Наоми Новик – Throne of Jade (страница 18)
Temeraire was waiting on the dragondeck with head raised high and eyes bright; he had overheard enough to be on fire with curiosity. Having had the rest of the story, he snorted and said, ‘If their own ships could not have carried them, they had much better have stayed home.’ This was less indignation at the offence than simple dislike, however, and he was not inclined to great resentment; like most dragons, he had a very casual view of property, saving, of course, jewels and gold belonging to himself: even as he spoke he was busy polishing the great sapphire pendant which Laurence had given him, and which he never removed save for that purpose.
‘It is an insult to the Crown,’ Laurence said, rubbing his hand over his leg with short, pummelling strokes, resentful of the injury; he wanted badly to pace. Hammond was standing at the quarterdeck rail smoking a cigar, the dim red light of the burning embers flaring with his inhalations, illuminating his pale and sweat-washed face. Laurence glared at him along the length of the near-empty deck, bitterly. ‘I wonder at him; at him and at Barham, to have swallowed such an outrage, with so little noise: it is scarcely to be borne.’
Temeraire blinked at him. ‘But I thought we must at all costs avoid war with China,’ he said, very reasonably, as he had been lectured on the subject without end for weeks, and even by Laurence himself.
‘I should rather settle with Bonaparte, if the lesser evil had to be chosen,’ Laurence said, for the moment too angry to consider the question rationally. ‘At least he had the decency to declare war before seizing our citizens, instead of this cavalier offhand flinging of insults in our face, as if we did not dare to answer them. Not that Government have given them any reason to think otherwise: like a pack of damned curs, rolling over to show their bellies. And to think,’ he added, smouldering, ‘that scoundrel was trying to persuade me to kowtow, knowing it should be coming after
Temeraire gave a snort of surprise at his vehemence, and nudged him gently with his nose. ‘Pray do not be so angry; it cannot be good for you.’
Laurence shook his head, not in disagreement, and fell silent, leaning against Temeraire. It could do no good to vent his fury so, where some of the men left on deck might yet overhear and take it as encouragement to some rash act, and he did not want to distress Temeraire. But much was suddenly made plain to him: after swallowing such an insult, of course the Government would hardly strain at handing over a single dragon; the entire Ministry would likely be glad to rid themselves of so unpleasant a reminder, and to see the whole business hushed up all the more thoroughly.
He stroked Temeraire’s side for comfort. ‘Will you stay above deck with me a while?’ Temeraire asked him, coaxing. ‘You had much better sit down and rest, and not fret yourself so.’
Indeed Laurence did not want to leave him; it was curious how he could feel his lost calm restore itself under the influence of that steady heartbeat beneath his fingers. The wind was not too high, at the moment, and not all of the night watch could be sent below; an extra officer on the deck would not be amiss. ‘Yes, I will stay; in any case I do not like to leave Riley alone with such a mood over the ship,’ he answered, and went limping for his wraps.
The wind was freshening from the northeast, very cold; Laurence stirred out of his half-sleep and looked up at the stars: only a few hours had passed. He huddled deeper into his blankets by Temeraire’s side and tried to ignore the steady ache in his leg. The deck was strangely quiet; under Riley’s grim and watchful eye there was scarcely any conversation at all among the remaining crew, though occasionally Laurence could hear indistinct murmurs from the rigging above, men whispering to each other. There was no moon, only a handful of lanterns on deck.
‘You are cold,’ Temeraire said unexpectedly, and Laurence turned to see the great deep-blue eyes studying him. ‘Go inside, Laurence; you must get well, and I will not let anyone hurt Riley. Or the Chinese, I suppose, if you would not like it,’ he added, though without much enthusiasm.
Laurence nodded, tiredly, and heaved himself up again; the moment of danger was over, he thought, at least for the moment, and there was no real sense in his staying above. ‘You are comfortable enough?’
‘Yes, with the heat from below I am perfectly warm,’ Temeraire said; indeed Laurence could feel the warmth of the dragondeck even through the soles of his boots.
It was a great deal more pleasant in out of the wind; his leg stabbed unpleasantly twice as he climbed down to the upper berth deck, but his arms were up to his weight and held him until the spasm passed; he managed to reach his cabin without falling.
Laurence had several pleasant small round windows, not draughty, and near the ship’s galley as he was, the cabin was still warm despite the wind; one of the runners had lit the hanging lantern, and Gibbon’s book was lying still open on the lockers. He slept almost at once, despite the pain; the easy sway of his hanging cot was more familiar than any bed, and the low susurration of the water along the sides of the ship a wordless and constant reassurance.
He came awake all at once, breath jolted out of his body before his eyes even quite opened: noise more felt than heard. The deck abruptly slanted, and he flung out a hand to keep from striking the ceiling; a rat went sliding across the floor and fetched up against the fore lockers before scuttling into the dark again, indignant.
The ship righted almost at once: there was no unusual wind, no heavy swell; at once he understood that Temeraire had taken flight. Laurence flung on his boat-cloak and rushed out in nightshirt and bare feet; the drummer was beating to quarters, the crisp flying staccato echoing off the wooden walls, and even as Laurence staggered out of his room the carpenter and his mates were rushing past him to clear away the bulkheads. Another crash came: bombs, he now recognized, and then Granby was suddenly at his side, a little less disordered since he had been sleeping in breeches. Laurence accepted his arm without hesitation and with his help managed to push through the crowd and get back up to the dragondeck through the confusion. Sailors were running with frantic haste to the pumps, flinging buckets out over the sides for water to slop onto the decks and wet down the sails. A bloom of orange-yellow was trying to grow on the edge of the furled mizzen topsail; one of the midshipmen, a spotty boy of thirteen Laurence had seen skylarking that morning, flung himself gallantly out onto the yard with his shirt in his hand, dripping, and smothered it out.
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