by Naomi Novik
Temeraire was talking with someone; Laurence had to look twice before he even realized that the other was in fact a dragon, like none he had ever seen before. “Laurence, this is Lung Yu Ping,” Temeraire said, when Laurence had climbed up to the dragondeck. “She has brought us the post.”
Facing her, Laurence found their heads were nearly on a level: she was smaller even than a horse, with a broad curving forehead and a long arrow-shaped muzzle, and an enormously deep chest rather along greyhound proportions. She could not have carried anyone on her back except a child, and wore no harness but a delicate collar of yellow silk and gold, from which hung a fine mesh like thin chainmail which covered her chest snugly, fixed to her forearms and talons by golden rings.
The mesh was washed with gold, striking against her pale green hide; her wings were a darker shade of green, and striped with narrow bands of gold. They were also unusual in appearance: narrow and tapered, and longer than she was; even folded upon her back, their long tips dragged along the ground behind her like a train.
When Temeraire had repeated the introductions in Chinese, the little dragon sat up on her haunches and bowed. Laurence bowed in return, amused to greet a dragon thus on an equal plane. The forms satisfied, she poked her head forward to inspect him more closely, leaning over to look him up and down on both sides with great interest; her eyes were very large and liquid, amber in color, and thickly lidded.
Hammond was standing and talking with Sun Kai and Liu Bao, who were inspecting a curious letter, thick and with many seals, the black ink liberally interspersed with vermilion markings. Yongxing stood a little way apart, reading a second missive written in oddly large characters upon a long rolled sheet of paper; he did not share this letter, but rolled it shut again, put it away privately, and rejoined the other three.
Hammond bowed to them and came to translate the news for Laurence. “We are directed to let the ship continue on to Tien-sing, while we come on ahead by air,” he said, “and they insist we must leave at once.”
“Directed?” Laurence asked, in confusion. “But I do not understand; where have these orders come from? We cannot have had word from Peking already; Prince Yongxing sent word only three days ago.”
Temeraire addressed a question to Ping, who tilted her head and replied in deep, unfeminine tones which came echoing from her barrel chest. “She says she brought it from a relay station at Heyuan, which is four hundred of something called li from here, and the flight is a little more than two hours,” he said. “But I do not know what that means in terms of distance.”
“One mile is three li,” Hammond said, frowning as he tried to work it out; Laurence, quicker at figuring in his head, stared at her: if there was no exaggeration, that meant Yu Ping had covered better than 120 miles in her flight. At such a rate, with couriers flying in relays, the message could indeed have come from Peking, nearly two thousand miles distant; the idea was incredible.
Yongxing, overhearing, said impatiently, “Our message is of highest priority, and traveled by Jade Dragons the entire route; of course we have received word back. We cannot delay in this fashion when the Emperor has spoken. How quickly can you be ready to leave?”
Still staggered, Laurence collected himself and protested that he could not leave the Allegiance at present, but would have to wait until Riley was well enough to rise from his bed. In vain: Yongxing did not even have a chance to protest before Hammond was vociferously arguing his point. “We cannot possibly begin by offending the Emperor,” he said. “The Allegiance can certainly remain here in port until Captain Riley is recovered.”
“For God’s sake, that will only worsen the situation,” Laurence said impatiently. “Half the crew is already gone to fever; she cannot lose the other half to desertion.” But the argument was a compelling one, particularly once it had been seconded by Staunton, who had come across to the ship by prior arrangement to take breakfast with Laurence and Hammond.
“Whatever assistance Major Heretford and his men can give Captain Riley, I am happy to promise,” Staunton said. “But I do agree; they stand very much on ceremony here, and neglect of the outward forms is as good as a deliberate insult: I beg you not to delay.”
With this encouragement, and after some consultation with Franks and Beckett, who with more courage than truth pronounced themselves prepared to handle the duty alone, and a visit to Riley belowdecks, Laurence at last yielded. “After all, we are not at the docks anyway because of her draft, and we have enough fresh supplies by now that Franks can haul in the boats and keep all the men aboard,” Riley pointed out. “We will be sadly held up behind you no matter what, but I am much better, and Purbeck also; we will press on as soon as we can, and rendezvous with you at Peking.”
But this only set off a fresh series of problems: the packing was already under way when Hammond’s cautious inquiries determined that the Chinese invitation was by no means a general one. Laurence himself was from necessity accepted as an adjunct to Temeraire, Hammond as the King’s representative only grudgingly permitted to come along, but the suggestion that Temeraire’s crew should come along, riding in harness, was rejected with horror.
“I am not going anywhere without the crew along to guard Laurence,” Temeraire put in, hearing of the difficulty, and conveyed this to Yongxing directly in suspicious tones; for emphasis he settled himself on the deck with finality, his tail drawn about him, looking quite immovable. A compromise was shortly offered that Laurence should choose ten of his crew, to be conveyed by some other Chinese dragons whose dignity would be less outraged by performing the service.
“What use ten men will be in the middle of Peking, I should like to know,” Granby observed tartly, when Hammond brought this offer back to the cabin; he had not forgiven the diplomat for his refusal to investigate the attempt on Laurence’s life.
“What use you imagine a hundred men would be, in the case of any real threat from the Imperial armies, I should like to know,” Hammond answered with equal sharpness. “In any case, it is the best we can do; I had a great deal of work to gain their permission for so many.”
“Then we will have to manage.” Laurence scarcely even looked up; he was at the same time sorting through his clothing, and discarding those garments which had been too badly worn by the journey to be respectable. “The more important point, so far as safety is concerned, is to make certain the Allegiance is brought to anchor within a distance which Temeraire can reach in a single flight, without difficulty. Sir,” he said, turning to Staunton, who had come down to sit with them, at Laurence’s invitation, “may I prevail upon you to accompany Captain Riley, if your duties will allow it? Our departure will at one stroke rob him of all interpreters, and the authority of the envoys; I am concerned for any difficulties which he may encounter on the journey north.”
“I am entirely at his service and yours,” Staunton said, inclining his head; Hammond did not look entirely satisfied, but he could not object under the circumstances, and Laurence was privately glad to have found this politic way of having Staunton’s advice on hand, even if his arrival would be delayed.
Granby would naturally accompany him, and so Ferris had to remain to oversee those men of the crew who could not come; the rest of the selection was a more painful one. Laurence did not like to seem to be showing any kind of favoritism, and indeed he did not want to leave Ferris without all of the best men. He settled finally for Keynes and Willoughby, of the ground crew: he had come to rely on the surgeon’s opinion, and despite having to leave the harness behind, he felt it necessary to have at least one of the harness-men along, to direct the others in getting Temeraire rigged-out in some makeshift way if some emergency required.
Lieutenant Riggs interrupted his and Granby’s deliberations with a passionate claim to come along, and bring his four best shots also. “They don’t need us here; they have the Marines aboard, and if anything should go wrong the rifles will do you best, you must see,” he said. As a point of tactics this was quite true; but
equally true, the riflemen were the rowdiest of his young officers as a group, and Laurence was dubious about taking so many of them to court after they had been nearly seven months at sea. Any insult to a Chinese lady would certainly be resented harshly, and his own attention would be too distracted to keep close watch over them.
“Let us have Mr. Dunne and Mr. Hackley,” Laurence said finally. “No; I understand your arguments, Mr. Riggs, but I want steady men for this work, men who will not go astray; I gather you take my meaning. Very good. John, we will have Blythe along also, and Martin from the topmen.”
“That leaves two,” Granby said, adding the names to the tally.
“I cannot take Baylesworth also; Ferris will need a reliable second,” Laurence said, after briefly considering the last of his lieutenants. “Let us have Therrows from the bellmen instead. And Digby for the last: he is a trifle young, but he has handled himself well, and the experience will do him good.”
“I will have them on deck in fifteen minutes, sir,” Granby said, rising.
“Yes; and send Ferris down,” Laurence said, already writing his orders. “Mr. Ferris, I rely on your good judgment,” he continued, when the acting second lieutenant had come. “There is no way to guess one-tenth part of what may arise under the circumstances. I have written you a formal set of orders, in case Mr. Granby and myself should be lost. If that be the case your first concern must be Temeraire’s safety, and following that the crew’s, and their safe return to England.”
“Yes, sir,” Ferris said, downcast, and accepted the sealed packet; he did not try to argue for his inclusion, but left the cabin with unhappily bowed shoulders.
Laurence finished repacking his sea-chest: thankfully he had at the beginning of the voyage set aside his very best coat and hat, wrapped in paper and oilskin at the bottom of his chest, with a view towards preserving them for the embassy. He shifted now into the leather coat and trousers of heavy broadcloth which he wore for flying; these had not been too badly worn, being both more resilient and less called-on during the course of the journey. Only two of his shirts were worth including, and a handful of neckcloths; the rest he laid aside in a small bundle, and left in the cabin locker.
“Boyne,” he called, putting his head out the door and spying a seaman idly splicing some rope. “Light this along to the deck, will you?” The sea-chest dispatched, he penned a few words to his mother and to Jane and took them to Riley, the small ritual only heightening the sensation which had crept upon him, as of being on the eve of battle.
The men were assembled on deck when he came up, their various chests and bags being loaded upon the launch. The envoys’ baggage would mostly be remaining aboard, after Laurence had pointed out nearly a day would be required to unload it; even so, their bare necessities outweighed all the baggage of the crewmen. Yongxing was on the dragondeck handing over a sealed letter to Lung Yu Ping; he seemed to find nothing at all unusual in entrusting it directly to the dragon, riderless as she was, and she herself took it with practiced skill, holding it so delicately between her long taloned claws she might almost have been gripping it. She tucked it carefully into the gold mesh she wore, to rest against her belly.
After this, she bowed to him and then to Temeraire and waddled forward, her wings ungainly for walking. But at the edge of the deck, she snapped them out wide, fluttered them a little, then sprang with a tremendous leap nearly her full length into the air, already beating furiously, and in an instant had diminished into a tiny speck above.
“Oh,” Temeraire said, impressed, watching her go. “She flies very high; I have never gone so far aloft.”
Laurence was not unimpressed, either, and stood watching through his glass for a few minutes more himself; by then she was wholly out of sight, though the day was clear.
Staunton drew Laurence aside. “May I make a suggestion? Take the children along. If I may speak from my own experience as a boy, they may well be useful. There is nothing like having children present to convey peaceful intentions, and the Chinese have an especial respect for filial relations, both by adoption as well as by blood. You can quite naturally be said to be their guardian, and I am certain I can persuade the Chinese they ought not be counted against your tally.”
Roland overheard: instantly she and Dyer stood shining-eyed and hopeful before Laurence, full of silent pleading, and with some hesitation he said, “Well—if the Chinese have no objection to their addition to the party—” This was enough encouragement; they vanished belowdecks for their own bags, and came scrambling back up even before Staunton had finished negotiating for their inclusion.
“It still seems very silly to me,” Temeraire said, in what was meant to be an undertone. “I could easily carry all of you, and everything in that boat besides. If I must fly alongside, it will surely take much longer.”
“I do not disagree with you, but let us not reopen the discussion,” Laurence said tiredly, leaning against Temeraire and stroking his nose. “That will take more time than could possibly be saved by any other means of transport.”
Temeraire nudged him comfortingly, and Laurence closed his eyes a moment; the moment of quiet after the three hours of frantic hurry brought all his fatigue from the missed night of sleep surging back to the fore. “Yes, I am ready,” he said, straightening up; Granby was there. Laurence settled his hat upon his head and nodded to the crew as he went by, the men touching their foreheads; a few even murmured, “Good luck, sir,” and “Godspeed, sir.”
He shook Franks’s hand, and stepped over the side to the yowling accompaniment of pipes and drums, the rest of the crew already aboard the launch. Yongxing and the other envoys had already been lowered down by means of the bosun’s chair, and were ensconced in the stern under a canopy for shelter from the sun. “Very well, Mr. Tripp; let us get under way,” Laurence said to the midshipman, and they were off, the high sloping sides of the Allegiance receding as they raised the gaff mainsail and took the southerly wind past Macao and into the great sprawling delta of the Pearl River.
Chapter 12
THEY DID NOT follow the usual curve of the river to Whampoa and Canton, but instead took an earlier eastern branch towards the city of Dongguan: now drifting with the wind, now rowing against the slow current, past the broad square-bordered rice fields on either side of the river, verdant green with the tops of the shoots beginning to protrude beyond the water’s surface. The stench of manure hung over the river like a cloud.
Laurence drowsed nearly the entire journey, only vaguely conscious of the futile attempts made by the crew to be quiet, their hissing whispers causing instructions to be repeated three times, gradually increasing to the usual volume. Any occasional slip, such as dropping a coil of rope too heavily, or stumbling over one of the thwarts, brought forth a stream of invective and injunctions to be quiet that were considerably louder than the ordinary noise would have been. Nevertheless he slept, or something close to it; every so often he would open his eyes and look up, to be sure of Temeraire’s form still pacing them overhead.
He woke from a deeper sleep only after dark: the sail was being furled, and a few moments later the launch bumped gently against a dock, followed by the quiet ordinary cursing of the sailors tying-up. There was very little light immediately at hand but the boat’s lanterns, only enough to show a broad stairway leading down into the water, the lowest steps disappearing beneath the river’s surface; to either side of these only the dim shadows of native junks drawn up onto the beach.
A parade of lanterns came towards them from further in on the shore, the locals evidently warned to expect their arrival: great glowing spheres of deep orange-red silk, stretched taut over thin bamboo frames, reflecting like flames in the water. The lamp-bearers spread out along the edges of the walls in careful procession, and suddenly a great many Chinese were climbing aboard the ship, seizing on the various parts of the baggage, and transferring these off without so much as a request for permission, calling out to one another cheerfully as they worked.
Laurence was at first disposed to complain, but there was no cause: the entire operation was being carried out with admirable efficiency. A clerk had seated himself at the base of the steps with something like a drawing-table upon his lap, making a tally of the different parcels on a paper scroll as they passed by him, and at the same time marking each one plainly. Instead Laurence stood up and tried to unstiffen his neck surreptitiously by small movements to either side, without any undignified stretching. Yongxing had already stepped off the boat and gone into the small pavilion on the shore; from inside, Liu Bao’s booming voice could be heard calling for what even Laurence had come to recognize as the word for “wine,” and Sun Kai was on the bank speaking with the local mandarin.
“Sir,” Laurence said to Hammond, “will you be so good as to ask the local officials where Temeraire has come to ground?”
Hammond made some inquiries of the men on the bank, frowned, and said to Laurence in an undertone, “They say he has been taken to the Pavilion of Quiet Waters, and that we are to go elsewhere for the night; pray make some objection at once, loudly, so I may have an excuse to argue with them; we ought not set a precedent of allowing ourselves to be separated from him.”
Laurence, who if not prompted would have at once made a great noise, found himself cast into confusion by the request to play-act; he stammered a little, and said in a raised but awkwardly tentative voice, “I must see Temeraire at once, and be sure he is well.”
Hammond turned back at once to the attendants, spreading his hands in apology, and spoke urgently; under their scowls, Laurence did his best to look stern and unyielding, feeling thoroughly ridiculous and angry all at once, and eventually Hammond turned back with satisfaction and said, “Excellent; they have agreed to take us to him.”
Relieved, Laurence nodded and turned back to the ship’s crew. “Mr. Tripp, let these gentlemen show you and the men where to sleep; I will speak with you in the morning before you return to the Allegiance,” he told the midshipman, who touched his hat, and then he climbed up onto the stairs.