whatever I wanted, and the others did not get in my way very much at all.”
He fell silent, and was clearly still inclined to be dismal; Laurence said, “Come, we must see about getting you bathed.”
Temeraire brightened at the prospect, and after the better part of an hour spent playing with Levitas in the lake and then being scrubbed by the cadets, his spirits were greatly restored. Afterwards, he curled happily about Laurence in the warm courtyard when they settled down together to read, apparently much happier. But Laurence still saw Temeraire looking at his gold-and-pearl chain more often, and touching it with the tip of his tongue; he was beginning to recognize the gesture as a desire for reassurance. He tried to put affection in his voice as he read, and stroked the foreleg on which he was comfortably seated.
He was still frowning with concern later that evening, as he came into the officers’ club; a left-handed blessing, for the momentary hush that fell when he came into the room bothered him far less than it might otherwise have done. Granby was standing at the pianoforte near the door, and he pointedly touched his forehead in salute and said, “Sir,” as Laurence came in.
It was an odd sort of insolence that could hardly be reprimanded; Laurence chose to answer as if it had been sincere, and said politely, “Mr. Granby,” with a nod that he made a general gesture to the room, and walked on with what haste was reasonable. Rankin was sitting far back in a corner of the room by a small table, reading a newspaper; Laurence joined him, and in a few moments the two of them had set up the chessboard which Rankin had taken down from a shelf.
The buzz of conversation had already resumed; between moves, Laurence observed the room as well as he could without making himself obvious. Now that his eyes were opened, he could see a few female officers scattered in the crowd here, also. Their presence seemed to place no restraint on the general company; the conversation though good-natured was not wholly refined, and it was made noisy and confused by interruptions.
Nevertheless there was a clear sense of good-fellowship throughout the room, and he could not help feeling a little wistful at his natural exclusion from it; both by their preference and his own he did not feel that he was fitted for participation, and it could not but give him a pang of loneliness. But he dismissed it almost at once; a Navy captain had to be used to a solitary existence, and often without such companionship as he had in Temeraire. And also, he might now look forward to Rankin’s company as well; he returned his attention to the chessboard, and looked no more at the others.
Rankin was perhaps out of practice a little, but not unskilled, and as the game was not one of Laurence’s favorite pastimes they were reasonably well-matched. While they played, Laurence mentioned his concern for Temeraire to Rankin, who listened with sympathy. “It is indeed shameful that they should have not given him precedence, but I must counsel you to leave the remedy to him,” Rankin said. “They behave that way in the wild; the deadlier breeds demand first fruits of the hunt, and the weaker give way. He must likely assert himself among the other beasts to be given more respect.”
“Do you mean by offering some sort of challenge? But surely that cannot be a wise policy,” Laurence said, alarmed at the very idea; he had heard the old fantastic stories of wild dragons fighting among themselves, and killing one another in such dueling. “To allow battle among such desperately valuable creatures, for so little purpose?”
“It rarely comes to an actual battle; they know one another’s capabilities, and I promise you, once he feels certain of his strength, he will not tolerate it, nor will he meet with any great resistance,” Rankin said.
Laurence could not have great confidence in this; he was certain it was no lack of courage that prevented Temeraire from taking precedence, but a more delicate sensibility, which had unhappily enabled him to sense the lack of approbation of the other dragons. “I would still like to find some means of reassuring him,” Laurence said sadly; he could see that henceforth all the feedings would be a source of fresh unhappiness to Temeraire, and yet they could not be avoided, save by feeding him at different times, which would only make him feel still more isolated from the others.
“Oh, give him a trinket and he will settle down,” Rankin said. “It is amazing how it restores their spirits; whenever my beast becomes sulky, I bring him a bauble and he is at once all happiness again; just like a temperamental mistress.”
Laurence could not help smiling at the absurdity of this joking comparison. “I have been meaning to get him a collar, as it happens,” he said, more seriously, “such as the one Celeritas wears, and I do believe it would make him very happy. But I do not suppose there is anywhere here where such an item may be commissioned.”
“I can offer you a remedy for that, at any rate. I go to Edinburgh regularly on my courier duties, and there are several excellent jewelers there; some of them even carry ready-made items for dragons, as there are many coverts here in the north within flying distance. If you care to accompany me, I would be happy to bear you there,” Rankin said. “
My next flight will be this Saturday, and I can easily have you back by suppertime if we leave in the morning.”
“Thank you; I am very much obliged to you,” Laurence said, surprised and pleased. “I will apply to Celeritas for permission to go.”
Celeritas frowned at the request, made the next morning, and looked at Laurence narrowly. “You wish to go with Captain Rankin? Well, it will be the last day of liberty you have for a long time, for you must and will be here for every moment of Temeraire’s flight training.”
He was almost fierce about it, and Laurence was surprised by his vehemence. “I assure you I have no objection,” he said, wondering in astonishment if the training master thought he meant to shirk his duties. “Indeed, I had not imagined otherwise, and I am well aware of the need for urgency in his training. If my absence would cause any difficulty, I beg you to have no hesitation in refusing the request.”
Whatever the source of his initial disapproval, Celeritas was mollified by this statement. “As it happens, the ground crewmen will need a day to fit Temeraire out with his new gear, and it will be ready by then,” he said, in less stern tones. “I suppose we can spare you, as long as Temeraire is not finicky about being harnessed without you there, and you may as well have a final excursion.”
Temeraire assured Laurence he did not mind, so the plan was settled, and Laurence spent part of the next few evenings making measurements of his neck, and of Maximus’s, thinking the Regal Copper’s current size might be a good approximation for what Temeraire could reach in future. He pretended to Temeraire that these were for the harness; he looked forward to giving the present as a surprise, and seeing it take away some of the quiet distress that lingered, casting a pall over the dragon’s usually high spirits.
Rankin looked with amusement at his sketches of possible designs. The two of them had already formed the settled habit of playing chess together in the evenings, and sitting together at dinner. Laurence so far had little conversation with the other aviators; he regretted it, but could see little point in trying to push himself forward when he was comfortable enough as he was, and in the absence of any sort of invitation. It seemed clear to him that Rankin was as outside the common life of the aviators as he was, perhaps set aside by the elegance of his manners, and if they were both outcast for the same reason, they might at least have the pleasure of each other’s society for compensation.
