Laurence thought at first, in deep alarm, that Temeraire was speaking out against the harnessing of the dragon in principle. “No, but Granby is in my crew,” Temeraire said, obstinately, an objection which disqualified every man in sight, unless perhaps he had not yet formed an attachment to Badenhaur or the handful of other Prussian officers. “I do not see why I must give it my food, and Granby.”
The shell was beginning to crack, now; none too soon. The patrol had slowed their approach out of caution, perhaps imagining that the British meant to make a stand from behind the shelter of the walls, since evidently they were not fleeing. But caution would only keep them off so long; soon one of them would make a quick dart overhead, see what was going on, and then they would instantly attack in force.
“Temeraire,” Laurence said, backing away a distance and trying to distract Temeraire’s attention from the hatching egg, “only consider, the little dragon will be quite alone, and you have a large crew all for yourself. You must see it is not fair; there is no one else for the dragonet, and,” he added with sudden inspiration, “it will have no jewels at all, such as you have; it must surely feel very unhappy.”
“Oh,” Temeraire said. He put his head down very close to Laurence. “Perhaps it could have Allen?” he suggested quietly, with a darting look over his shoulder to make sure he was not overheard by that awkward young ensign, who was presently engaged in surreptitiously running his finger around the rim of the pot, and licking it clean of a few more drops of soup.
“Come, that is unworthy of you,” Laurence said reprovingly. “Besides, this is Granby’s chance of promotion; surely you would not deny him the right to advance himself.”
Temeraire made a low grumbling noise. “Well, if he must,” he said, ungraciously, and curled up to sulk, taking up his sapphire breastplate in his foreclaws to nose over and rub to a higher shine with the side of his cheek.
His agreement was only just in time; the shell did not so much break open as burst with a cloud of steam, speckling them all with tiny fragments of shell and egg-slime. “I did not make such a mess,” Temeraire said, disapprovingly, brushing at the bits stuck to his hide.
The dragonet itself spat bits of shell in every direction; it was hissing below its breath in a strangled sort of way. It was almost a miniature in form of the adult Kaziliks, with the same bristling thorny spines all over, scarlet with shining purplish armor plates over its belly; even the impressive horns were there, smaller in scale; only the green leopard-spots were missing. The baby dragon looked up at them with glaring yellow eyes, hot and indignant, coughed once, twice, and then drew in and held a deep breath that made its sides puff out like a balloon. Abruptly thin jets of steam issued out of its spines, hissing, and it opened its mouth and jetted out a little stream of flame some five feet long, sending the nearest men jumping back in surprise.
“Oh, there,” she said, pleased, sitting up on her haunches. “That is much better; now let me have the meat.”
Granby had been looking perfectly white beneath his sunburn, but he managed a steady voice as he stepped nearer her. He was holding the harness draped across his right arm, where she could see it plainly, without thrusting it at her. “My name is John Granby,” he said. “We will be happy to—”
“Yes, yes, the harnessing,” she interrupted, “Temeraire has told me about that.”
Laurence turned and eyed Temeraire, who looked vaguely guilty and pretended to be very occupied polishing away a scratch on his breastplate; Laurence began to wonder what else he might have instructed the eggs in, as he had been nursemaiding them now nearly two months.
Meanwhile the dragonet put her head out to sniff at Granby; she tilted her head first to one side and then the other, looking him up and down. “And you have been Temeraire’s first officer?” she said interrogatively, with the air of one asking for references.
“I have,” Granby said, rather flustered, “and should you like a name of your own? It is a very nice thing to have; I would be happy to give you one.”
“Oh, I have already decided that,” she said, much to Granby’s further consternation and that of the other aviators. “I want to be Iskierka, like that girl was singing about.”
Laurence had harnessed Temeraire more by accident than design, and since then had never seen another hatching; he did not have any very clear idea of how it was supposed to go, but judging by the expressions of his men this was not characteristic. However, the baby Kazilik added, “But I should like to have you as my captain anyway, and I do not mind being harnessed and fighting to help protect England; but hurry, because I am very hungry.”
Poor Granby, who had likely been dreaming of this day since he had been a seven-year-old cadet, every moment planned out with full ceremony and the name long-since chosen, looked tolerably blank for a moment; then abruptly he laughed out loud. “All right, Iskierka it is,” he said, recovering handsomely, and held up the neck-loop of the harness. “Will you put your head in here?”
She cooperated quite willingly, except for stretching her head impatiently out towards the pot while he hurried to fasten the last few buckles, and when finally loosed, she thrust her entire head and forelegs into the still-hot cauldron to devour the remains of Temeraire’s dinner. She did not need any encouragement to eat quickly; the contents vanished with blazing speed, the pot rocking back and forth as she finished licking it clean. “That was very good,” she said, lifting her head out again, her little horns dripping with soup, “but I would like some more; let us go hunting.” She experimentally fluttered out her wings, still soft and crumpled against her back.
“Well, we can’t now, we must get out of here,” Granby said, keeping a prudent hold of her harness; and a sudden storm of wings came above, as one of the patrol-dragons finally came and put its head over the wall to see what they were doing. Temeraire sat up and roared, and it backwinged hastily away, but the damage was done; it was already calling to its fellows.
“All aboard, no ceremony!” Laurence shouted, and the crew hastily flung themselves onto the harness. “Temeraire, you must carry Iskierka, will you put her aboard?”
“I can fly myself,” she said. “Is there going to be a battle? Now? Where is it!” She did indeed lift off into the air a little ways, but Granby managed to keep his grip on her harness, and she ended by bouncing back and forth.
“No, we are not going to have a battle,” Temeraire said, “and anyway you are too little to fight just yet.” He bent down his head and closed his jaws around her body: the gap between his sharp front teeth and those to the rear held her neatly, and though she squalled in angry protest, he picked her up and laid her down across his shoulders. Laurence gave Granby a leg up to the harness, so he could scramble to her straightaway, and followed himself. All the crew were aboard, and Temeraire launched himself with a leap even as the patrol came charging over the walclass="underline" roaring he threw himself straight up into their midst, and knocked them all away like ninepins.
“Oh! Oh! They are attacking us! Quick, let us kill them!” Iskierka said with appalling bloodthirstiness, trying to leap off into the air.
“No; for Heaven’s sake, stop that!” Granby said, clinging to her desperately while with his other hand he struggled to get carabiner straps on her, to latch her harness securely to Temeraire’s. “We’re going a dashed sight faster right now than you could manage; be patient! We’ll go flying as much as you like, only give it a little while.”
“But there is a battle now!” she said, squirming around to try and see the enemy dragons; she was hard to get a proper hold of, with all her spiky thorn-like protrusions, and she was scrabbling at Temeraire’s neck and harness with her claws; still soft, but evidently ticklish from the way Temeraire snorted and tossed his head.