"Naomi Novik - Temeraire 1 - His Majesty's Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Novik Naomi)

“Perhaps not all of you are aware,” he said, silencing the whispers with a look, “that England is in a very
dire situation as regards the Aerial Corps. Naturally, our handling is superior, and the Corps can outfly
any other nation of the world, but the French can outbreed us two to one, and it is impossible to deny
that they have better variety in their bloodlines. A properly harnessed dragon is worth at least a first-rate
of one hundred guns to us, even a common Yellow Reaper or a three-ton Winchester, and Mr. Pollitt
believes from the size and color of the egg that this hatchling is a prime specimen, and very likely one of
the rare large breeds.”

“Oh!” said Midshipman Carver, in tones of horror, as he took Laurence’s meaning; he instantly went
crimson as eyes went to him, and shut his mouth tight.

Laurence ignored the interruption; Riley would see Carver’s grog stopped for a week without having to
be told. The exclamation had at least prepared the others. “We must at least make the attempt to harness
the beast,” he said. “I trust, gentlemen, that there is no man here who is not prepared to do his duty for
England. The Corps may not be the sort of life that any of us has been raised to, but the Navy is no
sinecure either, and there is not one of you who does not understand a hard service.”

“Sir,” said Lieutenant Fanshawe anxiously: he was a young man of very good family, the son of an earl.
“Do you mean—that is, shall we all—”

There was an emphasis on that all which made it obviously a selfish suggestion, and Laurence felt
himself go near purple with anger. He snapped, “We all shall, indeed, Mr. Fanshawe, unless there is any
man here who is too much of a coward to make the attempt, and in that case that gentleman may explain
himself to a court-martial when we put in at Madeira.” He sent an angry glare around the room, and no
one else met his eye or offered a protest.

He was all the more infuriated for understanding the sentiment, and for sharing it himself. Certainly no
man not raised to the life could be easy at the prospect of suddenly becoming an aviator, and he loathed
the necessity of asking his officers to face it. It meant, after all, an end to any semblance of ordinary life.
It was not like sailing, where you might hand your ship back to the Navy and be set ashore, often

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whether you liked it or not.

Even in times of peace, a dragon could not be put into dock, nor allowed to wander loose, and to keep a
full-grown beast of twenty tons from doing exactly as it pleased took very nearly the full attention of an
aviator and a crew of assistants besides. They could not really be managed by force, and were finicky
about their handlers; some would not accept management at all, even when new-hatched, and none
would accept it after their first feeding. A feral dragon could be kept in the breeding grounds by the
constant provision of food, mates, and comfortable shelter, but it could not be controlled outside, and it
would not speak with men.

So if a hatchling let you put it into harness, duty forever after tied you to the beast. An aviator could not
easily manage any sort of estate, nor raise a family, nor go into society to any real extent. They lived as
men apart, and largely outside the law, for you could not punish an aviator without losing the use of his
dragon. In peacetime they lived in a sort of wild, outrageous libertinage in small enclaves, generally in
the most remote and inhospitable places in all Britain, where the dragons could be given at least some
freedom. Though the men of the Corps were honored without question for their courage and devotion to