The world righted itself, and stopped—or did so at least by comparison; Temeraire had slackened to a resting pace. He was falling back, behind the guns, and behind a wall of allied dragons: Fidelitas had taken the risk and come straight through, after all. Calloway clubbed the last boarder across the back of the head with a rifle, knocking the man down, and shouted, “Mr. Ashgrove, pass the word for bandages, and four hands to spare. Sir, you aren’t hurt?”

“No, nothing to signify,” Laurence said, though breath was a struggle; he had taken a blow to the ribs. He managed to haul himself around on his straps. Forthing sagged in his carabiner straps, bleeding and dazed. Fidelitas and Cavernus and Levantia had rounded up the light-weights of their formations and were raking the French, Ricarlee and his fellows making a gleeful rampage among their leavings with the Russian greys interspersed among them. Below, the allied troops were streaming away, bayonets bristling at their backs and cavalry guarding their flanks, guns rolling over the road.

TEMERAIRE WAS CONSCIOUS MOSTLY of weariness, leavened occasionally by the deep ache in his wing-joints, which throbbed unpleasantly whenever he stirred them. The half-healed musket-wounds in his chest made small knots of pain as though someone were steadily pressing a blunted knife, not sharp enough to pierce scales, against the flesh. Beside him, Iskierka, too, ate through her porridge with dull silent effort, her own head hanging. He paused and sighed heavily after a swallow: he had never quite noticed, before, how tiring it was to gnaw away at a large piece of meat in one’s jaws, even if it had been stewed some time.

But he persevered, the food went down little by little, and he gradually became aware of a strangely general silence around the feeding pits. All of them from the first flight were very tired, of course, but no-one from the second flight was speaking, either—none of the usual chatter or squabbling. Even the Russian greys were eating quietly, with many sidelong glances over at Fidelitas, who had a hunched, strange expression as he ate—half-ashamed, and he avoided Temeraire’s look, even though he had done so well during the battle and come to their rescue.

With a sudden sharp anxiety, Temeraire said, “Where is Roland?” No-one answered him. “Challoner!” he called urgently—but she had gone to eat something; Forthing was still with the surgeons—“What has happened to her?” he demanded of Fidelitas directly.

“What?” Fidelitas said, with a startled—a guilty, Temeraire thought—flinching. “I do not know. Who is Roland?”

“She is my officer,” Temeraire said, infuriated by this cavalier response, “who was lent you only for this one engagement—lent.”

He was about to add several remarks about the care he might have expected, in exchange for such a gesture, when Baggy put down his own bowl of porridge—he had been gulping it with no benefit of a spoon—and belched and said, “Here, now, what’s the fuss? Roland is with the admiral.”

“Oh,” Temeraire said. “She is not hurt?”

“No?” Baggy said. “Why would she be?”

“Well, I am very glad to hear it, although someone might have said so, sooner,” Temeraire said, but he was not entirely placated; he still did not know what made Fidelitas look so strange—nor Cavernus, who also wore a stiff, disapproving expression.

Perhaps they were distressed over having retreated. But no-one could truly have complained of the day’s outcome—no-one, at least, who had seen Dresden in flames—the scale of the opposition—the situation which had confronted them; no-one could fail to be impressed. They had escaped, and nearly all the Prussian and Russian soldiers, too, with their guns; or at least half of them. No-one would have called it likely that morning, knowing what they had faced. Of course it was not exactly like a victory—but only look how the Russians had beaten Napoleon last winter, all by running away in a particularly clever manner, and anyway Temeraire called it churlish to be dissatisfied, all things considered.

“Well, well,” Churki said, coming down next to him, with a flurry of her feathers. “So here you are, after all, and here is the army still in one piece! I would not have looked for it this morning,” she added, as though to affirm Temeraire’s own thinking, and with strong approval. “That was some fine soldiering. Would there be anything to spare?” And then she even waited very politely until Temeraire made room for her to join him and eat. He did so with a dignified bow, although it made his wing-joints ache again: he felt it only due her own courtesy, and also the very good sense of her kind remarks; he hoped everyone else should have overheard, and that it might make them cease behaving so wooden.

Churki at least felt no constraint herself. “Naturally when I understood the circumstances, I knew Hammond had to be removed from the city at once,” she said, as she ate: she had been with him in Dresden early that morning when the first desperate scouts had reported the oncoming force. “There were not more than ten other dragons in the whole place, except the couriers: there was no use trying to fight. So I brought him away, along with that young Tsar fellow—I do not think much of those Russians, let me assure you! Not one of them properly looking after their own emperor; and would you believe that he is not married, either? There is something very wrong in the management of men in this part of the world, I must say. I did not feel I owed them any assistance, but Hammond was distressed, so I agreed to take him along and that poor old Marshal as well. He did not sound very well. I told them he had better be wrapped up better, but they would be off, without blankets or hot bricks.” She shook her head censoriously over the whole enterprise.

She had flown further east, to a town named Bautzen which was their destination, and there had waited until Yu Li had reached them with the news of the army’s escape. “Which I did not expect in the least,” she said. “Of course, then Hammond would have nothing but coming back to rejoin you. But if you ask me, he has no business being here, and neither does the Tsar. No-one could call this Emperor Napoleon a sensible man, after that war he ran in Russia, but there is no denying he is worth ten times over any general we have.—And he has fathered four children.”

“Only one,” Temeraire protested, “although Empress Anahuarque means to have another, Laurence says.”

“Four,” Churki said firmly. “He has two more by two other women, in France, and one in Vienna, all of them old enough to walk; I inquired of Hammond on the subject. So the Sapa Inca is already expecting another child?” She emitted a sigh thoroughly laced with envy. “Maila cannot complain of her choices—if only Hammond would find a woman who had proven her fertility half so well as this French Emperor of hers! And that Lithuanian girl means to have a baby for Dyhern, I understand,” she finished, in disgruntled tones.