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

The second circuit completed, they winged back towards the courtyard again; Temeraire was scarcely breathing fast. But before they crossed half the valley there came a sudden tremendous roaring from overhead, and a vast black shadow fell over them: Laurence looked up in alarm to see Maximus barrelling down towards their path as though he meant to ram them. Temeraire jerked to an abrupt stop and hovered in place, and Maximus went flying past and swept back up just short of the ground.

‘What the devil do you mean by this, Berkley?’ Laurence roared at the top of his lungs, standing in the harness; he was in a fury, his hands shaking but for his grip on the reins. ‘You will explain yourself, sir, this instant—’

‘My God! How can he do that?’ Berkley was shouting back at him, conversationally, as though he had not done anything out of the ordinary at all; Maximus was flying sedately back up towards the courtyard. ‘Celeritas, do you see that?’

‘I do; pray come in and land, Temeraire,’ Celeritas said, calling out from the courtyard. ‘They were flying at you on orders, Captain; do not be agitated,’ he said to Laurence as Temeraire landed neatly on the edge. ‘It is of utmost importance to test the natural reaction of a dragon to being startled from above, where we cannot see; it is an instinct that often cannot be overcome by any training.’

Laurence was still very ruffled, and Temeraire as well: ‘That was very unpleasant,’ he said to Maximus reproachfully.

‘Yes, I know, it was done to me too when we started training,’ Maximus said, cheerful and un repentant. ‘How do you just hang in the air like that?’

‘I never gave it much thought,’ Temeraire said, mollified a little; he craned his neck over to examine himself. ‘I suppose I just beat my wings the other way.’

Laurence stroked Temeraire’s neck comfortingly as Celeritas peered closely at Temeraire’s wing joints. ‘I had assumed it was a common ability, sir; is it unusual, then?’ Laurence asked.

‘Only in the sense of it being entirely unique in my two hundred years’ experience,’ Celeritas said dryly, sitting back. ‘Anglewings can manoeuvre in tight circles, but not hover in such a manner.’ He scratched his forehead. ‘We will have to give some thought to the applications of the ability; at the least it will make you a very deadly bomber.’

Laurence and Berkley were still discussing it as they went in to dinner, as well as the approach to matching Temeraire and Maximus. Celeritas had kept them working all the rest of the day, exploring Temeraire’s manoeuvring capabilities and pacing the two dragons against each other. Laurence had already felt, of course, that Temeraire was extra ordinarily fast and handy in the air; but there was a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction at hearing Celeritas say so, and to have Temeraire easily outdistance the older and larger Maximus.

Celeritas had even suggested they might try and have Temeraire fly double-pace, if he proved to retain his manoeuvrability even as he grew: that he might be able to fly a strafing run along the length of the entire formation and come back to his position in time to fly a second along with the rest of the dragons.

Berkley and Maximus had taken it in good part to have Temeraire fly rings around them. Of course Regal Coppers were the first-rates of the Corps, and Temeraire would certainly never equal Maximus for sheer weight and power, so there was no real basis for jealousy; still, after the tension of his first day, Laurence was inclined to take an absence of hostility as a victory. Berkley himself was an odd character, a little old to be a new captain and very queer in his manners, with a normal state of extreme stolidity broken by occasional explosions.

But in his strange way he seemed a steady and dedicated officer, and friendly enough. He told Laurence abruptly, as they sat at the empty table waiting for the other officers to join them, ‘You will have to face down a damn sight of jealousy, of course, for not having to wait for a prime ’un as much as anything. I was six years waiting for Maximus; it was well worth it, but I don’t know that I would be able not to hate you if you were prancing about in front of me with an Imperial while he was still in the shell.’

‘Waiting?’ Laurence said. ‘You were assigned to him before he was even hatched?’

‘The moment the egg was cool enough to touch,’ Berkley said. ‘We get four or five Regal Coppers in a generation; Aerial Command don’t leave it to chance who mans ’em. I was grounded the moment I said yes-thank-you, and here I sat staring at him in the shell and lecturing squeakers, hoping he wouldn’t take too much bloody time about it, which by God he did.’ Berkley snorted and drained his glass of wine.

Laurence had already formed a high opinion of Berkley’s skill in the air after their morning’s work, and he did indeed seem the sort of man who could be entrusted with a rare and valuable dragon; certainly he was very fond of Maximus and showed it in a bluff way. As they had parted from Maximus and Temeraire in the courtyard, Laurence had overheard him telling the big dragon, ‘I suppose I will get no peace until you have your harness taken off too, damn you,’ while ordering his ground crew to see to it, and Maximus nearly knocking him over with a caressing nudge.

The other officers were beginning to file into the room; most of them were much younger than himself or Berkley, and the hall quickly grew noisy with their cheerful and often high-pitched voices. Laurence was a little tense at first, but his fears did not materialize; a few more of the lieutenants did look at him dubiously, and Granby sat as far away as possible, but other than this no one seemed to pay him much notice.

A tall, blond man with a sharp nose said quietly, ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ and slipped into the chair beside him. Though all the senior officers were in coats and neckcloths for dinner, the newcomer was noticeably different in having his neckcloth crisply folded, and his coat pressed. ‘Captain Jeremy Rankin, at your service,’ he said courteously, offering a hand. ‘I believe we have not met?’

‘No, I am just arrived yesterday; Captain Will Laurence, at yours,’ Laurence answered. Rankin had a firm grip, and a pleasant and easy manner; Laurence found him very easy to talk to, and learned without surprise that Rankin was a son of the Earl of Kensington.

‘My family have always sent third sons to the Corps, and in the old days before the Corps were formed and dragons reserved to the Crown, my however-many-great grandfather used to support a pair,’ Rankin said. ‘So I have no difficulties going home; we still maintain a small covert for fly-overs, and I was often there even during my training. It is an advantage I wish more aviators could have,’ he added, low, glancing around the table.

Laurence did not wish to say anything that might be construed as critical; it was all right for Rankin to hint at it, being one of them, but from his own lips it could only be offensive. ‘It must be hard on the boys, leaving home so early,’ he said, with more tact. ‘In the Navy we – that is, the Navy does not take lads before they are twelve, and even then they are set on shore between cruises, and have time at home. Did you find it so, sir?’ he added, turning to Berkley.

‘Hm,’ Berkley said, swallowing; he looked a little hard at Rankin before answering Laurence. ‘Can’t say that I did; squalled a little, I suppose, but one gets used to it, and we run the squeakers about to keep them from getting too homesick.’ He turned back to his food with no attempt to keep the conversation going, and Laurence was left to turn back and continue his discussion with Rankin.

‘Am I late – oh!’ It was a slim young boy, his voice not yet broken but tall for that age, hurrying to the table in some disarray; his long red hair was half coming out of his plaited queue. He halted abruptly at the table’s edge, then slowly and reluctantly took the seat on Rankin’s other side, which was the only one left vacant. Despite his youth, he was a captain: the coat he wore had the double golden bars across the shoulders.

‘Why, Catherine, not at all; allow me to pour you some wine,’ Rankin said. Laurence, already looking in surprise at the boy, thought for a moment he had misheard; then saw he had not, at all: the boy was indeed a young lady. Laurence looked around the table blankly; no one else seemed to think anything of it, and it was clearly no secret: Rankin was addressing her in polite and formal tones, serving her from the platters.

‘Allow me to present you,’ Rankin added, turning. ‘Captain Laurence of Temeraire, Miss— oh, no, I forget; that is, Captain Catherine Harcourt, of, er, Lily.’

‘Hello,’ the girl muttered, not looking up.

Laurence felt his face going red; she was sitting there in breeches that showed every inch of her leg, with a shirt held closed only by a neckcloth; he shifted his gaze to the unalarming top of her head and managed to say, ‘Your servant, Miss Harcourt.’

This at least caused her to raise her head. ‘No, it is Captain Harcourt,’ she said; her face was pale, and her spray of freckles stood out prominently against it, but she was clearly determined to defend her rights; she gave Rankin a strangely defiant look as she spoke.

Laurence had used the address automatically; he had not meant to offend, but evidently he had. ‘I beg your pardon, Captain,’ he said at once, bowing his head in apology. It was indeed difficult to address her so, however, and the title felt strange and awkward on his tongue; he was afraid he sounded unnaturally stiff. ‘I meant no disrespect.’ And now he recognized the dragon’s name as well; it had struck him as unusual yesterday, but with so much else to consider, that one detail had slipped his mind. ‘I believe you have the Longwing?’ he said politely.

‘Yes, that is my Lily,’ she said, an involuntary warmth coming into her voice as she spoke her dragon’s name.

‘Perhaps you were not aware, Captain Laurence, that Longwings will not take male handlers; it is some odd quirk of theirs, for which we must be grateful, else we would be deprived of such charming company,’ Rankin said, inclining his head to the girl. There was an ironic quality to his voice that made Laurence frown; the girl was very obviously not at ease, and Rankin did not seem to be making her more so. She had dropped her head again, and was staring at her plate with her lips pale and pressed together into an unhappy line.

‘It is very brave of you to undertake such a duty, M— Captain Harcourt; a glass – that is to say, to your health,’ Laurence said, amending at the last moment and making the toast a sip; he did not think it appropriate to force a slip of a girl to drink an entire glass of wine.

‘It is no more than anyone else does,’ she said, muttering; then belatedly she took her own glass and raised it in return. ‘I mean: and to yours.’

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 defences 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 go 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 that 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.