Chapter Text
Laurence had heard rumors of it, of course, whisperings, but he had dismissed it all as merely that. But then he saw the change in the flesh himself.
It came two weeks after the dragonet's hatching, and the beast had continued to grow as steadily as it ate through The Reliant's stores. After Temeraire had put on nearly another foot in the night, Laurence had decided it was time to make permanent lodging on the ship's deck before it was too late.
Before he called any of the crew to assist with the procedure, at loath to put them so close to the dragon's teeth and claws that they so feared, Laurence strained to push the dragonet through himself. He behind, pushing, Riley and Dr. Pollitt at the front, pulling. Temeraire, too, of course, was straining his haunches and scratching at the wooden floor for purchase, his wings pressed as close to his body as he could, but it was doing little good. It was a simple matter of geometry and physics. Laurence worried they might need to get the crew to fetch a saw.
After twenty minutes or so of such heaving, all Laurence managed to cut himself on an exposed splinter in the now much-abused door frame. It was a minor wound, though it produced a prodigious amount of blood, as such shallow wounds often did. Temeraire immediately whined in distress and came to examine him, so there would be no moving until he had been reassured. Dr. Pollitt took it as an opportunity to fetch some lard from the kitchens to lubricate the beast's sides.
"I am quite well, my dear," Laurence reassured the worried dragon. "See? We shall clean it and bandage it and all shall be well."
"If you are quite sure," Temeraire said. "And I suppose this is a rather fine solution anyway."
And before Laurence could ask what precisely the dragon meant by that, his jaw snapped forward and gulped down the bandage Laurence had been using in a single bite.
Laurence gaped.
Riley gaped too, and then stepped into motion, trying to wrench his once-captain away from the maw as the dragon came snuffling forward at Laurence’s hand again. Laurence resisted and stayed his ground. It was quite terrifying, or it should have been. And yet Laurence found himself oddly calm and placid as Temeraire lapped at his wound with a massive, raspy tongue.
"Ohhh. That was quite nice," the dragon said with a sigh, and then he changed .
It was hard to see exactly how it happened. It was something like the creature turned as insubstantial as smoke, and when it reformed, it was not in the form of a dragon at all, but a person. A Chinaman, though only a child, one Laurence would have guessed at eight or ten in age if he had not known better. "Oh!" the child exclaimed, and the voice was recognizably Temeraire's. He swayed unsteadily back and forward with the waves. "It is quite hard to stand on only two legs, isn't it? Pray tell, how do you all manage it?"
It was at tea with Sir Edward Howe where Laurence tentatively put forward the inquiry which in his mind had simply become the other question , which he had so hesitated to ask on the beach, where anyone might hear. “I wonder if you would indulge me so far as to explain an incident from our voyage here.”
Sir Edward looked up from the sketch he had been hurriedly setting down while the details of Temeraire’s wings were still fresh in his mind and said, “Of course, if I may.”
Even with permission to speak of it, the words failed Laurence for a moment; it had taken on a strange dreamlike quality in his memory, and it seemed so impossible that it had happened at all. Nevertheless he could not miss the opportunity for answers. “When he had grown too large to remain belowdecks—“ he stopped, flustered, and made another attempt. “I had—injured myself—a minor cut, but bleeding a great deal, and he—“
Sir Edward leaned suddenly forward in intense interest. “Really? Oh you must tell me what his human shape looked like, Captain. I had hardly dared to hope you might already have seen it.”
So it had not been a shared hallucination. “It is…common, then?”
“So far as I know, all dragons can make the transformation with human blood as the catalyst. Though I have gathered it is not the done thing for European breeds.”
Laurence could scarcely make a reply to that. His mind was caught in a riptide, carried away from certain shores. “A boy of perhaps ten years, and—Chinese.” The news that Temeraire was a Chinese Imperial must explain that much.
“He did not look like you?” Sir Edward asked. “They often resemble their captains.”
Laurence thought of the boy’s gaze and said, “Perhaps…the eyes.” Realizing it was true even as he said it, he repeated, “He had my eyes.”
“They have some form of control over which traits they imitate, as I understand it, and often end with combinations uncommon in real humans,” Sir Edward said thoughtfully. “I think it was a Jacob Emerson who wrote on the phenomenon for the Society. Unable to publish, unfortunately, but I could apply to him on your behalf.”
“I would be much obliged to you, if you did.” Laurence said sincerely.
Temeraire had been quite content lounging in his field when Laurence had left this morning, belly filled with the rich warmth of a freshly eaten pig. But the hours had worn on, he was growing hungry again, and there was no sign of Laurence.
It only became cooler as the sun set. He rolled slightly, trying to find a more comfortable spot. Mud squelched underneath. Grass was quite comfortable compared to the wooden deck of a ship, or so he had thought at first, but rain quite changed the equation via the addition of mud. He tried in vain to clean himself off.
This quite occupied his attention, so that he did not hear anyone approach until they were very near. “Hello there!” called a pair dressed in quite fine green coats, and Temeraire perked up, as they were clearly addressing him.
“Hello!” he greeted in return, bracing himself on the fence to look at them better. “Are you aviators?”
“Why yes, we are.” This was the elder man, one with a scraggly beard of grey and white, and impressively large hands, for a human.
“I thought so,” Temeraire said. The coats matched the one Captain James had worn. Although these were a little cleaner, he thought, looking them up and down. The deep green would suit his captain well, he thought, even if it did not match Laurence’s eyes as well as the blue naval uniform.
“I am Captain Portland, and this here is—”
“My name is Dayes!” the younger man said. “And it’s an utter pleasure to meet you!”
“Oh, well!” Temeraire’s chest swelled. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”
Dayes stuck out his hand to Temeraire. Temeraire blinked at it for a moment, quite surprised— he had noticed that most men he met seemed somewhat leery of touching him. It was nice to meet other aviators who were not so shy, and so Temeraire reached out to gently butt at the outstretched palm with his head. The man smiled in response.
Temeraire said, “I do not mind to be rude, but pray, may I inquire as to the reason for your call?”
The men exchanged glances. Then Dayes slapped his thighs and announced, “I’m here to bring you your supper!”
Well, that suited Temeraire very well, as he had grown quite hungry. His anticipation for the meal only grew as he was led out of the pasture towards the stable behind the cottage where Laurence had been sleeping. There was a loud braying noise, the source being a horse, laying on the ground and kicking frantically.
“A horse!” Temeraire exclaimed, his tongue flicking out. He hesitated. “I thought I was not supposed to eat horses, for they are property.”
Captain Portland laughed. “Oh, I can tell you’re a well-behaved sort.”
“Normally you cannot,” Dayes said. “But this one has injured its leg, and will not be able to live for long. So I thought it would make for quite a magnificent treat.”
“Oh, yes, it will, thank you,” Temeraire said. The horse was a much more elegant creature than a cow or a pig, with its long mane and shining black fur, so that it almost seemed a shame to eat it. But that beauty also made it all the more captivating, and the smell of the horse’s sweat made Temeraire’s mouth water.
The poor thing seemed quite panicked, and there was no sense in drawing this out. Dayes obligingly opened the stable bay door, and Temeraire leapt at the horse, cutting its throat in a single clean bite.
The hot heady horse blood was almost irresistible. Yet Temeraire found himself hesitating before he began to properly eat in earnest.
Laurence was not here.
Not that Laurence needed to be here for Temeraire to eat, of course. Their schedules did not always align. It was not even that Temeraire had not accepted meals from other men. Tom Riley had once served him a very fine tunny when they had been aboard The Reliant as Laurence had slept, and that fish had been quite delicious indeed.
And yet…
And yet.
Temeraire could not quite articulate it, but something of this whole scenario seemed quite strange. Sneaking, somehow. He asked, “Where is Laurence?”
“Ah, well…” Dayes trailed off without answering.
Portland said, “He’s not coming, so best eat up!”
Temeraire’s claw clenched reflexively, digging into the shoulder of the horse’s body. “Well, I do not mind if he is late; I can wait.” Since it would be shame to let the body grow cold, Temeraire thought this was quite gracious of him.
Dayes shook his head slowly. “No. I mean, he is not coming. Not at all, not ever again.”
It was as though Temeraire had been struck.
All the air went out of him in a rush. He keened. “What do you mean?!”
Dayes had flinched, but had not backed away. His voice was pitying. “William Laurence is not an aviator, you see,” Dayes said. “He is a naval captain. His first and only love is for the sea.”
“ What do you mean? ” Temeraire repeated.
“He wants his ship, not a dragon. But never fear, dear one. I will be your captain instead.”
Temeraire roared.
The sound was explosive, and shuddered the very walls of the stable.
Dayes had backed away, at that. Now he stepped back, but Temeraire noticed his face was very pale. “Now,” he said. “That’s— That’s quite unnecessary. You wouldn’t even want him anyway. He hasn’t the first idea about flying. Don’t you want a proper, trained aviator for a captain?”
“I WANT LAURENCE!”
“But he does not want you.”
No. No no no no no .
“It’s going to be alright,” Dayes said. He was right next to Temeraire— when had he gotten so close? He trailed a gentle hand down Temeraire’s back. “He shall go together to Loch Laggan, and we’ll get you a proper harness, and we’ll teach you to fly, and it shall all be very grand.” It did not sound grand, not in the least. “I’ll even get you a fine necklace lined with jewels to replace this plain thing.” And Dayes unclasped the gold chain, which fell to the ground in a coil.
Temeraire snapped his jaws.
He should not have snapped. That was very bad, one should not do that to men, at least men who were not enemies, and Temeraire was quite sure that Laurence would not have approved, but Laurence was not here . “That is mine!” he screeched. “It’s mine, Laurence gave it to me!”
“He has asked for it back. He never meant it as a gift,” Dayes said.
“No! You’re lying!” Temeraire was sure. He was sure.
But both men were also sure. Absolutely certain, in fact.
They said that Laurence’s family would not think being an aviator was a proper job. That he was too scared to fly. That he thought dragons were foul beasts. That all those nice things Laurence said before— the way he had read those books, the way he had pet Temeraire’s snout— had merely been to keep him calm until they arrived at shore, and Temeraire could be handed off. “He was always hoping to give you up.” And when Temeraire thought back on all those low, muttered conversations Laurence had had with Captain Riley, back on the Reliant, oh, he almost believed.
But then Dayes said, “Laurence would never be a proper captain.” And then he took a knife from his belt, and drew the blade across the back of his hand. Fresh blood welled up, the scent metallic and salty. “He would never be willing to share this with you.”
And that was when Temeraire knew they were truly liars .
When Laurence found his rather dismal supper interrupted by a runner, bearing a note which urged him to return to the cottage post-haste, he was quite concerned for Temeraire’s health. But he had not been fetched due to any physical ailments, but rather, an emotional one. Temeraire had quite firmly rejected the offer of a replacement captain, and the rejection had clearly stirred up intense emotions all around, including in Laurence himself. He had found himself nearly drawing a blade on the young Mr. Dayes for his disrespectful insult to Laurence’s character. But for all of that quarreling, it became swiftly evident that none had been so hurt by all that had transpired that evening as Temeraire himself.
Laurence found him in the field behind the house, curled up on himself, quite the picture of misery. He clutched at his gold chain anxiously, and there was such a trembling note of uncertainty when he spoke Laurence’s name that he almost could not bear it.
“He said you did not like dragons, and that you wanted to be back on your ship,” Temeraire said, very low, muzzle pressed into Laurence’s side. “He said you only flew with me out of duty.”
Laurence went breathless with rage; if Dayes had been in front of him he would have flown at the man bare-handed and beaten him. “He was lying, Temeraire,” he said with difficulty; he was half-choked by fury.
“Yes; I thought he was,” Temeraire said. But for all he said it, it was clear the entire incident had left him quite rattled, and substantial doubt yet remained.
He required a great many reassurances, which Laurence gave. “I would rather have you than any ship in the navy.”
And indeed, that seemed to set Temeraire’s heart at ease, enough that once Laurence had seen off the aviators at the cottage, the pair of them could settle down to read. They curled up against one of the cottage’s walls, a lantern hanging from above, and Laurence read from Principia Mathematica , which he was beginning to know very well.
The dragon’s great blue eyes were blinking slowly, heavy lidded, and Laurence thought he would soon drift off to sleep. But he murmured, “Laurence?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Would you—” He paused, then carried on, “Would you give me some blood?”
Laurence’s hand froze half-way through turning a page. “Blood? Are you hungry?” It was late, but he was sure he could still fetch some livestock.
Temeraire shook his head a little. “No, no not hungry, I meant—” He sighed. “Never mind, it is quite foolish.”
“You meant my blood,” Laurence said, understanding dawning.
“Yes. Only—that’s something Dayes said, that you would never offer it, and he knew he was lying, and I told him so—but after, as I thought of it, I realised you had cut yourself quite by accident and I had not asked you for permission to drink at all, and perhaps you would not want me to—”
“Hush.” Laurence set down the book and pressed his palm over Temeraire’s snout.
He hesitated only a moment as he stood. It was one thing, surely, to allow the dragon to take his blood when it was an incidental injury, or when it served some practical purpose. But to deliberately pierce his own flesh and give it, only to suit a beast’s fancy—surely it was not something any proper Christian would condone.
But Temeraire was shaken, and rightly so. Dayes had made so many lies besmirching Laurence’s honor; surely he would not allow him to have been true on this count?
Laurence drew his knife and made a cut on his left forearm, which he offered out.
The blood gleamed ruby-bright in the lamp-light. After a moment's consideration, Temeraire leaned forward, and licked it gently away.
Again that peculiar calmness stole over Laurence. It seemed that had not been a simple consequence of surprise, after all. And this time, without the shock of the transformation to dispel it, it lingered. Yet whatever supernatural effect on the senses it offered, it could not be wholly responsible for the comfort that wrapped around Laurence as he drifted off to sleep, Temeraire’s human-head pillowed in his lap.
They flew at last into Loch Laggan in the middle of the day, and Laurence was taken on tour with all haste, so it was not surprising that he was preoccupied with the new surroundings (and the unfortunate enmity of Lieutenant Granby) for several hours. It was only when he was lying abed, going over the layout of the building in his mind to fix the directions in his memory, that he realized what had been absent; so far as he could tell, not a single person he had seen inside was a dragon wearing human guise.
He allowed that it may well be difficult to tell, but as he thought of the faces introduced to him throughout the day the conclusion seemed ever more sound. Servants, officers in uniform, ground-crew… he had seen no one who did not have a human role, and in the officers’ quarters there was no evidence of accommodations for the dragons or personal possessions of the same. While clothing might be kept with the dragons’ gear or in the captains’ possession, surely if the transformations were performed regularly, there would be some sign. Even Celeritas, unharnessed and in command, had no visible presence within the walls. It seemed Sir Edward was correct in his assessment that it was not commonly done, with European breeds.
It was of course only to be expected—no-one could wish to regularly bloodlet for no medical purpose, and the act still seemed to him un-Christian in some obscure way. Yet knowledge of its absence in the covert was somehow disquieting. If nothing else, it was another way in which Temeraire was different in taste and circumstance from his fellows here. Laurence could not help but anticipate some difficulty; what if Temeraire should ask again, when it should be seen and looked upon with disapproval?
The cut Laurence had made on his arm that night on Madeira was quite healed and so, he presumed, the injury of Dayes’s lie. He had avoided speaking of it ever since, and to his relief Temeraire had been satisfied with the reassurance and not broached the subject himself. The only preparatory action Laurence had taken was collecting some of his childhood clothing from his family home; much of what remained there was in at least satisfactory condition for its age, as most of it had been worn only on the few, brief visits of his midshipman days. It was an easy enough reflex to indulge without even mentioning, but Laurence now thought that it had been a mistake not to warn Temeraire that they must learn what was appropriate and tailor their behavior accordingly. He resolved that at the very next chance he would speak, before anything so distressing as the earlier misunderstanding should transpire.
“Well of course, I understand.” Temeraire said. Laurence had come up on his back as they flew to Celeritas’s courtyard and spoken very quickly about not seeing any dragons turned human within the covert. “And I see why it would be strange if I were always doing it when the others are not.” Though that was not quite true. He should not like to stop bathing, just because the other dragons didn’t care for it. He would not like to give up the other shape either, but it would be different to be so small, if no-one else was, like being sometimes a different weight-class and not, as Laurence called him, a first-rate dragon.
“I do not mean to say that—that it is never —”
Laurence did not continue, but Temeraire understood quite well. “I shall watch for when the others think it appropriate.” It was a clever notion, he thought. The transformation must be done some time. Dayes had been a very wretched liar, but he had offered his blood as if it was expected of captains.
“Thank you, my dear,” Laurence replied, and they landed before Celeritas.
Lessons did come, in time.
The pair’s training at Loch Laggan was composed of an intense regime of both physical and mental lessons. For the first, Laurence was run through climbing routines, forced to harness himself while blind-folded, taught how to aim while stood upon a dragon’s back mid-flight. Temeraire, of course, was led through near endless flight drills, both alone and in formation.
For the other half, they were instructed in specific aviator signals, both via flags and by fire. While Laurence already had some dim understanding of the various breeds, both he and Temeraire now memorized lists of their defining characteristics and attacks. A whole new kind of supply calculation was taught, as Laurence discovered just how much meat was required to feed beasts of various sizes in all manner of conditions—an amount so staggering it made the rations of men seem paltry and insignificant.
In all of their lessons, the blood transformation merited no more than a passing note. It could be done, a retired captain explained, but its uses were limited and niche. It could allow large dragons to be transported with greater speed or stealth than they may normally be capable, although this had limited utility on battlefields, for of course one would still need a way to carry their crew to the front. Dragons ate less when transformed, but their hunger would need to be sated when back in their proper shape. While dragons could not read actual language, of course, in human-shape they could be shown maps which would assist their navigation and understanding of the battle-field.
All in all, the captain finished, the most useful aspect of the transformation was the light painkilling effect it induced in the blood-letter. “Not as effective as opium, or even hard liquor,” she explained, “but useful in a pinch.”
And, it was impressed upon him, just like the unfortunate reality of women aviators, the existence of the transformation was to be kept strictly secret to those outside the Corps.
Despite the limited practical use, Laurence began to see that the transformation was done, occasionally, for the sake of the beasts’ enrichment. When officers went into town for errands, it was not unusual for the dragons to join them in human form. While not officially sanctioned, it was understood that if the dragons behaved themselves and the officers were discreet, leadership would look the other way.
(After even more careful observation, Laurence also noticed that the female captains tended to have their dragons accompany them in this manner more often than the male captains. When Laurence began to think upon why this pattern might be so, a couple obvious conclusions dawned, and he resolved not to consider the matter any further.)
On his first trip to Edinburgh, Laurence would have been happy to have Temeraire accompany him in such a manner, if, foremost, Temeraire were not otherwise occupied with his harness fitting, and secondly, Laurence did not intend to use the trip to purchase his dragon a fine breastplate as a gift. As such, Laurence made his goodbye to Temeraire, and took flight aboard the courier dragon Levitas in the company of his captain, Rankin.
Laurence took the assistance with mixed emotions. He had not realized, when he had accepted Rankin’s help, that he was the captain of the beast which was so ignored and ill-treated. But there had been no graceful way to decline once accepted, and so Laurence was left with the paltry relief that travel by dragon-back made conversation nearly impossible.
“Thank you,” Laurence thanked Levitas, when they had landed. The dragon had flown well and swift.
“You are quite welcome,” Rankin answered, on the dragon’s behalf.
He did not offer any blood to Levitas, who was left, quite alone, in a field just outside the town.
Laurence hemmed and hawed on how to broach the subject as they walked. It seemed quite rude to suggest any poor behavior on the part of the officer who had done him such a favour in carrying him here. But in the end, practicality won out; Laurence needed things set out before him, plain and clear.
Rankin scoffed. “I see why you’ve gotten the idea of it,” he said. “Indeed I do. It’s become the popular thing, in the last twenty years, although I assure you it never would have stood in my father’s time.”
“I see,” Laurence said, stiff and uncertain. “Is there any… harm in it?”
“Harm? I suppose not . Nothing so dramatic.” Rankin shrugged. “It would do no harm to dress a hunting hound in a ball gown, but I hardly see how it would help . It is a waste of time, and a needless distraction besides.”
Lily splashed up out of the water and shook the worst of it off her wings. “Oh, how refreshing that is.” She eyed one of the cadets coming toward her with a towel and then swung her head down close to Harcourt. “Catherine, might I have a little blood? I think I would like to be wrapped up, instead of merely rubbed down. It looks quite comfortable.”
“Oh, of course,” Harcourt replied. “Just a moment.”
“Laurence, why have you stopped?” Temeraire asked. Laurence had gone still, towel bunched up in his hands, watching Harcourt fetch a fleam of three blades from her baggage. Temeraire twisted his head around to see why, and then followed Laurence’s gaze to where Harcourt was making a very small, careful incision in her arm, and then holding it out for Lily.
“Oh,” Temeraire said, hushed, or at least as hushed as a dragon grown past fifteen tons could ever hope to be. “Oh, Laurence, if they are doing it, might we—”
“Yes,” he said absently, patting Temeraire’s scales beneath him. “Pray, help me down.”
Once his feet were on the ground Laurence had an odd moment of uncertainty, of the type he thought were left behind in his midshipman days: the fear not only of making an error, but of looking foolish in front of someone more experienced in some simple task. He had his knife in his hand, and was staring at his own arm as if baffled to discover it attached to himself. He hadn’t the slightest idea where or how deep to cut, the image of Harcourt’s practiced motion a moment before having entirely fled his mind.
“Oh, haven't you got a fleam yet?” he heard her say, and he was able to look up at her coming over. She was pressing a bit of bandage to her arm and frowning at the knife in his hand. Behind her, Lily was already wrapped in the towel which, having been sized to dry off a dragon, covered her more than the heaviest of winter garments might have. From what little Laurence could see of her face and hair, she might’ve been Harcourt’s sister if one went by resemblance alone.
“Knives do fine in a pinch,” Harcourt continued. “But for this—here.” She held out the fleam, now opened to another of the three blades.
With her standing so close he could see easily where she had made the cut, and he exchanged the knife for the fleam gratefully, making the incision with—he hoped—not too much hesitation.
Temeraire’s head came down the moment the blood began to well up and there was again that slow moment of odd calm as the dragon’s tongue rasped over his skin, though this time he noticed the numbness not just around the incision but in the lingering absence of the the half-dozen other minor pains left by a day of hard training. He wondered that he had not noticed it before, but perhaps he had simply not had other pains to attend to the previous times.
Temeraire hummed happily and shimmered, insubstantial, before returning to solidity a great deal smaller, if still dripping wet.
“May I have that towel? I think Lily has the right idea of it.”
Laurence fumbled a moment, trying to pass him the towel and return Harcourt’s fleam at the same time, before sorting himself.
Harcourt had brought an extra square of bandage over, so Laurence had something to press to the cut while Temeraire delightedly tangled himself in the towel. He was older in appearance than he had been previously, perhaps reaching fourteen or fifteen years, and Laurence was glad the towel had been immediately at hand—he hadn’t considered fetching clothing, first.
Berkley had shouted something to Maximus which Laurence missed, but the response of “No, I don’t care for being so small today,” was audible echoing across the water, even as the Regal Copper continued to splash himself clean.
And so it was a much compacted party which returned from the lake half an hour later, with everyone latched onto Maximus’s harness, though Temeraire had complained mightily that he certainly wasn’t going to lose his balance. He only ceased when Roland began loudly telling the other cadets a grisly story involving an injured heavyweight, transformed for transportation, falling to his death from a courier’s back over the channel. Privately, Laurence thought the tale suspiciously spare of identifying details, but he had nothing to say against its effect.
Without the complaint to occupy him, Temeraire had instead latched onto Laurence’s arm, fretting over the incision until his attention was diverted by the harness mechanism. He needn’t have worried in any case—Harcourt’s borrowed fleam had been very small and sharp, and the cut had ceased bleeding after only a moment of pressure. It was nothing like the sturdier instruments Laurence had seen surgeons use in the navy.
Normally Laurence might have laid a hand on Temeraire’s face, or leaned into his side to reassure him all was well, but he hesitated to do so now. What was only natural with a dragon could hardly feel appropriate, with a man, even one who still appeared to only just be leaving childhood.
Harcourt clearly felt none of the same inhibitions; Lily was curled up into her side, plainly enjoying Harcourt’s fingers in her short hair. She looked up and caught Laurence watching, and it was with real effort that he forced himself not to look away as if guilty. There was something of a longwing’s baleful yellow stare still in Lily’s eyes.
Being human-shaped was quite peculiar. Peculiar, but pleasant, if one did not mind being so dreadfully small.
Temeraire had not had much opportunity to really experience it. The first time had been a rather hushed affair—for some reason Laurence and Captain Riley had insisted on ushering him to the front of the ship and behind a tarp very quickly, and he had not been allowed to explore much before he had changed back. The second time Temeraire could have set to exploring, but he had been ever so tired, and fallen asleep tucked against Laurence’s side.
When he had awoken, he had been properly dragon-shaped again, and poor Laurence had been practically pinned beneath his head. Temeraire had only continued to grow since then, and so he resolved to be much more mindful of his transformation moving forward.
Even though it had not been so long since Temeraire himself had been this size, already he found the return to it to be quite odd indeed. On one hand, one could see so much less—could not simply crane one’s neck above walls, or leap up into the air for greater distance still. On the other hand, there was such detail .
Temeraire dug his hands into the sand and held a palm of it up to his eyes for close inspection. Sand, before, had merely been a somewhat annoying gritty texture, but now he found them to be exquisitely tiny rocks, so tiny even his human eyes could not quite make them out. Some were beautiful indeed, transparent, and caught the light of the sun like tiny jewels!
And the threads of the cloth of the towels! He could feel every individual thread, inspect them between deft fingers. And it was ever so soft too. The towel had been soft before, of course, but the tender human skin merely amplified the sensation.
Even the most mundane of objects could become quite fascinating. Temeraire occupied himself on the trip back to the covert inspecting the mechanism of the harness quite closely, appreciating the grey gleam of the iron.
That flight back was interesting. It was not nearly as easy as Temeraire had supposed, to cling to a dragon’s back while one was flying.
He remarked as much to Maximus as he disembarked, and immediately regretted it. The regal copper left out a big snort of laughter. “I shall believe it when I try it.”
“Well, you should, ” said Temeraire. “While I prefer flying myself, the rest is very interesting, and I would be quite happy to return the favour.”
But Maximus simply shook his head, amused. “What for? It all seems like a lot of hullabaloo about nothing to me.”
It was enough to make Temeraire feel quite unpleasant, like when he was last to eat his fill at meal times. For a moment he wishes to return to his normal shape and size, if only to reassure himself that he could. But his body would not—could not—budge. It felt solidly human, so solid that Temeraire felt a bone-deep certainty that he would remain this shape for at least a couple hours more.
“Would you… like a tour of the grounds?” Laurence hazarded, and Temeraire’s mood immediately brightened. Of course he would, and now he saw it would have been a great shame to waste this opportunity.
There were a great many places he wanted to see—the dining halls, the workshops, and the hatcheries, especially. But Laurence insisted they visit his quarters first, and how could Temeraire deny that?
Once there, Temeraire found he recognized quite a few of the pieces around the room, from the writing pens upon the desk to the maps upon the wall, although the room seemed quite bare, so large it was in comparison to the quarters Laurence had kept on board The Reliant.
The large trunk Temeraire recognised too, and came over to peer at curiously as Laurence opened it. “I thought we might give you a change of clothes, first,” he said. Apparently he had taken the liberty of bringing a selection of his own childhood outfits from his family estate on Temeraire’s behalf.
“Why, Laurence!” Temeraire exclaimed, genuinely overcome by the generosity of this act. “You needn’t have!” Indeed, it did seem quite unnecessary, when Temeraire was already dressed in an additional ensign uniform.
But when Laurence laid out garment after garment, even this slight internal protest died away completely. Blues and whites and greys and browns, with shining colorful buttons, outfits that Laurence himself had worn in his youth, now for Temeraire . And just when it seemed that Temeraire could not be any more delighted, he spotted the final garment at the bottom, as brilliant and as beautiful as anyone could wish.
“Ah,” said Laurence. “That one, perhaps, is not quite in fashion these days.”
“Nonsense,” Temeraire immediately dismissed. No jacket as this could ever be anything but the height of fashion, he thought, as he pulled it on.
It was not unusual to encounter people one did not recognise in the coverts—indeed, Granby would go far to say it would be unusual not to. There were always dragons coming and going, sometimes from quite far posts, bringing along with them their crews, not to mention generals and politicians and suppliers and all merchants and all the other kinds of working professionals who were needed to keep military forts functioning.
That said, he was still quite taken aback to find a Chinese lad of some fifteen years or so, within the officers' quarters, quite shamelessly having picked up a globe from a desk, holding it aloft with one hand, and turning it idly with the other.
It was not Granby’s globe—was not anyone’s specifically, as far as he was aware, set there to aid anyone who needed to quickly plot a course. The boy’s grip did not seem firm enough to ensure it would not be dropped, and so Granby stepped in and said, “May I help you?”
The boy looked at him. “Oh! No, but thank you for the offer.”
Granby looked the boy over again. There was no chance of him being a fighting beast’s captain, even a particularly young one promoted beyond his years by a hatchling’s inconvenient choice. He did not have the bearing for it, and more to the point, he didn’t not have the outfit. He was wearing a frankly ridiculous mustard yellow velvet coat and matching hat over pure white rompers, with lace around his neck. Wholly impractical, in other words, except perhaps for maybe a garden party.
No, there was no way the child was in the service. Best guess he was some politician’s bastard child being dragged along, no matter how he got underfoot.
This would need to be handled delicately.
“Perhaps,” he suggested, “the globe is best left on the table?”
“Oh, I suppose,” said the boy. He spun it once more and put it down. “But it is awfully pretty. Pray, do you have any notion if the countries are truly arranged like that, Mr. Granby?”
Granby was so taken aback at hearing his name, that he looked at the boy again, but still felt no recognition.
At least, not for the face. But the voice—well, he had heard the voice before, although the sheer difference in volume and resonance made it almost unrecognizable. “Temeraire?” he exclaimed. “Is that you?”
“Oh yes. I am quite sorry, did you not recognise me?”
Granby did not bother to answer. “How did you get in such a manner?”
“Why, with some blood.” Temeraire tilted his head. “Pray, do you know about the blood transformation? I know some apparently do not.”
“Of course I know about the blood transformation!” As if every student in the corps did not get lectured on the protocols quite endlessly. And anyhow, what he meant was; “Where did you get the blood?” It could be trouble, trouble indeed, if a beast began to seek the stuff out willy-nilly.
Temeraire seemed perplexed by the question. “Why, my captain, of course!”
Granby could not stop his head jerking to look at said captain. At the other side of the room, William Laurence was currently occupied in conversation with some visiting lord or other, back as straight as if someone had shoved a broomstick up his arse, discussing the opera of all things. “ That captain?” he almost said, except that he had been raised around dragons nearly his entire life and had more sense than to insult one’s captain so directly.
“Well,” Granby said instead. “Well,” he repeated, floundering for what to say next, “best not to wander too far away from him, and be mindful not to break anything.”
“Oh most certainly, you need not worry.” The human-shaped dragon frowned, but did not protest, and shortly thereafter returned to his captain’s side to politely listen into the noblemen’s conversation.
Granby shook his head. He wouldn’t have expected it, not from the likes of any captain who thought himself so far above all others. Most barely bothered to give their beasts attention, let alone anything as precious as their own lifeblood.
Then again, perhaps this was merely some other condsension, Granby thought. Just look at Temeraire’s outfit. Apparently Captain Laurence saw it fit to parade his dragon around in the fanciest of fashions, more like a noblewoman’s lap dog rather than the actual fighting beast that he was. Granby turned away quickly to hide any expression of anger that showed on his face, as it always did when he thought of the potent unfairness that a man such as that would stumble into the captainship of such a fine dragon by pure luck and coincidence, when there were so many much more deserving men and women who would never even be afforded the chance.
Levitas had secured for Britain the advance warning they required to survive Bonaparte’s marshaled forces, and in payment, found himself dying in a cold clearing, nearly alone.
Laurence dragged Rankin before him, to make some feeble attempt at showing the dragon even the smallest measure of the respect he was due. For what little Rankin could offer, it still somehow seemed to satisfy, and Levitas was able to give his final sigh before his great lungs stilled.
That night, Laurence tossed and turned. He had seen a great many die in the line of battle, yet he could not quite shake this particular image out of his head. The unfairness of it all.
Why was it that dragons should be able to take away the pain of men, but men could not return the favour?
The invitation to the ball in their honor was known-of by the entire Dover Covert before it had even been officially announced, and the very first thing Temeraire said to Laurence after he learned of it was a request to go. Laurence had not the heart to deny him when it was he who was in truth the hero of the hour. Of course, once Temeraire’s attendance was assured the whole of the formation would not be denied, and so it came to pass that midwingmen’s dress uniforms and evening gowns had to be scrounged up for not only him, but for Lily, Nitidus, Dulcia, Messoria, and Immortalis as well: for all the dragons, in fact, save Maximus, who was too tall and broad to play midwingman, for all that his face still had the appearance of youth. He at least could simply borrow Berkley’s spare coat.
To call their appearance a disaster was needlessly dramatic but only very slightly an exaggeration. The dragons were worse than the aviators at feigning manners, and ran roughshod over near every conversation. For the most part they stayed close to their captains, which would have been a relief except for the case of Dulcia, whose appearance was neither old enough to pretend at being Chenery’s wife (as Messoria did with Sutton) nor young enough to play his daughter. No matter how one viewed them, the only possible conclusion was a scandal.
But Laurence’s wincing at the embarrassment could scarcely outweigh the joy the dragons exhibited at their unorthodox inclusions. He had only to watch the very focused look on Temeraire’s face as he and Lily attempted the steps of the dance to know it would have been wrong—quite wrong—to exclude them.
Granby came up beside Laurence with a spare glass of wine, which Laurence was only too grateful to take. He was grateful also for the Lieutenant’s presence, made absolutely necessary by the attendance of the dragons as supposed junior officers. He was sure Granby would have rather joined the more casual revelries the ground-crews were enjoying.
“It vexed me terribly, you know.” Granby said, as if he were continuing a conversation and not beginning one.
“Beg pardon?” Laurence said, forcing his mind to the present moment.
Granby nodded at Temeraire. “First I thought you’d never give him a drop, if you could help it, and then I saw him in the covert and knew you would, but only to dress him up like some strutting peacock or some such.”
“That coat,” Laurence said, in horror and understanding. “I ought to have left it where I found it.” Which was thoroughly hidden beneath every other article of clothing remaining to him in his family’s house. Temeraire loved the frilly yellow thing unreasonably; there would be no getting him into another until it fell to pieces.
Granby gave a rather undignified snort. “They’re all enamored of the bright stuff. The trick is hiding it away in the first place.”
Where Laurence might have resented such an obviously hinting remark a few short months before, he now was only amused, as was no doubt the point. “I shall keep the advice in mind, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” was the cheerful reply.
Just then, one of the servers came up and quietly passed Laurence a note. He took it with a murmured thanks and then stared at the contents.
“Problem?” Granby asked.
“No, not at all,” Laurence said, waving at Temeraire as subtly as possible. “But Sir Edward Howe is here to see us.”
Of all the men present, Howe was the only one to look at Temeraire and know what he was, though it seemed rather more likely to be an informed guess than some knowledge of a visible sign. In any case, he exclaimed in delight over seeing Temeraire’s human form, and after delivering his explanation of the Celestial breed asked if they would both take dinner with him the following day. Today’s cut on Laurence’s arm itched ever so slightly and his newly-bought fleam was heavy in his pocket, but still he did not even hesitate to agree. It won him smiles from the gentleman and Temeraire in equal measure.
“I have met a great many lovely people tonight,” Temeraire said, not long after Sir Edward departed. “Except for that awful Lord Winsdale, of course. Do you think we might invite some of them to the covert some other time?”
Laurence hardly knew everyone Temeraire had met—they had not always been together—but he could guess at the reactions of those ladies and gentlemen at knowing their new acquaintance was a dragon of some twenty tons, in their very nature to fear. “Perhaps one day,” he said only, not wishing either to lie or to lower Temeraire’s spirits overmuch.
“I am sure we could arrange something,” Temeraire said. “I think it would be very nice to try to fly timed to music, like this dancing, and I am sure it would show to advantage.” In an undertone he added, “Unlike the dancing.”
So he had been aware of the awkwardness of his footwork and displeased with it; Laurence had not been sure. “My dear,” he said in total honesty, “I think you could hardly appear any way but graceful.”
