by Naomi Novik
“Good God, could that possibly make a difference in their minds, Hammond?” Laurence asked, sitting up appalled. For all his efforts, Chinese remained to him as impenetrable as if it were enciphered ten times over, and as for sitting examinations next to men who had been studying for them since the age of seven—
But, “I am only teasing you,” Liu Bao said good-humoredly, much to Laurence’s relief. “Don’t be afraid. I suppose if Lung Tien Xiang really wants to stay companion to an unlettered barbarian, no one can argue with him.”
“He is joking about calling you that, of course,” Hammond added to the translation, but a little doubtfully.
“I am an unlettered barbarian, by their standards of learning, and not stupid enough to make pretensions to be anything else,” Laurence said. “I only wish that the negotiators took your view of it, sir,” he added to Liu Bao. “But they are quite fixed that a Celestial may only be companion to the Emperor and his kin.”
“Well, if the dragon will not have anyone else, they will have to live with it,” Liu Bao said, unconcerned. “Why doesn’t the Emperor adopt you? That would save face for everyone.”
Laurence was disposed to think this a joke, but Hammond stared at Liu Bao with quite a different expression. “Sir, would such a suggestion be seriously entertained?”
Liu Bao shrugged and filled their cups again with wine. “Why not? The Emperor has three sons to perform the rites for him, he doesn’t need to adopt anyone; but another doesn’t hurt.”
“Do you mean to pursue the notion?” Laurence asked Hammond, rather incredulous, as they made their staggering way out to the sedan-chairs waiting to bear them back to the palace.
“With your permission, certainly,” Hammond said. “It is an extraordinary idea to be sure, but after all it would be understood on all sides as only a formality. Indeed,” he continued, growing more enthusiastic, “I think it would answer in every possible respect. Surely they would not lightly declare war upon a nation related by such intimate ties, and only consider the advantages to our trade of such a connection.”
Laurence could more easily consider his father’s likely reaction. “If you think it a worthwhile course to pursue, I will not forestall you,” he said reluctantly, but he did not think the red vase, which he had been hoping to use as something of a peace-offering, would be in any way adequate to mend matters if Lord Allendale should learn that Laurence had given himself up for adoption like a foundling, even to the Emperor of China.
Chapter 16
“IT WAS A close-run affair before we arrived, that much I can tell you,” Riley said, accepting a cup of tea across the breakfast table with more eagerness than he had taken the bowl of rice porridge. “I have never seen the like: a fleet of twenty ships, with two dragons for support. Of course they were only junks, and not half the size of a frigate, but the Chinese navy ships were hardly any bigger. I cannot imagine what they were about, to let a lot of pirates get so out of hand.”
“I was impressed by their admiral, however; he seemed a rational sort of man,” Staunton put in. “A lesser man would not have liked being rescued.”
“He would have been a great gaby to prefer being sunk,” Riley said, less generous.
The two of them had arrived only that morning, with a small party from the Allegiance: having been shocked by the story of the murderous gang attack, they were now describing the adventure of their own passage through the China Sea. A week out of Macao, they had encountered a Chinese fleet attempting to subdue an enormous band of pirates, who had established themselves in the Zhoushan Islands to prey upon both domestic shipping and the smaller ships of the Western trade.
“There was not much trouble once we were there, of course,” Riley went on. “The pirate dragons had no armaments—the crews tried to fire arrows at us, if you can credit it—and no sense of range at all; dived so low we could hardly miss them at musket-shot, much less with the pepper-guns. They sheered off pretty quick after a taste of that, and we sank three of the pirates with a single broadside.”
“Did the Admiral say anything about how he would report the incident?” Hammond asked Staunton.
“I can only tell you that he was punctilious in expressing his gratitude. He came aboard our ship, which was I believe a concession on his part.”
“And let him have a good look at our guns,” Riley said. “I fancy he was more interested in those than in being polite. But at any rate, we saw him to port, and then came on; she’s anchored in Tien-sing harbor now. No chance of our leaving soon?”
“I do not like to tempt fate, but I hardly think so,” Hammond said. “The Emperor is still away on his summer hunting trip up to the north, and he will not return to the Summer Palace for several weeks more. At that time I expect we will be given a formal audience.
“I have been putting forward this notion of adoption, which I described to you, sir,” he added to Staunton. “We have already received some small amount of support, not only from Prince Mianning, and I have high hopes that the service which you have just performed for them will sway opinion decisively in our favor.”
“Is there any difficulty in the ship’s remaining where she is?” Laurence asked with concern.
“For the moment, no, but I must say, supplies are dearer than I had looked for,” Riley said. “They have nothing like salt meat for sale, and the prices they ask for cattle are outrageous; we have been feeding the men on fish and chickens.”
“Have we outrun our funds?” Laurence too late began to regret his purchases. “I have been a little extravagant, but I do have some gold left, and they make no bones about taking it once they see it is real.”
“Thank you, Laurence, but I don’t need to rob you; we are not in dun territory yet,” Riley said. “I am mostly thinking about the journey home—with a dragon to feed, I hope?”
Laurence did not know how to answer the question; he made some evasion, and fell silent to let Hammond carry on the conversation.
After their breakfast, Sun Kai came by to inform them that a feast and an entertainment would be held that evening, to welcome the new arrivals: a great theatrical performance. “Laurence, I am going to go and see Qian,” Temeraire said, poking his head into the room while Laurence contemplated his clothing. “You will not go out, will you?”
He had grown singularly more protective since the assault, refusing to leave Laurence unattended; the servants had all suffered his narrow and suspicious inspection for weeks, and he had put forward several thoughtful suggestions for Laurence’s protection, such as devising a schedule which should arrange for Laurence’s being kept under a five-man guard at all hours, or drawing in his sand-table a proposed suit of armor which would not have been unsuited to the battlefields of the Crusades.
“No, you may rest easy; I am afraid I will have enough to do to make myself presentable,” Laurence said. “Pray give her my regards; will you be there long? We cannot be late tonight, this engagement is in our honor.”
“No, I will come back very soon,” Temeraire said, and true to his word returned less than an hour later, ruff quivering with suppressed excitement and clutching a long narrow bundle carefully in his forehand.
Laurence came out into the courtyard at his request, and Temeraire nudged the package over to him rather abashedly. Laurence was so taken aback he only stared at first, then he slowly removed the silk wrappings and opened the lacquered box: an elaborate smooth-hilted saber lay next to its scabbard on a yellow silk cushion. He lifted it from its bed: well-balanced, broad at the base, with the curved tip sharpened along both edges; the surface watered like good Damascus steel, with two blood grooves cut along the back edge to lighten the blade.
The hilt was wrapped in black ray-skin, the fittings of gilded iron adorned with gold beads and small pearls, and a gold dragon-head collar at the base of the blade with two small sapphires for eyes. The scabbard itself of black lacquered wood was also decorated with broad gold bands of gilded iron, and strung with strong silk cords: Lau
rence took his rather shabby if serviceable cutlass off his belt and buckled the new one on.
“Does it suit you?” Temeraire asked anxiously.
“Very well indeed,” Laurence said, drawing out the blade for practice: the length admirably fitted to his height. “My dear, this is beyond anything; however did you get it?”
“Well, it is not all my doing,” Temeraire said. “Last week, Qian admired my breastplate, and I told her you had given it to me; then I thought I would like to give you a present also. She said it was usual for the sire and dame to give a gift when a dragon takes a companion, so I might choose one for you from her things, and I thought this was the nicest.” He turned his head to one side and another, inspecting Laurence with deep satisfaction.
“You must be quite right; I could not imagine a better,” Laurence said, attempting to master himself; he felt quite absurdly happy and absurdly reassured, and on going back inside to complete his dress could not help but stand and admire the sword in the mirror.
Hammond and Staunton had both adopted the Chinese scholar-robes; the rest of his officers wore their bottle-green coats, trousers, and Hessians polished to a gleam; neckcloths had been washed and pressed, and even Roland and Dyer were perfectly smart, having been set on chairs and admonished not to move the moment they were bathed and dressed. Riley was similarly elegant in Navy blue, knee-breeches and slippers, and the four Marines whom he had brought from the ship in their lobster-red coats brought up the end of their company in style as they left the residence.
A curious stage had been erected in the middle of the plaza where the performance was to be held: small, but marvelously painted and gilded, with three different levels. Qian presided at the center of the northern end of the court, Prince Mianning and Chuan on her left, and a place for Temeraire and the British party reserved upon her right. Besides the Celestials, there were also several Imperials present, including Mei, seated farther down the side and looking very graceful in a rig of gold set with polished jade: she nodded to Laurence and Temeraire from her place as they took their seats. The white dragon, Lien, was there also, seated with Yongxing to one side, a little apart from the rest of the guests; her albino coloration again startling by contrast with the dark-hued Imperials and Celestials on every side, and her proudly raised ruff today adorned with a netting of fine gold mesh, with a great pendant ruby lying upon her forehead.
“Oh, there is Miankai,” Roland said in undertones to Dyer, and waved quickly across the square to a boy sitting by Mianning’s side. The boy wore robes similar to the crown prince’s, of the same dark shade of yellow, and an elaborate hat; he sat very stiff and proper. Seeing Roland’s wave, he lifted his hand partway to respond, then dropped it again hastily, glanced down the table towards Yongxing, as if to see if he had been noticed in the gesture, and sat back relieved when he realized he had not drawn the older man’s attention.
“How on earth do you know Prince Miankai? Has he ever come by the crown prince’s residence?” Hammond asked. Laurence also would have liked to know, as on his orders the runners had not been allowed out of their quarters alone at all, and ought not have had any opportunity of getting to know anyone else, even another child.
Roland looking up at him said, surprised, “Why, you presented him to us, on the island,” and Laurence looked hard again. It might have been the boy who had visited them before, in Yongxing’s company, but it was almost impossible to tell; swathed in the formal clothing, the boy looked entirely different.
“Prince Miankai?” Hammond said. “The boy Yongxing brought was Prince Miankai?” He might have said something more; certainly his lips moved. But nothing at all could be heard over the sudden roll of drums: the instruments evidently hidden somewhere within the stage, but the sound quite unmuffled and about the volume of a moderate broadside, perhaps twenty-four guns, at close range.
The performance was baffling, of course, being entirely transacted in Chinese, but the movement of the scenery and the participants was clever: figures rose and dropped between the three different levels, flowers bloomed, clouds floated by, the sun and moon rose and set; all amid elaborate dances and mock swordplay. Laurence was fascinated by the spectacle, though the noise was scarcely to be imagined, and after some time his head began to ache sadly. He wondered if even the Chinese could understand the words being spoken, what with the din of drums and jangling instruments and the occasional explosion of firecrackers.
He could not apply to Hammond or Staunton for explanation: through the entire proceeding the two of them were attempting to carry on a conversation in pantomime, and paying no attention whatsoever to the stage. Hammond had brought an opera-glass, which they used only to peer across the courtyard at Yongxing, and the gouts of smoke and flame which formed part of the first act’s extraordinary finale only drew their exclamations of annoyance at disrupting the view.
There was a brief gap in the proceedings while the stage was reset for the second act, and the two of them seized the few moments to converse. “Laurence,” Hammond said, “I must beg your pardon; you were perfectly right. Plainly Yongxing did mean to make the boy Temeraire’s companion in your place, and now at last I understand why: he must mean to put the boy on the throne, somehow, and establish himself as regent.”
“Is the Emperor ill, or an old man?” Laurence said, puzzled.
“No,” Staunton said meaningfully. “Not in the least.”
Laurence stared. “Gentlemen, you sound as though you are accusing him of regicide and fratricide both; you cannot be serious.”
“I only wish I were not,” Staunton said. “If he does make such an attempt, we might end in the middle of a civil war, with nothing more likely for us than disaster regardless of the outcome.”
“It will not come to that now,” Hammond said, confidently. “Prince Mianning is no fool, and I expect the Emperor is not, either. Yongxing brought the boy to us incognito for no good reason, and they will not fail to see that, nor that it is of a piece with the rest of his actions, once I lay them all before Prince Mianning. First his attempts to bribe you, with terms that I now wonder if he had the authority to offer, and then his servant attacking you on board the ship; and recall, the hunhun gang came at us directly after you refused to allow him to throw Temeraire and the boy into each other’s company; all of it forms a very neat and damning picture.”
He spoke almost exultantly, not very cautious, and started when Temeraire, who had overheard all, said with dawning anger, “Are you saying that we have evidence, now, then? That Yongxing has been behind all of this—that he is the one who tried to hurt Laurence, and had Willoughby killed?” His great head rose and swiveled at once towards Yongxing, his slit pupils narrowing to thin black lines.
“Not here, Temeraire,” Laurence said hurriedly, laying a hand on his side. “Pray do nothing for the moment.”
“No, no,” Hammond said also, alarmed. “I am not yet certain, of course; it is only hypothetical, and we cannot take any action against him ourselves—we must leave it in their hands—”
The actors moved to take their places upon the stage, putting an end to the immediate conversation; yet beneath his hand Laurence could feel the angry resonance deep within Temeraire’s breast, a slow rolling growl that found no voice but lingered just short of sound. His talons gripped at the edges of the flagstones, his spiked ruff at half-mast and his nostrils red and flaring; he paid no more mind to the spectacle, all his attention given over to watching Yongxing.
Laurence stroked his side again, trying to distract him: the square was crowded full of guests and scenery, and he did not like to imagine the results if Temeraire were to leap to some sort of action, for all he would gladly have liked to indulge his own anger and indignation towards the man. Worse, Laurence could not think how Yongxing was to be dealt with. The man was still the Emperor’s brother, and the plot which Hammond and Staunton imagined too outrageous to be easily believed.
A crash of cymbals and deep-voiced bells came from beh
ind the stage, and two elaborate rice-paper dragons descended, crackling sparks flying from their nostrils; beneath them nearly the entire company of actors came running out around the base of the stage, swords and paste-jeweled knives waving, to enact a great battle. The drums again rolled out their thunder, the noise so vast it was almost like the shock of a blow, driving air out of his lungs. Laurence gasped for breath, then slowly put a groping hand up to his shoulder and found a short dagger’s hilt jutting from below his collarbone.
“Laurence!” Hammond said, reaching for him, and Granby was shouting at the men and thrusting aside the chairs: he and Blythe put themselves in front of Laurence. Temeraire was turning his head to look down at him.
“I am not hurt,” Laurence said, confusedly: there was queerly no pain at first, and he tried to stand up, to lift his arm, and then felt the wound; blood was spreading in a warm stain around the base of the knife.
Temeraire gave a shrill, terrible cry, cutting through all the noise and music; every dragon reared back on its hindquarters to stare, and the drums stopped abruptly: in the sudden silence Roland was crying out, “He threw it, over there, I saw him!” and pointing at one of the actors.
The man was empty-handed, in the midst of all the others still carrying their counterfeit weapons, and dressed in plainer clothing. He saw that his attempt to hide among them had failed and turned to flee too late; the troupe ran screaming in all directions as Temeraire flung himself almost clumsily into the square.
