hold secret councils, and plot how you may yet keep the fruits of your thievery.’
Though Barham had been damning the Chinese five minutes before, now he went pale and stammered, ‘Sir, Your Highness, not in the least—’ but Yongxing was not slowed even a little.
‘I have gone through this covert, as you call these animal pens,’ he said. ‘It is not surprising, when one considers your barbaric methods, that Lung Tien Xiang should have formed this misguided attachment. Naturally he does not wish to be separated from the companion who is responsible for what little comfort he has been given.’ He turned to Laurence, and looked him up and down disdainfully. ‘You have taken advantage of his youth and inexperience; but this will not be tolerated. We will hear no further excuses for these delays. Once he has been restored to his home and his proper place, he will soon learn better than to value company so far beneath him.’
‘Your Highness, you are mistaken; we have every intention to cooperate with you,’ Lenton said bluntly, while Barham was still struggling for more polished phrases. ‘But Temeraire will not leave Laurence, and I am sure you know well that a dragon cannot be sent, but only led.’
Yongxing said icily, ‘Then plainly Captain Laurence must come also; or will you now attempt to convince us that he cannot be sent?’
They all stared, in blank confusion; Laurence hardly dared believe he understood properly, and then Barham blurted, ‘Good God, if you want Laurence, you may damn well have him, and welcome.’
The rest of the meeting passed in a haze for Laurence, the tangle of confusion and immense relief leaving him badly distracted. His head still spun, and he answered to remarks somewhat randomly until Lenton finally intervened once more, sending him up to bed. He kept himself awake only long enough to send a quick note to Temeraire by way of the maid, and fell straightaway into a thick, unrefreshing sleep.
He clawed his way out of it the next morning, having slept fourteen hours. Captain Roland was drowsing by his bedside, head tipped against the chair back, mouth open; as he stirred, she woke and rubbed her face, yawning. ‘Well, Laurence, are you awake? You have been giving us all a fright and no mistake. Emily came to me because poor Temeraire was fretting himself to pieces: whyever did you send him such a note?’
Laurence tried desperately to remember what he had written: impossible; it was wholly gone, and he could remember very little of the previous day at all, though the central, the essential point was quite fixed in his mind. ‘Roland, I have not the faintest idea what I said. Does Temeraire know that I am going with him?’
‘Well, now he does, since Lenton told me after I came looking for you, but he certainly did not find it in here,’ she said, and gave him a piece of paper.
It was in his own hand, and with his signature, but wholly unfamiliar, and nonsensical:
Temeraire—
Never fear; I am going; the Son of Heaven will not tolerate delays, and Barham gives me leave. Allegiance will carry us! Pray eat something.
—L.
Laurence stared at it in some distress, wondering how he had come to write so. ‘I do not remember a word of it; but wait, no; Allegiance is the name of the transport, and Prince Yongxing referred to the Emperor as the Son of Heaven, though why I should have repeated such a blasphemous thing I have no idea.’ He handed her the note. ‘My wits must have been wandering. Pray throw it in the fire; and go tell Temeraire that I am quite well now, and will be with him again soon. Can you ring for someone to valet me? I need to dress.’
‘You look as though you ought to stay just where you are,’ Roland said. ‘No: lie quiet a while. There is no great hurry at present, as far as I understand, and I know this fellow Barham wants to speak with you; also Lenton. I will go tell Temeraire you have not died or grown a second head, and have Emily jog back and forth between you if you have messages.’
Laurence yielded to her persuasions; indeed he did not truly feel up to rising, and if Barham wanted to speak with him again, he thought he would need to conserve what strength he had. However, in the event, he was spared: Lenton came alone instead.
‘Well, Laurence, you are in for a hellishly long trip, I am afraid, and I hope you do not have a bad time of it,’ he said, drawing up a chair. ‘My transport ran into a three-day gale going to India, back in the nineties; rain freezing as it fell, so the dragons could not fly above it for some relief. Poor Obversaria was ill the entire time. Nothing less pleasant than a sea-sick dragon, for them or you.’
Laurence had never commanded a dragon transport, but the image was a vivid one. ‘I am glad to say, sir, that Temeraire has never had the slightest difficulty, and indeed he enjoys sea-travel greatly.’
‘We will see how he likes it if you meet a hurricane,’ Lenton said, shaking his head. ‘Not that I expect either of you have any objections, under the circumstances.’
‘No, not in the least,’ Laurence said, heartfelt. He supposed it was merely a jump from frying-pan to fire, but he was grateful enough even for the slower roasting: the journey would last for many months, and there was room for hope: any number of things might happen before they reached China.
Lenton nodded. ‘Well, you are looking moderately ghastly, so let me be brief. I have managed to persuade Barham that the best thing to do is pack you off bag and baggage, in this case your crew; some of your officers would be in for a good bit of unpleasantness, otherwise, and we had best get you on your way before he thinks better of it.’
Yet another relief, scarcely looked-for. ‘Sir,’ Laurence said, ‘I must tell you how deeply indebted I am—’
‘No, nonsense; do not thank me.’ Lenton brushed his sparse grey hair back from his forehead, and abruptly said, ‘I am damned sorry about all this, Laurence. I would have run mad a good deal sooner, in your place; brutally done, all of it.’
Laurence hardly knew what to say; he had not expected anything like sympathy, and he did not feel he deserved it. After a moment, Lenton went on, more briskly. ‘I am sorry not to give you a longer time to recover, but then you will not have much to do aboard ship but rest. Barham has promised them the Allegiance will sail in a week’s time; though from what I gather, he will be hard put to find a captain for her by then.’
‘I thought Cartwright was to have her?’ Laurence asked, some vague memory stirring; he still read the Naval Chronicle, and followed the assignments of ships; Cartwright’s name stuck in his head: they had served together in Goliath, many years before.
‘Yes, when Allegiance was meant to go to Halifax; there is apparently some other ship being built for him there. But they cannot wait for him to finish a two years’ journey to China and back,’ Lenton said. ‘Be that as it may, someone will be found; you must be ready.’
‘You may be sure of it, sir,’ Laurence said. ‘I will be quite well again by then.’
His optimism was perhaps ill-founded; after Lenton had gone, Laurence tried to write a letter and found he could not quite manage it, his head ached too wretchedly. Fortunately, Granby came by an hour later to see him, full of excitement at the prospect of the journey, and contemptuous of the risks he had taken with his own career.
‘As though I could give a cracked egg for such a thing, when that scoundrel was trying to have you hauled away, and pointing guns at Temeraire,’ he said. ‘Pray don’t think of it, and tell me
