“Well, Laurence, that is no lookout of the Navy’s, I am sure,” Croft said, but before Laurence could be really taken aback by this petty remark, the man seemed to realize how ill it sounded, and amended his words. “However, I will speak to the governor; I am sure we can arrange something. Now then, the Reliant, and of course the Amitié, we must take some thought for them.”
“I should like to point out that Mr. Riley has been in command of the Reliant since the harnessing, and that he has handled her exceptionally well, bringing her safely to port through a two-days’ gale,” Laurence said. “He fought very bravely in the action which won us the prize, as well.”
“Oh, I am sure, I am sure,” Croft said, turning his finger in circles again. “Who do you have in the Amitié?”
“My first lieutenant, Gibbs,” Laurence said.
“Yes, of course,” Croft said. “Well, it is a bit much of you to hope to make both your first and second lieutenants post in such a way, Laurence, you must see that. There are not so many fine frigates out there.”
Laurence had great difficulty in keeping his countenance; the man was clearly looking for some excuse to give himself a plum to deal out to one of his own favorites. “Sir,” he said, icily, “I do not quite take your meaning; I hope you are not suggesting that I had myself put in harness in order to open a vacancy. I assure you my only motive was to secure to England a very valuable dragon, and I would hope that their Lordships will see it in such a way.”
It was as close as he would come to harping on his own sacrifice, and a good deal closer than he would have preferred to come, without Riley’s welfare at stake. But it had its effect; Croft seemed struck by the reminder, and the mention of the Admiralty; at least he hemmed and hawed and retreated, and dismissed them without saying anything final about removing Riley from command.
“Sir, I am deeply indebted to you,” Riley said, as they walked together back towards the ship. “I only hope you will not have caused difficulties for yourself by pressing the matter so; I suppose he must have a great deal of influence.”
Laurence at the moment had little room for any emotion but relief, for they had come to their own dock, and Temeraire was still sitting on the deck of the ship; although that looked more like an abattoir at the moment, and the area around his chops more red than black. The crowd of spectators had entirely dispersed. “If there is any blessing to the whole business, Tom, it is that I no longer need to give much thought to influence; I do not suppose it can make any difference to an aviator,” he answered. “Pray have no concern for me. Should you mind if we were to walk a little faster? I think he has finished eating.”
Flying did a great deal more to soothe his ruffled temper; it was impossible to be angry with the whole island of Madeira spread out before him and the wind in his hair, and Temeraire excitedly pointing out new things of interest, such as animals, houses, carts, trees, rocks, and anything else which might catch his eye; he had lately worked out a method of flying with his head partly turned round, so that he might talk to Laurence even while they flew. By mutual agreement, he perched at last upon an empty road that ran along at the edge of a deep valley; a bank of clouds was rolling thickly down the green southern slopes, clinging to the ground in a peculiar way, and he sat to watch their movement in fascination.
Laurence dismounted; he was still growing used to riding and was glad to stretch his legs after an hour in the air. He walked about for a while now, enjoying the view, and thought to himself that the next morning he would bring something to eat and drink on their flight; he would rather have liked a sandwich, and a glass of wine.
“I would like another one of those lambs,” Temeraire said, echoing his own thoughts. “They were very tasty. Can I eat those over there? They look even larger.”
There was a handsome flock of sheep grazing placidly on the far side of the valley, white against the green. “No, Temeraire; those are sheep,