[Temeraire pauses only long enough to admonish the kedan to hang on, and then he is aloft, the earth dropping dizzyingly away from under them.

He makes straight for Fire Sector, unpleasantly aware of yet more plumes of smoke rising from the stricken city. But there is no time to stop: he flies straight as an arrow, faster than he has flown in some time, and in less than five minutes has dropped with unerring instinct into the street in front of his apartment.]

My harness, [he manages, sides heaving with the effort.] It is in my quarters--I did not think to wear it, this morning--pray bring it out, and help me put it on; it will be easier for everyone else, later.