Naomi Novik - Tongues of Serpents

The convicts at best they used as cheap labor; at worst, as chattel. Without prospects or connections to make them either interested in their future or ashamed of their behavior, and trapped in a country that was a prison which needed no walls, the convicts were easily bribed to both labor and their own pacification with cheap rum, brought in at a handsome profit by the soldiers, and in such a way those who ought to have enforced order instead contributed to its decay, with no care for the disorder and self-destruction they thus engendered.

“Or at least, so Bligh has argued, incessantly, and everything which I have seen bears him out,” Laurence said. “But Tenzing, I cannot trust myself; I fear that I wish the complaints to be just, rather than know they are so. I am sorry to say it would be convenient to have an excuse to restore him.”

“There is capot, I am afraid,” Tharkay said, putting down his last card. “If you insist on achieving justice and not only convenience, you would learn more from speaking with some local citizen, a settled man, with nothing to complain of in his treatment on either side.”

“If such a man is to be found, I can see no reason he would willingly confide his opinion, in so delicate a matter,” Laurence said, throwing in, and gathering the cards up to sort out afresh.

“I have letters of introduction to some few of the local factors,” Tharkay said, a piece of news to Laurence, who wondered; so far as he knew, Tharkay had come to New South Wales merely to indulge an inveterate wanderlust; but of course he could not intrude upon Tharkay’s privacy with a direct question.

“If you like,” Tharkay had continued, “I can make inquiries; and as for reason, if there is discontent enough to form the grounds for your decision, I would imagine that same discontent sufficient motive to speak.”

The attempt to pursue this excellent advice now having ended in public ignominy, however, Bligh was only too eager to take advantage and press Laurence further for action. “Dogs, Captain Laurence, dogs and cowardly sheep, all of them,” Bligh said, ignoring yet again Laurence’s attempt to correct his address to Mr. Laurence; it would suit Bligh better, Laurence in exasperation supposed, to be restored by a military officer, and not a private citizen.

Bligh continued, “I imagine you can hardly disagree with me now. It is impossible you should disagree with me. It is the direct consequence of their outrageous usurpation of the King’s authority. What respect, what discipline, can possibly be maintained under a leadership so wholly devoid of just and legal foundation, so utterly lost to loyalty and—”

Here Bligh paused, perhaps reconsidering an appeal to the virtues of obedience, in the light of Laurence’s reputation; throwing his tiller over, however, Bligh without losing much time said instead, “—and to decency; allow me to assure you this infamous kind of behavior is general throughout the military ranks of the colony, indulged and indeed encouraged by their leaders.”

Fatigue and a soreness at once physical and of the spirit had by now cut Laurence’s temper short: he had endured dinner in increasing discomfort, his ribs grown swollen and very tender beneath the makeshift bandage; his hands ached a great deal, and what was worse, to no purpose: nothing gained but a sense of disgust. He was very willing to think ill of the colony’s leadership, of Johnston and MacArthur, but Bligh had not recommended himself, and his nearly gleeful satisfaction was too crassly, too visibly opportunistic.

Laurence put down his coffee-cup with some force on the steward’s tray. “I must wonder, sir,” he said, “how you would expect to govern, when you should be forced to rely upon those same soldiers whom you presently so disdain; having removed their ringleaders, who have preferred them to an extreme and given them so much license, how would you conciliate their loyalty, having been restored at the hands of one whom they already see as an outlaw?”

“Oh! You give too much credit,” Bligh said, dismissively, “to their loyalty, and too little to their sense; they must know, of course, that MacArthur and Johnston are doomed. The length of the sea-voyage, the troubles in England, these alone have preserved them; but the hangman’s noose waits for them both, and as the time draws near, the advantages of their preferment lose their luster. Some reassurances—some concessions—of course they may keep their land grants, and those appointments not made too ill may remain—”

He made a few more general remarks of this sort, with no better course of action envisioned on Bligh’s part, so far as Laurence could see, than to levy a series of new but only cosmetic restrictions, which should certainly only inflame men irritated by the overthrow, by an outsider and an enemy, of their tolerated if not necessarily chosen leadership.

“Then I hardly see,” Laurence said, not very politely, “precisely how you would repair these evils you condemn, which I cannot see were amended during your first administration; nor is Temeraire, as you seem to imagine, some sort of magical cannon which may be turned on anyone you like.”

“If with this collection of mealy-mouthed objections you will excuse yourself from obliging me, Mr. Laurence,” Bligh answered, deep color spotting in the hollows of his cheeks, “I must count it another disappointment, and mark it against your character, such as that is,” this with an acrid and unpleasant edge; and he left the quarterdeck with his lips pressed tight and angry.

If Bligh followed in his usual mode, however, he would soon repent of his hasty words and seek another interview; Laurence knew it very well, and his feelings were sufficiently lacerated already that he did not care to be forced to endure the pretense of an apology, undoubtedly to be followed by a fresh renewal of those same arguments he had already heard and rejected.

He had meant to sleep aboard the ship, whose atmosphere had been greatly improved: the convicts having been delivered to the dubious embrace of the colony, Riley had set every one of his men to pumping the lower decks clean, sluicing out the filth and miasm left by several hundred men and women who had been afforded only the barest minimum of exercise and liberty essential to health. Smudges of smoke had been arranged throughout, and then a fresh round of pumping undertaken.

With the physical contamination and the hovering and perpetual aura of misery thus erased, Laurence’s small quarters now made a comfortable if not luxurious residence by his standards, formed in his youth by the dimensions of a midshipman’s cot. Meanwhile the small shelter on the dragons’ promontory remained unroofed and as yet lacked its final wall, but Laurence felt bruised more in spirit than in body, and the weather held dry; he went below only to collect a few articles, and quitted the ship to seek refuge in Temeraire’s company.

In this mood, he was by no means prepared to be accosted on the track back up to the promontory by a gentleman on horseback, of aquiline face and by the standards of the colony elegantly dressed, who leaned from his horse and demanded, “Am I speaking with Mr. Laurence?”

“You have the advantage of me,” Laurence said, a little rudely in his own turn; but he was not inclined to regret his curtness when the man said, “I am John MacArthur; I should like a word.”

There was little question he was the architect of the entire rebellion; and though he had arranged to be appointed Colonial Secretary, he had so far not even given Riley the courtesy of a call. “You choose odd circumstances for your request, sir,” Laurence said, “and I do not propose to stand speaking in the dust of the street. You are welcome to accompany me to the covert, if you like; although I would advise you to leave your horse.”