Golden Age and Other Stories

  Mr. Darcy had been willing to set aside the opinions even of those nearest to him, whose opprobium he must have known to expect. He had not counted insurmountable all the practical difficulties which the match would entail, nor should he have. How many women endured with courage long separations from their husbands, gone to sea or covert, and counted the joy of irregular reunions a sufficient recompense?

  She had not matched that courage. She had chosen certain misery and vice for both, from the hollow motive of preserving his uncertain chances of future happiness, and her freedom from obligation. But what were those chances? That Mr. Darcy might be expected to marry a woman of superior wealth and rank than herself, was hardly to be doubted. But he had never yet shown himself inclined to do so. That his wife might be expected to devote herself to his interests was equally certain, but he had not made an offer to a woman who could do so. Observers might be amazed that with all his advantages, Mr. Darcy had made a choice so little calculated to improve his comforts in life. But surely she had no right to choose decorum over honesty, and make her duty an excuse to avoid the censure of the world.

  In sudden decision, she put off her gown, and dressed again in her flying-gear. A chair bore her to the gates of the covert, where Wollstonecraft eagerly called a greeting as soon as she had come into view.

  “You are dressed for flying,” the dragon said joyfully. “Are you better today at last, dear Elizabeth?”

  “I am, my dearest,” Elizabeth said. “I am quite well, and I mean to prevail upon you to take me up—

  indeed, I hope you will not mind taking me so far as Derbyshire.”

  “To Derbyshire!” Wollstonecraft said, her slit pupils widening orange a moment. “Oh! I should be delighted. Perhaps you have heard from Mr. Darcy?”

  “I have not,” Elizabeth said, in repressive tones, but Wollstonecraft only gave a knowing nod of her head.

  “You are quite right, of course we must call upon him,” the dragon said. “It would never do to neglect the acquaintance. Perhaps he has not yet heard of our victory.”

  “Scheming creature,” Elizabeth said, affectionately, and went to speak with Captain Winslow and to acquaint him with her design of going into the North for a few days; having left the formation in his excellent hands, and having spoken with her first lieutenant and her ground-crew master, and visited her wounded men, she felt herself at liberty to set forth, and went aboard, well bundled against the chill, which if it were not as appropriate in Wollstonecraft’s opinion as having set forth in a diaphanous muslin gown and an excessively long and draughty cloak, at least was surer of safeguarding her health.

  The flight was not sufficiently long as to tire Elizabeth, after her long weeks of rest, but quite enough to make her anxious for the reception she might find. That Mr. Darcy’s heart was likely to be fickle, she did not in the least fear; but it did not seem to her unlikely that he might have thought better of his intentions. “If he should reproach me with having shown an unpardonable indifference to his honor and my own, how might I defend my conduct?” she privately asked herself, as Wollstonecraft stretched her wings, and found no satisfactory answer. But she felt strongly that she owed him the chance to renew his addresses, even at the risk of learning he no longer wished to do so.

  Wollstonecraft came down upon the far shore of the lake, with its beautiful prospect upon Pemberley, at Elizabeth’s request; she desired at once the chance of composing herself better during the walk towards the house, and to give ample warning of her arrival. But the second aim made the first impossible; when she was only halfway around the circuit of the lake, a break in the trees permitted her to see the master of the house leaving by a side door, and coming quickly along the very path she walked, before he was once again hidden from view. The remainder of the walk did nothing to soothe her spirits. Every step drew her nearer to a final confrontation, and she was sure he was only beyond the next tree or shrub many times before he at last appeared, his hands clenched by his sides and the expression of his face grave and drawn.

  He started when he saw her, and instantly cried, “You are very pale—you have been ill,” with so much alarm that Elizabeth forgot her first embarrassment in assuring him she was well, and wholly recovered. “But you were wounded,” he said, low, and she had to confess it; somehow her hands had come to be clasped in his, and he stood with his head bowed over them, and Elizabeth could be stifled no longer.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said, “I hope you know I would never reproach you, if you had thought better of the sentiments which you expressed to me, this past December.” His head lifted, as she spoke, and he fixed his gaze upon her so intently as to make her avert her own eyes, to maintain her countenance. “My duty remains unchanged, and with it every obstacle in the way of my having the power to offer any man a respectable or a comfortable home, nor have I possessed for years a character which might be compromised in the eyes of the world in such a way as to lay demands upon any man to to repair it. But nevertheless I cannot permit the answer which I gave you, on the occasion of our last meeting, to stand. I am ashamed of having made it. No further word will pass my lips upon this subject, but I would not have you think I do not esteem and value you more deeply than any other gentleman of my acquaintance.”

  “Captain Bennet!” he said. “—Elizabeth!” Although he was too much surprised to express himself very fluently, he did not long leave her in any doubt of his desires and by what means he felt she might best ensure his happiness. A small bench was to be found among the trees a little further along the path, overlooking the lake, and to this place they repaired and sat a long while together, discussing the arrangements for their future. They agreed upon it that Mr. Darcy would shortly take up residence in his house in London, where they would marry, and that they should together wait upon Mr. Bennet at Longbourne the following day, to acquaint her family with their intentions and seek their consent to the match.

  “But I am afraid you must first apply to another authority: I certainly cannot marry without Wollstonecraft’s permission,” Elizabeth said, her spirits now restored enough to laugh, and they went arm in arm to the dragon waiting expectantly at the end of the path.

  “Yes, Elizabeth may marry you, if she likes,” Wollstonecraft said in judicious and somewhat lofty tones, but when Mr. Darcy had parted from them, to return to the house and share his happiness with his sister, before Elizabeth should join them for dinner, Wollstonecraft very nearly knocked Elizabeth down with a congratulatory nudge, and said gleefully, “And you shall be married by special license, of course.

  Oh! Elizabeth! I do not think there can be a happier dragon in all the world.”

  (art by Agnes Hartman)

  Author’s Note: A drabble is a story of 100 words—and while there are many

  debates on how strictly the limit should be observed, for purposes of this

  collection I have kept to the exact number.

  LAURENCE FINISHED COUGHING the last of the water from his lungs, rolled onto his back in the

  sand, and looked up. The tall, broad-shouldered woman who had hauled him out was gazing down at him with some amusement: there was a puckered scar down her face. Down the beach, Granby and Tharkay were helping the gasping tourist out of the water: he looked rather shaken, and deservedly, having ignored four separate riptide warnings all posted. “Very heroic,” she said. “But next time, perhaps you had better work out a way to keep from drowning yourself, while you are about it.”

  (art by Al Lukehart)

  STARS GLEAMED OVERHEAD when the egg rocked on its cradle. The attendant robots did not stir

  with excitement; they were not
programmed to do so. But they came fully online immediately, monitoring the situation, ready to intervene if anything should go wrong. The enormous trees stood silent round them.

  The egg rocked, then cracked; another crack, and the dragonet’s head broke the shell. He drew his first breath of alien air and blinked wondering upwards at the pitch expanse, the spray of stars beyond the leaves. The robots moved to offer him the feeding vat. He knew their voices already.

  (art by Amanda Sharpe)

  THE HUMAN CLUB, below, was full of raucous music and shrieks of laughter, but upon the roof small serving-dragons went back and forth to fill silver bowls set out at comfortably wide intervals. From the heights of Montmartre, the city was at once distant and all around, lit up brilliantly. “So much has changed, Madame, surely,” one of the dragons said to her, inquisitively. He had a line of feathers running down his spine, a mingling with Incan blood.

  The dome of Les Invalides shone golden in the distance. “I will have the absinthe,” Lien said. The pain remained unaltered.

  (art by Amy Thompson)

  THE FRENCH AVIATORS were calling to one another and to their coughing beasts, coaxing them to put on their armor; the process would require another hour or two. Laurence at once wished them gone, and yet they were the last hours of his liberty remaining. The last hours of his life.

  Temeraire was silently and relentlessly furrowing the bare earth with his talons. Laurence said softly, “I might ask to borrow a Bible.” Temeraire did not believe, he knew, but he had no other comfort that was his to offer.

  “Of course, Laurence,” Temeraire said, equally soft. “Read to me.”

  (art by Angela Hsieh)

  IN THE ARMY pavilions on the Yellow River’s bank, the red dragons were singing a song of war, loud and sonorous, of mountains and ten thousand miles unrolling beneath them. Her father’s heavy leather coat weighed upon her shoulders, and the wide belt with its straps round her arms and thighs rubbed with every stride. Her hands were sweaty around the long shaft of her war sword. Surely they would see through her at once.

  The official with his scrolls heaped around him never looked up. “Your name?”

  “My father is Hua Hu,” Mulan said.

  “Report to the third pavilion.”

  (art by Caitlin Johnson)

  “I DO NOT see,” Temeraire said in some irritation, after the poem had been read, “why this Hrothgar fellow had to build his house directly atop the dragon’s cave, and while naturally no one could approve this Grendel fellow’s eating thirty people, I cannot call it astonishing that when you push into someone’s territory and set up a tremendous noise every night just as he likes to go to sleep, that he should make strong objections. And I dare say he did not eat thirty people, or anything like, either; if he were so big, how did Beowulf slay him?”

  (art by Erica Lange)

  LAURENCE HAD GONE aloft at the age of twelve, and had spent nearly all his life aboard the airships of Britain, the groan and hiss of the engine and the faint digestive rumbling of the sacs a familiar music; before he had ever gone aboard Temeraire’s back, he had clambered over their bulging surfaces to repair rigging and had even stood up with his boots half-sunk to see the land and sea spread out beneath him like a map. But he had never conceived even so of a city built vertical, full of dragons flying, and ports established in mid-air.

  (art by Erika B. Xochimitl)

  “WOULDN'T IT BE lovely to go round all the world?” Elsie said, looking at the poster eagerly.

  Hollin’s attention was caught more by the prize: one thousand pounds. He was getting on, and he had been puzzling himself a great deal lately how to keep poor Elsie from some miserable breeding ground when he could not go aloft anymore. The triumph of the machine! the challenge screamed, but when he squinted at the rules written small, they said naught was required but visiting the ten cities on the route. “I suppose you can fit on a boat,” he said thoughtfully.

  (art by Jason Lauborough)

  JANE PULLED HER neckcloth loose and wiped the blood from her face as best she could, then tied it up round her head. The dead Frenchman was hanging over the side limp in his straps. She bent down to unclip him. His body tumbled away into the billowing gunpowder clouds below.

  She stood up and found Caudec staring. Her cheek throbbed viciously, and she could feel the flesh trying to gape, but she could still see out of the left eye: a stroke of luck. “The boarders?”

  “All repelled, Captain,” he said. For the first time, the title seemed unforced.

  (art by Jennifer Rahier)

  THE MOON WAVERED on the surface of the water, distantly. The cistern was very low. Kilit shook his head, golden rings jingling, and went aloft in a wide circling loop that took him over all the great sprawl of the city, moonlight on the canals. The air smelled of rain, but it had smelled of rain last week, too, and the rain had come, but not enough. Not enough had come last year either. The granaries were growing low.

  There would not be enough food for the dry season, not for everyone. He would have to hold the rites again.

  (art by John O’Brien Schroeder)

  THE TOWERS OF the Jiayu Gate were large enough that Temeraire could stand upon them, and the two red dragon guards had respectfully slipped away and left him alone. The scrubby ground about the gate did not recommend itself, it was only pebbles and dirt. There was no appealing scenery: nothing to remind him of the fragrant gardens, or the soft green mountains. Temeraire bent his head. Down below the customs inspectors were making a great noise over everything which his crew wished to bring out of China. He wondered if any of the goods were sorry to go, too.

  (art by Karena Kliefoth)

  “NO, THESE ARE for my supper,” Demane said sternly. The rabbits were not big enough to make Kulingile even a mouthful, but he still thought anything Demane caught was meant directly for his belly.

  “Oh, very well,” Kulingile said, and settled down while Demane set them roasting on a spit. The other aviators were all at dinner together, and Roland would say he ought to be there, too. Well, he was not going. He did not need them to say he was an aviator. He had a dragon for that.

  When he slept, on Kulingile’s arm, he dreamed of flying.

  (art by Katie Gaubatz)

  THARKAY SOFTLY FINISHED the story of the boy swallowing the dragon-pearl and going into the river, his mother weeping on the bank. Temeraire’s eyes had closed. The waves lapped gently rhythmic at the ship’s side. Laurence stood with a hand on the railing of the dragon deck, facing into the wide distance, his hair wind-blown. A stern quality had come into his face, this last year: in the fading light he was a statue gilded by sunset. It was a pang not unmixed with pleasure to look on him, as ever. Tharkay was glad the despair, at least, had gone.

  (art by Kelly Nugent)

  JANE HAD NOT meant to like the fellow; he had been described to her as very blue, and he was formal as any man she had ever met, in all conscience. She had asked him to dinner only to be polite, to Emily’s captain, and to give him her countenance: there were any number of officers still bitter to have a heavy-weight dropped in a Navy man’s lap, and her approval would silence some whispers. But she surprised herself to find, after two hours, that her pleasure in the conversation had not once flagged. And not in his shoulders, either.

  (art by Kelsey Zilowar)

  “ONCE UPON A time there was a splendid Kazilik dragon, who had heaps of gold and three pavilions, each larger than the last, and any number of dragons courting her, bringing presents from morning until night, all to gain her friendship and persuade her to form an egg with them—”

  Temeraire flattened back his ruff. “That is not a good story at all, and there is nothing wrong with your wings, either; you can catch your own she
ep.”

  “It is an excellent story, in my opinion,” Iskierka said, “and I am busy; this is not easy work, you know.”

  (art by Kyle Bice)

  EDWARD HOWE PUT down his pen and studied his work with a satisfaction so great he felt it nearly unseemly, and yet beyond his power to repress. The delicate spines of the wings, the outlines of ruff and tendrils, all accurately represented, and every bone which he could place with conviction based upon the external examinations which Temeraire had so generously permitted. Alas, he could not include any diagram of the mechanism of the divine wind: peering down Temeraire’s throat had offered no illumination, and he would not stoop to speculation. No matter. The Royal Society would be delighted regardless.

  (art by Kyle Broad)

  “SURELY, LAURENCE, YOU can move a little quicker,” Temeraire said. “It will be days before I am close enough to claw at Lien at this rate.”

  “I am afraid it is rather difficult,” Laurence said, sounding peculiarly underwater.

  “Well, I will be patient,” Temeraire said disconsolately. “At least Napoleon is smaller than you are,” he added for consolation, peering across the murky and befogged field where Lien perched very awkwardly upon the Emperor’s back. He had the insistent sensation, looking at the strange figure they made, that there was something quite wrong, but he could not quite work it out.