Still it went against the grain, and Laurence was glad to rise at last with the formality met; thankfully the Emperor made no unwelcome gesture of condescension, but only ceased to frown: there was a general air of release from tension in the room. The Emperor now rose from his chair and led Laurence to the small altar on the eastern side of the hall. Laurence lit the stands of incense upon the altar and parroted the phrases which Hammond had so laboriously taught him, relieved to see Hammond’s small nod: he had made no mistakes, then, or at least none unforgivable.
He had to genuflect once more, but this time before the altar, which Laurence was ashamed to acknowledge even to himself was easier by far to bear, though closer to real blasphemy; hurriedly, under his breath, he said a Lord’s Prayer, and hoped that should make quite clear that he did not really mean to be breaking the commandment. Then the worst of the business was over: now Temeraire was called forward for the ceremony which would formally bind them as companions, and Laurence could make the required oaths with a light heart.
The Emperor had seated himself again to oversee the proceedings; now he nodded approvingly, and made a brief gesture to one of his attendants. At once a table was brought into the room, though without any chairs, and more of the cool ices served while the Emperor made inquiries to Laurence about his family, through Hammond’s mediation. The Emperor was taken aback to learn that Laurence was himself unmarried and without children, and Laurence was forced to submit to being lectured on the subject at great length, quite seriously, and to agree that he had been neglecting his family duties. He did not mind very much: he was too happy not to have misspoken, and for the ordeal to be so nearly over.
Hammond himself was nearly pale with relief as they left, and had actually to stop and sit down upon a bench on their way to their quarters. A couple of servants brought him some water and fanned him until the color came back into his face and he could stagger on. “I congratulate you, sir,” Staunton said, shaking Hammond’s hand as they at last left him to lie down in his chamber. “I am not ashamed to say I would not have believed it possible.”
“Thank you; thank you,” Hammond could only repeat, deeply affected; he was nearly toppling over.
Hammond had won for them not only Laurence’s formal entrée into the Imperial family, but the grant of an estate in the Tartar city itself. It was not quite an official embassy, but as a practical matter it was much the same, as Hammond could now reside there indefinitely at Laurence’s invitation. Even the kowtow had been dealt with to everyone’s satisfaction: from the British point of view, Laurence had made the gesture not as a representative of the Crown, but as an adopted son, while the Chinese were content to have their proper forms met.
“We have already had several very friendly messages from the mandarins at Canton through the Imperial post, did Hammond tell you?” Staunton said to Laurence, as they stood together outside their own rooms. “The Emperor’s gesture to remit all duties on British ships for the year will of course be a tremendous benefit to the Company, but in the long run this new mind-set amongst them will by far prove the more valuable. I suppose—” Staunton hesitated; his hand was already on the screen-frame, ready to go inside. “I suppose you could not find it consistent with your duty to stay? I need scarcely say that it would be of tremendous value to have you here, though of course I know how great our need for dragons is, back home.”
Retiring at last, Laurence gladly exchanged his clothes for plain cotton robes, and went outside to join Temeraire in the fragrant shade of a bank of orange trees. Temeraire had a scroll laid out in his frame, but was gazing out across the nearby pond rather than reading. In view, a graceful nine-arched bridge crossed the pond, mirrored in black shadows against the water now dyed yellow-orange with the reflections of the late sunlight, the lotus flowers closing up for the night.
He turned his head and nudged Laurence in greeting. “I have been watching: there is Lien,” he said, pointing with his nose across the water. The white dragon was crossing over the bridge, all alone except for a tall, dark-haired man in blue scholar-robes walking by her side, who looked somehow unusual; after a moment squinting, Laurence realized the man did not have a shaved forehead nor a queue. Midway Lien paused and turned to look at them: Laurence put a hand on Temeraire’s neck, instinctively, in the face of that unblinking red gaze.
Temeraire snorted, and his ruff came up a little way, but she did not stay: her neck proudly straight and haughty, she turned away again and continued past, vanishing shortly among the trees. “I wonder what she will do now,” Temeraire said.
Laurence wondered also; certainly she would not find another willing companion, when she had been held unlucky even before her late misfortunes. He had even heard several courtiers make remarks to the effect that she was responsible for Yongxing’s fate; deeply cruel, if she had heard them, and still-less-forgiving opinion held that she ought to be banished entirely. “Perhaps she will go into some secluded breeding grounds.”
“I do not think they have particular grounds set aside for breeding here,” Temeraire said. “Mei and I did not have to—” Here he stopped, and if it were possible for a dragon to blush, he certainly would have undertaken it. “But perhaps I am wrong,” he said hastily.
Laurence swallowed. “You have a great deal of affection for Mei.”
“Oh, yes,” Temeraire said, wistfully.
Laurence was silent; he picked up one of the hard little yellow fruits that had fallen unripe, and rolled it in his hands. “The Allegiance will sail with the next favorable tide, if the wind permits,” he said finally, very low. “Would you prefer us to stay?” Seeing that he had surprised Temeraire, he added, “Hammond and Staunton tell me we could do a great deal of good for Britain’s interests here. If you wish to remain, I will write to Lenton, and let him know we had better be stationed here.”
“Oh,” Temeraire said, and bent his head over the reading frame: he was not paying attention to the scroll, but only thinking. “You would rather go home, though, would you not?”
“I would be lying if I said otherwise,” Laurence said heavily. “But I would rather see you happy; and I cannot think how I could make you so in England, now you have seen how dragons are treated here.” The disloyalty nearly choked him; he could go no further.
“The dragons here are not all smarter than British dragons,” Temeraire said. “There is no reason Maximus or Lily could not learn to read and write, or carry on some other kind of profession. It is not right that we are kept penned up like animals, and never taught anything but how to fight.”
“No,” Laurence said. “No, it is not.” There was no possible answer to make, all his defense of British custom undone by the examples which he had seen before him in every corner of China. If some dragons went hungry, that was hardly a counter. He himself would gladly have starved sooner than give up his own liberty, and he would not insult Temeraire by mentioning it even as a sop.
They were silent together for a long space of time, while the servants came around to light the lamps; the quarter-moon rising hung mirrored in the pond, luminous silver, and Laurence idly threw pebbles into the water to break the reflection into gilt ripples. It was hard to imagine what he would do in China, himself, other than serve as a figurehead. He would have to learn the language somehow after all, at least spoken if not the script.
“No, Laurence, it will not do. I cannot stay here and enjoy myself, while back home they are still at war, and need me,” Temeraire said finally. “And more than that, the dragons in England do not even know that there is any other way of doing things. I will miss Mei and Qian, but I could not be happy while I knew Maximus and Lily were still being treated so badly. It seems to me my duty to go back and arrange things better there.”