by David Weber
“Irritating, isn’t it?” Symyn asked out loud, then chuckled with an edge of apology as his brother shot him a baleful glare.
“Sorry!” He raised both hands in a pacifying gesture. “I mean, I know it really is, and I don’t doubt the Emperor’s being pretty damned unpleasant about it. But I think I may be able to calm him down a little.”
“Really?” Harless said skeptically.
“Really.” Symyn nodded. “Look, I know His Majesty has to be truly pissed off by the notion of Charis fishing in troubled waters and landing a doomwhale like these ‘United Provinces.’ He won’t like their additional influence on the Mainland, and he really won’t like the fact that ultimately they’re going to suck an effectively independent West Harchong into their clutches … and make a boatload of money in the process. Hell, they’re going to make a whole bunch of boatloads of money down the road. So, yes, I understand why he’s a bit, um, choleric, these days.”
“I could think of a few stronger words,” Harless observed.
“I’m sure you could. But what we need to point out to him is how this will drive Zhyou-Zhwo even deeper into our arms. And the timing may be in our favor, too. We’re starting to get our own feet under us, and that gives us what that bastard Delthak calls a ‘technology demonstrator’ all our own to show off to Harchong.”
Harless frowned, rubbing his upper lip thoughtfully. His brother had a tendency to be overly optimistic, but he probably had a point this time. A very good one, actually.
The empire had just taken delivery of three Charisian-built steam automotives. They’d been delivered to Desnair the City by an enormous Charisian steamer whose steam-powered cranes had hoisted them to the dock with easy efficiency. Perhaps even more importantly, though, they’d been accompanied by a pair of Charisian-built steamers which had been purchased by the Crown at the same time as the automotives. And those other steamers had been packed with the machinery needed to create a modern, Charis-style foundry that would produce—among other things—the rails those automotives required.
All of that had cost a fortune, but the emperor had made that fortune available out of his only-almost-bottomless gold mines, and it meant there was no Charisian ownership stake in any of it. Every bit of it belonged to the Crown, to be bestowed where Emperor Mahrys chose and on whatever terms he dictated. More than that, the idiots had agreed to provide experts to set up Desnair’s new purchases and be sure everything was operational, and they actually seemed to believe His Majesty considered himself bound by their stupid “patent” and “licensing” laws. They didn’t even seem to realize that, for all intents and purposes, they were giving away their vaunted “industrialization” for free.
“You know, you’re right, Symyn,” he said after a moment. “Oh, the timing’s not perfect, but if I point out to His Majesty that he can offer the Harchongians access to our new manufactories.…”
“Exactly.” Symyn nodded. “Nobody in his right mind thinks we’re going to be as productive as the Charisians. Not right off the bat, anyway. It’ll take time. But once we’ve got our foothold, once we’ve started the process, we’ll build our own manufactories on our own terms, and that’ll give us a carrot of our own. We may not be able to match the ‘Ahrmahk Plan,’ but give me ten or fifteen years to build, and I’ll guarantee Zhyou-Zhwo won’t be the only ruler who’d rather deal with us than find themselves attached to Cayleb and Sharleyan’s apron strings!”
MAY YEAR OF GOD 905
.I.
Boisseau Province, United Provinces, West Harchong.
“And so, Almighty God, we thank you and all your Blessed Archangels and ask your continued blessings upon this, our effort to provide for Your children as we know You would have us do. Amen.”
Bishop Yaupang lowered his hands and stepped back on the slightly raised platform with a benevolent smile, and Runzheng Zhou, rebellious Baron of Star Rising and formally attainted traitor, watched his guests from the corner of one eye. He’d been afraid they might take offense, despite their disclaimers, but if they had, there was no sign of it in their expressions or their body language. He drew a slight breath of relief, then froze as one of those guests turned and raised an eyebrow at him.
“You were concerned about something, My Lord?” Merlin Athrawes asked mildly.
“Ah, no. Not really,” Star Rising said, although that wasn’t strictly true. Athrawes’ other eyebrow rose, and the baron shrugged ever so slightly.
“All right, I was a tiny bit concerned that the Archbishop might be offended when he wasn’t asked to … say a few words.”
“My Lord, I doubt Maikel Staynair’s said a few words on a formal occasion since he was first ordained,” Athrawes replied with a chuckle. “Mind you, they’re usually good words, but they do tend to flow on. And on. And, now that I think of it, on.”
“There is a special penance laid up for those who mock their elders,” Maikel Staynair said serenely from the seijin’s other side. Star Rising was a little surprised the white-haired archbishop had been able to hear him over the sharp, rippling wind-pop of the flags strung around the platform, but the old man’s brown eyes twinkled when he looked at him.
“Forgive me, my son,” he said, “but so many decades of listening to confessions has made my ear exceptionally keen. And, no, I wasn’t in the least offended.” His expression sobered. “In fact, I think it was wise of you and Bishop Yaupang to avoid piling yet another log on the fire. We all know how Emperor Zhyou-Zhwo would react to this at the best of times. I would truly prefer not to make that even worse by adding an extra religious component to it. Especially not when Bishop Yaupang is so obviously a good and compassionate servant of God.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t have said it any better, and this is his flock, not mine. Let them hear their shepherd’s voice, not me, especially on a day like this.”
Star Rising nodded in sober agreement … and gratitude. He’d never met Staynair before this five-day, and it was an enormous relief to discover Merlin Athrawes had been nothing but accurate in describing the archbishop’s spiritual integrity and—yes—humility. It was impossible for him to imagine a Harchongese archbishop of the Church of God Awaiting allowing anyone to “upstage” him at a public appearance.
And God knew Staynair was right. Star Rising was fortunate in that he’d had very few relatives in South Harchong, and those he had had were no longer there. Or not most of them, anyway. One of his cousins had been too stubborn—and too furious at him—to heed his advice and get himself and his immediate family out of Zhyou-Zhwo’s reach. No doubt Cousin Enbau was busy blaming Star Rising for what had happened to him since, but it was a little difficult for the baron to work up much sympathy for him.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only person whose relatives had been taken into custody by the Emperor’s Spears. So far, only a handful of nobles had renounced their participation in the United Provinces, but others would no doubt be tempted if the emperor and his cronies got around to leveling specific threats against family members. In the end, it wouldn’t matter—not if he had time to get enough of the town burghers, free peasants, guildsmen, and serfs fully engaged before it happened.
And it was very possible Staynair’s visit would push that process along. It had taken less than five minutes in his presence for Star Rising to feel the aura of compassion the archbishop carried with him everywhere he went. A more eloquent spokesman for the Church of Charis was impossible to imagine, and none of the Harchongians in the United Provinces were likely to miss the fact that he was the Church of Charis’ archbishop, the equivalent of its grand vicar. No Grand Vicar—and damned few archbishops—had ever visited West Harchong. Certainly not outside Shang-mi or the other great cities. Maikel Staynair intended to tour all of Boisseau and Cheshire. He couldn’t visit every town and hamlet, but his route had been planned so that at least two-thirds and more probably three-quarters of the United Provinces’ people would be able to reach at least one of his stops, hear at least one of his sermons. Som
e of them might spend a few days on the road to get there, but Star Rising had no doubt thousands—hundreds of thousands—of them would do just that.
And even a very few minutes of one of Maikel Staynair’s sermons would knock any lingering fear of Shan-wei worship out of anyone but the most bigoted. In a lot of ways, the baron wished they had been able to start that process right here, today, but this was the day of all days that would be reported in detail to Zhyou-Zhwo. Best to keep it as non-enraging as possible.
Not that it was going to do much good.
He snorted sourly at that thought, then turned his head as the second-most prominent Charisian present this day stepped down from the platform towards the huge oblong marked off by the wooden stakes and strings.
The Duke of Delthak was, by any measure, the wealthiest man in the world, outside Cayleb and Sharleyan Ahrmahk, and their wealth exceeded his solely because of their personal ownership of Silverlode Island. Delthak had built his fortune, from the ground up, and he was growing wealthier—a lot wealthier—every single day. He didn’t look much like the Harchongese ideal of a great noble, however, which was probably as well. He was a bit on the portly side, with hair just beginning to silver, and he wore the sort of clothing any prosperous businessman might, not the resplendent finery Harchongians were accustomed to seeing their great nobles don on public occasions. And the mind boggled at the thought of any Harchongese duke carrying a shovel over his shoulder.
Of course, it wasn’t just any shovel, and Star Rising squinted as the brilliant sunlight reflected from its silver-plated blade.
“I confess, I never would have thought of something like this,” he said to Athrawes and Staynair. “I see the symbolism, though, and I like it. I wonder why no one else ever did it?”
“Actually, the process began with Empress Sharleyan,” Athrawes replied. “She and the Emperor realized they needed something more than just behind-the-scenes financing and policy decisions to convince their subjects the Crown truly supported the improved Charisian manufactory techniques. It was what you might call a … dicey situation at the time. Clyntahn was already thundering anathemas, but we needed those manufactories if we were going to survive. So Her Majesty decided to make the Crown’s position unmistakably clear by turning the first few shovels of dirt for as many of the new manufactories as she could get to.” He smiled. “Hard to miss the symbolism—as you say—of having a crowned head of state dig the first hole.”
“Or the symbolism in having a crowned head of state not dig the first hole, in this case,” Staynair put in. “It’s another way to emphasize the fact that this isn’t a Charisian manufactory, however much private Charisian subjects may have invested in it.”
“I admit that would be a good message to communicate,” Star Rising said. “I doubt anyone in Yu-kwau’s going to pay much attention to that part, though.”
“It never hurts to try, my son,” Staynair said serenely, and Star Rising chuckled.
“You truly are a man of faith, aren’t you, Your Eminence?”
“It’s a requirement for the job, my son. In Charis, at least.”
“Ouch!” Star Rising shook his head with a louder chuckle. “I suppose I had that coming.”
“Oh, His Eminence is never shy about giving us an elbow when we need one,” Athrawes told him wryly.
“That’s a requirement for the job, too,” Staynair observed mildly.
“If you’ll pardon me for pointing this out, Your Eminence, I would think staying alive is also an important part of doing your ‘job,’” Star Rising said in a far more serious tone. “And in that respect, I’d feel more comfortable if—”
“I’m afraid hanging onto Merlin is out of the question,” Staynair interrupted him in a courteous tone. “But I’m quite comfortable with the arrangements that have been made for my security in his absence.”
“Your Eminence, I hope this won’t sound too mercenary of me, but I’m really happy our relationship with Charis seems to be working as well as it is right now. I suspect there are likely to be … unfortunate repercussions if we allow something unpleasant to happen to you on Harchongese soil.”
“Which is why nothing’s going to happen to him, My Lord.” Athrawes smiled reassuringly. “I don’t think it was the honeymoon she would have preferred, but Seijin Nimue will do just fine watching the Archbishop’s back.”
“I beg your pardon?” Star Rising felt both of his eyebrows rise.
“Well, the truth is that Their Majesties’ decision to ask General Gahrvai to assume direction of our security detachments here in the United Provinces had a little something to do with it,” Athrawes agreed with another, stronger smile. “Nimue really didn’t like the thought of her new husband being sent that far away from her, so Prince Daivyn insisted she go with him. And since she just happens to be in the vicinity—”
He shrugged, and Star Rising nodded slowly, although he strongly suspected that the circumstances which had made Seijin Nimue available were less fortuitous than Athrawes chose to imply. But maybe, he thought, that was another part of the “low-profile” approach to Staynair’s visit? Seijin Nimue was less well known outside the Charisian Empire itself than the infamous, terrible—and terrifying—Seijin Merlin. For that matter, Merlin was so inextricably tied to Cayleb and Sharleyan in the public mind that no one could possibly have seen his presence as anything but an example of imperial Charisian involvement. Nimue Gahrvai was a known seijin, but she was far less infamous than Merlin and associated much more in people’s minds with Prince Daivyn and Princess Irys. It was unlikely the United Provinces’ enemies would construe Staynair’s visit as anything but proof of the Charisian Empire’s “meddling” in Harchong, but it was at least possible some who were still on the fence about supporting Star Rising and his colleagues might. Especially if Athrawes ostentatiously turned around and went home after the groundbreaking ceremony for the United Provinces’ first modern foundry and manufactory complex.
The odds might not be high, but as Staynair had said, it never hurt to try.
“Consider any concerns on my part withdrawn,” he said now, looking past the other dignitaries to the red-haired young woman in the uniform of the Charisian Imperial Guard standing at Sir Koryn Gahrvai’s side. “From everything I’ve ever heard, Seijin Nimue should be more than capable of keeping you alive, Your Eminence.”
“Indeed.” Staynair smiled and reached up and out to lay one hand briefly on Athrawes mailed shoulder. “Seijin Nimue is just as capable as Seijin Merlin. In fact, I’ve always said she’s the only person on Safehold who’s fully his equal in every way.
“Except, of course,” his smile turned downright sly, “for the fact that she’s far better looking than he is.”
.II.
Southland Drilling Well No. 1, Sairahston, Oil Springs Valley, Barony of Southland, Princedom of Emerald, Empire of Charis.
“I hope you’re right about this, Ahmbrohs,” Ehdwyrd Howsmyn said over the com from his cabin aboard the steamer bearing him rapidly homeward from the United Provinces. “I mean, a gusher would be more exciting, but I’d really rather not lose the rig or any of our people.”
“Not to mention the bad PR,” Merlin Athrawes added dryly from Boisseau. “Especially if we did lose people as well as equipment. ‘Extra, extra! Archangel Hastings Punishes Impious Shan-Wei Worshipers!’” He shook his head. “I agree it would probably be spectacular, but the last thing we need is another Lakeview gusher on our very first hole.”
“If I continued to believe in the patron of my order,” Father Ahmbrohs Makfadyn replied in a slightly repressive tone, “I’d probably take offense at your levity, Merlin. As it is, I can only concur. But everything—including Owl’s sampling—suggests this should be … reasonably sedate.”
“‘Reasonably,’” the Duke of Delthak repeated. “Why, oh why, does that not fill me with unbounded confidence?”
“With all due respect, Your Grace—and Your Seijinship—would you please stop picking on my geo
logist?” a fourth voice said, and Makfadyn turned to smile reassuringly at the younger, taller man standing beside him.
Doctor Zhansyn Wyllys, fellow of the Royal College, and member of the inner circle for the last three years, was black-haired, with deep-set brown eyes. At the moment, those eyes were locked on the wood-and-steel gantry four hundred yards from their current position. They were rather more anxious than Makfadyn’s, but that was understandable in the President of Southland Drilling and Refining.
“I am not ‘picking on’ him, Zhansyn.” Merlin could almost hear the twinkle in Delthak’s voice. “I’m just saying that as one of the investors in your project, I’m hoping Ahmbrohs called it right when he suggested drilling here.”
“Oh, so now it’s my suggestion? I see!” Makfadyn’s smile broadened. “I would’ve sworn there was something about terraforming crews’ surveys involved in the selection process, wasn’t there? Let me see, let me see.…”
“Officially, it’s your suggestion,” Merlin said. “And for damned good reasons!”
“I know. I know!” Makfadyn replied, his expression sobering at least a little.
The Archangel Hastings, as the patron of geography, was also the patron of geology. And geology was another of those areas in which the Holy Writ provided Safehold with far more insight than one might have thought judging from the planet’s pre-Merlin technology levels. Apparently it had occurred to Eric Langhorne and Adorée Bédard that human beings were going to dig holes, some of them pretty deep, even on Safehold. As such they’d taken the opportunity to both further buttress the Writ’s demonstrated authority and to nip any potential conflicts in the bud. Makfadyn—an ardent Reformist even before the Jihad—had been the closest thing to a trained geologist Safehold had boasted. That combination had brought him into close contact with the Royal College long before he learned of the inner circle’s existence, and he’d been quietly rewriting Safehold’s understanding of geology since Owl and the library in Nimue’s Cave had become available.
