Black Powder War. Naomi Novik

      ‘As a man, a monarch, or a system of government?’ Tharkay asked. ‘If there is more injustice in France than elsewhere, on the whole, I have not heard of it. It is quixotic of them to have chosen to be unjust to the noble and the rich, in favour of the common; but it does not seem to me naturally worse; or, for that matter, likely to last long. As for the rest, I will defer to your judgement, sir; who would you take on the battlefield: good King George or the second lieutenant of artillery from Corsica?’

      ‘I would take Lord Nelson,’ Laurence said. ‘I do not believe anyone has ever suggested he likes glory less than Bonaparte, but he has put his genius in service to his country and his King, and graciously accepted what rewards they chose to give him, instead of setting himself up as a tyrant.’

      ‘So shining an example must vanquish any argument, and indeed I should be ashamed to be the cause of any disillusionment.’ Tharkay’s faint half-smile was visible now: it was growing lighter outside. ‘We have a little break in the storm, I think; I will go and look in on the camels.’ He wrapped a veil of cotton several times around his face, pulling his hat firmly down over all, and drew on his gloves and cloak before ducking out through the flaps.

      ‘Laurence, but the government must listen in our case, because there are so many dragons,’ Temeraire said, interrogatively, when Tharkay had gone out, returning to the point of real concern to him.

      ‘They shall listen,’ Laurence said, still smouldering and indignant, without thinking; and regretted it the next instant: Temeraire, only too willing to be relieved of doubt, brightened at once and said, ‘I was sure it must be so,’ and whatever good the conversation might have done, in lowering his expectations, was lost.

      The storm lingered another day, fierce enough to wear holes, after a while, in the leather of their pavilion; they patched it as best they could from inside, but dust crept in through all the cracks, into their garments and their food, gritty and unpleasant when they chewed the cold dried meat. Temeraire sighed and shivered his hide now and again, little cascades of sand running off his shoulders and wings onto the floor: they had already a layer of desert inside the tent with them.

      Laurence did not know just when the storm ended: as the blessed silence began to fall, they all drifted into their first real sleep in days, and he woke to the sound of the eagle outside giving a red cry of satisfaction. Stumbling out of the tent, he found it tearing raw flesh from the corpse of a camel lying across the remains of the campfire pit, neck broken and white ribcage already half stripped clean by the sands.

      ‘One of the tents did not hold,’ Tharkay said, behind him. Laurence did not at once take his meaning: he turned and saw eight of the camels, tethered loosely near a heap of piled forage, swaying a little on legs grown stiff from their long confinement; the tent which had sheltered them was still up, leaning somewhat askew with a sand-drift piled up against one side. Of the second tent there was no sign except two of the iron stakes still planted deeply in the ground, and a few scraps of brown leather pinned down, fluttering with the breeze.

      ‘Where are the rest of the camels?’ Laurence said, in growing horror. He took Temeraire aloft at once, while the men spread out, calling, in every direction, in vain: the scouring wind had left no tracks, no signs, not so much as a scrap of bloody hide.

      By midday they had given it up, and began in desolate spirits to pack up the camp; seven camels lost, and their water-casks with them, which they had left on to keep them weighted down and quiet. ‘Will we be able to buy more in Cherchen?’ Laurence asked Tharkay, wearily, wiping a hand across his brow; he did not recall seeing many animals in the streets of the town, which they had left nearly three days before.

      ‘Only with difficulty,’ Tharkay said. ‘Camels are very dear here, and men prize them highly; some may object to selling healthy beasts to be eaten. We ought not turn back, in my opinion.’ At Laurence’s doubtful look, he added, ‘I set the number at thirty deliberately high, in case of accidents: this is worse than I had planned for, but we can yet manage until we reach the Keriya River. We will have to ration the camels, and refill Temeraire’s water casks as best we can at the oases, forgoing as much as we can ourselves; it will not be pleasant, but I promise you it can be done.’

      The temptation was very great: Laurence bitterly grudged the loss of more time. Three days back to Cherchen, and likely a long delay there acquiring new pack animals, all the while having to manage food and water for Temeraire in a town unaccustomed to supporting any dragons at all, much less one of his size; a clear loss of more than a week, certainly. Tharkay seemed confident, and yet— and yet—

      Laurence drew Granby behind the tents, to consult in privacy: considering it best to keep their mission secret, so far as possible, and not to spread any useless anxiety over the state of affairs in Europe, Laurence had not yet shared their purpose with the rest of the crew, and left them to believe they were returning overland only to avoid the long delay in port.

      ‘A week is enough time to get the eggs to a covert somewhere,’ Granby said, urgently. ‘Gibraltar— the outpost on Malta— it might be the difference between success and failure. I swear to you there is not a man among us who would not go hungry and thirsty twice as long for the chance, and Tharkay is not saying there is a real risk we shall run dry.’

      Abruptly Laurence said, ‘And you are easy in your mind, trusting his judgement on the matter?’

      ‘More than any of ours, surely,’ Granby said. ‘What do you mean?’

      Laurence did not know quite how to put his unease into words; indeed he hardly knew what he feared. ‘I suppose I only do not like putting our lives so completely into his hands,’ he said. ‘Another few days of travel will put us out of reach of Cherchen, with our present supplies, and if he is mistaken—’

      ‘Well, his advice has been good so far,’ Granby said, a little more doubtfully, ‘though I won’t deny he has a damned queer way of going on, sometimes.’

      ‘He left the tent once, during the storm, for a long while,’ Laurence said quietly. ‘That was after the first day, halfway through— he said he went to look in on the camels.’

      They stood silently together. ‘I don’t suppose we could tell by looking how long that camel has been dead?’ Granby suggested. They went to try an inspection, but too late: Gong Su already had what was left of the dead beast jointed and spitted over a fire, browning to a turn, and offering no answers whatsoever.

      When consulted, Temeraire said, ‘It seems a very great pity to turn around to me also. I do not mind eating every other day,’ and added under his breath, ‘especially if it must be camel.’

      ‘Very well; we continue on,’ Laurence said, despite his misgivings, and when Temeraire had eaten, they trudged onward through a landscape rendered even more drear by the storm, scrub and vegetation torn away, even the scattering of colourful pebbles blown away, leaving no relief to the eye. They would have gladly welcomed even one of the grisly trail-markers, but there was nothing to guide their steps but the compass and Tharkay’s instincts.

      The rest of the long dry day passed by, as terrible and monotonous in its turn as the storm, miles of desert grinding slowly away under their feet; there was no sign of life, nor even one of the old crumbling wells. Most of the crew were riding on Temeraire now, trailing the sad little string of camels remaining; as the day wore on, even Temeraire’s head drooped: he too had only had half his usual ration of water.

      ‘Sir,’ Digby said through cracked lips, pointing, ‘I see something dark over there, though it’s not very big.’

      Laurence saw nothing; it was late in the day, with the sun beginning to make queer long shadows out of the small twisted rocks and stumps of the desert landscape, but Digby had the sharp eyes of youth and was the most reliable of his lookouts, not given to exaggeration. So they went on towards it: soon they could all see the round dark patch, but it was too small to be the mouth of a well. Tharkay stopped the camels beside it, looking down, and Laurence slid down from Temeraire’s neck to walk over: it was the lid of one of the lost water-casks, lying incongruously all alone atop the sand, thirty