Laurence tightened his hands uselessly, on the harness; if there was nothing for the man to cling to, there was also nothing for them to use, to climb back and fight him off, and the Frenchman was placed near Temeraire's back haunches where he could not reach with his claws. Laurence realized, that with a few more of his laborious steps, the Frenchman would be well placed to try and stab at Temeraire's spine. ‘Take hold of the harness,’ Laurence instructed his small crew, and called forward, ‘Temeraire! We are well secured, turn over and shake him off—’

The world spun sickeningly, and for all his effort Laurence's hands pulled loose from the harness, which left him dangling by his carabiner straps as they turned, once and twice spiralling, and then righted again; all of them a little green from the close and rapid turn, and the two knife-hilts jutting alone from Temeraire's back, the small cuts trickling a little blood down his side.

‘That has torn it, sir,’ Emily said, pointing; and Laurence nodded. The French had noticed their lack of success, and the loss of men: they were no longer trying to board, but had turned a steady rifle-fire upon the beasts instead. It happened quicker than he might have hoped, but their attempts had at least borne some fruit: many of the French middleweights and lightweights, who had so daringly ventured close to the decoyed British heavyweights, had paid dearly. Blood ran freely down many a side, black and steaming in the cold air.

‘Throw out a signal, Mr. Allen: we are made,’ Laurence said, and leaned forward. ‘Temeraire, you had better pull away now and go for their flank. They have a weakness, there on their right; do you see it?’

‘No,’ Temeraire said, rather reluctantly detaching himself from the Pêcheur-Couronné he was presently mauling, who had with more valour than sense made a direct run at him. But the movement of men below caught his interest. ‘Wait, I do; where that ditch is in their way, and they are having to go around—’

‘Yes,’ Laurence said. The French lines were compressed awkwardly where the men were crowding to advance, and they made an ideal target for an aerial strike, which should drive a hole not easily repaired into Napoleon's flank. ‘Quickly, before they have got past—’

‘Alors, vous penserait mieux, avant que vous m'attaquerais,’ Temeraire said to the smaller beast, before he let it flee with a final shake. Turning towards his fellows, he gave a roar unlike any Laurence had ever heard from him: an odd inflected sound, rising and falling in an eerie, musical way. It pulled the attention of the other unharnessed beasts quickly, and they peeled away from their individual battles with the French beasts, as the formal ranks of the Aerial Corps charged forward to take their place.