League of Dragons (46 page)

“Yes, I think it the best course of action at present,” Ning said calmly, ignoring his remarks. “I cannot find that the new Emperor of France will even be able to talk for two years, much less go flying, and in any case one should like his situation to be of somewhat longer standing. In a few years, it may be time for me to pay a visit, and see how matters are progressing, but for the moment certainly I ought to be in China.”

“I do not know why you mean to come back to visit, then; you cannot have
both
of them,” Temeraire said.

“I do not see any reason against it,” Ning said. “They are both excellently placed, strategically, for the coming century, and one ought to plan ahead. It would not do to close any doors unnecessarily. Which is why you ought to give me the necklace,” she added, “and preserve those ties which the present victory must render much less politically useful. After all, the need for an excuse to make alliance is past, and with the death of the Jiaqing Emperor, the adoption of your admiral must have considerably less personal force. You would be well-advised to strengthen bonds with the new Emperor now, while the satisfaction of a joint victory warms his feelings towards you. It cannot but serve you well in future to have the relationship recognized. After all, I cannot find that Admiral Laurence will even have a post, when you have gone back to Britain, and he does not seem a particular favorite with your rulers.”

This last understated the case, and Temeraire had not really considered that of course, now that the allied armies were disbanding, Laurence was no longer in command of anyone. He realized uncomfortably he did not really know if Laurence was even still an admiral at all.

“Oh, on that you may be easy,” Excidium said, when Temeraire had roused him for a consultation, “for my Jane was still an admiral even when those croakers in the Admiralty had stripped her of her post, back before Napoleon invaded us. But they may send you to the north of Scotland to fly patrols, or some other make-work. Anyway, Ning ain't wrong that it is always good to have more influence. Jane has said to me that she would collect a year's worth of letter-writing in influence by taking her coronet to some hostess's rout for a night, even if she would as lief be hanged as go to a ball. So it is well-worth preserving the connection, if you have it.”

“And which I am sure Ning likes preserved for her
own
sake,” Temeraire muttered afterwards, “perhaps so she has an excuse to come visiting.” But that did not mean she was not right; however, perhaps Laurence would not like to send such a gift, after all.

“Certainly I should not like to be encroaching,” Laurence said, however, “but I can hardly say
he
has not acknowledged the relationship, in a manner which permits
me
to ignore it. Aside from all the very real service Mianning has done our nation, his personal kindness to us more than merits the greatest warmth and respect, and it must be for him to first grow cold, before we can consider ourselves to be pursuing an unwanted connection. Perhaps you might consult with Gong Su, as to whether the gift would be suitable; some gesture at least, I think must be desirable.”

And naturally Gong Su was of the opinion that an elegant golden chain sized for a dragon, of the finest Incan craftsmanship, adorned with a dozen beautiful and valuable jewels, would be an eminently pleasing gift: who would
not
be pleased, Temeraire would have liked to know. So there was no help for it, and Temeraire disconsolately saw it laid into a handsome wooden box, with much padding of soft wool, and delivered to Ning just before her departure: the legions had already nearly all flown back, leaving only an honor-guard of forty dragons to accompany her home.

“Well, old fellow, at least you didn't have to buy it,” Maximus said, nudging his shoulder by way of consolation as the box flew away; which was some comfort, except if one considered the lovely alteration the chain would have made to his bank-book, if it had been sold instead, and viewed its departure as the loss of that amount.

“Fare thee well, and I hope we have seen the last of him,” Jane said, joining Laurence on the dragondeck of the
Vindication.
The
Bellerophon
was visible out on the horizon, with Lien a little awkwardly disposed on the deck, a heavy band of chain marring the clean white line of her neck. They were making sail. Jane shook her head. “I shan't give ha'pence for the chance, though. I dare say that beast could make shore from St. Helena in a day and a night if she put herself to the trouble, and it is sure enough he will find
some
excuse to be off, after he gets tired of the place; and there ain't any cause
not
to grow tired of it, either. Perhaps his wife will have him poisoned, and save us the excitement, though.”

“I dare say your hopes may be answered,” Laurence said.

“Very good,” Jane said approvingly. “That was almost uncharitable: we will make a cynic of you yet. You are for Dover in the morning, and London?”

“I am,” Laurence said, and heaved a breath. “I will see you there, I think?”

“Yes, though the Lord knows they are running out of honors to heap on my shoulders, and Wellington is in even worse case: I think they will have to make him a new order of knighthood. You are getting off lightly by comparison, with your mere baronetcy. But I have come to drop a word in your ear: I have been invited four times in letters this last month to say something about the need for a strengthened presence in Halifax. Will you go if you are ordered there?”

“No,” Laurence said. “I mean to retire, when we have returned. I have enough money to keep Temeraire, now, and enough of a countenance to ask my brother to put us up on one of the farms.”

Or they might return to Australia, or to China: Temeraire had every right to ask that of him, now that the war was won. Laurence did not mean to refuse him; he only hoped to go back to Wollaton Hall first, and find a way to carry it with him, somehow. He longed in a deep inward part for Britain, for home: to see the house standing at twilight with all the windows lit, a child's memory of peace. He could even be grateful there for the counterfeit honors that had been heaped onto his head, if they gave his mother some peace, and if his brother need not be ashamed to give him a field for Temeraire to sleep in, for a little while.

“I am glad to know,” Edith said, low, when Laurence had finished. She sighed once, deeply, and looked out into the south field, where her son was now climbing all over Temeraire's forelegs with Laurence's three nephews. They had spent the first week of Temeraire's residence plastered to the windows of their nursery, under the confining hand of their nurse; but a few of the village boys, less supervised, had made a game of daring one another to come and touch Temeraire's tail, and observing them from the window had been too much for high spirits to endure. The middle boy had dared his elder, the dare had been reciprocated, and by the time Temeraire had woken, the boys had managed to scale his back and were busily defeating Napoleon in a grand aerial battle bearing a strong resemblance to the highly fictional accounts which had lately filled the newspapers.

“Well, that is not how it happened at all,” Temeraire had informed them, turning his head round, and all three children had gone very still and quiet, but the story recommended itself too highly not to overcome what, their exasperated mother lectured them that night, was a relatively slight concern for the preservation of life and limb.

Her lectures and the protests of their nurse had not had much effect. Old wooden swords had been unearthed from a chest the next day, and endless battles fought since then. Edith's son had lasted five minutes clinging to her skirts before he had run out through the garden gates to join the irresistible game, and she had not held him back, though her hands curled in her lap as though she half-wished to restrain him.

“I am glad he should not be afraid of dragons,” she said, despite a little anxiety in her looks: the boy was her only child.

“I assure you Temeraire will have a care,” Laurence said to her. Temeraire indeed was in danger of showing too
much
care, as he had begun to inquire of Laurence whether the boys might not really be considered as under his protection, by virtue of their connection.

“Churki writes,” he had said a little wistfully, “that she has met Hammond's family at last, and there are
twenty-six
of them, if one counts the smallest children and his cousins, which she does.” He sighed a bit enviously. “She has already set about building them a larger house,” he added, “and helped their tenants plow their fields more quickly, which she says was of the greatest assistance, because so many of the young men have been away at the war, and are not returned yet. Laurence, oughtn't we plow this field?”

“No, it is resting this year,” Laurence had answered. “But if you are in want of occupation, I am sure my brother's steward would be delighted to have your assistance.” He had been surprised to find a thriving clan of Yellow Reapers established just outside Nottingham, who were now a regular sight throughout the city and the surrounding countryside, most commonly carrying large loads of coal from the pits but willing to take on other work as well; they had been of use on the estate more than once, his brother had said.

Temeraire had indeed found some satisfaction, since then, in bringing in prodigious loads of timber and stone required for repairs, and offering to bring more, if they should care to repair the ruins of the abbey behind the house, which had burnt down sometime in the eleventh century. He had even offered his services to their neighbors, one of whom was Edith's father.

Lady Galman had included Laurence in a subsequent invitation for the families to dine together, and he had with some hesitation accepted. No number of accolades would ever make him easy going into society again, but he had wished to speak with Edith. He had written long years ago, by his mother, to acquaint her with the manner of her husband's death during the invasion of Britain, which had borne a sufficiently heroic character for him to wish her to know of it, in hopes of its relieving some of the pain of her loss. But he felt the inadequacy of such an indirect account, and the obligation to do better, if she wished to know more.

“I am glad to know,” she said now: they had spoken briefly at dinner, and she had called this morning, for a chance of more privacy. “And glad to have the power to tell my son, when he is older. I only wish…” She stopped a moment, and Laurence was not certain she meant to continue. “I only wish I might not feel Bertram had pursued a course for which no training or inclination had fitted him,” she said finally, low, “in an effort to secure my good opinion. He ought to have been certain of it.”

Laurence was silent. It had been long years since he and Edith had spoken on such terms of intimacy, but there had been long separations between them before, demanded by a naval career, and he did not pretend that he did not understand her. If Bertram Woolvey had never made himself notorious, neither had he made himself notable, before his death. He had been a gentleman, and he had offered his wife a comfortable home and a place in respectable society, when Laurence could no longer aspire to either. But a man might well have wished to figure in his wife's eyes as something other than a safe harbor, if she had once looked for more.

“His aid was material,” he said finally: the only comfort he could give. “I do not know if we would have succeeded in freeing Iskierka, without his help, and her loss would have been disastrous.”

Edith nodded a little, her head still bowed. Then she lifted it and smiled at him, with an effort. “Will you be in Nottingham long? Or does duty call you away again soon?”

“Duty, no. I have retired from the Corps,” he said. “Inclination may yet: Britain is not a hospitable country for dragons. But we have made no plans.”

That night, after the light had begun to fail and Laurence had closed the book, Temeraire said, “Laurence, there does not seem to be anything more that needs doing, on the estate, where I can be of any material use: Mr. Jacobs,” this being his brother's steward, “has assured me of it.”

“It was kind in you to undertake the effort,” Laurence said. “You need not feel that you must earn your keep, my dear: we are well in funds. We ought not outstay our welcome, but we have not done so yet. My brother has assured me he does not regard our presence as an inconvenience, nor does the neighborhood object.” Laurence had rather met with expressions of satisfaction that Britain's heroic dragon was staying near-by. As the news of Temeraire's presence had spread, he had even lately seen plates with Temeraire painted upon them displayed for sale in the city, and coaches were given to pausing, on the road passing the estate, so passengers might climb out and have a look from afar. He did not expect the fad to last for long, but he was glad not to have forced his brother to endure the complaints of his neighbors.

“No, only, I am not quite certain what we ought to do with ourselves,” Temeraire said. “I thought I had deferred so many things for the sake of the war, and now I cannot think of any of them; or perhaps I am thinking of all of them at once, so none of them are coming clear in my head.” He sighed a little. “I am glad you have retired, and the Admiralty cannot send us anywhere unpleasant now, but there is no denying there was something useful in being
sent,
and given something to do.”

Laurence drew a deep breath. “Do you wish to return to China?” He had expected as much, and prepared for it. He was only glad to have had the opportunity to come home for so long. He had seen his mother, and seen her at peace; she had moved to the dower house, only a little distance from the main, and he had ridden across the fields to see her daily. He had knelt by his father's tomb. But spring had gone to summer, and summer would soon enough go to fall, and there was no building on the grounds where Temeraire might sleep; nor would Laurence trespass so far on his brother's good-will as to propose putting up a pavilion. In any case, if they meant to go to China, the overland route would be the easiest to take, and the sooner they set out, the better weather they would have.