Every Thorn Has Its Rose Chapter 2
A/N
This story was meant to be complete after one chapter. But people are hitting the "Follow" button and asking for more, and more ideas are percolating into my peculiar brain (dear). So I'm going to extend the tale. I have no idea how or when it will end; I can't even promise if it will end. I'm writing these ideas as they hit me, and posting them for the amusement of anyone who likes them, without my usual promise of "I'll finish what I've started." Enjoy the story for what it's worth.
My principal goal in writing this story is to try to recapture a part of "His Majesty's Dragon" that I loved, which is not nearly so prevalent in the other books: the sense of wonder. The first few chapters of the first book are all about the amazing discoveries that Laurence was making about Temeraire, and that Temeraire was making about the world around him. I loved that; I keep rereading those first few chapters, over and over. If you feel like I do, then this story will give you something different to read, which hopefully contains something of that same sense of wonder.
o
The messenger from the London covert arrived at the Admiralty headquarters as the sun was setting. He left his sweaty, panting horse with a groom, snapped off a salute to the Marine guards at the door, and burst into the main office. "Dispatches from the north," he said to the first person he saw, a one-legged boatswain who had been invalided to desk duty. "Something here has the highest priority."
"I'll take them," said the boatswain. He quickly skimmed through the sheaf of papers and pulled out one in particular. "This is the one." He slipped it into a brown envelope and held it out to a boy who stood at the inner door. "Get this up to Admiral White at once. He has been awaiting this." The boy took the envelope wordlessly and dashed away to the Admiral's office.
Vice-Admiral White read the document and, true to Lieutenant St. Hubbins' prediction, nearly died of apoplexy. The report came from the head of the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds. It described the hatching of the much-awaited new poison-spitting dragon, and went into some detail about its appearance and its apparent intelligence. It had not flown away and it had not attacked anyone; that was good news. But the most important sentence was near the bottom, buried in a paragraph full of the new dragon's measurements, as if the author had tried to hide it:
"The dragon has rejected all the rider candidates, and has chosen instead one Rose Smalls, sister of Lt. Derek Smalls."
The admiral read the sentence four times, trying to make sense of it. He could not recall a Lt. Rose being sent to the breeding grounds. Perhaps "Rose" was a misprint of "Ross?" But he did not remember a Lt. Ross, either. Perhaps the writer meant "master" instead of "sister" and had absently written the wrong word? He puzzled over it for five or six minutes, his temper slowly rising, before he finally burst out of his office.
"Blithering idiots!" he exclaimed to his secretary. "They can't even file a proper hatching report without making twenty mistakes and leaving the whole mess meaningless! I knew I should have gone up there myself. Well, better late than never. When is the next courier dragon due to arrive?"
"Amadeus is due to land around midnight," the young man replied as he glanced at a chalk board on the wall. "But Julius arrived within the hour, and he is probably still at the covert. I presume you wish to use him as transportation to the breeding ground?"
"Julius? The orange Winchester? Why in the bloody blue blazes would the dragon still be there?" the admiral demanded. "Doesn't the confounded rider know that we run our courier service on a time schedule?"
"The rider, Ensign Keaggy, is a temporary captain, following Lt. Prince's untimely death by drowning," the secretary said as tactfully as he could. "As for the dragon, he has a known peculiarity. He insists on taking a huge drink of water immediately after a long flight, and is then unwilling to fly again until the water has settled in his system. No threats or discipline have availed against this habit of his. The dragon is surely still on the ground as we speak."
"So orange Julius is always up for a devilishly good drink, you say," White spat. "And no one can get him moving? Botheration! Is this any way to run a Corps? Get me my carriage. No, preparing a carriage will be too slow; get me a horse. I think I still remember how to ride." He was soon trotting up the roads that led to the covert. Sure enough, Julius was still there.
"Sir, our next destination is Land's End, not Pen Y Fan," Ensign Keaggy tried to protest.
"Ensign, there has been a change in your schedule," the admiral growled. "Your next destination is now the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds. Will this pose so many difficulties that I will be forced to find another rider for this dragon?"
"No, sir," the ensign gulped.
"Please do not do that," the dragon cut in, swinging his mottled-orange head down to look the Admiral in the eye. "I think I like this man."
"You are content with him as your captain?" White asked, shifting suddenly from his command growl to a more hopeful tone.
"I still miss Lieutenant Prince," Julius said wistfully, "but Keaggy is nice to me and he is not full of himself. I like him better than the others."
"Very well, then, Julius," the admiral nodded. "You have a new captain. I shall issue the necessary orders in the morning." He turned back to the dragon rider. "As I was saying, Lieutenant Keaggy, will there be any problems taking me to the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds tonight?"
"No, sir!" the newly-promoted lieutenant exclaimed, puffing his chest out. "Julius, can we lift off at once?"
"I would like to settle my stomach some more, if you please," the dragon answered. "I took an especially big drink this time."
"You said that half an hour ago, you liquid-loving lizard! The Admiral wants us to go now. And Admirals are supposed to get whatever they want!"
"Just five more minutes? Please?" the dragon pleaded.
White pulled out a pocket timepiece and looked at it. "You may have your five minutes," he rumbled, "and not a second more. If we are not in the air in six minutes, you will drink nothing for an hour when we land!" Admiral White had always been good at motivating dragons and their riders, and he had not lost his touch. Julius shook out his harness, exclaimed, "All lies well!" and they were aloft well before the Admiral's six-minute deadline. It was nearly midnight when they finally arrived, and the Admiral had to get some sleep before he confronted the men who had filed such a sloppy report about so vital a subject.
As the sun rose, the Admiral took a quick breakfast and marched out to the newly-built barn and barracks on the edges of the breeding grounds. He stopped at the barracks first. "Which one of you is Smalls?" he roared.
"That would be me, sir," Smalls exclaimed as he leaped to his feet, his cribbage game with Lieutenant St. Hubbins forgotten.
The admiral slowly strode over to the slightly taller man. "I have received a report about this new dragon of ours," he said icily. "It has been reported that the dragon rejected all of my choices for his commander, and he chose someone by the name of Rose Smalls instead. Can you shed some light on this matter?"
"That is exactly what happened, sir," Smalls said carefully, "except the dragon is a 'she,' not a 'he.'"
"Thank you for that useful intelligence, Lieutenant," the admiral growled. "As if that had anything whatsoever to do with the useless, incomplete report I received about the hatching! I expect better information than that when the survival of the Corps and the Empire are at stake! Where the devil is Lt. Tufnel?"
"He is helping to weigh and measure the dragon, sir," Smalls answered formally, snapping to attention. "Out in the barn, sir."
"I see," White said. "And why, may I ask, are you not helping to weigh and measure the dragon?"
"I meant to, sir, but only one man was necessary, and Lt. Tufnel pulled rank on me. Sir."
The admiral glared at him. "The last time I looked, it took at least two men to weigh and measure a dragon, even a very small one."
"Yes, sir, that is true, sir, but Lt. Tufnel and Rose have the matter well in hand, sir."
"And that is another matter that confounds me," White rumbled. "Who is this Lt. Rose, or Ross, or whatever his name is?"
Smalls began to redden. "Sir, I admit this is most irregular..."
"Irregular? This entire wretched affair is irregular, and may the devil take everyone involved with it!" the admiral exploded; Smalls flinched back and resumed his position of attention. White went on, "I suppose the only way I shall get the facts is if I get them myself! Believe me, there are going to be some changes made in the running of this breeding ground! For now, where is this irregular barn that contains this irregular dragon and its irregular rider?"
"Follow me, sir, if you please," Smalls said, and turned for the door without waiting to see if the admiral meant to follow him. He heard the firm footsteps behind him and slightly relaxed as he realized he had guessed right. He led the admiral to the barn, stepped aside, and gestured to the open door. He had no intention of going in there and facing the explosion that was about to occur.
Admiral White stepped into the barn and looked around. There were two furnaces in the corners, an empty egg-hatching box in the middle, and no sign of anything or anyone else. He turned back to Smalls. "Are you certain this is where I should find our new dragon?" he asked, with a deadly edge in his voice.
"They may have stepped out the other doors, sir," Smalls suggested formally. "They need to measure the dragon's wings, and she cannot spread them indoors comfortably anymore."
"That sounds deucedly large for a newly-hatched middleweight," the admiral muttered as he approached the large doors on the other side of the barn. One of the doors was lying on the ground, with some char marks where the hinges should have been. He would speak to the builders of the barn about their shoddy workmanship later, but for now, he wanted answers. He stepped through the open door. Smalls crept into the barn as the admiral left, so he could keep an eye on the situation.
Admiral White got no answers from his first glimpse of the dragon. She was every bit as blue as the report had suggested, and the description of her markings was also accurate. She was standing in the open with her wings stretched out, and those wings were almost as long as those of a full-grown middleweight. Either she would grow into them as she got bigger, or she was going to have the highest wing-to-length ratio of any dragon in the Corps.
Two people were measuring those wings, one at a time, with a tape measure. He recognized Lt. Tufnel at once; he had served with the young man's father for years, and had guided the son's career. The other person... his jaw dropped.
"A lady? Working with Her Majesty's newest dragon? What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?" he demanded.
Tufnel glanced toward him. "Admiral White, sir! We weren't expecting you. We were just measuring the new dragon's wings. They are quite extraordinary."
"I can see that," White snapped. He turned to the other person. "Young lady, I do not know what you're doing here, but this is a military matter on a military installation. You may go."
The woman glared back at him. "I choose to stay," she said flatly.
As he had risen through the ranks, the admiral had grown less and less accustomed to being contradicted. He tried to maintain his composure. "Madam, you have no business here. I do not wish to have you escorted off this base by force, but if I must summon the guards, I shall not hesitate to do so. You may go. Now."
"She is not going anywhere unless she wishes to go," the dragon interjected in a firm female voice. "Who are you, to order her about?"
He turned to the dragon, not wanting to antagonize her, but not willing to be spoken to in such a disrespectful manner. "I do not believe we have been introduced," he said.
Smalls cleared his throat as he watched from just inside the barn. "Spina, this is Vice-Admiral Jack White, the commander of the Aviator Corps. Sir, this is Spina, our first Longwing. And this..." He took a breath to gather himself. "...this is my sister Rose."
"Admiral," Rose said with a quick nod of her head and the barest suggestion of a curtsy. Her attention was entirely on the dragon. She knew she would face opposition to her friendship with this amazing creature, but she did not think it would start this fast.
"Pleased to meet you, I suppose," the dragon responded, then turned to Rose. "Was that the correct thing to say? I never greeted an admiral before."
The only sounds to be heard were some distant crickets and the sound of the admiral's breathing as he struggled to maintain his failing composure.
"You are Rose Smalls?" he finally demanded.
"That is the name they gave me at my christening," she replied, with fire beginning to grow in her eyes. This man's attitude was rubbing her the wrong way already. "No one has offered me any reason to change it."
He turned to the dragon. "So my report was not mistaken, incredible though that seems. Am I to understand that you have chosen this... this lady to be your captain?"
"That is the fact, Jack," she answered evenly.
"That is Admiral White, sir, to you!" he exploded.
"There is no need to shout, Admiral White, sir!" Spina shot back, unintimidated.
"Apologies, sir," Tufnel cut in. "We have not had time to explain military etiquette to her."
"We have had our hands quite full merely persuading her to stay on the breeding ground, sir," Smalls added.
The admiral had had enough of this anarchy. "Atten-shun!" he bellowed in his best parade-ground voice. Smalls and Tufnel both snapped to attention. Rose stayed as she was, unsure what her response ought to be. The dragon swung her head from the admiral to her captain.
"Does 'military etiquette' mean he must bellow so loudly?" she asked. "I do not think I approve of this man."
"Your approval is not necessary, dragon, only your obedience," the admiral snapped. He tapped the fringed epaulets on the shoulder of his green jacket. "Do you know what these epaulets mean?"
The dragon leaned over to examine them closely. "They look like gold," she decided, "but I do not think they are real gold. I hope you did not pay too dearly for them. Still, they are very pretty. Do you think I could –"
"ENOUGH!" the admiral roared.
The dragon did not roar back. She just growled, deep in her chest. Her torso was not quite the size of an Irish wolfhound, and her neck at full extension was barely taller than the Admiral. Yet there was a powerful sense of menace about this day-old dragon that even an admiral could not ignore. This was a young dragon, and an undisciplined one at that. He could not count on military order to rein in this dragon, or even to ensure his own safety. His current course of action was getting him nowhere except into trouble.
He stepped back and turned his head to face Rose. "If you are really this dragon's captain, then order her back into the barn."
She glared back at him. "By what authority do you give me orders, Admiral?"
"I am a Vice-Admiral and the Commander of the..." and his voice trailed away. It didn't matter who or what he was. She was a civilian. He had no legal authority over her at all, and she knew it. He turned back to the dragon and tried a different tack. "You are a member of the Aviator Corps. As your superior officer, I am ordering you to stand down and return to that barn so we can discuss this situation."
"I do not recall joining this Aviator Corps of yours," Spina said thoughtfully. "I have not volunteered and I do not remember being conscripted. By what authority do you give me orders, Admiral White, sir?"
"I can see that these hatching-ground officers have taught you nothing at all," White said tightly. "You are a dragon. By law, all English dragons belong to the Corps, and are legally bound to obey all orders from their superiors."
"I do not recall giving my assent to that law, either," she challenged him. "Suppose I refuse?"
"I have many options, and you will find all of them unsavory. In the worst case, I have the authority to order your food supply cut off if you refuse to obey. Do not force me to do that to you."
Spina turned to Rose. "Is this man's food my only option? Are there no cows or pigs wandering loose that I could eat?"
"There are many animals wandering loose," she answered carefully, "but they all belong to someone. If we just took them, that would be stealing. We don't want to do that. They'd put me in jail, and we would be separated."
"So I have to obey this loud man, or go hungry?" Spina asked unhappily.
"He won't starve you," Rose decided. "You are a special dragon, and a very important one. He won't do anything that might harm your growth. Still, he could make our lives very difficult if he so chose. It might be best to hear what he has to say. If he asks nicely!"
The admiral folded his arms and glared at them. "I am not in the habit of turning my orders into suggestions."
Rose folded her arms and glared right back at him. "Then we are at an impasse, Admiral."
"You realize, of course, that by encouraging this creature to mutiny, I could have you hanged for treason." It wasn't a question.
That took some of the color out of Rose's cheeks, but she didn't waver. "I have encouraged nothing of the kind, Admiral. She came out of the shell with a strong will, and an unbroken one. Your own officers are witnesses to this. All I have done is to check her impulse to fly away on her own, to persuade her to accept the harness, and to help care for her. For which of these crimes do you intend to hang me?"
Spina swung her head around until it was right next to Rose's head. "And if you do anything unpleasant to my captain, then you may count on my complete disobedience to your orders, from now until my final day! I am not impressed with how loudly you shout, or with how much false gold you wear. There is no way you can contain me, or keep her from me – I think my acid can eat through anything, even solid stone, if I work at it."
Admiral White mastered his initial urge to bellow, his follow-on urge to shout for the guards, and his third urge to turn on his heel and leave. All he could do was stand and glare at this insolent duo, one of whom England could not do without. A day-old dragon and a civilian woman, defying the might of the Admiral of the Aviator Corps! If he could not bring this situation under control, and quickly, it could cost him his command. How he might do it, he had no idea whatsoever.
"Sir," Lt. Smalls said hesitantly, "may I make a suggestion?"
White shook his head disgustedly. "A lieutenant telling an admiral what to do. Outrageous! But then, this entire situation is outrageous. Yes, by all means, Lieutenant, what is your suggestion?"
"It occurs to me, sir, that you could give my sister orders and compel her obedience if she was a member of the Corps."
"A woman," the admiral said mockingly. "A woman as a member of the Aviator Corps. Why not? I have already seen so many other impossible things today. Perhaps I should give the dragon rank at the same time, and the epaulets to match!"
"Oh, would you?" Spina exclaimed. "That would be wonderful! But could you make them real gold, instead of the false ones that you wear?"
He ignored her with a supreme effort of will, and glared at Rose again. She was of average height and build, which meant she would never intimidate any man in the Corps. But she was standing almost cheek-to-cheek with the most dangerous dragon in England, without a trace of fear. She had already rendered significant service to the Corps, simply by keeping this priceless dragon from flying away. She was intelligent, and her association with her brother meant that she already knew something of how a military organization functioned. He had seen worse recruits than this one. But, still, a woman...
She was right; they were at an impasse. He took a deep breath and broke that impasse wide open.
"Her Majesty authorizes me, in times of national need, to conscript certain useful individuals into temporary service," he began. "England needs this dragon, so this is a time of national need. Therefore, I, Vice-Admiral White of the Aviator Corps, commanding, am formally notifying you, Rose Smalls, that you have just become a conscripted member of said Corps, serving until the need is passed, with the temporary rank of Ensign."
Rose gasped. The situation had suddenly spiraled out of her control.
"Just an ensign?" Spina queried him. "Surely a special dragon like me requires a rider of higher rank than that!"
"You are correct," the admiral nodded with growing malice. "I appointed her an ensign so she will have to take orders from a lieutenant. And I am appointing Lieutenant Nigel Tufnel as your senior rider. Since you will take orders only from Rose, and since no high-ranking officer will lower himself to giving orders to a lady, then this is how it shall be: the Corps will give its orders to the lieutenant, and he will relay them to your chosen rider, and she will, in turn, pass on those orders to you. I trust that this resolves all questions of authority?"
"And if I refuse to fly with that man?" Spina challenged him.
"Then you shall grow very hungry."
Now Rose looked pale indeed. She turned to her brother. "Can he do this to me?"
"Yes, legally, he can, Ensign Smalls," he answered, with a hint of relish. "For the first time ever, you'll be taking orders instead of giving them!" He was secretly relieved that the Admiral had not chosen him for this assignment; as much as he longed to be this dragon's captain, being put in command over his older sister never would have worked.
Lt. Tufnel was momentarily nonplused by this sudden turn of events, but now he dared to rest his hand on the dragon's neck. He would command this amazing creature after all! "I will be giving you the orders," he said dreamily.
"And your first order, Lieutenant," the admiral added smoothly, "is for dragon and riders to repair to the barn, so we can sit down and discuss your feeding and training arrangements like gentlemen. And ladies," he added hastily.
Tufnel turned to face Rose squarely. "Rider and dragon, repair to the barn at once!" His command voice was a pale echo of the Admiral's voice, but it showed some potential.
"Must we obey?" Spina asked Rose.
"They have outflanked us," Rose said unhappily. "I'm a good Englishwoman and I know what duty is. Yes, we must obey."
"And what is duty?" the dragon asked. "It sounds like a small word with great weight."
"Duty is the things we must do when we would rather not," she sighed. "I suspect that we both shall be learning a great deal more about this. Come, my friend. It may not be so bad after all, if we go through it together." She rested her hand on the young dragon's shoulder as they all marched into the barn.