David Weber - How firm a foundation

“Unlike the situation which existed in regard to the Kingdom of Delferahk at that time, the Desnairian Empire has formally joined the Group of Four’s jihad against Charis, and I invite you to remember what the Writ itself says about the rules of war where jihad is concerned. Many of those rules are specifically set aside under the provisions of The Book of Schueler, and while Charis didn’t begin this jihad, we recognize that there comes a point at which the only way to deter outrages against us or our people is to threaten reprisal. As you’ve pointed out, my Emperor and Empress have specifically rejected the notion of applying the Punishment to any of our prisoners, but they haven’t renounced the right to set aside the same rules of war which have been set aside against us.

“The Group of Four-excuse me, the Grand Vicar, speaking in the holy name of Mother Church in his own good judgment and with the guidance of the Archangels”-the contempt in Yairley’s voice was withering-“has officially declared what’s going to happen to Tellesberg and Cherayth on the day of our ‘inevitable’ defeat. I suggest you consider the terms of the destruction your Empire has pledged itself to help carry out when you consider High Admiral Rock Point’s offer. By simple reciprocity, this entire city is subject to the same treatment. Which means that if the time comes for High Admiral Rock Point to abandon his efforts to minimize death and destruction of Desnairian subjects and their property, your entire city could legitimately be burned to the ground with its citizens still in it. He doesn’t want to do that… but he will if he must. And”-the Charisian admiral’s eyes bored into Kholman once more-“if he has to begin by burning your ships, then so be it.”

It was very quiet and still in that office. The silence lingered for at least thirty seconds before it was broken. Then “Would you care to reconsider your decision, Your Grace?” Sir Dunkyn Yairley asked softly.

HMS Destiny, 54, Tarot Channel, and Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis

“… and I have the honor to remain Your Majesties’ obedient servant,” Sir Dunkyn Yairley finished, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on a footstool, long, curve-stemmed pipe in hand, while he gazed out the opened stern windows at HMS Destiny ’s wake.

“… remain… Your Majesties’… obedient servant,” Trumyn Lywshai repeated softly, the nib of his pen scratching busily. He finished writing and looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“What does that leave us, Trumyn?” Yairley asked, turning his head to look at the secretary.

“I believe that’s actually just about everything, Sir,” Lywshai replied after contemplating the deckhead thoughtfully for a moment while he consulted his orderly memory. “I need to check the squadron’s medical lists to make sure that portion of your report is up-to-date, but I think we’ve actually covered everything at this point.”

“Remarkable,” Yairley said dryly. He took another puff from his pipe, then clamped it between his teeth, climbed out of his chair, and walked over to the stern window, resting both hands on the windowsill as he looked out across the sternwalk at the brilliant blue waters of the Tarot Channel.

“You know,” he said over his shoulder, never looking away from the water, “back when I was a mere captain, I made the sobering discovery that, contrary to the foolish and romantic belief of more junior officers, the Navy really sailed on paper, not water. Or that getting all of the paperwork done and the forms filled out and the returns properly-and accurately, damn their ink-stained little souls!-tallied was obviously more important than simply, oh, training your gunners or exercising aloft, at any rate.” He shook his head, taking the pipe from his mouth to tamp the tobacco with a thumb while he sighed mournfully. “Little did I realize how much more paperwork was lurking in my future the instant I allowed them to give me that damned streamer.”

Lywshai chuckled, and Yairley wheeled, putting his back to the windows and pointing an accusatory pipe stem at the younger man.

“Don’t you laugh, Master Secretary! I know who really invented all these reports and forms! You and the rest of your kind, that’s who. It’s all a plot to give employ to people like you! I’m sure if I examine the Writ hard enough I’ll find ‘bureaucrat’ listed somewhere as one of Shan-wei’s major demon familiars!”

“Alas, you’ve found us out, Sir.” Lywshai shook his head, expression sad. “And most of my colleagues thought simple sailors would never tumble to the truth! What gave us away? Was it the creation of the new numbers?”

“That was a clue,” Yairley said soberly, although his lips twitched as he spoke. “Obviously just another ploy to generate even more reports for the Admiralty and-especially!-the Office of Supply!”

“I warned the others we were reaching too far with that one, Sir,” Lywshai said mournfully.

“And well you should have,” Yairley said roundly. “In fact-”

He paused as someone knocked on his cabin door. A moment later, Sylvyst Raigly poked his head into the after cabin.

“Ensign-I mean, Lieutenant Aplyn-Ahrmahk-is here, Sir Dunkyn.”

“And why is he there,” Yairley inquired, pointing at the open door, “instead of here? ” He pointed at the rug covering the after cabin’s deck planking.

“Of course, Sir Dunkyn!” The steward smiled and beckoned to the young officer behind him. A moment later, Hektor Aplyn-Ahrmahk, his tunic bearing the single silver cuff star of a lieutenant, stepped into the cabin.

“I apologize for interrupting, Sir Dunkyn,” he said, “but the lookout’s just spotted Channel Point fine on the starboard bow. Captain Lathyk estimates we should round Cape Thol by dinnertime.”

“Excellent!” Yairley smiled, then looked back at Lywshai. “It would appear we’ve gotten on top of your nefarious correspondence just in time, Trumyn. If Captain Lathyk’s estimate is as reliable as usual, we should be anchored by this time tomorrow. Can you have fair copies of all those dratted reports ready for dispatch by then?”

“I believe so, Sir Dunkyn, although”-the secretary smiled at Aplyn-Ahrmahk-“I may have to requisition your flag lieutenant’s assistance to get it all done in time.”

“You may, eh?” Yairley snorted. “Well, in that case, put him in charge of writing up my expense report. With his handwriting, they’ll never figure out how much we actually spent!”

“I’m glad Hektor’s made it home in one piece again, even if we did miss his birthday,” Cayleb Ahrmahk said. He and his wife and daughter sat on their private terrace-still tyrannized by Princess Zhanayt’s accursed parrot-enjoying an unusually cool Tellesberg evening as they watched HMS Destiny through Owl’s SNARCs.

“He hasn’t quite made it home yet, love,” Sharleyan pointed out, and Cayleb snorted.

“You’re the one who keeps telling me that anywhere the Charisian flag flies is just as much Charisian territory as Tellesberg itself,” he pointed out. “In fact, for someone who had the bad taste to be born a Chisholmian, you’re almost rabid about the point! And given that Gorjah’s now a subject monarch of the Empire in good standing, Tarot is certainly Charisian territory. So there!”

He stuck out his tongue, and Sharleyan shook her head mournfully.

“It always amazes me what a soul of perfect tact and unfailing courtesy you are. Just remember Alahnah’s watching you. The example you set’s going to come home to haunt you in just a year or two. And if there’s any justice in the world, your daughter’s going to grow up to be a female version of you.”