Tongues of Serpents (44 page)

“Sir,” Laurence said, “I am obliged to you; I must call it more than a little irregular.”

“Well,” MacArthur said, waving a hand to leave this minor quibble in the air, “we are all irregular here, more or less, and we shan’t grow less so for a good long time: I do not think, sir, you are inclined to sit in a corner until we get back some word: you are not made to moulder in some forgotten corner of the world. And why ought you? You were sent here, after all, and with the intention of your doing work for the colony. I cannot see how it should in any way contravene the terms of your transportation.”

There was a special sort of gall in proposing that Laurence’s life-sentence for treason did not preclude his taking command of the nascent covert and its aviators; the same sort of gall, of course, which had staged not one but two separate coups d’état. Laurence rather thought MacArthur and Bonaparte were cut from the same cloth, spiritually speaking, if they did not have the same gifts.

“And I do not mind saying,” MacArthur said, “you cannot help but be damned useful in this whole China business. They turn up remarkably sweet as soon as they have clapped eyes on you and this fellow, no one can help but see that.”

For this MacArthur’s evidence was a pair of young Chinese officials, who had been brought to the colony the last week: Temeraire at his request had managed to intercept Lung Shen Gai, the dragon previously sighted so near to Sydney, and invite discussion of the territorial issues. MacArthur represented the general sentiment of his citizenry in embracing with great enthusiasm the prospect of Chinese goods entering their market in considerable quantity:
free trade
was the byword on every man’s lips who had an opinion, which was everyone. The reports from the north of the haul of treasure brought in by the serpents, of tea and luxury, had by now diffused very widely among the populace from O’Dea’s reports: which he recounted nightly in the taverns for his grog, the accounts losing no allure in the transmission and gaining much.

“I dare say if you should not care to be the commander of the
covert,” MacArthur added, “you might take on the foreign ministry: why, that might do better, indeed.”

“You would do better to hire Temeraire for that post, if he were inclined to serve,” Laurence said. “No: I thank you for the compliment of your confidence, but no.” He set down his glass. “Pray give my compliments to your wife.”

Temeraire was drowsing in the field behind the house: filled out a little better after a month of recovery, and the scales of his hide beginning to regain some of that particular glossy sheen. He raised his head as Laurence came nearer, and yawned. “Is your dinner finished? What did he wish to say to you?”

“To offer me the earth, or at least a portion of it, if we would take charge of the covert,” Laurence said, swinging himself up and hooking on his carabiner straps. “He would like to make me an admiral, or a minister; and of course he has pardoned me, for whatever that is worth in a British court: perhaps another twenty years on the sentence, I would imagine.”

“It is a kind thought, of course,” Temeraire said, his ruff pricking up. “You are sure you should
not
like to be a minister?” he inquired. “That is very like a lord, is it not, for you are always saying
their Lordships
when you should mean the King’s ministers.”

“Very sure,” Laurence said.

The deposed governor was at the promontory when they returned, speaking with Rankin, low; a small guard of New South Wales Corps soldiers stood a little way off, his escort—or gaolers, nearer the truth.

“If I cannot approve your reluctance to act, I am glad to hear you have not wholly acceded to MacArthur’s rebellion,” Macquarie said heavily. “The Crown will wish to remove you at once, with Captain Rankin and the loyalist officers: if we can catch the
Allegiance
, we will return for her to serve as your transport. Some arrangement can be made for your sentence to be carried out in India—”

“You must forgive me, sir,” Laurence said, “but if you have no better use for us than to trundle us over the ocean to a pen in India, only to keep us from MacArthur’s powers of persuasion, I will forgo the pleasure.”

Macquarie was by no means easily reconciled to this position: he protested, and commanded, and came as near cajolery as a man so sensible of his dignity, and wounded in it, could do; but Laurence found
himself wholly unmoved even by the final, grudging offer. “You are impatient with your lack of use; some honorable work surely can be found—will be found,” Macquarie said, “which perhaps may even render suitable a pardon—”

“There is an ugly character to the work which has heretofore been found for us,” Laurence said, “and I think I have done trying the patience of my commanding officers.”

“Laurence,” Temeraire said tentatively, when Macquarie had gone away frustrate, “it is not that I mind, for I had just as soon not have anything more to do with Government and their orders; but are you quite sure you would not like to go back to the war, if they will have us?”

Laurence was silent a moment, waiting for the sense of duty to answer; but it did not speak. They would not be asked to defend England, or liberty, or anything worthy of service: only to assist at one spiteful destruction or another. He found in himself only a great longing for something cleaner. “No,” he said finally. “I am sick of the quarrels of nations and of kings, and I would not give ha’pence for any empire other than our valley, if that can content your ambition.”

“Oh! It can, very well,” Temeraire said, brightening. “Will we go there tomorrow, then? I have been thinking, Laurence, we might have a pavilion up before the winter.”

N
AOMI
N
OVIK
is the acclaimed author of
His Majesty’s Dragon, Throne of Jade, Black Powder War, Empire of Ivory
, and
Victory of Eagles
, the first five volumes of the Temeraire series, recently optioned by Peter Jackson, the Academy Award–winning director of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. In 2007, Novik received the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer at the World Science Fiction Convention. A history buff with a particular interest in the Napoleonic era, Novik studied English literature at Brown University, then did graduate work in computer science at Columbia University before leaving to participate in the design and development of the computer game Neverwinter Nights: Shadows of Undrentide. Novik lives in New York City with her husband and six computers.

www.temeraire.org