Empire of Ivory
Book Jacket
Temeraire [4]
“A new writer is soaring on the wings of a dragon.”–The New York Times“Enthralling reading–it’s like Jane Austen playing Dungeons & Dragons with Eragon’s Christopher Paolini.”–Time, on His Majesty’s DragonTragedy has struck His Majesty’s Aerial Corps, whose magnificent fleet of fighting dragons and their human captains valiantly defend England’s shores against the encroaching armies of Napoleon Bonaparte. An epidemic of unknown origin and no known cure is decimating the noble dragons’ ranks–forcing the hopelessly stricken into quarantine. Now only Temeraire and a pack of newly recruited dragons remain uninfected–and stand as the only means of an airborne defense against France’s ever bolder sorties.Bonaparte’s dragons are already harrowing Britain’s ships at sea. Only one recourse remains: Temeraire and his captain, Will Laurence, must take wing to Africa, whose shores may hold the cure to the mysterious and deadly contagion. On this mission there is no time to waste, and no telling what lies in store beyond the horizon or for those left behind to wait, hope, and hold the line.“A gripping adventure full of rich detail and the impossible wonder of gilded fantasy.”–Entertainment Weekly, on His Majesty’s Dragon“A thrilling fantasy . . . All hail Naomi Novik.”–The Washington Post Book World, on His Majesty’s Dragon
Temeraire 04
Empire of Ivory
By Naomi Novik
To Francesca,
may we always flee lions together
Chapter 1
SEND UP ANOTHER, damn you, send them all up, at once if you
have to," Laurence said savagely to poor Calloway, who did
not deserve to be sworn at: the gunner was firing off the
flares so quickly his hands were scorched black, skin
cracking and peeling to bright red where some powder had
spilled onto his fingers; he was not stopping to wipe them
clean before setting each flare to the match.
One of the little French dragons darted in again, slashing
at Temeraire's side, and five men fell screaming as a piece
of the makeshift carrying-harness unraveled. They vanished
at once beyond the lantern-light and were swallowed up in
the dark; the long twisted rope of striped silk, a pillaged
curtain, unfurled gently in the wind and went billowing
down after them, threads trailing from the torn edges. A
moan went through the other Prussian soldiers still
clinging desperately to the harness, and after it followed
a low angry muttering in German.
Any gratitude the soldiers might have felt for their rescue
from the siege of Danzig had since been exhausted: three
days flying through icy rain, no food but what they had
crammed into their pockets in those final desperate
moments, no rest but a few hours snatched along a cold and
marshy stretch of the Dutch coast, and now this French
patrol harrying them all this last endless night. Men so
terrified might do anything in a panic; many of them had
still their small-arms and swords, and there were more than
a hundred of them crammed aboard, to the less than thirty
of Temeraire's own crew.
Laurence swept the sky again with his glass, straining for
a glimpse of wings, an answering signal. They were in sight
of shore, the night was clear: through his glass he saw the
gleam of lights dotting the small harbors all along the
Scottish coast, and below heard the steadily increasing
roar of the surf. Their flares ought to have been plain to
see all the way to Edinburgh; yet no reinforcements had
come, not a single courier-beast even to investigate.
"Sir, that's the last of them," Calloway said, coughing
through the grey smoke that wreathed his head, the flare
whistling high and away. The powder-flash went off silently
above their heads, casting the white scudding clouds into
brilliant relief, reflecting from dragon scales in every
direction: Temeraire all in black, the rest in gaudy colors
muddied to shades of grey by the lurid blue light. The
night was full of their wings: a dozen dragons turning
their heads around to look back, their gleaming pupils
narrowing; more coming on, all of them laden down with men,
and the handful of small French patrol-dragons darting
among them.
All seen in the flash of a moment, then the thunderclap
crack and rumble sounded, only a little delayed, and the
flare dying away drifted into blackness again. Laurence
counted ten, and ten again; still there was no answer from
the shore.
Emboldened, the French dragon came in once more. Temeraire
aimed a swipe which would have knocked the little Pou-deCiel flat, but his attempt was very slow, for fear of
dislodging any more of his passengers; their small enemy
evaded with contemptuous ease and circled away to wait for
his next chance.
"Laurence," Temeraire said, looking round, "where are they
all? Victoriatus is in Edinburgh; he at least ought to have
come. After all, we helped him, when he was hurt; not that
I need help, precisely, against these little dragons," he
added, straightening his neck with a crackle of popping
joints, "but it is not very convenient to try and fight
while we are carrying so many people."
This was putting a braver face on the situation than it
deserved: they could not very well defend themselves at
all, and Temeraire was taking the worst of it, bleeding
already from many small gashes along his side and flanks,
which the crew could not bandage up, so cramped were they
aboard.
"Only keep everyone moving towards the shore," Laurence
said; he had no better answer to give. "I cannot imagine
the patrol will pursue us over land," he added, but
doubtfully; he would never have imagined a French patrol
could come so near to shore as this, either, without
challenge; and how he should manage to disembark a thousand
frightened and exhausted men under bombardment he did not
like to contemplate.
"I am trying; only they will keep stopping to fight,"
Temeraire said wearily, and turned back to his work. Arkady
and his rough band of mountain ferals found the small
stinging attacks maddening, and they kept trying to turn
around mid-air and go after the French patrol-dragons; in
their contortions they were flinging off more of the
hapless Prussian soldiers than the enemy could ever have
accounted for. There was no malice in their carelessness:
the wild dragons were unused to men except as the jealous
guardians of flocks and herds, and they did not think of
their passengers as anything more than an unusual burden;
but with malice or none, the men were dying all the same.
Temeraire could only prevent them by constant vigilance,
and now he was hovering in place over the line of flight,
cajoling and hissing by turns, encouraging the others to