by Naomi Novik
—firstmateoffawhaler,whohadmarriedaWampanoaggirlfromAquinnah;togethertheyhadhiredon anotherwhalingcruise,andthevillagehopedtoarrangetobuyashipwiththem.
ButJohnhadnocompanion.Afterhatching,he’daskedSingingBirdforanEnglishname,theplainer thebetter:itwasn’tlikehewasgoingtobemistakenbyanyonewhomattered,andhefiguredifhedidn’t haveamantogobetween,atleasthemightaswellgivethecolonistsaneasyhandletouseforhim.
Helikedflyingmorethanmostotherthings,sohe’ddecidedtotryhishandatshipping.Whenhehad builtupenoughofanestegg,theMashpeewouldstakehimtoopenatradinghouseofhisown.Orhelp him buy into one, maybe, it occurred to him. He’d tried Devereux to start because three separate Wampanoagtradershadtoldhimthefirmdroveafairbargainanddidn’tpayIndiansworseforthesame goods as they did white men, which a lot of other trading houses did, and didn’t mind loading and unloadingdragons.Well,itwasearlydaystojudge,butJohnthoughtprettywelloftheoldfellowsofar, anditstoodtoreasonahousethatcouldgobetweencolonistsandIndiansandmerchantshipsstoppingin BostonHarborwouldbeinagoodplace.
HeflewontherestofthewaytoNewYorkCityonanicetailwind.Therewereotherdragonsatthe docks and in the market there, including one big, stern-looking Mohawk who had clearly got some Europeanbloodinherwiththattonnageandherroundhead,sittingattheendofMaidenLanewithagold chainon,keepingthepeace.Johnlandedbyhertopayhisrespects.“JohnWampanoag,herefromBoston withsometeaforthemarket,”hesaidinEnglish,sincehedidn’tknowKanienkeha.
The big dragon looked him over closely and then nodded. “The Mohawk buyers will take your goods.”
“Thankyou,”Johnsaidpolitely,“butI’lltrysellingthemmyself,first.”
Shesnorted.“Whitemendon’tknowhowtotalktodragons.”
Privately, John figured that mostly white men didn’t know how to talk to a dragon who could swallowtheminonebite,andwhythey’dbredthemupsobiginthefirstplacejusttoscarethemselves with,hedidn’tknow.Well,heknew,butitstillseemedanawfulwaste.
Anyway,helookedroundtheedgesofthemarketandfoundafewboysinasidelaneplayingsome kindofagamewithaballandastick,halfofthemwithatleastsomeIndianbloodinthem,andtheywere morethanwillingtogivehimahandforthepromiseofadollarapiece.Theyuntiedhisoilskinsandlaid thesacksoutneatlyandstartedyellingatthetopoftheirlungs,“Teaforsale,straightfromChina,shipped dragonback!Adollarapound!Teaforsale!”
That was undercutting the prices John had overheard cried under the roofs, by a fair margin, and customstartedcominghisway.Hedidn’thaveascaleorbags,sohehadtheboystellpeopletoscoopit outroughly.Hewaslosingabitoneachsale,buthefigureditwouldn’treallymatter,anditdidn’t:inless thanhalfanhour,amancameoutfromoneofthebiggestmarketstallsandquietlyaskedhowmuchforthe wholelot.
“IguessIcouldseemywaycleartosellingitforsixtycentsapound,”Johnsaid,sincetheywere sellingitforadollar-twentyundertheroofs,andafteralittleback-and-forththeysettledonfifty;which made his own pay $300 for four days’ work. He did have to spend $20 of his money on his dinner, becausehecouldn’tgohuntinginMohawkterritory.Butsincehehadtospend$20,hespent$25instead, andboughthimselfaprimebullockinthemarket:thoseweregoingcheappound-for-poundcomparedto thegoatsandsheepthatwouldfeedanordinary-sizeddragonnicely.
The Mohawk peacekeeper kindly told him about a nice sunning spot up on the heights near Fort Tryonwherehecouldeatandsleepundertheguns,withapeacekeeperdragonupthere,too.Johngotthe slaughterhouse to cut him up his cow, and he gave her one hindquarter and gave the other to the peacekeeperatthefort:thatlefthimastill-gloriouspieceofrichfatbeefthatwouldfeedhimforthree daysevenwithallthisflying,andwellmorethanfivedollars’worthofgoodwill.
“Youhavegoodmanners—foraWampanoag,”thefortpeacekeepersaid,androaredwithlaughter,
startlingawholeflightofpigeonsoffthenearestroofandmakingadozensoldierscomerunningtosee whohadattacked.ButthenheinvitedJohntosleepnexttohimrightinsidethefortitself,andheweighed atleasteleventons,sohecouldmakeallthebadjokesheliked.Johnatehisdinnerandsleptpeacefully withhismoneyunderhisbelly.
Inthemorning,heflewbacktoBostonwiththemoney:aneveneasierflight,withnoweightonhim; heslept just acrossthe Connecticut borderand reached Boston justbefore noon thenext day. “You can leavemysharerightinthatpouch,”hesaidtoDevereux.“Nexttime,ifyouliketotrustmeforit,I’llbuy acargoforthewayback.”
“Tell me when you’ll come next, and I’ll have a cargo waiting for you,” Devereux said. He was pleased:he’dclearedthreehundreddollarsmoreontheloadthanhecould’vegotinBoston.
They bowed, and agreed on Wednesday, the day after next, and John took his share, did a little shoppingofhisown,andflewbacktoMashpee.Itwasgettingonforsunsetbythetimehegothome,and thecookingfiresweremakingaglowinthehousesandthewetu:thevillagewasrunningabouthalfand halfthesedays.Thewarmgoodsmellofcornporridgecookingwaswelcoming,eventhoughhewasn’t hungryyetafterthathugemeal,andwhenhelandedinthesquare,abunchofthechildrencamerunningto greethimandclimbonhimandtrytopoketheirfingersintohispouches.“Offyouget,”hesaidfirmly, and told the oldest boy to take down the sack of candied flowers and marchpane fruits, and they all squealedwithjoyandstartedafiercenegotiationoverhowtodoleitoutamongstthemselves.
SingingBirdcameoutofthebighouse,herwarmbrowneyessmilingathim.Johnduckedhishead andsaidgruffly,“Ibroughtsomewinterclothes,too,andtobacco,andtea.”
“We’re all glad you are back safely,” she said, and put her hand on his side. Some of the other womentookhisbundles,andheletSingingBirdtakethepouchwiththemoney:herfacebrightenedanda fewoftheworrylinessmoothedoutwhenshesawhowmuchhehadbroughtin.“I’llhavetimetogoand bringinsomegametomorrow,”hetoldher,“andIdon’tneedsuppertonight:Iatelikeafighting-dragon inNewYork.”
“Youneedrestafteralongflight,”shechidedgently.
“Itwasn’tsolongasallthat,”hesaid.“MaybeI’llseewhatDevereuxthinksaboutmygoingwest,in afewtrips.IcouldgettwicethemoneyforfactorygoodsoutinOhio,Ibet,ifItakeitinfurs.”
Afterdinner,shebroughtoutthebigMashpeeaccountbookandtheoneshe’dsetasideforhim,and satbesidehimsohecouldwatchherwritethenumbersalldown.Sheclosedthebookswhenshewas done, and put them aside, and sighed softly, looking west: the sun was ducking into the treetops. She smelledgood,ofearth:she’dbeenhelpingwiththeplantingtoday,surely,likeeveryoneoldenoughtoput handsinthedirtandyoungenoughtowalk.“AmessengercamefromTecumsehthismorning,”shesaid afteramoment.
“Isitallsettled?”Johnsaid,steady.
“Yes.TheShawneehaveofferedfoureggs,andtenthousanddollarsingold.Hewillcomewhenthe planting is finished.” She drew a deep breath. “We will live in Kentucky during the winters, and come northinthespring.”
John didn’t mean to moan about it. Wampanoag women weren’t supposed to be dragon riders, anyway.Maybetheycouldhavemanagedsomethingifshehadn’talsobeenasachem,andifshehadn’t beenthegreatsachem,andiftheydidn’tdesperatelyneedtobindthenationstogether,andif,andif.There wasn’tmuchuseinifs.“Well,Kentucky’snotsofar,”hesaid.“Iguessthey’llbewantinggoodsoutthere, to
o.”
“I’msuretheywill.”
“Maybeyou’dliketohavealookatthefields,fromabove,andseeifthere’sanythinggoingwrong,”
Johnsaid.
“Itwouldbenice,ifyouaren’ttootired,”sheanswered,abitguiltily.Itdidallrightforanexcuse.
She scrambled up onto his back, not at all like a steady, cool-headed sachem with a heap of responsibilities, and he leapt aloft with her. Even though he was tired, he spent all the hour she would allowherselfupintheclouds,andshesangjustforhiminherdeepsweetvoicewhileheflewalonglazy spiraloverthefieldsjustpeekinggreeninplaces,wherethecornplantswerebreakingtheground.
DawnofBattle
artbyNickMiles)
Author’s Note: Nick Miles’ beautiful painting of an unfortunate ship of the line caughtbetweentwodragonsandburstingintoflamesimmediatelyevokedforme
thefamousdestructionof L’Orient , the French warship that exploded during the BattleoftheNilewhenherpowdermagazinecaught.Thisstorytakesplaceinthe
hoursbeforethosecataclysmicevents.
JANEAWAKENEDEARLY,onlyathinlineofred-goldattheendoftheworldbelow.Sheputouther hand automatically over her head for her boots, but remembered belatedly they were slung over the bottomofthehammock,wheretheywouldknockamidwingman’sheadinsteadofhers,duringrolls:the captain’s privilege of space. She pulled them on still lying on her back, shifted her carabiners to the climbingharness,andswungherselfout.
A single glance below showed her that the ships of the flotilla were turning eastwards along the Egyptiancoast,theirlanternsaflockoffirefliesturningawayfromAlexandriaharbor.Shewentupthe side, taking automatic note of the rhythm and pace of the wing-beats: Excidium was flying strongly and well,rollingthroughhisstrokes,nosignyetoftiring,althoughhehadtakentotheairsevenhoursago, afteronlyapontoon-raftnap.Thepursuitwasgoingtooquicklyfortheirtransporttokeeppace,andthe Egyptiancountrysidewasbynomeanssafeforthemtoputdown.
Caudecwassittingattheneck,hunchedinhisleathergreatcoatwithhisbristlingmustachesdewed withmorningmist.Hesalutedherindifferentlyandsaidnothing.“Anysignals?”Janeasked.Sheoughtn’t havehadtoask,iftherehadbeen,butsheknewwhatthefellowwasabout.
“Nothingtoconcernyou,”Caudecsaid,avuncularly.
“Iprefertoconcernmyself,”Janesaid.“EnsignBridely,lightalongthelog-bookthere,”shecalled.
Shehadseenenoughofthiskindofbusinesswithherownmother,whohadnevermanagedtosaybooto anyofherownfirsts.ThemourningbandwasstillblackroundJane’ssleeve,andthefiercegriefstilla lumpinherbelly,buttherewasnousepretendingthatMotherhadnotallowedherselftobeimposedupon byalongprocessionofsomeofthemostscabbyofficersinChristendom:includingCaudechimself,who hadbeenaloftwithhertheselastthreeyears.
Bridely,aboyoftwelve,scrambledoverwiththelog-book,althoughhedartedalookatCaudecas hedid,andwellhemightwhenJanehadopenedit: Sailstoeast,frigateatthebottomofthepage,not fifteenminutesagone,reportedfromthatbigTurkishbeastwhokeptslippingoutofformationandtrying toclimboverhead,instinctively.
“Whennextamanofwarissighted,Mr.Caudec,youwillinformmedirectly,”Janesaid.“Whohas gonetolookinonthem?”
Caudec,stiffeningwithindignation,saidfrigidly,“Ibegyourpardon?”
“No-one, then,” Jane said, deliberately misunderstanding, and unhooked her speaking-trumpet.
“Excidium,dearfellow,willyouaskGlidiustotakeaquickdasheastwardaheadoftheformationand havealookroundforus?”
“Yes,”Excidiumansweredher,inhisdeepsonorousvoice,andcalledtotheirWinchestercourier,a cleverlittlefellowasquickasahummingbird,togochasingthesunriseandthesightofsail.
Jane shut up the log-book and handed it back to Bridely. “I will stretch my legs a minute,” and withoutgivingCaudecachancetolaunchintothespeechhewasplainlymakingready,shesetoffatonce on an easy clamber along the length of Excidium’s spine: as familiar to her as the nursery of her own home,ifshehadeverhadanother.ShehadbeenkeptonExcidiumalongtimeasachild—longerthanshe hadoughtto,becauseMotherhadn’twantedtobepartedfromher.Ithadbeenheroneandonlyrebellion; Janethoughtofheragainwithmingledloveandexasperation,irrepressibleeveninmemory.
ItwasmorethanhalftheAdmiralty’sfault,ofcourse.TheirLordshipslikedverymuchtoputgirls upgreenasgrasswhenevertheyhadthechance,inhopestheywouldletsomefellowputhishandonthe reins.Jane’sgrandmotherhadbeenperfectlyhaleandheartyatfortywhentheyhadabruptlygroundedher andputatimidseventeen-year-oldonExcidium’sbackfornogoodreason.
Well,Janewasnotagreengirl,andcertainlyshewasnottimid,andshedidn’tmeantohaveit.She hadputupwithCaudecsofaronlybecausetheAdmiraltywerealreadywaryofher.Shehadformeda reputationenoughherself,byseventeen,thatnoonehadtalkedofretiringhermotherinherfavor,thenor since.No,ifthepleurisyhadnotcarriedSarahRolandoff,shewouldstillbeupherethisverymoment, withCaudecneglectingtosomuchasscoutforFrenchpositions,eventhoughheoughttohaveknown,if hedidn’t,thatAdmiralNelsonwasshortonfrigates,andwouldbegladofeveryminuteofwarningthey couldgivehimandhisships.
Thesortofmanwhowouldtakeapostwherehisunderstooddutywastoencouragehiscaptaintobe shywasnotthesortofmantobetrustedwiththemanagementofaLongwing,asJanewouldhavebeen glad to tell the Admiralty from long experience. She had watched them march through the post all her childhood,fiverotterstoonedecentman,andtheAdmiraltyhadremoved himaftersixmonths,because he’dbeenencouragingMothertogivemoreorderstothewinginflight.
Well, before Donoghue had gone, he’d told Jane quietly to make her mother send her to Kinloch Laggantogethertrainingbegunproperly,andtogetherownchildbearingoutofthewayearly.Janehad been eleven years old at the time, but she’d already been capable of recognizing it as good advice. So Emilywasthreeyearsoldandthriving,backontheirtransportatthemomentwithhersensiblenurse;and Jane had nine years under her belt studying with old Celeritas and occasionally serving with a decent captainwhentheirLordshipswouldgiveheraberth.Sheknewherwork,ifshewereallowedtodoit, andExcidiumwasquitereadytosupporther.
Theyhadspoken,afterthefuneral.TheAdmiraltycouldnotsparehimintheleastwithBonaparte stamping all over Italy like a thundering colossus, but Jane had known that there were officers enough preparedtofindconsolationingroundingher,ifExcidiumdidnotliketokeepfightingandchosetoretire tothebreedinggroundsinstead.
“AndIdon’tblameyouifyouaretiredofthewholebusiness,afteralltheseyearsaloft,”Janehad toldhimforthrightly,ignoringthelectureshehadbeendeliveredbyanentirepanelofadmiralsreminding hertoexerteverywileandcoaxingallure,asthoughsheweresomedamnedsimperingmaiden.“Butwe can ill afford to lose you. The French are talking quite seriously of coming across the Channel, one of thesedays,”whichnoonehadseenfittotellhim,idiotically,althoughtheyhadtold hertoweepandwail ifhesomuchasbreathedawordofretirement.
SoshehaddrawnhimthemapoftheFrenchcoastinthedirt,whichofcourseherecognizedquite well, and pointed out all the places where troops had gathered. “And they have a second Flamme de Gloirehatchedlately,ofcourse,”Janesaid.
“Yes,Icanseeitwouldbenastywithoutme,”Excidiumremarked:hedidnotneeditexplainedto himfurther.Herubbedthetopcla
wsofhiswingstogether,thoughtfully,whichhedidwhenhewasgetting roundtosayingsomething;hewasnotachatterbox,andwouldoftengoweeksincovertwithoutsayinga mortalword.Janedidnotinterrupthim,butwaited,andatlasthesaid,“IdonotthinkdearSarahwas veryhappyintheCorps.”
Janestillrememberedtheenormoussurgeofrelief:sohedidnot wanttogo.“No,”shehadsaid.“I don’tthinkyoucouldfindanyonelesssuitedtotheworkthanMother,anditisadamnedshametheway theAdmiraltysaddledherwithagreatcollectionoflumps.Iwillsay,ifyoucanseeyourwayclearto stickingitout,thatIdon’tmeantoputupwithitmyself.”
He had put his eye down to her close, inspecting, and she had put her hand on his snout, full of affectionforthedearoldthing:hehadtoleratedherswingingfromhisbone-spursandmakingaportcullis ofhisteethwhenshewasnotfiveyearsold.Intheverybaddays,whenthatscoundrelDavidsonhadbeen strutting and boasting from sunrise to sunset how Mother would do anything he liked, and spending his nightsinherbed,Janewouldcreepoutofthecaptain’squartersafterdarkandtuckherselfinthelittle hollow between jaw and foreleg to sleep; Excidium had never turned her away, and the gurgle of the churningacidsintheirsacswasherideaofwhatanoceanshouldsoundlike.
“Yes,Iwillstayinharness;ifyouarecertain,”hehadsaid,ashadeofdoubtstilllingeringinhis voice.
“Iam,”Janesaid.“Isuppose,”sheadded,“thatthoseloobiesattheAdmiraltyhadagoodshoutat Mother,too,andtoldhershemustsweartoyouupanddownshewantednothingbuttogoaloft,orelse sheshouldbeatraitortothecrown.Soshehasspentalltheseyearstellingyoushewasdelightedbyit, andallthewhileyoucouldtellotherwise.”Excidiumloweredthelidsonthedeeporangeofhiseyes,and saidnothing,butJanenodded.“Well,Iwillnotlietoyou,dearfellow,aboutthisoranythingelse:Idon’t finditanswerswell,andIamnotafraidofthosesacksofwind.Butinallhonesty,Ihaven’tthefaintest notionwhatIshoulddowithmyselfotherwise.Iamasill-suitedforadomesticlifeasMotherwasfor anythingelse.”
