Even as he said it, he was still not quite satisfied. But there was no other choice; he did not mean to be sitting about doing nothing, nor could he rely upon Hammond: skill and wit the diplomat might possess, but Laurence was by now convinced that there was no intention, on his part, of expending much effort to keep Temeraire; to Hammond the dragon was only a bargaining-chip. There was certainly no hope of persuading Yongxing, but so far as the other members of the embassy might be won over, in good faith, he meant to try, and if the effort should tax him in his pride, that was small sacrifice.

It proved worthwhile: Liu Bao crept from his cabin again the next day, looking less wretched, and by the subsequent morning was well enough to send for the translator, and ask Laurence to come over to their side of the deck and join him: some color back in his face, and much relief. He had also brought along one of the cooks: the biscuits, he reported, had worked wonders, taken on his own physician’s recommendation with a little fresh ginger, and he was urgent to know how they might be made.

“Well, they are mostly flour and a bit of water, but I cannot tell you anything more, I am afraid,” Laurence said. “We do not bake them aboard, you see; but I assure you we have enough in the bread-room to last you twice around the world, sir.”

“Once has been more than enough for me,” Liu Bao said. “An old man like me has no business going so far away from home and being tossed around on the waves. Since we came on this ship, I have not been able to eat anything, not even a few pancakes, until those biscuits! But this morning I was able to have some congee and fish, and I was not sick at all. I am very grateful to you.”

“I am happy to have been of service, sir; indeed you look much improved,” Laurence said.

“That is very polite, even if it is not very truthful,” Liu Bao said. He held out his arm ruefully and shook it, the robe hanging rather loose. “I will take some fattening up to look like myself again.”

“If you feel equal to it, sir, may I invite you to join us for dinner tomorrow evening?” Laurence asked, thinking this overture, though barely, enough encouragement to justify the invitation. “It is our holiday, and I am giving a dinner for my officers; you would be very welcome, and any of your compatriots who might wish to join you.”

This dinner proved far more successful than the last. Granby was still laid up in the sick-berth, forbidden rich food, but Lieutenant Ferris was bent on making the most of his opportunity to impress and in any direction which offered. He was a young officer and energetic, very lately promoted to Temeraire’s captain of topmen on account of a fine boarding engagement he had led at Trafalgar. In ordinary course it would have been at least another year and more likely two or three before he could hope to become a second lieutenant in his own right, but with poor Evans sent home, he had stepped into his place as acting-second, and plainly hoped to keep the position.

In the morning, Laurence with some amusement overheard him sternly lecturing the midwingmen on the need to behave in a civilized manner at table, and not sit around like lumps. Laurence suspected that he even primed the junior officers with a handful of anecdotes, as occasionally during the meal he glared significantly at one or the other of the boys, and the target would hastily gulp his wine and start in on a story rather improbable for an officer of such tender years.

Sun Kai accompanied Liu Bao, but as before had the air of an observer rather than a guest. But Liu Bao displayed no similar restraint and had plainly come ready to be pleased, though indeed it would have been a hard man who could have resisted the suckling pig, spit-roasted since that morning and glowing under its glaze of butter and cream. They neither of them disdained a second helping, and Liu Bao was also loud in his approval of the crackling-brown goose, a handsome specimen acquired specially for the occasion at Madeira and still smug and fat at the time of its demise, unlike the usual poultry to be had at sea.

The civil exertions of the officers had an effect also, as stumbling and awkward as some of the younger fellows were about it; Liu Bao had a generous laugh easily provoked, and he shared many amusing stories of his own, mostly about hunting misadventures. Only the poor translator was unhappy, as he had a great deal of work scurrying back and forth around the table, alternately putting English into Chinese and then the reverse; almost from the beginning, the atmosphere was wholly different, and wholly amiable.

Sun Kai remained quiet, listening more than speaking, and Laurence could not be sure he was enjoying himself; he ate still in an abstemious fashion and drank very little, though Liu Bao, himself not at all lacking in capacity, would good-naturedly scold him from time to time, and fill his glass again to the brim. But after the great Christmas pudding was ceremoniously borne out, flickering blue with brandied flames, to shared applause, to be dismantled, served, and enjoyed, Liu Bao turned and said to him, “You are being very dull tonight. Here, sing ‘The Hard Road’ for us, that is the proper poem for this journey!”

For all his reserve, Sun Kai seemed quite willing to oblige; he cleared his throat and recited:

“Pure wine costs, for the golden bowl, ten thousand coppers a flagon,

And a jade platter of dainty food calls for a million coins.

I fling aside my bowl and meat, I cannot eat or drink…

I raise my talons to the sky, I peer four ways in vain.

I would cross the Yellow River, but ice takes hold of my limbs;

I would fly above the Tai-hang Mountains, but the sky is blind with snow.

I would sit and watch the golden carp, lazy by a brook—

But I suddenly dream of crossing the waves, sailing for the sun…

Journeying is hard,

Journeying is hard.

There are many turnings—

Which am I to follow?

I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy bank of clouds,

And set my wings straight to bridge the wide, wide sea.”

If there was any rhyme or meter to the piece, it vanished in the translation, but the content the aviators uniformly approved and applauded. “Is it your own work, sir?” Laurence asked with interest. “I do not believe I have ever heard a poem from the view of a dragon.”

“No, no,” Sun Kai said. “It is one of the works of the honored Lung Li Po, of the Tang Dynasty. I am only a poor scholar, and my verses are not worthy of being shared in company.” He was perfectly happy, however, to give them several other selections from classical poets, all recited from memory, in what seemed to Laurence a prodigious feat of recall.

All the guests rolled away at last on the most harmonious of terms, having carefully avoided any discussion of British and Chinese sovereignty regarding either ships or dragons. “I will be so bold as to say it was a success,” Laurence said afterwards, sipping coffee upon the dragondeck while Temeraire ate his sheep. “They are not so very stiff-necked in company, after all, and I can call myself really satisfied with Liu Bao; I have been in many a ship where I should have been grateful to dine with as good company.”

“Well, I am glad you had a pleasant evening,” Temeraire said, grinding thoughtfully upon the leg bones. “Can you say that poem over again?”

Laurence had to canvass his officers to attempt to reconstruct the poem; they were still at it the next morning, when Yongxing came up to take the air, and listened to them mangling the translation; after they had made a few attempts, he frowned and then turned to Temeraire, and himself recited the poem.

Yongxing spoke in Chinese, without translation; but nevertheless, after a single hearing, Temeraire was able to repeat the verses back to him in the same language, with not the least evidence of difficulty. It was not the first time that Laurence had been surprised by Temeraire’s skill with language: like all dragons, Temeraire had learned speech during the long maturity in the shell, but unlike most, he had been exposed to three different tongues, and evidently remembered even what must have been his earliest.