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

‘Come, do not let yourself fret,’ Laurence said. ‘You will do very well tomorrow; you have mastered all of the manoeuvres from beginning to end. We have been holding back only to give the crew better mastery.’

‘I am not very worried about the flying, but what if Celeritas does not approve of the manoeuvres?’ Temeraire said. ‘We would have wasted all our time to no purpose.’

‘If he thought the manoeuvre wholly unwise, he would never have solicited us,’ Laurence said. ‘And in any case our time has not been wasted in the least; the crew have all learned their work a good deal better for having to give more attention and thought to their tasks, and even if Celeritas disapproved entirely I would still count all these evenings of ours profitably spent.’

He at last soothed Temeraire to sleep and himself dozed off by the dragon’s side; though it was early September, the summer’s warmth was lingering, and he took no chill. Despite all his re assurances to Temeraire, Laurence himself was up and alert by first light, and he could not wholly repress a degree of anxiety in his own breast. Most of his crew were at the breakfast table as early as he was, so he made a point of speaking with several of them, and eating heartily; he would rather not have taken anything but coffee.

When he came out into the training courtyard he found Temeraire there already in his gear and looking over the valley; his tail was lashing the air uneasily. Celeritas was not yet there; fifteen minutes passed before any of the other dragons of the formation arrived, and by then Laurence had taken Temeraire and his crew out to fly a few circuits of the area. The younger ensigns and midwingmen were particularly inclined to be shrill, and he had the hands go through exchanging places to settle their nerves.

Dulcia landed, and Maximus after her; the full formation was now assembled, and Laurence brought Temeraire back in to the courtyard. Celeritas had still not yet arrived. Lily was yawning widely; Praecursoris was quietly speaking with Nitidus, the Pascal’s Blue, who also spoke French, his egg having been purchased from a French hatchery many years before the start of the war, when relations had been amicable enough to permit such exchanges. Temeraire still looked at Praecursoris with a brooding eye, but for once Laurence did not mind, if it would provide some distraction.

A bright flurry of wings caught his eye; looking up, he saw Celeritas coming in to land, and beyond him the rapidly-dwindling forms of several Winchesters and Greylings, going away in various directions. Lower in the sky, two Yellow Reapers were heading south in company with Victoriatus, though the wounded Parnassian’s convalescence was not properly over. All the dragons came alert, sitting up; the captains’ voices died away; the crews fell into a heavy and expectant silence, all before Celeritas even reached the ground.

‘Villeneuve and his fleet have been caught,’ Celeritas said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. ‘They have been penned up in the port of Cadiz, with the Spanish navy also.’ Even as he spoke, the servants were running out of the hall, carrying hastily-packed bags and boxes; even the maids and cooks had been pressed into duty. Without being ordered, Temeraire rose to all four legs, just as did the other dragons; the ground crews were already unrolling the belly-netting and climbing up to rig the tents.

‘Mortiferus has been sent to Cadiz; Lily’s formation must go to the Channel at once to take the place of his wing. Captain Harcourt,’ Celeritas said, turning to her, ‘Excidium remains at the Channel, and he has eighty years’ experience; you and Lily must train with him in every free moment you have. I am giving Captain Sutton command of the formation for the moment; this is no reflection upon your work, but with this abbreviation of your training, we must have more experience in the role.’

It was more usual for the captain of the lead dragon of a formation to be the commander, largely because that dragon had to lead off every manoeuvre, but she nodded without any sign of offence. ‘Yes, certainly,’ she said; her voice came out a little high, and Laurence glanced at her with quick sympathy: Lily had hatched unexpectedly early, and Harcourt had become a captain barely out of her own training; this might well be her first action, or very nearly so.

Celeritas gave her an approving nod. ‘Captain Sutton, you will naturally consult with Captain Harcourt as far as possible.’

‘Of course,’ Sutton said, bowing to Harcourt from his position aboard Messoria’s back.

The baggage was already pulled down tight, and Celeritas took a moment to inspect each of the harnesses in turn. ‘Very good: try your loads. Maximus, begin.’

One by one, the dragons all rose to their hind legs, wind tearing across the courtyard as they beat their wings and tried to shake the rigging loose; one by one they dropped and reported, ‘All lies well.’

‘Ground crews aboard,’ Celeritas said, and Laurence watched while Hollin and his men hurried into the belly-rigging and strapped themselves in for the long flight. The signal came up from below, indicating they were ready, and he nodded to his signal-ensign, Turner, who raised the green flag. Maximus and Praecursoris’s crews raised their flags only a moment later; the smaller dragons were already waiting.

Celeritas sat back onto his haunches, and surveyed them all. ‘Fly well,’ he said simply.

There was nothing more, no other ceremony or preparation; Captain Sutton’s signal-ensign raised the flag for formation-go-aloft, and Temeraire sprang into the air with the others, falling into position beside Maximus. The wind was in the northwest, almost directly behind them, and as they rose through the cloud cover, far to the east Laurence could see the faint glimmer of sunlight on water.

PART III (#ulink_a1f8619a-77ee-55c6-872f-e4afdb760f3c)

Chapter Nine (#ulink_276d4021-770c-51fa-b4a1-3d26e7f48e80)

The rifle ball passed so close it stirred Laurence’s hair; the crack of return fire sounded behind him, and Temeraire slashed out at the French dragon as they swept past, raking the deep blue hide with long gashes even as he twisted gracefully to avoid the other dragon’s talons.

‘It’s a Fleur-de-Nuit, sir, the colouring,’ Granby shouted, wind whipping away at his hair, as the blue dragon pulled away with a bellow and wheeled about for another attempt at the formation, its crew already clambering down to staunch the bleeding: the wounds were not disabling.

Laurence nodded. ‘Yes. Mr. Martin,’ he called, more loudly, ‘get the flash powder ready; we will give them a show on their next pass.’ The French breed were heavily-built and dangerous, but they were nocturnal by nature, and their eyes sensitive to sudden flashes of bright light. ‘Mr. Turner, the flash powder warning signal, if you please.’

A quick confirmation came from Messoria’s signal-ensign; the Yellow Reaper was herself engaged in fending off a spirited attack against the front of the formation by a French middleweight. Laurence reached out to pat Temeraire’s neck, catching his attention. ‘We are going to give the Fleur-de-Nuit a dose of flash powder,’ he shouted. ‘Hold this position, and wait for the signal.’

‘Yes, I am ready,’ Temeraire said, a deep note of excitement ringing in his voice; he was almost trembling.

‘Pray be careful,’ Laurence could not help adding; the French dragon was an older one, judging by its scars, and he did not want Temeraire to be hurt through overconfidence.

The Fleur-de-Nuit arrowed towards them, trying once again to barrel between Temeraire and Nitidus: the goal was clearly to split apart the formation, injuring one or the other dragon in the process, which would leave Lily vulnerable to attack from behind on a subsequent pass. Sutton was already signalling a new manoeuvre which would bring them about and give Lily an angle of attack against the Fleur-de-Nuit, which was the largest of the French assailants, but before it could be accomplished this next run had to be deflected.

‘All hands at the ready; stand by on the powder,’ Laurence said, using the speaking trumpet to amplify his orders, as the massive blue-and-black creature came roaring towards them. The speed of the engagement was far beyond anything Laurence had ever before experienced. In the Navy, an exchange of fire might last five minutes; here a pass was over in less than one, and then a second came almost immediately. This time the French dragon was angling closer towards Nitidus, wanting nothing more to do with Temeraire’s claws; the smaller Pascal’s Blue would not be able to hold his position against the great bulk. ‘Hard to larboard; close with him!’ he shouted to Temeraire.

Temeraire answered at once; his great black wings abruptly swivelled and tilted them towards the Fleur-de-Nuit, and Temeraire closed more swiftly than a typical heavy-combat dragon would have been able to do. The enemy dragon jerked and looked at them in reflex, and Laurence shouted, ‘Light the powder,’ as he caught a glimpse of the pale white eyes.

He only just closed his own eyes in time; the brilliant flash was visible even through his eyelids, and the Fleur-de-Nuit bellowed in pain. Laurence opened his eyes again to find Temeraire slashing fiercely at the other dragon, carving deep strokes into its belly, and his riflemen strafing the bellmen on the other side. ‘Temeraire, hold your position,’ Laurence called; Temeraire was in danger of falling behind in his enthusiasm for fighting off the other dragon.

With a start, Temeraire beat his wings in a flurry and lunged back into his place in the formation; Sutton’s signal-ensign raised the green flag, and as a unit they all wheeled around in a tight loop, Lily already opening her jaws and hissing: the Fleur-de-Nuit was still flying blind, and streaming blood into the air as its crew tried to guide it away.

‘Enemy above! Enemy above!’ Maximus’s larboard lookout was pointing frantically upwards; even as the boy shrilled, a terrible thick roaring like thunder sounded in their ears and drowned him out: a Grand Chevalier came plummeting down towards them. The dragon’s pale belly had allowed it to blend into the heavy cloud cover undetected by the lookouts, and now it descended towards Lily, great claws opening wide; it was nearly twice her size, and outweighed even Maximus.

Laurence was shocked to see Messoria and Immortalis both suddenly drop: he realized belatedly it was the reflex which Celeritas had warned them of, so long ago; a reaction to being startled from above. Nitidus had given a startled jerk of his wings, but recovered, and Dulcia had kept her position, but Maximus had put on a burst of speed and overshot the others, and Lily herself was wheeling around in instinctive alarm. The formation had dissolved into chaos, and she was wholly exposed.

‘Ready all guns; straight at him!’ he roared, signalling frantically to Temeraire; it was unnecessary, for after a moment’s hovering, Temeraire had already launched himself to Lily’s defence. The Chevalier was too close to deflect him entirely, but if they could strike him before he was able to latch on to Lily, they could still save her from a fatal mauling, and give her time to strike back.

The four other French dragons were all coming about again. Temeraire put on a burst of sudden speed and just barely slid past the reaching claws of the Pêcheur Couronné, and collided with the great French beast with all his claws outstretched, even as the Chevalier slashed at Lily’s back.

She shrieked in pain and fury, thrashing; the three dragons were all entangled now, beating their wings furiously in opposite directions, clawing and slashing. Lily could not spit upwards; they had to somehow get her loose, but Temeraire was much smaller than the Chevalier, and Laurence could see the enormous dragon’s claws sinking deeper into Lily’s flesh, even though her crew were hacking at the iron-hard talons with axes.

‘Get a bomb up here,’ Laurence snapped to Granby; they would have to try and hurl one into the Chevalier’s belly rigging, despite the danger of missing and striking Temeraire or Lily.

Temeraire kept slashing away in a blind passion, his sides belling out for breath; he roared so tremendously that his body vibrated with the force and Laurence’s ears ached. The Chevalier shuddered with pain; somewhere on his other side, Maximus also roared, blocked from Laurence’s sight by the French dragon’s bulk. The attack had its effect: the Chevalier bellowed in his deep hoarse voice, and his claws sprang free.

‘Cut loose,’ Laurence shouted. ‘Temeraire, cut loose; get between him and Lily.’ In answer, Temeraire pulled himself free and dropped. Lily was moaning, streaming blood, and she was losing elevation rapidly. Having driven off the Chevalier was not enough: the other dragons were now as great a danger to her, until she could get back aloft into fighting position. Laurence heard Captain Harcourt calling orders whose words he could not make out; abruptly Lily’s belly-rigging fell away like a great net sinking down through the clouds, and bombs, supplies, baggage, all went tumbling down and vanished into the waters of the Channel below; her ground crew were all tying themselves to the main harness instead.

Thus lightened, Lily shuddered and made a great effort, beating back up into the sky; the wounds were being packed with white bandages, but even at a distance Laurence could see she would need stitching. Maximus had the Chevalier engaged, but the Pêcheur Couronné and the Fleur-de-Nuit were falling into a small wedge formation with the other French middleweight, preparing to take a dash at Lily again. Temeraire maintained position just above Lily and hissed threateningly, his bloody claws flexing; but she was climbing too slowly.

The battle had turned into a wild mêlée; though the other British dragons had now re covered from their initial fright, they were in no sort of order. Harcourt was wholly occupied with Lily’s difficulties, and the last French dragon, a Pêcheur-Rayé, was fighting Messoria far below. Clearly the French had identified Sutton as the commander, and were keeping him out of the way; a strategy Laurence could grimly admire. He had no authority to take command, he was the most junior captain in the party, but something had to be done.

‘Turner,’ he said, catching his signal-ensign’s attention; but before he gave any order, the other British dragons were already wheeling around and in motion.

‘Signal, sir, form up around leader,’ Turner said, pointing.

Laurence looked back and saw Praecursoris swinging into Maximus’s usual place with signal-flags waving: not being limited to the formation’s pace, Choiseul and the big dragon had gone on ahead of them, but his lookouts had evidently caught sight of the battle and he had now returned. Laurence tapped Temeraire’s shoulder to draw his attention to the signal. ‘I see it,’ Temeraire called back, and at once back-winged and settled into his proper position.

Another signal flashed out, and Laurence brought Temeraire up and in closer; Nitidus also pulled in more tightly, and together they closed the gap in the formation where Messoria would normally have been. Formation rise together, the next signal came, and with the other dragons around her, Lily took heart and was able to beat up more strongly: the bleeding had stopped at last. The trio of French dragons had separated; they could no longer hope to succeed with a collective charge, not straight into Lily’s jaws, and the formation would be up to the level of the Chevalier in a moment.

Maximus break away, the signal flashed: Maximus was still engaged in close quarters with the Chevalier, and rifles were cracking away on both sides. The great Regal Copper gave a final slash of his claws and pushed away: just a fraction too soon, for the formation was not yet high enough, and another few moments were necessary before Lily would be able to strike.

The Chevalier’s crew now saw his fresh danger and sent the big dragon back aloft, a great deal of shouting going on aboard in French. Though he was bleeding from many wounds, the Chevalier was so large that these did not hamper him severely, and he was still able to climb quicker than the injured Lily. After a moment, Choiseul signalled, Formation hold elevation, and they gave up the pursuit.

The French dragons came together at a distance into a loose cluster, wheeling around as they considered their next attack. But then they all turned as one and fled rapidly northeast, the Pêcheur-Rayé disengaging from Messoria also. Temeraire’s lookouts were all calling out and pointing to the south, and when Laurence looked over his shoulder he saw ten dragons flying towards them at great speed, British signals flashing out from the Longwing in the lead.

The Longwing was indeed Excidium; he and his formation accompanied them along the rest of the journey to the Dover covert, the two heavy-weight Chequered Nettles among them taking it in turn to support Lily on the way. She was making reasonable progress, but her head was drooping, and she made a very heavy landing, her legs trembling so that the crew only barely managed to scramble off before she crumpled to the ground. Captain Harcourt’s face was streaked with unashamed tears, and she ran to Lily’s head and stood there caressing her and murmuring loving encouragement while the surgeons began their work.

Laurence directed Temeraire to land on the very edge of the covert’s landing ground, so the injured dragons might have more room. Maximus, Immortalis, and Messoria had all taken painful if not dangerous wounds in the battle, though nothing like what Lily had suffered, and their low cries of pain were very difficult to hear. Laurence repressed a shudder and stroked Temeraire’s sleek neck; he was deeply grateful for Temeraire’s quickness and grace, which had preserved him from their fate. ‘Mr. Granby, let us unload at once, and then if you please, let us see what we can spare for the comfort of Lily’s crew; they have no baggage left, it looks to me.’

‘Very good, sir,’ Granby said, turning to give the orders at once.