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Chapter 28: Day 27: Peace & War

Summary:

Day 27: Peace & War. Or, the war at home. (Part 2 of 3 of the "London in 1817" arc.)

Rating: G.

Notes:

Eeeee. What can I say, except that it's happening—if you can bear with my accidental foray into a historical political novel which I had not intended to write. But it's happening.

(Also, three cheers to everybody trying to keep their headspace safe and sane this week. This chapter is political based on the actual, weird, topsy-turvy moment of the late 1810s, where populism, demagoguery, and radicalism all went together, while elitism, austerity, and surveillance sat in power. It's complicated.)

More notes in the tags (including CWs/TWs). Thank you any- and everybody who is sticking with this. I swear this chapter and the next are gonna bring it all home.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

‘And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.

‘Last came Anarchy: he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.

‘And he wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
On his brow this mark I saw –
“I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!”’

—from “The Masque of Anarchy” by P.B. Shelley (1819)

 

 

*

‘Tharkay, have you seen my umbrella?’ He had been looking for nearly ten minutes and not found the damned article, and he would be late to meet Temeraire if he did not depart soon.

‘It is here,’ Tharkay replied, from the central parlour, without further report.

‘I knew I had brought it,’ he muttered to himself as he entered the room—then stopped dead.

Only a lifetime of composure prevented an exclamation like ‘Good God!’ or ‘For the love of heaven!’ from springing to his lips. But his face, he was faintly sure, must have gone utterly blank, or else some other expression of shock and exasperation and he hardly knew what else. It must have shown on his face, because Tharkay returned an entirely infuriating look of total innocence and even batted his eyes once in provocation.

The problem was this. Tenzing was seated at their small dining table, dressed once more in the Chinese style. Today he sported a very elegant oyster-grey robe, thoroughly embroidered from collar to hem with small emerald and scarlet clouds surrounding a parade of sky-blue dragons. His hair was pulled into a half-knot, so that the rest of his rather long hair fell straight to his shoulders in a rather antique style, of the sort that appeared in paintings of Eastern princes and monks of several centuries past.

That would have been enough, beyond enough, for Laurence’s patience. But no. That was not the end of it.

Instead, pierced directly through Tharkay’s right ear, was a hoop. Not a small gold or silver ring, of a piratical sort, but a full hoop—closer to the diameter and heft of one of Temeraire’s carabiners—in a smooth and handsome green jade.

Was anyone so exceedingly provoking?

— And to what purpose?! Laurence could only guess. If the object was to court maximum public distinction, Tharkay would surely succeed, for who could fail to notice, even from afar, a man so deliberately styled in foreign garb. But what could possibly be gained by such flagrant eccentricity, except more of those unkind and untrue assumptions in the looks of those who were so quick to scorn and unworthy of trust?

And immediately, how far did he plan to take this blasted campaign of novelty dress? Had his ears even been pierced before yesterday?! Laurence’s mind reeled.—Well, on quick reflection, in fact yes: Tharkay had had a tiny golden ring in both ears, many years ago—back on their trip to Australia, when the glint of it would sometimes reflect the candlelight as they played cards to pass the evenings. But not in years! Not these last two years, for absolutely certain. And now there was just the one large ornament, though it was of course impossible for Laurence to verify now whether Tharkay’s left ear still had that empty piercing, or if the healed skin was bare and smooth.

And the right one was… in Tharkay’s ear. The lobe was very faintly stretched, minutely elongated, as proof that the accessory was crafted of real heavy, cool jade and not some cheap imitation.

He looked—

No. Laurence mastered himself. There was only one earring, for which he thanked God; and no other jewellery visible on him, except perhaps a simple cord which was holding his hair-knot in place.

He had never yet been so ungentlemanly as to comment on a friend or acquaintance’s choice of dress, and he had absolutely no desire whatsoever to proffer an opinion now, when any irrational thing might come out of his mouth.

No. If this was Tharkay’s latest fit of pique, Laurence would weather it. The only real matter under his control was to ensure that this fad—or preference—would not rekindle Temeraire’s ever-persistent desire to deck Laurence in more baubles and frills than a king.

All this ricocheted rapidly in Laurence’s head as he met Tharkay’s mischievous eye (and emphatically did not let his gaze drift past his cheek).

‘Good morning,’ he said, hearing the stiffness in his tone with inward irritation.

‘Good morning,’ Tharkay replied. ‘You are off?’

‘I am,’ Laurence said. Yes, he marshalled himself. He needed to leave. He looked round for his case—no, damn it all, he had left his papers and everything else with Temeraire, of course—and his key to this apartment, which was in his pocket. ‘In fact, I shall be late. Will we—’ (his gaze fell unbidden to the jade hoop, before he wrenched it back again) ‘—see you this afternoon?’

Tharkay rose from his chair, taking one last gulp of his coffee. ‘I am ready now, in fact.’

‘Oh,’ there was no possible reply except to say, ‘very good,’ with as little perturbation as he could manage, standing at attention while Tharkay shrugged on his heavy caped overcoat.

Three strides into the hallway, Tharkay called from the open door to their chambers, ‘Will.’

Laurence turned back. Tharkay was holding out his umbrella.

Damn me, he thought with innermost savagery.

He had half an hour’s walk to compose himself properly. If that did not suffice, he was not sure what he would do.

*

Thankfully, Perscitia had set them the very serious programme of reviewing a selection of tariffs, crown charters, and relevant statutes concerning levies and duties on trade. The consequence of this was that Laurence found himself veritably swamped in a morass of figures and agreements which required his full attention to support both dragons’ debate for the next several hours. Tharkay occupied himself with occasional glosses to assist Laurence’s own, but otherwise sat in the window and carried on who knew what scribbling.

Added to this, late in the day they were joined by another Corps dragon: Tamphilus, a smallish Yellow Reaper who had only enlisted since the sudden boom of hatchlings in the wake of the plague, and who was otherwise stationed at Dover.

‘You are very welcome, I am sure!’ Temeraire exclaimed upon their being introduced. ‘It is…’ He peered about the pavilion, into which they were now all rather crammed. ‘Well, it is a little awkward that we must all be huddled up in this way, but I am glad we are out of the rain, at least.’

‘Very friendly of you,’ nodded the little Reaper, with his rather vulpine head bobbing agreeably. ‘And here is my captain!’

Captain Benbow extended his hand to Laurence and Tharkay (taking in Tharkay’s dress but blessedly making no comment). He was between five-and-twenty and thirty, familiar by name but not in person; he was rather rosy-cheeked from their recent flight, with his blown-about auburn hair almost whipped into a pompadour. Apart from that same rumpled look ever endemic among aviators, Benbow looked like half the lieutenants Laurence had ever known in the navy. ‘I was on Messoria’s crew, in the Peninsula. Until eighteen-month ago, that is, when Tam cracked the shell!’ He patted the sandy-coloured dragon beside him with fondness.

‘We have heard from Lily that you are to be in Parliament!’ added Tamphilus, glancing between Temeraire and Perscitia without specifying whom this conspiratorial remark was directly to. ‘How very exciting! Do you get to wear jewels, and visit the palace, once you are elected?’

‘Parliament is located in the ancient palace of Westminster,’ Perscitia stated punctiliously, from across the room.

‘I have my own jewels,’ Temeraire added at the same moment. ‘But I shall be wearing them to the opening procession next week, to be sure.’

‘How exciting!’ repeated Tam, in his reedy voice, to one or both of these replies. ‘We are very glad we are come.’

Both man and dragon then turned with something like eager giddiness to regard Laurence and Temeraire. Laurence almost wished he had something to bid them do, so evident was their readiness to be put in train.

Fortunately, Temeraire (whether deliberately or not) provided just such an occupation.

‘You are just in time to hear Perscitia’s speech,’ Temeraire declared, sitting on his hindlegs at one end of the pavilion. ‘We will be her audience so she may practice her first remarks, to address the Commons.’ His large blue eyes blinked at them all with an air of supreme self-possession, much like some society dames who commanded an entire party simply by moving between rooms. Laurence, dutifully, moved his chair to rest just beside him; Tharkay followed.

‘Oho!’ said Tamphilus, ‘Very exciting!’ Suddenly realizing, there was much shuffling and careful rearranging of all parties so that the two draconic audience members could both fit side by side while the humans reordered themselves in the space that remained. (Laurence, on this second opportunity, set his chair on Tharkay’s left.) Half the pavilion was now empty but for the seated Perscitia, who had hardly moved a muscle except for a very faint trembling of her azure-and-aquamarine wings.

The rain drummed on the roof. A loud omnibus carriage clattered down the high street outside, chased by the barking of dogs driving a mewling flock of sheep. After several seconds, Perscitia had not moved. Indeed, she was preternaturally still, her eyes shut and the great balloon of her middle scarcely expanding at all. Laurence looked up to catch Temeraire’s eye. At this, Temeraire frowned slightly.

‘Should you like me to—’

‘No,’ interrupted Perscitia at once.

‘Oh, very well,’ grumbled Temeraire, talons flexing briefly against the floor.

After another moment, Perscitia heaved a deep sigh and began declaiming in a quavering but resolute voice. Her eyes became wider and wider as she spoke, with almost terror as she looked from one to the other of them, and Laurence began to worry that she had not inhaled the entire time:

‘I hereby give notice, that upon a date heretofore to be determined, I shall move several Resolutions of the greatest importance before the house, concerning the matter of the Representation of the Draconic populace in this country; and, with permission of the house, to present a petition on behalf of that same constituency, with several facts of the current nature of dragons’ situations in England and in His Majesty’s forces abroad.’

And then, with a great gulp of air, Perscitia half-collapsed onto the ground, shaking the whole pavilion with her heaving, enormous sobs and laying her wagon-sized head on the floor.

Gasping, she cried, ‘They d-do not t-tell you to b-b-breathe!’

‘Hallo, there!’ said Benbow, rising at once and moving toward Perscitia with an aviator’s easy-going concern—as though this sort of thing happened every day. Gusts of air gulped from Perscitia’s quivering jaws were blowing his feathery hair into even greater vastness. Tamphilus, on the other hand, squawked like a crow and nearly burst out a window in the startled lashing of his short, powerful tail.

‘You did very well!’ insisted Temeraire, over all this din, in such a tone that Laurence gathered he had rather expected this effect.

‘D-do not p-patronize me!’ moaned Perscitia, through further jagged breaths. She was quaking ferociously and had her eyes shut tight, wings now coming over to cover her face. ‘Oh, it w-will be a disa-aster!’

Laurence had seen enough. ‘I think,’ he shouted to the assembled audience, ‘we will step outside, to give our speaker a moment.’

He met Temeraire’s look again, and received a nodding thanks which said they understood one another.

‘Blimey,’ swore Benbow, as they quickly exited. Mind, it sounded all right, until she nearly went blue at the end there. Or, er, not-blue.’

‘A sound assessment,’ said Tharkay. Perscitia and Temeraire were still half-roaring at one another behind them, audible even through the closed door.

‘Tea,’ was all Laurence could say, marching them—men and dragon hopping over puddles—across the muddy field. It was a familiar tactic, to walk straight ahead as if wearing blinders and cotton in one’s ears, in the face of brazen curiosity from subordinates and strangers. As then, so now he refused to acknowledge the prying stares of the other dozen Corps members of both species who had turned out of their own pavilions to ogle.

(As they walked, Tharkay’s dark hair brushed back just enough to expose that same flash of jade swaying against his skin. Damn it all.)

*

It took a long while before Perscitia had recovered herself enough to sit up. Temeraire was very grateful that Laurence had taken the others away, so that he could cajole and reassure Perscitia in the quiet she preferred.

She did not especially like to be touched, particularly when she was upset or anxious, so he did not coil himself around her to lend her his deep and even breathing as a pacesetter. Instead, he spoke calmly and unemotionally to her, prompting her to recount facts and cite statutes until she could do so without stammering.

All the while, he was calculating in his own head. Perscitia was eminently capable of many things; her intellect would have made her a great scholar in his mother’s set, and although she was not fond of poetry, Temeraire was sure that a greater familiarity with some of the Chinese masters would have inspired her. She had allies among scientists and merchant tradesmen and many of her old friends from Pan Y Fen. But there was no denying the difficulty of their present situation. In five days, Perscitia was set to enter as a member of parliament as the member of parliament for the entire London and Dover constituency of dragons. The second seat that had been promised to a dragon had been postponed due to ‘concerns’ and delays by the government—another trick, no doubt, and one which had the doubly unfortunate consequence of putting all the hopes and pressures of this trial solely on Perscitia’s bony shoulders.

Worst of all, Perscitia had no captain—no Laurence to offer wisdom or, in darker circumstances, the comfort of a hand on her muzzle even in winter.

‘…under King Alfred, the human ruler of the Saxons and latterly the Angles in the ninth century, who developed a system improving on the Roman tithing structure, whereby the entire country was parcelled into assessable land from which taxes and thus representation must both be drawn. Augh!’ she exhaled enormously, fluttering the edges of her wings where they were still pressed over her head.

‘How interesting,’ said Temeraire, who had not heeded a word for at least five minutes. He continued waiting patiently—so patiently—and only clenched his talons the smallest amount when she did not spring immediately upward. The scratches in the floor were not even noticeable, in most light!

Thankfully, after one more long pause, she lifted a large blue-and-orange wingtip. ‘You are going to tease me.’

‘I am not,’ Temeraire told her earnestly. ‘You did a very fine job with your remarks. And we still have—well, we have plenty of time to sort out a stratagem for the delivery of them.’

‘I had not…’ At last she sat up. She had taken to wearing a cannonball-sized, gilt-framed pendant with a very pretty cameo of a peachy stone with white relief, featuring the image of some ancient dragon adorned in laurels. Just now, there was a visible impression where the necklace must have been digging painfully into her scales; Temeraire grimaced inwardly. ‘I have learned all the forms. I know many of the most important speeches by heart. I have calculated numerous scenarios for possible ways to raise funds for some of our most important measures and still to consider how we should be paid, at least as much as if we were human subjects of the crown. But I…’ She looked bewilderedly at Temeraire, who understood.

‘I am sure that it requires a great deal of bravery to try to become a legislator. You are right to consider it so seriously. But, do remember when it is hard, it will not actually be dangerous for you. Nobody will strike you, or harm you in any way, except by saying cruel things which they hope will injure your pride. But you have the very great advantage—well, of course, you have firstly the supreme advantage that if anything truly disastrous should ever happen, you could squash anybody you liked.’

‘Ugh!’ Perscitia exclaimed, nose wrinkling in distaste.

‘Of course I do not recommend that! But, Perscitia you are brilliant. You found your principles on the basis of logic and reason; and even so, you are not cold-hearted, like some of them. You know what it is to be cast aside and forgotten; to be ignored. Now you shall have a real opportunity to confront them with truth and understanding, all at once!’

He hoped that this somewhat didactic turn would invigorate her—he thought it actually rather good, and planned to repeat it if a future occasion should arise.

‘Besides, think of how validating it will be, to hear the cheers of so many of your colleagues, who will applaud your perfect memory when you recollect something very stupid that the opposition has said once and which utterly defeats their argument,’ he added.

This, more than the rest, did seem to strike home. ‘I would enjoy that, yes,’ she allowed quietly. ‘It is so disappointing when your opponent is pig-headed.’

‘There you are, then!’ Temeraire declared, thumping his foreleg on the floor for emphasis.

‘Oh!’ she shuddered, wincing. ‘But the noise will be so dreadful.’

Yes, likely it would. Tharkay had implied many times that scenes of parliament involved mostly jeering, booing, cheering, hooting, and other sorts of animalistic noises to signify approval and dissent alike. Men were very odd.

‘We shall work something out,’ he said at last, when no other plan occurred to him. It was the sort of thing Laurence would say.

With a little more encouragement, Temeraire succeeded in getting Perscitia to take the air with him. Within an instant, Laurence was out of his chair across the grounds, waving them over.

‘He is very… kind, your captain,’ Perscitia remarked in a low tone, as they walked toward the terrace.

What happier subject could there be! ‘He is exceptionally kind, and very wise, and also very brave. I am sure he will be very pleased with your progress,’ Temeraire assured her.

No sooner had them joined their friends than Laurence was setting Perscitia at ease. ‘A very correct address, Perscitia—I congratulate you on having mastered the form,’ Laurence pronounced. (And of course, that was quite the way to approach it! Temeraire stored away this adept example of Laurence’s tact.)

Perscitia buoyed up, her scales almost visibly brightening. ‘I did study over two hundred speeches to understand the proper syntax, so I am relieved that my phrasing was suitable.’

‘The effort was well made,’ Laurence affirmed, bowing his head to her. ‘I am sure the party will be very glad to have so diligent a member joining them.’

‘Wouldn’t you prefer sums?’ inquired that booby Tamphilus, who had evidently already cleared an entire tureen of something tasty. (Temeraire scented lemons, and scowled.) ‘I certainly prefer sums, myself. Mathematics is far more useful for so many things!’

‘Perhaps you shall be the next Chancellor of the Exchequer!’ laughed Benbow, with his silly, fluffed-up hair and puppyish looks at Laurence.

‘The office of chancellor need not have any great mastery of sums or equations,’ Perscitia said, with a furrow of confusion.

‘Perscitia, repeat that remark to any member of the opposition, and you will win their hearts before the day is out,’ Tharkay instructed.

(Temeraire noted for the second or third time today that Tharkay was looking quite splendid in his new jewellery and silken robes, very appropriately comprised of blue and grey, besides the decorations—though of course Laurence would be permitted to wear the finest yellow, as a royal personage himself. In Scotland they neither of them dressed half so finely as they had done since arriving in London. Tomorrow Temeraire would find a moment to ask Tharkay if he could procure something similar—just one robe! Or perhaps two, for safety—to Laurence’s measurements.)

‘I imagine you are both quite fatigued by such a productive day,’ Laurence cut in, while Benbow was chuckling endlessly at Tharkay’s joke. ‘Temeraire, perhaps we might excuse ourselves for the evening, and reconvene after Perscitia and yourself have had a night’s rest.’

‘Oh—but will you not accompany me tonight?’ Perscitia inquired, looking suddenly alarmed again between Laurence and Temeraire. ‘I have given my word that I shall attend this meeting; I was especially requested.’

Temeraire had nearly forgotten, in all the hubbub. ‘Of course I will,’ he replied instantly, and Perscitia’s wings settled at her sides once more. Turning to Laurence, he said as succinctly as he could, ‘There is a meeting of some of the Hampden Clubs, at your tavern tonight. Many delegates from the northern shires will be there, and Perscitia has been invited as a guest.’

The same pall of wariness which had hung about Laurence since their arrival clouded over his face once more. ‘I see,’ was all he said. It was an unfortunate habit of Laurence’s, to refuse to express himself whenever he disliked or mistrusted something.

As had become a habit, Temeraire looked to Tharkay for some insight. He was met with a darted glance at the two interlopers, who were soaking up this unusual day as though their gossipy hearts had never known greater joy! Didn’t they have anything useful to do?

Temeraire aimed for diplomacy, as much as subterfuge. ‘Perhaps we shall meet here again after supper, Perscitia? I did so wish to fly even a short circuit with Laurence over Hampstead Heath, now that the rain has cleared.’ He turned pointedly to Tamphilus, with his two tiny horns hardly grown in over his ears. ‘It has been very pleasant, to have you with us today. Please do come by again tomorrow or the next day, if your other business does not keep you, of course.’

Neither dragon nor man seemed to take the hint about finding appropriate claims upon their time, but at least they did see themselves off. There was at least still time for that evening flight before supper.

*

Laurence stood before the mirror upstairs at the Crown & Anchor, contemplating the reflection of his small room in the twilight.

He had tried to convince Temeraire of his reasons for staying away, but it was—as ever—difficult to overcome Temeraire’s insistent loyalty. Try to tell him that a group of radicals could hardly wish for the company a man court-martialled and sentenced to transportation, and for such a crime as his? Temeraire breezily declared that such things were nothing to anybody, and besides, wouldn’t they both be in the courtyard, where they would be missed?

For a single man, it was certainly possible to remain unnoticed in the crowd. But the folly of thinking there was any hope of concealing a twenty-ton Celestial in England, not least one famous as both war veteran and popular figure… If Temeraire was determined to go to this meeting, he would be recognized. Which meant either Laurence, too, would be identified and… reacted to—or else, if Laurence were absent, the issue would be at least partially avoided.

‘They will naturally be suspicious,’ Laurence had endeavoured to explain.

The papers ran red almost weekly with reports of short-lived disorderly skirmishes that ended with criminal sentences or bloodshed; Laurence had lived through the suspension of due process in the ‘90s, and recalled all too clearly the outcry—heard even halfway across an ocean—and the ominous threat of insurrection which had hung like a typhoon over the nation. ‘These are a suspicious time, my dear, and many of these sorts of societies are closed to outsiders, for fear they will be tainted by association with traitors’ (he swallowed around the word) ‘or outsiders.’

‘Oh, but we are not outsiders!’ Temeraire had scoffed. ‘We are guests! And after all,’ he went on, with obvious guile, ‘Perscitia will be in too distressed a state to make a good showing, if we are not there to steady her. So, you see, we must go on her behalf. And then if anybody is foolish or rude, we will be gone at once, I swear it.’

There had been no persuading him. And of course, a part of Laurence admired him for refusing to humour mankind’s stubborn resentments. Moreover, Laurence told himself sternly, to be noticed and slighted was merely an uncomfortable inconvenience, and not a new one. Treason was a heinous offence. He had neither reason nor right to expect that time would lessen the abhorrence men felt at the very idea of it. This was the debt he must pay for the freedom of choosing his conscience over the law.

As the churchbells outside chimed a quarter to the hour, he heard the heavy beating of Temeraire’s wings outside. Turning to go down, Laurence found Tharkay standing a few yards away in the middle chamber.

His look was dour, as it had been upon hearing the initial proposal to attend the meeting. Since returning, he had shed his vexing embroidered robes—and the jade earring—and taken on the camouflage of an unremarkable figure.

Laurence wasn’t sure he liked this return to a muted, withdrawn Tharkay, not compared to the man he had been all day, striking and easy and daring to be looked at.

But the diversion, or the provocation, of the day seemed like child’s play just now. He met Tharkay’s scrutiny. ‘You advise against it.’

‘I do,’ said Tharkay flatly. ‘Paranoia spreads, since the arrests in December in Islington. Peacetime abroad does not always inspire credulity at home. Particularly when food is so dear and morale so low.’

His own thoughts of course ran with Tharkay’s in this—their shared sense that the stain of treason would be one which the reformers, at least the serious among them, would repel with all their power, lest they too be accused of conspiracy. But he could not now express, any more than he could shake off, a persistent sense of foreboding.

‘Trust is their own affair,’ he decided. ‘But if they are unpredictable, miserable, and hungry, that is all the more reason not to permit Temeraire to go without assistance.’

‘Except if the very assistance we might render him would increase the likelihood of an ill reception,’ Tharkay argued, frowning even deeper and coming toward him. ‘Laurence, Perscitia and Temeraire are the ones who have been invited. You did not wish to be his jailer? Let them go, and we will remain here—near enough to aid him, but far enough not to be caught.’

‘Here’ was three floors and nearly a palace’s distance from the wet and dark courtyard where anything could happen—where some French sympathizer or wretched minion of an anti-draconic traditionalist could win the fame of the underworld by murdering England’s greatest hope for dragonkind.

(Nor was it lost on Laurence, in the whirl of his disquiet, that Temeraire no longer had the advantage of being in the Aerial Corps; he might no longer be considered precious in the naked, shrewd calculus of war which had marked him as too valuable to lose. Now he was simply an ungovernable dragon, and an outspoken one, discussing ideas that could so easily be twisted to sound like anarchy.)

‘No,’ he declared, shaking the nightmare from his vision. ‘No, it cannot be so. Whatever embarrassment I might feel for my own part is insignificant when compared to what I owe to him.’

This but scratched the surface of Laurence’s thoughts, grown irrational in the charged atmosphere of the city weighed ever more on his mind. He was not prone to fretfulness by nature, and he would not balk now. The gathering was open to anyone who cared to enter, widely publicized, and hosted at a respectable place. There was little reason to fear—and every reason to exercise tremendous caution.

‘You are being reckless, if you do not consider—’ Tharkay was saying, low.

But Laurence drew himself away imperiously. ‘No other considerations will have weight with me, where he is concerned. I bid you good evening.’

And turning without another glance, he left Tenzing alone in the firelight.

*

Little wonder, with such a storm blowing up in his head, that Laurence made a poor ally for the first half-hour of the gathering.

For one thing, the party was enormous. Perhaps two or three hundred men, and (to his astonishment) not a few women, were streaming into the great assembly hall of the tavern—which, after all, boasted three glittering chandeliers and space for a banquet equal to (almost) any state dinner of the Tsar. Enough chairs and benches had been provided for everyone, and—in accordance with the legalities of their meeting—the doors to the taproom remained open, so that any bystander or visitor could wander in or out at his leisure.

The press of bodies and movement would have been oppressive, except that the massive double-doors to the courtyard had been thrown wide to the brisk night air. From the depths of the midwinter dark, the gigantic heads of Temeraire, Perscitia, and two other courier dragons whom Laurence did not know, plus the unshakable Tamphilus (with Benbow) peered in.

‘Who’s left this sainted door open In Jan’ary?’ bustled one man in a workman’s shirt and a thick wool jacket with many patches. ‘S’miracle there’s any heat left in—oh, gracious.’

‘Good evening, sir,’ nodded Tamphilus, who seemed keen to prove his manners. ‘It is a bit cold out tonight, isn’t it?’

‘Zounds! Look, Parry—a dragon!’ he said, pointing, as though Tam had not spoken.

‘Yes, yes, and you are a weaver, I suppose,’ said Temeraire, squinting. ‘We are all out here, and—’ (Temeraire seemed to remember he was here as an ambassador and future candidate) ‘it is very nice to meet you,’ he finished, a little awkwardly.

The ensuing exchange of polite remarks between the two men, five dragons, and handful of aviators was a sufficient spectacle to draw the braver audience members to ogle. Laurence (positioned silently by Temeraire’s foreleg) instead took careful note of the many faces who instead drew farther from the yard, or who gave signs of their displeasure at these novel guests.

There was therefore a lengthy period of calling the assembly to order. The rain had long ceased, so Laurence stood sentinel. Fragments of conversations were continually drifted out, strangely amplified by the echoing walls of the courtyard. Nobody spoke to him, nor to Temeraire after that first surprising encounter, so he was at liberty to stand guard as long as he liked. Whether he waited for a sudden cutthroat to spring from among the throng or for Temeraire to say something which got them removed from the premises, he could hardly tell.

‘Is this usual?’ inquired Perscitia, when the meeting had been hindered by a nearly endless series of toasts. ‘Why do not they agree to the list of honoured personages, if the toasting is so important?’

Laurence allowed that it was unusual in his experience, and left her to her own observations.

Almost an hour after the first committee members had been cheered into the room, a balding gentleman in a brown coat had risen and called the business to order.

An older gentleman, with a soldier’s bearing and an aquiline countenance, then spoke in very grave and learned tones about the importance of the ‘democratical authority’ of the people by voting; about the hallowed precedents of Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights, of the Glorious Revolution won without violence, but by force of law and of public opinion; about every Englishman’s—and (he bowed to the dragons in the half-lit courtyard) English dragon’s—God-given right to determine the laws by which he would be ruled and judged.

By the end of this speech, Laurence found his own misgivings had slowly loosened. It was so obvious that the revered old Major felt keenly the injustices of the system as it was currently practiced, and just as acutely believed in the possibility—even the necessity—of each able person’s efforts to bring about that change for the better.

Several times, Temeraire murmured along with the crowd as they erupted with boisterous approval or derision for the Major’s subject. ‘Hear, hear!’ Temeraire even cried, when the topic of the impoverished hospitals was raised for public censure.

‘He is very good, is he not?’ Temeraire whispered, when at last the venerable gentleman resumed his seat.

‘Very,’ Laurence agreed honestly. ‘His recommendations are drastic, but he has undeniably given the whole landscape a thorough assessment. And,’ he added, having watched the proceedings so far, ‘he is much liked by the people he is leading.’

‘Is that important?’ Perscitia asked softly.

Laurence did her the courtesy of looking at her, where she had sunk somewhat into the shadow of the yard. With as much gentleness as honesty, he said, ‘Regrettably so.’

At that moment, who should glide to Temeraire’s side but Tharkay, entirely cloaked in night but meeting Laurence’s gaze with steadiness.

A sudden pang of longing for Scotland swept through him. He felt no joy in quarrelling with Tenzing, particularly when he was confident that they shared an unshaken desire to protect Temeraire about all else. None of his thoughts about Tenzing made much sense lately. The blame for this, he knew, was as much his own as Tharkay’s: neither of them could be called overly talkative. Nor had Laurence much experience in living in close quarters solely with a friend and equal, for what he had lately realized would possibly be an indefinite period of his life. This last week of strain between them felt all the more unwelcome, for how it forced Laurence to consider what he would lose if ever Tharkay refused him.

The meeting was still going on, so Laurence turned back to watch the next series of speakers.

 

 

 

The debate carried on, spinning from one question to another on so circuitous a course as to make anyone dizzy. Before the end of the first hour, the two courier dragons and Tamphilus all began to yawn rather affectedly, before making their excuses and departing.

With some relief, Laurence found Perscitia had indeed prepared Temeraire and himself very admirably to understand the moves and missteps of the dance.

At one point, someone in the crowd raised the hotly contested notion of household suffrage rather than universal voting rights. The gentleman next to him shouted in endorsement, pointing out that there was no way the nation could possibly know all the eligible men in a parish, and so fraud and mischance would be rife.

‘A census,’ Perscitia piped up, addressing the room for the first time all evening.

As one, the assembled hundreds turned to regard the speaker. A wave of gasps and astonished muttering rippled through the crowd. Evidently a good number of newcomers had not been made aware of their comrades outdoors, and these terrified persons went scrambling to move their places—forgetting they had already been seated for several hours within arm’s reach of that same creature.

Perscitia nevertheless soldiered on. ‘A census,’ she said, ‘would allow the Treasury to determine more accurately the populations of humans and dragons alike. Those who were counted could then be taxed, according to their stations and holdings; and those who had been counted could likewise be enrolled upon a registry of residents in each parish, county, and riding. Any dragon, or indeed any person, who did not wish to be counted need not be interfered with. But it would be quite impossible for the government to deny, then, that our new cities are not so vastly underrepresented, when we had a full record of everyone who lived there.’

If there had been shock and curiosity at a dragon attending a petition committee meeting in the first place, there was total wonder at her words.

‘What is the matter?’ inquired Perscitia, in an undertone, when dozens of eyes and half the head table continued to stare (some, open-mouthed) at her. ‘I am speaking very precisely.’

‘But—but the franchise is to be extended to tax-payers only,’ wheezed another leader (a portly older man with a brown, old-fashioned wig upon his head).

Hems and hums of acknowledging this counterpoint followed.

‘Temeraire,’ Tharkay murmured, in a voice that carried nowhere beyond their party, ‘you do pay taxes.’

‘Oh!’ Temeraire said, perking up. ‘Yes, that is true—for we, as members of His Majesty’s Aerial Corps, we are finally being paid, and our income is taxed. And it is a tautology to say we may not vote, because we do not pay tax, when we were not even permitted to be paid until we demanded it, nevermind to own property, or even to understand what it was!’

Several of the working men at the back of the room hip-hipped for this point, and all of the women whom Laurence could see exchanged glances with one another of longstanding commiseration.

‘A census, eh? It would be a considerable undertaking,’ mused the Major, appearing to consider this with a half-smile on his face. ‘But a worthy one, and one which might reasonably be repeated on a regular basis, employing a great many people to be carried out…’

Several people began to shout and protest, others crying ‘Hear hear!’ and ‘Aye!’, and the room was lost in further upheaval for several minutes.

‘You see,’ Temeraire said, with a tip of his head to his friend. ‘You are already an excellent politician.’

Eventually, even Laurence had to allow that standing tense and still out of doors in late January made for a tiring time.

‘My dear,’ he said to Temeraire, ‘would you and Perscitia take something hot to drink? I believe we could all use something bracing if we are to last to the end of the night.’

Both dragons thanked him, yes; and Tharkay—who otherwise had been silent and motionless as himself—shook his head but ceased to frown quite so deeply. The familiar, wry twist of his mouth buoyed Laurence as he crept around the back of the room and solicited a servant for two large ewers of tea and a brandy for himself.

It was unclear how much longer the meeting would carry on—hours, if the energy of the debates was any indicator—so he finished his brandy in one searing gulp. It was hardly enough to overset him, yet the immediate burn in his centre was a longed-for relief.

Just as he was sliding back to his place in the courtyard, one of the men nearest the outward wall was saying loudly:

‘And ought we not be careful, gentlemen—very careful indeed—that we do not throw in our lot with those less… faithful to the security of the commonwealth? After all, a man may say a grand thing when the road together is all ease and sunshine, only to prove himself… false, and richer for it, when the going gets tough for those he cuts loose to save himself.’

This last was breathed with such venom that Laurence turned to look at the speaker, only to find that the sneering man was facing directly at himself—and, with a jolt of recognition, Laurence knew him. This was the older gentleman from the other night in the tavern dining hall; his coarse beard was trimmed now into slightly neater fashion, and his gold-trimmed coat had been set to rights from the dishevelment of their first sighting. But if there was hatred in men’s eyes, this man levelled it now at Laurence.

The sudden rush of battle-readiness rose in Laurence on instinct, and he turned fully to face the man even standing as he was on the threshold between the assembly and the courtyard.

‘Do you address me, sir?’ Laurence demanded, low, only to be heard by his provoker. His hand was clenched by his side, where his sword would otherwise hang.

‘I advise only caution, sir,’ scowled the man, but with a baiting tone of feigned blamelessness. ‘Our enemies only wait for one treacherous heart to destroy the hopes of the people.’

Laurence had enough time to gather his breath for a challenge, and to be glad half the crowd had already drifted off with the late hour—he did not wish to humiliate nor to call out a stranger in front of half of Westminster.

But before he could form his reply, over his shoulder came the booming voice: ‘That is stuff, you ill-mannered churl!’

The great black-scaled head, with its slightly upraised ruff, came to fill the better part of the doorway, peering in like a scene from Gulliver’s imagination. Several people yelped or leapt deeper into the hall.

‘This is the third time you have said something of this nonsense, and I say it is very rude of you to imply anything about me, or especially about Laurence—as though we have done anything to be ashamed of! You yourselves ought to be aware of what those who disagree with you will say, when you see your duty differently than they do. What is “treason” to the government, who allow your friends to starve, and my friends to fight and die across the ocean and in far-away places, without giving us any say in what laws are just in such circumstances? Treason is a disgraceful thing, when it really means wishing to abandon all our fellows and breaking our word for our own sake; but the papers already call all of you traitors, and malcontents, or ignorant criminals, or worse things every day! That does not make it true, and you do not heed them when they say it. No more shall I heed you if you will go on insinuating indecent things about us.

‘And besides,’ Temeraire went on, when the rude gentleman began to puff up with rage, ‘if it were truly a matter of what is right, your fellows who have been working so hard at protests would not now be in jail, simply for trying to call for the hard-heads in government to be replaced with fair leaders. Sometimes duty is not listening or obliging whoever tells you to do this or that; sometimes is it about refusing to do what you know is wrong.

‘But I am a dragon,’ he added, shaking his head with his uplifted tendrils and great serpentine tongue, ‘so I suppose you will say I know nothing about right and wrong, and must be hanged, like some villain. Puh!’

Then he looked to Laurence, who was rooted speechless to the spot.

‘May we leave now?’ Temeraire huffed, at the end of his patience.

And Laurence, without waiting for anything further, was on Temeraire’s back before anyone could call them back.

*

It was midnight, or past it, by the time Laurence found himself climbing the stairs and reentering their chambers.

What feelings of disquiet could survive such a speech, and from the very being whom Laurence had so many times found reason to cherish and admire? Their flight afterward had begun in a sudden burst of frustration, followed by a gradual and united relief that the squabbles of the world could briefly be slipped and forgotten. Aloft, the city shrank to something manageable, twinkling and smoking and bustling even in the lateness of the evening. It was no worse than a battlefield, no different to so many of the cities they had seen, each with their blemishes and foibles.

By the time he and Temeraire had at last returned to earth, Laurence felt his own spirit much restored. The slow, tired blinking of Temeraire’s bright blue eyes winked in fondness at him beneath the coiled body, and before Laurence was even out the door, the deep, slow sound of Temeraire’s breathing had begun to fill the pavilion.

Now there was one more matter to settle, before retiring in earnest. He was not surprised to find Tharkay sitting by the fire, still awake. This time, Tenzing was the one studying the room with brooding attention. Tonight, he was using a newspaper as his prop. Laurence sat beside him and tried—once more—to summon what he wanted to say.

At length, Laurence said, ‘I must own that I have been… less trusting than either of you has right to expect. I confess, there is a great deal about this new business of politicking that I do not care for. But I must apologize to you, for where it has prompted me to treat you with less consideration than you deserve.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ Tharkay replied impassively. ‘The difficulty was not your fault.’

But this reply resolved nothing, nor answered any of Laurence’s lingering questions—the immediate ones, any more than the deeper, more momentous ones.

He had to press on, or there would be a poison of misunderstanding and concealment between them. That, he could not bear.

‘Tenzing, I fear I still do not understand where our disagreement even sprang from this evening. You were adamant that we should not go down to the meeting—that we should not be “caught” there.’

Turning a page, Tharkay told it, ‘I am perhaps overcautious about being pelted with eggs or onions. But, fortunately, that did not seem the mood of this evening’s proceedings, at least towards ourselves. For Lord Sidmouth, I do not like his chances.’

He was maddeningly calm. There were times when Laurence glimpsed the man who had led them across the desert, speaking more to his eagle than to the whole of their party, and betraying nothing of his true thoughts or intentions.

‘But you were anxious for our presence there, at least at first—please do not pretend it was otherwise, as I was standing right beside you.’ Laurence felt an annoyance in his own tone which he neither liked nor felt capable of dispelling.

‘I thought,’ Tharkay corrected carefully, ‘as you yourself intimated, that such a group would likely go to some lengths to gird themselves against spies in their midst.’

‘Spies?’ The word was sour and rank on his palette, like bile, like the disgust he felt at any betrayal. But it was not at all what had been in his mind at the time.

Huffing a cynical breath and shaking the corner of the paper to straighten it, Tharkay said, ‘Yes, Will, spies. And as a consequence, it seemed wise to assume that my particular presence would be even less welcome if it were discovered, than yours, whatever might be supposed about the attendance of an officer and his dragon who have already shown an unwillingness to be pawns or blind patriots.’

It took Laurence a full five seconds to understand Tharkay’s meaning. ‘You cannot be serious.’

‘That they ought to be fearful of sabotage? That they might even be violent toward anyone they assume has betrayed them? Absolutely. Shall I lend you today’s issue when I am finished? You need not look far—it is very convenient for the government to employ informants, whose position is so precarious that they will do anything to please their masters; and of course the old guard does like to stoke the flames every so often, or how else would they have excuse to move their legislation along?’ He pointed at a column of broadsheet, presumably where some discussion of the recent rioters’ trials was printed.

A chill went through him. ‘But that is illegal, surely. To send in agents to entrap those who are rebellious, and to provoke, rather than to calm that rebellion?’

Tharkay finally looked over at him, askance. His eyebrow quirked an ironical retort.

‘I am not speaking hypothetically. The legal basis of it, I’m sure Perscitia and several of the men we heard tonight could explain far better than I ever could. But as to the reality, I assure you: a vast web of men are sent into the ranks of the discontented and the disaffected, far more often than even the most suspicious newspaper-crier could suppose.’

It was—there was something so foul in it, so beyond the subterfuges Laurence had faced even in the depths of enemy territory, that he could not speak for another minute.

‘This is not France,’ he said at last, ‘not some despotic regime where men must fear to debate and discuss their own free-born rights with their fellows. The government do not have the right to stalk them into their private lives, their homes.—The worst thing that was mooted tonight was the possibility of using the belated pensions as the source of hospital funding.’

‘I see you are a converted radical, Will Laurence,’ Tharkay replied, still in his exasperatingly dry tone. ‘No wonder that you should consort with such spies as myself. Any jury would convict you by association.’

Once again Laurence was repulsed and indignant. ‘Do not hyperbolize, if you please. You are nothing of the kind.’

Now Tharkay turned his face back to his newspaper, with the pantomime of turning a page which he had no doubt already ready twice since breakfast. ‘And how should you be so sure, the prosecution wishes to know? Our Mr Tharkay has been on half a dozen trips at least this six-month, including to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Nottingham—the haunts of the northern rebels and mobs. He was compliant once. And,’ he said, with a conspiratorial whisper, ‘he is foreign, you know.’

‘I know you,’ Laurence insisted, direct, though feeling his heartbeat suddenly in his throat. ‘That is enough for me.’

Tharkay’s brown eyes looked at him, meeting Laurence’s glare with an expression very deliberately neutral. Once again they were dancing nearer to the edge of the cliff.

But about this, Laurence was sure. The world had taken on a grim aspect lately, no less for his own former ignorance and the discomfort of discovering how much he had allowed himself to dismiss or overlook about his country and countrymen. Yet about this, he needed no convincing, no evidence. He had, after all, the ample proof which had accrued across ten years of friendship, and these recent months of their closer association—of… something unnameable, something as uncertain and ravenous as a fledging dragonet straight out of the shell. Tenzing was taciturn, yes; connected to things Laurence hardly understood, likely; but slithering into the pits of others’ misery purely to win himself favour, no—never.

How much of this played across his face, he did not know. Lately, he had begun to imagine that even what veil he could throw over his nascent, true feelings was hardly a match for Tenzing’s sharp-eyed gaze.

After another tense moment of silence, Tharkay finally—uncharacteristically—relented.

‘I thank you,’ he murmured. ‘Though I fear it would not be admissible in court.’

*

Notes:

Phew. Who else is tired.

CW/TW: None, apart from the fic/canon/historically compliant world of domination, dispossession, and bigotry. All of these are at play here, but nothing acute or overt happens in this chapter to our characters.

Lots and LOTS of citations going here—bless Hansard's, bless digitized books, bless the collections of gorgeous Chinese textiles and sketches that were inspo for Tenzing's super hot outfits. Mission drive Laurence out of his mind: success.

Again, there's a lot more to say when we get to the end of this arc... and I am VERY excited for everything that's going to happen! More as soon as I can. Stay well and take care of each other out there. x