Blood of Tyrants (Temeraire)

by Naomi Novik

  “General,” Laurence said, listening to their exchange in some surprise; it had not occurred to him that dragons might be paid at all, “might it be possible to bring on a few more such dragons to aid with our own company’s supply?”

  Chu immediately bowed to him formally and said, “It will be done at once,” and vanished off issuing orders before a startled Laurence could even say he had only meant to ask, and not to command. By dawn the next day three more blue dragons had joined their own party, bringing carrying-harnesses, and the much-relieved ground crewmen were given leave to be carried on their backs.

  Laurence began to suspect that he had merely given Chu an excuse for what the general must have longed to do: the blue dragons and their crews managed to snatch away all the supply meant to go in the belly-netting while the British dragons were refreshing themselves at the fountain, and they were already packed and waiting expectantly for boarding before anyone had seen what they were about. Harcourt uncertainly said, “Well, I suppose it would be churlish of us to insist they give us back our baggage,” and the dragons went aloft with only their officers, with a marked increase in speed.

  “I would be glad to be enlightened,” Chu said to Temeraire as they flew that day, “why the rest of those men may not go and ride aboard the porters also.”

  “Well,” Temeraire said, “the officers are needed in battle, of course: if we should be attacked by surprise, we would not like to be taken aback.”

  “Ah,” Chu said. “And may I inquire why we are to expect an ambush under the present circumstances?”

  This was a fair-enough question. Their company had ceased to grow day by day, but it did not need to grow any further; it was difficult to envision so massive a force meeting with any kind of truly unexpected attack. Laurence had not known what three jalan would be, neither had any of them: it was staggering to think that a company of this size might be so casually assembled, and sent to deal with a mere provincial unrest. He did not think he had heard of forty dragons being brought together in England since the Armada.

  “We had sixty at Shoeburyness,” Granby said that night, over their own helpings of porridge, “during the invasion; and Napoleon brought over a hundred, though he had to send a good number of them back. So it’s been done, but not at the drop of a handkerchief, I will say.”

  It was plainly the substitution of porridge for raw cattle which made so vast a difference in what force could be fielded, Laurence supposed: he would have expected it to take more of a toll on the size and strength of the beasts, but though none of the Chinese soldier-dragons approached the sheer massive bulk of Kulingile or Maximus, they were by no means undersized.

  “For my part, I should not mind sending our men onto those porters,” Sutton said: Messoria’s captain, the oldest of them, and a fellow of much seniority. “I expect Chu would like us all to fly lighter, and I cannot blame him; we are bounding their speed.”

  Captain Berkley grunted his own agreement, setting down his mug of beer. “I will tell the fellows to strip Maximus bare,” he said, “and have them go aboard those blue dragons: I can cling on to a neck-strap well enough by my own solitary self. Do you suppose they will really let us take these beasts, after this rebellion of theirs is put down, only because we’ve pranced about and waved a sword with them?”

  “If so, I would call the help cheap at the price,” Sutton said, and all the aviators murmured in agreement. “I would be glad to see Boney’s face if we show up on his eastern doorstep with these forty fellows at our backs: a nasty shock for him, I would say, and all the more so with the Army in the Peninsula nipping at him from that side. He won’t be looking for us to have so many beasts, not after—”

  He halted; the conversation fell into an awkward silence; all eyes turned towards Laurence. Laurence had meant to ask how matters stood in the Peninsula. “You will excuse me, gentlemen; good night,” he said instead, and went away from the fireside; shortly their conversation resumed at a louder and a happier pitch behind his back.

  He could not blame his fellow-aviators for preferring his absence; their situation was a complex and a precarious one, and they could not be glad for any reminder of the disordered state of his mind when he made so crucial a member of their company. He was uneasy himself; about too many things. He stood in the cool night air, looking out past the fires. They were sheltering this night in an open field, dotted with their handful of tents and the great lumps of the sleeping dragons. At the center of the camp stood the one enormous and—to his mind—absurd silk-draped pavilion erected for Temeraire: a cleverly contrived sheet of wooden shingles sewn together, which could be rolled for carrying; unfolded and stiffened with poles, and mounted on tall shafts, it formed a high roof from which enormous drapes of red silk hung billowing in the wind. It was wreathed also in thin wispy trailers of fog: Iskierka lay not far away, upwind of it, glaring at the elaborate structure and emitting envy and steam together.

  Laurence’s own tent, a gaudy but more prosaic affair, stood directly beside. At the moment, though, Temeraire and Mei lay entwined within the pavilion still; Laurence could not immediately seek his bed without intruding. He turned aside instead, and went slowly through the avenues of their small encampment, until he saw Hammond’s tent on the lee side of a small rise, with Churki sleeping half-curled about it.

  “A moment, please, I beg your pardon,” Hammond said, rummaging urgently in his packs, which had only just now been delivered him from their luggage; he did not enjoy flying, and had still less enjoyed the last strenuous stretch. “Ah, there.” He took out a sheaf of folded and mostly dry leaves, which he moistened with water and put into his mouth to chew. “I ought never have left them with the baggage; those porters took it away, and I have not had a leaf all day. Thank Heavens,” he said, lowering himself to sit upon one of the camp-stools. “Forgive me, Captain: what did you say?”

  “That I cannot account for it, sir,” Laurence said, remaining himself standing. “The size of this force is nothing short of extraordinary. Lord Bayan ought have moved Heaven and earth to keep them from being assigned to my command. He ought have retracted his accusations, and protested, sooner than promoting this expedition in any way.

  “I should not like to think he or this General Fela had any cause to believe such a thing,” Laurence added, “—that we should be offering aid to these rebels; much less any proof.”

  “He can have none, none at all,” Hammond said, with a firm nod, “and indeed I scarcely know how we are supposed to have managed it: that we should have somehow supplied the wants of a gang of rebels from so distant a position.”

  “By the sale of opium, as I understand it,” Laurence said, watching his face, “shipped to their shores, the profit of which is also meant to be our motive, as little as that ought to answer for any honest man. Mr. Hammond, do our factors in Guangzhou knowingly disregard the prohibition on the importation of this drug?”

  He asked it abruptly, half-ashamed to ask; his suspicions, as inchoate and confused as his memories, troubled him. He did not wish to accuse, he did not think any accusation merited.

  But, “Oh,” said Hammond, with an easy shrug, “no more than you might expect. There is scarcely any market here in China for most of our goods, and enormous markets for their goods in the West: the deficit was quite unmanageable, until opium was introduced. His Majesty’s Government was very alarmed by the quantity of specie flowing out at the time, very alarmed indeed; the drug quite reversed the situation.

  “Naturally,” he said hastily, glancing at Laurence’s expression, “naturally, that does not mean—that is, I do not mean at all to say that we are promoting any evasion of the official regulations. Only, there is a certain ebb and flow, in these matters. A limit is established which is excessively severe—it drives prices higher—we make our best efforts to impress it upon the merchantmen—but Captain, you must know it is difficult to make men restrain themselves when they have risked their lives to go around the world, and they can do
uble the profit of their journey by smuggling in a chest or two—”

  “Thank you, I have heard enough,” Laurence said grimly. “I dare say it is difficult to make men restrain themselves, when you wink at them.”

  Hammond flushed. “I must reject such a characterization of the work of our factors,” he said, “—utterly reject it, Captain; I wish you would not insist on reducing such tangled matters to angels and devils. And in any case,” he added, “I do say categorically we have not the least interest in promoting this rebellion: I assure you I myself have scarcely heard of it, save as a piece of distant history; they were put down years before I ever came to my post.

  “On that, I am happy to give you my word: and if that does not suffice, sir, I am afraid I cannot satisfy you,” Hammond finished defiantly.

  Laurence left him without courtesy; he thrust the drape of the tent out of his way and strode out angrily into the darkening camp, voices mostly fallen silent. He was not satisfied; he was by no means satisfied. He remembered his vigorous words in the Emperor’s chambers, to Mianning himself: they now felt like more than half a lie. He would not have spoken so if Hammond had told him this much beforehand. It had not occurred to him that any representative of the King, or even the officials of the East India Company, would endorse maneuvers so deceitful; and if they would, what more else might they not do? It had not occurred to him—

  But after all, it had. Laurence slowed his steps and halted. He had doubted, and felt that doubt gnawing at his belly, when he ought not have. Even now he was merely unhappy; he was not surprised.

  He had reached Temeraire’s pavilion. Temeraire lay within, Mei beside him, both of them heavily asleep after their dinner and their congress. Laurence stood silently by Temeraire’s head, listening to the sighing breath with all its sussurations; he half-wished to wake him, to unburden himself. But Laurence did not feel he could confide in Temeraire with Mei mere paces away; he scarcely wished to speak any of it aloud at all. If Hammond were lying—

  Laurence shook his head to himself; no, he would not think so, even in the back of his mind, of a man he had no right to believe vicious. Hammond had spoken to him frankly and then given him his word, when he might as easily have concealed all. But he need not be lying, merely himself unaware. What if there were some more vicious and less official plot under way?

  Laurence could too-easily imagine opium smugglers, already subtly encouraged by their own government and eager for more profit, might well decide to fuel an internecine conflict to open fresh markets for their wares; and perhaps to undermine the Imperial authority which was too plainly their only real restraint, if they knew the British Government would applaud them so long as they brought back shiploads of silver and gold, regardless how obtained.

  In three days’ time, they would be in the mountains, hunting for whatever traces might be found of the rebellion. Laurence hoped that they would not find any condemning evidence of British involvement—a wretched, cowering thing to be forced to hope for. But if such a plot were under way, if any proof were to be found, that would destroy any chance of alliance—would condemn them all, and very likely bring Mianning down with them.

  Laurence tried to persuade himself he was wrong, that he was unreasonable even to fear; and yet he was unsuccessful. “I would almost wonder if I am fevered,” he said, low, “if this is some lingering consequence of the injury to my mind; that I now entertain thoughts of the darkest nature—”

  “Captain, I cannot think it at all likely,” Mrs. Pemberton said.

  Laurence had unburdened himself to her only hesitantly, unsure what counsel she could give him; he could not disclose to her all his thoughts. He could not confide any particulars to her which should in any way tend to discredit their country. He had said nothing of opium, nothing of smugglers, nothing of the accusation that British plotters might support the rebellion; he spoke only in the most general terms, and of his own mind.

  But he had begun lately to find her company a balm against his own confusion of mind and spirit: a relief from questions and from the anxious tension of his fellow-officers; her conversation a welcome change from the constrained silence that fell upon the others so often. Her cool and sensible nature was itself a worthy solace, but better than that, she was no close connection of his own; she had been employed for Emily’s protection only a little more than a year, and they had not been intimates previously, his own time preoccupied by his duties and his fellow-officers his true companions.

  She said, “I cannot speak with very much authority on your past; however, sir, I will speak for your present: you are a rational man, and if you have fears, they are founded on sensible causes. I do not mean to say you may not be mistaken: certainly you may, and you speak in such forboding terms to make me hope you are, whatever it is you fear; but you are not in the least given to building castles in the air.

  “I am no physician,” she continued, “but I have had to do a great deal of nursing in my life; and I have seen illness and injury alter a man’s character or a woman’s to no little extent. But not in such a wise that you would appear yourself in every other respect, act according to your former character at all times, and remain competent, save in this one particular instance. That, I must find too remarkable to believe—I am sorry if that opinion should distress you, in this circumstance, more than please you.”

  He was silent; she was not wrong, that was the heart of it. He would willingly have heard himself called a lunatic to find his fears unfounded. “I must always value your honest opinion,” Laurence said, “whatever its conclusions; I thank you, sincerely, and for imposing on you in such a manner.”

  “There is no imposition felt, Captain Laurence, I assure you,” she said, and looked up as footsteps came: a moment later, Emily had put her head around the corner of the folding-screen to see them sitting outside the tent, before the fire.

  “Oh,” she said, “Captain, I didn’t know you were here; did you want me for something? I have just been over at the next fire over those rocks: and you needn’t frown, Alice, they are all girls there.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Pemberton said, with a sigh.

  “Not that sort!” Emily said. “I mean soldiers: more than half of them on the dragons are girls. Not just the captains, though some of them, too; but nearly all those fellows who manage the baggage. I dare say we ought to just bunk in with them instead of perching out here away from everything.”

  For safety, their campfire had been established at the very edge of camp; their tent was of double thickness and sheltered further by the folding-screen: Laurence had solicited a pair of pistols, from the aviators, for Mrs. Pemberton, and had shown her how to send up a flare, if need be.

  Laurence stared at Emily. “Do you mean to tell me half their army is women?” he demanded, to his dismay recalling he had without the least consciousness stripped and bathed at several of their previous nightly halts, in full view of Chinese companies. “Are the dragons so insistent upon it?”

  “It’s not the beasts at all,” Emily said. “They tell me they can come instead of their brothers, if their families like, so they don’t have to spare the boys from the fields.”

  “Well,” Laurence said, helplessly. He found it difficult to accept, and yet he was no pot to be calling names for kettles: if not his daughter, then a young woman under his tutelage was in the service; he could scarcely condemn those families, if it were the accepted mode. But he should have to tell Forthing and also his fellow-captains at once: if the men should work out they were surrounded by an encampment full of young women, they would surely run riot and make nuisances of themselves, given half an opportunity.

  “Are they willing,” he began to ask, and then Emily leapt at him, in one straight bound across the small campfire, and knocked him to the ground as a sharp blade thrust down through the air towards him.

  Emily rolled away from him, and came up drawing her sword; Mrs. Pemberton with a cry had fallen back upon the tent. Laurence drew his own swo
rd: five men were descending upon them, drawn metal gleaming in firelight. Their sabers were peculiarly workmanlike: a wide blade at the tip and tapering to the hilt, and they wore black that made them almost invisible against the dark; one scattered the fire with the end of his sword, stamping out embers. Laurence swung a wide circle leaping forward to press them back, and seized one still-burning branch; he thrust it towards the nearest man’s eyes and then fell back with Emily, putting the tent at their backs before the men closed in.

  The steady rhythm of sword-strokes occupied his next moments to the exclusion of thought: no room for anything but answering to one strike and another. He and Emily had the reach of them, their own blades the longer and the better, but they were outnumbered. She fought well at his side, matching his pace. There was a brief opening; he shouted, “Ho, the camp!” at the top of his lungs, “Murder!” and they were fighting again.

  Laurence bent to parry low, and only just in time brought his sword back up to catch a slash meant for his throat. Another did catch him in the shoulder, but he wrested himself away before he felt more than the tip scoring his flesh; he heard the thick wool ripping away around the blade, and dropping the burning brand managed to reach up and wrench the blade away from the man’s grip.

  But he was forced to pay for it: the third man, on his left flank, lunged for Laurence’s exposed side with two knives in his hands, feinting one at his eyes. Laurence turned to slash back, but Emily was there, her sword flying upwards, and she sheared away the man’s hand halfway to the elbow, blood spurting from the stump; she reversed her grip on the blade and jammed it brutally through his chest, and booted his corpse off with a shove of her foot into the other standing beside him.

  Now there were four: Laurence whirling back struck one of the men upon the bridge of his nose with the pommel of the short sword he had taken, and then ripped the man’s throat with the blade as his head tipped back.