“None; although I imagine he takes Tharkay’s descent for his excuse,” Laurence said, looking up the course of the river. “You are quite sure you saw no-one on the banks?” he asked. “If you should see anyone—we would be glad to speak the natives, if they were the singers last night; they might well be able to tell us if we have taken a reasonable route.”

“No, there was no-one, but I will certainly look again when we are up,” Temeraire said, remembering belatedly the odd music; he had been so very drowsy and uncomfortable last night that it had all seemed very nearly a dream, or at least far away. “That was a very interesting kind of song; I have never heard anything like, or that language, at all. But whatever about Tharkay’s descent can Rankin object to? After all, it is not as though he were not hatched yet, and no one knows what he might turn out be.”

“His mother was Nepalese,” Laurence said, “and there was some irregularity about the marriage, I understand; I find Rankin is given to think a great deal of birth, and not enough of character.”

He did not try to keep quiet: he and Granby were inclined to resent Rankin’s insult, and Temeraire did not mind joining them in the sentiment; so everyone was very stiff and formal as they packed everything up. Caesar sighed heavily, and made many reluctant noises about flying, and let his head and tail and wings drag limp towards the ground as he pushed himself up; and then Dorset went over and examined him and said, “He may fly, but he should carry no weight; you may not ride, Captain Rankin.”

Caesar sat back on his haunches and said, “I can carry him! He is my captain,” indignantly, all signs of limp torpor gone in a flash, but Dorset was implacable, so Temeraire would have to endure carrying Rankin again, and Laurence did not look at all pleased, either.

To add insult to injury, when Laurence quietly inquired further, Dorset said, “No, no; he is capable of carrying, perfectly capable; but he is bidding fair to develop into a malingerer, and an early lesson such as this is like to have a good effect.”

For his part, Temeraire thought that correcting Caesar’s bad habits was so thoroughly lost a cause that it could not justify any such efforts, when they led to situations so unpleasant to other innocent parties; but Laurence did not like to contradict a surgeon. So up Rankin came again, boarding with Laurence at the very end because of his rank, and as a guest; and instead Tharkay went to fly with Iskierka, which did not suit anyone except her. Though Tharkay was not his, precisely, Temeraire had grown used enough to his company to feel a sense of some responsibility, a degree of justified interest; and Tharkay could not in the least prefer to ride upon Iskierka, who was exceedingly hot and damp in her person, and so unreliable.

They had been working in the hot sun, so that when it dropped again below the gorge walls they were ready to take advantage of the chance, and to fly onward at once. It was not pleasant flying, despite the lack of direct sun: they had to keep close within the narrow canyon walls, uninteresting and covered with scrubby dried-out grass and shrubs gone pale as wheat.

The river running over the rocks had a strange, steady noise; not loud enough to be called a roar, it seemed more a part of the same queer silence which seemed to envelop the gorges. It was not a sound one could listen to; it rather wished to swallow up all other noises, so Temeraire could scarcely even hear his own wings beating.

Caesar kept insisting on flying too close, where he could keep an eye on Rankin, even though it was his own fault he was not allowed to carry his own captain, and as though anyone else would have wanted Rankin, anyway, Temeraire thought. Caesar would clip him, coming too close to the wings, and once he even fouled Temeraire’s wing-joint with the tip of one claw.

Temeraire had been drifting a little, almost sleeping as he flew; the scratch startled him unpleasantly aware again, and conscious of his surroundings. “Ow!” he said, sharply. “That is quite enough; you will keep further off, if you cannot mind where you are putting your claws,” he added, and snapped at Caesar’s tail for warning; Caesar tipped his wings back and dodged hastily, but took the lesson and made a little more of a safe distance between them.

Temeraire settled himself back into the tedium of long flying, but in so doing, noticed a flash of color below. “Laurence,” he said, looking over his shoulder as he paused, hovering, “I think that is a bit of broken plate, there, if I am not mistaken.”

“Whatever is of interest in some flotsam?” Rankin said; Laurence asked Temeraire to set them down, and when Iskierka had come down also, he and Tharkay considered the fragments: it was certainly a very lovely example of Qingbai ware, broken up; a sad waste, Temeraire thought, and the smugglers had ought to have been more careful.

They went aloft again afterwards, flying quite low, where they might be shaded from the sun. The river curved away from them upstream, into a series of gorges, and Temeraire had settled it in his own head they would be flying until nightfall, when he made the last turn and stopping abruptly nearly made Iskierka and Caesar both pile into him; they could not hover as he did.

“What are you doing?” Iskierka demanded, and then beating up over him said, “Oh, there,” with immense satisfaction, as though she had done anything useful to bring them to this point. The river plunged on through the trees below them, but up ahead the timber petered out, and a broad field of rich green growth, very small, spread out across the floor of a wide green valley, framed but not cramped by rising mountains.

There was a murmur of pleasure and satisfaction among all the men—“I have rarely seen such splendid farming country,” Laurence said to Temeraire, “or at least so it looks.”

Temeraire himself was far more preoccupied with the startling evidence they had not been the first to make the crossing, after all; before him, in the field, stood a small and placid herd of cattle, their coats gone shaggy and ragged, munching upon the grass.

“Oh! I cannot think of anything I like better than stewed beef,” Temeraire said, leaning over the cooking meat to inhale its vapours, “or at least, when it is so particularly good.” Gong Su had contrived with his assistance to cut out a little hollow of water from the river, into which a fine, fat specimen of the herd had gone along with many stones Iskierka had heated, for the dragons’ dinner; and the soup was doled out in bowlfuls to the men, to eat with their salt pork and biscuit.

Laurence took a cup of the broth and some biscuit himself, and walked out a little distance into the valley: the earth was soft and springy beneath his feet, unmarred by rocks or stumps, and the leathery smell of the cattle as familiar to him as breathing. He might almost have been on his father’s estates again in Nottinghamshire, but for the glorious rearing escarpments of sandstone, yellow and grey and red, which framed the wide comfortable bowl of the valley floor.

When Temeraire had eaten, they went aloft together to the heights and cleared away a little space amid the vegetation. The long, thickly forested slopes curved downward to the valley floor like wide-spread green skirts, then thinning out into grassy plains: timber and grazing land as well, and the valley stretched a considerable length, ample to any use. The river’s banks needed only to be widened a little, and the mouth of the valley cut, to allow for a most convenient road with easy supply of fresh water for driving cattle.

“If one should put up a pavilion here,” Temeraire said, a little wistfully, “I do not think anyone could ask for a finer prospect: look at those falls over there; and all the cattle would be in view.”

If a great deal of labor would be required to realize such a project, dragon strength could make light work of that. Temeraire might fell the timber they required, and manage the stone as they quarried it, even while the men were set to cutting the road back to Sydney, Laurence thought. And when they had finished, there would be no great difficulty to bring back more cattle along it: the valley could certainly sustain a herd of thrice the size, at least—enough to support even four dragons, if the beasts should supplement their diet with game.