with his head in his hands at the dinner table, surrounded by several other young men in the uniform of the Corps, and Portland standing by the fireplace and gazing into it with a rigid, disapproving expression.
“No,” Portland said shortly, “he has refused to accept the replacement.”
Dayes abruptly pushed up from the table and took a step towards Laurence. “It is not to be borne! An Imperial in the hands of some untrained Navy clodpole—” he cried. He was stifled by his friends before anything more could escape him, but the expression had still been shockingly offensive, and Laurence at once gripped the hilt of his sword.
“Sir, you must answer,” he said angrily, “that is more than enough.”
“Stop that; there is no dueling in the Corps,” Portland said. “Andrews, for God’s sake put him to bed and get some laudanum into him.” The young man restraining Dayes’s left arm nodded, and he and the other three pulled the struggling lieutenant out of the room, leaving Laurence and Portland alone, with Fernao standing wooden-faced in the corner still holding a tray with the port decanter upon it.
Laurence wheeled on Portland. “A gentleman cannot be expected to tolerate such a remark.”
“An aviator’s life is not only his own; he cannot be allowed to risk it so pointlessly,” Portland said flatly. “There is no dueling in the Corps.”
The repeated pronouncement had the weight of law, and Laurence was forced to see the justice in it; his hand relaxed minutely, though the angry color did not leave his face. “Then he must apologize, sir, to myself and to the Navy; it was an outrageous remark.”
Portland said, “And I suppose you have never made nor listened to equally outrageous remarks made about aviators, or the Corps?”
Laurence fell silent before the open bitterness in Portland’s voice. It had never before occurred to him that aviators themselves would surely hear such remarks and resent them; now he understood still more how savage that resentment must be, given that they could not even make answer by the code of their service. “Captain,” he said at last, more quietly, “if such remarks have ever been made in my presence, I may say that I have never been responsible for them myself, and where possible I have spoken against them harshly. I have never willingly heard disparaging words against any division of His Majesty’s armed forces; nor will I ever.”
It was now Portland’s turn to be silent, and though his tone was grudging, he did finally say, “I accused you unjustly; I apologize. I hope that Dayes, too, will make his apologies when he is less distraught; he would not have spoken so if he had not just suffered so bitter a disappointment.”
“I understood from what you said that there was a known risk,” Laurence said. “He ought not have built his expectations so high; surely he can expect to succeed with a hatchling.”
“He accepted the risk,” Portland said. “He has spent his right to promotion. He will not be permitted to make another attempt, unless he wins another chance under fire; and that is unlikely.”
So Dayes was in the same position which Riley had occupied before their last voyage, save perhaps with even less chance, dragons being so very rare in England. Laurence still could not forgive the insult, but he understood the emotion better; and he could not help feeling pity for the fellow, who was after all only a boy. “I see; I will be happy to accept an apology,” he said; it was as far as he could bring himself to go.
Portland looked relieved. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Now, I think it would be best if you went to speak to Temeraire; he will have missed you, and I believe he was not pleased to be asked to take on a replacement. I hope we may speak again tomorrow; we have left your bedroom untouched, so you need not shift for yourself.”
Laurence needed little encouragement; moments later he was striding to the field. As he drew near, he could make out Temeraire’s bulk by the light of the half-moon: the dragon was curled in small upon himself and nearly motionless, only stroking his gold chain between his foreclaws. “Temeraire,” he called, coming through the gate, and the proud head lifted at once.
“Laurence?” he said; the uncertainty in his voice was painful to hear.
“Yes, I am here,” Laurence said, crossing swiftly to him, almost running at