And then Berkley would say, coarsely, “Put down that leg, you mannerless gobbler: we had better be going along and let the two of them have at their business. Laurence, will you come and have a hand of whist?” which even if Temeraire did not translate it for Mei had too obvious an effect: the dragons and all their captains getting hurriedly up and leaving the tea-bowls half-full, rudely. Even Laurence rose and, speaking softly with Berkley, made to climb aboard Maximus’s back.
Temeraire would rather Laurence had not left, either; he did not see why Laurence should go anywhere. He caught Lily as they departed and whispered, “Lily, you will keep a lookout for Laurence, will you not? Pray do not let him wander off, or be assassinated; or lose any more of his memory.”
“Of course,” Lily answered, stoutly. “I will make sure he stays with Catherine and Berkley, and do not let Iskierka trouble you. I am sure you will make a perfectly splendid egg with this Imperial.”
“Lily, I do not look too wretchedly scarred, do I?” Temeraire asked.
“No,” Lily said, with a quick critical look. “—no; and you will fill out again very soon, with good eating. She must know you have come from a long way.”
This was not terribly reassuring, but there was nothing to be done for it; the others were all leaping into the air: it was only Temeraire and Mei left in the courtyard. The servants laid out fresh bowls and poured the tea again.
Then they withdrew as well, to the hallway where they might hear a call; with a desperate leap into the ensuing silence Temeraire said to Mei, “How well you look—those jewels are particularly becoming.”
“You are very kind,” Mei said, and then to his horror and dismay added, in quite respectable English, “I am glad to see you so well, Lung Tien Xiang: too many times has the moon turned since we last saw one another beneath the boughs of the peach-trees, in the Summer Palace.”
“Why,” Temeraire said, wretchedly, “you have learnt English.”
“Yes,” Mei said, and with her usual tact added, “but I still cannot follow it very well, if someone speaks quickly: I have not had enough chance to practice.”
“I must have words with Iskierka,” Temeraire said. “I will have words with her; oh! I am so very sorry, Mei, that she should have been so rude. I only wish you hadn’t known of it.”
Mei ruffled out her wings a little, but did not pretend any longer that she did not know exactly what he meant. “I do not take any notice of it,” she said. “She must be very attached to you, I suppose: I do not fault her for that. One cannot expect civilized manners from barbarians.”
“She is not very attached to me, in the least,” Temeraire said. “She is only attached to showing away, and annoyed she cannot do it so well as usually.” He fell silent; he was not sure how to approach the matter. Diffidently he added, “I imagine—I expect Hammond has told you—” and then paused helplessly; this was not the breeding grounds of Pen y Fan in Wales, where everyone treated the matter with an easy coarseness, and everyone understood what they were about and merely wished to have the matter over with as quickly and easily as they might.
He had never expected to regret anything of those conditions, anything of being treated as a dumb bestial creature good for nothing else, but at the moment, if old Lloyd had appeared from nowhere to say, “Here now, why don’t the two of you share a nice cow, and then have yourselves a splendid time,” and Mei had acquiesced, Temeraire might almost have managed gratitude. If only Laurence had stayed: Temeraire might have introduced him to Mei, and they might have conversed awhile; they might have been quite comfortable and easy, and the subject of eggs might have been allowed to rise naturally, in the flow of conversation. But that seemed quite impossible now: Temeraire found himself adrift and speechless.
Mei took pity upon him, and said gently, “I have not spoken to Mr. Hammond; I have come at the request of the crown prince. But I will be frank with you, dear friend: your minister’s thoughts have run along behind his, it seems, for I have come to ask if you would consider doing me the very great honor of permitting me to attempt to bear a Celestial egg to you.”
Temeraire felt rather heaped with coals of fire by this gracious speech, and made haste to convey to Mei his own willingness, and gratitude. He hesitated to go too far, in expressing the latter; after all, though he might be cut-about, he had come by his wounds honorably; and he was a Celestial: he did not want to abandon his dignity. Nothing could be less pleasing, he thought, to Mei; he did not want her to feel that she condescended. But he felt he could say, and did, “Nothing should give me greater pleasure than to make the attempt, if you were willing. I am very honored that His Imperial Highness would look to myself, to sire a companion for his reign.”