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Entry tags:
March [OTP23]
Title: The Dragon Is in the Details
Fandom: Temeraire
Characters/Ship: Temeraire & Laurence & Tharkay, Background Laurence/Tharkay
Word count: ~2.5k words
Summary: Temeraire writes a book.
For Year of the OTP 2023: March. Promptsthat I barely touched on: fresh starts, road trip, getting back together/mutual pining, "make me", acceptance, fairytale au
It is a truth which is not, unfortunately, universally acknowledged: There is a disturbing dearth of quality British literature featuring dragons.
It is not, of course, that Temeraire is surprised to discover this deficit. He has always been aware of it to some degree, but it is only when he enters into a period of relative leisure following the end of the war that he is really in a position to appreciate it—or rather, to disparage it.
Of course, then there is all the business of getting his pavilion built near Tharkay’s rather drab new house—of course, the poor fellow hasn’t had much of a chance to get it fixed up and gilded yet—and then he is busy with hiring his staff and running his election campaign, and then he is busy with Parliament and all the silly little men arguing over such minor quibbles when there are real issues to be addressed, and all in all, it’s some time before Temeraire is in a position to mourn the lack of a good book.
But, Parliament does eventually go into recess, and Temeraire settles back to enjoy a summer of leisure.
Leisure and bad literature.
Temeraire lets out a sigh that makes the sturdy furniture of his pavilion rattle, and his current secretary, a Mrs Price, jump in her seat where she was settled, reading to Temeraire aloud.
“Should I stop, Mr Temeraire?” she asks nervously.
She does everything nervously, unfortunately. His previous secretary, who was stern and unmoveable no matter how surprising the event, had ultimately found another post nearer to where her sister lived, and Temeraire had been forced to settle for Mrs Price, who was marvelously efficient, but rather irritatingly twitchy.
“No—or yes. Or—I don’t know. It’s a very good book,” Temeraire admits, for it truly is. It is the foremost text on draconic history in Britain, and it even takes a gently critical view of the treatment of dragons throughout. But it is rather skimpy on the battles. “I suppose I’m simply in the mood for something a little more exciting today.”
Mrs Price hesitates, closing the book carefully. “Like a novel?”
Temeraire considers this thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. Have you any recommendations?”
For some reason, Mrs Price looks embarrassed and agitated at this question. Outside of the community of aviators, humans are often so very strange! “Well, I have one here that I’ve been reading. It’s rather good.”
Temeraire perks up slightly. “Oh! Are there many battles?”
Mrs Price looks confused. “No, it’s a comedy.”
Temeraire tries not to deflate at this news. “Battles can be very amusing,” he defends petulantly. “Are there any dragons?”
“No—there’s a group of aviators, but I’m afraid they’re not very admirable characters.” Mrs Price looks like she regrets bringing the topic up, which isn’t surprising, as she’s admitted to enjoying such a very dull book.
“Well,” he hazards, attempting to be kind in the face of such inferior taste, “has the author perhaps written anything else that’s better? Who is it by?”
“I’m afraid that it was simply published under the moniker of ‘A Lady.’”
Naturally, for who would admit to having written something like that? But Temeraire is still doing his best to be gentle to Mrs Price’s delicate feelings, and so he says nothing.
After a few moments of silence, Mrs Price says, “I have a children’s book which has dragons in it, if you’d prefer, Mr Temeraire? I bought it for my daughter.”
Temeraire brightens. “Oh! Yes, let’s try that one.”
The children’s book is… Well. Human eggs are so very uninteresting at first, and that lasts for years, so it’s not surprising that their literature should be so absurd and simplistic. And yet, even so, Temeraire is baffled as to how anyone, even a misshapen and smelly little creature like human eggs, could be entertained by a story with so many plotholes.
It begins with a dragon kidnapping a princess. The book does not specify which princess from which country, which Mrs Price explains is because it’s not meant to take place in a real country. On being further pressed, she cautiously admits to his suggestion that this may be because no country would be willing to admit to the ignominy of having such awful security around their castle, and so the story was carefully excised from its contextual setting. This much, Temeraire can accept. But there is also no explanation as to why the princess was kidnapped in the first place. The dragon didn’t send any kind of ransom note, nor did the princess seem to have any special or notable ability other than her beauty, which, Temeraire sniffed, humans were hardly trustworthy on that topic anyway. So the dragon kidnaps a princess from an unidentified but poorly defended castle, and then publically takes her back to his den.
Yes, that’s right—not his elegant pavilion, or his impoverished cave—his den.
The dragon does not seem to have a crew, either, nor a captain. Temeraire’s first expectation had been that the princess was to be his captain, but he abandons that theory when the dragon locks the princess into a cage(?) that he just happens to have(?) rather than attempting to impress her with his incredible wealth and fighting prowess.
And that is another mysterious plothole—why is this dragon living in a den when he has ‘heaps of gold’ which he sleeps on rather than either exchanging for a better living situation or displaying as a prize?
And ‘heaps of gold’ is the only quantifier or qualifier. Well, fine, but how much gold is that? What kind of gold? There is no mention of the size of the dragon, but by squinting at the accompanying illustrations that Mrs Price shows him, Temeraire would guess that the fictional dragon is a heavyweight. If there is sufficient gold for him to sleep on, that must be a substantial amount, and yet a more specific number of weight is never given. The quality and purity of the gold? Unmentioned. Whether the gold is worked or unworked? Unmentioned. If worked, the size, shape, and quality of each smithed piece is likewise unmentioned, as is whether the ‘heap’ consists only of gold, or whether there are precious gems included as well, perhaps as settings within gold worked as jewelry or crowns.
Even if any of that information had been provided, Temeraire would have still more questions, as the simplistic plot of the book makes no mention of the strength of the local economy in this fictional kingdom. What is the worth of the ‘heaps of gold’ (and, potentially, other treasures) relative to other products within this kingdom—for example, as expressed in cows.
Eventually, a knight or something or other comes and attacks the dragon without any attempt at reasonable conversation, and steps over the poor boy’s crumbled corpse to ‘rescue’ the princess from the cage. The two return to the home of the princess, where the king agrees to marry his daughter to her ‘rescuer’ and even offer them half of the kingdom.
Suspicious. Were the princess and the knight working together all along? Did they pay that poor dragon to ‘kidnap’ the princess, and then kill him and steal back the money? That is really the only conclusion Temeraire can come to, given all of the facts.
“Well,” says Mrs Price helplessly. “It is for children, after all.”
In deference for the fact that the book is intended as a gift to Mrs Price’s own egg, Temeraire does not say, “Children deserve better,” but he does think it. Loudly.
“Mr Temeraire, if you don’t mind me saying,” Mrs Price says cautiously. “If you don’t like these books, why don’t you write your own?”
Temeraire opens his mouth to reply caustically, but then he pauses. Why doesn’t he write his own?
“Mrs Price, you make an excellent point,” he tells her. “Please prepare to take down my dictation.”
Temeraire doesn’t tell anyone about his project, and he swears Mrs Price to absolute secrecy. He wants it to be a surprise, and he’s giddy with excitement for when the book is finally finished, and he can share it with his friends and accept their admiration and congratulations.
His initial intention was to write a children’s book like the one Mrs Price read to him, but it quickly becomes clear that filling the plotholes of the original will require many more words than would be afforded to him in that format. Nevertheless, he keeps the style, plot, and prose simplistic, for—as he tells a blank-faced Mrs Price—he hopes to keep the book accessible to children so that they have the option of something better than their usual low-quality literature to turn to.
And, of course, a more realistic portrayal of dragons.
The story is still set in a fictional kingdom, but now Temeraire gives it a name. He names all of the characters, too, and fleshes out their personalities to make them a little more interesting to read about.
Now, Princess Willa secretly makes a deal with the dragon Indomptable in order to escape from an arranged marriage to a dreadfully boring prince from a neighboring kingdom. Indomptable and Willa do not initially have a very large income, but the two work together to build a financially stable home environment while also going on adventures. It occurs to Temeraire at some point that he may wish to write a sequel, and so he leaves several plot threads unfinished at the end of the book.
When the book is finally read to be sent off to the publisher’s, Mrs Price asks him, “Who shall we say it’s by? Would you like to use your real name?”
Temeraire hesitates. It’s true, the book is rather excellent, and he certainly intends to brag about it. Nevertheless, he should follow the traditional conventions of British novelists. He is, after all, a newcomer in the field. “No,” he tells Mrs Price humbly, “say that it’s simply by ‘A Dragon.’”
“Of course, sir,” says Mrs Price.
She’s much less jumpy these days, Temeraire notes smugly.
It isn’t long before Temeraire receives a letter acknowledging the receipt of the manuscript, and Temeraire is disappointed to note that the book won’t be printed and released for some weeks yet. Now that he has finished the project, he’s feeling restless and eager for the fun of revealing the whole thing to his friends, and especially to Laurence and Tharkay, who have noted his activity with no little amount of curiosity.
On thinking of his friends, though, Temeraire stumbles upon the solution to his restlessness. Afterall, his work is a masterpiece—it should be available to more than simply the denizens of Britain.
And so, Temeraire begins work on some translations. Mrs Price is able to take his dictation in French, having a solid grasp of that language herself, and she is even able to make recommendations for particular turns of phrase that best represent his intended meaning. When it comes to his Chinese edition, however, Temeraire must write that himself, and so he pulls out his large, expensive personal writing kit and creates several copies for distribution to his contacts in China, as well as a personal copy for his mother. By the time these are all sent off by courier to the transports that will take them to their final destination, the English editions have been printed, and Temeraire makes certain to acquire copies for all of his friends in the corps, both local and overseas.
He sends off the copies by courier and, in some cases, makes the deliveries himself, accepting the congratulations modestly, and settles in to wait for the reaction of public and friends with glee.
The book is, of course, a phenomenal success.
At least, for a particular audience. This is understandable, Mrs Price assures him. After all, a storybook like the one she bought for her daughter would only be popular with children, and a dry text on mathematical principles would only be popular with mathematicians—and dragons. Temeraire’s book is spectacularly popular among members of the Aerial Corps, both human and dragon, even the many whom Temeraire didn’t personally send copies to. Even Iskierka declares it to be “less stupid than the typical novel,” which he interprets to mean that she’s upset at not having had the idea to write a novel first.
He sent some copies to friends outside of the Corps as well. When he eagerly asks Laurence’s mother for her opinion on it, she says hesitantly, "It's certainly very new. And detailed." Temeraire’s tail twitches shyly. He had not expected her to be so full of praise as that, though he’s not sure why. She is, after all, a woman of supremely excellent taste.
"Dearest," says Laurence when they have returned home and Temeraire has relayed Lady Allendale’s kind words, "it may not appeal to all humans, who are somewhat less mathematically minded than dragons, you know."
Laurence himself had been gratifyingly stunned in his admiration of the work, and even Tharkay had seemed very impressed.
Indeed, now Tharkay says, "It certainly does read as a novel for dragons about dragons by A Dragon.” Tharkay had burst out laughing when he saw the author credit, though Temeraire isn’t sure why. Perhaps Tharkay doesn’t read many novels—understandable, as they tend to be so poor. “Why should it matter what humans think of it? Surely they've dominated the literary market for too long." He raises his eyebrows at Laurence, smirking as though in challenge.
Laurence's mouth opens and shuts a few times before he finally admits, "Yes, I daresay you're right.” Then, he smiles suddenly, directing his attention back to Temeraire. “Dearest, it has occurred to me that your next novel should feature a dragon rescuing a hapless privateer who was denied his birthright and is fond of birds."
Temeraire is about to reply when Tharkay interjects his way back into the conversation. "No, no," says Tharkay, still smirking at Laurence. "I would much rather hear more about princess Willa. Does her financial scheme ever allow her to purchase the glass slippers and gown needed to sneak into the royal ball? Is she ever able to acquire the information she needs to rescue the stolen eggs?"
Temeraire can’t help but preen at such interest in his work. "I shan't spoil the surprise, but of course my stories will have happy endings. And certainly, Laurence, I've already created a character named Namgyal who will serve in that role. He will, of course, be Willa's love interest."
Laurence and Tharkay are silent for a moment, considering this.
"Of course," says Laurence finally, looking at Tharkay with wide eyes. "Certainly, for who else could it be?"
“Just so,” agrees Tharkay faintly.
Temeraire loves Laurence and Tharkay very dearly, but they do distract themselves a great deal. “As I was saying, my plans for my next novel include—”
Temeraire’s novels never reach a height of population among the general British public, who are largely bewildered by the excessive discussion of financial exchanges and market values, and largely horrified by the graphic depictions of violence from the perhaps overly realistic battle scenes. Nevertheless, the public opinion of the Aerial Corps, and dragons in particular, skyrockets over the next few years, and Mrs Price insists that Temeraire’s novels have as much to do with that as his political policies do.
Temeraire finds that rather unlikely, but Laurence, leaning against Tharkay’s side as he is increasingly wont to do these days, agrees with her words, smiling.
Well, Temeraire admits to himself smugly. They are rather good, after all.
Fandom: Temeraire
Characters/Ship: Temeraire & Laurence & Tharkay, Background Laurence/Tharkay
Word count: ~2.5k words
Summary: Temeraire writes a book.
For Year of the OTP 2023: March. Prompts
It is a truth which is not, unfortunately, universally acknowledged: There is a disturbing dearth of quality British literature featuring dragons.
It is not, of course, that Temeraire is surprised to discover this deficit. He has always been aware of it to some degree, but it is only when he enters into a period of relative leisure following the end of the war that he is really in a position to appreciate it—or rather, to disparage it.
Of course, then there is all the business of getting his pavilion built near Tharkay’s rather drab new house—of course, the poor fellow hasn’t had much of a chance to get it fixed up and gilded yet—and then he is busy with hiring his staff and running his election campaign, and then he is busy with Parliament and all the silly little men arguing over such minor quibbles when there are real issues to be addressed, and all in all, it’s some time before Temeraire is in a position to mourn the lack of a good book.
But, Parliament does eventually go into recess, and Temeraire settles back to enjoy a summer of leisure.
Leisure and bad literature.
Temeraire lets out a sigh that makes the sturdy furniture of his pavilion rattle, and his current secretary, a Mrs Price, jump in her seat where she was settled, reading to Temeraire aloud.
“Should I stop, Mr Temeraire?” she asks nervously.
She does everything nervously, unfortunately. His previous secretary, who was stern and unmoveable no matter how surprising the event, had ultimately found another post nearer to where her sister lived, and Temeraire had been forced to settle for Mrs Price, who was marvelously efficient, but rather irritatingly twitchy.
“No—or yes. Or—I don’t know. It’s a very good book,” Temeraire admits, for it truly is. It is the foremost text on draconic history in Britain, and it even takes a gently critical view of the treatment of dragons throughout. But it is rather skimpy on the battles. “I suppose I’m simply in the mood for something a little more exciting today.”
Mrs Price hesitates, closing the book carefully. “Like a novel?”
Temeraire considers this thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. Have you any recommendations?”
For some reason, Mrs Price looks embarrassed and agitated at this question. Outside of the community of aviators, humans are often so very strange! “Well, I have one here that I’ve been reading. It’s rather good.”
Temeraire perks up slightly. “Oh! Are there many battles?”
Mrs Price looks confused. “No, it’s a comedy.”
Temeraire tries not to deflate at this news. “Battles can be very amusing,” he defends petulantly. “Are there any dragons?”
“No—there’s a group of aviators, but I’m afraid they’re not very admirable characters.” Mrs Price looks like she regrets bringing the topic up, which isn’t surprising, as she’s admitted to enjoying such a very dull book.
“Well,” he hazards, attempting to be kind in the face of such inferior taste, “has the author perhaps written anything else that’s better? Who is it by?”
“I’m afraid that it was simply published under the moniker of ‘A Lady.’”
Naturally, for who would admit to having written something like that? But Temeraire is still doing his best to be gentle to Mrs Price’s delicate feelings, and so he says nothing.
After a few moments of silence, Mrs Price says, “I have a children’s book which has dragons in it, if you’d prefer, Mr Temeraire? I bought it for my daughter.”
Temeraire brightens. “Oh! Yes, let’s try that one.”
The children’s book is… Well. Human eggs are so very uninteresting at first, and that lasts for years, so it’s not surprising that their literature should be so absurd and simplistic. And yet, even so, Temeraire is baffled as to how anyone, even a misshapen and smelly little creature like human eggs, could be entertained by a story with so many plotholes.
It begins with a dragon kidnapping a princess. The book does not specify which princess from which country, which Mrs Price explains is because it’s not meant to take place in a real country. On being further pressed, she cautiously admits to his suggestion that this may be because no country would be willing to admit to the ignominy of having such awful security around their castle, and so the story was carefully excised from its contextual setting. This much, Temeraire can accept. But there is also no explanation as to why the princess was kidnapped in the first place. The dragon didn’t send any kind of ransom note, nor did the princess seem to have any special or notable ability other than her beauty, which, Temeraire sniffed, humans were hardly trustworthy on that topic anyway. So the dragon kidnaps a princess from an unidentified but poorly defended castle, and then publically takes her back to his den.
Yes, that’s right—not his elegant pavilion, or his impoverished cave—his den.
The dragon does not seem to have a crew, either, nor a captain. Temeraire’s first expectation had been that the princess was to be his captain, but he abandons that theory when the dragon locks the princess into a cage(?) that he just happens to have(?) rather than attempting to impress her with his incredible wealth and fighting prowess.
And that is another mysterious plothole—why is this dragon living in a den when he has ‘heaps of gold’ which he sleeps on rather than either exchanging for a better living situation or displaying as a prize?
And ‘heaps of gold’ is the only quantifier or qualifier. Well, fine, but how much gold is that? What kind of gold? There is no mention of the size of the dragon, but by squinting at the accompanying illustrations that Mrs Price shows him, Temeraire would guess that the fictional dragon is a heavyweight. If there is sufficient gold for him to sleep on, that must be a substantial amount, and yet a more specific number of weight is never given. The quality and purity of the gold? Unmentioned. Whether the gold is worked or unworked? Unmentioned. If worked, the size, shape, and quality of each smithed piece is likewise unmentioned, as is whether the ‘heap’ consists only of gold, or whether there are precious gems included as well, perhaps as settings within gold worked as jewelry or crowns.
Even if any of that information had been provided, Temeraire would have still more questions, as the simplistic plot of the book makes no mention of the strength of the local economy in this fictional kingdom. What is the worth of the ‘heaps of gold’ (and, potentially, other treasures) relative to other products within this kingdom—for example, as expressed in cows.
Eventually, a knight or something or other comes and attacks the dragon without any attempt at reasonable conversation, and steps over the poor boy’s crumbled corpse to ‘rescue’ the princess from the cage. The two return to the home of the princess, where the king agrees to marry his daughter to her ‘rescuer’ and even offer them half of the kingdom.
Suspicious. Were the princess and the knight working together all along? Did they pay that poor dragon to ‘kidnap’ the princess, and then kill him and steal back the money? That is really the only conclusion Temeraire can come to, given all of the facts.
“Well,” says Mrs Price helplessly. “It is for children, after all.”
In deference for the fact that the book is intended as a gift to Mrs Price’s own egg, Temeraire does not say, “Children deserve better,” but he does think it. Loudly.
“Mr Temeraire, if you don’t mind me saying,” Mrs Price says cautiously. “If you don’t like these books, why don’t you write your own?”
Temeraire opens his mouth to reply caustically, but then he pauses. Why doesn’t he write his own?
“Mrs Price, you make an excellent point,” he tells her. “Please prepare to take down my dictation.”
Temeraire doesn’t tell anyone about his project, and he swears Mrs Price to absolute secrecy. He wants it to be a surprise, and he’s giddy with excitement for when the book is finally finished, and he can share it with his friends and accept their admiration and congratulations.
His initial intention was to write a children’s book like the one Mrs Price read to him, but it quickly becomes clear that filling the plotholes of the original will require many more words than would be afforded to him in that format. Nevertheless, he keeps the style, plot, and prose simplistic, for—as he tells a blank-faced Mrs Price—he hopes to keep the book accessible to children so that they have the option of something better than their usual low-quality literature to turn to.
And, of course, a more realistic portrayal of dragons.
The story is still set in a fictional kingdom, but now Temeraire gives it a name. He names all of the characters, too, and fleshes out their personalities to make them a little more interesting to read about.
Now, Princess Willa secretly makes a deal with the dragon Indomptable in order to escape from an arranged marriage to a dreadfully boring prince from a neighboring kingdom. Indomptable and Willa do not initially have a very large income, but the two work together to build a financially stable home environment while also going on adventures. It occurs to Temeraire at some point that he may wish to write a sequel, and so he leaves several plot threads unfinished at the end of the book.
When the book is finally read to be sent off to the publisher’s, Mrs Price asks him, “Who shall we say it’s by? Would you like to use your real name?”
Temeraire hesitates. It’s true, the book is rather excellent, and he certainly intends to brag about it. Nevertheless, he should follow the traditional conventions of British novelists. He is, after all, a newcomer in the field. “No,” he tells Mrs Price humbly, “say that it’s simply by ‘A Dragon.’”
“Of course, sir,” says Mrs Price.
She’s much less jumpy these days, Temeraire notes smugly.
It isn’t long before Temeraire receives a letter acknowledging the receipt of the manuscript, and Temeraire is disappointed to note that the book won’t be printed and released for some weeks yet. Now that he has finished the project, he’s feeling restless and eager for the fun of revealing the whole thing to his friends, and especially to Laurence and Tharkay, who have noted his activity with no little amount of curiosity.
On thinking of his friends, though, Temeraire stumbles upon the solution to his restlessness. Afterall, his work is a masterpiece—it should be available to more than simply the denizens of Britain.
And so, Temeraire begins work on some translations. Mrs Price is able to take his dictation in French, having a solid grasp of that language herself, and she is even able to make recommendations for particular turns of phrase that best represent his intended meaning. When it comes to his Chinese edition, however, Temeraire must write that himself, and so he pulls out his large, expensive personal writing kit and creates several copies for distribution to his contacts in China, as well as a personal copy for his mother. By the time these are all sent off by courier to the transports that will take them to their final destination, the English editions have been printed, and Temeraire makes certain to acquire copies for all of his friends in the corps, both local and overseas.
He sends off the copies by courier and, in some cases, makes the deliveries himself, accepting the congratulations modestly, and settles in to wait for the reaction of public and friends with glee.
The book is, of course, a phenomenal success.
At least, for a particular audience. This is understandable, Mrs Price assures him. After all, a storybook like the one she bought for her daughter would only be popular with children, and a dry text on mathematical principles would only be popular with mathematicians—and dragons. Temeraire’s book is spectacularly popular among members of the Aerial Corps, both human and dragon, even the many whom Temeraire didn’t personally send copies to. Even Iskierka declares it to be “less stupid than the typical novel,” which he interprets to mean that she’s upset at not having had the idea to write a novel first.
He sent some copies to friends outside of the Corps as well. When he eagerly asks Laurence’s mother for her opinion on it, she says hesitantly, "It's certainly very new. And detailed." Temeraire’s tail twitches shyly. He had not expected her to be so full of praise as that, though he’s not sure why. She is, after all, a woman of supremely excellent taste.
"Dearest," says Laurence when they have returned home and Temeraire has relayed Lady Allendale’s kind words, "it may not appeal to all humans, who are somewhat less mathematically minded than dragons, you know."
Laurence himself had been gratifyingly stunned in his admiration of the work, and even Tharkay had seemed very impressed.
Indeed, now Tharkay says, "It certainly does read as a novel for dragons about dragons by A Dragon.” Tharkay had burst out laughing when he saw the author credit, though Temeraire isn’t sure why. Perhaps Tharkay doesn’t read many novels—understandable, as they tend to be so poor. “Why should it matter what humans think of it? Surely they've dominated the literary market for too long." He raises his eyebrows at Laurence, smirking as though in challenge.
Laurence's mouth opens and shuts a few times before he finally admits, "Yes, I daresay you're right.” Then, he smiles suddenly, directing his attention back to Temeraire. “Dearest, it has occurred to me that your next novel should feature a dragon rescuing a hapless privateer who was denied his birthright and is fond of birds."
Temeraire is about to reply when Tharkay interjects his way back into the conversation. "No, no," says Tharkay, still smirking at Laurence. "I would much rather hear more about princess Willa. Does her financial scheme ever allow her to purchase the glass slippers and gown needed to sneak into the royal ball? Is she ever able to acquire the information she needs to rescue the stolen eggs?"
Temeraire can’t help but preen at such interest in his work. "I shan't spoil the surprise, but of course my stories will have happy endings. And certainly, Laurence, I've already created a character named Namgyal who will serve in that role. He will, of course, be Willa's love interest."
Laurence and Tharkay are silent for a moment, considering this.
"Of course," says Laurence finally, looking at Tharkay with wide eyes. "Certainly, for who else could it be?"
“Just so,” agrees Tharkay faintly.
Temeraire loves Laurence and Tharkay very dearly, but they do distract themselves a great deal. “As I was saying, my plans for my next novel include—”
Temeraire’s novels never reach a height of population among the general British public, who are largely bewildered by the excessive discussion of financial exchanges and market values, and largely horrified by the graphic depictions of violence from the perhaps overly realistic battle scenes. Nevertheless, the public opinion of the Aerial Corps, and dragons in particular, skyrockets over the next few years, and Mrs Price insists that Temeraire’s novels have as much to do with that as his political policies do.
Temeraire finds that rather unlikely, but Laurence, leaning against Tharkay’s side as he is increasingly wont to do these days, agrees with her words, smiling.
Well, Temeraire admits to himself smugly. They are rather good, after all.