“Yes, of course; they are wrapped in oilcloth and in the batting chest,” Roland said, before Laurence could begin to protest. “Shall I fetch them out?”
“At once, if you please,” Temeraire said, while Laurence drew breath. However desperate the circumstances, all feeling revolted at the notion he should trick himself out in the panoply of the Imperial court and use it to present himself as a prince of China—and not merely in that court, where all involved knew and perfectly understood the polite and fictional nature of his status, but brazenly to the government of a foreign state, to none other than the commander-in-chief of the Russian Army, appointed by the Tsar himself.
“Besides which, you can scarcely expect the Russians to believe me a prince of China on sight,” Laurence said, “and they are not likely to listen or accept so fantastic a story as my adoption must seem, on first blush.” But Temeraire was inclined to be mulish; Temeraire did not see any reason why anyone should doubt Laurence’s claims.
“I beg that you will forgive my presuming to raise a small difficulty, Lung Tien Xiang,” Gong Su said, coming quite unexpectedly to the rescue, “but there can be no question of His Imperial Highness presenting himself in such a manner.”
Temeraire paused, his ruff flattening, but undeterred Gong Su added gently, “I am sure that if not for the urgency of our situation, and the small amount of time your duties have permitted you to enjoy at the Imperial court, you would recall that the honor of a formal Imperial visit cannot be lightly bestowed, and requires most careful arrangements. The foreign officials should have to be instructed in correct protocol,” meaning of course they should have to agree to prostrate themselves before Laurence, an event unlikely in the extreme, “and appropriate gifts should have to be presented on the Emperor’s behalf and offered in return. Of course such a remarkable mission cannot be sent forward without the Emperor’s will.”
“Certainly not,” Laurence said, with deep relief. “Temeraire, you would not in the least ask me to do such a thing.”
“But when the war depends upon it,” Temeraire said, “I am sure the Emperor would understand if one were to make an exception—and all to carry out his orders,” he added quickly, with the air of one seizing upon an excellent argument.
“I think we must be guided in such matters by Gong Su,” Laurence said hastily, “whose experience of the Imperial court dwarfs our own.”
Temeraire turned to Chu in appeal, but he shook his mane vigorously. “Oh, no,” he said. “You are not going to get me to quarrel with the crown prince’s envoy: I am keeping out of it. You are a Celestial and he is a prince; you can disagree. I am just an old general who wants a quiet life, and to retire to a place in the mountains.”
Temeraire snorted at this. “But how otherwise are we to get in to see Kutuzov?” he said, turning back to Laurence, who was grimly aware he had no answer, other than perhaps bringing Temeraire down over Kutuzov’s pavilion and pulling it up into the air, which should certainly provoke a response of some kind: more likely a cannonball than an invitation, however.
“If I may cut your Gordian knot,” Tharkay said, with a glint in his eye. “Bring down the robes, Roland. You are not going to wear them, Will. You are going to lend them to me.”
“I do not see why anyone other than Laurence should wear them,” Temeraire grumbled, while they unpacked the indeed very thoroughly wrapped garments from their layers and layers of oilcloth and sacking. “They are his robes, and he is the Emperor’s son; it seems to me quite wrong that you should present yourselves in any other manner. Laurence, if you are worried about causing the Emperor any distress, I am sure he should object to your lending out his gift. And is it not in any case quite illegal for Tharkay to wear them?”—half-pleadingly.
“Tharkay can hardly be considered guilty of violating the sumptuary laws of a nation of which he is neither citizen nor servant, and when we are not even within its borders,” Laurence said, “and I will present myself to General Kutuzov, as I am, a British serving-officer, here with our nation’s allies to assist in the war effort; Gong Su will present himself as the Emperor’s envoy. We will not claim any position falsely for Tharkay. Whatever conclusions the Russians might choose to draw, from his looks, and his having borrowed certain garments of mine, will create no obligations of state on either side.”