The Temeraire Series Books 1-3: Temeraire, Throne of Jade, Black Powder War

‘Oh, they are all born and bred in the villages hereabouts, so they are used to it and us,’ Martin said, as they walked through the long hall. ‘I suppose Tolly has been working here since he was a squeaker; he would not bat an eye at a Regal Copper in a tantrum.’

A metal door closed off the stairway leading down to the baths; when Granby pulled it open, a gust of hot, wet air came out and steamed in the relative cold of the corridor. Laurence followed the other two down the narrow, spiralling stair; it went down for four turns and opened abruptly into a large bare room, with shelves of stone built out of the walls and faded paintings upon the walls, partly chipped away: obvious relics of Roman times. One side held heaps of folded and stacked linens, the other a few piles of discarded clothes.

‘Just leave your things on the shelves,’ Martin said. ‘The baths are in a circuit, so we come back out here again.’ He and Granby were already stripping.

‘Have we time to bathe now?’ Laurence asked, a little dubiously.

Martin paused in taking off his boots. ‘Oh, I thought we would just stroll through; no, Granby? It is not as though there is a need to rush; supper will not be for a few hours yet.’

‘Unless you have something urgent to attend to,’ Granby said to Laurence, so ungraciously that Martin looked between them in surprise, as if only now noticing the tension.

Laurence compressed his lips and held back a sharp word; he could not be checking every aviator who might be hostile to a Navy man, and to some extent he understood the resentment. He would have to win through it, just like a new midwingman fresh on board. ‘Not at all,’ was all he said. Though he was not sure why they had to strip down merely to tour the baths, he followed their example, save that he arranged his clothes with more care into two neat stacks, and lay his coat atop them rather than creasing it by folding.

Then they left the room by a corridor to the left, and passed through another metal door at its end. He saw the sense in undressing as soon as they were through: the room beyond was so full of steam he could barely see past arm’s length, and he was dripping wet instantly. If he had been dressed, his coat and boots would have been ruined, and everything else soaked through; on naked skin the steam was luxurious, just shy of being too hot, and his muscles unwound gratefully from the long flight.

The room was tiled, with benches built out of the walls at regular intervals; a few other fellows were lying about in the steam. Granby and Martin nodded to a couple of them as they led the way through and into a cavernous room beyond; this one was even warmer, but dry, and a long, shallow pool ran very nearly its full length. ‘We are right under the courtyard now, and there is why the Corps has this place,’ Martin said, pointing.

Deep niches were built into the long wall at regular intervals, and a fence of wrought-iron barred them from the rest of the room while leaving them visible. Perhaps half the niches were empty; the other half were padded with fabric, and each held a single massive egg. ‘They must be kept warm, you see, since we cannot spare the dragons to brood over them, or let them bury them near volcanoes or suchlike, as they would in nature.’

‘And there is no space to make a separate chamber for them?’ Laurence said, surprised.

‘Of course there is space,’ Granby said, rudely; Martin glanced at him and leaped in hastily, before Laurence could react.

‘You see, everyone is in and out of here often, so if one of them begins to look a bit hard we are more likely to notice it,’ he said hurriedly.

Still trying to rein in his temper, Laurence let Granby’s remark pass and nodded to Martin; he had read in Sir Edward’s books how unpredictable dragon egg hatching was, until the very end; even knowing the species could only narrow the process down to a span of months or, for the larger breeds, years.

‘We think the Anglewing over there may hatch soon; that would be famous,’ Martin went on, pointing at a golden-brown egg, its sides faintly pearlescent and spotted with flecks of brighter yellow. ‘That is Obversaria’s get; she is the flag-dragon at the Channel. I was signal-ensign aboard her, fresh out of training, and no beast in her class can touch her for manoeuvring.’

Both of the aviators looked at the eggs with wistful expressions, longingly; of course each of those represented a rare chance of promotion, and one even more uncertain than the favour of the Admiralty, which might be courted or won by valour in the field. ‘Have you served with many dragons?’ Laurence asked Martin.

‘Only Obversaria and then Inlacrimas; he was injured in a skirmish over the Channel a month ago, and so here I am on the ground,’ Martin said. ‘But he will be fit for duty again in a month, and I got a promotion out of it, so I shouldn’t complain; I am just made midwingman,’ he added proudly. ‘And Granby here has been with more; four, is that not right? Who before Laetificat?’

‘Excursius, Fluitare, and Actionis,’ Granby answered, very briefly.

But the first name had been enough; Laurence finally understood, and his face hardened. The fellow likely was friend to Lieutenant Dayes; at any rate the two of them had been the equivalent of shipmates until recently, and it was now clear to him that Granby’s offensive behaviour was not simply the general resentment of an aviator for a naval officer shoehorned into his ser vice, but also a personal matter, and thus in some sense an extension of Dayes’s original insult.

Laurence was far less inclined to tolerate any slight for such a cause, and he said abruptly, ‘Let us continue, gentlemen.’ He allowed no further delays during the remainder of the tour, and let Martin carry the conversation as he would, without giving any response that might draw it out. They came back to the dressing room after completing the circuit of the baths, and once dressed again, Laurence said quietly but firmly, ‘Mr. Granby, you will take me to the feeding grounds now; then I may set you at liberty.’ He had to make it clear to the man that the disrespect would not be tolerated; if Granby were to make another fling, he would have to be checked, and better by far were that to occur in private. ‘Mr. Martin, I am obliged to you for your company, and your explanations; they have been most valuable.’

‘You are very welcome,’ Martin said, looking between Laurence and Granby uncertainly, as if afraid of what might happen if he left them alone. But Laurence had made his hint quite un mistakable, and despite the informality Martin seemed able to see that it had nearly the weight of an order. ‘I will see you both at supper, I imagine; until then.’

In silence Laurence continued with Granby to the feeding grounds, or rather to a ledge that overlooked them, at the far end of the training valley. The mouth of a natural cul-de-sac was visible at the far end of the valley, and Laurence could see several herdsmen there on duty; Granby explained, in a flat voice, that when signalled from the ledge, these would pick out the appropriate number of beasts for a dragon and send them into the valley, where the dragon might hunt them down and eat, so long as no training flight was in progress.

‘It is straightforward enough, I trust,’ Granby said, in conclusion; his tone was highly disagreeable, and yet another step over the line, as Laurence had feared.

‘Sir,’ Laurence said, quietly. Granby blinked in momentary confusion, and Laurence repeated, ‘It is straightforward enough, sir.’

He hoped it would be enough to warn Granby off from further disrespect, but almost unbelievably, the lieutenant answered back, saying, ‘We do not stand on ceremony here, whatever you may have been used to in the Navy.’

‘I have been used to courtesy; where I do not receive it, I will insist at the least on the respect due to rank,’ Laurence said, his temper breaking loose; he glared savagely at Granby, and felt the colour coming into his face. ‘You will amend your address immediately, Lieutenant Granby, or by God I shall have you broken for insubordination; I do not imagine that the Corps takes quite so light a view of it as one might gather from your behaviour.’

Granby went very pale; the sunburn across his cheeks stood out red. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and stood sharply at attention.

‘Dismissed, Lieutenant,’ Laurence said at once, and turned away to gaze out over the field with arms clasped behind his back until Granby had left; he did not want to even look at the fellow again. With the sustaining flush of righteous anger gone, he was tired, and miserable to have met with such disrespect; in addition he now had to anticipate with dismay the consequences he knew would follow on his having checked the man. Granby had seemed on their first instant of meeting to be friendly and likeable by nature; even if he were not, he was still one of the aviators, and Laurence an interloper. Granby’s fellows would naturally support him, and their hostility could only make Laurence’s circumstances unpleasant.

But there had been no alternative; open disrespect could not be borne, and Granby had known very well that his behaviour was beyond the pale. Laurence was still downcast when he turned back inside; his spirits rose only as he walked into the courtyard and found Temeraire awake and waiting for him. ‘I am sorry to have abandoned you so long,’ Laurence said, leaning against his side and petting him, more for his own comfort than Temeraire’s. ‘Have you been very bored?’

‘No, not at all,’ Temeraire said. ‘There were a great many people who came by and spoke to me; some of them measured me for a new harness. Also, I have been talking to Maximus here, and he tells me we are to train together.’

Laurence nodded a greeting to the Regal Copper, who had acknowledged the mention of his name by opening a sleepy eye; Maximus lifted his massive head enough to return the gesture, and then sank back down. ‘Are you hungry?’ Laurence asked, turning back to Temeraire. ‘We must be up early to fly for Celeritas – that is the training master here,’ he added, ‘so you will likely not have time in the morning.’

‘Yes, I would like to eat,’ Temeraire said; he seemed wholly unsurprised to have a dragon as training master, and in the face of his pragmatic response, Laurence felt a little silly for his own first shock over it; of course Temeraire would see nothing strange in it.

Laurence did not bother strapping himself back on completely for the short hop to the ledge, and there he dismounted to let Temeraire hunt without a passenger. The uncomplicated pleasure of watching the dragon soar and dive so gracefully did a great deal to ease Laurence’s mind. No matter how the aviators should respond to him, his position was secure in a way that no sea captain could hope for; he had experience in managing un willing men, if it came to that in his crew, and at least Martin’s example showed that not all the officers would be prejudiced against him from the beginning.

There was some other comfort also: as Temeraire swooped and snatched a running cow neatly off the ground and settled down to eat it, Laurence heard enthusiastic murmuring and looked up to see a row of small heads poking out of the windows above. ‘That is the Imperial, sir, is he not?’ one of the boys, sandy-haired and round-faced, called out to him.

‘Yes, that is Temeraire,’ Laurence answered. He had always made an effort towards the education of his young gentlemen, and his ship had been considered a prime place for a squeaker; he had many family and service friends to do favours for, so he had fairly extensive experience of boys, most of it favourable. Unlike many grown men, he was not at all uncomfortable in their company, even if these were younger than most of his midshipmen ever had been.

‘Look, look, how smashing,’ another one, smaller and darker, cried and pointed; Temeraire was skimming low to the ground and collecting up the three sheep that had been released for him in one claw before stopping to eat again.

‘I dare say you all have more experience of dragonflight than I; does he show to advantage?’ he asked them.

‘Oh, yes,’ was the general and enthusiastic response. ‘Corners on a wink and a nod,’ the sandy-haired boy said, adopting a professional tone, ‘and splendid extension; not a wasted wingbeat. Oh, ripping,’ he added, dissolving back into a small boy, as Temeraire backwinged to take the last cow.

‘Sir, you haven’t picked your runners yet, have you?’ another dark-haired one asked, hopefully, which at once set up a clamour among all the others; all of them announcing their worthiness for what Laurence gathered was some position to which particularly favoured cadets were assigned, in a dragon crew.

‘No; and I imagine when I do it will be on the advice of your instructors,’ he said, with mock severity. ‘So I dare say you ought to mind them properly the next few weeks. There, have you had enough?’ he asked, as Temeraire rejoined him on the ledge, landing directly on the edge with perfect balance.

‘Oh yes, they were very tasty; but now I am all over blood, can we go and wash up now?’ Temeraire said.

Laurence realized belatedly this had been omitted from his tour; he glanced up at the children. ‘Gentlemen, I must ask you for direction; shall I take him to the lake for bathing?’

They all stared down at him with round surprised eyes. ‘I have never heard of bathing a dragon,’ one of them said.

The sandy-haired one added, ‘I mean, can you imagine trying to wash a Regal? It would take ages. Usually they lick their chops and talons clean, like a cat.’

‘That does not sound very pleasant; I like being washed, even if it is a great deal of work,’ Temeraire said, looking at Laurence anxiously.

Laurence suppressed an exclamation and said equably, ‘Certainly it is a great deal of work, but so are many other things that ought to be done; we shall go to the lake at once. Only wait here a moment, Temeraire; I will go and fetch some linens.’

‘Oh, I will bring you some!’ The sandy-haired boy vanished from the windows; the rest immediately followed, and scarcely five minutes later the whole half-dozen of them had come spilling out onto the ledge with a pile of imperfectly folded linens whose provenance Laurence suspected.

He took them anyway, thanking them gravely, and climbed back aboard, making a mental note of the sandy-haired fellow; it was the sort of initiative he liked to see and considered the making of an officer.

‘We could bring our carabiner belts tomorrow, and then we could ride along and help,’ the boy added now, with a too-guileless expression.

Laurence eyed him and wondered if this was forwardness to discourage, but he was secretly cheered by the enthusiasm, so he contented himself with saying firmly, ‘We shall see.’