Blood of Tyrants (26 page)

And then he heaved a sigh of relief, to have escaped the rocky shoals and come safe to harbor; now they could be easy together. He asked her if she had read any English books. “I hope you will let me make you a present of some,” he added, “if you haven’t many here: I do not suppose you have had a chance of seeing the
Principia Mathematica
? It is of all books my favorite,” and they passed a very pleasant hour discussing the poetry which Temeraire’s mother, Qian, had lately sent him.

“Mei,” Temeraire ventured, “pray tell me, if I might ask—is there not—is there a reason that Qian should not have had another egg?”

Mei said quietly, “The physicians think it inadvisable: she suffered greatly in bearing the twin eggs, last time, and in Imperials, where such a birth has happened once, it oft occurs a second time; the Empress does not wish Qian to risk her health.”

“Oh,” Temeraire said, sadly. “I am very sorry, I am sure; and my uncle?”

Mei shook her head. “A dozen attempts have come to nothing,” she said. “We have been breeding a great deal amongst ourselves,”
she added, “—we Imperials, that is, in hopes of another Celestial arising, but without success. I assure you, Xiang, no-one will think any less of you, should we fail: it is well known that Celestials often cannot produce issue.”

Temeraire was glad of an excuse to preen a little; he coughed, and gave Mei to understand he was not in the least concerned, at all. “For Iskierka, you see, has had my egg,” he said. “That is why she is making such a fuss: she does not care to see it passed over, for yours.”

He trailed off, a little puzzled, by the expression of open surprise upon Mei’s face: she stared at him unblinking a moment and then said, in cautious tones, “Is it—perhaps the egg is yet in the shell?”

“Yes,” Temeraire said. “It is in our quarters, under guard, of course.”

Mei hesitated even longer and then said, “Is it not possible the egg should be—the gold dragon’s, perhaps, the very large one? There are many young males in your company—”

“What?” Temeraire said, taken aback. “Why, no; Iskierka particularly wanted
my
egg; it is not as though just anyone’s would have done for her. She followed me to New South Wales to get it, and threw over an Incan royal dragon for me,” he added, a little wounded that Mei should not think him worthy of such dedicated effort.

“I beg your pardon very much,” Mei said, bowing her head deeply in a courtesy, her wings spread a little. “I would not for the world give offense; only it is not to be heard of, that a Celestial might get an egg on anyone but an Imperial. I have always heard it described as impossible. The divine wind is a great burden, which often defies the powers of the body to support it.”

A little mollified by this explanation, Temeraire forbore to stay offended, and when they had finished their tea, he and Mei repaired to the gardens, to walk awhile, and at length to enjoy a little sport before going on with the breeding: Mei might not be a
fighting-dragon, Temeraire silently told Iskierka in his head, with some hauteur, but she was certainly very lithe and agile, and no-one could have complained of the experience.

Afterwards, a little out of breath, they ambled together to the courtyard again and had a refreshing second helping of shaved ice. “We must see the crown prince safely to the throne,” Mei said soberly, when the servants had retreated again. “I know your heart is divided, Xiang, and I am grateful already for what you have given; but I will not conceal from you that I fear deeply for the sake of the nation. The death of Chuan was a grievious crime against the throne, and yet those responsible dare name themselves defenders of the law and of right thinking. What can it portend if such twisted people should gain control over the Celestial Throne? And they will let nothing stand in their way; they have shown as much time and time again.”

“Mei, surely the Emperor must do something to Lord Bayan,” Temeraire said. “Why, I would have slain him myself, if only Laurence and the prince had told me what mischief he had been about; and I would not have let anyone stop me, either.”

“It is not enough to cut off the serpent’s head,” Mei answered. “This one grows another, and another after that. There are too many now who refuse to think of the future. They think only of what will enrich them—what will make them comfortable—what will guard their precedence and their estates. They wish to keep China preserved in glass, and if it could be done, they would not be wrong! I have seen a little of the rest of the world, through your eyes, and I do not think there is anything to compare.

“But so of course the world will be envious, and come knocking at our door. I have seen your monstrous ship in Tien-sing harbor; I have seen men felled by guns. We also must have ships, and more guns, and cannon. Our army must be renewed in strength, and the banners must be brought back to their old strength and discipline.”

She spoke passionately, the tips of her wings nearly trembling with urgency, and leaning towards him rested her neck across his shoulders, coiling loosely about him. “I fear greatly, Xiang,” she
said, low, “even if I should bear this egg, if that will be enough. So many things can happen to an egg! They may persuade the Emperor to grant it to one of the other princes; or they may try—they may try—”

She shuddered, silently, and Temeraire bent his own head and nosed at her comfortingly. “I do not blame you in the least for worrying,” he said. “If they are mad enough to try and kill Laurence, and the crown prince, and to murder Chuan, they might do anything at all.”

“That is my own thought as well,” Mei said unhappily. “Xiang, will you forgive me: would you not stay? Let the alliance be made, let China send legions to this war; might you not remain here in their stead, where you alone can act? I do not ask you to forsake your companion,” she added swiftly, “but you might stay to keep watch over your own egg, quite reasonably; you might demand that it go only to the crown prince, and perhaps even—”

She faltered, and then said, low, “I have thought that perhaps the egg might even be bound to him at hatching; though it is not the proper way.”

“Well, I have never found anything to complain of in it,” Temeraire said. “I am very glad indeed to have had Laurence all my life, from the beginning; even if he did not know much about dragons, and nothing at all of China. I see nothing against it, provided that one ensures the captain is quite the right sort of person, which of course Laurence is, and not some wretched fellow like Rankin; that is where it goes all wrong.”

Mei flew away not long afterwards, and Temeraire had just been deciding to go and find Laurence, when he came back into the courtyard: the captains had seen Mei go. “I hope,” Laurence said to him, “—I hope you have had—a pleasant evening.”

“Oh! A splendid evening,” Temeraire said, reassuringly as he could: Laurence sounded so doubtful. “Mei is a magnificent lover,” he added, “whatever Iskierka likes to say about her, and I dare say we may already have made a very handsome egg.”

“Ah,” Laurence said, in a slightly stifled voice. “I—Temeraire,
I beg your pardon; I do understand that this is—ordinarily considered in the normal course of your—your duty, but I should hope—that is to say, I should have been certain—”

Temeraire listened a little puzzled, but he soon worked out that Laurence only feared he might not like making the egg. “Oh, I certainly do not mind obliging Mei,” Temeraire said. “I only minded in Wales, when they would set me to every female dragon in the Corps, it seemed, and only the meekest ones at that: some of them only middle-weight, for that matter. It was not what was due to me, I felt; I only obliged them for your sake,” for at the time, of course, Laurence had been a prisoner aboard the ship
Goliath:
a prisoner, convicted for treason, and sentenced to die.

Temeraire shivered a little; he did not like to remember that dreadful time of separation. He hurried on. “But pray do not think this anything like: after all, this is quite an especial compliment to me, that the crown prince should want my own egg—even if he hasn’t any other choice,” he added.

“Very—very well,” Laurence said, still awkwardly, and then said, “Pray shall I read something to you, this evening?”

“Shall I not read to you, Laurence, instead?” Temeraire said. “Mei has brought me a new book of poetry, which we read into only a little way; I should be glad to read it with you.”

He felt a little craven in making the suggestion: it was merely a delaying tactic. Temeraire could scarcely imagine that Laurence would be willing to stay here in China, with the war in Europe from all reports going badly and Britain in such dire straits; even if an alliance was formed, Laurence would wish to be there. And yet, if they remained, and so protected Mianning and saw him to the throne,
that
would serve Britain and China both.

He marshaled his arguments in one corner of his mind while they read several of the lovely poems together, and Temeraire explained to Laurence his sense of the meaning; and then as the moon climbed overhead and bathed the courtyard stream in white, Temeraire drew a deep breath and broached the subject at last.

Laurence was silent a long while afterwards, as silent and grave as Temeraire had feared. His ruff drooped against his neck. He could not press Laurence; he was still painfully conscious of the great debt between them yet to be repaid: the loss of Laurence’s reputation, of his countenance, and most sharply and terribly of his fortune of ten thousand pounds. At least Temeraire had seen him restored to his rank—with seniority—but that did not make up for all the rest. Temeraire still woke occasionally with a start from dreams in which he heard Roland saying again, “He has lost his fortune,” and found the eyes of all his friends upon him accusingly, horrified, as they all repeated in unison, “
Ten thousand pounds
.”

He felt still low and guilty, and so he said hurriedly, “Laurence, I would not for the world distress you—”

“No,” Laurence said, rousing, “no; I was only considering—but no. I beg your pardon. You must consult your sense of what is right, not my feelings. God forbid I should lean upon friendship to stand between you and your duty: it could not be borne. I would not for the world act in so false a character, towards any man—towards anyone. All feeling revolts at the idea.”

“That is just how I feel myself,” Temeraire said, a little puzzled, but relieved: Laurence was not angry. Perhaps Laurence
would
consider their remaining? It occurred to Temeraire belatedly that if they should remain, then perhaps the Emperor would grant Laurence an estate, and at least surely some finer clothing and jewels might be arranged.

Relief, gladness surged; he meant to add this handsome suggestion to his persuasions, to expand upon them, and then all was shattered—all turned at once dreadfully wrong, for Laurence added, “I hope having said as much, I may add I should most deeply regret the parting,” and Temeraire realized, in slow-rising horror, that Laurence meant he would not stay himself. Laurence would leave him.

•  •  •

Laurence was taken aback by the violence of Temeraire’s response; and only after a sharp recrimination did he understand that Temeraire had meant to propose not a separation but their remaining in China together, as though Laurence had anything to do here but make a cake of himself, prancing about in false honors bestowed for mere politics and luxuriating in a wealthy foreign court, while on the other side of the world, his country-men fought and died to defend their country against an encroaching tyrant.

It had not occurred to him even as a possibility that he should remain. Failing that, he had therefore made the only answer he felt endurable: and he had felt only ashamed of the reluctance which had slowed it coming from his lips—a reluctance which had not even the excuse that he had thought of his duty and Hammond’s wishes. His reluctance had been wholly selfish and irrational: a disquieting pang at the thought of losing Temeraire. But such sentiments had even less place, in a question of duty, than the political considerations which Hammond had put forward.

“But you must see,” Laurence said bewildered, “I cannot contemplate remaining. While Britain stands on the brink of subjugation, my remaining behind, to serve no purpose, could be nothing better than rank cowardice.
Your
remaining may indeed have some beneficent effect; mine, none. I should be a mere supernumerary, and useless here, just when every able-bodied man in Britain ought beat to quarters, as it were.”

“You said once before we should remain if I liked,” Temeraire said, accusatory, to Laurence’s broad astonishment, “and you needn’t look at me that way, as though you did not believe it, only because your memory is all ahoo; so I do not think I am in the least foolish for having
asked
. I did not propose keeping you from
your
duty, which properly considered ought be
our
duty. Of course I did not. Only, I thought you might have felt as I did, that our duty might lie here.
I
did not propose we should be parted—that you should go back to those wretched fools at the Admiralty, who do not want us, anyway; not really. And I dare say if I
did
let you go back without me, they would only hang you.”

So concluding his wild outburst—the most singularly irrational thing Laurence had heard Temeraire say—the dragon flung himself aloft and vanished into the night sky with a rattle of black wings, leaving Laurence calling, “Temeraire—!” after him into the air.

Disheartened and impatient all at once, Laurence turned to his quarters; a cup of tea was offered but he rejected it to pace instead. That he had misstepped, and badly, was plain; but he had no idea how he had gone wrong, and where the fault lay. Temeraire’s final words rankled, as well: that the Admiralty should not want them echoed yet again all Laurence’s worst fears, and hinted at an almost mutinous disposition.

And the absurdity, to talk of the Admiralty hanging him—or perhaps not, if one treated the loss of a dragon like a captain’s loss of his ship; Laurence supposed that he might be court-martialed over it, and yet he could not envision any reasonable jury finding against him in such a case. A ship had not her own mind, and could not decide to run herself onto rocks, or be captured and go over to the enemy, or be sunk in battle or by incompetence. A dragon, possessing its own will, who chose to remain behind, could scarcely be compelled by any man.