Blood of Tyrants (50 page)

“When we are in battle with the greatest general of this age, and perhaps of any,” Laurence said, “I will be glad enough for victory of any kind; we can ill afford to sacrifice this chance or any other.”

Temeraire refused to be so pessimistic: Napoleon was not trying to get away entirely, which would have been maddening; he had only fallen back on a nearby town, Tsarevo Zaimische, and soon the battle would be joined properly—although it seemed, not to-day,
but tomorrow. Kutuzov was advancing their army, but they would not be in position properly until late, and then there would not be enough time to engage the enemy.

Chu growled deeply in his throat. “And where are we to get supply, if we do not defeat him the next day?” he demanded, and summoned Shen Shi to join him and Temeraire in proceeding to Kutuzov’s tent; although at least General Kutuzov came out at once to speak to them now, and listened with attention to their difficulties.

“We have four days’ adequate supply on hand, and of that we require three to reach our nearest resupply point,” Chu said, his tone glacially polite.

“Which means, sir,” Laurence said, having translated this, to the perplexed pause which received it, “that the legions should have to quit the field by mid-day tomorrow, regardless of the circumstances of the battle.”

Kutuzov at once sent for his own quartermasters, and an urgent conference was held. “General, we cannot procure three hundred head of cattle overnight!” one of these worthies protested. “Not unless you mean to starve the entire army for three days to feed them.”

“What do we want with three hundred head of cattle?” Chu said, with a disparaging snort.

“Twenty would serve excellently, if they are animals like this one,” Shen Shi said, indicating an unhappy bullock in the near distance, intended for the Russian couriers, “and ninety tons of grain. A hundred and ten, if we must transport it ourselves, so long as the supply is within forty miles.”

This list of requirements was so at war with the understanding of the Russian supply-officers that some argument was required even to persuade them to believe it correctly conveyed to them; then at last with some doubtful reluctance one said to the others, “The magazine at Mozhaisk is sufficiently supplied. We might get pigs from the farms near Kozhukhovo—”

Some seven of the supply-dragons set off at once, with a few rather alarmed Russian officers flung aboard with the crew to smooth the paths of the requisition, and the immediate crisis was averted; but Chu shook his head disapprovingly as they went back to their own campsite. “If they don’t have enough dragons for their infantry, of course this kind of sluggish maneuvering must be the consequence,” he said, “but what a mess! I expect those French will have dug in like moles by the time we get started in the morning.”

Indeed, when Temeraire went aloft shortly afterwards to have a look, he could see the French working frantically on earthworks and fortifications—the heavier dragons were holding entire trees in place, lengthwise, piled upon one another while men lashed them with rope and the middle-weights heaped up dirt to either side. “That is an inordinate number of trees,” Tharkay said to Laurence, as they took their turns peering down through the glass.

“Those trees have been cut, not torn up,” Laurence said, after some further study. “How the devil have they managed to cut down a hundred trees—”

“They are cutting down another, over there,” Gerry piped up, and looking Temeraire saw not a heavy-weight but three light-weight dragons instead, who were using a kind of saw which was little more than a long toothed chain with one end run around a wheel, which two of them turned rapidly by a crank while the third steadied the tree; the trunk was being torn through at extraordinary speed, and when it had been reduced to only a thin sliver, a heavy-weight was waved down; when she had seized it, several men chopped at the remaining portion with axes until she was able to break it off and carry it away.

“They will have a palisade by morning, at this rate,” Laurence said.

As they returned towards their own encampment, towards the Russian rear, Temeraire stopped briefly to speak with Grig, who with his fellows was perched on a hill watching not the preparations
for the battle, but the Chinese supply operations, behind their lines: the thirty cooking-pits, spaced at intervals so three
niru
might gather to eat around each one; two pigs and a great deal of wheat had gone into each one, and the bubbling stews were now being attended by five of the Shen Lung, who were stirring at occasional intervals, while another five were busy digging additional watering-holes with the assistance of their crews; the rest were napping while their crews worked on spare harness or cleaned them, or tended to the fighting-dragons who had come back with wounds to be tended.

“How
many
of you there are,” Grig said to Temeraire, in amazement, “and how well all of you eat! I haven’t seen so many dragons ever, except in the breeding grounds when I was hatched, and no-one gets enough to eat there.”

He looked down at his own covert as he spoke. The twenty Russian heavy-weights were presently feasting on what Temeraire could not deny were some very handsome cows, which would have been splendid if properly roasted, or perhaps stewed with some potatoes. But the Russian aviators plainly had no notion of anything of that sort, and the resulting scene was little better than an abattoir, the heavy-weights all tearing the cows apart violently, snapping and hissing at one another in arguing over the best bits of the innards in a very showy way, meanwhile scattering and wasting a great deal of the meat, and most of the blood sinking into the ground. Temeraire sniffed and turned aside.

“There is no reason that a great many dragons cannot partake in battle, and eat well, too, if only things are managed properly, and everyone has a fair share,” he said. “Our supply-dragons are paid for their work, too,” he added to the assembled dragons, who had cautiously edged a little closer to hear, “which is like being given treasure.”

Grig and several of his companions tittered softly together at this, as though Temeraire had made an excellent joke; Temeraire put back his ruff and said severely, “I am not making fun! They are paid wages, which are put into a bank account, and which they can
take out as gold and silver, whenever they should like. Look!” He pointed at one of the Shen Lung just then flying in with a load of rocks, which she meant to use for damming up a stream. “Look, you can see for yourselves, Lung Shen Mei, there, has a very handsome gold chain about her neck.”

The Russian dragons looked, and were silent; one of them said, low, “It is enough to make one think,” and many of the others rustled their wings uneasily, and eyed Temeraire and one another sidelong; they edged in towards one another and away from the speaker, who flung his head back defiantly, though he also threw a nervous look at Temeraire.

“Well, you should think,” Temeraire said, “that you needn’t live in such a wretched manner as you do. You ought to have liberties, and be paid wages if you
do
choose to obey orders—which you needn’t, if you do not want to—”

“But if we do not obey, they will send us back to the breeding grounds,” one said, “to go hungry.”

“If they do not give you enough food, they cannot complain if you go and take some, elsewhere,” Temeraire said. “It is not as though they can make you stay there, if you do not like to.”

They all stared at him, as though he had said something very peculiar; but before Temeraire could inquire further, a Russian aviator came out from his tent and saw them speaking together, and began shouting and pointing at them, cracking his short whip. He jerked on the chain of one of the heavy-weight dragons, rousing him up and turning him towards the assembled group, and the small dragons burst away in a frightened cloud, dispersing.

“Come away, Temeraire,” Laurence said, “before that fellow comes up here, and demands to know what we are about. I am damned if I will apologize to him for interference, and more so if I will tell him what you were saying to those beasts: the poor wretches have enough to bear, without being cuffed about further.”

“Laurence,” Temeraire said, leaping aloft, “do you suppose that they
do
keep the dragons in the breeding grounds, somehow, even if they are hungry?”

Laurence was silent, then heavily said, “I imagine they might set the heavy-weights upon them, if they try to leave.”

“But how could the heavy-weights agree to hurt a dragon so much smaller than they are, and who was only hungry, and not taking anything of theirs?” Temeraire said. “Surely they would feel perfect scrubs for doing such a thing. Although I do see,” he added, “that it would be hard to refuse anyone who had given you
so
much treasure, and helped guard it; one would feel the most extraordinary sense of obligation. Laurence,” he said suddenly, with dawning realization, “Laurence, is that why you do not care anything for fortune?”

“I cannot claim to be so unworldly as to care
nothing
for fortune,” Laurence said, “but I hope that I am unwilling to be a slave to it.”

The notion that fortune might enslave had not previously occurred to Temeraire, and it did not sit very well, but he could not deny that the Russian heavy-weights seemed to be quite willing to put on chains, all for treasure. “But I cannot believe,” he decided, “that they are so dreadful as to pen up small dragons for it; not, at least, without giving them a chance to refute it: I will ask Vosyem.”

“Pray save your inquiries for after the battle,” Laurence said. “We cannot hazard a division among our forces now.
That
might indeed offer Napoleon an advantage he would be quick to seize; and you may be sure that no argument or quarrel could have so powerful an effect, towards your ends, as the demonstration you and the legions—and for that matter, the enemy—are presently setting forward before the eyes of the Russian high command and so many of their young officers, of the immense advantage to be gained by an honorable and just treatment of dragons.”

Temeraire did see the necessity of defeating Napoleon, first, before they tried to do anything else; but that only made it all the more aggravating that Napoleon refused to be properly defeated. Anyway he did not see why the Russian dragons had let things get into such a fix, in the first place: even if the heavy-weights
did
behave so badly, surely the little dragons could sneak out, one after
another—or they might mass themselves into groups, and all but a few dash past—there were any number of ways Temeraire might imagine, for them to slip out of the breeding grounds, and once out, they might go anywhere they liked.

He devised several dozen such strategems, that afternoon, while there was nothing to do but wait: Laurence had urged him to rest, but Temeraire found he could not sleep properly with the enemy so very close—with victory so very close. He drowsed only a little, and ate his porridge unenthusiastically—he did appreciate, of course, how efficient porridge was, and how necessary to supply a force as large as their own, but he was growing rather tired of it—and then looked around for distraction: but Laurence was closeted with Tharkay and his officers, discussing their positions in the coming battle. That was a somewhat delicate matter, with Tharkay and Dyhern and Ferris not properly officers, although in Temeraire’s opinion that ought not count for much when one considered how ragged the proper officers were, and anyway—he sighed—it seemed they would very likely not have much to do. General Chu had hinted very strongly that Temeraire needn’t expect to do a lot of fighting, himself. It did not seem fair, somehow, that he and Laurence should have made it at all possible for them all to have such a splendid battle, and now have no real share of it themselves.

He decided to discuss his thoughts with Grig—in an entirely hypothetical manner; he would not at all provoke a quarrel—and looked for him; Grig was for once not directly in their camp, but sitting on the edge of it, and watching a couple of other Russian dragons hanging about with the long and messy supply-train of the army. They were a sort of dragon Temeraire had not seen at all amongst the Russians before, closer to middle-weight and without any bony plates, colored in green and fawn brown, and they wore only light harness.

“Why,” Temeraire said, coming over to join Grig, “those fellows look likely: why are
they
not fighting? I dare say they would
be more use than those heavy-weights, if we had enough of them: where did they come from?”

Grig gave a start when Temeraire came down. “They aren’t Russian dragons, at all,” he said, ruffling his wings to his back, and indeed Temeraire had scarcely landed before a man, very portly and red-faced, in high boots and a brown waistcoat and no coat at all, was stomping over with an angry expression, from the waggons, to shout in broad colonial English, “I’ve already told you fellows to be off: they aren’t for sale, and I’ll be damned if—” only to halt in some surprise when he saw that neither Grig nor Temeraire had any officers.

“Why, you are Americans,” Temeraire said, rather doubtfully. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“You may be sure we aren’t here by any choice of mine, that is blasted certain,” the sweating man said. “Where else can we be, with Oudinot and Saint-Cyr in St. Petersburg all but confiscating goods, and standing between us and our ship? I would rather get thirty cents on the dollar for my wares than ten; but if you scaly brutes and your rotten pack of whip-happy overseers don’t keep off Josiah and Linden, I
will
take my cargo back to Boney’s gang and make them welcome to it, and I’ll call in my ship and sell them every last bale of wool in the hold, too, see if I don’t.”

It seemed that the Russians had already made several attempts to buy the merchant’s dragons, who eyed Temeraire with some understandable nervousness and edged back from him, refusing to say a word, even though he explained quite clearly he had not the least interest in delivering them to the Russian service. “I don’t suppose,” he said at last, “that you are acquainted with John Wampanoag?” which produced something of a thaw.