He put Laurence aboard into an odd harness arrangement, with only a few straps that Fellowes and Blythe had managed for him, Allen and Roland to latch onto. There would be no one more going up with them. He had considered sending Roland back to whatever post she had abandoned, from concern that her action might reflect upon Jane. But he did not know where she had been serving, and when he had inquired, Roland had put out her chin and said only, ‘I should prefer to stay, sir.’ She just shook her head when he asked her if she had been signal-ensign. ‘Fifth look-out, sir; I shan't be missed.’

Of course, Emily had no need to worry about her future, which was quite settled: on her mother's retirement she would inherit Excidium, a promotion guaranteed. Blythe and Fellowes were ground-crew masters and could always be sure of a place. Allen, however …

‘No, sir, well,’ Allen said, stumbling over his words, ‘that is, they hadn't given me a place again, sir, aloft. I was with the clerks, so, it doesn't much matter for me.’

A desk was, Laurence privately and sadly felt, a better place for him: Allen was hopelessly clumsy, and more than once had nearly accomplished his own end. But Laurence would not tell any man, who wished to be with them, to stay behind the lines.

The crew stumbled from their small cold shelter, little more than a few branches laid down on the earth next Temeraire's side, to keep them from lying in the wet. Laurence reached a hand down to help them up where before many dozens would have been.

‘I am coming too,’ another thickly accented voice said. Laurence looked over and saw Demane standing beside him, having climbed up Temeraire's other side. The boy was bristling with arms: two small-swords, two pistols, two knives, all with mismatched hilts, and a sack of small bombs slung over his shoulder, which he now strung onto the harness without waiting for permission. ‘No, you sit there,’ he told Allen, pointing further back along Temeraire's shoulder to the look-out's place. So great was his air of decision that Allen meekly obeyed; though he had three years and a foot in height over the younger boy.

‘Are you not assigned to Arkady?’ Laurence asked.

‘We are of your crew,’ the boy said, meaning himself and his brother, Sipho, who Laurence now spied down in the clearing helping Fellowes and Blythe to arrange their meagre supply of tools in case Temeraire should need to come back in for repairs. ‘Both of us, together. You said.’

‘That is quite right,’ Temeraire said, looking around, ‘and I am sure Arkady does not need him; he was allowed to fight last night and will no doubt be sleeping late. I daresay we will have won by the time he wakes up.’