Chapter 10
Les Misèrables
Laurence had been counting the days since he had awoken from what the others claimed to be a three-day-long stupor, and now his count was at eighty-four. Eighty-four days of worry for Temeraire's life and health, the first two weeks of which Laurence himself had spent in a shape bad enough to earn constant anxious glances from his crewmembers.
He had been lucky though – thanks to his battle-honed reflexes, he had managed to drop to his stomach right as Lien had had sent the divine wind his direction, but even this way he had suffered severe concussion, and acquired two broken ribs and a sprained ankle. When he had come around, he had been shocked to find himself in a cave, the rush of a waterfall nearby, and Temeraire at his side, barely alive. Someone had patched the dragon up as well as they could without a doctor on the crew and lacking proper bandages – Laurence had later spotted some of the younger officers, including Allen, missing their shirts – they had obviously sacrificed them to serve as makeshift bandages.
As soon as he had got a little better, the crewmembers recounted to him the fury with which his dragon had attacked the white Celestial, believing his captain to be dead. Young Higgins had eagerly given him every gory detail of the battle that had ended with Lien falling dead into the river and Temeraire hardly able to crawl. The crew had somehow managed to convince the dragon to try and drag himself into the cave nearby to be at least sheltered from cold and rain, and they had had Temeraire do it just in time, for a few hours later the dragon could no longer move.
From the day he had awoken, Laurence kept talking to his dragon, even though he had been sure Temeraire could not hear him. He had even been reprimanded by his first officer for over-exerting himself in his attempt to coax a word from Temeraire, but Laurence had not cared much for his own health, only for the dragon's.
He had been awake for three days when Temeraire had first talked to him, though the unfortunate creature had only managed to say, 'You are alive. You are alive…'
For almost two months Temeraire had awakened for only a few minutes every day, accepted a bit of food the others had managed to hunt for him, then fallen back into stupor.
Allen had, of course, tried to have the crew light bonfires to help a possible retrieval team find them, but it was almost constantly raining outside, and as soon as the fire had been lit, it had been snuffed out again. Not that any team with any dragon could have helped Temeraire fly back to the covert – they were too far away for that and Temeraire too sick to take wing. Laurence had been hoping though that if they were found, they would at least get a competent dragon surgeon who could speed up the recovery – if there was still a chance of a recovery to be made.
In the first two months, Temeraire had looked weaker and ate less every day, but Laurence had not given up on him. He had brought with himself a collection of Shakespeare plays from the covert and read them out to Temeraire, undaunted by the dragon's lack of response.
It had happened some time in late June that Temeraire suddenly raised his head with the air of someone who had just awoken from a deep slumber and gave his captain a puzzled look. "Laurence, you surely would not kill yourself if Emily died, would you?"
"What?" the man had given the dragon an equally puzzled look, while his heart had soared at hearing more than two words from Temeraire.
"Well… Romeo killed himself. And then Juliet too. You two surely would not be this stupid, would you?"
"Oh, no, my dear… besides… I am not exactly a Romeo… but in Emily I do see a bit of Juliet, I think… she is just as headstrong…"
"Yes, headstrong, but she loves you just like Juliet loved Romeo… and for this love I think she deserves to be married to you the proper way… with all the touching and egg-making involved."
Laurence had felt himself blush a bit. "I think… you are right, my dear. I have had enough time to think of Emily ever since we left the covert… more than two months… and I have realised you were right… A vow made to myself out of stupid pride and hurt does not mean anything as long as there is love that is stronger than pride."
"Oh," Temeraire had breathed, "you do intend to touch her, then?"
Laurence had blushed an even deeper shade of red and checked whether the crewmembers had been far away not to overhear their words, then, with a smile gracing his lips, he said, "I do."
"Laurence, oh Laurence, that is absolutely wonderful," Temeraire had replied. "You know that the only thing that kept me alive was the hope to see you and Emily happy in the end?"
"Oh, my dear," the captain had pressed his face to the dragon's neck. "I am happy already… happy to see you alive and getting better by the minute."
Three weeks had passed since this conversation, and finally Laurence felt sanguine enough of Temeraire's recovery to ask him whether he felt up to a flight back to Sydney.
"Of course, Laurence, I will try, but I am still a bit tired, so I think we will have to rest quite often. But we can be home in three or four weeks, I believe."
"Thank heaven," Laurence replied, gently patting the dragon's flank, amused to realise that Temeraire had called the covert 'home'. He himself had never thought of the Sydney covert as home, but with the prospect of marrying Emily and living a proper family life with her there, he began to see the place in a wholly different light. "Then pray have a good night's sleep, my dear, for tomorrow morning we are leaving. Home."
oOo
Ensconced in her little room, Emily had completely lost track of time. She did not know whether two, three or four weeks had passed since receiving the dire news, neither did she know whether she was at the end of her eighth month or the beginning of her ninth… all she knew was that life had lost its meaning.
Now she would never have a chance to tell him that the child was his, she would never see him outraged and joyful at the same time learning about his paternity, she would never see him play with the child, take him or her on rides on Temeraire… He was no more, and Temeraire was no more.
Sometimes she thought she had been foolish to be afraid of his possible rage over learning the truth, for his rage, even his contempt for her would have been nothing… absolutely nothing compared to his death. She would rather see him scandalised, hear him shout at her, call her every possible name from tramp through whore to slut… she would rather have him hate her with a fiery passion than know he was dead. Now she found herself thinking she would give anything just to have him alive: she would even marry him and for ever bear the lack of his touch, just to have him near… but it was no longer possible.
After the first shock in the covert dining room, Emily found that she could not cry. Her tears stubbornly refused to come, though it would have probably been a relief to cry. She felt too hollow for even that.
Day after day Lieutenant Jessica Beckett visited her, trying to coax her out of her little hideaway, or to convince her to eat at least, but Emily felt no hunger and no desire to go out among people. People outside would not understand her – for them life went on, they continued working, joking, loving… how would they understand that she no longer felt capable of any of these?
It was with a great effort that Jessica talked her into taking a bath at least every second day and even for that Emily needed the female lieutenant's help – she barely felt strong enough to get out of her clothes and into the tub. When Jessica was not around – and she could only visit her in the mornings and in the evenings, before and after work – Emily did not touch the meals brought to her, and only ate a few bites in Jessica's presence, out of politeness and a fake display of gratitude. Because Emily was not in the least grateful for Jessica's bothersome visits – she longed to be left alone, alone with her grief, and not being forced to eat and bath and change clothes… what for? She no longer wanted to live.
She had not even noticed that she had forgone her regular habit of gently stroking her belly, the movements of the child barely sensed by her anymore – they had become too natural to offer a distraction and no longer induced her to loving caresses. Under different circumstances she would have loathed herself for the impassivity she had begun to feel for the baby, but she did not even notice she had become impassive.
Day passed after day, winter slowly yielded to an early spring, but for Emily it was all the same.
Some time at the beginning of August – or was it still the end of July? Emily did not know – there was a knock on her door. At broad daylight. Jessica always came in the mornings and the evenings and Emily was not used to having other visitors. With slight surprise but without much curiosity, she managed a raspy 'Come in', and was even more surprised to find old Reverend Whitwell standing at the door.
She gave him a tired-questioning glance as he closed the door behind him and drew nearer. "May I sit down?" he asked, his voice unusually gentle, Emily was not used to hearing him talk gently – most of his sermons had been delivered in a harsh, reprimanding tone.
"Of course," she muttered, gesturing towards the only chair in the room; she herself was seated on the edge of the bed.
"Thank you," he pulled the chair closer and sat down, facing her. "You surely know why I am here."
"No, not really," she shook her head.
"I have not seen you in the church for weeks. I got worried about you, dear child."
"I am sorry to have caused you any inconvenience, Reverend, I have not been feeling well," Emily replied, more to her own knees to than to the vicar.
"I have heard the fate befallen your crew and the dragon Temeraire. Please, accept my heartfelt condolences."
Emily gulped, tears welling up in her eyes for the first time in weeks, but she blinked them back and remained silent.
"Dear child, I know it is always very hard to console those who mourn, but it is my task, bestowed upon me by the Lord to try at least. You must have faith in the love of the Lord, and in His mercy…"
"Mercy? What mercy?" she looked up, directly into the old man's watery blue eyes. "Had He been merciful, had His love truly been that great, he would not have taken Will from me!" She had not intended to cry, but by the time these words had left her lips, she found herself trembling and weeping, her head bent, the old vicar's hand gently, reassuringly resting on her shoulder.
"Will, dear child?" he asked quietly. "You mean, William Laurence, that nice young man who always attends the Sunday services?"
With a frown she looked up again. "Attended, Reverend. He will never attend them again."
The vicar sighed, and for a moment it struck Emily that he had referred to Will as 'that nice young man'. Her lips turned into a sarcastic grimace – Will had been far from young, but the vicar, almost seventy himself, must have regarded him as that. And as senile as Whitwell was, no surprise he had accidentally referred to Laurence in present tense.
"He will never attend the services again," she repeated, her voice wavering, "but surely… surely… he must have been accepted in Heaven, right, Reverend? His faith was so strong… his soul so pure… and it was only I who sullied him… he would never have sinned with me… oh, Reverend… he will never have a chance to forgive me now…"
The old man gave her a politely confused look, and Emily found she could not stand his stare. She cast her eyes down and her hand instinctively began caressing the huge bulge of her belly. Once again she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and the vicar said, in a voice softer than ever, "Am I right assuming that he was the father?"
Mutely, Emily nodded. It took her several moments to regain her voice against the imaginary fingers compressing her gullet. "But he never knew… never even suspected…"
"Never suspected?" Whitwell's voice sounded too surprised and confused to ignore, and Emily glanced up to meet his eyes, feeling her cheeks burn both with hot tears and shame. "May I… may I make a private confession, Reverend?"
The old man nodded. "Certainly, if you feel the need to… but you know it is not compulsory… as we say, 'all may, no one must, some should'. If you have confessed your sins to the Lord, he has forgiven them…"
"I have, Reverend, still… I fear my confession to Him was not enough… apparently I am not good at this sort of thing… praying. But perhaps if you too ask Him to forgive me… then He will. Really. Properly. For now… I think… He has not forgiven me… because if He had… He would not have punished me so…" Fresh tears ran down her cheeks and she fixed her stare on the table where a still untouched plate of bread and butter lay, Jessica must have slipped it there in the morning when Emily had either been asleep or in a state close to slumber – sometimes she could not even distinguish between sleeping and sinking into some stupor-like state. "Reverend… I have sinned against God and against William Laurence… I am guilty of the sin of lust and fornication…"
The reverend, always so strict and harsh and condemning, listened to her without a word of interruption.
"…and he will never know now, Reverend," she finished after several minutes. "I can never tell him…"
"Dear child… I am sure he knows. If his faith was indeed that strong… which I have no reason to doubt, then God has taken him up to His Kingdom, and from there he can see you, and I am sure he is proud of the child growing inside of you and wishes only the best for the both of you. That is why you must start to eat again. Eat and leave this room, live your life… live for your child. For your and his child."
Through a veil of tears, Emily smiled at the vicar. "Thank you, Reverend. I shall try. I want to make Will proud… of both of us." With that she stood up and stepped to the table to pick up the slice of bread, but barely had she taken a bite when a sharp pain ran across her abdomen, making her drop the bread and double up.
"Dear child, are you all right?" the vicar sprang up, amazingly fast for his age.
"Not really…" she panted, watching a small pool of sticky fluid gather around her ankles. "I think… I'm in labour."
oOo
It was on the 8th August that they touched down in the covert by Sydney, much to the cheering and amazed yelps of their fellow aviators.
"Man, we thought you were dead!" Captain Parker shouted at them before any of the crew had a chance to dismount.
"Yes, how on earth did you survive? And where the hell have you been?" a lieutenant added eagerly.
"And whose was that carcass that looked like Temeraire's?" came another question from the middle of the crowd.
Temeraire, almost back in top condition, drew himself up proudly. "We were far in the north and I fought with Lung Tien Lien, an evil Celestial who nearly killed me, but I killed her instead, and I was very ill for a while, and poor Laurence too, but now we are healthy and back and…"
"Captain Laurence, do you feel up to giving us a detailed report?" Captain Black asked, almost shouted, to outcry the buzz of the assembly.
"Yes, of course," Laurence replied, as loudly as he could without shouting, then turned to Allen and said quietly, "will you please find Emily for me? I need to talk to her."
Allen nodded and slid down on Temeraire's side, vanishing into the crowd, while Laurence let himself be lowered to the ground by his dragon and escorted into the covert dining room by the cheering aviators. He had never felt so loved by his Sydney fellows before – they had always made him feel a certain degree of contempt at being a traitor, but now all that seemed to have vanished. Laurence was touched – apparently they had worried about them, perhaps even mourned them… His heart clenched at the thought that Emily too must have thought them dead, which only strengthened his need to talk to her, the sooner the better.
Hoping that Allen would find her quick enough, Laurence summarised the events in five minutes, then excused himself from his audience, claiming to be overly exhausted and in dire need of a bath. Thankfully the others proved understanding enough not keep him.
In front of the building that housed the dining room, he ran into Allen whose face was as white as a sheet. "What happened, Mr. Allen?" he asked, frightened by his first lieutenant's expression.
"Sir, I've looked all around for her and did not find her a while, so finally I thought she might be in her room and went there only to find the midwife leaving the room with a basin and towels and I stopped her and…" his voice trailed off and he ran a nervous hand across his unruly blond locks.
"The midwife?" Laurence breathed. "Is it time already…?"
Allen nodded shakily. "And she's been in labour for twenty-two hours already, according to that woman, and… she is… I'm afraid to say, sir… not doing well."
"What… do you mean… she is not doing well?" Laurence swallowed hard with a terrible feeling of premonition spreading in the pit of his stomach. "Of course she cannot be doing well, she is giving birth, for Christ's sake!"
"Yes, sir, but… that is not what I meant, I meant she was doing worse than she should be in the circumstances…" the young lieutenant rambled, "the midwife says… that Emily must have… must have… lost the will to live…"
"What?" Laurence muttered. Upon not receiving an instant reply, he shook Allen by the shoulders. "WHAT?"
"I am sorry, sir… apparently she had given up on eating properly for a while… and she is so very weak that… she very likely will not make it."
Laurence let go of Allen's shoulders as though they had burned him and staggered backwards several steps. "No… oh, no…"
"What happened, Laurence?" Temeraire asked, a few dozen yards away, currently being stripped of his harness.
When the captain did not reply, did not even move towards him just stared at a spot on the ground with haunted eyes, Temeraire gently but deliberately pushed his harnessmen away and with a few long strides arrived at Laurence's side. "What happened? You look ill…"
"Emily…" the man muttered, his eyes still fixed upon the ground.
"What of her? Where is she?"
"She is… having the egg. Right now. But…" the captain found himself searching for words, his tongue tied, reluctant to cooperate.
"But what?" the dragon pressed.
"The egg… the egg… is killing her," Laurence said finally, to Temeraire's forelegs, unable to look him in the eye.
"What?" the dragon gasped. "What do you mean it is killing her?"
"She is dying!" Laurence snapped, all his reserve flying out an imaginary window.
"Dying? But… but…"
"Please, Temeraire… not now!" Laurence hissed through gritted teeth, angry tears welling up his eyes.
"What not now? But Laurence, you have to go to her! Right now!"
"How could I?" the man finally looked up at the dragon, tears blurring his vision. "Men are not supposed to be there for deliveries, besides… I am just an outsider! Just her captain. Nothing else."
"Oh, you are quite mistaken, Laurence!" Temeraire's voice rose in pitch. "I am sorry to have to break my promise to Emily of not telling you, but under the circumstances, I feel I simply must… and I am sorry to tell you with everyone around to hear, for it is quite embarrassing, but… you are by no means an outsider, Laurence, for you gave her that egg!"
A soft thump signalled that one of the harnessmen had dropped a bigger piece of armour, while both Laurence and Allen stared at Temeraire and said in unison, "WHAT?"
oOo
A/N: Ahem. Finally he knows. How will he react?
Comments are always welcome. :)