by David Weber
“And you could save even more by cutting funding for Thirsk’s precious ‘pensions,’” Clyntahn grated. “Or by stopping coddling people too lazy to work for a living right here in Zion itself!”
“Mother Church committed herself to pay those pensions,” Duchairn replied unflinchingly. “If we simply decide we’re not going to after all, why should anyone trust us to meet any of our other obligations? And what effect do you think our decision not to provide for the widows and orphans of men who’ve died in Mother Church’s service after we’ve promised to would have on the loyalty of the rest of Mother Church’s sons and daughters, Zhaspahr? I realize you’re the Grand Inquisitor, and I’ll defer to your judgment if you insist, but that decision would strike at the very things all godly men hold most dear in this world: their responsibilities to their families and loved ones. If you threaten that, you undermine everything they hold fast to not simply in this world, but in the next.”
Clyntahn’s jaw muscles bunched, but Duchairn went on in that same level, steady voice.
“As for my ‘coddling people too lazy to work,’ this is something you and I have already discussed. Mother Church has a responsibility to look after her children, and it’s one we’ve ignored far too long. Every single mark I’ve spent here in Zion this winter-every mark I might spend here next winter, or the winter after that-would be a single drop of water in the Great Western Ocean compared to the costs of this jihad. It’s going to get lost in the bookkeeping when my clerks round their accounts, Zhaspahr. That’s how insignificant it is compared to all our other expenses. And I’ve been out there, out in the city. I’ve seen how people are reacting to the shelters and soup kitchens. I’m sure your own inquisitors have been reporting to you and Wyllym about that, as well. Do you really think the paltry sums we’re spending on that aren’t a worthwhile investment in terms of the city’s willingness to not simply endure but support what we’re demanding of them and their sons and husbands and fathers?”
Their gazes locked, and tension hovered like smoke in the chamber’s corners. For a moment, Duchairn thought Clyntahn’s rage was going to push him over the line they’d drawn a year ago, the compromise which had bought Duchairn’s acquiescence-his silence-where the Grand Inquisitor’s pogroms and punishments were concerned. In Clyntahn’s more reasonable moments, he probably did recognize it was necessary for the Church to show a kinder, more gentle face rather than relying solely on the Inquisition’s iron fist. That didn’t mean he liked it, though, and his resentment over the “diversion of resources” was exceeded only by his contempt for Duchairn’s weakness. For the Treasurer’s effort to salve his own conscience by showing his compassion to all the world.
If it came to an open confrontation between them, Duchairn knew exactly how badly it was going to end. There were some things he was no longer prepared to sacrifice, however, and after a moment, it was Clyntahn who looked away.
“Have it your own way,” he grunted, as if it were a matter of no importance, and Duchairn felt his taut nerves relax ever so slightly.
“I agree there’s no real point in cutting that small an amount out of our expenditures,” Trynair said. “But do you think we’ll be able to rebuild the fleet even if we do everything you’ve just described, Rhobair?”
“That’s really a better question for Allayn than for me. I know how much we’ve already spent. I can make some estimates about how much it will cost to replace what we’ve lost. The good news in that respect is that now that we’ve got an experienced labor force assembled and all the plans worked out, we can probably build new ships more cheaply than we built the first ones. But Allayn’s already been shifting the Guard’s funding from naval expenditures to army expenditures. I don’t see any way we’re going to be able to meet his projections for things like the new muskets and the new field artillery if we’re simultaneously going to have to rebuild the Navy.”
“Well, Allayn?” Clyntahn asked unpleasantly.
“This all came at me just as quickly and unexpectedly as it came at any of the rest of you, Zhaspahr,” Maigwair said in an unusually firm tone. “I’m going to have to look at the numbers, especially after we find out how accurate Searose’s estimate of our losses really is. It’s always possible they weren’t as great as he thinks they were. At any rate, until I have some hard figures, there’s no way to know how much rebuilding we’re actually going to have to do.
“Having said that, though, there’s no question that it’s going to be the next best thing to impossible to push the development of the Guard’s military support structure the way we originally planned. For one thing, field artillery’s going to be in direct competition with casting replacement naval artillery for any new construction. A lot of the artisans and craftsmen we’ll need to make rifled muskets and the new style bayonets are also going to be needed by the shipbuilding programs. As Rhobair says, we’ve planned all along on shifting emphasis once we got the shipbuilding program out of the way. In fact, I’d already started placing new orders and reassigning workers. Getting those workers back and shuffling the orders is going to be complicated.”
“Should we just shelve land armaments in favor of replacing our naval losses?” Trynair asked.
“I think that’s something we’re all going to have to think about,” Maigwair said. “My own feeling, bearing in mind that we don’t have those definite numbers I mentioned, is that we’ll have to cut back on the muskets and field artillery and shift a lot of emphasis back to the shipyards. I don’t think we’ll want to completely cancel the new programs, though. We need to at least make a start, and we need enough of the new weapons for the Guard to start training with them, learning their capabilities. Striking the balance between meeting that need and rebuilding the Navy is going to be tricky.”
“That actually makes sense,” Clyntahn said, as if the notion that anything coming out of Maigwair’s mouth might do that astounded him. “On the other hand,” he continued, ignoring the flash of anger in the Captain General’s eyes, “at least it’s not as if Cayleb and Sharleyan are going to be landing any armies on the mainland. Even adding the Chisholmian Army to the Charisians’ Marines and assuming every outrageous report about their new weapons is accurate, they’ve got far too few troops to confront us on our own ground. Especially not when they’ve got to keep such hefty garrisons in Zebediah and Corisande.”
“There’s something to that,” Maigwair conceded. “Doesn’t mean they won’t try hit-and-run raids, of course. They did that against Hektor in Corisande. And if they’re willing to start that kind of nonsense on the mainland, our problem’s going to be mobility, not manpower. They can simply move raiding parties around faster by ship than we can march them overland, and the sad truth is that it doesn’t really matter how good our weapons are if we can’t catch up with them in the first place. That’s one of the reasons I’m inclined to think we’re going to have to place more emphasis on ships than muskets for the immediate future. We need to have enough of a navy to at least force them to make major detachments from their own fleet to support any operations along our coasts.”
“And how realistic is that?” Clyntahn’s question was marginally less caustic. “We’re going to have to rebuild-there’s no question of that, if we’re ever going to take the war to them the way God demands-but how likely are we to be able to build enough of a replacement fleet quickly enough to keep them from raiding our coasts whenever they want?”
Maigwair’s unhappy expression was answer enough, but Duchairn shook his head.
“I think Allayn may be worrying a bit too much about that, for the moment at least,” he said. The others looked at him, and he shrugged. “They can probably raid the coast of Desnair if they really want to, but unless they go after one of the major ports-which would take more troops than they’re likely to have-simple raids aren’t likely to hurt us very much. The same is true of Delferahk.” Now, at least, he added silently. After all, Ferayd was the only “major port” Delferahk had, and it’s gon
e now… thanks to you and your inquisitors, Zhaspahr. “Dohlar is a long way from Charis and well protected, especially with Thirsk’s fleet still intact to hold the Gulf of Dohlar. And even though I know you’re not going to want to hear this, Zhaspahr, no one’s going to be raiding Siddarmark or Silkiah as long as both of them are trading with Charis.”
He paused, looking around their faces, then shrugged again.
“I agree we need to rebuild, but I also think we’ve got some time in hand before we’re really going to need a fleet for anything except offensive operations. Just manning all the ships they’ve got now is going to be a huge drain on their manpower. As you say, Zhaspahr, they aren’t going to be able to build an army large enough for any serious invasion of the mainland, so if their raids can only inconvenience us without really hurting us, I don’t see any need to panic over the situation. Yes, it’s serious, and we’re going to have our work cut out for us to recover from it, but it’s a long way from hopeless.”
“That’s sound reasoning,” Clyntahn said after a moment, bestowing a rare look of approval on the Treasurer.
“Agreed.” Trynair looked happier as well, and he nodded firmly. “Panic isn’t going to help us, but clear thinking may.”
“I agree, too,” Maigwair said. “Of course, one thing we’re going to have to do is figure out how this new weapon of theirs actually works. Until we know that and produce similar weapons of our own, meeting them at sea would be a recipe for disaster. And it’s probably going to have a lot of implications for battles on land, too, for that matter.” He looked at Clyntahn. “Do I have permission to begin work on that, Zhaspahr?”
“The Inquisition has no objection to your at least putting people to work thinking about it,” the Grand Inquisitor replied, his eyes opaque. “I’ll want to be kept closely informed, of course, and I’ll be assigning one or two of my inquisitors to keep an eye on things. But as I said before, our own artisans have been able to accomplish many of the same things the heretics have done without violating the Proscriptions. I’m not prepared to say they’ve managed it entirely without violations, but we have, and I’m sure we’ll be able to continue to do so.”
Oh, I’m sure we will, too, Duchairn thought even as he and the other two nodded in grave agreement. Your inquisitors are going to approve anything you tell them to, Zhaspahr, and you’ll tell them to approve whatever Allayn comes up with even if it smashes right through the Proscriptions. After all, who’s a mere Archangel like Jwo-jeng to place any limits on you when it comes to smiting your enemies? In God’s name, of course.
He wondered once again where all this madness was going to end. And, once again, he told himself the one thing he knew with absolute certainty.
Wherever it ended, it was going to get far, far worse before it got better.
APRIL, YEAR OF GOD 895
HMS Dawn Star, 58, Chisholm Sea
Crown Princess Alahnah Zhanayt Naimu Ahrmahk wailed lustily as another sea rolled up under HMS Dawn Star ’s quarter and sent the galleon corkscrewing unpleasantly. Despite her parentage, the infant crown princess was not a good sailor, and she obviously didn’t care who knew it.
It was chilly in the large after cabin, despite the small coal stove securely affixed to the deck, and a warmly dressed Empress Sharleyan sat in a canvas sling-chair. The chair was adjusted so that its swinging movement could minimize the ship’s motion as much as possible, and she cradled the blanket-cocooned baby on her shoulder, crooning to her.
It didn’t seem to help a lot.
“Let me fetch Glahdys, Your Majesty!” Sairaih Hahlmyn, Sharleyan’s personal maid, said yet again. “Maybe she’s just hungry.”
“While I’ll admit this young monster is hungry most of the time, Sairaih, that’s not the problem right now,” Sharleyan replied wanly. “Believe me. I’ve already tried.”
Sairaih sniffed. The sound was inaudible against the background noise of a wooden sailing ship underway in blowing weather, but Sharleyan didn’t need to hear it. Glahdys Parkyr was Alahnah’s wetnurse, and as far as Sairaih was concerned, that meant Mistress Parkyr should be the crown princess’ only wetnurse. She’d made no secret of her opinion that Sharleyan had far too many pressing demands on her time to do anything so unfashionable as breast-feeding her daughter.
There were times Sharleyan was tempted to agree with her, and there were other times when she had no choice but to allow Mistress Parkyr to replace her. Sometimes that was because of those other pressing demands, but she’d also been forced to admit that her own milk production wouldn’t have kept pace with Alahnah’s needs without assistance. That bothered her more than she wanted to admit even to herself, which was one reason she was so stubborn about nursing the baby whenever she could.
In this case, however, that wasn’t the problem. In fact, her breasts felt uncomfortably full at the moment and Alahnah was too busy protesting her universe’s unnatural movement to care. Of course, Alahnah being Alahnah, dire starvation was going to redirect her attention sometime in the next half hour or so, Sharleyan thought wryly.
“You need your rest, Your Majesty,” Sairaih said with all the stubbornness of an old and trusted retainer gamely refusing to give up the fight.
“I’m stuck aboard a ship in the middle of the Chisholm Sea, Sairaih,” Sharleyan pointed out. “Exactly what do I need to be resting up for?”
The unfair question gave Sairaih pause, and she looked reproachfully at her empress for sinking so low as to actually use logic against her.
“Never mind,” Sharleyan said after a moment. “I promise if I can’t get her to settle down in a little bit, I’ll let you get Glahdys or Hairyet to see what they can do. All right?”
“I’m sure whatever Your Majesty decides will be just fine,” Sairaih said with immense dignity, and on that note, she swept a rather deeper curtsy than usual and withdrew from Sharleyan’s cabin.
“Have you ever considered how the rest of your subjects would react to the knowledge of how ruthlessly you’re tyrannized in your own household?” a deep voice asked in the empress’ ear, and she chuckled.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied to the cabin’s empty ear, and it was Merlin’s turn to chuckle.
He stood alone on Dawn Star ’s sternwalk, gazing out over the endless ranks of white-crested waves sweeping down on the ship from the northwest. There was enough flying spray, and the weather was cold enough, that no one seemed inclined to dispute his possession of the sternwalk at the moment. Of course, the fact that he was Emperor Cayleb’s personal armsman and currently attached to Empress Sharleyan in the same role probably had as much to do with it as the weather did. Then there was that minor matter of his seijin ’s reputation. Even most of those who knew him well were disinclined to crowd him when they didn’t have to.
“No idea at all,” he said now. “That’s what you want me to believe?”
“I’ll have you know, Seijin Merlin, that I rule my household with a will of iron,” she told him firmly.
“Oh, of course you do.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen the way they all jump to obey your orders in obvious terror.”
“I should certainly hope so.” She elevated her nose with a sniff Sairaih couldn’t have bettered, but a sudden, renewed complaint from Alahnah spoiled her pose.
“There, baby,” she murmured in the child’s delicate ear. “Momma’s here.” She nuzzled the side of the little girl’s neck, inhaling the scent of her while she patted her back gently.
Alahnah’s protests died back to a more sustainable level, and Sharleyan shook her head.
“How much longer until that wind change gets here?” she asked.
“Another seven or eight hours yet, I’m afraid,” Merlin replied, watching the real-time weather map from Owl’s sensors.
“Wonderful,” Sharleyan sighed.
“At least we’ve got better weather than Cayleb does,” Merlin pointed out. At that moment, Empress of Charis was battling headwinds and high se
as as she fought her way steadily westward. “And we’ll be heading into even better weather in the next few days. Of course, it’s going to get a lot hotter.”
“Fine with me,” Sharleyan said fervently. “Don’t tell any of my Chisholmians, but this northern girl’s been spoiled by Charisian weather.”
“Would that have anything to do with the fact that the snow was three or four feet deep when we left Cherayth?” Merlin asked mildly.
“I think you can safely assume it factors into the equation.”
“I thought it might. Still, you might want to remember that too much heat’s as bad as too much cold, and the last time Cayleb and I were in Zebediahan waters, it was hot enough to fry eggs on a cannon’s breech. I thought it was going to render that toad Symmyns down into candle fat right on the quarterdeck.”
“And it would’ve saved all of us-including him-a lot of grief if it had,” Sharleyan said, her voice and expression much grimmer than they had been. “That’s another part of this trip I’m not looking forward to, Merlin.”
“I know,” Merlin agreed soberly. “And I know it probably doesn’t help, but if anyone’s ever had it coming, it’s certainly him.”
Sharleyan nodded. Tohmys Symmyns, Grand Duke of Zebediah, was presently ensconced in a reasonably comfortable cell in what used to be his own palace in the city of Carmyn. He’d been there for four months now, awaiting the arrival of Cayleb or Sharleyan, and he’d probably have preferred to go on waiting a lot longer. Facing the emperor or empress against whom one had committed high treason wasn’t something to which most self-serving, treacherous schemers looked forward. Unfortunately for Symmyns, he was going to have the opportunity to do precisely that-briefly, at least-in another seven or eight days. And while Merlin knew Sharleyan wasn’t looking forward to the meeting either, he also knew she would never flinch from what her duty required.
“I’m not looking forward to Corisande, either, for that matter,” she said now. “Well, not most of it, anyway. But at least there’ll be some good news to go along with the bad in Manchyr.”
