They did not find the smugglers that afternoon, nor that evening. They flew on through the deepening dusk, which took all the color out of the countryside, and their sweeps grew more narrow while they peered in every direction for the tiniest glow of a campfire; but there was nothing.

The ground cover rapidly thinned out further as the twilight advanced; even the shrubs had begun to diminish and crouch lower to the ground, small dark lumps as they flew. The only trees to be seen looked dark stick-like things against the fading sky, much like the brushes Mr. Fellowes used for scrubbing the harness-buckles or carabiners: long thin trunks like young saplings and a small lump of twiggy branches and small leaves atop. The stars were very bright and clear, above: cold and brilliant speckles of light, and the spray of the Milky Way pearly grey in a wide swath.

At last they had to give up again, and they settled for the night with somewhat diminished spirits. “And I am hungry,” Iskierka said irritably: the hunting had not been as good.

But Temeraire could not feel quite so low as he had yesterday. “After all, we have nearly caught them twice now,” he said. “At least, we have seen where they were, and it stands to reason we will get closer tomorrow, too, and we do know,” he added, “that the egg is well: that alone is worth all our pains.”

“Only if by well you mean, is not yet broken into bits,” Iskierka said dampeningly, and curled herself up to sleep.

There was no water to drink here, either; the last gleam of water they had seen in the day’s flying was some eight miles back in the distance, and three miles sweeping out from the line of the trail. The aviators rationed out cupfuls of water to themselves and the convicts; and smaller ones of rum, which were drunk up first, before the shares of biscuit went about.

While they ate, to Temeraire’s great dismay O’Dea said, quite loudly, “I expect we won’t find them at all, now we’ve left Jack Telly behind to starve and die, food for dogs in a strange country. Tisn’t right, and I have a mind his spirit is following us while his body lies behind rotting. We won’t smoke out their trail with a curse upon us; Jack wants company, fellows, in his lonely grave. We’ll search and we’ll look, and we’ll never find another living soul, though we go until we are all grey and bent as widows.”

“Laurence,” Temeraire said, in high anxiety after overhearing this, “Laurence, you do not suppose that might be so, at all? I did not think of that, when we left; I should never have suggested we go away so quickly, if I thought he would curse us to stop our finding the egg.”

“I do not suppose,” Laurence said, “and I am surprised, very surprised, my dear, to find you grown so sadly superstitious,” but this offered limited comfort. Privately, Temeraire was forced to admit that Laurence was unreasonably deadly on the subject of superstition, even though it did not make any sense, as he was equally firm on the subject of the Holy Spirit; Temeraire did not see how one could deny other spirits, when you had allowed one.

“Well, I don’t think there is anything to it, either,” Roland said, when Temeraire quietly asked her, after Laurence had gone to discuss their next day’s course with Tharkay and Granby.

“I do,” Demane said, examining his knives. “I would haunt us, too, if we had left me behind.”

“He might like to,” Roland said, “but if a fellow could haunt us, then he ought be able to do a little more to help us find him, in the first place.”

“That don’t mean anything; spirits aren’t the same as bodies,” Demane said, scornfully dismissive; and Roland did not seem to have an answer for this.

“Anyway, it ain’t as though we flew off straightaway, or left him on purpose,” Roland said, but this was not a settled thing amongst the men.

“Jack made a fuss, didn’t he,” Bob Maynard said, slurred with rum and not so quietly that he could not be heard, and rolling a significant glance towards Rankin where he stood speaking with Caesar. “Some as are high-in-the-instep didn’t much like him saying what was what, when we are being hauled into the back of beyond; some here were mighty quick to hurry us off, and not a tear to shed for old Jack.”

Though Maynard was given to persuading the other men to game away their rum to him, and while being nearly twice as large as most of the other poor thin convicts scarcely managed half the work of anyone else, he was endlessly ready to oblige with a song, in a fine deep baritone, or an entertaining story; not at all wont to complain, ordinarily, so the accusation struck with more than ordinary force, from him. Temeraire could not easily repress a start of guilt; he had himself thought—for just a moment, though, and not spoken aloud, he excused himself—that it would not be so dreadful not to have Jack Telly along always complaining.

“Still, it was not on purpose; no one asked him to go away and jump into a pit,” Temeraire said, “and we did look, for quite some time,” but he could not quite convince himself that Jack Telly would have accepted these arguments, and as it should be his decision whether to haunt them or not, Temeraire could not find any relief; he could only lie down curled very close about the last remaining egg, to make sure no malevolent spirits could creep in at it.

BUT IT SEEMED to Temeraire that Jack Telly had indeed cursed them, for all their luck had run away. They searched and searched, and were always it seemed a little too late, or had gone a little too far; meanwhile the trail crept onward beneath them at the snail’s pace of foot speed, offering only the most tantalizing bits of encouragement—today a scrap of porcelain; tomorrow another nest for the egg.

Temeraire passed an uneasy night, and woke even more uneasy; he raised his head in the first moments before dawn, while everyone else yet slept, and watched the line of the horizon growing sharper where it met the sky. It seemed very far away. The forest had broken up at some time during their last night’s flight, and there was nothing to conceal the hard edge of the world but a handful of brushy trees looking a little like broomsticks stuck into the earth upside down, and low hillocks.

At first the dawn grey lingered, cast over all the ground, pale knotted clumps of grass and darker shrubs standing out against the dark earth. Then by degrees the blue washed over the vast bowl of sky in advance of the sun, and color began to come back into the world—but color terrible and strange. The sandy earth all beneath them was red as the exposed side of a freshly broken brick, as though someone had painted it. The grasses were hay-yellow, as if dead, but all of them; there was not a single green blade anywhere.

The stand of bushes along one side of their camp looked a little less unnatural: full of shining, dark green leaves; but they alone looked verdant, and the stand of trees which Temeraire had been looking at, between them and the horizon, were blackened as if by fire. The smoke-stains were dark up and down the bark, but equally strange, they had fresh green leaves put out at their ends, despite the curled-up, charred scraps of the old ones clinging still to the lower branches.

There were no clouds in the sky, no water on the ground; not a living thing stirred anywhere around. It was the queerest place Temeraire had ever seen: even the Taklamakan, which had been empty and barren and cold and of no use to anyone, had not looked so very wrong—at the oases, there had been poplar-trees, and proper grass; and where there was no water, there were no plants growing; and the ground had not looked so peculiar at all.

“Laurence,” Temeraire said urgently, nudging him; Laurence was drowsing lightly against his forearm, sitting near the egg. “Laurence, perhaps you might wake up.”