By Heresies Distressed

by David Weber

  “At any rate,” Clyntahn went on after a moment, “I’ve sent out instructions to every intendant and to every senior inquisitor. We’ll still use the silk glove approach with the laity—for a while, at least—but it’s time for them to begin making clear to the clergy that the possibility of some sort of patched-up compromise is long past . . . if it ever existed in the first place! Trust me, they’ll soon understand that no defeatism or lack of enthusiasm will be tolerated.”

  “I could wish, Zhaspahr,” Trynair said after a brief pause, “that you’d at least informed me of your intentions before you sent out those instructions. I am Chancellor, you know. The archbishops and bishops should have received a letter of instruction from me at least simultaneously.”

  “The actions of the Order of Schueler, Mother Church’s intendants, and the Office of Inquisition are my responsibility, Zahmsyn,” Clyntahn said coldly. “You may send whatever instructions you like to the archbishops and bishops, but it’s the Inquisition’s task to see to it that all of Mother Church’s priests know precisely what is expected of them—and what will be demanded of them—where matters of spiritual and doctrinal purity are concerned.”

  Trynair’s nostrils flared, but he sat on his own instant surge of anger. What Clyntahn had just said—in his own, thankfully inimitable fashion—was true. Trynair never doubted that the way Clyntahn had handled it, like his current half-glare, owed a great deal to the fashion in which the Chancellor had . . . discussed Ferayd with him, but that didn’t make what he’d just said inaccurate. Nor did it change the importance of handling him carefully. Still, there was a point here which had to be made.

  “I never said it wasn’t the Inquisition’s responsibility to ensure the reliability and purity of doctrine, Zhaspahr,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “I merely indicated that there are longstanding traditions and procedures by which such messages and instructions are supposed to be distributed. You know that as well as I do . . . and so do the bishops. If we begin sending out directives which obviously haven’t been coordinated with one another, it’s only going to engender a sense of confusion and make them wonder if we’re truly in control of the situation. I don’t think either of us wants that to happen, do we?”

  He met Clyntahn’s eye levelly, forcing himself not to flinch, despite any inner qualms. It wasn’t easy, and he felt rather like an animal trainer facing down a dangerous beast in a cage. But, after a moment, Clyntahn nodded, almost as if against his will.

  “Point taken,” he said shortly. “I’ll try to at least keep you informed—in advance—of any additional directives I feel must be distributed in the Inquisition’s name.”

  “Thank you.” Trynair poured fresh wine into his own glass with a hand which, he was pleased to note, didn’t tremble at all.

  He passed the glass under his nose, savoring the bouquet while he gazed out the windows. Spring had come late, hard, and cold to Zion, but at least there was no more blowing snow. Not that he was convinced icy rain and mud were that much of an improvement, even when all he had to do was view it from the comfort of his own suite. That suite was every bit as luxurious as Clyntahn’s own, although he’d preferred one with a smaller expanse of windows, and not just because he didn’t like looking at snow or rain. He knew the Temple’s mystic glass permitted the human eye to see through its windows in only one direction, yet something deep inside him always felt somehow exposed when they dined in Clyntahn’s chambers.

  Perhaps that’s because I know Zhaspahr makes a habit of mounting his mistresses in front of those windows, he thought sardonically. I wonder what it says about the way his mind works that he wants to be able to look out across the entire city of Zion at a moment like that?

  “I suppose that’s just about everything for this evening, then,” he said aloud after a moment.

  “Just about,” Clyntahn agreed. “I did just receive a dispatch from Father Aidryn in Manchyr, however.”

  “You did?” Trynair looked up sharply.

  “Yes, but it arrived by courier less than an hour before we were scheduled to dine, and it came in in cipher. There wasn’t time to get it deciphered before I had to leave. I’ll see to it that you get a clean copy tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you.” Trynair leaned back in his chair, wondering whether or not his “clean copy” would also be a complete copy.

  “I’m not happy about what we’ve heard so far about Cayleb’s campaign,” he admitted after a moment. “And I have to confess I was most unpleasantly surprised when we found out he’d managed to launch both his invasion of Corisande and his expedition against Ferayd virtually simultaneously.”

  “There I have to agree with you,” Clyntahn said, and his voice was quite different from the tone in which he’d discussed Ferayd. In fact, his entire body language was different. He sat straighter in his chair, his eyes narrowed, and he set his wineglass down in front of him, folded his arms on the edge of the table, and leaned slightly towards the Chancellor.

  “Actually, one of the things that most disturbs me about Cayleb’s ability to operate with such impunity is that I’ve come to the conclusion that Allayn’s new fleet is going to be about as useful as tits on a boar dragon.”

  “What?” Both of Trynair’s eyebrows arched. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned that!”

  “It’s taken a while for some of the evidence to come together for me,” Clyntahn admitted. “I’m not a naval man, or a soldier. And, to be blunt, I’ve had my own responsibilities and I’ve been forced to assume Allayn was adequately discharging his responsibilities. Unfortunately, I’m rapidly coming to realize he hasn’t been.”

  “That’s a very serious allegation, Zhaspahr.”

  “Oh, fuck ‘allegations,’ Zahmsyn.” Clyntahn unfolded his arms long enough to wave one hand dismissively. “I’m not accusing him of playing some sort of games, or of shirking his responsibilities. The problem is that his imagination is about the size of a dried pea. A small dried pea. And it’s at least partly—maybe even mostly—our fault for not riding herd on him more carefully. You and I both know he’s the weak link in our group, after all.”

  Trynair was privately surprised by Clyntahn’s frankness. At the same time, he couldn’t disagree with anything the Inquisitor had so far said.

  “He may be the weak link, but we can’t really afford to dispense with him, especially now,” the Chancellor pointed out, and Clyntahn shrugged his broad, beefy shoulders.

  “Not unless we’re prepared to strip him of his office and pick Mother Church a new Captain General,” he agreed. “And, like you, I don’t believe we can afford to risk any appearance of internal dissension. But that’s really a bit beside my point where the new fleet is concerned.”

  “Then what is your point?”

  “We’re building the wrong ships,” Clyntahn said flatly. “I’ve been reading over reports from my intendants and inquisitors. Obviously, many of them have been deeply concerned about the nature and extent of the Charisians’ innovations and their violations of the Proscriptions of Jwo-jeng. As part of that concern, they’ve been reporting on every instance of those innovations’ use which has come to their attention. And it’s disturbingly clear to me, now that I’ve had time to think about it, that these new galleons of theirs are far more effective than any galley.”

  “Even the new, bigger galleys?”

  “Than any galley,” Clyntahn repeated in that same flat voice. “It’s a simple enough proposition, Zahmsyn. A ship which doesn’t rely on rowers can be bigger, heavier, and tougher. We can make our galleys bigger and more seaworthy—which we are doing—but at the price of making them slower and requiring more rowers under oars. That’s what the Charisians had already done before they started turning to galleons. But a galleon can eventually be made bigger and heavier than anything that’s going to be able to move under oar power. And a ship which doesn’t have oars all down the side can mount a lot more guns in that same space, as well. So when you combine bigger, heavier
ships—which means ships which can carry heavier weights—with a hull design which lets them cram more guns into a broadside, you get a ship which can do what Cayleb’s ships have been doing to us for the last year and a half. I’m sure the new ships Allayn is building will be more effective than older style galleys. Unfortunately, I’m coming to suspect that ‘more effective’ in this case simply means one of Cayleb’s galleons will need three broadsides to sink them, instead of only one.”

  “Sweet Langhorne,” Trynair murmured as he reflected on how much Rhobair Duchairn had already disbursed on the Temple’s massive new naval programs. It was, as the Treasurer General had pointed out a few five-days earlier, the largest single outlay of funds in the history of Mother Church, and the entire enormous first wave of galleys they’d ordered was nearing completion. In fact, scores of them had already been launched, in Dohlar and the southern ports of Harchong. But if Clyntahn’s biting analysis was accurate, then those ships represented a colossal waste of timber, money, and time. Especially time.

  “How long ago did you reach this conclusion?” he asked after a moment, and Clyntahn shrugged again.

  “I actually started suspecting it a few five-days ago,” he admitted. “Given how much we’ve already committed to the building program, and the extent to which Allayn’s prestige is tied up in it, I decided to take the time to think about it and be certain of my conclusions before I shared them with anyone.”

  “I can understand that, I suppose.”

  Trynair stared out the window again, his eyes distant, and Clyntahn chuckled sourly.

  “I wasn’t any too happy about it when it first occurred to me, either,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I still don’t find it particularly amusing. The Address warned the entire vicarate we were planning to declare Holy War, and now it turns out we still don’t have a navy we can use to launch a Jihad after all! On the other hand, it’s a lot better to figure it out now than after we send a galley fleet—another galley fleet—out to be turned into driftwood by Cayleb and his galleons.”

  “That’s true enough,” Trynair agreed slowly.

  “Well, after I’d realized that, I also realized the present program hasn’t been a complete waste of time. If nothing else, we’ve assembled the shipbuilding teams, established the yards, and generally streamlined the construction process. Rhobair’s not going to be happy about it,” Clyntahn smiled nastily, “and I expect to hear him pissing and moaning about the additional expense. With reason, I suppose, however irritating he can sound. But at least we’ve got the men and the tools in place if we’re going to have to start building galleons, instead.”

  “But dare we embrace all of these Charisian innovations?”

  “We’ll dare to do anything we have to do to crush these schismatics. As Grand Inquisitor, I can grant special dispensations to anyone, if I need to.”

  “That wasn’t really my point,” Trynair said, shaking his head. “What I meant is that we’ve stressed the Charisian willingness to violate the Proscriptions. If we’re going to accuse them of having done that, and then we turn around and do exactly the same things they’re doing . . .”

  He let his voice trail off, and Clyntahn grunted in understanding. But the Inquisitor seemed far less concerned over the possibility than Trynair was.

  “We can duplicate their new galleons, and almost certainly this new artillery of theirs, as well, without breaching the Proscriptions. And the artillery and the new ship designs are only a fragment of all of the ‘innovations’ they’ve been introducing. The mere fact that we’re very cautiously adopting a tiny part of what they’ve done isn’t going to magically make all of their other, far more serious violations disappear. Besides, the entire nature of the contest is shifting. It’s about Mother Church’s legitimate primacy, now, and all the doctrinal implications which hang on that dispute. If we emphasize that firmly and steadily, I don’t think we’ll have any problems over introducing a few new guns and a few new ships of our own.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Trynair said. “But whether you’re right about that or not, if we’re going to have to build yet another completely new navy, it’s going to throw a major kink into our plans.”

  “I believe I can safely say that that’s a substantial understatement,” Clyntahn said dryly.

  “And unless we do want to get rid of Allayn and try to find another Captain General we think we can trust, we’re going to have to be careful about how we go about changing our building plans,” Trynair continued, his expression thoughtful as his brain got past the shock of Clyntahn’s announcement and began grappling with its implications. “If we don’t handle this properly, it’s going to create a crisis in confidence among the rest of the vicarate where Allayn is concerned.”

  “Frankly, that might not be the worst thing that could happen,” Clyntahn pointed out. “Except, as you say, that finding another Captain General we can trust, especially if we find ourselves being forced to drop Allayn under pressure from other vicars, isn’t going to be simple. I’m pissed off with him about this, but I suppose it’s only fair to point out in his defense that all of us had the same information, and I’m only just now figuring this out myself. Given the fact that Allayn is possibly a third as smart as you or I—I’m being generous here, you’ll note—it’s probably unfair of me to be too pissed off with him.”

  “I think it might be best to have Allayn reach the same conclusions you have on the basis of reports from Ferayd,” Trynair said after a moment. “If we stress that no one else had realized all of this and point out that the Ferayd attack is the first one on which we’ve really received adequate reports, then perhaps we can convince everyone Allayn recognized the inherent weaknesses of galleys forced to fight galleons as soon as he had an opportunity to review a sufficiently detailed account.”

  “I suppose that could work,” Clyntahn agreed a bit sourly. “Although I have to admit that I’m getting a bit tired of ‘admitting’ things just to head off the damage when someone else starts screaming about them. Still, I think we’re in a better position to control the spin on this one . . . assuming, of course, that no one else finds out about the reports Admiral Thirsk and Admiral White Ford sent Allayn after Rock Point and Crag Reach.”

  Trynair grimaced and wished Clyntahn could have refrained from that last observation. Still, those reports had scarcely been broadly circulated. It wouldn’t be that hard to discreetly “disappear” them.

  “This is going to make things even worse where Corisande is concerned,” he said after a moment. “I’ve been assuming that if Hektor could only hold out until the spring ice melts up here, we could send a fleet to his support. One capable of at least fighting its way through with additional troops.”

  “I think we can assume that that’s not going to happen,” Clyntahn agreed.

  “Well, that probably pretty much guarantees that Corisande’s going to be lost to us, along with Chisholm and Emerald. Which, in turn, means this ‘Charisian Empire’ of Cayleb’s may actually come into existence.”

  “For a while,” Clyntahn said grimly. “For a while.”

  “Maybe only for a while, but if Corisande goes down, especially after Chisholm and Emerald have voluntarily joined Charis, and after Cayleb has burned Ferayd to the ground and hanged sixteen Inquisitors with apparently total impunity, and after we’ve announced we have to start building yet another new navy from the ground up, it’s not going to do very much for morale. And if Hektor does the same thing Nahrmahn did, it’s going to be even worse.”

  “It won’t be good, no,” Clyntahn said much more calmly than Trynair would have expected. “On the other hand, if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen. Panicking about it ahead of time won’t accomplish anything. Besides, you might be surprised.” He smiled unpleasantly. “I’ve been working on a little insurance plan. One I think will turn Hektor into an asset even if Corisande voluntarily surrenders to Charis.”

  “Insurance plan? What sort of insurance plan?”
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  “Ah!” Clyntahn wagged an index finger chidingly. “I told you I’m still working on it. It’s not what I’d call really finished yet, and even if it were, everyone likes his little surprises. I think you’ll be impressed, but I’m not quite ready to share it yet.”

  Trynair frowned at him, but Clyntahn only chuckled and reached for the wine bottle again.

  It was considerably later that evening when Clyntahn strolled into his own suite in a pleasant glow.

  Of the entire Group of Four, only Trynair’s wine cellar really matched Clyntahn’s own, and the Grand Inquisitor always enjoyed drinking someone else’s wines and whiskeys more than he cared for sharing his own. Besides, Trynair’s attempts to inveigle him into sharing his plans for cushioning the impact of Hektor’s eventual defeat had amused him enormously, especially after the way in which he’d been forced to humiliate himself over Ferayd. And so he was in an expansive mood as he returned home.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” his valet said, bowing to him.

  “Evening,” Clyntahn responded.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you have a visitor,” the valet continued.

  “A visitor? At this hour?” Clyntahn frowned, and the valet grimaced.

  “I did point out the lateness of the hour, Your Grace, and inquire as to whether or not he could come back at a more convenient time. He informed me, however, that it was important he speak to you. He seemed quite insistent, in fact.”

  “And who might this visitor be?”

  “It’s Archbishop Nyklas, Your Grace.”

  Clyntahn’s eyes narrowed. Nyklas Stantyn was the Archbishop of Hankey in the Desnairian Empire, but he was scarcely one of Clyntahn’s intimates. In fact, the Grand Inquisitor had never thought too highly of the man’s basic intelligence. Besides, Stantyn had been one of those who had favored Samyl Wylsynn in the contest between Wylsynn and Clyntahn for the Grand Inquisitor’s office. Only vicars had been allowed to vote, of course, but the campaigning had been vigorous, and Stantyn had done quite a bit of Wylsynn’s legwork. That was one reason he was still a mere archbishop instead of having been elevated to the vicarate, despite his well-connected birth and seniority.