By the end of this speech, more than one of the other dragons sleeping inside the pavilion or around the fringes of the clearing had lifted their heads to listen. The Scottish feral—his name was Ricarlee—was informed well enough to sketch out Napoleon’s map in the dirt for them all to examine, and Temeraire was sorry to see the interest it produced, particularly among the feral beasts. The Yellow Reapers crowded round the side of northern England which had been allotted to them and murmured thoughtfully in a way that made Temeraire uneasy, and not only the unharnessed ones, either.

“Outrageous,” Perscitia said loudly, and, “Mercenary,” and “A return to the Dark Ages, even if it worked, which it shan’t,” but she was the only one to raise a protest.

Even little Minnow, who had stopped by the covert to say hello to Temeraire, only gave a shrug, even though she had done rather well for herself since the invasion. She and Moncey, and the rest of the Winchesters from their old company, had established a private courier-route. They carried packages and urgent messages and the occasional passenger, for anyone who could afford their rates, and the leather satchel which she wore over her neck and forelegs was beautifully trimmed in gold and pearls.

“You can’t blame anyone, can you?” she said, nevertheless. “It is our territory, too, or else why did we all fight, in the invasion? Why oughtn’t we have the right to take a sheep or cow—along sensible lines, that don’t spoil the herds, or anything else stupid.”

“But the sheep and the cows are not simply there, by accident,” Temeraire said, glad to have worked through this very subject with Laurence on several occasions; he had found it quite baffling, himself. “The humans have arranged their being there, by raising them and looking after them, and growing grain to feed them. Naturally they are angry if a dragon swoops down and snatches one, without making any return for all their trouble.”

“Ah! Easy enough to say, it is all their work!” Ricarlee said. “And if those herds weren’t there, and those great fields of grass the humans like to plant? Why, then there would be some wild goats or pigs, or a tasty venison, free for the taking. I have seen it myself a dozen times in the North: here comes a farmer, cutting down the trees and plowing under the earth, and soon enough the game have all gone away and there is nothing to eat but the sheep. Just because a man is small don’t mean a hundred of ’em can’t steal our territory if they work at it together, and I don’t see why we ought to put up with it.”

And Temeraire was sorry to see the dragons all around the clearing nodding enthusiastic agreement.

—

“Laurence,” Temeraire said reluctantly, when Laurence returned to the covert in the morning, “I think, I am afraid, we may be going to have some small difficulty—some awkwardness—”

“Certainly we shall,” Laurence said. “Have you heard already, then? I was coming to tell you, but I cannot be surprised that the couriers have passed you the word. I am glad you recognize the magnitude of the challenge before us. The Admiralty have already named me a dozen of our captains, and half of them the most hidebound formation-flyers of the service; how we shall use them without Napoleon bowling us over as thoroughly as he did the Prussians in the year six, I have very little notion at present.”

“Our captains?” Temeraire said, puzzled, wondering what on earth this had to do with the ferals of Britain threatening to go over to Napoleon en masse.

“De jure, at least,” Laurence said. “But judging by their choices, the Admiralty mean to assign those men they think more likely to disobey me than otherwise.”

Temeraire hesitated, still at sea, and then Granby came into the clearing with his hat, beaming, and said, “Well, Admiral Laurence, may I congratulate you?” and shook Laurence’s hand.

In half-appalled wonder Temeraire said, “Laurence, they have never made you admiral? Not that there is anyone better deserving the rank—!” he added hastily, only that the Admiralty should have done it was almost incredible. And yet it seemed they had—a very meager, very late sort of apology after all their misdeeds and unjust punishments, and nevertheless astonishing they should have made it at all.

“It has been done very unwilling,” Laurence said. “Likely at the Tsar’s behest, and in hopes of more aid coming from China. But yes, it has been done, and I have my orders. We leave England in a week. John, I have a favor to solicit: I must give a dinner for the captains, and I hope you will ask Iskierka to permit me to make use of her pavilion for the occasion.”

“A dinner?” Granby said dubiously. “Laurence, have you heard who they have—I won’t say saddled you with, but I do say it; I don’t know what they can be thinking.”

“They are thinking to have men at my back who will counter my heretical spirits, and who will not hesitate to disobey my orders if they suppose me to be doing anything contrary to Britain’s interests,” Laurence said. “They have chosen as well as they could, for that purpose. But I have no choice; I must take them, for all that. So we must begin with the fiction of ordinary relations, and hope to make it truth in time.

“But, Temeraire, I fear I must ask you to find some excuse to exert yourself, on the occasion, and if possible give their beasts cause to respect your abilities. I am sorry to make the request: offensive to those who must witness it, as implying they require any such display to maintain discipline, and painful to you to make, as implying the respect which ought to be due you cannot be taken for granted. But I think the urgency of the situation demands it.”

“Oh, I do not mind that at all,” Temeraire said, “but Laurence,” and he opened his mouth to explain that there was an entirely different source of difficulty and trouble—to tell Laurence that Napoleon’s Concord had somehow reached Britain, and the ferals thought much of it, and several of them were even trying to forward the arrangement.

But Laurence looked up at him, and Temeraire halted. There was color in Laurence’s face, and though he had spoken so seriously, he was despite that smiling a little, as though some inward happiness buoyed him against all the difficulties of his new position. Laurence had said before that he did not grieve the loss of rank and fortune, of his reputation. But of course, he had been trying to save Temeraire’s feelings. Temeraire could not bear to spoil this moment of vindication and triumph. And if he spoke, Laurence would at once report to the Admiralty, of course, as he would say was his duty; and undoubtedly they would find some way to blame him for it, and perhaps even take back the command, after all.