“However long, better on a ship to some purpose than lying about like this, if we all drown at it,” Berkley said. “We will be packed by morning, and the lummox will eat properly for once if I have to march the cows down his gullet.”

“Are we going somewhere?” Maximus said sleepily, in a voice much thickened, and turned his head aside to cough low and deep, several times, and spit into a small leaf-covered pit dug for the purpose. He rubbed each of his eyes against his foreleg, in turn, to clear away the mucus, and then seeing Temeraire slowly brightened, his head rising. “You are back; was China very interesting?” he asked.

“It was, oh, it was, but,” Temeraire burst out, “I am sorry I was not at home, while all of you were sick; I am so very sorry,” and hung his head, miserably.

“Why it is only a cold,” Maximus said, only to be interrupted by another bout of coughing, after which he added regardless, “I will be perfectly hearty soon, I am sure; only I am tired.” He closed his eyes almost directly he had said this, and fell again into a light stupor.

“They have the worst of it,” Berkley said heavily, seeing Laurence away; Temeraire had crept very quietly out of the clearing again, so they might go aloft without disturbing Maximus. “All the Regal Coppers. It is the damned weight; they do not eat, so they cannot keep up their muscle, and then one day they cannot breathe. Four lost already, and Laetificat will not see summer, unless we find your cure.” He did not say that Maximus would follow soon after, if not precede her; he did not need to.

“We shall find it,” Temeraire said fiercely, “we shall, we shall, we shall.”

“I hope to find you well, and your charge, when we return,” Laurence said, shaking Granby’s hand; behind him a great bustle and commotion were under way as the crew made their final preparations: they would depart tomorrow on the evening tide, the wind permitting, and needed to be well aboard by morning, with so many dragons and their crews to be stowed. Emily and Dyer were busily folding his clothing into his battered old sea-chest, which had only just survived their most recent voyage, and Ferris was saying sharply, “Don’t think I do not see you with that bottle, Mr. Allen; you may pour it out directly, do you hear?”

He had a great many new men aboard, replacements for the unhappy number of his crew who had been lost in their year’s absence. Jane had sent them all on trial, for his approval, but in the torment and anxiety of the past two weeks, and the heavy work of those before, he had grown only indifferently acquainted with them; now suddenly there was no more time, and he must make do with whomever had been given him. He was not a little sorry to be making his farewells to a man whose character he knew and understood, and upon whom he would have been happy to rely.

“I expect you will find us all to pieces,” Granby said, “with half of England on fire, and Arkady and his lot celebrating in the ruins, roasting cows; it will be wonderful otherwise.”

“Tell Arkady from me that they are all to mind properly,” Temeraire said, craning his head over carefully, so as not to dislodge the harness-men scurrying upon his back, “and that we will certainly be back very soon, so he need not think he has everything all to himself, even if he does have a medal now,” he finished, still disgruntled.

They were prolonging their conversation over a cup of tea when a young ensign came for Laurence. “Begging your pardon, sir, but there is a gentleman to see you, at the headquarters,” the boy said, and added, in tones of amazement, “a black gentleman,” so a very puzzled Laurence had to say his last farewells more abruptly and go.

He came into the officers’ common room; there was no difficulty in picking out his guest, although Laurence struggled for a moment before recalling his name: Reverend Erasmus, the missionary whom Wilberforce had presented to him, at the party two weeks before—had it been so short a time? “You are very welcome, sir; but I am afraid you find me at sixes and sevens,” Laurence said, beckoning to the servants, who had not yet brought him any refreshment. “We are leaving port tomorrow—a glass of wine?”

“Only a cup of tea, I thank you,” Erasmus said. “Captain, I knew as much; I hope you will forgive me for descending on you at such a time, without notice. I was with Mr. Wilberforce this morning, when your letter of apology arrived, informing him you were bound for Africa: and I have come to beg you for passage.”

Laurence was silent. He had every right, as a point of etiquette, to invite some number of guests; this being the prerogative of dragon captains aboard a transport as much as that of the captain of the ship herself. But the situation was not a simple one, for they would travel on the Allegiance, under a captain, who though one of Laurence’s dearest friends, and indeed his former first officer, owed no small portion of his fortune to his family’s substantial plantations in the West Indies, manned by slaves. Erasmus himself, Laurence realized with a sinking feeling, might even once have toiled in their very fields: he believed some of Riley’s father’s holdings were in Jamaica.

Aside from all the discomfort which any strong difference of politics among shipmates might ordinarily engender, in the close quarters of a journey, Laurence had on previous occasions failed to conceal his sentiments towards the practice, and some ill-feeling had unhappily resulted. To now inflict upon Riley a passenger whose very presence would seem a silent and unanswerable continuation of their argument, had the look of a calculated insult.

“Sir,” Laurence said slowly, “I believe you said you had been taken from Louanda? We are bound for Capetown, far to the south. It will not be your own nation.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers, Captain,” Erasmus said simply, “and I have only been praying for passage to Africa. If God has opened a path for me that leads to Capetown, I will not refuse it.”

He made no further appeal, but only sat expectantly, his dark eyes leveled steadily across the table. “Then I am at your service, Reverend,” Laurence said, as of course he had to, “if you can only manage to be ready in time; we cannot miss the tide.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Erasmus rose and shook his hand vigorously. “Have no fear: in hopes of your consent, my wife has already been making our arrangements, and by now will already herself be on the road with all our worldly substance; there is not much of it,” he added.

“Then I will hope to see you tomorrow morning,” Laurence said, “in Dover harbor.”

The Allegiance stood waiting for them in the cold sunny morning, looking oddly squat with her masts stubby and bare, the topmasts and yards laid out upon the deck, and the enormous chains of her best bower and kedge anchors stretching out from the water, groaning softly as she rocked on the swell. She had come into harbor some four weeks earlier, Laurence and Temeraire having reached England, in the end, scarcely any sooner than their ocean passage would have brought them, if they had sailed home with the Allegiance after all.

“You may not complain of your delays; I am too happy to find you alive and well and not skeletons in some Himalayan pass,” Riley said, shaking his hand eagerly in welcome, nearly before Laurence had stepped off Temeraire’s back. “And you brought us home a fire-breather, after all. Yes, I could scarcely help but hear of her; the Navy is bursting with the news, and I believe the ships on blockade take it in turn to go past Guernsey and watch her flaming away at that old rock heap through their glasses.

“But I am very happy we shall make shipmates again now,” he continued, “and though you will be more crowded, I hope we will make shift to see you all comfortable; you are a party of seven this time?”