by David Weber
"Light, Your Highness," Merlin said promptly, unflinchingly, looking straight into Cayleb's eyes. "There's enough darkness in the world already," the seijin continued, "and more is gathering. Charis stands in its way, and so I stand with Charis. And I tell you this, Cayleb Ahrmahk, Crown Prince of Charis—I will die before I permit darkness to triumph, whatever its source."
Cayleb looked deep into those level sapphire eyes for at least thirty measured seconds, and then, slowly, he nodded.
"That's enough for me," he said simply, and tapped the piece of paper once more.
"Now," he invited, "try explaining these 'numerals' of yours to me again, if you would."
III
King's Harbor,
Helen Island
Helen Island lay a hundred and fourteen miles northeast of Tellesberg in South Howell Bay. It was shaped roughly like a triangle with a bite taken out of its eastern side and measured about seventy-five miles in its longest dimension. That wasn't particularly huge for a planet like Safehold, where islands were an everyday fact of life, but this island's craggy mountains rose to a spectacular height above sea level. More to the point, perhaps, Helen Island was a vital part of the ancestral Ahrmahk lands, and it had been heavily fortified for centuries.
Howell Bay had been the key to the evolution of the Kingdom of Charis. Waterborne transportation was faster, easier, and far cheaper than trying to haul the same goods and materials overland, and Howell Bay had provided Charis the equivalent of a broad, straight highway at its heart. Swift galleys and sailing vessels had tied the growing power of the kingdom together and provided the impetus and seagoing mind-set for the oceanic expansion of trade which had followed. And Howell Bay had been dominated by three islands—Sand Shoal, Helen, and Big Tirian. The fact that the House of Ahrmahk had managed to secure control of all three of them had a great deal to do with the fact that it had also eventually secured the Charisian throne.
That had been centuries ago, but the Kingdom of Charis had maintained the fortifications on all three islands, and King's Harbor, Helen's major port, was the site of one of the Royal Navy's main shipyards. King's Harbor was also an ancient fortress whose walls had been steadily expanded for centuries, which made the shipyard what might be considered a secure location. And the fact that most of the island's usable supply of ship timbers had been logged off long ago wasn't much of a drawback. Timber could always be shipped in, and Helen did offer substantial deposits of copper and iron plus, despite its relatively small size, enough mountain-born rivers and streams to drive a great many of Charis' overshot water wheels. The King's Harbor shipyard had installed its first water-powered sawmill over a century before, and a very respectable complex of supporting installations had grown up since.
Over the years, more than one project about which the kings of Charis wanted the rest of the world kept in ignorance had been carried out at King's Harbor. The shipyards at Hairatha on Big Tirian were bigger and more capable, in some ways, but Big Tirian's population was also far higher, which meant security was commensurately more difficult to maintain there. And the Royal Navy's Tellesberg shipyard—the biggest and most capable of all—was also the most public.
All of which helped to explain why Merlin Athrawes stood on the foredeck of the Royal Charisian Navy galley HMS Catamount as she rowed steadily into King's Harbor, past the towers guarding either side of the opening in the seawall.
It was the first time Merlin had seen the harbor with his own eyes, as it were, and he was forced to admit the looming fortifications, standing stark and tall against the dark green and brown of their mountainous backdrop, were impressive, to say the least, when viewed from sea level. On the other hand, they were also about to become hopelessly obsolete, although no one else had any way to know that.
He gazed at the sheer stone curtain walls, crenelated and tall, with regularly spaced towers and platforms for catapults and ballistae. Cannon crouched on some of those platforms now, he noted, crudely designed yet well made, then turned his attention to the shipyard itself. Half a dozen galleys like Catamount were under construction, their partially completed hulls already showing the rakish gracefulness of their breed. They, too, were about to become obsolete, and Merlin felt a brief—very brief—stab of regret at the thought of the passing of such lithe, beautiful craft. The fact that he felt unhappily certain he was going to have no end of difficulty convincing some navy officers that their passage would be a good thing helped to account for some of that regret's brevity.
He snorted in amusement at the thought and turned to glance at the young men standing beside him.
"Impressive," he said, and Cayleb chuckled and looked over his shoulder.
"Merlin says it looks 'impressive,' Ahrnahld," he observed. "Do you think we should feel flattered?"
"At this point, Your Highness, I sometimes doubt anything truly impresses Seijin Merlin," Lieutenant Falkhan said dryly. The Marine had returned to duty less than a five-day after the assassination attempt, and he'd adjusted remarkably well to Merlin's constant presence at the prince's side. Some men in his position might have resented the public appearance that such a "special reinforcement" had been required. Falkhan, however, knew the real reason for the arrangement, and he seemed remarkably impervious to "public appearances." Now he only grinned.
"I've noticed, however, that the seijin is always polite and careful not to hurt his hosts' feelings," he added.
"That's about what I thought, too," Cayleb said with another chuckle, and turned back to Merlin.
"In this case, I meant exactly what I said, Your Highness," Merlin said. "It is impressive, and I can see how it must have aided your ancestors' efforts to unite the Kingdom."
"My, you are polite." Cayleb smiled broadly. "My 'ancestors' began as the most successful pirates on the Bay, as I'm sure you're quite well aware, Merlin. And I'm afraid their efforts to 'unite the Kingdom' had a great deal more to do with improving their opportunities to loot and plunder than with high and noble motivations."
"I'm not sure that's quite the way I'd put it, Your Highness," Falkhan interjected with a slightly pained expression.
"Of course it isn't. You're a loyal servant of the House of Ahrmahk; I, on the other hand, am the house's heir. As such, I can afford to tell the truth."
"And I'm sure it amuses you no end," Merlin said dryly. "Nonetheless, Your Highness, I do find the sight impressive. And I think it should suit our purposes quite well."
"You're probably right," Cayleb said more seriously, and pointed off to the right, where several columns of smoke rose from behind another stretch of curtain wall. "You'll want to look it over for yourself, I expect, but there's a fairly respectable foundry back there. If I recall correctly, something like half the Navy's guns have been cast there over the years. I realize from what you were saying the other night," he smiled tightly, "that we're going to need to expand it—a lot—but it's still a start."
"I'm sure it will be," Merlin agreed, without mentioning that he undoubtedly had a far better notion of that foundry's capacity than Cayleb himself did. The prince was right about how useful it was going to be, though.
"There's the Mahry Zhayn, Your Highness," Falkhan put in, pointing at another ship—one of the heavier, clumsier, square-rigged merchant ships which constituted the kingdom's true wealth—and Cayleb nodded in acknowledgment.
"Was it really necessary to haul everyone clear out here, Merlin?" the prince asked as their own galley altered course slightly to steer for the same anchorage.
"Probably not, from a security perspective," Merlin acknowledged. "On the other hand, I think your father was absolutely right about all the other reasons. It's not as if Helen were on the other side of the world, but it's far enough from Tellesberg to make the point that he's dead serious about the need to keep this entire meeting secret. And bringing all of them together at once, where they can see how all the bits and pieces fit together, is going to make them all realize how critical it is that they pull together."
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"But it's also going to mean all of them do know 'how all the bits and pieces fit together.'-" Cayleb's voice and expression alike were both suddenly darker, more somber. "If it turns out we're wrong about any one of them, he's going to be able to hurt us much worse than if each of them only knew about his own particular piece of it."
Merlin turned fully towards the prince, his own expression grave as he studied Cayleb's. Cayleb, like his father, had been very close to Kahlvyn Ahrmahk. After all, the duke had been his godfather, not just his cousin. Given the difference in their ages, Cayleb had always regarded Tirian more as an uncle—and, in many ways, a true second father—than as a cousin. It had been Kahlvyn who'd taught Cayleb to ride when Haarahld's crippled leg prevented him from doing so, just as it was Kahlvyn who'd overseen the beginning of Cayleb's training with sword and bow. The prince had loved his cousin, and more than a little of the adoration of a very young boy for a magnificent uncle had stayed with him.
Which meant the proof of Kahlvyn's treason had hit Cayleb even harder than it had hit Haarahld. In some ways, that was probably a good thing, for someone who would face the burden of kingship himself one day. But it had been a painful, painful lesson, the sort that left scars, and Merlin hoped it hadn't permanently damaged the boy's ability to trust those who truly deserved his trust.
"Your Highness," he said gently, after a moment, "these men are loyal. Baron Wave Thunder's vouched for all of them, and so do I. No man's judgment is perfect, but I have no fear that any of the people your father's 'invitation' has summoned to Helen today will ever betray you or Charis."
Cayleb scowled for a second or two. Then he snorted as he realized what Merlin had really said, and his expression eased slightly as he accepted the lesson.
"I know they won't," he said. "I've known some of them all my life, for that matter! But it's still hard—"
He broke off with an uncomfortable little shrug, and Merlin nodded.
"Of course it is," he said. "And it will be . . . for a while, at least. But I think you can rely on the Baron to keep what's left of Nahrmahn's spies on the hop for the next little bit. And I doubt Prince Hektor's going to be particularly pleased about what's happened to his spies, for that matter."
"No, he isn't, is he?" Cayleb agreed with a nasty smile, and Lieutenant Falkhan chuckled from behind him.
"I think that's a comfortable understatement, Your Highness," the prince's chief bodyguard observed with a certain relish. He'd never been privy to all the details of the hostile espionage networks in and around Tellesberg, but his position as Cayleb's guardian meant that, despite his relatively junior rank, he'd been better informed than most, and he was delighted by what the seijin's arrival had done to them. His only real regret was that the decision had been made to leave so much of Hektor's spy rings effectively intact.
It probably didn't feel that way to Zhaspahr Maysahn and Oskahr Mhulvayn, of course. Mhulvayn, in particular, had gone into hiding when the warrant for his arrest was issued. He had no way of knowing Sir Rhyzhard Seafarmer had personally instructed the Crown's chief investigators that he was not to be successfully taken under any circumstances. Not that Seafarmer had had any objection to making Mhulvayn's life a living hell until the Corisandian managed to find transportation out of Tellesberg. But apprehending the man and interrogating him had been no part of Wave Thunder's plans. They might have been forced to go after Maysahn, as well, if they'd done that; as it was, they could pretend to have no suspicions at all where Maysahn was concerned, as long as Mhulvayn successfully "slipped away" from them.
In the meantime, Hektor's information-gathering capability in Charis had sustained a major blow, with the elimination at one stroke—for a time, at least—of all of Mhulvayn's contacts. And Maysahn was undoubtedly going to operate very cautiously for the next several months himself, at least until he once again felt certain that he wasn't under suspicion, which was going to prevent him from rebuilding quickly, too. Most of the groundwork for the plans King Haarahld and Merlin had hatched would be firmly in place by the time Nahrmahn and Hektor were able to build back to anything approaching their previous capabilities.
Personally, Falkhan would have greatly preferred to take both Mhulvayn and Maysahn into custody and execute them for the snakes they were. Since he couldn't, he was just as happy he was a simple Marine, responsible for protecting the heir to the throne from direct attack, and not a spymaster himself. He understood that there were perfectly valid reasons to leave a known spy in place. He simply didn't like doing it.
"At any rate," Cayleb said after a moment, "we'll have an opportunity to start explaining things to them soon enough now."
* * *
"Your Highness, welcome to King's Harbor," High Admiral Bryahn Lock Island, ninth Earl Lock Island, said as Cayleb walked into the large chamber high in the citadel. Wave Thunder, Merlin, and Falkhan were at his heels, and the spartanly furnished room was like a cool, welcoming cave after the brilliant brightness and heat of the day outside. A single, deep-walled window looked out over the harbor, and Merlin saw Catamount far below, gleaming in the sunlight like a child's toy, as she lay to her moorings.
There was more than a trace of family resemblance between the earl and the crown prince, and Merlin watched Cayleb closely but unobtrusively as the prince crossed to the admiral and extended his right hand. Lock Island clasped arms with him, and the older man's expression seemed to ease somehow.
So he was worried about the kind of scars Tirian might have left, too, Merlin thought.
"It's always good to be here, just as it is to see you, Bryahn," Cayleb said warmly. "Not that Helen isn't just a bit inconveniently placed for quick visits."
"That's certainly true enough," Lock Island agreed, and grimaced humorously. "Some of us, on the other hand, find ourselves required to make the trip just a bit more often than others of us."
"And others of us are just as glad we aren't part of the 'some of us' anymore," Cayleb agreed with a chuckle, looking past his kinsman at the other men who'd risen from the chairs around the chamber's large table at his entrance.
"If you'll permit me, Seijin Merlin," the prince continued, "I'll get the introductions out of the way, and then we can sit down and get started."
Most of the waiting faces showed surprise at Cayleb's obvious courtesy to his "bodyguard," and Merlin was pleased to see it. If these men were buying Haarahld's cover story, it might hold against the rest of the world far better than he'd feared it might.
"Of course, Your Highness," he murmured.
"In that case, let's begin with Doctor Mahklyn."
Merlin nodded, and followed the prince across to the five men at the table. He listened with half an ear, bowing, smiling, murmuring appropriate responses, as Cayleb made the introductions, but he didn't really need them. He'd already "met" every one of them through the interface of his SNARCs.
Doctor Rahzhyr Mahklyn was the Dean of the Royal College of Charis. He was a bit above average in height, gray-haired, with sharp brown eyes that were more than a little myopic. He was slightly stoop-shouldered, and he walked around with what the unwary might have thought was a perpetual air of mild bemusement.
Ehdwyrd Howsmyn was Mahklyn's physical opposite. Short, stout, with twinkling eyes and a cheerful smile, he was barely forty years old—less than thirty-seven standard. He was also one of the wealthiest men in the entire Kingdom of Charis, the owner of two of the kingdom's three largest foundries and of one of Tellesberg's larger shipyards, as well as a small fleet of merchant ships under his own house flag. Although he was a commoner by birth and hadn't bothered with acquiring any patents of nobility yet, everyone knew it was going to happen as soon as he found the time to get around to it. For that matter, four years ago he'd married the eldest daughter of an earl, and his noble father-in-law had been delighted by the match.
Raiyan Mychail, bald as an egg and at least sixty-five or seventy standard years old, was a sharp-eyed man who'd partnered with Howsmyn in a dozen or so
of the younger man's most successful ventures. Mychail was a quiet man, whose apparently unassuming demeanor masked one of the sharpest business minds in Tellesberg. He was almost certainly the kingdom's largest single producer of textiles, and he was definitely the Royal Navy's primary sailmaker. Not to mention owning Tellesberg's largest ropewalk.
Sir Dustyn Olyvyr was about midway in age between Howsmyn and Mychail. Although he was a wealthy man by anyone else's standards, his personal worth didn't even approach that of the other two. He was physically unremarkable in many ways, but he had powerful shoulders, and his hands, although well manicured these days, carried the scars of his youthful apprenticeship as a ship's carpenter. That apprenticeship was far behind him now, and although he'd never owned (and never wanted to own) a shipyard of his own, he was always busy. He was one of Tellesberg's two or three top ship designers, and also the chief naval constructor of the Royal Charisian Navy.
