In the morning, before the dragons had breakfasted and gone aloft, the first regiments were out on the road, their pace sluggish enough that Requiescat remarked, near dinner-time, ‘Now, this is what I call a pleasant flight, no fussing or hurry.’ Temeraire only sighed.

‘We might offer to carry them, at least a little way, for as many as could climb aboard us?’ he suggested to Laurence. ‘I am sure they could go faster.’

‘Not without orders,’ Laurence said. He could well imagine Wellesley's reaction, or Dalrymple's, if the dragons should begin to fly towards the ranks, and likely panic some of the men and cavalry-beasts into running, after all the difficulty in forming them back into their regiments.

‘It is only so dull. We could fly to tonight's rendezvous and back again three times over, before they have got there,’ Temeraire said, ‘and some of us more than that. What if Requiescat and a few of the others should stay pacing them, and we go ahead—Or perhaps,’ he added, ruff coming up with enthusiasm, ‘we might go back, and see if we cannot pay Napoleon back a little, for everything he has done.’ He peered back over his shoulder, to see how this was received.

‘It is not your place to propose such a thing, anymore,’ Laurence said. ‘You have accepted a commission; you are obliged to preserve discipline, not to undermine it—’ Hearing himself thus condemned from his own mouth, Laurence stopped; he realised he did not know how to speak to Temeraire of duty, without being a hypocrite.

‘I suppose,’ Temeraire said, regretfully. ‘It is not always pleasant to be an officer. And I am sure Iskierka will complain, all night, and say more cutting things about going slowly, and running away, and not getting treasure.’ He snorted, and looked, and then said doubtfully, ‘Where is Iskierka?’

She had been flying sullenly to their rear all the morning, amusing herself by making occasional wild darts into the heavy clouds above, where her flames made gold and crimson and purple flashes through the white and grey. But Laurence did not remember her doing it the last two hours and more. Arkady was gone also, with a handful of the other ferals; and when questioned, Wringe had a guilty twist to her neck, even while she professed her surprise and confusion.

Temeraire did not miss it. ‘But how am I to make Wringe tell me where they have gone?’ he asked Laurence, and batted her talons away from a bleating sheep. He had brought them down in a broad meadow, to better interrogate the remaining ferals. The other dragons made busy driving the luckless resident herd towards them, so they should make a meal while they worked out what Iskierka and the others had done. ‘No, you may not eat; not until you have told me. They have made a great deal of trouble for all of us.’