make it nice.
And he is not stronger than me, either, if he does weigh more. I should like to know if he has sunk a
frigate, alone, with a Fleur-de-Nuit on his back; and as for distinction, my ancestors were scholars in
China while his were starving in pits.”
“That’s as may be, but he knows all the council, and you don’t,” Moncey said, practically. “You ain’t
going to fight a dozen heavy-weights at once, and beg pardon, but no-one looking at you would say,
right-o, there is a match for old Requiescat: not that you are little, but you are a bit skinny looking.”
“I am not; am I?” Temeraire said, craning his head anxiously to look back at himself. He did not have
spines along his back, the way Maximus or Requiescat did, but was sleek; he was perhaps a bit long for
his weight, by British standards. “But anyway, he is not a fire-breather, or an acid-spitter.”
“Are you?” Moncey inquired.
“No,” Temeraire said, “but I have the divine wind; Laurence says it is even better.” However, it
belatedly occurred to him that perhaps Laurence might have been speaking partially; certainly Moncey
and Perscitia looked blank, and it was difficult to explain just how it operated. “I roar, in a particular sort
of way—I have to breathe quite deeply, and there is a clenching feeling, along the throat, and then—and
then it makes things break; trees, and so on,” Temeraire finished in an ashamed mutter, conscious that it
sounded very dull and useless, when so described. “It is very unpleasant to be caught in it,” he added
defensively, “at least, so I understand, from how others have acted, if they are before me when I use it.”
“How interesting,” Perscitia said, politely. “I have often wondered what sound is, exactly; we ought to
do some experiments.”
“Experiments ain’t going to help you with the council,” Moncey said.
Temeraire switched his tail against his side, thinking, and then he said with distaste, “No, I see that: it is
all politics. It is plain to me: I must work out what Lien would do.”
He cornered Lloyd, the next morning, and said, “Lloyd, I am very hungry to-day; may I have an extra
cow, to take up to my cave?”
“There, that is a little more like,” Lloyd said approvingly; not deaf at all to a request so satisfactory to his
own ideas of dragon-husbandry, he ordered it directly; and while waiting, Temeraire asked, attempting
an air casual, as though he were only making conversation, “I do not suppose you might recall, who
Gentius has sired?”
The old Longwing cracked a bleary eye, when Temeraire landed, and peered at him rather incuriously.
“Yes?” he said. His cave was not so large, but a comfortable dry hollow tucked well under the
mountainside, on higher ground overlooking a curve of the creek, so he might merely creep downhill for a
drink without flying, and then back up, to a large flat rock full in the sun, where he presently lay napping.
Page 14
“I beg your pardon for not coming by before, sir,” Temeraire said, inclining his head, “to visit you; I have
served with Excidium these last three years at Dover—your third hatchling,” he added, when Gentius
looked vague.
“Yes, Excidium, of course,” Gentius said, his tongue licking the air, experimentally, and Temeraire laid
down before him the cow, butchered with the help of Moncey’s small claws to take out the large bones.
“A small gift to show my respect,” Temeraire said, and Gentius brightened. “Why, that is très gentil of
you,” he said, with atrocious pronunciation, which Temeraire just in time remembered not to correct, and
took the cow into his mouth to gum at it slowly with the wobbly remainder of his teeth. “Very kind, as my
first captain liked to say,” Gentius mumbled reminiscently around it. “You might go in there and bring out
her picture,” he added, “if you are very careful with it.”
The portrait was rather odd and
And he is not stronger than me, either, if he does weigh more. I should like to know if he has sunk a
frigate, alone, with a Fleur-de-Nuit on his back; and as for distinction, my ancestors were scholars in
China while his were starving in pits.”
“That’s as may be, but he knows all the council, and you don’t,” Moncey said, practically. “You ain’t
going to fight a dozen heavy-weights at once, and beg pardon, but no-one looking at you would say,
right-o, there is a match for old Requiescat: not that you are little, but you are a bit skinny looking.”
“I am not; am I?” Temeraire said, craning his head anxiously to look back at himself. He did not have
spines along his back, the way Maximus or Requiescat did, but was sleek; he was perhaps a bit long for
his weight, by British standards. “But anyway, he is not a fire-breather, or an acid-spitter.”
“Are you?” Moncey inquired.
“No,” Temeraire said, “but I have the divine wind; Laurence says it is even better.” However, it
belatedly occurred to him that perhaps Laurence might have been speaking partially; certainly Moncey
and Perscitia looked blank, and it was difficult to explain just how it operated. “I roar, in a particular sort
of way—I have to breathe quite deeply, and there is a clenching feeling, along the throat, and then—and
then it makes things break; trees, and so on,” Temeraire finished in an ashamed mutter, conscious that it
sounded very dull and useless, when so described. “It is very unpleasant to be caught in it,” he added
defensively, “at least, so I understand, from how others have acted, if they are before me when I use it.”
“How interesting,” Perscitia said, politely. “I have often wondered what sound is, exactly; we ought to
do some experiments.”
“Experiments ain’t going to help you with the council,” Moncey said.
Temeraire switched his tail against his side, thinking, and then he said with distaste, “No, I see that: it is
all politics. It is plain to me: I must work out what Lien would do.”
He cornered Lloyd, the next morning, and said, “Lloyd, I am very hungry to-day; may I have an extra
cow, to take up to my cave?”
“There, that is a little more like,” Lloyd said approvingly; not deaf at all to a request so satisfactory to his
own ideas of dragon-husbandry, he ordered it directly; and while waiting, Temeraire asked, attempting
an air casual, as though he were only making conversation, “I do not suppose you might recall, who
Gentius has sired?”
The old Longwing cracked a bleary eye, when Temeraire landed, and peered at him rather incuriously.
“Yes?” he said. His cave was not so large, but a comfortable dry hollow tucked well under the
mountainside, on higher ground overlooking a curve of the creek, so he might merely creep downhill for a
drink without flying, and then back up, to a large flat rock full in the sun, where he presently lay napping.
Page 14
“I beg your pardon for not coming by before, sir,” Temeraire said, inclining his head, “to visit you; I have
served with Excidium these last three years at Dover—your third hatchling,” he added, when Gentius
looked vague.
“Yes, Excidium, of course,” Gentius said, his tongue licking the air, experimentally, and Temeraire laid
down before him the cow, butchered with the help of Moncey’s small claws to take out the large bones.
“A small gift to show my respect,” Temeraire said, and Gentius brightened. “Why, that is très gentil of
you,” he said, with atrocious pronunciation, which Temeraire just in time remembered not to correct, and
took the cow into his mouth to gum at it slowly with the wobbly remainder of his teeth. “Very kind, as my
first captain liked to say,” Gentius mumbled reminiscently around it. “You might go in there and bring out
her picture,” he added, “if you are very careful with it.”
The portrait was rather odd and
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