“But surely I will have better chances to earn additional shares,” she muttered, with a narrow glare at the rolls. Temeraire sighed a little. He understood Laurence’s position that it would scarcely be fair for him to award shares to his own dragon; and as the flag-dragon he was entitled to a handsome five shares of every division as a matter of course, but it was sadly disappointing to see Cavernus and Iskierka and Requiescat reaping the benefits of their labors, while he could not.

However, Temeraire was determined to hold himself above petty competition. He was for his own part not very sorry to leave Obituria, who was also too slow to come. Fidelitas could make sixteen knots, however—respectable, even if not up to his own pace, and Laurence meant to divide them into two companies anyway.

“The ordinary order of flight must be suspended,” Laurence was saying to his captains, and several of the Prussian officers who had dashed over to hear his orders—one of them Ferris, who had been made acting-captain for one of the Prussian middle-weight dragons. Temeraire had meant to object to this in strong terms, until he had met her: she had a wild, hollow-eyed look. Her captain had died, during her long captivity. “I will have vengeance,” she said, low and harsh. “I will, I will,” and Temeraire had not had the heart after all to demand that she give Ferris up.

“Captain Poole, you and Fidelitas will take in charge all our Yellow Reapers, and the Prussian middle-weights, as well as the middle-weight ferals. All those dragons who can sustain a pace of twenty knots will come forward with us. When you arrive, if possible we will resume our formations, with the Prussian middle-weights forming a loose phalanx in the center under the command of Captain Ferris, for the ease of his transmitting British signals to the rest of the force. Captain von Tauben, Captain Wesselton, j’entends que vous parlez bien Français: voilà ce deux ensign-signaleurs qui allons monter avec vous, de relayer les commandes.” He nodded to the two ensigns, who went a little timidly to the Prussian captains he had named.

“Captain Poole, should you come and find that we are already overwhelmed,” Laurence said, “you must consult your judgment. It is of the first importance that the French should not capture the Tsar. Lung Yu Li will report to you, when you arrive, if he should be in danger. Midwingman Roland will go aboard Fidelitas to translate for you.” Temeraire flattened back his ruff; he did not see why Roland should go anywhere, much less to Fidelitas; he had certainly done nothing to deserve her, and after all, Gerry could speak a little Chinese by now, too. But with an effort, he restrained himself; he could not quarrel with Laurence on such an occasion, even if Emily’s expression was perfectly flat, and she certainly did not wish to go. At least, Temeraire comforted himself, she would not ever stay with Fidelitas—she would return as soon as she could.

“Temeraire, if you will be so good, take all the dragons to eat, as much as they can hold,” Laurence said. “Porridge first, and eat your meat on the wing, as much of it as you can carry: anything we leave will only go to feed the French. The Russian greys have leave to eat now as well: they are coming with us.”

“We will go at once,” Temeraire said, and leaping aloft he roared for attention, and then called, “Pray will all the heavy-weights go to your porridge, three to a pit; then middle-weights and light-weights fill in around them, and no jostling if you please: we must all eat together.”

He went down himself, and after a little chivvying to keep everyone in order, he nudged a couple of the Scots out of the way to eat himself. But he had scarcely taken a bite when the Russian greys descended and began a really frenzied attack on the food. He had to interrupt his meal and go and pin several of them down—which made them squall and begin to plead for mercy, as though he were going to hurt them, and it took a small roar before each of them would quiet down enough to listen to him say, “You are welcome to eat, only stop clawing anyone else out of the way, or gobbling so quick that you spill half the porridge out of your mouth onto the ground: there is enough for everyone.”

When he had repeated himself some nine or twelve times, to different dragons—and once to the same dragon, which annoyed him very much; “If I catch you at it again, you will have to sit out until everyone else has eaten,” he told her sternly, the second time—at last the greys calmed down. By then they had all got something into their bellies, and also the rest of the light-weight dragons, especially Ricarlee and his fellows, had taken up the work of prodding them into better behavior using thwacks and nips, as they could not speak to one another. One could not help but feel sorry for the greys, they did look so thin and hungry; and when at last they saw most of the British dragons finishing and going away, with plenty of porridge still left, they did look a little abashed, and began to eat more sedately.

Temeraire heaved a sigh and went back to his own delayed meal. He had time only for a few bites more when Grig landed beside him—having finished eating already, Temeraire noted, disgruntled. “We have been allowed to eat first,” Grig said full of gleeful malice, with a belch entirely disproportionate to his size, “before all of the heavy-weights: you should have seen Vosyem scowl! And that Laurence of yours says we will be fed again tomorrow, too, if we can only keep up with this Fidelitas, and do something on the battlefield: now, which one is Fidelitas, pray?” He asked the question very intently: even he looked rather hungry, although he was his captain’s pet, and usually ate better than most of the greys.

Temeraire had to swallow down a gulp of porridge to answer. “He is that Anglewing, over there. The golden-yellow one.”

“Almost all of you British dragons are yellow,” Grig said, peering over in that direction. “That one?”

“No, that one, the large one with the extra ribs to his wings, and the darker shade,” Temeraire said. Fidelitas was indeed talking to several of their Yellow Reapers, but the shape of the head was distinctly different, in Temeraire’s opinion, and anyway Fidelitas did not have white stripes.

“We will be sure to keep up with him,” Grig said, nodding firmly. “What ought we do on the battlefield?”

Temeraire considered this as he ate, doubtfully: he was well aware the Russians never troubled themselves with trying to train the light-weights, and only bullied them into coming along with the heavy-weights to distract the enemy and get in the way. “Well—if you see any of the French dragons trying to gather for a run at us, you should dash at them and bat them around the heads; or if you see anyone beset by too many of the enemy, you should go and help them. And whenever there is a chance, you should form into a long pack and go flying all around us, and especially in front of the enemy, to keep them from working out just what we are trying to do…”