Tongues of Serpents

Chapter 7

“MY DEAR,” Laurence said, keeping his hand on Temeraire’s forearm by way of both comfort and urging restraint, “we cannot be haring into the countryside unguided: aloft you cannot follow a trail, and with the quantity of timber in this country even the most unhandy thief can evade you for the price of hiding concealed the day, and traveling at night.”

“We cannot be sitting here while they are carrying the egg off to who knows what fate,” Temeraire said, his tail lashing so rapidly that Laurence feared he might do someone an injury; he was certainly wreaking destruction wholesale upon the vegetation in its path.

The stunted little egg sat lonesome on its nest of dry leaves and branches, the empty space beside it mutely reproachful: evidently forced to choose amongst prizes, the thieves had taken the larger Yellow Reaper egg, and left the runt behind.

Laurence had rarely seen Temeraire so roused, or Iskierka: a threat to himself or Granby offered the nearest comparison, and Laurence thought this might exceed even that passion: the greatest effort was visibly required to restrain them from immediate action, however purposeless; and Iskierka had already burnt up three trees by way of venting her feelings.

“Pray keep in mind,” Granby said urgently, “that the thieves will take the very best care of the egg: they haven’t stolen it to do it harm, they want a dragon of their own, plainly; although,” he added more quietly to Laurence, as they went to consult with Tharkay, who had already set about examining the trail, “I don’t know whatever for: I have never heard of men, ordinary men that is, wanting anything to do with a dragon.”

“If Tharkay’s supposition is right,” Laurence said, “these may not be ordinary smugglers; if Napoleon has gone to such lengths to undermine our trade, they may as likely be French soldiers as mere profiteers.”

“Even so, what would they want with an egg, here?” Granby said. “They can’t mean to set up a covert of their own; it isn’t as though the French have any prayer of holding a colony here, their navy being what it is, and ours being what it is.”

“Why do pirates steal ships?” Tharkay said, without looking up from the ground. “They hardly need to establish a covert to make use of a dragon; they need only to evade you, and hunt enough game to feed it. A good, reliable, middle-weight beast would suit them admirably, I imagine: a transport for their goods better than a mule-train, and which leaves no trail on the ground to be followed.”

What few traces he had found of the smugglers led onward to the north-west; little to give them hope, but all the intelligence Temeraire required to cast off all restraint. “Let us go at once, then; what if they are taking the egg back to the coast, to a ship? Or they might drop it, or cause it some hurt; they are certainly not properly trained aviators, and they do not have a dragon with them. What if they do not feed it when it has hatched, and only try and chain it? Oh! There are a thousand dreadful things which might be happening to it even now.”

“And we are certainly not going to find it sitting here,” Iskierka put in, which was true, but a species of logic which put an end to any rational design of the pursuit: the two of them would be off, at once, and when Caesar, evidently not yet inclined to so protective a view of his hypothetical year-mate, began to complain, Iskierka caught him by the ruff of his neck, shook him, and none too gently dragged him squalling and protesting up onto Temeraire’s back: they refused point-blank to be constrained by his slower pace.

Laurence expected some protest from Rankin; but he made none, and Granby only shook his head and ordered his handful of men aboard. “Mr. Laurence,” Forthing said, a little formally, when Laurence turned, “we have the egg ready to go aboard, if Temeraire should please: I have taken the liberty of swaddling it with more padding, and Mr. Fellowes believes we may rig it hammock-fashion, that it should not suffer from any shaking which the pursuit might make necessary.”

“That is very good,” Temeraire said, swinging his head around to inspect the arrangements, the first sign of approval he had offered Forthing; he nosed the well-wrapped egg a little to confirm and then squatted himself awkwardly that the fittings might be lashed to the breast-bands of his abbreviated harness, and to the broader band behind the wings, and the egg thus cradled gently rocking against his chest.

There were some sidelong and hostile looks towards Forthing and this operation, from the few officers who had accompanied Granby: if they had grudged a little before that Forthing should be situated so near the eggs, and have the best prospects of securing for himself the captaincy of the preferable Yellow Reaper, Laurence could well imagine their feelings now. They had all swallowed an assignment to a remote and undesirable posting, with few chances of seeing all-important combat or of advancement, with the only consolation the prospect of promotion for men who could not have hoped for the step otherwise.

Laurence did not think they would find the lost egg. Tharkay’s expression, looking at the trail, had not been sanguine, even if discretion had prevented him from conveying a discouraging opinion in the hearing of the excessively interested dragons. The smugglers must know their course, and anticipate pursuit: they had already found themselves at least this one route through the wilderness, and likely knew other passages.

So there was one chance only left, the stunted egg: undesirable by comparison yet priceless now, and to make matters worse, this must substantially worsen the breeding prospects of the new colony. Jane meant to send them more eggs, Laurence knew, but these three had been intended as the foundation, and the Yellow Reaper perhaps the most critical. If the egg had hatched a sire, who might be bred against many other lines, Jane would have sent a wider variety of the eggs of many more desirable breeds, for which men already here and established in service could aim to be preferred. If the egg had hatched a dam, the aviators likely hoped that a lack of alternatives might incline Temeraire to affection.

Whatever they might think of Temeraire’s personal habits of free-thinking, these they generally credited, Laurence knew, to his own account: when, he was dryly amused to think, the reverse was by far the truth of the matter. They certainly none of them had any objections to Temeraire’s capabilities from a military perspective.

“A cross with a Reaper would be just the thing,” Laurence had overheard, more than once—marrying Temeraire’s virtues with the tractability and general good humor traditional to the Reaper breed, which had made it so widely preferred for service.

But there would certainly be no hope of a crossing between Temeraire and the little creature that would come out of the final egg: and therefore likely no hope of any mating at all until more eggs arrived, unless the runt proved female, and willing to be interested in Caesar—who had not risen in the estimation of the aviators since his hatching; the possibility did not excite great anticipation.

But there was nothing to be done. The Reaper egg was gone, and likely beyond all hope, even though they should have to go and search: Temeraire’s and Iskierka’s spirits could not bear otherwise. Only the slow grinding of time and failure would ease their grief and the disappointment to manageable levels. “We may hope, I suppose,” Laurence said to Tharkay quietly, as they parted to go aboard, “that this search will at least be of some use in your quest: if we do overshoot the smugglers, at least we can follow the trail to its culmination, and the source of their goods, which if it is a harbor of any consequence will not be easily replaced, when we have denied it to them with regular patrols.”

“From my perspective, nothing could be better,” Tharkay said. “My fee was for tracing the smugglers’ methods; it would not extend to the hire of dragons and a company of men to hunt them down, nor certainly to their destruction: but I imagine the greatest difficulty will be cutting a few of them out for questioning, if our friends continue in their present sentiments.”

Tharkay went to join Granby; Laurence swung himself up to Temeraire’s back without ceremony, and latched on to the harness at the back; Rankin was already hooked on and speaking quietly with the sulky Caesar.

“If you wish it, my dear captain, of course I will oblige, even though I am sure I don’t see what the fuss is,” Caesar said, “or why we should be bundled about like bag and baggage, when we might just as easily stay here and keep watch over the cows.”

He said it quietly, though, and Temeraire ignored him entirely, only swinging his head briefly about to say, “Laurence, you are quite secure?” and cast a glittering eye over the rest of his passengers: the slitted pupil was open unnaturally wide, with almost a hint of red glowing within, the reflection of the lowering sun.

“I am,” Laurence said, and they were airborne: the valley and its green curves falling away, away, and the sandstone cliffs; its serenity already a distant memory, and the drumming of wings like the beat for the turning of the capstan, bringing the anchor up.

The greatest danger, of course, Temeraire realized even through the distancing haze of fury, was they should overshoot the thieves, and miss them entirely: the men were carrying the egg, which should be a difficult burden for them, if they did not have waggons—Tharkay thought they did not—and of course, they were walking upon the ground in so tiresome a way, having to work through the brush.

“We cannot only fly straight after them on the trail,” he told Iskierka. “Otherwise, we should soon go much further than they could possibly be, and meanwhile I am sure they should have hidden themselves somewhere aside, and be waiting for us to pass. We must be sure they are not in any countryside before we fly on out of it.”

“I think we must fly sweeps,” Laurence said, and sketched for them the pattern: they should keep the trail in the center of their course, and fly first zigging west, and then north, in arcs like a swinging broom.

Iskierka jetted steam from her spikes, restlessly. “How far do you think they might manage, to the side of the trail?” she asked. “If we go flying off all over the place, they will get ahead of us after all; and they might have horses, even if they don’t have waggons.”

They decided after some debate on a span of five miles in either direction, and continuing north-west began the flying pattern. It was hard, distressing flying—every bit of pale stone that caught the eye made Temeraire’s heart leap uncomfortably in his chest, lest it should be the smooth creamy-pale shell, speckled black; so he was reminded at every turn of their dreadfully urgent purpose, and his head ached, too, from staring fixedly down at the ground.

Iskierka, who did not have so many people to carry, dived over and over towards some flash of movement—and over and over came away only with some useless bit of game, a wretched kangaroo or one of the stringy-legged cassowaries. She shared with Temeraire, at least, so they might eat as they flew and thus waste no further time; and she was, he could not deny, very quick to see the little flashes of movement.

It was comforting, not to be quite alone in the search; Iskierka was wrongheaded and irresponsible in almost every particular, and no one could enjoy her company, but in this one instance where they were of united mind and purpose, he might acknowledge her a valuable presence. On occasion—very few occasions, of course—she even saw something which he himself had not just yet noticed.

“Is that—” he began, and Iskierka dived at once: there was a knot of trees and low, coarse shrubbery, where he thought he had seen a glimmer of movement. She blasted the stand with fire, a quick hot roaring which did not properly catch in the greenery, but would have stunned any enemy within, and then tore into the trees: saplings and bushes cast aside into a singed heap, while she thrust her head within and searched, reaching in her talons to claw and snatch at the ground.

And withdrew: she had a few small rodents collected in a handful of dirt, asphyxiated dead and barely each of them a bite. They ate them anyway, raw and uncleaned. It was of a piece with the sensation Temeraire recognized, of being removed from a place of conscious thought: but then, at present thought was not necessary, nor desirable; and neither was anything like sensibility. They needed only fly, and seek, and hunt so far as was needed to sustain life: he could not be very sorry to be reduced to an animal state, at present, when he must suffer otherwise a fresh dose of self-recrimination.

Iskierka, he had to admit, had not accused him. She might have said, What were you about, to let the egg be left unguarded? Or she might have reproached him for sleeping, or sleeping so soundly, that someone had managed to spirit it away. She had not. Of course, Temeraire might have answered back with the same charge; but he had kept charge of the eggs all the long way from Britain: Iskierka had not had a full share in looking after them. He had not let her have it; and if he had, he was miserably forced to consider, perhaps she would have been more wary, or more alert; perhaps she would not have let the egg be taken.

He had much rather not think at all, than think along such lines. He tore into his little wombats for what virtue they had: they were thin and lean, but each one a small hot bite of juice, revitalizing.

“Are you hungry, Laurence?” Temeraire asked, surfacing only so far from his intent preoccupation.

“No; we do well enough with biscuit, have no fear on that score,” Laurence said, “but my dear, we cannot keep searching for very much longer tonight. The light is failing.”

“We can make torches,” Iskierka said, and turning set her claws into one of the larger eucalypts, shaking it back and forth until at last its roots came loose; a torrent of fire ignited the tree-top and made an oily flame, pungent and queerly medicinal in smell.

But it was not quite so easy as it might have sounded to throw the light properly onto the ground, and when Iskierka had made a torch for Temeraire, he found that holding it was awkward, particularly as he had to be careful of the last little egg hanging forward on his breast, and the convicts slung below in his netting, whenever the wind pushed the fire towards his belly.

He saw the torchlight flicker in reflection, on something on the ground, and turned quite by instinct; cries warned him, and he jerked the torch abruptly aside, but in so doing singed his talons painfully, and dropped it. He half-reached for the falling torch, but then he reconsidered: and went instead for that small reflection, while he yet could place where it had come from.

But he only landed upon stone, and clawing away found only more. Iskierka brought her light over, and it shone abruptly in red and green and pearlescent fire, on a narrow vein his scraping had exposed in the rock.

“Opal,” Tharkay said. The stone was beautiful, and under any other circumstance Temeraire would have greeted the discovery with the utmost pleasure: he could feel nothing for it now, nothing in the least, but only the sharp and bitter disappointment of failure and regret.

“I am very sorry; I beg you will not press on again. You cannot help but miss more than you find, with this method,” Laurence said quietly. “The nights are grown short, in this part of the world; dawn will come soon, and you must have some rest in any case. Better to sleep a little while, and rise at the earliest traces of light.”

The fallen torch was burning down to embers, a little distance off, the only gleam of light anywhere around; all the night seemed very black but for the spray of stars above, and that last orange glow. Iskierka with a low hiss of frustration and wrath flung her own torch aside, and cast herself down in a restless, coiling tumble to sleep.

Temeraire stayed only long enough to be unloaded, although he said, “No; you may leave it there, and the harness; I find I can sleep quite well with it on after all,” when they would have taken off the little egg. He felt very weary suddenly, although he would not have stopped, not for anything, if only there had been any way of continuing the search. He arranged himself carefully on the ground, propped up a little and with the last egg bracketed within his arms, where no one could have come at it without disturbing him.

It did not quite answer, though; uneasily he realized he was used to people clambering over him; so small and light as they were, he might never notice. He decided he should only rest. But sleep stole treacherously over him: his head drooped, his eyelids sank shut, and then the wind shifted, or a branch rubbed along his wing, and he managed to jerk awake again; he nosed anxiously at the egg and made sure all was well, and then the enemy sleep was creeping up again.

He was so tired; and then Laurence, dear Laurence, put a hand on his forearm and climbed over, to sit beside the egg. “Pray get as much rest as you can,” he said. “I can sleep tomorrow when you must be flying.”

“Thank you, Laurence; it should be the greatest comfort to me,” Temeraire said gratefully, and sleep might be allowed to come at last; he closed his eyes on the deeply reassuring sight of the gleam of Laurence’s drawn sword, lying across his knees to be sharpened, and fell at once into slumber.

In the morning, however, the sustaining wrath had fled. All that remained was a grey, grinding misery, the sensation of failure mingled with the certainty that however futile, the search must continue, until the egg’s final fate—dreadful though it was likely to be—should be known. Temeraire nosed at the last, littlest egg to comfort himself: it had begun to harden, he thought, and would soon cease to be in danger; the event could not come quickly enough to suit him.

“You might hurry, if you liked,” he told the egg quietly, “although certainly not so you do yourself any harm; only if you felt hungry, perhaps, or ready to try a little flying, you might come out sooner rather than late.”

Iskierka was pacing, meanwhile: a restless abbreviated movement back and forth, so her long and coiling tail lagged behind when she made her turns, and continued in her original direction for a while, until she lashed it up behind her again. “Well?” she said. “Let us be going; it is light again.”

It was not yet quite light; there was just enough of a paler quality to the sky to see her shape silhouetted black against the horizon, and the faint white clouds of steam issuing from her spikes. But the men had still to be got aboard: the sun was near the horizon as they finally leapt back aloft, and in their climb they broke into the sunlight before it had struck the land.

They had a little while searching before they found the trail itself again, and were obliged to land several times that Tharkay might look for signs. The repeated delays were extremely wearing to the spirit, but Temeraire held back the complaints which he might have wanted to make; he could see that their insistence on continuing to search, into the night, had made it quite impossible for Tharkay to keep any sight of the trail. He could not be unreasonable, he told himself, and added to Iskierka at the fourth such pause, “And the chances of finding the egg must be so much smaller if we should lose the trail entirely; it is only sensible, and we are not wasting time, really, but gaining it.”

“Yes, yes,” Iskierka said. “Is he not done yet? Whyever must it take so long, only to peer at the ground; and why must there be so many trees here?”

“As long as they are here, you might let me down to rest under them; I am very hot again,” Caesar put in, from Temeraire’s back, where he had been sternly instructed to remain; naturally, just to make more of a nuisance of himself, he had put on another five or six stone of weight overnight, Temeraire thought.

It was very inconvenient to be hunting over such forested country: they had crossed now over the mountains, and there were everywhere trees, so one might look as far as one liked without seeing a break in them, except for the river below flowing south- and westward, away from the ocean. “It must flow to the southern coast, or empty into some lake or inland sea, I suppose,” Laurence said, looking at them, and at his spread-out maps of the coastline of the continent, sadly incomplete.

“That would be something to look forward to, I suppose,” Granby said, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. “I would not mind coming across a lake. These smugglers must have water somewhere along their road?” he added.

It was very hard to endure the slow pace, the endless trees slipping by, the river winding away from them. Iskierka was of the opinion they had better be done with it, and fly onward straight; and Temeraire found it a grave struggle to persuade her otherwise: he had to argue with himself and not only her, even though Laurence and Granby were so very certain.

Temeraire tried to fly as cautiously and slowly as he might, but several days went by without a sign, and Tharkay began insisting for all their efforts they had overshot and must go back. Temeraire could not quite believe it—they had been going so very slowly—but Laurence at last persuaded him to pause, one morning before they had gone aloft, to let him draw out a diagramme, showing him the fastest pace the thieves could have made: and Temeraire could not deny it; they had gone too far.

They had another three days flying back over the same ground, retreating to the last traces they had found and repeating their search, before at last Tharkay allowed them to continue further: but he had found nothing new. Temeraire landed dully for water that afternoon by the river, full of despair; he could not help but drink thirstily, but he did not feel he deserved it.

“Laurence,” Tharkay said, rising, “a word, if you please.” Temeraire pricked up his ruff, and valiantly resisted the temptation to eavesdrop; whatever could Tharkay be saying, which he should not like the rest of them to hear? And Laurence looked quite serious, when he said it; of course one could not go prying into a secret conversation, but—

“I cannot hear them at all,” Iskierka said. “Granby, go and tell us what they are saying.”

“Well, I shan’t,” Granby said firmly, “and you shan’t go nearer, either; you have enough sins to your account with adding on the vice of listening.”

But then Laurence came back and said, very gently, “My dear, I must ask you to exert the greatest restraint, and to persuade Iskierka to do the same, before I should—” and Temeraire stricken said, “Oh—oh, he has found—a bit of the egg—”

“No,” Laurence said, “no, my dear; quite the contrary, but you must not disturb the trail, nor lose it. Tharkay thinks they were here, only last night, and that they kept the egg here on this low hillock of sand: but he cannot be certain—”

“They are near, then!” Iskierka exclaimed, rearing up on her hind legs.

“Stop, stop!” Temeraire said, and leaping pinned down several of her coils to the ground. “You must not flap and stir the ground, otherwise he will lose everything; we must wait. Tharkay, can you tell at all where they have gone?”

His wings wished to tremble with excitement; all the grimy sense of despair quite swept away. They had not failed: the thieves had not got clear with their prize. “Why, we have only been flying a few hours this morning,” Temeraire said, exultantly, “and stopping so often; surely we must find them and catch them up before to-day is spent, after all. And you are quite sure, I hope, that the egg was well when they were here?” he asked. “Was it near their campfire, perhaps, could you tell?”

“I have already provided you the best part of a phantasy,” Tharkay said, “to speculate the egg was here at all,” but that was only his dry way, Temeraire decided.

Iskierka was all for going at once, with all speed on a direct course, but Granby and Laurence were insistent on the subject: they had to keep flying their sweeps, for the thieves likely should know by now that they were being so closely pursued. “It is very inconvenient that we should be so large, and they so small,” Temeraire said to Laurence unhappily, “for I dare say they are hiding somewhere in the trees looking at us this same instant, thinking, There they are, and they cannot see us at all! in a very unpleasant gloating way.”

“I will go so far as to assure you,” Laurence said, “that if the thieves are anywhere and under any sort of cover imaginable, where they can see you and the treatment you have been meting out to the surrounding vegetation, they are not in the least inclined either to gloating or laughter. Prayer might be more to the point.”

Temeraire could no longer complain at all whenever Tharkay wished them to stop again, and neither could Iskierka; instead they peered over his shoulder, at whatever speck of dirt or dust he might be inspecting, and tried to work out whatever traces he had found. Temeraire saw nothing at all, himself, although he nodded and tried to look wise when Tharkay should point at some perfectly indistinguishable patch of ground and call it a footprint, or at an unremarkable bush and call it a trace of passage.

A few days later, still at the creeping sluggish pace, they had struck away into open country away from the river, only creeks and smaller tributaries left: traveling north-west. The forests were clearing out of the way into scrubby grassland, so Temeraire could not mind the dust, however much there was of it: which was a great deal; he coughed and sneezed as he flew, and when they stopped for the nights.

Laurence was anxious on the subject of water. Temeraire could not let such small concerns distract him, and though it was certainly not as convenient to leave behind the river, if the smugglers had done so, then there must be water. “That does not mean we may find it as easily as have they, my dear,” Laurence said, when the last little stream dried away and fell behind them as they flew, “and you must consider: a small party of men may carry their own supply of water for several days, where we have not that luxury.”

“But there is so much less cover, too,” Temeraire said, “and so it must be easier to see the water even from quite far away, and the thieves, too; if only we can find them, we needn’t worry about anything else.”

“We’d best worry about it, I warrant,” Jack Telly said to the other men, from the belly-netting. “If there’s water found, there’s some gullets as it’ll go down first, and maybe none left for the rest of us.”

Temeraire snorted in disdain at this. “And there is a perfectly nice water-hole directly there,” he added, “so you need not complain.”

It was easy to see: a faint silvery gleam amid the dusty country, ringed invitingly by many shrubs and a few thin trees, and after they had drunk, Tharkay called their attention to the small hill a little way off, where at the summit he had found the mid-day camp where the thieves had paused to eat a little.

Tharkay said, “I imagine they had a fire, here,” pointing at a bare patch of ground, with a little mess of twigs perhaps. Temeraire sniffed unobtrusively at this last after Tharkay had stood to move to another part of the camp, but he could not even make out any smell of smoke until he put out his tongue, and then he thought he just barely might have a sense of faintly burnt wood.

But then, then, then, Tharkay said, “—and the egg was here,” and Temeraire turning saw it very plainly: there was a nest of leaves and grasses scraped quite close together, around a little framework of thin branches, and the nest had a smooth, curved hollow depressed within it, just the right size and shape to hold an egg: Temeraire might have scraped together something very like for the same purpose.

“You have brought us up on their heels out of ten thousand acres of wilderness,” Laurence said. “—I should not have credited it.”

Tharkay shook his head. “You may praise me when we have them in hand, and I do not see them; do you?”

Temeraire went aloft, for them all to peer about, and indeed he could not see any sign of anyone walking in any direction—there was a little dust going up a few hills over, but that was only some cassowaries running, and in the distance a few wild dogs. “But we must be close, if they ate here so lately,” he said, rallying his spirits as he landed.

“I do not care to be discouraging,” Tharkay said to Laurence, “but they seem to know this country uncommonly well. There is no hesitation in their trail—no false starts. They ate quickly—they had food with them, or knew where nearby to get it. They came directly to this camp, knowing there would be water here; and they did not have the advantage of an aerial view.”

“I hope I may not be called over-optimistic,” Laurence said, “but I will indulge in a little more confidence, even so: they may know their route, but they cannot know the countryside well enough to stray very far from it, and we have the advantage of being able to cover it in wide swaths.”

“We had better use that advantage, then,” Temeraire said. “Pray let everyone come back aboard.” The convicts reluctantly came up and out of the shade to go back into the belly-netting, even Caesar was prodded up whining, and then Lieutenant Forthing said, “Where has that blasted fellow Telly got to?”

Jack Telly was quite gone.

“But where can he have got to?” Temeraire said: there was not much of anything for several miles around, and even if the man had wanted to run away from them, there was nowhere he might have run away to; they had covered a good ten miles of country, even flying the tedious sweeps, since their camp that morning.

It turned out, however, that the last anyone remembered of him, he had gone down to get a drink at the water-hole, and had taken with him a canteen: one of the other convicts had seen him go with it in his hand.

“So he has deserted and taken to the wilderness,” Rankin said impatiently, “—looking for this idiot notion of China reachable by land, no doubt; and we may consider ourselves lucky he did not steal anything more necessary than a single can of water. Do you propose to spend an hour hunting him out from under whichever bit of scrub he has secreted himself beneath, or do you suppose we might value a little more highly the prize that has brought us out this far, than preserving a fool from his chosen folly?”

“We cannot spare the time, surely,” Temeraire said anxiously to Laurence.

“We can and shall spare the time,” Laurence said, “at least to fly some passes overhead around the immediate countryside and call out to him: this man is in our charge, and one of our party. If he has deserted, that is one thing; but desertion would be strange indeed in our present situation, so far from any sign of civilization; far more likely that from an excess of heat or air-sickness he has grown disoriented and wandered into the scrub, and lost his way back.”

“I don’t see why we should care, if he is silly enough to go roaming around in the wild without coming back,” Iskierka said. “He is not an egg, being dragged about wherever anyone likes who has a hold of it, and quite unable to manage for itself.”

Temeraire would of course not quarrel with Laurence, but he inclined to Iskierka’s view of the situation, particularly after he heard one of the convicts say to another, “Ask me, he is well out of it and no mistake; halfway to China, I warrant, and here we sit swinging like the dugs of a back-alley sixpence whore under this monster’s belly,” while they were supposed to be yelling out Jack, Jack as Temeraire flew his circles. Jack himself seemed to agree with them; at least he did not answer, or step out from behind a shrub and wave an arm.

“He must be choosing to stay hidden,” Temeraire said, “surely, Laurence; we have made such a tremendous noise no one anywhere near-by could fail to hear us. I hope,” he added, only a little reproachfully, “that the thieves have not, for they must be warned if they have.”

He did not add, although he might have, that Telly had been quite a regular nuisance since even before they had left Sydney: had complained quite incessantly. It did not seem to Temeraire that he would be a very great loss, if he did not wish to come with them any further.

“I cannot account for it,” Laurence said. “Pray go below and ask those men, Demane, what was his sentence, and his profession?”

Demane climbed down Temeraire’s side, to speak with the convicts in the belly-netting; and swung back up again to report: Telly had been trained up as a carpenter, once, and had so called himself; but convicted of debt in the amount of £2 5d 7s at the age of sixteen had gone through a window in London to snatch a few goods to repay; finding this a more lucrative profession, he had given over hopes of respectability; he was, in short, a thief: a second-story man, sentenced to twenty years of transportation and hard labor.

“What business has such a man in the open wilderness, and running out into it?” Laurence said.

“I cannot see why you insist on crediting such a man with more wit than willfullness,” Rankin said. “I am sure he imagines all will be charmingly easy: a man with prospects of a respectable profession, who runs himself into a debt ludicrous to his station, turns thief, and runs riot in London until he is seized for transportation, surely cannot be allowed to have the remotest powers of reason.

“Nor,” Rankin added cuttingly, “any value to society; and meanwhile a beast priceless to our situation is being trundled away by, I gather your Chinaman friend suspects, some party of French spies. If you insist on pursuing this course of action, we will surely lose the trail; and you may be sure I will not stint in speaking my mind on the subject in my own report to their Lordships, or about Captain Granby’s ill-judgment in yielding to your wishes.”

It was very unpleasant to be in any way of the same mind as Rankin, particularly when he spoke in so offensive a way, and Temeraire thought he had not much value to society, either. But—the egg must be paramount, that was incontrovertible; and even as Temeraire steeled himself to speak to Laurence, Iskierka was swinging back towards them. Granby called over, “Laurence, I am damned sorry, but the fellow don’t want to be found, if he hasn’t broken his neck somewhere; and Iskierka won’t stand for looking any longer.”

“Very well,” Laurence said, after a moment, “—let us go onward.”

“You are not very distressed, Laurence, I hope?” Temeraire asked, as he and Iskierka fell again into the sweeping pattern he had worked out that morning: she flying slightly above, and the two of them interweaving, and looking in opposite directions always, that both of them should have cast an eye over the same ground, to be sure not to overlook anything.

“No,” Laurence said, “only I must find it strange; I have known men desert, often enough, but only at the prospect of some immediate gain and a nearby harbor: with women, generally, and I would be the more likely to credit him with deliberate flight if he had taken a cask of rum instead of the canteen. I imagine Granby has it right, and the poor devil took a wrong step and fell into some crevasse; where he will likely die of thirst, if those wild dogs we have heard at night do not come on him first. This is not a kind country, and I cannot think very much of abandoning a man in it.”

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.

Chapter 8

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.”

“Yes?” Laurence said, still asleep, and rubbed his hand over his face.

“I am not afraid myself, of course; but I should not like to alarm the men,” Temeraire added, “and I am afraid we may have got into the underworld, somehow: I cannot account for it otherwise.”

“—I beg your pardon?” Laurence said, opening his eyes, and standing; and then he was silent.

“I am sorry we should have pressed on during the night,” Temeraire said, “but perhaps it was Jack Telly’s spirit—”

“We are not in the underworld!” Laurence said, but the men when they woke were more of Temeraire’s mind; until the meager breakfast of biscuit had been shared out, and then one very stupid person said, “I reckon there wouldn’t be biscuit, in the hot place; we’m in China, I expect, and whoever would want to come here, I don’t know.”

At once the convicts all agreed: they had certainly reached China. They were not moved from this ridiculous opinion, either, even when Temeraire exasperated said, “But this is not China at all; China is across the ocean from here, and it is a very splendid place, not like this at all; there are thousands and thousands of dragons there, all over.”

“There you have it,” O’Dea said to the others with ghoulish relish, “a godforsaken place: we will see a horde of them fly out of the west, any morning now, coming to devour us; and then we will go down to Old Nick’s country in the end.” Temeraire put back his ruff in irritation.

“Some mineral in the soil gives it the color, I imagine,” Dorset said, scraping at the earth with the end of a stick and peering inquisitively at the still-brighter dirt revealed below.

“We must backtrack in any case,” Tharkay said, shading his eyes with a hand. “We must have overshot the turning of their trail.”

“I can’t see they would come into this countryside,” Granby agreed, absently rubbing his arms as he looked around him yet again, as though he could not help it; Temeraire could see many of the other men doing so as well, and it made him look again also: it was indeed very odd to find oneself in the middle of this queer red landscape. “It is a godforsaken country; I don’t suppose anyone can live here comfortably. Shall we go back to that water-hole we saw, last night? And we had better see the men all have a drink, before they come over ugly on us.”

But when they had flown on three miles—still the endless sweeping in either direction, and all the while their eyes on the ground, so the tiny distance took the better part of two hours—Tharkay suddenly leaned forward on Iskierka’s back, and Temeraire followed her to the ground: Tharkay leaped down in three bounds from her back to the sands, and he stooped at a mounded heap of red sand, exactly hollowed to that same eggshell curve, and beside it, stark and brilliantly reflecting in the sunlight, a white ochre handprint was marked freshly upon a jutting monolith of dark red stone.

Iskierka left them an hour later, winging her way back to Sydney, though not without a great deal of quarreling and dissension: she had not wished to leave, nor Granby; but there was no help for it. A smugglers’ trail, which should by necessity come to a definite conclusion in some fixed harbor, was one thing; but the natives might go anywhere at all in their own country, and in circles if they wished.

“All right, maybe it isn’t the smugglers; but what would the natives want with a dragon?” Granby had said. “I don’t say they have any reason to love us, but they can’t ever have seen a dragon before we landed in this country, and if you should tell me that a first glimpse of Temeraire, or Iskierka, or even Caesar, should make a man want to hatch a beast out for himself, I call it mad.”

They were all at something of a loss from the new discovery: but besides the handprint the heavy red sand had taken all around the imprint of bare feet, and Tharkay had uncovered, too, some remnants of their meal: emptied seed-pods, roasted, and the stems of berries from a bush near-by; native, and certainly no smugglers would have made such a meal at the risk of poisoning themselves.

Tharkay shrugged a little. “I do not pretend to an understanding of their motives,” he said, “but their tracks are reasonably clear, and I am afraid it answers a great many questions: I have already found it strange the smugglers should continue this far without making a turn for the coast, and such easy familiarity with their route was wholly unlikely even if the French had been colonizing this continent for a century.”

“They have stolen the egg because it was precious to us,” Rankin said impatiently. “We had it swaddled up as a great treasure; what more do you need? Likely they have not even realized it will hatch out a dragon, and think it some species of jewel.”

Laurence could not be so easily dismissive. He would once have given as little credence to a native power sufficient to rival those of Europe, or as sophisticate in its organization and its forces. Although this was not a country, he rather thought, looking around the barren landscape, which should easily sustain and conceal an empire so large as the lush heart of Africa had concealed that of the Tswana; still he was not inclined to again make so dangerous an assumption.

“They have at the very least evaded us, despite the most urgent and enthusiastic search, over many days,” Laurence added, “which ought command our respect and wariness. It would be a very unimaginative man who would look at a dragon egg and think it anything other than it is: they do have birds here, and snakes. Far more likely they should see us in company with Temeraire and Iskierka and Caesar, and realize the prize before them. They cannot be pleased with the usurpation of their territory by the farmers of the colony, and anything which offers them the power of resistance or of leveling the ground must appeal.”

Rankin shrugged. “Very well; in that case we must fear at any moment that several thousand wild tribesmen, full of loathing, will leap on us in the night: splendid.”

The greater danger of course was the far more certain one: that the trail might go on a long, cold time of searching; and it was this which necessitated Iskierka’s departure. “We must grant them every power of hiding themselves from us in it, and knowing their way,” Laurence said to Granby, “—and Riley cannot wait, weeks and weeks gone, and no word of us at all. We were already overlong, looking for our route through the mountains. By now he must be looking to see us return to Sydney every day.”

“Well, I am not haring off to leave you here in the middle of the desert, if that is what you are getting at,” Granby said.

“It is fairer to say that we are presently haring off, away from any reasonable course,” Laurence said. “If the natives are not our friends, they are at least not the French; and one middle-weight dragon will not give them the power of doing us much harm even if they should wish to, when Temeraire is in the colony.”

Fairer or not, Granby refused to like it, and Iskierka liked it still less. “Well, I am not going anywhere until we have found the egg,” she said, dismissively, “so there is no sense discussing it: Riley must wait, and that is all.”

But Riley would not wait, of course; they had already been gone nearly three weeks, on a trip that ought to have taken them one, and with no word sent back. Whatever misfortune could befall a party of two heavy-weight dragons and thirty men would not be lightly dismissed, and there was hardly anyone of the colony who could be sent in search of them, either. They would be written down as lost, victims of an unfamiliar territory; Riley might even leave the sooner, to bring the disastrous news back to England.

Even Temeraire was no ally, for once proving reluctant to see Iskierka go. “It is not that I am pleased with her company,” he said to Laurence, “or that I cannot rescue the egg myself, of course; only it would be churlish to send her away, as though she were not worth having along. And she has been very handy at hunting; one cannot deny it.”

“With as little game as this country looks likely to hold, from this day’s flight,” Laurence said, “if we must penetrate into it for any distance, that must argue rather for her departure, than her remaining: the two of you cannot as easily be fed as one in covering the same ground. But my dear, the greater concern must be their necessary imprisonment upon this continent: if Riley leaves, they are trapped with us for years perhaps, unjustly.”

“Well, as far as that goes,” Temeraire said, “I must say I do not see why it is just that I should be left behind, when Iskierka is not; for you cannot argue she is any more obedient to the Government than I am. But I do see the point: eggs are not always being stolen, and I am sure she would be tiresome again as soon as we had it back; and I dare say wanting to eat all the cows. For that matter, we ought to send Caesar back, also, I suppose?”

He finished hopefully, but this, of course, was by no means desirable: keeping Caesar and Rankin from interference in the colony’s affairs was no longer their most pressing concern, but that scarcely meant they now wished to encourage it; and Caesar was not leaving with the Allegiance, in any case.

“We might go,” Granby said reluctantly, “and come back, if you would build some cairns to show us which way you have gone. It isn’t as though you would be moving very quickly, chasing a bunch of fellows traveling on foot: thirty miles in a day must be their utmost limit. We could catch you up if Riley thinks he can give us the time: I suppose he wouldn’t mind that new mast, or at least it is an excuse. At this rate we will be chasing these fellows clear across the country, anyway, and we might well meet him on the other side, if he goes sailing around.”

They did not immediately settle on this course: Iskierka continued to resist, and then there was the question of the convicts, and what was to be done with them. The men themselves were all for being taken back to Sydney, or at the least returned to the comfortable valley; Granby did not wish to leave Laurence so deserted.

“I know one can’t call them reliable,” he said, “but they are hands, and if you do find these fellows who have the egg, and need to work it away from them, you may need more than just your own and Temeraire’s. It’s precious easy to keep a dragon pinned down if you have an egg it is brooding: a little child could make Temeraire come to heel like a well-trained hound, with nothing more than a rock. And,” he added in an undertone, “Rankin mayn’t be good company, and he is a bounder, but in justice one can’t call him a coward.”

Rankin did not immediately offer his own opinion; Laurence was a little surprised to find him consulting quietly with Caesar, away to one side—he could scarcely have imagined an aviator less likely to inquire after a dragon’s wishes. But Caesar’s interests were the only ones aligned with Rankin’s, of their company, which perhaps had driven him to such straits; and having conceded so far, no one could deny Caesar a great deal of sharpness, if he was too ungenerous for wisdom.

“Certainly I am not leaving,” Rankin said, at length returning, when Granby pressed him. “If you are going, Captain Granby, I must necessarily assume command of the search; the recovery of the egg is our highest duty, and there can be no question of our returning to Sydney at present,” by which he likely meant no value in finding himself again awkwardly committed to Bligh. “As for the men, for my part, you had better take this lot and deposit them back on the sufferance of the colony; they will hardly be of much use to us.”

“Well, sir,” O’Dea said to Laurence, “I do not mean to be quarrelsome, but we were offered our liberty for cutting a road: and I don’t suppose we will get the one without the other.”

“Those who wish to remain, and carry out their service, may,” Laurence said. “Any man who prefers to return to the security of the colony, likewise; I prefer no unwilling hands.”

Temeraire sighed a little, watching Iskierka go, after a great deal of urgent persuasion from Granby and only with the promise of returning, within the narrowest span of time. “And she is flying flat-out,” he said, “and on quite a straight course; none of this tiresome sweeping. I do not suppose Tharkay might be able to make out their trail a little better, now that he knows they are natives and not smugglers, so we might not have to go hunting quite so wide?”

“First,” Laurence said, “we must have water.”

Water they might not have, however; not easily. The trees were quite misleading, and a patch of greenery did not seem to mean an oasis, as one might have expected. “They may be like succulents,” Laurence offered as an explanation, “and have some reservoir of water to sustain them through the summer droughts, I suppose.” But if Temeraire tore one up—rather difficult for all they were very skinny, as they had enormous nests of roots—it was quite dry all the way through, and there was not even a little cache of water which a person might drink from.

So they had to keep on with their sweeps, looking now always for some little trickle or gleam of water, and even more importantly for another sign of the thieves: who might easily go in any direction whatsoever. It was very distressing to look upon Laurence’s maps of the enormous continent, so spread open, and so unmarked; they were already a way into the blank mysterious space at the center, and far from the surveyed coastlines. Now that Iskierka was gone, Temeraire felt still more anxious to be sure he did not overlook any movement, any small track which Tharkay perhaps could not see so well from aloft.

Caesar was flying alongside now, which limited their pace to his; as Laurence had pointed out, that was even so a good deal faster than any person might have walked, so Temeraire tried not to be anxious, but he was nevertheless very soon annoyed, for even though it was Caesar who necessitated their going slower, he nevertheless felt justified in making many unnecessary remarks on Temeraire’s own preoccupation, and his efforts to watch the ground.

“I can’t see why you should be jumping down and up like a jack-in-the-box, every time you see some sand being stirred up by the wind,” Caesar said. “You will get worn out, and then you will want more of the food and water when we get it, and precious little of either to start.”

“Whatever there is,” Temeraire said, “if I am the one catching it, I will take as much as I like; you might help look, instead of complaining.”

“And if I happen to see an egg,” Caesar said waspishly, “I will let you know of it; or anything worth seeing, but I don’t suppose you would like it much if I began to say, Oh look, there is something, and then I would say, sorry old fellow, I am mistaken, it is only a bush, after you went flinging yourself at it.”

Temeraire was a little hungrier than he might satisfy as they flew, over such a short distance: there were larger kangaroos here, with reddish fur, but they could move quite surprisingly fast, and the hopping made them a little tricky to catch when he must at once avoid too much jostling of the egg; he had only managed to snatch two all afternoon.

“There are a whole lot of them hopping away over there, Temeraire, if you like,” Roland said, as evening drew on; and though it was not quite in the right direction, Temeraire was tempted; but as he pursued, it came clear they were hopping away from a narrow creek, and everyone was very thirsty.

“If you are not excessively hungry,” Laurence said, “we had best stop: the light is fading, and we may not easily find our way back.”

“Perhaps,” Temeraire said, setting down very carefully, so as not to disturb the grounds, “perhaps, Tharkay, the aborigines should have been here, too? It is the first water we have seen since mid-morning.”

“I can only inform you that there have been a great many kangaroos here lately,” Tharkay dryly said, which was not at all fresh news. Temeraire tried not to be discouraged, but when they had dug a deeper hole for the water to collect, and he had drunk, he looked up and gazed with dismay around the wide-open country: low red dunes swelling and falling in all directions, a few outcroppings of rock, stands of bushes and of trees along the little creek which ran away into the distance, the bed gone nearly dry in places. There was nothing to distinguish one direction from another.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a little rest, while the men made their own small smoky fire, and cooked a little salt pork to eat with their biscuit, and they all disposed of themselves to sleep; the pleasant coolness of the night crept on, and Temeraire found himself half-drowsing, listening just in case the kangaroos should come back; the hopping ought to make a noise, he felt, and abruptly a short high shriek startled him up, wide-eyed and looking.

Dawn had not quite broken, but the sky was paling; the men were all sitting up around him, blurred grey shadows against the ground, not moving.

The yell had cut off as abruptly as it had begun. Laurence stood, walking amongst the men to count heads as the light crept nearer, and there was a spare hollow in the ground with empty shoes set beside it, where someone had been sleeping.

“It’s them,” O’Dea said, “—waiting out in the dark and picking us off one by one, taking us in the night. The egg is only bait to lure us on deeper into their country, so they can kill us all. We never ought to be able to follow them otherwise—”

“There’s witchery in it, I say,” another man muttered, not low.

The men were for leaving at once, at once; no-one proposed staying this time to search any longer for the luckless Jonas Green. “The ground at the creek has been disturbed a little,” Tharkay said to Laurence quietly, while the hasty packing commenced, and the men warily filled their cans of water afresh, “but I see nothing one might expect, of a grown healthy man being dragged away, alive or dead; they cannot have swept the ground clean behind them.”

“This is a strange country,” Laurence said, low and puzzled, and came to swing himself aboard.

Temeraire was as pleased to be gone, quickly, not only so they might keep looking for the egg: it worried him a little that this mysterious snatching agency might seize on one of his crew. It seemed just as well to have Laurence and all of them safely away. But then in the air he paused, before he had even properly made any height, and stooped swiftly to the lee side of the rock outcropping.

“Oh, not again,” Caesar complained, “and we have not even had breakfast,” but Temeraire paid no attention, none whatsoever, as he thrust his nose into the low, half-hidden hollow in the stone, tearing away the covering of brush: and in the dirt lay a small heap of fragments of bright, red-glazed porcelain, the lemon-curd-yellow pattern of birds smashed apart.

Chapter 9

“I WISH YOU FELLOWS would make up your minds,” Caesar said, “are we looking for smugglers, or natives, or the egg; and can’t we go find something to eat, instead?”

“Pray don’t be so thick,” Temeraire said, “we are looking for all three, of course, and all three of them are one; and we will go get something to eat when Tharkay has worked out their trail and which way we ought to go.”

This conclusion seemed quite self-evident to him, so he was puzzled to find Rankin utterly dismissive of the notion, and even Laurence saying to Tharkay, “Can the natives be responsible for the smuggling of the goods? I suppose the French might be supplying them, at some distant port—”

“It would certainly save them a great deal of labor,” Tharkay said, “if I do not see how the natives could profit from the effort of carrying large quantities of goods across the width of an entire continent, only to the Sydney market.”

“Why should they not like the goods for themselves?” Temeraire said, “—the porcelain is very nice; although they have been careless again.” Anyone would have liked the piece, he thought, when it had been whole. “While I cannot really wish anything so nice broken, if they meant to break them anyway, it would be very useful if they should drop some others, as they go; and perhaps they may. Which way have they gone?” he asked, which after all was the real, the crucial point.

It was a little disheartening that Tharkay would have it that the pieces were older—had been here since the last rainfall, which certainly had not been in the last week, and of course that was far too long; but he insisted. Temeraire sighed a little, but after all, this was still a trail: if they had come this way before, then likely they had come this way again, or at least should end in the same place.

“And that would suit very well,” Temeraire said to Laurence, tearing hungrily into his meat; they had gone on, and taken a few kangaroos to breakfast upon, “if we might fly on, and then wait for them to come to us, now that we know they will not be carrying the egg onto a ship somewhere, and over the ocean where we can never get at it again.”

He looked for more shards or broken bits as they flew onward, now: if the ground had not been such an inconveniently bright color, it might have been easier; and also there were quite distinct sections, flying over, some of which were much more troublesome to examine. Temeraire preferred those where the trees and shrubs were scant and fire-blackened, and the grass very low to the ground, but in the afternoon when they had flown past a dry creek bed lined with the dark green shrubs, the vegetation flourished up again, huge straw-yellow mop-heads of grasses and pale green tender shrubs everywhere, trees spiking up.

Caesar did not help, either; he would have it that one could not hunt very well here, and they had very likely lost the trail, and the aborigines had gone quite another way, and so forth. And all the while the hot, dusty wind blew and blew into Temeraire’s nostrils, and his eyes, and the red sand gritted upon his hide and collected in small pockets as his wings rolled through each stroke, and itched; and the men in the belly-netting muttered low and sullenly of home, and called out now and again to try and wheedle a halt for “a little grog, sir; it is downright inhuman, in this heat.”

Caesar murmured and complained also, muffled by the heat and wind, until after an hour he said suddenly, “Hi, what is that there,” and Temeraire halted mid-air and whipped his head around, hovering.

“I saw something there, I thought,” Caesar said, but Temeraire flew back and forth and saw not the faintest gleam of foreign color among all the bushes and trees, not a track or even much of a clearing which could have been a camp, and Tharkay shook his head when he looked an inquiry back.

“Well, it wasn’t color, so much,” Caesar said thoughtfully, on being interrogated; he was flying in lazy circles while Temeraire searched. “Just I thought I saw something moving, but when I sang out it stopped. No, I can’t tell you exactly where; this country all looks the same to me. I think it is pretty wonderful I should have spotted it at all.”

“Very wonderful,” Temeraire said, “when you cannot even say what you saw, and no-one else can see it.”

“I am sure I don’t need to bother, another time,” Caesar said, bristling up his shoulders, and throwing out his red-blazoned chest, “if my effort is so unappreciated; just how I suspected it should be, and my fault, of course, that you can’t hunt it out. If you want my opinion, if there were a hundred aborigines hiding about in this grass, you wouldn’t know it, at all. We ought to fly somewhere else entirely; and at least we might set down and have a rest.”

“I am not so lazy that I must have a rest before mid-day,” Temeraire said. “We have already wasted enough time on whatever it is you saw.”

Rankin was standing in his harness, on Caesar’s back, looking behind them. “We will have to set down,” he said, “in at best an hour: there is a thunderstorm coming on.”

“Whyever should he think so?” Temeraire said to Laurence as he banked away, onto his course; the sky was clear, except for a little bank of blue clouds one might see if one looked around behind, but those were not coming on swiftly.

“I have been flying courier duty since I was twelve years old; I can damned well smell a storm,” Rankin said flatly as Caesar came up with them, and twenty minutes later Temeraire was forced to concede, as the wind coming towards them began to die away in odd fits and starts, a suggestion of heaviness in the air, and as they flew on, the cloudbank behind grew long and turned a dark, essential blue striped a little with luminous grey and seaweed-greenish bands of color. The trees stood pale and white-limbed beneath it, lit from before by the sun.

“And it will surely erase all signs of passing,” Temeraire said to Laurence unhappily. “Whatever can be done? I suppose we might fly on anyway, and try to keep ahead?”

“I am not flying on through that,” Caesar said, looking behind apprehensively, as for emphasis the clouds put down abruptly a silent forked line of lightning directly to the earth, spidery and branching and flaring a moment in the dark. The roll of thunder came a long, dragging moment later; and a thin, wispy grey curtain of rain trailed down at one end of the cloud.

“We had better not,” Laurence said, grimly, “and we ought not set down on higher ground, either; you are too large.”

There was a little open space, of bare red earth and yellow grass, among some larger dunes and sheltered from the worst of the rising wind; the clouds were near upon them by then, and spattering gusts of rain which did not fill the eagerly outstretched canteens and cups, but only dimpled the softer loose dirt and left spots upon their clothing, and rattled the dry blades of grass. It was still hot and oppressive. The dark cloud came rolling up across the sky, suddenly quick after its long creeping approach, and the sun vanished.

More great long forks of lightning were tonguing down to the earth against the wide-open horizon, all around, and the voices of the thunder roared and groaned to one another from one side of the clouds to the other, so that one almost imagined meaning into it. Temeraire could not stop himself trying to make sense of it—he felt on the verge, over and over, as when he had learned only a little of some different sort of language, and thought he had just picked out a familiar word or two amid the sea of new sounds.

The wind shifted, coming hard into their faces: another thin spatter of unrefreshing rain thrown into his eyes and nostrils and flinging the dust upon him, so he had to blink and shake his head, snorting; a smell of distant smoke quite clear upon his tongue. Violet and orange haze spread across the sky, and Temeraire put out his wing a little further to shield the egg a little better from the wind.

“Peculiar sort of color there,” Caesar said uneasily, sitting up on his hindquarters: he had grown a great deal, and when he stretched, now, his head might clear Temeraire’s shoulder. It was a strange color: a vivid glow of red as though someone had painted a line across the horizon, and it was altering the color of the sky, casting that umber light on the clouds, so they were at once blue and muddied with orange-red, and still the lightning flashing against it, although now difficult to see.

“May I beg you to put me up,” Laurence said, and Temeraire lifted him so he might see; Laurence opened up his glass and stood looking on Temeraire’s shoulder, and then said, “Thank you; Captain Rankin, Mr. Forthing, I believe we had better get all aboard again.”

The fire came upon them with shocking speed, a low hissing beneath the continuing crash of the thunder and dry wind, whispering with great malice and hunger, and Laurence shouting over the noise, “Leave that, damn your eyes,” while one of the convicts came reluctantly out from behind some bushes and through the grey wisps of drifting smoke, dragging a cask of rum which he had somehow stolen away after their landing, meaning to privately enjoy. The other men jeered and called, yelling at him, “Bring it on quick, Bob, and we’ll be merry as grigs all this fucking flight for once; you won’t have it all to yourself, you old sodden bitch, no you won’t.”

Maynard halting stooped to heave the cask up to his shoulder. The fire was in the distance yet, a broad and smoke-shrouded wall of glowing orange seen through the veil, but already the yellow tips of grass were igniting like red embers upon the crest of the dune behind him as he bent, and a wave of heat came shimmering almost palpable into Temeraire’s face and stole his breath.

Maynard was staggering towards them, and the cask was dripping; small sparks of blue fire going up as the droplets struck the ground to meet the catching tinder of dry grass, and then the thickets were going up ahead of his feet, smoke rising in one thin column after another blown into spreading curtains. Temeraire could not see the fire at all anymore as a separate thing: all the world beyond the dunes was flame, and the smoke climbing into thick and stinging pillars around him.

The man let the cask fall, and began to run shambling and coughing towards them. Temeraire felt very strange; his head was thick and confused and his wings felt leaden. He breathed in deeply, and coughed and coughed also; his throat and chest were closing as though someone had wrapped chains around him, and was trying to draw them taut. “Aloft,” Laurence was roaring, “Temeraire, go aloft,” and Temeraire thought, but I must wait, and he felt quite tired; and then a sharp stab of pain caught his hindquarters, startling his eyes open: when had he closed them?

“Get that egg out of the fire, you damned beast,” Rankin shouted, from behind him, and the egg, the egg: Temeraire with a great bunching effort launched himself up; as his wings spread a great shuddering gust of hot, hot, hot wind blew up from beneath him, catching him aback; Maynard was dangling from the belly-netting, being pulled in, and the cask below was a brief torch burning blue-white out of the smoke for a moment. His hindquarters yet ached: there was a little blood dripping, where Caesar had pricked him hard with his claws, which ran down Temeraire’s legs as he beat upwards. His wings still did not wish to answer very well.

Caesar was ahead, stretched out long and flying all-out in a straight line, beating and beating: Temeraire fixed upon his grey body and flew as best he could. The smoke still climbed after them, in rising tendrils mingling into columns mingling into sheets, thickening along the ground as all the heaped growth was consumed. His breath whistled painfully in his throat, a particular effort every time, and the thunder roared abruptly very near, out of the huge building clouds overhead; he twisted away on instinct, quite uselessly: the lightning had already struck the ground, perhaps a quarter-of-a-mile distant, and another tree was burning like a torch on its hill of red and gold.

The cold air felt better on his hide, in his throat; but the wind struck him from one side and then the next. One great buffeting gust came rushing at them from above, wet and shockingly cold after the heat, and Caesar was tumbled over: his left wing and shoulder blown hard down, and turning his other directly into the gust, so he was blown every which way, and Temeraire with a laboring burst of speed came under him only just in time to right him; sharp painful sting as Caesar’s claws scrabbled on his hide.

Caesar steadied a little, and then they were taken apart again by the wind, another dragging gust which pulled Temeraire suddenly fifty feet straight upwards, only barely managing to keep his wings from snapping against his back.

“Laurence, Laurence,” Temeraire called, to be sure that Laurence had not been hurt, by Caesar’s claws, nor any of his crew; or he tried to call, but nothing came from his throat, so far as he could hear. The thunder was going off again, like cannon or worse, beside him and ahead, all at once: the sky above blazing with great gunpowder-flashes of lightning which showed the clouds going up and up and up like mountains full of cavernous hollows, false promises of shelter, and the edges billowing and crawling out and in, like living things brooding.

He tried to look and nearly had his neck wrenched around for his pains, the only comfort that he could glance downward and see the egg against his breastbone, the oilskin wrappings shining wet with rain. But the harness did not look so tight, he thought with sudden anxiety, and then the wind struck and he was tumbling, his head bowed down nearly below his forelegs, the blazing orange of the fire suddenly become the sky, the ground yawning with blue cloud-canyons, and then turned over and over, blurring; he could not spread his wings.

He stretched his jaws wide and drew in all the breath he could; the wind cut a little as he fell back towards the earth and the heat rose up instead, and he felt lighter as his chest filled out. He managed to twist himself sideways, and open his wings out straight up and down, in the line of his falling, and banking just a little into the wind caught an up-draft back towards the blue-black heights of the storm, already reaching a talon towards the egg, anxiously, to try and see: he brushed it very gently and carefully with the edge of a knuckle; it was there, it was safe.

“Secure that rigging there, if you please, Mr. Roland,” he heard Lieutenant Forthing shouting, and as the fire roared up in pursuit behind them, Temeraire might have heard Laurence’s voice; but he was not perfectly sure. But he could not look, he could not turn; the fire was below, the storm above, blind and unmeaning ferocity in every direction, so vast one could not even see the limits of it. He did not see Caesar anywhere, anymore. The sky was so dark, so black, smoke and thunderclouds and no relief, and somewhere there might be sunlight, but so far as Temeraire was concerned there was none left in the world at all, and no direction, either.

He put down his head and flew on.

Laurence nodded his thanks as Roland gave him the small cup of water, and drained it off despite the bitter and acrid taste. Water was rushing with great violence along the once-dry creek bed and had collected in deep puddles over the flat baked surface of the ground, but all choked with ash and dirt, undrinkable until it had been poured through a handkerchief to strain it as clean as it might be gotten.

The landscape had been wholly altered: trees reduced to black-twig skeletons, the thick grasses all gone as if into vapour, leaving behind only scorched and blackened patterns upon the ground which in places still sent up thin lines of smoke. Only the thick dark green bushes yet survived, more or less; the fire had only skirted along their line, and on the other side a region of the sparser vegetation had escaped destruction. Distantly ahead, the fire continued on, a thick black smudge against the sky.

Temeraire lay sleeping, his breath coming in low, worrying rasps. He had landed and thrust his muzzle into the rushing stream to drink long and deep, despite the clots of debris; then had fallen into a stupor. Dorset had listened to his chest and his throat and shaken his head.

Caesar had flown limping into their camp perhaps half-an-hour later, dripping-wet and exhausted from being tumbled about but a little less wretched: Rankin had steered him into the sheeting rain, far to the west along the cloud, where the fire had not been able to take hold. “I would not mind a bite, anyway,” he said, drowsily, with his head upon his forelegs; his grey hide was streaked and mottled with charcoal.

Meat proved no difficulty, except for their fatigue. Many of the desert creatures formerly hidden by the scrub had been robbed of shelter where they had not also been robbed of life; there were twelve kangaroos lying upon the earth near enough to be dragged back to the creek, their fur already singed off and the flesh partly cooked through. The aviators wearily set about the gathering and butchering, under the direction of Gong Su. The best Laurence could say of the convicts was that they were keeping quiet and out of the way, having been doled out a reduced ration of grog. Maynard was forced to take his own glass at the opposite end of the camp, alone and in disgrace.

“I shouldn’t like to go aloft on this harness again, sir, not without repairs,” Mr. Fellowes said, climbing down from Temeraire’s side with a segment of leather, to show him a buckle which looked as though it had been made of soft clay, pulled and stretched long and misshapen. “Not the worst of it, either: all the buckles are gone ahoo: softened by the heat, I think, and twisted up with all that buffeting we took.”

“Do what you can with the supplies, Mr Fellowes; in any case we cannot think of leaving tomorrow,” Laurence said tiredly, running his sleeve across his forehead; Temeraire would need the rest, and the pursuit should have to wait, if it were not now rendered quite hopeless. “Mr. Forthing, Mr. Loring, we will have a little order in this camp, I hope: let us have a couple of fires, and clear some of this debris; and perhaps if these gentlemen will dig us a pit near enough the water channel, it will give us a little cleaner water for drinking.”

“Yes, sir,” Forthing said, and went to work upon the convicts, sending those of them less greenish than the others to fetch their shovels; Laurence realized belatedly he had not thought anything of giving an order, nor evidently the officers of obeying: the united power of crisis and habit, he supposed, on both sides.

The sun was sinking, through the shredded remains of the storm clouds and the haze of smoke: all the sky become true extravagant splendour of purple and crimson and violent pink, gold-limned clouds and shafts of light flaring out like beacons through their gaps. There was not enough strength among them for any great labor. They managed with the shovels to rake away the worst of the smoky, stinking debris; the hole was dug in a curve of the creek and gradually began to fill up with water, filtered in through the dirt.

There was biscuit and the meat, thoroughly tasteless and without any scent and difficult to chew. “Can you stew them softer?” Laurence asked Gong Su, over the three kangaroos set aside for Temeraire; Gong Su nodded, but said, “They will be better in the morning,” and Laurence nodding did not wake Temeraire to eat.

They slept uneasily, with a watch of four men all the night. The plains glowed with lingering embers all around, like a field of fallen stars burning gold, and a haze of orange-lit smoke hung in the west, as if the sun had chosen not to set but only to drop below the horizon. The creek’s roar died away little by little. Laurence woke twice when Temeraire fell into a coughing fit, shudders rippling down his hide, and his head bent over; but Temeraire did not himself fully rouse, his eyes still closed to slits even as he trembled and spat grey-streaked phlegm.

“No, I am well, very well,” Temeraire croaked out frog-like the next morning, although he swallowed the kangaroo, stewed into small half-disintegrated lumps, only very slowly and with visible pain, and reluctantly. “We must go on: we must find the trail again.”

“My dear,” Laurence said quietly, feeling a species of sneak, “I understand your feelings, but we must be practical: we must consider the egg which we yet have, and put its safety before the one which has been lost. Any strange territory is dangerous, wholly unguided as we are; we have already nearly come to grief one and all, and several of our company have suffered worse misfortune. We risk the last egg with every moment we continue: only your utmost exertions were sufficient to preserve it from this last disaster; if we should encounter a second such, could you honestly declare your present strength equal to the task?”

Temeraire was silent, his head bowed deeply over the last, the tiny egg. Laurence could not repress acute guilt: deeply unfair to use Temeraire’s feelings so against him, perhaps even smacking of dishonesty, yet Laurence could not for a moment wish to withdraw, if by such a low method he might persuade Temeraire to take the rest necessary for his own health, even if a thousand eggs should be cracked upon the sands. “When you are recovered,” Laurence said, “and the fire has died down, we will have more opportunity of finding the trail again. There is this benefit: the fire has quite cleared the landscape for our search.”

“But also all the trail,” Temeraire said sadly. “I cannot see how we should ever find them again if we wait at all; although I suppose I am being foolish. The trail is lost, and there is no help for it. Oh!” he cried. “I am glad we are never to go back to England again, Laurence: I do not think I should ever be able to look Cantarella in the face.”

Temeraire cast his wings up and hid his head beneath them, afterwards, and did not care to speak; Laurence rested his hand on Temeraire’s muzzle, for what comfort wordless sympathy might convey, and then fetched his writing-case and sat beside him in the dim shadowed cavern the wing-membranes made, pale bluish-grey light filtering in through their translucence. Laurence had been keeping a log of the journey, from the habit of service days; now he added the annotation,

Our present Location remains uncertain: we have been thrown thoroughly off any course, and we cannot be sure of the hour until we have made Noon, if the Sun should prove visible, at present it remains concealed within the extensive Haze. We are encamped beside a Creek, but this may as easily be the same dry bed of two days heretofore, or one entirely new, so I have not put it on the Chart. I hope we will retrace our steps towards Sydney, soon, when Dorset feels Temeraire is up to so much Activity.

He wrote to Jane afterwards, a separate sheet to enclose with the letter he had already begun to her: he felt he could not put off so unpleasant a task on Granby as to convey the intelligence of the loss of the egg. If it had not been estimated so valuable in England, here it had been priceless, where the long journey would make any shipment of additional eggs all the more difficult; and if Jane had fresh hostilities to contend with, in Spain, she would all the less wish to spare more eggs to the very hypothetical breeding grounds of this new continent.

The camp was quiet, except for coughing. Laurence sipped at a mug of grog at intervals himself, the heat a little soothing against the rawness of his throat; there was a heaviness to his limbs, and despite all the game easy to hand, he did not wish to eat apart from a little biscuit soaked in water, which went down softly.

No one had much appetite. Aviators often did not set a regular meal hour, and lately the scarcity of water had made their mealtimes still more irregular, occurring when sufficient number of the party began to make a noise of protest; to-day no one spoke, even as the day advanced and the noon hour must have gone, even though the sun had not shown itself clear. The younger aviators only had any interest in their surroundings, more resilient: Demane had been foraging, and Roland had organized Sipho and Paul Widener—Rankin’s signal-ensign, an anxious and fretful sort of boy—to butcher his findings and put out the meat to dry, sprinkled thoroughly with salt. For their immediate delectation, they roasted a brace of large lizards on sticks: Demane had found them alive but so dazed by smoke and thunder they might be taken by hand.

“It is quite good, sir,” Roland said, offering some to Laurence, but what little of the smell he could perceive over the clouding of his senses was not appealing enough to provoke his deadened appetite.

They had already more meat than they would require for the return voyage; Demane went out again anyway, unable to resist the bounty, and coming back in the space of less than half-an-hour put down his latest trophy, a handsome-sized kangaroo, only a little singed, and then ducked under Temeraire’s wing.

Laurence looked up; Demane said, “There are men there, on the other side of those dunes.”

The men were for attacking at once, “before they creep away again, and come lurking upon us during the night, and steal away another,” O’Dea said, presenting this to Laurence and Rankin, as a petition on their behalf. “Even the little one ought be able to do for them—” meaning Caesar, rather bloodthirstily, and Rankin said icily, “That will be quite enough, Mr. O’Dea; when your opinion is desired again it will be solicited.”

A good deal of resentful muttering followed this, which the convicts did not trouble themselves to keep low; Rankin ignored it roundly, but Laurence shook his head a little: he had seen mutiny before, and with less motivation than the conviction of imminent murder. With Temeraire and even Caesar a little ill and groggy, there could be a real mischief done, if the convicts chose to try and seize upon himself or Rankin, or even another of the crewmen whom Temeraire valued.

“It is not them,” Demane said, loudly and impatiently. “They do not have the egg.”

Temeraire stirred, here, from his restless drowse, and raised his head: when he understood, he brightened and said, “But perhaps they may know where the others have gone—” and swinging his head towards the convicts asked, “Can no-one of you speak with them?”

“It is no good talking to them,” O’Dea said, “what we want is some quick action: if they know we are here, they are sure to run off again, and steal back—”

“They do know we are here,” Demane said. “They saw me taking the kangaroo.”

“Well, he is a black fellow, though, isn’t he; one of them,” one man said; Demane was certainly of sable complexion, but hailing from the south of Africa had no more in common with the natives than this accident of coloration; although Laurence supposed doubtfully this might engender some common feeling, or at least defer the suspicion which their own appearance, so far different, might provoke.

“Are any of you gentlemen conversant with their tongue?” Laurence said, and after a little shuffling O’Dea granted that he had some experience; so, too, did a Richard Shipley, one of the younger of the convicts, not twenty and one, who said, “Though not much more than to trade some rum or some buttons for—well, sir, for a little company,” with a blush.

“I cannot see how that will be any use here,” Temeraire said anxiously. “I might make out a little bit, or they might know some other language: perhaps I ought to come as well.”

“That must substantially diminish any hope of their receiving us in a friendly manner,” Laurence said, and checked his pistols, instead, which if smaller were no less deadly.

He and Tharkay and Forthing took their two prospective interpreters, however inadequate, and Demane led them over the charred dunes perhaps a mile from the camp, near the far edge of the seared band where the marks of the fire ended and the vegetation had escaped. The aborigines had already collected their own supply of game, many dead animals strung together, and were standing near the unburnt ground, holding some discussion amongst themselves: four men, and a youth perhaps a few years older than Demane. Laurence was surprised, when they drew nearer, to see that the ground before them was burning, and evidently by their doing. They were watching it with narrow, careful attention, and stamping out flames which leapt back towards them.

The aborigines received them not unwarily but without open hostility, and when Shipley and O’Dea hesitantly spoke, they listened and made some reply. This at once exceeded the translators’ limits; Shipley said, “It don’t sound at all like, a word or two maybe.”

Laurence turned instead to pantomime and sketchwork, in the conveniently empty canvas of the burnt ground which showed his lopsided figures red against the black of the ash; he tried to draw a picture of the egg, large, being carried away by small men—blank looks only—and then held out a fragment of the pottery.

This opened some species of communication: the aborigines nodded, and one held out a spear-thrower, which Laurence was startled to see decorated at the end with a string of porcelain beads in red and blue, and another of jade and pearls. He pointed at the pistol in Laurence’s belt. Laurence shook his head and said, “No, I thank you,” rather bewildered to be offered such a bargain in the middle of the desert. The hunter shrugged and equably accepted refusal, and when Laurence brought out his map and laid it out, they were willing enough to look down at the chart.

This, however, they did not seem to think meaningful; they touched the paper between their fingers appreciatively, and traced the colored lines of ink, but turned it upside-down and back without sign of recognition, even the territory lately traversed which Laurence pointed out to them, the newly marked creek beds and salt pans and hills which must have been familiar landmarks; but perhaps the aborigines did not have the habit of mapmaking.

Instead, Shipley pointed at the necklace and asked “Where?” in the version of the language which he knew, then pointing in each direction of the compass; the aborigines answered with “Pitjantjatjara” and “Larrakia,” and pointed north and west, with almost a throwing gesture and another word—“Far, far,” Shipley said. “I think that’s what it means, anyway.”

“And then what about the men they have been snatching?” O’Dea said, and drew in the sand several figures in stick form, and by them the water-hole and the rock outcropping where Jonas Green had vanished. He then crossed out one of his figures; the aborigines nodded without surprise and said, “Bunyip,” and shook their heads vigorously.

“Bunyip,” they repeated, and crossed the man out more thoroughly, and said a great deal more, which might have been excellent advice if they could have understood a word of it. But then, perceiving they were not understood, the youngest of their company proceeded to hold up his hands like claws by his mouth and made a hissing snatching gesture, with a growl, rather looking like a children’s bogey; and Laurence grew doubtful of the proffered explanation: there had certainly been no monsters wandering about the camp.

But O’Dea proved more willing to accept this excuse, and, somewhat mollified, trying more of his limited supply found a few more common words: he drew the egg larger and showed a dragon coming out of it, wings outspread. The aborigines repeated their gesture towards the north-west, and then the oldest tapped the youth on the shoulder, demanding attention, and opening his mouth sang, in a low and gravelly if resonant voice; the other men clapping softly along, to add rhythm to the chant.

“No use to trying to work that out,” O’Dea said, looking around. “They go off so from time to time, when you ask them directions, but it is only these stories of theirs: monsters and gods and the making of the world. It don’t mean anything.”

The song finishing, and the small smudgy fire also, the men bent to take up their strings of game and to move on to another patch of the grasslands; the youth stepped into the newly burnt section and took himself a branch still burning quietly at one end. Laurence would have liked to try and get a little more intelligence out of them, perhaps recruiting Dorset, who was a good hand at draftsmanship, and trying to with better illustrations convey more precise questions; but the hunters had evidently tired of a conversation of so little profit to themselves, and to restrain them could only provoke the quarrel which the men had formerly imagined.

“Bunyips,” O’Dea repeated to Shipley with ghoulish satisfaction, as they walked back towards the camp. “So it is bunyips: and they must be man-eaters, did you see how those black fellows shook at the word? God rest their souls, Jack Telly and poor Jonas; in a bunyip’s belly, it is a cruel way to end. Like tigers, they must be.”

The story would certainly be all across the camp in moments, when they had returned, and the men undoubtedly as pleased to transfer all their fears to man-eating monsters, as to native tribesmen; or more pleased, for the greater hideousness of the threat. Laurence sighed, and climbed wearily up the dune ahead to wave a reassuring hand to Temeraire, who should be worrying; but when he came in sight, Temeraire was looking down instead at the egg, which Fellowes was hastily taking out of its wrappings.

Chapter 10

“I WILL THANK YOU for an end to this wholly inappropriate interference, Mr. Laurence,” Rankin said, icily. “You have neither rank nor office, nor even proper training to recommend your opinion on the matter. Mr. Drewmore, I trust you are ready to stand the duty? Mr. Blincoln, I believe you are next in seniority, should Mr. Drewmore fail to secure the hatchling; you will prepare yourself as well.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Drewmore said after a moment, not displeased but only slow to grasp the offered advantage: a man of forty, heavy of body and of mind at once; he had shown not an iota of initiative, which Laurence had seen, and set himself apart only by a certain amiable willingness and basic competence. He had reached the rank of first lieutenant aboard a middle-weight, for no greater accomplishment than being the son of a distinguished and well-liked captain; but he had been grounded by the death of his beast, during the plague, and no equal post had been offered him.

And Blincoln, only a little second to him in both years and seniority, was similarly a nonentity; neither of them in any way worthy of the one, the last egg. Meanwhile Forthing, who alone among the aviators had distinguished himself in service, however meager his connections, was evidently to be set aside.

Laurence had grown up in a service where influence was very nearly all, in the way of promotion, but he had grown used to the very different mode in the Corps: if a man had much in the way of influence, he was not an aviator, as a rule. Rankin himself was an exception, and Laurence’s former lieutenant Ferris: the only two such cases Laurence had so far met, in the service. Merit, and the lucky opportunity of demonstrating it, had in practice by far the greater reach. Personal loyalties might have their impact, but Rankin did not know these men; they had not been affectionate towards him. He had met them one and all, not a month ago.

Laurence had known the gesture was a futile one; but he had spoken anyway. “Sir, you may not be aware that Captain Granby had other intentions,” he had said, quietly.

Rankin had rebuffed him in as offensive a way as possible, and without bothering to lower his voice; adding now, “I do not intend this covert should be conducted on the irregular and unsound lines of your own model of behavior.”

“By which I can only suppose you mean that Mr. Forthing is not of a line of aviators,” Laurence said.

“Your own example must be all that any man requires to appreciate the value of a trained, a trusted lineage: of men who understand what dragons are, and what their own duty is,” Rankin said.

Temeraire, who had been anxiously watching the egg so far, lifted his head here and said, “Well, if the egg should prefer Mr. Forthing, it may have him; and I will tell it so whether you like me to or not: I do not care whether he has a trusted lineage.”

Rankin wheeled to confront him, but meanwhile the egg was rocking; it cracked abruptly across its equator, or near enough, and all their attention was drawn over to it at once. Tipping over, it did not quite separate; with an evident effort, the broken upper half was slowly pushed forward over the sand, furrowing up the burnt patches, and the hatchling beast crawled laboriously out.

There was a brief, dismayed silence as it raised its head. It was a strange, misshapen creature, with none of the lithe, deadly grace that every other dragonet whom Laurence had ever seen had possessed instantly on cracking the shell. It was a long almost skeletal thing, uniformly mottled brown-grey, and bristling along all its shoulders and in patches over its back with spikes very like the barbs on the tails of the Chequered Nettle, one of which had produced the egg; it had, also, inherited the claws of its Parnassian sire, so long they bid fair to snag upon its own flesh.

Its wings were a little stubby and badly cramped together, draped loosely over the hatchling’s sides, but as it tried to stretch them out, those sides were revealed—distended into swollen folds which bulged out over the dragonet’s shoulder and hip-joints, as if its rib cage were shrunken in too small, and the hide too large for it.

Yet it was otherwise painfully thin to look upon, the bones of the shoulders and hip standing in sharp relief: long and narrow, and had been folded upon itself several times in the tight bounds of the shell. The dragonet had evidently suffered from the confinement, and moving palsied-slow unwound itself only a little at a time, and pausing every short while to gasp a few labored breaths. Laurence could only wince for its sake. It was scarcely the size of an underfed hound.

“Oh, I am hungry,” the dragonet said, in a small piping voice which sounded very much as though it were being whistled through a reed; but none of the aviators moved. Drewmore and Blincoln shifted uneasily, and looked at Forthing, who already had edged back away. They, too, stepped back, from the hatchling, and a general uneasy silence began.

“Well,” Rankin said after a pause, “it is a pity. Gentlemen, I assume you are one and all in agreement? There is no officer who would care to try the harnessing? Mr. Dorset?”

Dorset was already pacing around the hatchling, inspecting it; he shook his head absently. “I cannot speak either to the source or the effects of the deformity until I have opened it, of course; from the labored breathing I should imagine the lungs are constrained. Quite an interesting case.”

No-one else spoke; Laurence did not immediately follow, until Rankin turned and said, “Mr. Fellowes, I believe you are our only ground-crew master; I must ask you to undertake the duty—I am afraid we do not have rifles. Would you prefer a sledge, or a pistol?”

Temeraire, Laurence thought, had also not yet understood; before he should realize, Laurence said sharply, “That is quite enough, sir; I wonder if you could have the temerity to call yourself a Christian. Mr. Fellowes, we will have none of that.”

Rankin wheeled on him and snapped, “That you are ignorant of all principles of the Corps, and disdain those few you know, is no surprise; that you have the audacity to set yourself up as authority likewise—What can you, who received the privilege unlooked-for and unearned, understand of the feelings of any aviator on such an occasion, who has lived all his life in waiting for it? It is our duty—as much our duty as harnessing the beast would be, if it were fit for service; it is not. It is not, and there is nothing to be done for it.”

“It is nonetheless one of God’s creatures for its lack of usefulness,” Laurence said, “and I will not see it murdered.”

“Would you prefer to see it abandoned and exposed, to suffer slowly?” Rankin said. “A dragon comes out of the shell ready to fend for itself: do you imagine this hatchling could do so, if we should leave it here, unharnessed and alone?”

The dragonet, as yet mostly preoccupied with untangling itself, looked back at them wary and uncertain. Fumbling its long-clawed feet over one another and its tail, it tried to spread out its wings, and managed to flap and raise a little dust; but then it ceased the effort, and fell to gasping instead.

“Oh,” Temeraire said sadly, to the hatchling, “you cannot fly?”

“I am sure I will manage it shortly,” the hatchling said, in its small pale voice, “only I am so stiff; and hungry.”

Rankin jerked his hand cuttingly. “It cannot live long in any case,” he said.

“Then,” Laurence said, “we will give the poor beast some food, and what comfort it can take, until the natural end should come; if that be quick or late, that does not relieve us of the obligations of humanity.”

“And who do you propose should feed it?” Rankin said. “No aviator will do it and so bind himself, sacrificing his one chance; and I will be damned if I will allow you to impose a low convict upon us with a claim to call himself Captain—”

“I will feed it myself,” Laurence said.

“What?” Temeraire said, his head swinging around sharply. Laurence paused, astonished, and Temeraire said, “You would—?” and his voice was trembling, thrumming with distress and wrath, an edge of the resonance of the divine wind to it.

“Have done,” Rankin said, impatiently. “You cannot feed it; unless it has no sense at all, it will not take food from your hands: it can see you are Temeraire’s, and it knows he would kill it at once. Which,” he added, “would save us the difficulty, I suppose.”

Laurence threw him a disgusted look; Temeraire might perhaps dislike the gesture, but as for murdering a small and helpless hatchling, he did not in the least believe it. He said, “Temeraire—my dear, what is this absurdity; you cannot imagine I would propose any substitution, ever.” That Temeraire was distressed, however, was certain; Laurence added, “My intentions are only the most practical: and I beg you to feed the hatchling yourself, if you should have any objection to my performing the office.”

“Oh,” Temeraire said, his ruff smoothing a little. “Oh, well; I do not mind that, but, Laurence—” He leaned his head over and in a low and confiding tone said, rather hesitantly, “Laurence, maybe you have not quite understood—it cannot fly.”

Laurence was very much shocked—shocked, appalled; he scarcely knew what to say. Rankin said, “There; will this convince you to have done enacting us this thorough Cheltenham tragedy?”

Temeraire snorted at Rankin. “I am sure I do not see why you must speak if all you wish is to be unpleasant,” he said, “and Laurence, if you should feel very strongly, of course I will give the hatchling some food. Only, it does seem a little strange.”

“More than a little strange,” Caesar said. “Why, what’s it to do when you aren’t about, and it is hungry? Anyway, we are still in this desert, and it has been scraps and string all week; there may be a bit of extra food about now, but it’s a long way back to the cows. You might have a little sense, instead of wasting it.”

“Perhaps it might come to be able to fly, after all,” Temeraire said, “if it is only tired, from being shaken a great deal—although—then it might have stayed in the shell to rest—”

He trailed off, not very convincingly; and Laurence found himself abruptly unsure—adrift; what he had supposed a certain mooring had shifted, and was floating with him in an unknown current. If the hatchling should linger—deformed, helpless, without any means of sufficiency—rejected by the Corps, and its fellows also—

“Temeraire, you will oblige me greatly if you would give it something,” Laurence said, nevertheless; there was no alternative which did not appall the worse: which was not full of barbarism and cruelty, and must be rejected out of hand.

He turned, and stopped: the hatchling was feasting slowly but with great determination in the gutted innards of the kangaroo, with a loop of belt around its neck for token harness, and Demane looked up and said, “I am naming him Kulingile.”

“It means, ‘all is well,’” Temeraire said to Caesar, “and I do not see what business you have complaining, when Demane was of my crew. I do not see why I must always be losing some one of my officers or my ground crew whenever an egg should happen to hatch; it is become quite unreasonable.”

And almost enough to make one not wish to go and find the other egg: a certain anticipation of injury which made Temeraire feel not so delighted as he ordinarily would have been, with the intelligence which Laurence and Tharkay had brought back from the natives.

Not really, of course; it was not the fault of the egg, and in truth Temeraire was deeply, profoundly relieved, even to have the little scraps of direction; but—he might admit he was not quite feeling himself. He would not have minded a few days more of quiet rest, and stewed meat. Temeraire did not mean to complain aloud, but his throat was so very uncomfortable, and it seemed very hard he should have to go to all this trouble, and suffer indignities, only to be robbed of yet another crewman. He sighed.

“I beg your pardon; he is an officer,” Laurence was saying to Rankin, “and not merely a personal servant: Demane has been rated nearly two years, and served as acting-captain on Arkady—”

“A feral beast, which could not be controlled in any case,” Rankin said, dismissively. “No; if you imagine I will submit this to the Admiralty, you are thoroughly mistaken. Your servant has made a pet of the creature, and so far as I am concerned, they neither of them have anything to do with the Corps at all; he is welcome to ship back to England if you imagine he will fare better with recognition there. Not that the beast will survive long enough to make that necessary.”

“Only long enough to eat up the best of everything,” Caesar said, disapprovingly; and Temeraire did think the hatchling was being excessive. Kulingile did not eat very quickly, but he had not stopped eating since he had begun, and was now nearly inside the carcass.

“The kangaroo is bigger than you are,” he said, “and you seem to be eating all of it; you might leave some for tomorrow.”

Kulingile pulled his head out of the kangaroo, having torn free another fresh gobbet of meat, and tipped back to swallow down the lump, which traveled as a visible knot down his skinny throat. He panted a few times afterwards, his very peculiar-looking sides heaving out and in, and then said thin and piping, “But I am still hungry now, and my captain fetched it for me, so it is mine, and I will eat it; I will,” and he pushed his head back inside.

Temeraire sighed, and supposed he could not be mean enough to grudge the hatchling its meal; it must, he thought, be very distressing not to be able to fly. He looked at it critically: it was those sides, so queerly bulging and heaped on one another, he thought, which were likely the problem. “I do not suppose you might cut a bit of them out, and sew it up again,” he suggested to Dorset, who was sitting cross-legged by the hatchling’s side and listening to the chest with his ear-trumpet.

“A little quiet if you please,” Dorset said absently, “and it would be of the greatest use imaginable if he would stop eating,” he added to Demane, “—the digestive processes are drowning out the action of the pneumotic system.”

“He will sleep when he isn’t hungry anymore,” Demane said, a possessive hand still on the dragonet’s neck, stroking. He looked over at Roland with a rather triumphant expression, which faded when she turned her back and with a set face went to the other side of the camp, to busy herself with packing away the gear for their departure.

“I didn’t think you would be so jealous,” he said to her, when the dragonet had gone to sleep a little later.

“Yes, very jealous,” Roland said without turning, “you ass: I will be taking Excidium in seven years or so, when Mother is ready to be grounded.” Temeraire silently swelled with indignation, overhearing this.

“Then—” Demane said, and she rounded on him, and said, “What business have you, dragging it out for the poor thing and everyone, only to make a show of yourself? Half these fellows are grounded because their beasts died, d’you think anyone likes it, watching it fight just to get its breath? It’ll outgrow its lungs in a week—”

“You don’t know!” Demane snapped. “The captain doesn’t think it’s going to die.”

“Of course he does,” Roland said, “we all do; listen!” The dragonet, breathing, was quite audible from across the camp; long effortful hissing breaths, which distended its sides. “And the captain wasn’t looking to save it for himself, was he? Only he’ll go through fire if he thinks he ought to; he’s churchy. You aren’t; so I think you are a perfect selfish beast,” she added, and stalked away.

“I am not!” Demane said, and looked up at Temeraire. “He might not die,” he demanded.

“Well, I do not see any reason he should die,” Temeraire said; he was not at all inclined to see the hatchling die, it would be very distressing, “except I do not quite know what he is to do for food, if he should ever have to hunt for himself.”

“I can hunt for him,” Demane said.

“And he is so very small, that perhaps he will not take a great deal of feeding,” Temeraire agreed, and added encouragingly, with a burst of inspiration, “and perhaps he will turn out to be a scholar, and not need to fly at all—or a poet.”

Demane did not look very happy at this suggestion; it was always a little difficult to persuade him to sit to his books, and he was already grown deeply disappointed in his brother, who could hardly be got away from them. Temeraire felt however that he had hit upon an ideal solution, “and after all,” he said to Laurence, “I do not find that anyone asks a fresh-hatched egg to hunt, when it is a person; Harcourt’s egg could only lie about and flap its arms and wail, and at least Kulingile can speak, and eat without someone else putting food into his mouth a bit at a time.”

On this philosophy, he tried to begin teaching Kulingile his characters, when he had woken up, but Kulingile only pulled in his wheezing breath and said, “But I am hungry.”

“It is only two hours since you ate,” Temeraire said, “you cannot be hungry again.”

“I am hungry,” Kulingile repeated sadly.

“Well, at least learn these first five,” Temeraire said, with a sigh, “and then you may have some lizard.”

Kulingile looked at the scratched characters, then looked up and said, “I have learned them.”

“You have not,” Temeraire said, and swept the marks clean from the dirt with the smooth curve of his talon. “Draw them over,” but he was forced to yield in the end, for the long claws would not allow Kulingile to write.

So Kulingile was permitted to devour two—three—of the large lizards, which had been cut up and preserved, earlier. Caesar watched disapprovingly, and Temeraire himself could not be exceedingly happy to see them go. He liked the flavor extremely, but he could not at present enjoy very much of it: his throat ached unpleasantly if he tried to eat anything that was not very soft, and the water tasted still ashy and bitter, even where it had been filtered into the small hollow. Anything which Gong Su had tried to stew for him was tainted with the flavor. He ate as much as he could bear, until the worst demands of hunger were satisfied, but sadly that left a great deal of room in his belly afterwards; he would have been glad to look forward to something better, when he could eat again, but at this rate Kulingile would have eaten up all the salted meat before anyone else could have more than a bite.

“I am very ready to go,” Temeraire said, however, when Laurence asked: Temeraire could not help but feel that the egg must be found very soon, or not at all, and now that there was no other to worry about, his duty was clear; and oh, he so wished to redeem himself—he had almost thought, for an instant, when Laurence had talked of feeding the hatchling—

Well, it did not bear thinking of; Laurence had said everything which could be reassuring, and he had not after all done it—his explanations were entirely sensible, and after all, Temeraire could not really think that anyone would prefer Kulingile to himself, no matter what; Kulingile was very small, even if he did not mean to die. But, Temeraire could not help but be conscious—he had already lost Laurence his fortune, and his rank, and his home; to conclude that sequence by losing, also, an egg—

“I do feel almost perfectly recovered, Laurence,” he said, strongly. “I know I do not quite sound like myself, but that is only a bit of smoke still in my throat; let us go at once.”

Temeraire indeed did not sound like himself, and the pace he set was considerably lowered from the extremes to which he had formerly tried to press: Laurence had been obliged to ask him to rein in, a dozen times in an hour, to keep to a speed which Caesar could match; now not at all. Kulingile clung on to Temeraire’s back flattened low and strapped on, Demane sitting beside him, the recipient of cold disapproval from every aviator who looked over at him; the boy’s head was held up proudly in defiance, and Laurence said, “Mr. Blincoln, we will have a little of the dried meat brought up for the hatchling, if you please,” by way of reproof to the others.

Kulingile devoured what was offered him almost at once, and sighed for more, although they had only been in the air half-an-hour: they were obliged to feed him twice again mid-air, before a water-hole offered itself below and Temeraire descended for a rest—without requiring much persuasion, Laurence was concerned to note.

The landscape was yet blasted in all directions, save where the thick green bushes had acted in some manner as a fire-break, or a barren patch of earth had offered nothing to the hunger of the flames. Fringed with both of these protections, the water-hole had only a thin coverlet of ash resting upon the surface, which they were able to skim off with their cups and buckets; it was however not very deep, for the most part, and they were obliged to keep most of the water they had obtained at the creek in their jugs and cans, and use the better and fresher supply only to satisfy their immediate thirst.

Temeraire drank and drank, when they had done, until the hole was nearly down to a damp recession in the earth; fortunately the water began to seep out again when he withdrew, so they might have a prospect of more when they had rested through the heat of the day. “Can we spare so long?” Temeraire said, wistfully.

“We will do better to conserve your strength,” Laurence said. “My dear, you are not yourself yet; I beg you do not try and push on through this heat. At least here we have a little shade, and I do not think Kulingile ought to be exposed to the sun’s worst violence.”

However, Kulingile did not at present seem to care anything for the sun, or for anything but food: he stood waiting out in the open at the edge of their makeshift camp nearly quivering, until Demane came trudging back with a fresh load of game for him to eat, and fell upon the provender without a pause.

He was done very quickly, and looked for more with a hopeful air; Demane stared at the wreckage—there was very little left but scraps of hide of the four small animals he had brought—and then pulled himself up to his feet again, despite the heat. “You may have another hour,” Laurence said, glancing upwards: the sun had made noon and was beginning its descent; soon, he hoped, they might leave again.

Another pair of lizards and a smallish kangaroo were found amid the burnt wreckage, only a little torn by birds, and they vanished into Kulingile’s gut with the same ravening speed while Demane knelt at the water-hole and cupped water into his mouth with his bare hand, panting, his arms shaking with fatigue; then he crumpled beneath one of the bushes and slept. Having devoured all there was, Kulingile licked his jaws and muzzle and every bloodstained talon clean, very carefully, and then looked around again: he crept to Demane and curled against him in the shade, and fell into a fitful, wheezing slumber beside him.

Sipho watched all this resentfully. Being both younger and easier in temper, he had acclimated with far less hesitation to the upheaval of their life, and the new society in which he found himself had become his home, where Demane, warier by nature and experience, yet held aloof. Sipho had begun, Laurence thought, to dislike a little his brother’s overzealous and smothering attention, the last year; but he was far from approving its transfer to the new recipient, and too proud to compete with open demands instead put himself in the deep shade of Temeraire’s body, and opened again his book, a Chinese text, to demonstrate his perfect unconcern.

“Well?” Laurence asked of Dorset, quietly, when the surgeon had risen from his inspection: he had gone to look over the sleeping hatchling yet again.

“It is certainly a pity, from the scientific standpoint,” Dorset said.

“You have no hope of his surviving, then,” Laurence said.

“On the contrary, I must now expect him to last some time, as he has lived this long,” Dorset said—several of the aviators, lying hangdog in the shade nearby, looked up abruptly—“and at his present rate of increase, there will shortly be no chance at all of an effective dissection. I would learn a great deal in his current state, but if he should live another month, there will be no working out the original deformity.”

Laurence paused and compressed his mouth; then he said, “Perhaps, Mr. Dorset, you might consider the patient’s feelings in the matter, before making your laments. Can you determine what is inhibiting his flight?”

“The air-sacs are malformed in some fashion, certainly,” Dorset said. “I imagine they have collapsed, and are pressing upon the lungs. The constraint of the shell very likely also injured the development. I hope I am not heartless,” he added, albeit without sounding very much concerned by the accusation, “but without the supportive action of the air-sacs and the vessels between them, his weight will crush the remaining organs as he grows; unless he should remain stunted. That I am afraid is unlikely. I can only guess at weight, but he has already put on ten feet in length.”

“Mr. Dorset, I assume there is no chance the dragonet should last much longer than that; nor ever fly?” Rankin interjected abruptly, having roused himself at the intelligence that Kulingile evidently did not mean to die at once and conveniently remove himself—and Demane—from consideration.

Dorset shrugged. “The vessels are functioning to some small extent, or else the weight of the skeletal system should already have crushed his remaining organs beyond use. It is not wholly impossible.”

This opinion produced a good deal of stirring amongst the aviators, and low conversations. “Not impossible,” Temeraire repeated to Laurence, with equal parts optimism and satisfaction, “I am very pleased Dorset should say so: that would be much better. There is no reason why he should not live, although he does eat a great deal; if only he can work out how to fly.”

“I hope you will not set your heart on his survival,” Laurence said, low, and looked with some concern at Demane, who yet slept, with an arm now curled over the dragonet’s shoulders: determination as much as affection would drive him hard. “We cannot rely upon it; certainly it forms no great part of Dorset’s expectations. Will you not eat a little more, before we go?”

“Oh,” Temeraire said, “no, perhaps not; but I will drink a little more.”

He drank, and they began the laborious process of loading him again, dragged out with reluctance: the convicts had all eaten heartily of the preserved meat themselves, and weighted down by food and the sun were in no great mood to continue the journey still further into the barrens, now without any guidance or promise of success but the ill-understood recommendation of the aborigines. “Three dragons ought to be enough for one town,” one man muttered, “without looking to get more.”

Laurence could muster no great enthusiasm himself, and particularly when Temeraire was so visibly unwell: his voice croaked raggedly, and even the smallish portions of meat, cooked a little while in water, were beyond his endurance to swallow. But with the hatching of Kulingile, there was no egg remaining to be a lever which could turn Temeraire aside; there was nothing now but to continue onward, until time should make it certain the lost egg was hatched.

“I must hope the egg is waiting,” Temeraire said, “and trusts that we will rescue it; I am sure it must be very anxious. I could not blame it, of course,” he added sadly, “if it did not like to wait, with as long as I have taken to find it. Pray, Laurence, can you repeat over anything of what the hunters said? Perhaps I might understand a little more.”

“I cannot,” Laurence said, “and I doubt O’Dea or Shipley could do so, either; and while I admire your gifts in this area greatly, my dear, I cannot allow you to suggest that you might form an understanding of a language of which you have never heard a syllable.”

“Well, I did hear the singing,” Temeraire said, but sighed, and did not press further.

He pushed himself up standing with an effort, when it was time to get the belly-rigging on him; and now several of the convicts made excuse for not climbing in, and abruptly had small personal errands which required their attention, or needed to refill a can of water; Laurence rounded several up and sent them aboard, and went down to the water-hole after another handful of stragglers—they would not stir save in pairs, anymore—who insisted they were coming, only they were taking turns filling their cans: they had drunk them all dry, and he could not ask them to sit aboard for hours in this heat, without so much as a drop.

“That will do,” Laurence said, “fill your can on the other side, and enough of this malingering, Mr. Blackwell; if tomorrow you cannot provide yourself with water over the course of a pause of three hours without delaying us, you will fly thirsty; and if that is not enough we will consult the lash,” with more acerbity than his usual wont; he was in no spirit to spare sympathy for the men who were dragging out Temeraire’s discomfort.

“Aye, sir,” Blackwell said, tugging at his forelock, and stepped across to the other side of the water-hole, and was gone: a red flashing of jaws, talons, tremendous speed—then he was jerked down and away; the bushes rustled over him once and were still.

Laurence stared; Jemson and Carter stared; the unreality of it—“Temeraire!” Laurence bellowed, as the men backed hastily scrambling away, their canteens tumbling and water spilling over the dirt—“Temeraire!”

Temeraire lunged over the dune and nearly brought half of it down spilling into the water-hole, and when Laurence pointed at the bushes, he seized them in his talons and began to tear them away. “What is it?” Temeraire said. “I do not understand, where did it come from?”

“It was concealed beneath them,” Laurence said, “or so it seemed; I scarcely caught a glimpse.”

Forthing was hastily organizing the aviators: they had their pistols drawn, and swords, and stood warily back while Temeraire dragged up the bushes one after another, their long spidery roots dangling red dirt. When he had cleared them, there was nothing there: only the dirt, and grass, and stones, and Laurence would have thought himself mad, if only there had not been Jemson and Carter to swear to it, also; but Jemson said, “I didn’t see it; only Blackie was there, and then he weren’t,” and Carter said, “It was big as a house, it was. It et him whole in one big bite, and then it went into thin air.”

“Perhaps it did,” Temeraire suggested, sitting back on his haunches; he nosed at one of his talons, abraded by his struggles with the tough bushes, “like a spirit? That would account for why we have not seen them.”

“No,” Laurence said, “whatever it was, the creature was perfectly corporeal, and it took him: can it have tunneled away?”

Temeraire raked his claws through the dirt, and they caught: with a heave he brought up a ragged mat of dirt and branches and a knot of grass atop it, which when thrust aside showed a gaping hole descending into the earth: narrow and rough-edged, dug out of the loose sand.

The sides were packed with stones, and plastered also with some yellowish green matter, flecked with larger bits of leaves and of grasses, as though these had been mulched, all to give it stability, although not very much. The walls yielded easily as Temeraire dug into them, and Caesar was now helping, too: they made rapid progress into the depths, but the tunnel crumbled as they dug. In a little while, they broke through into something like a junction: Laurence, crouching by the side, had a glimpse of many passages branching; then the walls collapsed inward and the whole fell in upon itself. Caesar nearly slid forward into the depression.

“That is certainly where he was taken, but if the bunyip has retreated, perhaps we may find some other entrance to come at its lair,” Laurence said, pulling himself free from the heavy sand, which had buried him nearly to the knee in collapsing, and they began with shovels and talons to scrape at the ground around the water-hole.

“I think I have found one,” Roland said, thrusting the handle of a shovel deep into the earth, a little way back from the water-hole beneath some more of the bushes. These did not need to be torn up, they discovered: when Temeraire had set his claws in the mat, he might lift it up, and the bushes would go with it: evidently their roots had grown around and through the mat, a clever way to disguise the lurking trap.

But they dug a little way down, and this passageway, too, collapsed: designed for its maker, and not the weight of dragons or shovel-wielding men, or perhaps only ever intended to be temporary. If there were more permanent chambers, far below, no quick excavation would reach them: the bunyip had undoubtedly fled as deep and as far as it could go, with so much noise and upheaval upon the surface.

“Well, are we going to dig forever,” Caesar said, shaking dirt a little fastidiously off his claws, “or are we going? I am sorry for the fellow, but I don’t think we are going to get anywhere at this rate: it can dig, too, and while we are going at it here, it is probably digging itself halfway across the desert and away.”

While blunt, there was no denying the practical truth of the matter; and Laurence could not call Blackwell’s survival likely: he had made no sound, and any man would have shrieked, dragged away by such a creature, if still alive. The very speed and silence of the attack which had made it so otherworldly, to be missed even if one was standing directly by, argued for the creature’s instantly killing its prey, even as it whipped its victims away to be devoured in quiet and safety.

They considered and delayed a little longer, while Temeraire dug in a half-hearted way around the opened holes, trying if by chance he should find a deeper chamber, but these efforts collapsed the passageways even before he broke into them, and the only result was to leave behind a wreckage of sand-heaps and torn-up grasses, and the dunes assembled into new shapes, a deep valley marking where Temeraire had labored.

“Very well,” Laurence said finally, drawing his sleeve across his face. “We can do no more.”

Temeraire’s belly-netting had grown choked with sand, during the first efforts, the desperate rush to try and retrieve the taken man. They did not wait to clean it, but only shook and brushed off the worst of the clumps. The men boarded silently and with alacrity; all were glad to be gone.

Chapter 11

THEY HAD LOST MUCH of the light. “If we find any sign of the trail, we will find it at water,” Tharkay said quietly to Laurence, as Temeraire flew on towards a mid-point between the purple and golden splendour of the beginning sunset and the haze of fire yet clinging to the horizon to the north: the orange light more a faint tinge of color flung up against the sky than real illumination. They were nearly free of the scorched landscape: patches still of burnt ground beneath them, but these faded into the low scrub like paint-strokes brushed too long.

“And these bunyips also, of course,” Laurence returned, grimly.

Tharkay nodded. “The camps we have seen have all been some distance back from the water, or upon rock: an example we perhaps ought to have had the sense to follow before now,” he said dryly.

“Now that we know of them, I will clear the bunyips away,” Temeraire said over his shoulder, “when we have landed: I cannot see what business they have sneaking about so, hiding under bushes, and I am not going to have them leaping out and snatching away any of my crew; or anyone else, either. I think they must all be very great cowards.”

The sky behind them was already gone to cold-water blue when they found another water-hole, and Temeraire and Caesar drank deep and thirstily while they yet all remained aboard; except Demane, who slipped his carabiners and slid down to go hunting at once, and was already out of ear-shot before Laurence could notice and reprove.

“There,” Temeraire said, lifting his dripping muzzle, and shaking his head to throw off a little of the dirt and sand which had accumulated upon his ruff and brow as they flew, “that is very refreshing; and now we will see about these bunyips, if there are even any of them here.”

He set upon the bushes, tugging, and almost at once uncovered another of the trap-door openings; Caesar likewise found another, and pushed the mat clear of it. “Well, I don’t see anyone in it,” he said, poking his snout inside, and then drawing out, “so I expect they have run off.”

Temeraire tossed aside the covering and said, “We had better make sure there are no more, however, before any of you should come down,” and raking his claws through the knotted, clumped grass hit upon another.

They went scarcely a few strides before they had found a fresh opening after this, and throwing aside the vegetation in great heaps began to tear up all the border of the water-hole: the gaping dark holes began to show themselves everywhere, as they worked, and the oasis began to have a strange, nightmarish ant-hill quality, as the full honeycombed extent of the tunnels became clear. The bunyips never showed themselves, but their presence was everywhere: as though the water-hole itself was but a shining lure in the midst of a vast and malevolent trap, its real nature concealed beneath the earth, and they had haplessly been throwing themselves within all along.

Some of the tunnels further from the water’s edge were in worse repair, disused and half-crumbled; in other places the concealing mats had dried up and were thin and fragile things that broke when Caesar and Temeraire pulled upon them. Others however were fresh and strong, requiring real effort on Temeraire’s part to drag them loose: this was no abandoned complex. “How many of the creatures could there be, to build to such an extent?” Laurence said, a little horror-stricken to envision armies of the creature which he had glimpsed so briefly; and if they should survive here, in the desert, he wondered, what of their possible presence within the countryside nearer the colony—?

Temeraire stopped to turn his head aside and cough raggedly; they had stirred up a great deal of dust and dirt, in tearing up the mats and the stubborn clinging roots. “I don’t suppose we must keep going,” Caesar said, pausing to take another drink himself. “We might fill these in, what we’ve found already, and then we can have a rest if we only stay on this side of the water-hole. It is getting dark, and it will be too hard to spot them soon.”

They all warily disembarked, and unloaded the dragons; then Temeraire reared up on his hind legs and set his claws into the side of the rising dune and pulled it down, cascading sand and the narrow trees sliding askew, to bury all the dark gaping mouths: the tunnels vanished beneath the spill of darker red earth, and they all beat down upon it with the backs of shovels, to trample it flat and smooth, and then without any orders, the men began to roll over whatever rocks of any size they could find, and the toppled trunks, to make an entrenched border around the site.

They posted a watch of four men, holding pistols: not much use, Laurence privately thought, against the sort of creature he had seen, unless a man should be exceedingly lucky in his shot; but comforting to the spirit nevertheless. He stood by the water’s edge with his own pistols drawn and ready, while they filled their water-jugs by twos and threes, and when Demane came back over the ridge, Laurence said to him, “You will not go away without permission again and alone: we do not know how far from the water-holes these creatures may travel.”

“But I have to hunt,” Demane said, “or else he will eat everything we have: he has already eaten half the salted meat I found the day before.”

Laurence had not realized that Demane had given Kulingile still more food during the flight, but a consultation of their stores confirmed the truth. “Well, I call that greedy,” Caesar said, disapprovingly, “and a waste, too. Now what are we to eat, and when we have been doing all the work?”

“I have done the work of finding the meat,” Demane flashed, “so I may feed it to anyone I want.”

“That is enough, Demane,” Laurence said. “All our stores are held in the common interest, and we must ration a little better than this; if you permit him to gorge in excess to-day, he is too likely to starve tomorrow, when we are in strange territory with such uncertain supply.”

Demane subsided, and his latest gleanings were shared out. Temeraire at least did not quarrel over his portion, but as his restraint came from lack of appetite, Laurence was not disposed to be glad. Gong Su dug out a cooking-hollow in the earth, lined with the oilcloth, and brewed a profligate vat of tea which Temeraire drank eagerly; but this at once consumed nearly all their store of tea, and was no adequate substitute for food.

“Pray do not be anxious,” Temeraire said, “I am sure I will be better soon; only it is so very dry, all day long,” and he coughed again.

“I will make soup,” Gong Su said, “and we will let it cook overnight, so more of the virtue will go into the water,” and three times during the night, Laurence roused to see him depositing more hot stones from the fire into the cooking-hollow, clouds of rich steam billowing out from under the oilcloth, soft hissing smoke as the rocks went into the water: Kulingile woke with him, his small head rising on the narrow slender neck from under Demane’s protective arm, to watch very intently, and sniff deep.

By morning, the meat had been wrung nearly grey and the cracked bones clean and white with all the marrow gone, a thin gleaming layer of flecked white fat floating on the surface in the slanting early sunlight, when Gong Su had uncovered the whole. This Temeraire ate, and then drank off the soup to the dregs and professed himself very satisfied. The meat he would have abandoned, with the last few feet of the soup which were too awkward for him to extract; Kulingile waited only until Temeraire had turned his head away to pounce, tipping himself nearly entirely inside the hollow, and very shortly had consumed all that was left.

He certainly would have cared for more breakfast, but there was none; Laurence shook his head when Demane would have gone hunting. “When we stop at mid-day, you may go,” he said. “We must use these early hours for travel,” and, he hoped, thereby ease Temeraire’s labor.

Dorset had persuaded Temeraire to tip his head back, angled towards the sun, and had crawled nearly into his throat to perform an inspection further aided by the light of a candle. “There is a great deal of general aggravation to the tissues,” he reported, his voice echoing out queerly. “Hmm.”

This last came stretched long and hollow, and Temeraire said interrogatively, “Ammnh?”

“It appears particles of ash entered the throat: the flesh is burnt in a speckled pattern,” Dorset said, and did something.

“Aaahm!” Temeraire protested, and when Dorset had emerged added reproachfully, “That was not at all pleasant; I do not see why I ought let you look if you will only be hurting me.”

“Yes, yes,” Dorset said, callously, and informed Laurence, “There is some blistering as well; I should advise against any roaring, and only cold food, henceforth. It is a pity we do not have any ice.” The sun was climbing; soon it would be near enough to a hundred degrees. It was indeed a pity.

They rigged up again the oilcloth canopies on his back, for what relief both they and Temeraire could get thereby, and settled within the artificial shade as he leapt aloft, only stirring to look over the side for some track or sign; or to sip from their warm canteens. There had been no trace of the aborigines at the water-hole though they had inspected around the near-by rocks which should have offered shelter from the bunyips.

“I am still hungry,” Kulingile piped from behind them.

Laurence sighed. “Demane, he must be patient.”

“Yes, sir,” Demane said, but when the bell was rung for the half-hour, Kulingile asked with great anxiety, “Now may I have something?” and again before the next bell sounded. At last Laurence permitted Demane to swing down and fetch him a little of the salted meat, but this did not stifle the pleas for long, and they possessed an edge of real misery which made them very difficult to endure. Kulingile did not whine, but only grew more desperate, and when he fell silent, Demane said suddenly, “No! You cannot chew that—” and Laurence turned to see Kulingile had begun to gnaw upon the harness.

“I did not mean to; only it is hard to be quiet when it aches so,” Kulingile said, small and miserable, leaving off and trying to hunch himself tighter around his belly.

“Temeraire,” Laurence said, with equal and warring parts pity and exasperation, “if you should see any game, we must stop, I think.” Happily the kangaroos proved to yet be active in the relative cool of the morning, but Temeraire did not quite so easily catch them as before: he made several attempts, while Caesar took two one after the other, and plainly did not mean to share his bounty.

There was a quiet indignation in the makeshift camp, when Rankin did not order Caesar to do so; Caesar remarked, “I am sure I would be happy to share with anyone who could not catch their own, if they did their part; but as for throwing good food after bad, no, thank you.”

“Oh!” Temeraire said, coughing, “I should like to know why he has deserved to be fed, ever, in that case; and I certainly would not like any of his catch: they look very skinny and tasteless to me. If I wished a kangaroo of that sort, I am sure I might have taken two myself.”

“I would not mind one like that,” Kulingile said indistinctly, swallowing.

“What are you feeding him?” Laurence said, looking over.

“Snake,” Demane said, despairingly, “and also two rats, but I could not find any more.”

Temeraire gathered himself and leapt aloft once again, going after the small herd of kangaroos which were yet fleeing, and this time he did not try to snatch one or another as they hopped: instead he flung himself down among them and returned with eight: more than their appetite could require, and the herd likely smashed beyond recovery by so brutal a culling; he was plainly embarrassed by the clumsiness of the maneuver, and looked away when Caesar sniffed.

“Pray eat as much as you can now,” Laurence said, “and when we have reached water, Gong Su can stew the rest for us to carry: it will save us similar pains should we have enough to feed him tomorrow.”

Kulingile dispatched an entire kangaroo alone, by no means the smallest of the catch; Temeraire could scarcely manage as much, despite all his exertions, before the pain of his throat once again overcame his appetite. They loaded the remaining carcasses, cleaned a little, into a sack to hang below the belly-netting.

“Only,” Temeraire said, a little low, “it is quite unaccountable why I should be so tired when we have not been flying very long; it feels as though I cannot properly get my breath, and if I should try and breathe deeply, it aches.” He stretched his wings, and rolled them through their range of movement, a few times, and refused Laurence’s suggestion they should rest a little longer. “No; we have already lost too much time,” he said, “pray let everyone come back aboard.”

Temeraire flew now with the sun climbing over his shoulder and his neck, so that he felt uncomfortably warm upon the one half, and lopsided; a grinding flight which seemed very long. “I suppose it is not mid-day yet,” he said eventually—he did not ask for himself, really; only Laurence had urged a break from the heat of the day, for all their sakes. But it was only eleven.

He put his head down and flew doggedly onward, thinking of nothing but the next wingbeat, until Laurence said, “I think we will stop a little while here, my dear, if you will agree,” and Temeraire raised his head to see the shining blue-white stretch of water, rolling out before them and stretching northward, covering all the ground.

The lake’s shore was peculiarly crusted, seen from aloft: blue and shallow water, and very white sand, which when they had landed proved instead to be salt: a thin crust over the earth, and the lake full of fish; too small to be worth catching for dragons, Temeraire noted with regret, but the men made a hearty meal of them, and it was pleasant to dip into the deepest part, some distance away, and come out wet.

There were not very many trees or shrubs, although fresh grasses grew in abundance; but despite the lack of shade, Temeraire found it a great refreshment to sit upon the half-green shore and look away from the red sand and rock everywhere; and there were no bushes to hide lurking bunyips. It only lacked, to make the respite complete, Tharkay’s returning in a little while with a tiny scrap of blue silk he had uncovered, half-buried, near some rocks a distance down the shore.

“It has been here some time,” Tharkay said, spreading out the ragged strip to show them: one corner exposed to the sun had gone quite white, where the rest which had been buried was yet a dark blue when it had been brushed free of sand. “There is no reason to expect their latest visit was recent, but we are on some track which they have used.”

“And which should lead us back to their home,” Temeraire said, jubilantly, “and there we may wait for them to come out of the desert with the egg, or perhaps if there is someone there, they will tell us which way to go to find them.”

So he might rest easy in his conscience: he flew out for another swim and drank deeply, gratefully, from the cool water; he did not mind at all that it had a faint little taste of salt, and it was pleasant running down his throat.

He was sorry to leave again; the lake seemed a true oasis at last, the first they had found in so very long. When they had built the cairn of stones, for Iskierka to follow back, and Laurence had tucked a note for Granby beneath it, Temeraire looked over the gleaming expanse with a little sigh.

But Caesar said, half under his breath, “We might stay a little longer,” so Temeraire might even feel virtuous in saying sternly, “No; the egg is still somewhere ahead, and we must keep going,” and he flung himself aloft over the silver water with a leap.

They made good time, after the rest, and Temeraire thought that his breathing was not quite so embarrassingly noisy as before; certainly he could get his breath a little easier, and if he did cough a little, it was nothing so unpleasant as before, he told himself, and managed not to be overcome.

Tharkay counseled against crossing the lake directly: instead they skirted its limits, ragged and imperfect, with long spurs of land protruding deep into the lake, miles wide, which they crossed, landing briefly to scrape together a few more cairns. Long hours and not a sight of the smugglers, or their trail; at least there was game, and Temeraire took more than one kangaroo from the air, neatly, to his satisfaction.

They landed for the night at another stand of trees and shrubs around a watering-hole of fresher water, a little distance onward from the lake, although the ground was still pale with salt. Temeraire put down the kangaroos to be cleaned properly: Gong Su meant to salt down a great quantity of the meat, to sustain them through the desert. The men began to rake together a heap of the salt under his direction; meanwhile Temeraire set upon the vegetation with a will, happy to clear away the bunyips’ concealment.

He had an additional cause to be satisfied with this labor, too, for many little rodents fled from the wreckage, and also some birds, and Kulingile sat by as he worked and snatched them up as they tried to dash.

“You see,” Temeraire said to Caesar, quite pleased, “he can hunt, even if he cannot fly; so there is no call for you to always be sneering.”

“I don’t call it hunting,” Caesar returned, tugging up a shrub beside him, “when we are running them out towards him, and he is only sitting there picking them up. Why, you might as well call it hunting to take a drink of water from a hole that is right before you.”

Temeraire snorted, dismissively; water did not try to run away, so it was not at all like. “Perhaps you might care to try flying, again,” he suggested to Kulingile, as he threw down another heap of bushes.

Kulingile shook out his wings and drew a deep breath and reared up on his hindquarters; he flapped a little; his sides quivered, jelly-like, and then he tipped back down panting thinly and said, “Maybe I will manage it tomorrow.”

Temeraire sighed.

Demane was plainly glad for the respite, also; he had gone out hunting at mid-day again, to take advantage of the bounty of game at the lake, and as soon as they had disembarked to the security of the rocks, he collapsed almost enervated in what shade they offered. Temeraire thought he might say a private word to Kulingile: he was not taking very good care of Demane, and one might be hungry and still think of these things.

Temeraire, and Caesar, had cleared away the brush and once again filled in all the wretched tunnels—there were so very many of them; Temeraire did not see why they should be necessary. If the bunyips were as quick as Laurence said, it seemed to him they did not need to be hiding underground and leaping out on some unsuspecting person, only to eat; they might hunt respectably. There was something unnatural and unpleasant in it, he felt—and when they had cleared all away, and made safe the camp, the rest of the men shifted over: but Demane lay where he was, asleep.

“If he does not want anything to eat, he can stay there,” Sipho said, rather coldly. “I am surprised he has not gone out hunting again; won’t Kulingile be hungry?”

“You are saying it wrong,” Temeraire said, “it is Kulingile, and you know better, so there is no excuse.”

“I don’t see why it should matter to anyone,” Sipho said, and stared down at his book mulishly.

But Roland pushed herself up, after she had drunk and rested a little, and trudged over to Demane with her canteen. He struggled up and hanging limply over his crossed legs drank and drank, and then drooping followed her to the camp and fell asleep once more, as far as he could be from the little fire which the aviators had put up, for comfort and cooking. Kulingile crept over to him and nosed at his shoulder anxiously until Demane blindly reached out and patted him; then slumped back.

Kulingile sighed, reassured; then looked up at Temeraire and said, in his thin voice, “May I have another kangaroo?”

“After all those rats you ate, anyone would think you had put away enough,” Caesar said, but as Caesar had taken two kangaroos earlier and not shared a bite, Temeraire was quite out of temper with him, and it pleased him to say, in what he felt was a particularly gracious way, “Certainly you may; I do not believe in being stingy,” and Kulingile fell with so much gratitude upon the meal that it gave Temeraire a glow of lordly satisfaction.

“If he is going to smother himself with his own weight,” Caesar said, “it seems to me you can’t call it friendly to help him do it quicker,” but this was only spiteful meanness, Temeraire felt; although Kulingile would eat too quickly, and then stop and gasp to catch his breath, and then begin again; and when he was done and had collapsed in slumber beside Demane, his breathing was a little worse.

“Another ten feet,” Dorset remarked, winding up his knotted cord again as he stood from Kulingile’s side. “The rate of growth is exceptional. I will have to make a note of it for the breeding journal, and perhaps for the Royal Society.”

“But when will he be able to fly?” Temeraire asked, and Dorset had no satisfactory answer to give.

But this was only a small and vanishing shadow on his general complacency of spirit: his throat did not hurt quite so much, and Gong Su was now making another pot of soup, which Temeraire expected to enjoy a great deal in the morning—flavored this time with the small yellow fruits of one of the bushes which Temeraire had torn up; Tharkay had pointed it out as having been harvested a little by the aborigines, he thought, and an experimental taste had not caused any discomfort: a little sweetness, and a strong flavor rather like tomatoes, although they looked more nearly like raisins.

“Will you try and eat a little now, before you sleep?” Laurence said. “We can cut some kangaroo small, if that would ease the passage; you cannot heal quickly or well when you are straining to your limits, and not eating.”

“I think I can,” Temeraire said, feeling optimistic, and if he only managed perhaps one kangaroo, and none of the bones, those went directly into the soup and so would not be wasted, and he did not feel quite such vivid pangs when he at last settled upon the sand.

To cap his evening, Laurence read to him a little; when their patience for going over the by-now-familiar material had faded, he put the book down, and Temeraire said, “I have been thinking, Laurence, of the valley: perhaps we might take some of this red stone out of the desert with us, as we return, and use it in building a pavilion: would it not make an interesting pattern, with the yellow stone there?”

“I cannot quarrel with your taste,” Laurence said, looking at the red earth, “although the labor in bringing back so much stone must be great. But we will have the time, I imagine.”

He was silent a little while: night had come on fully now, clear, and with the moon out and shining, cool and pleasant after the sun’s heat. The desert beneath was endless shadows of clumped grass and the thin scrubby trees, dunes rising and falling away into the distance, and the water a silvered reflection gleaming out at them from the ground. Temeraire thought perhaps Laurence had fallen asleep, but then he said, softly, “I had not quite felt the vastness of this country, until we had come into it all this way, nor its strangeness.”

“Laurence,” Temeraire ventured, holding his breath for the answer, “are you very sad to not return to England?”

“I must be anxious for the sake of our country,” Laurence said, “and our friends left behind; it is difficult to know them in dire straits, and feel we might be of more use elsewhere, and yet remain helpless to assist. But in a personal sense, I have left very little behind, my dear. I have long been used to rely upon correspondence to sustain the intimacy of friendships: it is a necessity for a sailor.”

He paused, then, and said low, “You must be more constrained than I am, by our remaining; I have not forgotten Tharkay’s proposal, only—” He stopped.

“Well, I must say that privateering seems quite splendid, to me,” Temeraire said, unable to conceal a touch of wistfulness, “but I do see, Laurence, that you do not quite like to think of it; and I should not at all wish to do it if you did not feel perfectly satisfied, also; only I thought perhaps you might miss the war.”

“The war? No,” Laurence said. “To be of use, yes; but there is no sense in thinking of it. I am very sorry, my dear, but I hold out no hope for a pardon.”

“But I am sure we need not be useless here,” Temeraire said. “We have found our valley, after all.”

“It would be something, indeed,” Laurence said, “to build for once, instead of tear away; yes.”

So Temeraire might lay his head down with some degree of relief, and the pleasant occupation, before he slept, of working out in his head a design for a pavilion of adequate magnificence to console Laurence for any remaining regrets, patterned in stone of red and gold.

He woke gradually, very cool and comfortable, except for a little smacking of sand at the corner of his jaw; he raised his head and spat it out, and startled: he was overbalancing, and his hindquarters went tipping away underneath him as though he were on the deck of a ship plunging unexpectedly down into a trough. “What has happened to the ground?” he said, and tried to stand, and could not: there was nothing solid for his feet to grasp, and his limbs dragged very strangely if he moved them—everything seemed very low—“Laurence?” he said: the moon had set, and the sun was not yet risen, and he could not make out much of anything but the small glow of the fire’s embers, down within the camp, and the rearing outcrop of rock some distance away.

“Yes, my dear?” Laurence said drowsily, from his back, and then looking over raised his voice and called, strongly, “Mr. Forthing! A light there, if you please—”

The aviators came with torches, and then abruptly stopped, scrambling back with exclamations: their boots sinking in the sand, thick sludgy noises like the bubbles of a porridge slowly boiling as they pulled them free. In the light, Temeraire saw he had sunk into the earth, nearly up to his breastbone; the folded edges of his wings were plunged deep and his tail was half-submerged, his legs wholly so—

“But I was only sleeping,” he protested, and tried to rear out, but he could not pull his forelegs free, though he exerted all his strength: one would come a little way out, rising, wet sand dribbling from his hide as he pulled, but the effort required grew, and grew, until he could not continue, and sank forward again.

He panted and found this raised him perhaps half-a-foot, not unlike bobbing in the water, but he could not get out: he could not move. He tried again, more vigorously thrashing his limbs—he might move them a little side to side, he found, if he did not try to pull free—until Laurence sharply said, “Temeraire, stop! You are sinking further—”

The sand had crept up higher on his chest, and was lapping at the edges of his back. “Laurence, perhaps you had better climb off,” Temeraire said, turning his neck around to inspect Laurence’s position with some concern. “I am sure I can reach to the others, if I stretch my neck.”

“No, I thank you,” Laurence said.

“I would advise against moving, or lowering your neck to where it may be entrapped,” Tharkay said; he was crouched down inspecting the pit, and setting broken-off twigs into the sand to mark its border. “I am surprised the quicksand should go deep enough for you to have sunk this far.”

“We cannot have overlooked this last night,” Laurence said. “Temeraire and I were sitting here an hour before we slept; the earth was perfectly solid.”

“I only do not understand why it will not let me out,” Temeraire said, unable to resist trying again to draw his foreleg free, very slowly and carefully, only a little way at a time, but it dragged and dragged and dragged, and at last halted: he could draw it no further, and it sank gradually back away as soon as he stopped his efforts.

He was not uncomfortable, precisely: it was quite pleasantly cool, and when Laurence asked, Temeraire said stoutly, “Oh, I do not mind it of itself, only I would like to get out of it, now,” but that did not address the clinging, sticky quality of the stuff: sand was squirming everywhere under the edges of his hide, and there was something dreadful in not being able to get out: it was not at all like swimming in water, which did not try and drag you back down, like chains which you were not allowed to take off.

“Well, I don’t see why you didn’t get out of it when you first noticed,” Caesar said, having roused up, and yawning tremendously against the early morning: he was not yet done with a hatchling’s usual tendency to sleep endlessly.

“I was asleep,” Temeraire bit out, annoyed, “and so I did not notice, until I had woken; and I do not think it is at all wonderful I should not have, as no-one would expect perfectly ordinary sand to turn into something like this. How are we to turn it back?”

“The sun’s heat may burn off enough of the moisture to allow you to dig free, when it rises,” Tharkay said, after a moment. “Perhaps some underground spring feeds this place.”

“If we can remove some quantity of the sand, you may be able to free yourself more quickly,” Laurence said. “Mr. Forthing, shovels, if you please—”

“What’s over there, then,” one of the convicts said, pointing, and Temeraire looked: on the ridge of the dune rising above his precarious position, a narrow angular head was up and visible as a black silhouette against the lightening sky, watching.

Another rose up beside it, and then another: until there was a line of them, long muzzles with rounded snouts, and small black eyes which caught the reflections of the torches and gleamed yellow back at them. They had queer tufted heads. “Steady, there,” Forthing said; the aviators had out their pistols.

The light was increasing: the bunyips were shades of red and brown, the very color of the earth, with pebbled hides, and the tufts were yellow as the grass; if they were not poking up from the hill, they would have been very difficult to see at all. “Oh,” Temeraire said, indignant, “I see now how it is: they are even more cowardly than I thought. This must certainly be their doing; they did not care to fight me properly, or defend their territory, but instead they have made this wretched sneaking trap.”

Rankin snorted. “How a gaggle of lizards are to have produced anything of the sort, I should care to know,” he said. “More likely they have come like vultures, to wait.”

Laurence would rather have liked to knock Rankin into the quicksand. “Mr. Forthing,” he said, tightly, “let us begin digging: I doubt the beasts will make any direct attempt while we have Caesar here, nor come near enough for Temeraire to reach them with his jaws.”

The row of spectators was nevertheless unpleasant to endure: those gleaming pupil-less eyes, malevolent even in their immobility, while they worked and dug heaps of wet sand out from around Temeraire’s body to pile up dark and wet into piles like the misshapen sand castles of small children, towers crumbling as they dried in the rising sun.

“Laurence,” Temeraire said, as the sun grew higher, “I would not mind a drink of water, if it were at all convenient,” which it could not be, given his size, but Forthing sent men down to fetch back all the largest jugs of water, under a pistol-wielding guard.

They returned empty-handed. “There isn’t any,” O’Dea said, “—any water, it has all run away in the night.”

“We drank it nearly dry last night, but it ought to have refilled by now, surely,” Forthing said.

Tharkay had slipped silently away at their announcement, drawing his own pistol; he returned shortly and said, “The spring is no longer flowing to the water-hole. It has been diverted; underground, so far as I can tell.”

Laurence paused, looking up at the row of sentinel bunyips, and said, “Tenzing, do you mean they have done it? Deliberately?”

“Certainly they have done it deliberately,” Temeraire interjected. “You cannot imagine they have done it to be friendly; oh! How I should serve them out, if they were not such cowards, and hiding all the way over there where I cannot get at them, thanks to all this sand.”

Tharkay said, “I see no reason to doubt it. They would find it still more convenient to their hunting to make the water-holes, rather than merely take advantage of whatever natural ones the countryside should offer. If they can divert a natural spring to suit one purpose, why not this one?”

“Why did they not make the pit deeper then, and sink him entire?” Laurence said.

Tharkay shrugged. “It is no great difficulty to avoid drowning in quicksand,” he said. “He is too buoyant to sink so far. The difficulty is in getting out.”

And whatever difficulties should entail on extracting one man, trapped in such a quagmire, were as nothing to the problem of extracting Temeraire, Laurence dismayed realized—and Temeraire was already thirsty.

“This excavation is nonsense,” Rankin said. “We cannot hope to get him out without Granby returns, and that is scarcely likely.”

“If you have any better solution to propose, Captain Rankin, we may hear it at any occasion,” Laurence snapped: he had been looking to the east, vain and unlikely though the hope was, of course, when they had been blown so far off their course and their line of cairns broken by the storm.

“We might rig some ropes as well,” Forthing said, “and do what we can to pull him—”

Rankin snorted, and there was indeed very little to be hoped for, from such an effort: thirty men to drag him out when Temeraire himself could not even presently free one limb. “If you will try and drag him nearer one edge,” Laurence said grimly, “perhaps, Temeraire, you may then draw yourself out.”

The ropes were hurled over, and Laurence secured them about the base of Temeraire’s neck, and through the rings of the harness which he was devoutly glad they had not removed, the previous night. But there was not very much purchase, still, for such an operation; with only a handful of passengers, and no expectation of combat, Temeraire had barely been rigged out with what harness was necessary to support his belly-rigging.

Thirty men hauling, the rope resting upon their shoulders, their hands wrapped around the length: Temeraire did move, a little, trying to help as best he might, with a sort of paddling; but they gained a few inches with the best they could do, and needed perhaps fifty feet. “Sir,” Forthing said to Captain Rankin, “I believe we must rig Caesar up,” politely but firmly: Rankin hesitated, but could scarcely refuse under the circumstances.

“I will help, also,” Kulingile piped up, watching, and seized onto the rope near the edge with his jaws, to pull; Demane said, “Wait—” and to Mr. Fellowes said, “Can you put him into harness?”

“Precious good that will do,” Caesar said, ungraciously submitting to having the ropes secured to his own harness, as Kulingile was hooked in to a makeshift affair of a few straps and buckles: he had grown at least to the size of a respectable cart-horse and, while he might not be anything to Temeraire, or to Caesar, was not wholly inconsequential.

Mr. Fellowes said, “We might send the ropes around a tree, or some of these rocks, to make a bit of a pulley, sir.”

They took up the oilcloths and folded them together to make a pad about an outcropping of rocks, and stretched their two hawsers around it; Caesar and Kulingile were put at the end, and the men hauled on wheresoever they might. The bunyips made an excellent overseer, their small eyes gleaming: if Temeraire were taken so, Caesar could not carry all the men out of the desert; and if any were left behind, there was hardly any doubt of the death-sentence to be read in those eyes.

Muscles strained, and groaning they all pulled together; Temeraire bracing back his neck so the pulling would act upon his body instead. The quicksand glubbed around his breastbone and eddied away, curling in upon itself in thick slow-moving rolls like pudding batter being stirred, and he moved—a little, only a little, but he moved. “Heave, there!” Forthing shouted, and, “Heave!”—one enormous effort after another, each one winning a little more space.

Temeraire tried to paddle a bit, to move himself along; another united heave, and he slid a few more inches through the muck. A few men fell to their knees, panting; all but hanging from the rope. Caesar snapped, “There’s enough of that, we are all pulling, aren’t we? Get up, then.”

They crawled back up. Forthing sent Sipho down the line with a swallow of rum for each man—the last dribbled end of their supply, with nowhere to look for more; but he did not mix it with water, and the taste of the hard liquor heartened them, more a memory of satisfaction than a reality with the sun still beating upon them, but with a great straining effort they drew again upon the ropes, and Caesar, for all his complaining, threw his powerful shoulders fully into the effort.

Kulingile, too, strained; he drew great heaving breaths, and his long claws scrabbled into the earth as he leaned into the harness, and then abruptly his slack and crumpled sides belled out very like sails catching the wind into smooth roundness. He gasped in his thin fragile voice, and clawed furiously at the ground again; Demane was by his head, encouraging and pulling also. “What is the matter?” he said, then catching sight of the swelled-out sides said, “Dorset! Dorset, what is wrong with him!”

“Not now!” Forthing snapped, “all together, heave—” The ropes slid upon the oilcloth and putting their heads down they one and all pulled: feet dug into the sand, driving up dark red hillocks of the damp sand below. One man started to sing, “There were two lofty wyrms from Old England came,” and one after another took it up: awkward voices, dry and cracked with the heat and lack of water, and tuneless; but their feet crept on, little by little the ropes crept after them, and Temeraire was moving.

Then abruptly someone yelled, “Christ, the buggers are coming at us,” and the ropes were falling. Caesar turned in the yoke and was instantly in a tangle as men dropped all the slack of the ropes and began to run, as a couple of the bunyips made a sudden darting-quick lunge down the slope, lean and serpentine, broad splayed feet webbed a little between narrow clawed fingers to give them purchase on the sand.

Roland was too short to get more than her fingertips on the rope; she had her pistol out already, and her first shot caught the advancing bunyip in the thigh. It flinched back, its mouth opening on a peculiar and incongruous sound, a low throaty howl more like the coughing of a hyena than the hiss of a reptile, and then it came swarming on again.

“Roland!” Temeraire called, very anxiously, and Laurence found his hand uselessly clenching upon his sword hilt. “If I should roar,” Temeraire began, but he could not—the divine wind would as surely have killed Roland herself, or more likely brought the whole slope down upon them and buried them bunyips, men, and dragons all together into a single common grave. Temeraire strained his neck, but he was too far to reach.

She held her position coolly; she was already reloading, the cartridge tearing in her teeth, black powder into the barrel and then the wadding and the bullet rammed down hard, powder in the pan, and she took aim and fired again as it drew nearer.

The second shot took it in the throat, and the howl was choked; blood ran deep, near-black from the wound, very like dragon blood, dripping upon the sand and making small wet pockets in the red earth; the bunyip curled over itself coughing. Young Ensign Widener had his small single pistol drawn now: he fired also, though the recoil nearly staggered him, and the second bunyip flinched from the noise; then instead of continuing after the fleeing men, it darted for the ropes themselves.

It moved a little awkwardly, perhaps, over the sand: a quick but skittering motion, the hind legs small and the forelegs enormous and disproportionate, and two strange half-circle stubs rising between the shoulders, small webbed ridges. Seen in profile, it had an enormous lantern-jawed head, built to crush and grip, and the talons of the forelegs were short but hard gleaming-black horn; it seized upon the rope and took a length between its jaws and began to pull.

“Damn you all for cowards!” Roland yelled over her shoulder as she reloaded, “come back here and stop them; or they’ll pick us all off,” and she fired again; Forthing had dragged himself free of the ropes, and Demane, who had been at the end: he dived for Laurence’s pistols, in amongst his things, and fired again at the bunyip.

The shots took chips off the rock, and one struck home; the second bunyip howled and let go the rope, retreating; it stopped only to nose the first, still bleeding, and they together skittered limping back up the slope to rejoin the rest of the watchful band, the others more patient, more prepared to wait.

Their effort had not been in vain, if it had cost them: the ropes hung slack and all ahoo, Caesar only making matters worse with his efforts to work loose, and the chewing had worn through a couple of strands of the cable. Forthing inspected the damage grimly, and then he said, “Back to the work, gentlemen,” and detailed off Roland and Demane with pistols to stand guard.

The men straggled back from their panicked flight, but not all of them: two did not return, and Laurence looking up at the ridge noted that there were fewer bunyips watching than before; they had not failed to take advantage, then, of the confusion which they had created. “It is not at all fair,” Temeraire said stormily, “that they will do such things where I cannot even try to fight back; low, and sneaking, and they ought to be ashamed. I am glad that we have drunk their water, and wrecked their territory; I will do it again, whenever I am loose.”

They resumed their effort. Caesar was untangled; the damaged rope was mended, a little, as best it could be, and Fellowes wrapped some oilcloth about the gnawed section and sewed it down with waxed thread. The men spat upon their hands, and rubbed them with dirt, and took hold.

No one sang. Inch by inch, Temeraire shifted. “If you should exhale, just as they heave,” Laurence said, “you might make a little more slack in the sand,” and the trick helped, a little. All together breathed in, and took hold, and exhaling pulled; Temeraire breathing out opened a small gap of softness in the quicksand, into which they might drag him a little further.

“Oh,” he said, abruptly, “pull! Pull harder, I think I can feel a little rock—” and with this encouragement they all threw their backs into another throw, and then all were stumbling onto their knees with the ropes gone suddenly slack, as Temeraire gave a low struggling hiss and managed to pull himself nearly a foot further along.

He was obliged to stop, panting, but he did not sink back; they drew the ropes slack again, and with another heave, now all their efforts united, his breastbone rose several more inches from the clinging mirk.

Laurence swung down onto Temeraire’s shoulder and said, “Mr. Forthing, if you will fetch me a shovel, I think we may begin to do some good clearing some of this away,” and they detailed away some five of the men to the work: shoveling away the quicksand from before Temeraire’s body, to the sides, while the hauling teams yet strained to assist him in the effort of climbing free.

The evening was coming on a little; the watching bunyips one after another began to disappear, as Temeraire made his slow and creeping escape. When at last they freed his first foreleg, coming loose with a gargled sucking noise like a choked drain running clear, the last of them were gone, and when Roland and Demane warily went to look over the edge of the slope, they returned to report no sign of the bunyips anywhere upon the flat plain of the desert: likely they had gone somewhere beneath the earth, to brood upon the failure of their attempt, and perhaps to envision another.

With his forelegs free, Temeraire might more easily exert force, and they restrung the ropes around his mid-section, behind the foreleg joints, to better pull; he began to drag himself onward, little by little, and they dug around the ends of his wings to free them. Then around the hindquarters, as little by little he crawled the rest of the way out and crumpled exhausted upon the solid ledge of rock, free at last, and caked thickly with red sand dried onto him by the sun.

“Oh, how tired I am,” he said, and closed his eyes; they were united in thirst and hunger, but exhaustion commanded still more of their spirit, and the men were dropping where they stood.

Laurence sat down and leaned against Temeraire’s side, heedless of the red sand crumbling over his coat, and closed his eyes; then he opened them again, and looked up as Iskierka came spiraling down from the clouds and demanded, “Whatever have you been doing? You are all over sand; and where is the egg? You might have found it again by now.”

Chapter 12

ISKIERKA DID at least go hunting for them, when she had understood what had happened, and helped to dig a channel from the quicksand pit which drained the water into a rock basin, where they might drink; so she was not useless, but she was still inclined to be critical and particularly of their having lost the trail.

Temeraire informed her with some asperity that he would have liked to see her do better, with a firestorm and a typhoon to be managed, all at once—if it had not precisely been a typhoon, it seemed far too mild to call it only a thunderstorm, and not at all reflective of the experience—and added, “And there was the third egg to be managed, also, at the time.”

“Which was nowhere near as good an egg,” Iskierka said disapprovingly, “as anyone could tell, only looking at it, and now you see what has come of it. Finish eating and hurry up, then, as we are bringing you along,” she added to Kulingile, “which I do not understand.”

Kulingile could not really be accused of eating slowly: he was taking everything which had been left, in gulps the very limit of his capacity. His sides had collapsed into their odd folds again only a little while after they had first swelled out; but twice more during the effort they had inflated and then crumpled once more. Demane was anxious, but it did not seem to have hurt the dragonet, Temeraire thought; at least, Dorset had not said anything dire, though he had examined Kulingile closely afterwards.

“So he might yet fly, after all, even if he cannot just yet,” Temeraire said. “I did not always have the divine wind. Anyway, Laurence wished it: it would be immoral to leave him behind, as I understand it.”

“I don’t see what morality has to do with carrying about someone who cannot fly,” Iskierka said.

“We have been carried about by the Allegiance, ourselves, when we could not have flown all the way,” Temeraire said, “and if we did leave him, he would have to starve, as he cannot hunt; or what if those bunyips tried to snatch him? He was small enough, when he hatched, that they might have managed it.”

“I don’t see why you always want to dwell on and on about what will happen with things that are properly none of your affair, and far away,” Iskierka said, dismissively.

Even Granby, to Temeraire’s dismay, did not seem to wholly approve; he looked wincingly at Kulingile, and Temeraire overheard him saying, to Forthing, “I don’t need to be told how it was: I am sure Rankin was a brute about it, and set his back up instead of explaining properly; I only wish I had been here sooner.”

To Laurence he made no reproach directly, but said with excessive heartiness, “Well, one never knows in these cases what may happen, after all; although, we cannot be too slow—Riley can give us a little more time, he must wait for something to do with the monsoon, but—although, it is just as well, for there was still no news from England about Bligh, so perhaps …” and then trailed off in a very awkward way, and began instead to speak of the bunyips.

It was very irritating, and Temeraire was still tired, and sore; there was sand everywhere sand could be, and nothing like enough water to be properly washed, or even to drink as much as he liked; so he was by no means in a happy mood as the men boarded him again. “I wish,” he said to Laurence, “I do wish that other dragons were not always thinking me peculiar; not that anyone would value Iskierka’s opinion, but it makes one doubtful.”

“I hope you never doubt the value of charity,” Laurence said, “regardless of any contrary opinion which you should meet: do you imagine Iskierka would have concerned herself particularly with the fate of the French dragons, as a consequence of the spreading of the disease?”

“No-o,” Temeraire said, and looking slantwise asked, “Laurence, then you are quite sure that we have done as we ought?”

“Very sure,” Laurence said. “And consider, my dear: a week ago his imminent death was certain, and now he is eating well and steadily gaining weight, and he was of material use in extracting you from the quicksand. I must think his prospects of further improvement are high.”

That was not precisely what Temeraire had meant, but he was very cheered to know that Laurence felt the two acts were connected in such a way, and equally necessary; he had wondered sometimes if Laurence might have had some regrets—some feeling of disappointment, that Temeraire had asked so much of him. He did not at all mind bringing Kulingile along, or carrying him forever, if it should mean Laurence were not distressed.

And, he suddenly realized to his consolation, if he were doing so, then it was not really as though Demane was not his own anymore: if Kulingile was to be always riding with him, then it was more as though he was part of Temeraire’s crew himself. “And,” he told Kulingile, who listened intently, “if we should see some action, I think you might be of very real use, as no one might board while you were on my back: if only you can contrive not to grow very much more.”

“Well, I will try,” Kulingile said, but then he took the second half of the lizard in front of him and threw his head back and swallowed the whole thing at once, so that it traveled down his throat as a distended lump, as much as to say, Look how much I have eaten.

“That is not going to help,” Temeraire said, exasperated.

There was not very much more water to be had, either, as they flew onward: the water-holes which they found were almost all drying up, in the heat of the day, in a suspicious manner. “I expect they are telling one another to dry them up for us,” Temeraire said, rather disgruntled, as he lapped a little water up from a rocky basin; he could not take nearly as much as he wanted, as it should have to serve for all.

“Well, let us dig up some more of these coverings, and then I will breathe fire in at them,” Iskierka proposed. “That will bring them out, and they will soon learn not to be causing trouble for us.”

“I don’t see why you must be so quarrelsome,” Caesar said. “I suppose if you want to be dragging up their houses all over, you can’t be too angry if they don’t like it, and I don’t much fancy waking in the middle of the night up to my neck in sand, either. We might leave them a kangaroo or two, and see if that sweetens them up to give us water.”

“As if we were going to give them presents, after the way they have behaved,” Temeraire said, revolted, and Iskierka snorted her disdain; but much to their shared dismay, Laurence and Granby thought the idea sound.

“Consider, my dear, the very real difficulty we should have in constantly facing the objections of so widespread and hostile a force,” Laurence said, “if indeed they are communicating, as you imagine not without grounds.”

“And we are not here to pick quarrels with bunyips or anyone else, for that matter,” Granby said. “We are here to find that egg, and be shot of this wretched desert; if they like to live here, there is no reason we shouldn’t leave it to them, if you ask me.”

To make matters still worse, Rankin alone disagreed. “You will only encourage the creatures by bribing them,” he said, “and induce them to think humans more worthwhile prey: they ought to be eradicated one and all.”

If he did concede so far as to not at once fire all the bunyips’ lairs—which was a pity, as it seemed to Temeraire an excellent strategy, particularly as the bunyips should also have to flee the smoke, and come out for a proper fight, instead of hiding away—Temeraire could not quite see his way clear to leaving the bunyips a kangaroo.

“It is no more thrown away than letting that one stuff it into his gullet,” Caesar said, meaning Kulingile, but for his part, Temeraire felt he should rather feed Kulingile twenty kangaroos than see the bunyips profit from one, when he had hunted it down.

“If we had begun by tearing up their homes,” he said, “I might see the justice in it, but after all, we did not; we did not even know they were there, until after they had stolen some of our men, and eaten them, which is barbarous anyway. If anyone were to be apologizing and giving presents, it ought to be them and not us; instead they are only quarreling more, by stealing the water, now, too.”

“If they have brought the water there in the first place, it seems to me they aren’t the ones doing the stealing,” Caesar said, but that was plainly absurd; it was not as though the bunyips had made the water. The water was there, and they had only moved it to a place most convenient for themselves, to trick people into coming near their traps; another part of a low sneaking strategy which deserved not the least bit of credit.

“Anyway, they might have said something if they did not like us to drink. They set the water out on purpose, and make it look as though it is not theirs, so it does not seem to me they can complain if we treat it like any other water,” Temeraire said.

But it was very tiring and inconvenient to have to stop, over and over, to drink what little they could get at any one water-hole. It was not even restful, for one could not feel refreshed with so little to drink, and his throat ached all the worse. Temeraire still felt a deep unpleasant ache in his forelegs and hindquarters after his ordeal, and it was more of an effort than it ought to have been to spring aloft every time.

He sighed a little; and they must again fly sweeps, to watch for any fragment of pottery or silk or anything else which might have been brought from China; of course he was glad to have found the trail again, but there was no denying it was pleasanter flying when they could only guess, and go on flying straight.

However, watching the ground as they drew near yet another half-dry water-hole, he did at length near the end of the day catch sight of a little movement: a shadow which did not quite fit the rest of the ground, and Temeraire realized all at once it was one of them, the bunyips. He dived at once, stretching, and the bunyip burst suddenly into motion, skittering away across the sand towards a bare patch of ground, and as Temeraire reached, it squirmed itself madly beneath the earth, casting up a cascade of sand at its heels as it burrowed.

It was astonishingly quick: Temeraire landed and stuck his claw inside the freshly dug tunnel, and could not reach it; he sat back on his haunches and hissed in displeasure. “Come out, you wretched craven thing,” he called into the tunnel, and looked back. “Laurence, are you quite sure you would not like us to smoke them out? I am certain we could quite easily manage them, if they did not squirm and run away so.”

“And so ensure an endless sequence of attacks,” Laurence said, “further delaying our search for the egg; pray let us continue on, my dear.”

“You may consider,” Dorset said, peering over, “that it is in their nature to hunt from their burrows, and the consequence of our own venturing into a country we do not know; and after all, you are eating the game on which they depend for sustenance. We are as foolish to resent their predation as cattle would be to despise you.”

This argument swayed Temeraire to some extent; at least he was persuaded to fly onward without further molesting the bunyips. Later in the evening, Temeraire said thoughtfully, contemplating the stew which Gong Su was brewing, with the meager haul of kangaroos, “I have never before considered the feelings of a cow: I suppose they must not care for us at all.”

“They are only dumb beasts,” Laurence said, “and such thought surely beyond them; any animal will defend its life and young, but that is not in the same vein as a thinking, reasoning creature.”

“Only, how could one be certain?” Temeraire said. “After all, if one wishes to be particularly dull, one might be like that fellow Salcombe, and say that dragons are also dumb beasts. And I am quite sure the bunyips are not, though they do not seem to talk at all: they are only nasty thinking creatures. It is not very fair, though, that I should allow them to have sense because they will contrive one unpleasantness after another; what if cows are very clever, only they do not like to make a fuss about it?”

“If they dislike fuss enough to tolerate being eaten,” Laurence said, with rather an amused expression, “surely it need not matter one way or another.”

“Perhaps they think they will be eaten anyway, as they are so delicious,” Temeraire said, and sighed. “I would give a great deal for a cow, Laurence; not that I wish to complain, and I am very grateful that Gong Su will go to such lengths: only they are a bit thin, the kangaroos, I mean.”

They posted a watch that night, and twice Temeraire and Iskierka were obliged to shift their places, as the ground beneath them grew odd and unsteady to a probing stick; Caesar was nearly buried when abruptly a sinkhole opened beneath him, tumbling him down in a cascade of pouring sand. He roused all the camp to his cry of alarm, and several pistol-shots were fired uselessly into the dark, spending some of their precious store of munitions for panic.

“Keep your head raised,” Rankin said, his hand on Caesar’s neck; he had leapt clear as the sand poured in, and then jumped in to keep the young dragon steady. “Fetch a light, there, and bring shovels; we will have to clear some of this off him before he can scramble out.”

It was near enough two hours before he could be resettled, now safe if uncomfortable upon an outcropping of rock; they none of them passed a very quiet or a restful night, and in the morning, all of Gong Su’s stew had leaked away, the consequence of a smaller but equally malicious shifting of the earth beneath the cooking-hollow. Temeraire was obliged to eat the gummy and nearly leached-clean kangaroo or go hungry, as he had not eaten the night before; they might be soft, but were scarcely palatable. They had all to contend with thirst as well as irritation.

Iskierka was all for waging a thorough war upon the enemy: all their shelters were to be fired, or filled with smoke, despite the dreadful hazard of open flame in this dry country, and the utter impracticality of fighting who knew how many of the creatures there were with a force of four dragons, one half-grown, one stunted, and no supply whatsoever. Temeraire at least was grown more willing to be sensible, perhaps under the preoccupying influence of hunger, which drove out some quantity of pride.

He said, “I do not like it in the least, but we do not have the time to serve them all out now, and they can make it so very uncomfortable: we had better wait until we have the egg back safely, and then we may settle them; or,” he allowed, “I suppose we may give them a chance to show they can behave better,” and that afternoon, when they had taken half-a-dozen kangaroos and stopped at another half-dry water-hole, they laid one before the first trap-door which they found, and did not molest the covering after all.

Iskierka eyed it darkly and brooding; Kulingile eyed it, too, with a very different, a yearning expression, but he turned to his own portion instead, and Iskierka grumbled under her breath and did the same. Temeraire was hungry enough to ignore the pain of his throat and eat the kangaroo unstewed, only roasted a little, and crunching the bones for the marrow, though Laurence was sorry to see him forced to it, and Termeraire winced as he swallowed.

“It’s gone, then,” someone said abruptly, and Laurence realized that while they had all been engaged in their own meals, the kangaroo offering had silently vanished—rather a dreadful reminder of the speed and stealth of their enemies, and their omnipresence. But they were at least not harassed the remainder of their halt, although they did not tempt fate: no man ventured anywhere near vegetation, and they drank their share of water under guard.

The experiment was repeated that evening, when they paused again at a fresh spring with a larger outcropping of harder, stony ground near-by where Laurence thought they might encamp safely; whether for this reason, or the accepted bribe, they did not suffer further attacks that night, and Temeraire declined to risk his supper again, and ate his portion of game once more only seared.

They might also by now have been outstripping the speed of the bunyips’ communications, whatever method they used. Tharkay was not particularly sanguine of their chances of finding still more traces of the smugglers’ route, and did not encourage the fervent searching for scraps which Temeraire and Iskierka would have indulged in, left to their own devices.

“If they are not going to some central location lying in this direction we have been given, as limited as it may be,” Tharkay said, “then we have no hope of catching them: a few shards of five years of age and half-buried samples do not make a trail worth following. We may as well hope for a more cooperative fate, and make the only attempt which has a hope of success.”

So the dragons flew on with much less investigation of the countryside, and quicker: the red miles were eaten up swiftly with Temeraire’s wingbeats, the unvarying dunes rising and falling, vanishing away beneath the leading edge of the black wings, only to be exposed once more, falling behind them like waves receding. The desert might have gone on forever: everywhere one looked, the world was flat and barren and strange to the curving blue-hazed edge of the horizon. Occasional taller hills would swell out of the low dunes; salt pans stretched pallid white; a trickling stream or a hollow full of water. These fell away and rode the earth over the horizon and disappeared, one after another.

The shapes were at first easily mistaken for clouds, low on the horizon; but they remained, and grew, and grew, until the brick-red stone was struck by the sunset and glowed fiercely against the sky. They reared up from the flat plateau, enormous and uncanny domes clustering together in the absence of all other company, their surfaces pitted and streaked in grey, a faint clinging fuzz of greenish moss upon a few of their heads. Temeraire slowed, as they approached; Laurence did not know what to think of the peculiar construct, so alone.

It was not possible even from the air to encompass the whole: at different angles it had a wholly different appearance, even as that first intensely glowing color faded, and a twilight cast of violet dampened the domes’ presence, blurring them into the sky. Though the stone would have offered a certain refuge from the bunyips, they did not land upon the rocks. They had from habit and the fatigue of extreme toil begun, Laurence thought, to grow used to the alien and rust-red landscape; but in their strangeness, the monoliths made all else around them once more strange, a reminder.

They encamped instead upon a few dunes, not far removed; a little trickle of water came past the camp, not very much to drink from, and with no sign of bunyip management, which they now had a little cause to regret. They dug out a hollow in the curve of the creek, and it gradually filled; meanwhile Laurence stood with Temeraire watching the strange monumental stones blur and fade away into darkness, as all the stars of the Southern Hemisphere came wheeling out above.

They were all quiet that night, in the unseen shadow of the monoliths. In the morning Temeraire said, “Laurence—Laurence, there is another one, over there; look,” and Laurence rising saw one last monolith standing at a distance: alone, wholly alone, even without a separated hillock for company: pink and palest orange cream in the early sunrise, and then Temeraire said slowly, “—is that a dragon?”

Iskierka roused up looking, and Caesar said, “Well, what else would it be?”—to be glimpsed at this distance, standing beside the monolith and casting a shadow against the smooth red wall, of wings outspread. Huge wings, even half-furled: and there were tiny dark figures of men to be glimpsed, moving around the dragon; there were bundles upon the ground, bales tied up with string, boxes, which they were taking off the beast: and still others, smaller bags, were going up to be stowed in replacement upon the dragon’s back.

Iskierka said, “Whyever are we only sitting here? Let’s go and have a look, and see if it has seen—”

“Oh!” Temeraire cried, “the egg, the egg!” and indeed, a round swaddled bundle was being handed carefully up to the men aboard the dragon, easing into a sling across its breast.

Laurence had barely a moment to seize upon the chain of Temeraire’s breastplate, and get himself latched on, as Temeraire lunged aloft in a burst of speed, Iskierka with him. They had not been seen, Laurence thought, by the company on the ground near the other monument: there was no visible hurry, no move to self-defense. Instead the strange dragon rose and leisurely unfurled its wings the rest of the way—going on and on and on, twice the length of its body and more—and with a tremendous spring of its hindquarters was aloft; one wing-stroke, two, three, and then it spread those wings and was swinging away to the north, gliding on the air.

“Come back!” Temeraire called, flying quicker. “Stop!” and he paused, hovering mid-air, and began to draw in his breath, his chest expanding with the divine wind, that shattering roar which should reach even across that distance.

“Temeraire,” Laurence said sharply, “Temeraire! You ought not, your throat is not—”

“Hurry, hurry,” Iskierka said, circling impatiently; she could not get into its path. “She is getting further away, and with the egg!”

Temeraire flung back his shoulders and pulled in one more heaved breath, and then he opened his jaws, and roared—and broke, the thunder barely begun and the resonance dying in his chest, so Laurence felt the tremors come rippling through the flesh. Temeraire’s voice cracked like strings upon some instrument breaking, and he clenched upon himself coughing—coughing—wracked and gasping, and he sank abruptly to the sand, his head bowed forward over his breast.