Chapter Text
Laurence rose with the sun.
It streamed across the fields of his brother’s estate, casting long ribbons of shadow on the ground. It glittered on dew and lit the myriad windows of Wollaton Hall in a golden blaze. It gleamed upon Temeraire’s scales. Laurence saw this through the window-pane, and then washed and dressed with a vigour he hadn’t felt in months. He had slept well; he felt very light.
Into the field he went; he rubbed Temeraire’s snout to wake him, and informed him of his plans. “Oh, how nice,” said Temeraire, cracking open one blue eye, “Do give him my best.” Then he let out a yawn which echoed around the fields like a small thunderclap, and rested his head once more upon his foreleg, watching Laurence sleepily as he left.
Laurence forwent a carriage or a horse, for it was only a few miles to walk into the heart of Nottingham, and the crisp air and noisy birds made good company.
It was not until he was at Tollhouse Hill, having to dodge the first carters and tradesmen of the day, that he had to admit to himself that it really was indecently early to call on someone. Tharkay’s proposal last night had set a fire in his mind, for it was a vision of everything he could have hoped for: a home, here in Britain, with space enough for Temeraire. It was a dream he’d held long before the invasion, but he had not realised that he had given up hope for such a thing until Tharkay had offered it to him, along with opportunities for Temeraire’s political advancement, and his own unreproaching company.
Now, he dithered on the corner of Market street, watching the shopkeepers and street-hawkers setting up for the day. If he dawdled, then by the time he made it to the hotel it would barely be 7 o’clock. Tharkay was by habit an early riser, but he was also now a gentleman of leisure, who might justifiably expect a lie-in. Intimacy and propriety warred within him until, having made himself thoroughly self-conscious, Laurence resolved to simply pass by the hotel on his way to the river, and amuse himself until a more suitable time.
Naturally, he had barely passed the hotel when he heard a whistle from above. Tharkay leaned out a window on the second storey, a pen in his hand, and smiled down at him; then he withdrew. Laurence hastened to the entrance of the hotel, was admitted by a sleepy footman, and bounded up the stairs.
Tharkay threw open his door almost as soon as Laurence reached the top step, and said without preamble, “Did you know that Minnow is in trouble with the Postmasters General?” He shut the door behind them, and turned to the bed, where the rest of his clothes for the day were laid out neatly on the counterpane. He was only half-dressed, his hair still loose about his face, tying his neckcloth with his deft, crooked fingers.
“Good morning,” said Laurence, in happy bafflement, “I can’t say that I did.”
It gave Laurence a queer sort of pleasure to look about the room and recognise the artifacts of Tharkay’s life mingled with the finery of his new fortune. His greatcoat and the gold-topped cane were hung by the door, but the valise beneath them stood beside a leather case that had been hauled all over Creation, and which Laurence would wager still carried everything Tharkay would need if he had to travel on short notice. On the desk by the window, where the sun streamed in, were the morning’s papers, and what looked like a half-written letter, weighed down with his battered compass. Tharkay tilted his chin towards the desk. “It’s in the news today – apparently her services are in high demand.”
Laurence picked up the copy of the Times, and read the article with bemusement. Minnow’s freelance courier operation – not a military dispatch, as Corps couriers were, and so available to anyone daring enough to trust a dragon with their parcel – was by the paper’s accounts now prominent and profitable enough that the Royal Mail had taken notice. A representative of that venerable organisation was quoted in the article, disparaging her as uncaptained and therefore untrustworthy.
“I wish her luck,” he said, “Though I am not surprised the venture has met with controversy. If they’ve any sense, the Royal Mail would employ dragons, for nothing’s so fast as a courier on the wing.”
“Swift change, I fear, is anathema to any government institution - though we may yet hope to be surprised,” Tharkay replied, and shrugged on his coat. “Now: coffee?”
Somewhat after midmorning, Temeraire sought out his breakfast.
On a handsome silver tray, the servants brought out a mound of porridge, studded with boiled eggs and ringed with kippers, alongside a tureen of fragrant black tea. He had polished off the former and was sipping at the latter, deep in conversation with a cook’s assistant named Agatha about the prospects of her young nephew who had gone to the Edinburgh covert, when Lady Allendale appeared in the yard.
The kitchen girls, who were clearing the breakfast things away, were as surprised as he was, and made their curtseys with their arms full of kettles and trays. “Thank you,” he heard her murmur; “Pray don’t let me interrupt you.” Temeraire took advantage of her momentary distraction to arrange himself in a less sprawling manner, which required him to put aside his tea. He set down the silver tureen as carefully as he could, but, half-full as it was, it made a deep gonging sound as it came to rest on the flagstones; Lady Allendale’s head turned to him at the sound.
He could not help but feel a certain timidity in the presence of Lady Allendale, despite her being small, or perhaps even because of it; she looked so frail that he felt conscious of his size and strength as he rarely was around other people. She was Laurence’s mother, after all, and therefore very important; and she spoke gently to Laurence, and so Temeraire liked her far more than he ever had Laurence’s father. This last was partly the source of his awkward feelings, for she dressed nowadays in mourning black. He knew that Laurence, too, still grieved Lord Allendale deeply, even though the man had been so disagreeable every time Temeraire met him; so he regretted Lord Allendale’s death, but only because it caused other people sorrow.
Even if he had no connection to her whatsoever, she would nonetheless remain a very fine and sensible person, elegantly dressed and always gracious, and so he twitched with the urge to rub his muzzle against his foreleg in case there were flecks of porridge on it that he had neglected to lick away. He rued having slept so late. “Good morning to you, Lady Allendale,” he said, lowering his head.
“Good morning to you too, my dear,” she replied, and Temeraire felt a peculiar flutter of happiness to hear that word from her. “Do forgive me; I seem to have interrupted your breakfast.”
“Not at all,” he replied hastily. “I have quite finished eating, and was only taking tea – will you join me? It is a lovely day to be outside.” It was, indeed, not damp at all. When Laurence had left this morning, the grass had glittered with dew and mist roiled at the treeline, but when Temeraire next opened his eyes they had vanished in the warmth of the day.
Lady Allendale paused, and then said, decisively, “Why, yes. I think I will. Agatha—?” Agatha curtseyed again, and bustled away. “—Thank you.” To Temeraire, as Agatha disappeared inside, she said in an undertone, “I understand her nephew is doing well.”
“She was just telling me about his last letter,” Temeraire said, and was delighted to repeat all Agatha had told him about her Albert’s good prospects and remarkable penmanship, and as he did two footmen emerged from the house with a chair and a low table, and Lady Allendale was seated. “I shall ask after him when we are next in Edinburgh – oh! Which will be soon, I think; how wonderful.”
“Oh?” Lady Allendale said, and then paused, for here came Agatha, with the tea service. Temeraire took the opportunity to retrieve his cup from the ground. It really was good, and it would be a shame to let it go cold. “Have you plans in Scotland, then?”
At that, Temeraire realised she did not know – for how could she, when Tharkay had come so late that the summer sun had set, and Laurence had risen so early to meet him? “Why, but it’s the most wonderful thing!” he said, delighted to be able to tell her, “For Tharkay visited last night, and he has won his estate at last, and it has deer and space for a pavilion, and he has invited Laurence and I to stay as long as we like, and go to Parliament too!”
Lady Allendale sat still for a moment, with the teacup at her lips; then she lowered it to the saucer with a delicate clink , and sat forward in her chair. “Dear,” she said, “I think you had better start from the beginning.”
Temeraire did.
At the hotel, Tharkay and Laurence breakfasted until the morning grew long. In a private dining room, they spread maps over one end of the table; maps of Tharkay’s estate, upon which he had marked spots he thought suitable for a pavilion - here a hill across the lawn beside the house, there a wide, shallow bend in the stream, and further still a cliff above a waterfall. There was the question of hiring people who would serve a dragon, though Laurence thought that might be easier than he would have thought a few years ago: the staff at Wollaton Hall had quickly grown accustomed to Temeraire’s presence, which was a far cry from the fright that had greeted him in years before. No dragons were known to live in the Kilsyth hills, where Tharkay’s estate lay, but Air Corps dragons were a common sight in the skies above Glasgow, and pavilions for their use were set up along the paths from Loch Laggan to Edinburgh, never too far from the road – there, as here, attitudes might have changed. Three pots of coffee came and went as their conversation ranged further and further outwards, rounding to Temeraire’s plans for office, Perscitia’s exploits in that arena, the prospects of Temeraire’s former crew, and what Laurence would do, who Tharkay’s neighbors were, and who would visit, and when.
It was a heady thing, to discuss such a future. Almost it had an air of happy fantasy, but all he had to do was glance up from the map to meet Tharkay’s eye and all trace of fancy fled, for there was no-one else who so frequently made the unlikely and unlooked-for fall into Laurence’s lap.
Still, the matter of Temeraire’s pavilion must ultimately rest with Temeraire, and so they could go no further in that matter without consulting him; and by that time, it was nearing eleven o’clock. So Laurence invited Tharkay back to Wollaton Hall.
The streets were bustling when they set off, and the summer sun was high. They darted around the edges of the market square, which heaved with people and stank in the heat. Laurence might have trod the route from here to home in his sleep, and yet he felt half a stranger here, the city having changed in ways both subtle and gross.
There was a certain festive feeling in the air, the victory over Napoleon still fresh, though regiments were still abroad and would be for some time. Their shoulders pressed together, they passed hawkers of commemorative gimcrackery, dishes and jugs painted with gaudy depictions of Wellington, Nelson, Britannia, sea battles, and flights of dragons. Even Temeraire himself was featured on one set of wares, which caused Laurence to pause, unable to decide whether Temeraire would be flattered by the depiction or outraged by the quality of the porcelain, until Tharkay laughed at him for dithering over a plate. There were commemorative spoons, too, in wood, bone, and pewter, and when Laurence saw one handsomely wrought in the shape of a yellow reaper he was moved to turn the conversation to the ideal composition of aerial formations, China’s efficient middle-weight legions having impressed themselves well into his mind.
Further along, they passed a newsagent’s that had victorious political cartoons plastered in the window. Many of them depicted Napoleon – none of them flatteringly, or accurately – and two of them, to Laurence’s embarrassment, depicted himself. The one that caught his eye, though, celebrated a victory in the Peninsula: dragons wheeled over infantry, and though the representation of each beast was not wholly accurate, he recognised Lily’s formation. The caption beneath it said, French Eagles are no Match for British Dragons.
Laurence marveled at it, wondering when he’d ever seen the Corps so publicly praised, when Tharkay turned his head suddenly in the direction they’d come in the moment before Laurence heard a crash and a scream from the street.
It was one of the souvenir-sellers, Laurence saw, a short, round-faced woman: half a dozen of her wares were in pieces on the cobblestones, shards of colourful wings and scaled bodies, and on the other side of the table stood a soldier, a mulish, unkempt-looking fellow in a rumpled uniform. Laurence assumed he was one of the regiment that had returned two days prior, and he noticed grimly that the man had gone out wearing his sword. Passers-by were beginning to scurry around the scene, their heads low.
The souvenir-seller stared at the man, gaping, and then her cheeks mottled. “What are you about, sir?” she demanded, her voice shaking with anger. “Who’s going to pay for all this? What sort of a way is that, to behave? I never—“
The man muttered something and turned away.
“Sir!” the souvenir-seller shouted, and the man wheeled around to face her.
“It’s not right!” he spat, stabbing a finger at her. “You haven’t seen them. I have. I saw them go through a company like—“
He kicked at the pile of broken plates, missed, and broke the table-leg instead. The souvenir-seller yelped, and had to scramble to stop more of her wares from crashing to the ground. Laurence started forward, Tharkay’s hand a fleeting touch against his arm. “Sir!” he barked. “By God, sir, leave her alone; that is enough. Get you back to your fellows and sober up.”
In truth, Laurence could not tell from a closer look whether the man was drunk – he looked rather more like he had not slept a wink. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild. “Am I mad?” the soldier said. “Am I? What’s come over everybody? I come back and there’s houses for ‘em, like they’re people , when there’s children on the street still. What has happened to the world?” He was looking back and forth between Laurence and the woman, who looked bewildered. Unnoticed by the soldier, Tharkay had slipped around the crowd and now stood behind him. Laurence met his eyes over the soldier’s shoulder, and shook his head minutely. “Do none of you read? You’ve all been sitting here safe. Did none of you hear about Russia?”
Abruptly, with a wash of cold that seemed to dim the sunny day, Laurence understood him, from his wild eyes to his rumpled clothes to his outburst of violence upon a crockery stall. He wished rather more keenly that the man had friends around him. “Yes, I know about Russia, sir,” he said. “I witnessed the incident. Unless I am mistaken, you did not, for none of your regiment were there.”
“Is it true, then?” the soldier said bleakly. “They’re man-eaters. Devils. It’s not right .”
Laurence remembered his own helplessness, most of all, safe by Temeraire’s side as the dragons of the Russian breeding-ground turned in desperation upon the hospital tents; he remembered when confusion gave way to horror, an unthinkable act happening before his eyes. With an effort, he unclenched his fists, and took a step closer to the man. “I saw creatures chained to the ground by hooks in their flesh, kept in pits and starved,” he answered, low, “until the French turned them loose upon our flank. I would no more call them typical of their species than I would call the souls of Bedlam representative of all mankind.”
The soldier’s face twisted. “You’re an aviator?”
“I am,” Laurence said.
The man spat at his feet, turned on his heel, and left.
The souvenir-seller made a choked sort of sound, muffled by her hands. She was looking at Laurence with wide eyes. Laurence, satisfied to see the man’s back, said, “I am very sorry for the scene, madam. Do you have an empty crate, perhaps? We can put the shards there.”
She had several, and a broom besides; in less than a minute she had found a stick to wedge under the table, and a boy to sweep up the broken crockery. “Thank you, sir,” she muttered, and refused him with a blush when he offered to pay for the pieces she had lost. It occurred to him that he might do her a better service now by leaving her to her work; she had, after all, just lost several saleable items but attracted a gawking crowd. He wished her a good morning and turned, just in time to see Tharkay emerge from a near alley.
“Is all well?” Laurence asked quietly.
Tharkay eyed him. “You tell me,” he said.
Laurence opened his mouth to protest, and then decided he deserved the touch. It was not yet a year since he had duelled with Dobrozhnov, though that had been for a far more serious insult. “I am in no position to go about challenging every man who wished to spit on me. Besides, there was no harm done, except to the lady’s wares,” he said. “I hope he returns to his regiment, wherever they are staying; a man with his nerves shot all to pieces ought not to be alone.”
Tharkay gave him a considering look, and then nodded. “Very well. Though I am surprised you do not wish to report him to his commander, at least.”
They were, at that moment, passed by a pair of gentlemen who were loudly and indecorously discussing the madman who had assaulted a merchant and raved about Russian dragons in the street. Their voices carried quite a way, even in the general din. “Even if a commander of His Majesty’s army had any interest in what an aviator has to say about discipline and good conduct, I dare say he will hear about it soon with or without my intervention,” Laurence said, dryly.
“Especially since the inn lies that way,” Tharkay said. At Laurence’s questioning look, he added, “The one he marched himself into – it’s just down the street, and full of other soldiers. In truth, I did not expect him to be so easily followed.”
His expression, quite professionally offended, made Laurence laugh, and he turned to continue on their way down the road. “In that case,” he said, “I can hope he finds peace amongst his friends, for he seemed to sorely lack it. No, I have no wish to harass the man. More, I wonder how many are like him.”
“Ready to snap?” Tharkay said, falling into step at his side.
“Fearful of change,” Laurence said, low. “Very fearful. I had not quite considered it before. I had a low opinion of dragons myself, before Temeraire. I was at the battle of the Nile, and they seemed to me there like forces of nature barely in the control of their masters. I know better now, but there may yet be men who do not.”
“Especially men who have only ever experienced them from beneath,” Tharkay said.
“That is what Temeraire will be fighting: men who see claws and teeth, not souls.” Laurence smiled. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, “For giving him the opportunity to do so.”
“You have said so already,” Tharkay said, fidgeting with his walking stick. “Consider me thanked, for heaven’s sake. And remember that you may wish to retract it, when Temeraire has to actually persuade those intractable old lords to change anything.”
The sun was high in the sky when they came onto the lane near the farmhouse, and heard the distant tenor of Temeraire’s voice.
“Oh! And there they are,” said Temeraire, lifting his great head as they approached. Laurence’s nephews scrambled over Temeraire’s foreleg, hollering greetings across the field. “They asked me where you’d gone, Laurence, so I told them, and then of course I had to tell them all about Tharkay, and I had just gotten to the flight from Danzig—“
“Peace, Temeraire,” Laurence said, once he was close enough that he didn’t have to shout. He had not quite run from the lane, but he had nonetheless outpaced Tharkay, who was laughing quietly behind him. “Pray let us have some introductions first.”
George had five children in total; Mary, the youngest, was still crawling, and Margaret, the eldest at fourteen, was in the process of becoming an accomplished young lady and would likely be having a music lesson at present. The boys, however, were quite at their leisure, and in the past few days had forgotten any nerves they might have felt around Temeraire in favour of treating him as a source of utmost entertainment. Now, having caught sight of his companion, they lined up looking slightly awed. Laurence could imagine how dizzying tales of crossing of the Taklamakan desert, the intrigue of Istanbul, and the Prussian siege must sound to three boys who had never in their lives left Nottingham.
“Tenzing,” he said, “These are my nephews: Thomas—“ Thomas, all of twelve, bowed formally, “—Marcus, and Henry. Boys, this is Tenzing Tharkay.”
“Hullo,” whispered Henry, and then he hid his face behind Marcus’ arm.
Laurence glanced sideways at Tharkay and saw he had composed his face into something grave, though the deep creases at the corners of his eyes gave his humour away. “I am very pleased to meet you,” he said. “Your uncle spent much of this morning telling me about your exploits.” (Laurence had spent perhaps fifteen minutes out of several hours that morning telling Tharkay about his nieces and nephews, but it was polite of him to say nonetheless.)
“Oh, sir,” Marcus blurted out, wide-eyed, “Can you really speak the dragon tongue?”
This was the first of an outpouring of questions about Arkady, and foreign dragons, and what it was like to fly— “Mother says we aren’t to pester uncle about it,” said Marcus, with the pride of a child who had just gotten around a rule. Laurence had indeed not been asked much by his nephews, and was satisfied to find out the reason; he had worried that they simply found him forbidding.
“May we fly? On Temeraire?” Thomas asked suddenly.
“Oh, yes,” Temeraire put in, “Can they, Laurence? I will be ever so careful.”
Laurence, taken aback, was inclined to say no out of hand – he could only imagine what his brother would say – but Temeraire and the children were looking at him with real excitement, Thomas’ eyes shining and Temeraire’s ruff almost quivering. He had the sinking feeling that this was not the first time the topic had come up.
“Certainly not without your mother’s permission,” he said, sure that would put an end to it, and in a moment his nephews had disappeared down the lane towards the house in a noisy flock.
In the end, they had only half an hour to talk with Temeraire about pavilions before a growing clamour announced his nephews’ return, with their mother Elizabeth and Lady Allendale following more sedately behind. His surprise at this afternoon procession was such that he almost forgot to introduce the ladies of the house to Tharkay. They had been in one another’s company for so many years that it had taken him a moment to remember that Tharkay had not been present the last time Laurence went home to Allendale Hall – during the invasion, with a fleet of dragons, there to beg food and a field for the night.
He had not had a chance to tell her, he realised suddenly. Tharkay had only come with his offer last night, at dusk, which in midsummer came long after dinner. Laurence had left quite likely before Lady Allendale rose for the day; he had not told her that he would leave, soon, not to a far-flung corner of the world but to somewhere less than a day’s flight away. She did not know why Tharkay was here, and would not ask, and Tharkay would not tell her before Laurence did.
There was no time - the boys were at Temeraire’s side once more, clamouring for his attention. Elizabeth, her eyes constantly darting to them, said, “The children say that Temeraire has offered to let them fly on his back.”
“He has,” Laurence said, carefully. “It is quite safe with the proper harness, though of course I would promise them nothing without your leave.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, and then said, “Well, if he’s very careful.”
“I,“ said Laurence, astonished. Then, “Very well.”
“Oh, I will be!” said Temeraire, as the boys scrambled over his back in their enthusiasm. “I’ll fly very level, and not too high, since I know they’re not used to it, but I promise you I’ve had boys and girls their age aboard before, and this weather is very fair. Oh, it will be famous, you’ll see!”
With the help of Tharkay, two footmen, and (to somewhat less effect) Thomas, Marcus, and Henry, Temeraire was outfitted with his abbreviated harness within half an hour, and Laurence had enough spare carabiners that all three boys could be safely buckled aboard. Lady Allendale and Elizabeth arranged themselves on a bench with parasols, and supervised.
“Are you sure you won’t come aboard too, Lady Allendale?” Temeraire said earnestly, lowering his head to speak to her. Lady Allendale was now inured to Temeraire enough that the nearness of his teeth did not discomfit her, though Elizabeth, beside her, was still inclined to sway backwards at his approach.
“I thank you for the offer, dear,” Lady Allendale said, “but I think this will be a venture just for the children, and it will give me great pleasure to see you fly with them. Beside,” she added brightly, “It will give me a chance to converse with Mr. Tharkay.”
Tharkay caught Laurence’s eye as he smiled and said, “I would like nothing better.”
There was no reason at all to think they would not get on, and it would not do at all to look anxious, so Laurence merely nodded and climbed aboard, taking his customary spot at Temeraire’s neck and making one last check that the children’s straps were secure. “Very well, my dear,” he said to Temeraire, “Just a circuit of the estate.”
Temeraire made quite a show of it, walking a little distance further into the field so that the wind of his wings would not knock anyone down, but also being sure to show his best side. Laurence could not begrudge him a little vanity, though, especially when he did indeed fly very carefully, leaping into the air with smooth control so that the children only gasped and laughed as the ground fell away, feeling no jolt at all in the motion. True to his word, he did not go high, flying barely higher than the roof of Wollaton Hall, and gliding low over the lake, causing the children to shriek with surprise when he dipped the end of one wing into the water and flicked up a spray over them all. Laurence could not help but laugh, shaking water out of his hair as Temeraire beat his wings again to gain elevation over the trees. Eventually, with a showy backwing and a moment of hovering overhead, Temeraire came to land mere yards from their onlookers.
Elizabeth and Lady Allendale applauded politely, and Temeraire looked over his shoulder at Laurence with a very pleased expression. The whole act seemed to have done something to endear Temeraire to Elizabeth, for she approached him without a hint of her previous reticence as the children disembarked. They were all in a clamour with their attempts to describe the estate from the air, and she smiled and thanked Temeraire and Laurence quite genuinely before herding her sons back towards the house for their lunch.
“Splendidly done, Temeraire,” Lady Allendale said, then, “Until tomorrow, Mr. Tharkay,” and, with a last smile at Laurence, she also took her leave.
Laurence glanced at Tharkay, who was watching Lady Allendale leave with a mild expression. “Tomorrow?” he murmured.
Tharkay dipped his chin. “Your mother and your sister-in-law have invited me to dinner tomorrow. I am given to understand that Lord Allendale will be all in favour of this just as soon as his wife tells him so.”
“Ah,” said Laurence, who had no trouble imagining George’s reaction. Then, diffidently: “Did you have a pleasant conversation?”
Tharkay grinned at him. “It seems Temeraire told her of our plans this morning, and so she was keen to hear of my perspective on the matter. And of my origins, situation, and connections, though she had a perfectly amiable manner of drawing them out. Was your mother greatly involved in your father’s political career, Will? I feel somewhat as if I have passed one interview and been granted a second.”
If he had not been so genuinely amused, Laurence might have found the situation mortifying. As it was, he merely sighed, and let the blush run its course. “She was, as a matter of fact, and I will likely need to ask her advice on Temeraire’s career as well.”
“Speaking of,” said Tharkay, as Temeraire came trotting back across the field from where he had been supervising the footmen as they put his harness away, “Shall we look at those maps again?”
The dinner itself went better than Laurence might have hoped. The previous day, he, Tharkay, and Temeraire had settled on a date to depart, and so were able to announce their plans formally at the table. George had only sighed audibly once during the whole meal, which Laurence counted a success. Elizabeth had even had time to round out the numbers for the dinner party with some dear friends of hers, a Mr. and Mrs. Tolman and their eldest daughter Louisa. They proved an excellent addition to the evening: Louisa seemed to be a good friend of Margaret’s, though she was four years her elder, and kept her drawn into the conversation; Mrs. Tolman had a lively interest in politics, particularly changes brought about by the draconic vote, and asked many intelligent questions; and Mr. Tolman seemed only a stout good sort until Tharkay happened to mention his interest in birds, at which point Mr. Tolman sat very upright and announced that he himself was a keen falconer.
At the end of the dinner, they retired to the parlour, where two tables were set up for whist. Tharkay and Mr. Tolman spent much of the game discussing their preferred hunting hawks; by the end of the first hand, they had begun to compare the scars on their knuckles and the birds that had bestowed them, and took no exception when George asked Laurence to accompany him to the balcony for some fresh air. The ladies, for their part, seemed deep in discussion of a novel, and were not troubled.
“Heavens,” George muttered, as soon as the door was shut, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Phillip speak so much in a single evening.”
Laurence, who had likewise rarely heard Tharkay expound on any subject with such enthusiasm, wondered if that was what he sounded like when he spoke of ships to his friends in the Aerial Corps. “I am glad that they have a mutual interest,” he ventured. “It was good of Elizabeth to introduce them.”
“Perhaps if we leave them to it, they’ll exhaust themselves,” George said, with a firm nod, and settled his elbows upon the balcony so he could look out into the warm evening.
Laurence followed suit, seeking out Temeraire by long habit, and took comfort in the sight of him winging in slow circles far above, enjoying the last warm updrafts of the day. George followed his gaze, cleared his throat, and said, “So you won’t be off to some far corner of the world after all.”
“No,” Laurence said. It still made him feel very light to say so. “Tharkay’s estate is north of Glasgow, and Temeraire can fly there from here in less than a day. We can leave early in the morning and arrive in time for supper.”
“And you’ll be retiring,” George pressed. “Not… haring off into trouble again.”
Laurence felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. George was not their father, and so Laurence did not fear his disappointment quite so much; but he was now Lord Allendale, and therefore had every right to be concerned for their family’s good name. Laurence had spent many years staining it in one way or another, and though he neither could nor would change any of his actions, he could not help but be sensible of the strain he had put George under by his exploits.
“Yes, I will retire,” he said. “I mean to dedicate myself to Temeraire’s election to Parliament.”
“Parliament? I see.” George looked a little pale. “I don’t suppose Mother will be involved in that?”
“I may ask her for advice from time to time,” Laurence hedged.
“What an alliance,” George muttered. “But you will stay in Britain?”
“Yes,” Laurence said, “I have no intention of travelling any further than Loch Laggan for the foreseeable future.”
“Good,” said George, with a gusty sigh, his shoulders dropping, “I am very glad to hear it. We shan’t hear any more of you being, oh, shipwrecked, or shot, or transported to Australia for the term of your natural life.”
“No indeed,” said Laurence, low.
“And I am sure you will be able to send more frequent letters.”
“Yes. That is - I will.”
“Excellent.” George turned to him then, and, perhaps seeing something in Laurence’s expression which he was struggling to control, said, “Er - your friend Tharkay seems a good fellow.”
Laurence grasped the change of subject with both hands. “He is,” he said, “He has saved my life and Temeraire’s many times.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said George. Then, inexplicably: “Have you given any more thought to marrying?”
“Oh - to whom?” Laurence said, bewildered.
“Well,” said George, with a slightly desperate look on his face, “I am sure you must have met some suitable women in the Corps, who would understand your position. I understand you are friends with Her Grace Admiral Roland?”
His words hung between them. Laurence was aware that his whole family was under the misapprehension that Emily Roland was his bastard, despite her having been eight years old when he first met her mother. Nonetheless, they were in some wise right about his relationship with Jane, though he could not begin to explain what it was now. He certainly didn’t know how to explain that he had already proposed to her, years before, and she had cheerfully rejected it; and afterwards he had committed treason, and she had excoriated him on the grounds of this very house for how he’d gone about it. That they were friends again was a relief; he doubted she had ever wanted anything else. All he could think to say was, “Why would she wish to marry me?”
“Why-?” George looked as bewildered as Laurence felt. “I don’t - that is...”
The moment stretched, excruciating.
“Perhaps we should return to the parlour,” George said at last.
“Yes, let’s,” Laurence said fervently, and gestured for George to precede him back into the house.
By the time they rejoined everybody in the parlour, George had regained enough equilibrium to return Mr. Tolman’s greeting with equal enthusiasm. Tharkay met Laurence’s eye with a quick, questioning look, but Laurence gave a very brief shake of his head, and, aloud, suggested a second round of whist. Thus they passed the rest of the evening in a far more peaceful fashion.
The day of departure came at last. At Elizabeth’s insistence, Tharkay joined them for breakfast, and it was a warm enough morning that they could have it on the lawn, so that Temeraire could join them for it. They lingered longer than they had meant to, for the conversation flowed very pleasantly, but the hour came on them, and they had to go if they were to make it to the Kilsyth Hills before night.
Loading their baggage into Temeraire’s harness took little time, for by habit neither Laurence nor Tharkay traveled with much. Temeraire was preoccupied with the boys, who were exclaiming very loudly how much they would miss him, and their mother and Lady Allendale, who were saying much the same thing but in far more decorous tones. Margaret, who had had the least exposure to Temeraire of anyone but the baby, hung back by the breakfast table.
Tharkay glanced over Laurence’s shoulder, abruptly said, “I’ll just make the final checks,” and shinned up Temeraire’s side before Laurence could respond. At the sound of a rustle behind him, Laurence turned to find his brother approaching with his hands clasped behind his back. George stopped in front of him, his lips pursed.
Laurence couldn’t quite think of what to say. “Thank you,” he began, “For providing Temeraire and I with a place to stay,” but George waved his hand with an irritated expression.
“No, don’t thank me. A place to stay? For heaven’s sake.” He stuck out his hand, and Laurence took it; George shook it very firmly. “I do wish you the best of luck,” he said.
“Thank you,” Laurence said again. George was still shaking his hand.
“You will write, of course.”
“Yes, of course,” said Laurence, almost exasperated, but George finally smiled.
“Good. Well. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” Laurence said. George let go, and stepped away, and it was time.
With last farewells, and the flight-check done, Laurence climbed aboard. Tharkay sat in his customary place at his right, squinting at the sky to the north with a keen assessing look, and Laurence followed his gaze. No clouds massed there, nor any telling haze: it would be clear weather for miles and miles.
“Goodbye!” said Temeraire, as he spread his wings. “You have been such wonderful hosts, and I should like very much to see you all again soon. Visit us if you can!” And with that, he leapt into the air, and they were away.