They had never been taught anything of generosity or of fellowship, and before now they had been too resentful of being pushed aside to learn anything from the practices of the Chinese legions, except to envy them their more regular supplies of food. But even the most disdainful beast was overcome by this display; they presented their heads low in orderly turn to receive their decorations, and as they departed to their several clearings, each almost humbly thanked Temeraire for his hospitality, while their officers stared in amazement. The success of the evening was complete.
“I do think it came off well, Laurence, do you not agree?” Temeraire said, in a victorious mood. He was settling at last to sleep upon the floor, with the pleasant company of four or five small ferals huddled around him, their bodies warming him. The remnants of the feast were being cleared away: the bones, picked clean, had been heaped up onto the wagon and driven away to be put into the porridge-pot for tomorrow. “Even if it cannot compare to the dinners which we have enjoyed in China,” he added.
“Your company was entirely satisfied, which must be the aim of any host,” Laurence said. “I cannot think they found anything wanting.”
“That is true,” Temeraire said, “even if it is because they do not know any better; but I am too pleased to be unhappy tonight, Laurence, and that dinner has set me up entirely. Do you suppose we will be sent forward to rejoin the pursuit tomorrow? Surely Napoleon is getting even further away while we are waiting here.”
But Laurence said, “My dear, I am afraid there can be no question of that.”
Temeraire had been drifting to sleep even as he spoke, but this unwelcome news woke him quite. He listened in dismay as Laurence explained: more supply was needed, and more money, and the Prussians should have to throw in with them, and it seemed the Austrians were wanted, too, and any number of conditions.
“But Napoleon and his army are running away now,” Temeraire said in protest. “You and Hammond were saying only yesterday that we cannot afford to let them escape, if we are to defeat him in the spring.”
“It will certainly make the task more difficult,” Laurence said. “But we cannot defeat him in the spring in any case, unless we have the Prussians; if they will not join us, the Russians cannot risk pressing on.”
“I do not see why the Prussians should be so necessary to us,” Temeraire said. “Napoleon beat them quite handily at Jena, after all; he rolled up all the country in a month’s time. If they would like another chance to show what they can do, of course they might have it, but as for waiting for them—!”
However, there was nothing to be done without supply. That much, Temeraire understood reluctantly. He had not liked to say so to Laurence, but he had really not felt like himself, those last few weeks of the campaign, when it had been so cold, and with not nearly enough food. There had been no use complaining—one could only keep flying, and hope that sooner or later one came to something to eat. But the gnawing in his belly had been extremely distracting, and he had often felt a strange distance from himself; once to his horror he had even found himself looking at a dead soldier down in the snow thinking that the fellow might go into the porridge, with no harm done anyone.
Temeraire shuddered from the memory. “If the Russians will not send forward the supply, we can do nothing,” he said, “I do see that much: so how are they to be worked upon? When will the Prussians come in?”
But this was evidently to be left to diplomats. As Temeraire had very little confidence in those gentlemen accomplishing this or any task in any reasonable time, he was by no means satisfied, and when Laurence had gone to sleep, he yet lay wakeful and brooding into the night, despite his comfortably full belly and warm sides.
“Pray will you stop shifting?” one of the little ferals said drowsily: they spoke a dialect not far at all from Durzagh, the dragon-tongue, although flavored with a variety of words borrowed from Russian and German and French. “No disrespect,” she added, “only it is hard to get warm if you are always moving.”
Temeraire hastily stilled his claws: he often could not help furrowing the earth when he was distracted, even though he was ashamed to have so fidgety a habit, and this time he was still more annoyed to see he had accidentally torn up some of the handsome new flooring. “I beg your pardon,” he said, and then he asked, “Tell me, do any of you fly over Prussia, now and then? It starts two rivers over from here, I think. Have you seen any Prussian fighting-dragons, in the breeding grounds there? Or perhaps further west? I suppose Napoleon would not have kept them close to their officers.”
The ferals conferred among one another: they had not, as their own territory stopped at the Niemen. “But I am sure we can pass the word, if there is someone you would like to send a message to,” one of them said.
“That,” Temeraire said, “would be very kind of you; I should be very grateful for any news of a dragon named Eroica, in particular.”
“One of the dragons who live near Danzig might know something,” the first feral said. “They take a lot of fish there, so a few of them like to change places now and then with one of their neighbors, and they get the news there. We will have a wander over to their territory in the morning, if,” she added, a bit craftily, “we don’t have to spend too much time looking for breakfast.”
“Not as much as would fill a cup of tea!” the quartermaster said belligerently, when Temeraire would have let the ferals take a share of the porridge, the next morning.
Temeraire flattened down his ruff. That Russian officer had spent all the day before scowling at the preparations for the feast, as though he did not like them doing anything to feed themselves. Temeraire had very little use for him anyway; in his opinion, the man might at least have improved on horsemeat by now if he had only made a push to be useful. The quartermaster added something in Russian, which Temeraire recognized as impolite, and put his boot on top of the large lid.
“I do not see myself why we ought to be sharing with those dragons,” Grig said, peering over Temeraire’s shoulder.
“That is because you are very shortsighted,” Temeraire said, but he knew perfectly well that he could not start a quarrel with the quartermaster over the food: that was a sure road to having all the Russian dragons join in, all of them trying to get more of it for themselves, and then all the food would be spoilt, or nearly; he had seen it happen more than once. “Laurence,” he called instead, and when Laurence came from his tent, he explained the circumstances.
“That the attempt ought to be made is certain, and cheap at the cost of some porridge: I will speak to the quartermaster,” Laurence said soberly. “But pray do not speak of this project before Dyhern: it can only be cruelty to raise hopes whose fulfillment is so uncertain. I very much hope that your efforts will be answered, but you must not expect a positive reply. We are a thousand miles from France, and I would be astonished if Bonaparte had not taken the cream of the Prussian aerial forces straight to his own breeding grounds.”
He went to draw the quartermaster aside. While they conferred, Temeraire considered Laurence’s warning; he could not help but see that it would be very difficult to get word from so far away. The ferals should certainly grow bored, or decide that they did not want the trouble of crossing through someone else’s territory.
When the porridge was finally served out, and the ferals had eaten, Temeraire announced, “And if someone should really bring me word of Eroica, I will even give them—” he drew a deep breath and went on, heroically, “—I will give them this box full of gold plate. Roland, will you unlatch it, if you please?”
Not without a pang, he watched her lift the lid to display the contents: the
