Victory of Eagles. Naomi Novik
Moncey said.
Temeraire switched his tail against his side, thinking, before saying with some distaste, ‘No, I see that: it is all politics. It is plain to me: I must work out what Lien would do.’
He cornered Lloyd, the next morning, and said, ‘Lloyd, I am very hungry today; may I have an extra cow, to take up to my cave?’
‘There, that is a little more like it,’ Lloyd said approvingly; not deaf at all to a request so satisfactory to his own ideas of dragon-husbandry. He ordered it directly, and while waiting Temeraire asked, attempting a casual air, ‘I do not suppose you might recall, who Gentius has sired?’
The old Longwing cracked a bleary eye, when Temeraire landed, and peered at him rather incuriously. ‘Yes?’ he said. His cave was not so large, but a comfortable dry hollow tucked well under the mountainside, on ground overlooking a curve of the creek; so positioned that he only had to creep downhill for a drink, and walk a short distance to a large flat rock full in the sun, where he presently lay napping.
‘I beg your pardon for not coming to visit you before, sir,’ Temeraire said, inclining his head, ‘I have served with Excidium these last three years at Dover—Your third hatchling,’ he added, when Gentius looked vague.
‘Yes, Excidium, of course,’ Gentius said, his tongue licking the air experimentally. Temeraire laid the cow down before him, butchered with the help of Moncey's small claws to take out the large bones. ‘A small gift to show my respect,’ Temeraire said, and Gentius brightened. ‘Why, that is trés gentil of you,’ he said, with atrocious pronunciation, which Temeraire remembered just in time not to correct, and took the cow into his mouth to gum at it slowly with the wobbly remainders of his teeth. ‘Most kind, as my first captain liked to say,’ Gentius mumbled reminiscently around it. ‘You might go in there and bring out her picture,’ he added, ‘if you are very careful with it.’
The portrait was rather odd and flat-looking, and the woman in it very plain, even before time and the elements had faded her; but it was in a really splendid golden frame, so large and thick that Temeraire could take it delicately between two talon-tips to lift it, and carry it out into the sun. ‘How beautiful,’ he said sincerely, holding it where Gentius could at least point his head in its direction, although his eyes were so milky with cataracts he could not have seen it as more than a blur in the golden square.
‘Charming woman,’ Gentius said, sadly. ‘She fed me my first bite, fresh liver, when my head was no bigger than her hand. One never quite gets over the first, you know.’
‘Yes,’ Temeraire said, low, and looked away unhappily; at least Gentius had not had her taken from him, and put who knew where.
When he had put the portrait back with equal care, and listened to a long story about one of the wars in which Gentius had fought – something with the Prussians, where pepper guns had been invented: very unpleasant things, especially when one had not been expecting them – then Gentius was quite ready to be sympathetic, and to shake his head censoriously over Requiescat's behaviour. ‘No proper manners, these days, that is what it is.’
‘I am very glad to hear you say so: that is just what I thought, but as I am quite young, I did not feel sure without advice from someone wiser, like yourself,’ Temeraire said, and then with sudden inspiration added, ‘I suppose next he will propose that if any of us have some treasure that he likes, gold or jewels, we must give it to him: it follows quite plainly.’
That was indeed enough to rouse Gentius up, with so handsome a treasure of his own to consider. ‘I do not see that you are wrong at all,’ he said, darkly. ‘Of course, we cannot have Winchesters taking caves fit for Regal Coppers, there would be no end of trouble and quarrelling, and sooner or later the men will involve themselves, and make it all even worse. They somehow think Reapers of less use than Anglewings, because there are more of them and they are clannish, instead of the other way round, and they have many more such odd notions. But that is not the same as taking away a cave perfectly suitable to your weight and standing.’ He paused and said delicately, ‘I do not suppose you had a formation of your own?’
‘No,’ Temeraire said, ‘at least, not officially. Arkady and the others fought under my orders, and I was wing-mates with Maximus: he is Laetificat's hatchling.’
‘Laetificat, yes; fine dragon,’ Gentius said. ‘I served with her, you know, in '76; we had a dust-up with the colonials at Boston. They had artillery above our positions—’
Temeraire came away eventually with Gentius's firm promise to attend the council-meeting, and returned to his cave pleased with the success of his primary efforts. ‘Who else is on the council?’ he asked.
While Perscitia began listing off names, Reedly, a mongrel half-Winchester, courier-weight with yellow streaks, piped up from the corner, ‘You ought to speak to Majestatis.’
Perscitia bristled at once. ‘I see no reason why he ought do any such thing. Majestatis is a very common sort of dragon; and he is not on the council, anyway.’
‘He made sure I got a share of the food, when we were all sick, and things were short,’ Minnow said, on the other side. She was a muddy-coloured feral with touches of Grey Copper and Sharpspitter and even a little Garde-de-Lyon, which had given her vivid orange eyes and blue spots to set off her otherwise drab colouring.
A low murmur of general agreement went around. A crowd had gradually accumulated in Temeraire's cave to offer their advice and remarks. A good many of the smaller dragons had interested themselves in Temeraire's case: those he had sheltered and their acquaintances, and the not-insignificant number, who had some injury, real or imagined, to lay at Requiescat's door. ‘And he is not on the council only because he does not care to be; he is a Parnassian.’ she said to Temeraire.
‘If he were a Flamme de Gloire, it would hardly signify,’ Perscitia said coldly, ‘as he does nothing but sleep all the time.’
Moncey nudged Temeraire with his head and murmured, ‘Corrected her once, six years ago.’
‘It was only an error of arithmetic!’ Perscitia said heatedly. ‘I should have found it out myself in a moment, I was only preoccupied by the much more important question—’
‘Where does he live?’ Temeraire asked, interrupting. He felt that anyone who had no time for politics must be rather sensible.
Majestatis was indeed sleeping when Temeraire came to see him; his cave was out of the way, and not very large. But Temeraire noticed that there was a carefully placed heap of stones, along the back, which blocked one's view into the interior. If he widened his pupils as far as they would go, he thought he could make out a darker space behind them, as if there were a passageway going back deeper into the mountainside.
He coiled himself neatly and waited without fidgeting, as was polite. But at length, when Majestatis showed no signs of waking, Temeraire coughed, then coughed again a little more emphatically. Majestatis sighed and said, without opening his eyes, ‘So you are not leaving, I suppose?’
‘Oh,’ Temeraire said, his ruff prickling, ‘I thought you were only sleeping, not ignoring me deliberately. I will go at once.’
‘Well, you might as well stay now,’ Majestatis said, lifting his head and yawning himself awake. ‘I don't bother to wake up if it isn't important enough to wait for, that's all.’
‘I suppose that is sensible, if you like to sleep better than to have a conversation,’ Temeraire said, dubiously.
‘You'll like it better in a few years yourself,’ Majestatis said.
‘I do not expect so,’ Temeraire said. ‘At least, the Analects say it is not proper for a dragon to sleep more than fourteen hours of the day, so I shan't, unless,’ he added, desolately, ‘I am still shut up in here, where there is nothing worth doing.’
‘If you think so, what are you doing here, instead of in the coverts?’ Majestatis said. He listened to the explanation with the casual sympathy of one listening to a storyteller, and passed