“Yes,” Laurence said.
“I don’t deny it was ugly,” Granby said, “and I dare say it has given you a sad turn now, but—but do recall, we have all come about. Boney would have got his hands on the cure sooner or later anyway, and he would have come over anyway. And he’d be in England still if Temeraire hadn’t brought half the dragons out of the breeding grounds and to the war with him. You’ve your pardon, now, and you’re restored to the list.”
“A pardon cannot restore a man’s reputation,” Laurence said, “and still less his honor, if lost.” He was silent, and then said, “I suppose I was pardoned for Temeraire—that the Corps should continue to have the use of him.”
“Well,” Granby said.
Laurence nodded. He wondered bleakly if such a motive had kept him by Temeraire’s side; if he had clung to his post to save himself from hanging. But even as he had the thought, some instinct rejected it. He finished the glass and put it aside. “I beg your pardon,” he said quietly, “I cannot suppose I concealed my feelings from Temeraire at all well, and he was distressed already. I must go and speak with him.”
Temeraire huddled in his pavilion, as wretched as ever he had been; it seemed to him disaster followed directly on disaster. First their shipwreck; Laurence’s peculiar brain-fever; the assassination attempts which so nearly had succeeded; then the discovery of the opium, which might ruin everything—might prevent an alliance and leave them at a standstill. Mei had been very stiff and withdrawn, since then. She said she had accepted Temeraire’s assurances that he had known nothing of the smuggling, and neither had Laurence, but she had not wanted to try again for the egg since then; and all the other dragons in the encampment kept a cold distance.
But all that paled before this. Temeraire could not conceive how Laurence had forgotten the treason—the treason, which had so deeply wounded him. It seemed wretchedly unfair. If only Temeraire had known, he would never, never have said a word; how gladly he would have joined Laurence in forgetting, and Laurence need never have known anything about it ever again.
And if Laurence had forgotten the treason, surely he had forgotten everything else, as well. He had forgotten about the loss of his fortune. Temeraire would have to confess that to him, all over again; he would have to explain to Laurence that he had lost him ten thousand pounds, and that loss Temeraire had not repaired. Laurence would have all the pain of it afresh, and Temeraire should have to face all his justified blame. Temeraire huddled his head beneath his wing and tried not to think of it.
Forthing had tried to speak with him, half-an-hour ago; Temeraire had paid him no attention. He returned now with Ferris, who came by Temeraire’s head and said quietly, “Come, Temeraire; it will come out all right, you will see. The captain will come round. Will you eat something, or would you like Sipho to read to you?” He turned his head and called out the pavilion’s side, “Sipho! Will you bring that book over here, of poesy?” and added, “What you need is some distraction—”
“How can you speak of distraction to me?” Temeraire said, lifting his head up. “If I had paid better attention—if I had properly understood—oh! I am distracted, far worse than I ought to be. Where is Laurence?” He reared up his head, and tried to see him. Laurence had walked away across the camp, and his eyes—his eyes had looked half-blind—
“He is with Captain Granby,” Forthing said. “He will be all right, Temeraire; it’s all that knock on the head he took—”
“It is not!” Temeraire said. “I dare say he wished to forget, and whyever would he not wish to? I have lost him his fortune, and his rank, and his ship, and his wife—”
“What?” Ferris said. “Whenever was the captain married?”
“Never!” Temeraire said. “That is what I mean; and everyone will have it that nothing could be more splendid than marriage, and he has put it aside for my sake—that, and everything else, and he regrets it so that he has forgotten all of it, so he needn’t think of it.”
“Lord, Temeraire!” Forthing said. “You can’t suppose he has chosen to drop a hand of years out of his head.”
Temeraire turned his narrowed gaze sharp on Ferris. “Would you not, if you could?” he demanded. “Ferris! Would you not rather be shot of me? If you had anywhere else to go? It was my fault you were dismissed the service—”
Ferris flushed and said shortly, “I shouldn’t reproach you or the captain for any of it, if only you had asked me to take a part. I should have been happier hanged for such a cause than dismissed for a cowardly liar.”