IT WAS A VERY great relief to let off his last load of men and supply. Temeraire understood the necessity of moving as quickly as Napoleon, of course, and if he had been disposed to doubt it, Perscitia’s calculations showed plainly how quickly the difference of thirty miles a day, even if it seemed only a few hours’ flying, would add up day by day. But it was so very tedious to be going back and forth on these short hopping flights, an hour in the air, then letting men off, then flying directly back to have another load put on. It was impossible to fly quickly or freely with men clinging aboard to the makeshift rigging, and then there was all the unpleasantness of their dirt. His own crew were well able to handle such matters without getting him spattered, even little Roland, and since the passengers were only an hour or two at most aboard at a time, Temeraire felt it was not too much to ask that they show some restraint, even if they were crammed aboard. But some of them simply could not manage it, and if he only dived a little to catch a better air current, or twisted to keep on an updraft, he was sure to be soiled. All very well to say, he had scales; it would take a week of bathing before he felt at all clean again.

But the lake was frozen solid, so for the moment he had to content himself with rolling in the thick snow on one of the neighboring hills, until he was wet and cold all over. The encampment had been going up all day as they delivered men by air, and by now the officers were coming up the hill in irregular clusters to eat in the citadel, leaving their horses stabled away at the foot. Loch Laggan had an ample herd, and all of them having eaten, the unharnessed dragons began to circle down, negotiating with complex aerial maneuvers their respective landing places on the hill, whether within the desirable courtyard or near it, or in the clearings farther out.

“Do you suppose,” Temeraire said to Laurence in an undertone, as he settled himself gladly down onto the deliciously baking-hot stones, “do you suppose that Celeritas will have forgiven me, for lying?” He put his head up over the squirming of dragons: middle-weights trying to fit themselves between and around him and Requiescat and Ballista, and Armatius, who smugly had claimed a place, with the other heavy-weights, thanks to Gentius drowsing yet upon his back. The light-weights and couriers were perched up on the walls and battlements, waiting for the outmatched middle-weights to give up before they began their own squabble over who would have a place.

Majestatis had ignored all the struggle, and taken himself a place just on the other side of the courtyard wall, to the south; Temeraire could hear Perscitia arguing with him indignantly. “You ought to go take a place in the courtyard,” she said.

“I am very comfortable here,” Majestatis returned placidly.

“You would be more comfortable in the courtyard,” Perscitia said, “and you can have a place there if you only make a little push for one: you do not need this one.”

“But I like this one, and I did not have to push to have it,” he said. “The ground is warm.”

She gave a sulky hiss. “I dare say you do not even know why.”

“The hot water for the baths runs under this part of the hillside, too,” Majestatis said.

There was a brief silence. “Yes,” Perscitia said, “it must, because this is the lower side of the slope, and it must drain away somewhere, but how did you know that?”

“There is steam coming out of that crack in the ground there.”

“Oh,” she muttered.

“I am going to sleep now,” Majestatis informed her. “I don’t mind if you want to share.”

“I do not want to share,” Perscitia said, but a low deep rumbling breath was the only reply, and after another fit of grumbling she evidently reconciled herself: both of them were audible in their snores before the rest of the quarreling had even resolved itself into a settled order for the courtyard.

But there was no sign of Celeritas. The old training master did not sleep in the courtyard himself, of course, but in a private mountain-side cave; but he might come out to see them all, Temeraire thought, with some anxiety. He was not easy about having lied to Celeritas, when they had come to steal the mushrooms, and he had never had the chance to apologize properly. He was quite sure Celeritas would have understood and approved of the mission—at least, he was as sure as he could be, because anyone could take an odd start; but Celeritas might still be angry over being lied to and tricked into having let them in, unchallenged.

“He is not here anymore,” a Winchester said: not anyone Temeraire knew, a small bright-eyed courier-beast, in harness; he was perched upon the wall behind them, out of the way of the confusion with all the new dragons coming in. “I think he has gone to the breeding grounds in Ireland.”

“But whyever would Celeritas go to the breeding grounds,” Temeraire protested; the little Winchester only fluttered out his wings in a shrug. “It is very boring in the breeding grounds,” Temeraire said to Laurence. “I do not understand why he should have left his post here.”

Laurence did not say anything for a moment, and then he said, oddly without conviction, “Perhaps he grew tired of the work.”

He said nothing else, nothing more reassuring, and Temeraire looked at him sidelong: Laurence was sitting upon one of the low benches by the wall, looking again at the gold ring which he had brought back from London. He had not said where it had come from, and Temeraire felt a little shy of pressing him. Laurence seemed so very unhappy, and Temeraire did not understand properly why: they were together, not pent up anywhere, and soon they would have a splendid battle to take back their territory; and then the Government would pay them money. So there was nothing to be sorry about, except perhaps that they had retreated in the first place; but the rest would make up for that.

Temeraire sighed, and informed the squabbling Reapers, “You had all better leave some room. Maximus must be here soon, and the rest of the Corps; and ought not Lily be here already?”

Laurence raised his head. “They all ought,” he said. “They were ahead of us.”

He went into the citadel to try and find out where the others were, from the other officers; and meanwhile Chalcedony and Gladius and Cantarella finally won out over the other Reapers and settled themselves down, so the Grey Coppers and the Winchesters and the ferals could now squeeze themselves in amongst the rest, and then they were all warm and snug on the heated stones. Moncey and Minnow had settled themselves on Temeraire’s back; he felt quite comfortable, ready for a proper drowse, and then the Papillon Noir raised his head and said, “How pleasant it is here! It is almost as nice as the pavilions the Emperor has built for us in Paris.”

He spoke in English, with a curious accent, and many of the other dragons pricked up in interest. “Those are much larger, of course,” the Papillon continued, “so no-one has to sleep outside if they do not want to; and there is a charming little stream which runs past them, so if one wants a drink, one only has to stretch out one’s neck. But these are just as warm; at least, if it is not raining, or snowing.” A little drifting snow was indeed coming down in that moment, and slicking the stone.

“I expect,” Temeraire said, rather coolly, “that he is imitating the pavilions from China, which are very splendid.”

“Yes, exactly,” the Papillon said enthusiastically, “although Madame Lien says, he has made them even nicer. And we each have a box at the pavilions, where we can put our treasure, and the palace guard keeps watch over it when we are not there.”

“Hum, and I suppose they don’t take it,” Gentius said, skeptically, cracking one luridly orange eye.