Laurence, silent, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers, had been unable to feel some sympathy: a little less self-restraint, and he might have railed with as much fervor against the cowardice and stupidity which had united to send Temeraire into exile. He, too, wished to be restored, if not to rank or to society at least to a place where they might be useful; and not to merely sit here on the far side of the world upon a barren rock, and complain unto Heaven.
But now Bligh’s downfall might as easily be his own: his one hope of return had been a pardon from the colony’s governor, for himself and Temeraire; or at least enough of a good report to reassure those in England whose fears and narrow interest had seen them sent away.
It had always been a scant hope, threadbare; but Jane Roland certainly wished for the return of Britain’s one Celestial, when she had Lien to contend with on the enemy’s side. Laurence might have some hope that the nearly superstitious fear of the breed which had sprung up, after the dreadful carnage of Lien’s attack upon the Navy at the battle of Shoeburyness, was beginning to subside, and cooler minds to regret the impulse which had sent away so valuable a weapon.
At least, so she had written, encouragingly; and had advised him, I may have a prayer of sending the Viceroy to fetch you home, when she has been refit; only for God’s sake be obliging to the Governor, if you please; and I will thank you not to make any more great noise of yourself: it would be just as well if there is not a word to be said of you in the next reports from the colony, good or evil, but that you have been meek as milk.
Of that, however, there was certainly no hope, from the moment when Bligh had blotted his lips and thrown down his napkin and said, “I will not mince words, Captain Riley: I hope you see your duty clear under the present circumstances, and you as well, Captain Granby,” he added.
This was, of course, to carry Bligh back to Sydney, there to threaten the colony with bombardment or pillage, at which the ringleaders MacArthur and Johnston would be handed over for judgment. “And to be summarily hanged like the mutinous scoundrels they are, I trust,” Bligh said. “It is the only possible repair for the harm which they have done: by God, I should like to see their worm-eaten corpses on display a year and more, for the edification of their fellows; then we may have a little discipline again.”
“Well, I shan’t,” Granby had answered, incautiously blunt after the free-flowing wine, “and,” he added to Laurence and Riley privately, afterwards, “I don’t see as we have any business telling the colony they shall have him back: it seems to me after a fellow has been mutinied against three or four times, there is something to it besides bad luck.”
“Then you shall take me aboard,” Bligh said, scowling, when Riley had also made his—more polite—refusal. “I will return with you to England, and there present the case directly; so far, I trust, you cannot deny me,” he asserted, with some truth: such a refusal would have been most dangerous politically to Riley, whose position was less assured than Granby’s, and unprotected by any significant interest. But Bligh’s real intention, certainly, was to return not to England but to the colony, in their company and under Riley’s protection, with the power meanwhile of continuing his attempts at persuasion however long they should remain there in port.
It was not to be supposed that Laurence could put himself at Bligh’s service, in that gentleman’s present mood, without at once being ordered to restore him to his office and to turn Temeraire upon the rebels. If such a course might have served Laurence’s self-interest, it was wholly inimical to his every feeling. He had allowed himself and Temeraire to be so used once, in the war—by Wellington, against the French invaders, in Britain’s greatest extremity; it had still left the blackest taste in his mouth, and he would never again so submit.
Yet equally, if Laurence put himself at the service of the New South Wales Corps, he became nearly an assistant to mutiny. It required no great political gifts to know this was of all accusations the one which he could least afford to sustain, and the one which would be most readily believed and seized upon by his enemies and Temeraire’s, to deny them any hope of return.
“I do not see the difficulty; there is no reason why you should surrender to anyone,” Temeraire said obstinately, when Laurence had in some anxiety raised the subject with him aboard ship as they made the trip from Van Diemen’s Land to Sydney: the last leg of their long voyage, which Laurence formerly would have advanced with pleasure, and now with far more pleasure would have delayed. “We have done perfectly well all this time at sea, and we will do perfectly well now, even if a few tiresome people have been rude.”
“Legally, I have been in Captain Riley’s charge, and may remain so a little longer,” Laurence answered. “But that cannot answer for very long: ordinarily he ought to discharge me to the authorities with the rest of the prisoners.”
“Whyever must he? Riley is a sensible person,” Temeraire said, “and if you must surrender to someone, he is certainly better than Bligh. I cannot like anyone who will insist on interrupting us at our reading, four times, only because he wishes to tell you yet again how wicked the colonists are and how much rum they drink: why that should be of any interest to anyone I am sure I do not know.”
“My dear, Riley will not long remain with us,” Laurence said. “A dragon transport cannot simply sit in harbor; this is the first time one has been spared to this part of the world, and that only to deliver us. When she has been scraped, and the mizzen topmast replaced, from that blow we had near the Cape, they will go; I am sure Riley expects fresh orders very nearly from the next ship into harbor behind us.”
“Oh,” Temeraire said, a little downcast, “and we will stay, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Laurence said, quietly. “—I am sorry.”
And without transport, Temeraire would be quite truly a prisoner of their new situation: there were few ships, and none of merchant class, which could carry a dragon of Temeraire’s size, and no flying route which could safely see him to any other part of the world. A light courier, built for endurance, perhaps might manage it in extremis with a well-informed navigator, clear weather, and luck, setting down on some deserted and rocky atolls for a rest; but the Aerial Corps did not risk even them on any regular mission to the colony, and Temeraire could never follow such a course without the utmost danger.
And Granby and Iskierka would go as well, when Riley did, to avoid a similar entrapment; leaving Temeraire quite isolated from his own kind, save for the three prospective hatchlings who were as yet an unknown quantity.
“Well, that is nothing to be sorry for,” Temeraire said, rather darkly eyeing Iskierka, who at present was asleep and exhaling quantities of steam from her spikes upon his flank, which gathered into fat droplets and rolled off to soak the deck beneath him. “Not,” he added, “that I would object to company; it would be pleasant to see Maximus again, and Lily, and I would like to know how Perscitia is getting on with her pavilion; but I am sure they will write to me when we are settled, and as for her, she may go away anytime she likes.”
Laurence felt Temeraire might find it a heavier penalty than he yet knew. Yet the prospect of these miseries, which had heretofore on their journey greatly occupied his concerns, seemed petty in comparison to the disaster of the situation that now awaited them: trapped in the roles of convict and kingmaker both, and without any means of escape, save if they chose to sacrifice all intercourse with society and take themselves off into the wilderness.