Empire of Ivory. Naomi Novik
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‘How well you dance!’ she exclaimed, after they had traversed the floor together, with rather more surprise than was complimentary. She asked a great many questions about the Chinese court, which he could not answer: the ladies had been kept thoroughly sequestered from their view. He entertained her a little instead with the description of a theatrical performance, but as he had been stabbed shortly after it ended, his memory proved somewhat imperfect, and naturally it had been carried out in Chinese.
Miss Lucas, in turn, told him a great deal about her family in Hertfordshire, and her tribulations with the harp, expressing the hope of one day playing for him, and then mentioned her next youngest sister who was due to be presented next season. She was nineteen, he surmised; and was struck abruptly when the realisation that Catherine Harcourt had been already Lily’s captain and had flown that year in the Battle of Dover at this age, struck him. He looked at the smiling muslin-clad girl with a hollow feeling, and then looked away. He had written two letters each to Harcourt and to Berkley, on Temeraire’s behalf and his own; but no answer had come. He knew nothing of how they, or their dragons, fared.
He politely returned the lady to her mother; but, having proved himself to be a satisfactory partner, was then forced to submit with to one set after another, until at last, near eleven o’clock, Grenville arrived with a small party of gentlemen.
‘I am expected in Dover tomorrow, sir, or would not trouble you here,’ Laurence said grimly after approaching him. He loathed the necessity of such an encroachment, and did not know whether he could have steeled himself to it, had he not been introduced to Grenville many years before,
‘Laurence, yes,’ Grenville said, vaguely, looking like he wished to move on swiftly. He was no great politician: his brother was the prime minister, and he had been made a lord out of loyalty, and not for his brilliance or even his ambition. He listened without enthusiasm to Laurence’s proposals; detailed carefully for the benefit of their interested audience, who had to remain in ignorance of the epidemic: once the general public was in possession of such information, there could be no concealing it from the enemy.
‘Provision is made,’ Laurence said, ‘for the relatives of the slain, for the sick and wounded, not least because such care will preserve them, or their offspring, for future service. The revisions we desire are nothing more than those attentions, sir, and they have been proven to be beneficial from the example set by the Chinese, whom all of the world acknowledge as being foremost in the understanding of dragonkind.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Grenville said. ‘The comfort and welfare of our brave sailors or aviators, and all of our good beasts, is always principal in the considerations of the Admiralty,’ a meaningless platitude to anyone who had ever visited an army hospital, or had, as Laurence, been forced to subsist upon the provisions deemed suitable for those brave sailors in times of crisis: rotting meat, weevil infested biscuits and the vinegar-water beverage which passed for wine. Veterans of his own crews, or their widows, had also been denied their pensions on scurrilous grounds on far too many occasions, rendering Grenville’s claim absurd.
‘May I hope, then, sir,’ Laurence said, ‘that you approve of us proceeding on this course?’ An avowal, which could not easily be refused without embarrassment; but Grenville was too slippery, and evaded the commitment without openly refusing.
‘We must consider the particulars of these proposals more extensively, Captain; before anything can be done,’ he said. ‘We must consult our best medical men,’ he continued in this vein without pause for some time, until he turned to another gentleman of his acquaintance who had arrived, and addressed him in a new topic: a clear dismissal, and Laurence knew that nothing would be done.
He limped back to the covert in the early hours of the morning; the sun’s faint light just beginning to show. Temeraire lay fast asleep and dreaming, his tail twitching idly back and forth. His crew had dispersed into the barracks or were tucked against his sides, the warmer, if less dignified sleeping place. Laurence went straight to the small cottage that had been provided for his use and sank gladly upon the bed. Wincing, he worked off the tight buckled shoes, still new and stiff, which had cut into his feet.
The morning was a silent one. Besides his failure, which had somehow been communicated throughout the covert, though he had told no one but Temeraire, Laurence had given the men a general furlough night before; and judging by their bloodshot eyes and wan faces, they had made good use of their leave. There was a certain degree of clumsiness and fatigue apparent in their movements, and Laurence watched anxiously as their breakfast, large pots of oat porridge, were manoeuvred precariously off the fire.
Temeraire meanwhile finished picking his teeth with a large leg-bone, the remnant of his own breakfast, a stew of tender veal with onions, and set it down. ‘Laurence, do you still mean to build the one pavilion, even if the Admiralty will give us no funds?’
‘I do,’ Laurence answered. Most aviators acquired only a small amount of prize-money from their battles, as the Admiralty paid little for the capture of a dragon compared to the requisition of a ship, the latter more easily put to use than the former, which required substantial expense in its upkeep. But Laurence had established a handsome level of capital while he was still a naval officer, against which he had little charge, his ordinary pay being sufficient to meet his needs. ‘I must consult with the tradesmen, but I hope that by economising upon the materials and reducing the pavilion in size, I will be able to afford to construct one for you.’
‘Then,’ Temeraire said, with a determined and heroic air, ‘I have been thinking: pray let us build it in the quarantine-grounds instead. I do not much mind my clearing at Dover, and I would rather Maximus and Lily were more comfortable.’
Laurence was surprised; generosity was not a common trait among dragons, who were rather jealous of anything that they considered their property, and a particularly things that were marks of status. ‘If you are quite certain, my dear; it is a noble thought.’
Temeraire toyed with the leg-bone and did not look entirely certain, but eventually made his assent final. ‘In any case,’ he added, ‘once we have built it, perhaps the Admiralty will see the benefit of them, and then I may have an even more handsome one: it would not be very pleasant to have a small poky one, when everyone else’s is nicer.’ This thought cheered him considerably, and he crunched up the bone with satisfaction.
Revived with strong tea and a good breakfast, the crew began to get Temeraire under harness for their return to Dover, only they were still a little slow; Ferris took special pains in seeing that the buckles were secure after Laurence dropped a quiet word in his ear.
‘Sir,’ little Dyer said, as he and Emily came in from the covert gates carrying the post bound for Dover, which they would carry with them, ‘there are some gentlemen approaching.’ Temeraire raised his head from the ground as Lord Allendale came into the covert with a slight, plainly dressed gentleman at his side.
Their progress was arrested as they stared at the great inquisitive head peering at them, and Laurence was very glad for the delay, which gave him time to gather his wits: he would not have been more shocked to receive a visit from the King, but he would have been a good deal more pleased. He could imagine only one cause for the visit: there had been more than one person of his parents’ acquaintance present at the ball, and the news of the foreign adoption must have travelled straight to his father’s ear. Laurence knew he had given his father just cause to reproach him by having submitted to a foreign adoption, however politically expedient it was, but he was by no means remorseful enough to endure reproach in front of his officers and his crew, aside from any consideration for what Temeraire’s reaction might be to seeing him so abused.
He handed away his coffee cup to Emily, and gave his clothing a surreptitious glance, grateful that the cold morning meant he had not been tempted to forgo coat or neckcloth. ‘I am honoured to see you, sir; will you take tea?’ he asked, crossing the clearing to shake his father’s hand.
‘No, we have breakfasted,’ Lord Allendale said, abruptly, his eyes still fixed on Temeraire. Only with some effort did he turn away to present to Laurence his companion, Mr. Wilberforce: one of the champions of the abolition