“Granby,” Iskierka said, pricking up her spikes as she also observed, “I do not see why we should not have bought a sheep or two, ourselves; or a cow. I am sure we have enough money.”

“It wouldn’t be polite, dear one,” Granby said.

“I don’t see why,” Iskierka said. “Temeraire might have money, too, if he were as clever at taking prizes as I am; it is not my fault he shouldn’t have arranged things better, and I needn’t eat kangaroo to make up for it.”

“Pray let’s discuss it later,” Granby said, hastily. “The egg is hatching, anyway.”

The shell did not crack neatly, Temeraire noted with a critical eye; instead it fractured off in bits and pieces, and then the hatchling finally smashed its way out in a very messy burst, shaking itself loose. It was not very pretty, either, in his opinion: it was grey all over like Wringe, save for two very broad red streaks of color sweeping from the breastbone and under the wing-joints to trail out in spots along the backbone into its long, skinny tail.

“Good conformation,” Granby said to Laurence, under his breath, “—blast it! Shoulders as strong as you could like.”

The hatchling was quite heavily built forward, Temeraire supposed; and it had very clever snatching front claws, which it used almost at once: Rankin stepped forward with two quick steps, holding the hood; but to Temeraire’s delight, the hatchling snapped out its wrists and seizing hold dragged it away from him and said, “No, I won’t have any of that,” and setting its teeth in the other end tore it quite apart with a slash of its talons.

It flung the pieces down on the ground, with an air of satisfaction. “There; now take it away, and give me the meat.”

Rankin recovered, despite this setback, and said, “You may have it as soon as you have put on the harness.”

“You needn’t, at all,” Temeraire put in, ignoring the looks of disapprobation which the aviators flung at him. “You can take yourself a perfectly tasty kangaroo, anytime you like.”

“Well, I don’t like; what I like is the smell of that meat over there,” the hatchling said, and put its head over on its side consideringly. “As for you: you are an earl’s son, is it?” it inquired of Rankin intently. “An especially good earl?”

Rankin looked a little taken aback, and said after a pause, “My father’s creation dates from the twelfth century.”

“Yes, but, is he rich?” the hatchling said.

“I hope,” Rankin said, “that I may not be so impolite as to speak crassly of my family’s circumstances.”

“Well, that may be pretty-spoken, but it don’t tell me anything useful,” the hatchling said. “Does he have any cows?”

Rankin hesitated, visibly torn, and then said, “I believe there are some dairy farms on his estates—several hundred head among them, I imagine.”

“Good, good,” the dragonet said, approvingly. “Well, let us have a look at this harness, and as long as you are busy being polite, you might give me a taste while I am thinking it over; I do like your hair,” it added; Temeraire did have to admit Rankin’s was of a particularly appealing shade of yellow which looked a little like gold in the sunlight, “and your coat, although that fellow has nicer buttons,” meaning Granby, “but I suppose you can have some like that put on?”

“But you do not want him, at all!” Temeraire said. “He is an extremely unpleasant person, and neglected Levitas dreadfully, although Levitas was forever trying to please him, and then Levitas died, and it was all his doing.”

“Yes, so you have said, over and over, while I was getting ready to come out; and all I have to say is, this Levitas fellow sounds a right bore,” the dragonet said, “and I shall like to have a captain who is the son of an earl, and rich, too; I don’t aim to be eating kangaroo day-in and day-out, thank you; or hurrying about catching prizes for myself, either. But that,” he added, looking at the harness which Rankin was with a slightly uncertain air proferring, “is not nice enough by half: those buckles are dirty, it looks to me.”

“They are certainly dirty,” Temeraire put in urgently, “and so was Levitas’s harness, all the while: quite covered with dirt, and Rankin would not even let him bathe.”

“This is only a temporary harness,” Rankin said, adding tentatively, “and I shall have a nicer made for you, chased with gold,” in what Temeraire felt was a quite shameful bargaining sort of manner.

“Ah, now that sounds more like,” the dragonet said.

“And I shall give you a name, straightaway,” Rankin added, with more firmness. “We shall call you Serenitus—”

“I have been thinking Conquistador, myself,” the dragonet interrupted him, “or perhaps Caesar; only as I understand it, the conquistadores came out of it with a good deal more gold.”

“No-one is going to call you Caesar,” Temeraire said, revolted. “You are only going to be a middle-weight, anyway, if you are that big: Wringe is not even as big as a Reaper.”

“You never know,” the dragonet said, unphazed. “It is better to be prepared. I think Caesar will suit me very well, now I think about it a little more.”

“Well, I wash my hands of it all,” Temeraire said to Laurence, afterwards, in more than a little aggravation, watching Caesar—oh! how ridiculous—eating a second sheep; Rankin had sent out for it, after Caesar had eaten all the first one, down to the scraps, and suggested with a very transparent air that perhaps eating quite a lot while he was fresh-hatched would help him to grow bigger. “And I do not believe that at all,” he added.

“Well, my dear, they seem to me admirably suited,” Laurence said dryly. “Only I am damned if I know what we are to do now.”

“LAURENCE, I HOPE you will forgive me,” Granby said, low, while across the way Caesar continued his depredations upon the livestock which Rankin had evidently intended for his first week of feedings. “I didn’t mean to say a word, unless he should manage to harness the beast; but he has, and there is no way around it—you must let me go-between, and make up the quarrel.”

“I beg your pardon?” Laurence said, doubtfully, certain he had misunderstood; but Granby shook his head and said, “I know it’s not what you are used to; but pray don’t be stiff-necked about it: there can’t be two captains in a covert at dagger-ends forever and anon, and you can’t fight him; so it must be made up, whatever you think of the blighted wretch,” he added, rather failing at conciliation.

It was by no means what Laurence was used to; the thought of offering Rankin anything so like apology, for an act which had been richly merited by his behavior, and which Laurence would gladly have drawn swords to justify, appalled more than he could easily bear.

“You needn’t think of it that way,” Granby said, “for it’s only that you have the heavier beast, you know: that is the rule. It’s for you to make the first gesture; he can’t, without looking shy. And it don’t signify you aren’t a captain anymore in the official way, because that doesn’t make Temeraire vanish into the air.”

Laurence could not be so easily reconciled, despite all the obvious sense in this policy, to a gesture which to him partook of the worst part of both withdrawal and deceit. “For I do not withdraw, John; I cannot withdraw in the least. It would be rankest falsehood for me to pretend in any way to regret my actions, or any offense which was given by them; and under the circumstances, such a withdrawal must bear a character of self-interest which I must despise.”

“Lord, I am not saying you must truckle to the fellow!” Granby said, with a look half affection and half exasperation. “Nothing of the sort; you only need to let me go forward, and have a word with him, and then you shan’t speak of it again, either of you: that is all. No-one will think any less of you: the contrary, for it would be rotten for the dragonet, you know. If you are giving his captain the go-by, it must make a quarrel between him and Temeraire, too, and you can’t say that is fair.”