Off Armageddon Reef

by David Weber

  "Langhorne," Mychail muttered. "He's right, Ehdwyrd. And if this 'spinning jenny' works the way he seems to think it will, especially if you can figure out a way to power it, we can use it for wool and flax, as well." He shook himself and looked back at Merlin. "No wonder you're expecting an upturn in trade, Seijin Merlin!"

  "Shipbuilding, too," Merlin assured them. "For the Navy, of course, but I suspect you're going to see a lot of new merchant ship construction, as well, once Sir Dustyn and I finish discussing something called a 'schooner rig.' That one I actually have some personal experience with, which is why I'm certain it's going to create quite a sensation when Sir Dustyn—and you, of course, Master Howsmyn—trot it out. It may take a few months for people to realize its advantages, but once they do, you're going to be swamped with orders. I suspect the sudden infusion of capital's going to make the development of a new foundry at Delthak much more feasible."

  "And if we're that busy, it'll also explain why I suddenly need to be developing new foundries at all," Howsmyn said enthusiastically.

  "And," Mychail added, "given the fact that all of these new ideas are really coming from you, Seijin Merlin, and from His Majesty, it's only fitting that that 'sudden infusion of capital' should go into building up the Navy."

  "The King is considering the establishment of something called a 'patent office,'-" Merlin told them. "It's something that's going to have to be approached cautiously, for a lot of reasons. But if we can get it organized, people who come up with new and better ways to do things will be able to file for a 'patent' on their new ideas. That means they'll own the idea, and that no one else—in Charis, at least—can use it without their permission . . . and, usually, the payment of a modest fee to the person who created it. At the moment, His Majesty plans for each of you to file for patents on the new ideas you introduce as a result of our conferences."

  "I'm as selfish as the next man, Seijin Merlin," Howsmyn said, his expression troubled, "but I don't feel comfortable at the thought of owning a—what did you call it? a 'patent'?—on an idea you provided."

  "Master Howsmyn," Merlin said with a smile, "I have absolutely no idea how to turn most of these ideas into practical devices. The cannon, yes. And the new rigging designs I'll be discussing with Sir Dustyn. But foundries, textile manufactories, investment arrangements—those are at least as foreign to me as anything I may know could possibly be to you. It's going to require a partnership, in every sense of the word, for us to make all of this work. So, my thought is that the simplest solution would be for each of you, as patriotic Charisians, to announce that you're assigning half of any patent fees you receive to the Crown. That, coupled with the duties the people buying your new goods will be paying, ought to recompense the King quite handily."

  "And what about you?" Mychail asked, and Merlin shrugged.

  "A seijin has little use for worldly wealth, they say. Personally, I've always enjoyed a few minor luxuries, but King Haarahld is providing me with quite comfortable living quarters, and I expect he'll be happy to provide those 'minor luxuries' if I ask him to. Beyond that, what would I do with money if I had it?"

  "You actually mean that, don't you?" Howsmyn said, and Merlin nodded.

  "I most certainly do, Master Howsmyn. Besides, I'm going to be far too busy for the next few years to worry about spending money on anything."

  "Apparently seijin are even more different from other men than I'd always heard," Mychail said with a small smile. Then the smile faded, and he nodded solemnly to Merlin. "Nonetheless, Seijin Merlin, whatever else happens, Ehdwyrd and I—and all of Charis—are going to owe you far more than we could ever pay with mere money. Most of Charis won't know that; we will. For myself, and I feel sure for Ehdwyrd, as well, if we can ever serve you in any way, with gold or steel, you have only to call."

  Howsmyn nodded firmly.

  "I thank you for that—both of you," Merlin said, and meant every word of it. "But for now, I'm afraid it's about time for me to meet with Sir Dustyn. Prince Cayleb, Baron Seamount, and Earl Lock Island are going to be joining the two of us in about another hour. If I could impose upon you, Master Howsmyn, I would be very grateful if you would join us then, as well. There's one point, especially, I'm going to need your input on."

  "Oh?" Howsmyn looked at him for a moment, then snorted suddenly. "Let me guess. It has to do with Dustyn's crazy idea about covering the bottoms of all the Navy's ships in copper?"

  "I wouldn't call it a 'crazy idea,'-" Merlin replied with a smile, "but that is what I wanted to discuss."

  "It's going to cost a fortune," Howsmyn objected.

  "It's going to be expensive, true," Merlin agreed. "But Sir Dustyn is on to something very important here, Master Howsmyn. Not only will sheathing the ships in copper below the waterline protect them from the borers, but it will cut down enormously on fouling. Which means the ships will be faster, more maneuverable, and last a lot longer."

  Howsmyn continued to look dubious, and Merlin cocked his head.

  "The way things are now," he said, "by the time a galley's been in the water for a month, its hull has already become foul enough to significantly reduce speed and make its rowers work much, much harder. Which means that exhaustion sets in sooner, and maneuverability goes down steadily. Now, we're talking about sail-powered ships, not galleys, but the same considerations apply."

  "All right," Howsmyn said, a bit grudgingly, and Mychail grunted a laugh. Howsmyn looked at him, and Mychail shook his head.

  "Admit it, Ehdwyrd! Your real problem is, first, that you didn't think of it instead of Dustyn, and, second, that you haven't been able to figure out a way to do it without the copper falling right back off!"

  "Nonsense!" Howsmyn replied. The denial came out just a bit huffily, Merlin thought, and spoke up quickly.

  "I think I know how to solve the problem of keeping it on the ships," he said. He had no intention of getting into the explanation of terms like "electrolytic solutions" and "galvinic action" between the copper and the iron nails Howsmyn had been using to attach it. Nor would he have to, once he'd demonstrated how to avoid it. Of course, coming up with that many copper fastenings to avoid the electrolytic corrosion of dissimilar metals was going to be a problem in its own right, but it would still be simpler than trying to explain the concept of "anodes."

  "You do?" Howsmyn looked at him speculatively, and Merlin nodded.

  "Yes. But coming up with that much sheet copper, not to mention the fastenings we're going to need, is going to put in even greater demand on your foundry capacity. So I'd be grateful if between now and then, you and Master Mychail could put a little more thought into the possibilities of developing Delthak. It occurs to me that you might consider turning it not simply into a new foundry, but into a shipyard. We'd like to keep anyone else from realizing that we're coppering our hulls. It's probably going to get out eventually, but the longer we can keep that from happening, the better. And if you're going to build a foundry and a shipyard, anyway, you might think about adding a textile manufactory, as well, if there's enough water power available from the river you mentioned."

  The two Charisians nodded, and Merlin pushed his chair back, stood, and bowed slightly to them. Then he strode briskly out of the chamber.

  Howsmyn and Mychail had their heads close together before he was completely out the door.

  OCTOBER, YEAR OF GOD 890

  I

  Prince Hektor's Palace,

  Manchyr, Corisande

  "My Prince."

  Oskahr Mhulvayn went down on one knee as Prince Hektor of Corisande entered the small private council chamber and crossed to the ornately carved chair at the head of the table. Phylyp Ahzgood, the Earl of Coris, followed the prince, seating himself at Hektor's left hand. Neither of them said anything for several seconds, and Mhulvayn reminded himself that wiping sweat from his forehead would be . . . inadvisable.

  "You may stand," Hektor said after a moment in the melodious tenor which always seemed just a bit odd co
ming from one of the most cold-blooded political calculators on the face of the planet.

  Mhulvayn obeyed, rising and clasping his hands behind him as he met the eyes of the ruler in whose service he had spied for almost twenty years.

  Hektor hadn't changed a great deal over those two decades. The dark brown hair was lightly frosted with silver at the temples. There were a few more wrinkles at the corners of the eyes, and a few strands of white in the neatly trimmed beard. But he was still tall, straight, and broad-shouldered, and unlike the majority of rulers, he continued to work out regularly with his court arms master.

  Beside him, Coris seemed somehow washed out, faded. Unlike his prince, the earl was fair-haired, and if he was almost as tall as Hektor, he lacked the prince's breadth of shoulder and muscularity. There was something about the eyes, too, Mhulvayn thought, not for the first time. They weren't weaker than Hektor's, but they were the eyes of a man who knew he would always be someone else's servant.

  Which he was, of course.

  "So, Master Mhulvayn," the prince said after several more seconds of fresh silence. "What went wrong?"

  "My Prince," Mhulvayn said, "I don't know."

  He wasn't at all happy about making that admission, but it was far better to be honest and avoid excuses.

  "That doesn't seem to speak very well of your sources, Master Mhulvayn," Coris observed with a thin smile. The fact that not even a flicker of annoyance crossed Hektor's face as the earl inserted himself into the conversation told Mhulvayn quite a lot.

  "Perhaps not, My Lord," he replied. "But, while I make no excuses, I would point out, if I might, that we weren't the only people Wave Thunder's men were after."

  "Forgive me if I seem obtuse, but that sounds as if you are making excuses," Coris remarked.

  "Not precisely, My Lord." Mhulvayn was a bit surprised his own voice sounded as calm as it did. "What I meant to suggest was that either Wave Thunder's known a great deal more than anyone thought he knew for a very long time, and chosen not to act upon it, or else something radically new has been added to the pot in Charis. If Wave Thunder did already know everything he finally acted upon, there's no excuse anyone could offer. If, however, some completely new factor has suddenly intruded, there was no way anyone could have predicted it and prepared against it ahead of time."

  Coris grimaced and made a brushing-away gesture with his left hand, but Hektor cocked his head and contemplated Mhulvayn with a slightly more interested eye.

  "We have only a fragmentary report from Master Maysahn," the prince said after a moment. "It's apparent from what he was able to tell us that something new has, indeed, been added. The question is what? And a second question is how you would suggest that whatever it is led Wave Thunder to you?"

  "My Prince," Mhulvayn said, deciding to regard the fact that Hektor had chosen to reenter the conversation personally as a good sign, "I don't know what Zhaspahr may have already reported. By the time Lieutenant Maythis and the Fraynceen reached Tellesberg and I made contact with him, Zhaspahr and I had been out of touch for almost two five-days. It was clear Wave Thunder's agents were looking for me, and neither of us wanted their hunt for me to lead them to him. Certain . . . elements of the situation became evident only in the last day or so before Lieutenant Maythis sailed for home, however, and Zhaspahr may not have been aware of them when he wrote his report. I will, of course, tell you anything I can, but if I may, I would like to ask one question first."

  Coris' eyebrows drew down in a frown, but Hektor only pursed his lips thoughtfully for a second, then nodded.

  "Ask," he said.

  "My Prince," Mhulvayn gathered his nerve in both hands, "did you know the Duke of Tirian was working with Prince Nahrmahn?"

  Despite the fact that he was the official spymaster for the League of Corisande, the Earl of Coris failed to conceal his twitch of surprise. Hektor's expression never flickered, but there was something in the depths of those sharp, dark eyes. Silence lingered for perhaps ten seconds, then the prince shook his head.

  "No," he said. "I wasn't aware of that. Why?"

  "Because according to the rumors running about Tellesberg just before Lieutenant Maythis and I sailed, Tirian was not only working with Prince Nahrmahn, but was actually the one responsible for the attempt to assassinate Cayleb."

  "What?" The single-word question came out calmly, almost conversationally, but there was a flare of genuine surprise in Hektor's eyes.

  "Obviously, there was no time for me to confirm the stories one way or the other, even if I'd still dared to contact any of my people," Mhulvayn said. "Nonetheless, I believe them to have been true."

  "What stories?"

  "Apparently, My Prince, Tirian had been working with Nahrmahn for quite some time. While Nahrmahn's man Lahang undoubtedly arranged the actual attempt, the suggestion for it seems to have come from Tirian. It would appear he saw it as the first step in placing himself upon Haarahld's throne."

  "And why"—Hektor's eyes were narrow, his expression intense—"do you believe these . . . stories were accurate?"

  "Because I'd already known for over a five-day that Tirian was dead," Mhulvayn said simply.

  "Tirian is dead?" The question was startled out of Coris, who glanced instantly and apologetically at Hektor, but the prince scarcely seemed to notice as he looked at Mhulvayn with the closest thing to consternation Mhulvayn had ever seen from him.

  "Yes, My Lord." Mhulvayn chose to answer Coris, but his eyes were on Hektor. "That much had leaked out much earlier. So had the fact that he'd been involved in something treasonous, but Wave Thunder and Haarahld had been remarkably successful at concealing most of the details, presumably while they completed their investigation. It wasn't until after Fraynceen's arrival that I heard the first rumors that he not only was dead, but had been killed by Earl Gray Harbor himself."

  Coris' jaw dropped, and Hektor sat back in his chair, laying his forearms along the armrests.

  "As I'm sure Zhaspahr did include in his last report to you, My Lord," Mhulvayn continued, "the actual attempt to kill Cayleb was frustrated by the intervention of a stranger, a man named 'Merlin,' who apparently claims to be a seijin. I have no way to judge whether or not he truly is one, but he's obviously a dangerous man with a sword. One of the assassins was captured alive—again, according to the rumors, because of this Merlin. According to one of my contacts inside the Palace, the man they took was little more than a common soldier, and one wouldn't have thought such as he would have had access to any truly important information.

  "Unfortunately for Duke Tirian, he apparently knew more than anyone believed he did. At any rate, under interrogation he said something which caused Wave Thunder to suspect that Tirian himself was involved with Nahrmahn in some way. Gray Harbor was unwilling to believe such a thing of his son-in-law—not to mention of the King's cousin—but the evidence must have been fairly compelling, whatever it was, because Gray Harbor went to personally confront Tirian. According to most versions of the tale that came to me, he hoped to convince Tirian to throw himself on Haarahld's mercy, which suggests that whatever they knew, they didn't begin to suspect the whole.

  "No one I spoke to was quite certain exactly what happened that night, but Gray Harbor had gone to Tirian's townhouse accompanied by his own personal guardsman and this same Merlin. When he confronted Tirian, fighting broke out. Gray Harbor's guardsman was killed, as were at least ten or fifteen of Tirian's men—the majority of them, apparently, once again by Merlin—and Gray Harbor himself killed Tirian."

  "Langhorne," Coris murmured, touching his heart and then his lips.

  "And you believe these stories were accurate?" Hektor asked intently.

  "My Prince, they must have been," Mhulvayn said simply. "There's no question that Gray Harbor killed Tirian. The Palace itself confirmed that the afternoon before we sailed, and the man was King Haarahld's cousin, fourth in line for the throne itself. If there were any question in Haarahld's mind of Tirian's guilt, Gray Harbor woul
d, at the very least, have been stripped of his offices and imprisoned while the facts were investigated. None of that's happened, and this so-called seijin is still an honored guest in Haarahld's palace. Indeed, he's become a member of the Royal Guard and been assigned as Cayleb's personal guardsman, despite his involvement in whatever happened."

  Hektor nodded slowly, obviously considering Mhulvayn's logic carefully. Then he once again cocked his head to one side.

  "Is it your opinion that whatever happened to Tirian somehow explains what happened to you?"

  "I don't know, My Prince. On the one hand, there was no connection between Zhaspahr or me and the assassination attempt. On the other hand, both of us knew Lahang was Nahrmahn's man in Tellesberg. I would say it's quite probable that, in turn, he knew I was one of your agents, and what he knew might have been passed on to Tirian or one of his own senior agents.