Empire of Ivory Page 0,7
only soul stirring when Laurence came out; he was sitting, crouched against the cold, in one of the other narrow doorways to an elegant home, the heavy door standing open behind him, looking into the entry hall, tapestried and deserted. He had a cup of tea, steaming in the air. "May I offer you one?" he inquired. "I am sure the owners would not begrudge it."
"No, I must go up," Laurence said; he had been woken by a runner from the castle, summoning him to a meeting at once. Another piece of discourtesy, when they had only arrived so late; and to make matters worse, the boy had been unable to tell him of any provisions made for the feeding of the hungry dragons. What the ferals should say when they awoke, Laurence did not like to think.
"You need not worry; I am sure they will fend for themselves," Tharkay said, not a cheering prospect, and offered Laurence his own cup for consolation; Laurence sighed and drained it, grateful for the strong, hot brew. He gave Tharkay back the cup, and hestitated; the other man was looking across the cathedral square with a peculiar expression - his mouth twisted at one corner.
"Are you well?" Laurence asked; conscious he had thought not enough about his men, in his anxiety over Temeraire; and Tharkay he had less right to take for granted.
"Oh, very; I am quite at home," Tharkay said. "It is some time since I was last in Britain, but I was tolerably familiar with the Court of Session, then," nodding across the square at Parliament House, where the court met: Scotland's highest civil court, and a notorious pit of broken hopes, endless dragging suits, and wrangling over technicalities and estates; presently deserted by all its solicitors, judges, and suitors alike, and only a scattering of harried papers blown up against Temeraire's side like white patches, relics of old settlements. Tharkay's father had been a man of property, Laurence knew; Tharkay had none; the son of a Nepalese woman perhaps would have been at some disadvantage in the British courts, Laurence supposed, and any irregularity in his claims easily exploited.
At least he did not look at all enthusiastic to be home; if home he considered it, and Laurence said, "I hope," tentatively, and tried awkwardly to suggest that Tharkay might consider extending his contract, when they had settled such delicate matters as payment for those services already rendered: Tharkay had been paid for guiding them along the old silk trading routes from China, but since then he had recruited the ferals to their cause, which demanded a bounty beyond Laurence's private means. And his services could by no means be easily dispensed with now, not until the ferals were settled somehow into the Corps, Tharkay being, apart from Temeraire, almost the only one who could manage more than a few words of their odd, inflected language. "I would gladly speak to Admiral Lenton at Dover, if you would not object," Laurence added; he did not at all mean to discuss any such irregular question with whichever notable was commanding here, after the treatment which they had so far received.
Tharkay only shrugged, noncommittal, and said, "Your messenger grows anxious," nodding to where the young runner was fidgeting unhappily at the corner of the square, waiting for Laurence to come along.
The boy took him the short distance up the hill to the castle gates; from there Laurence was escorted to the admiral's office by an officious red-coated Marine, their path winding around to the headquarters building through the medieval stone courtyards, empty and free from hurry in the early-morning dimness. The doors were opened, and he went in stiffly, straight-shouldered; his face had set into disapproving lines, cold and rigid. "Sir," he said, eyes fixed at a point upon the wall; and only then glanced down, and said, surprised, "Admiral Lenton?"
"Laurence; yes. Sit, sit down." Lenton dismissed the guard, and the door closed upon them and the musty, book-lined room; the Admiral's desk was nearly clear, but for a single small map, a handful of papers. Lenton sat for a moment silently. "It is damned good to see you," he said at last. "Very good to see you indeed. Very good."
Laurence was very much shocked at his appearance. In the year since their last meeting, Lenton seemed to have aged ten: hair gone entirely white, and a vague, rheumy look in his eyes; his jowls hung slack. "I hope I find you well,