David Weber - How firm a foundation

There was silence for a moment, and then Captain Lathyk took a sip of brandy and broke it.

“Excuse me, Sir Dunkyn, but may we know why we’re to destroy Sarmouth?”

His tone could not have been more respectful, yet his expression made it clear he couldn’t think of any conceivable reason for the operation. Sarmouth, in the Earldom of Charlz, was, admittedly, the second-largest seaport of the Kingdom of Delferahk, but that wasn’t saying much. The Sarm River, which emptied into the Southern Ocean at Sarmouth, was over three hundred miles long, flowing all the way from the Sarman Mountains in the Duchy of Yarth. It was navigable (by anything larger than a rowboat, at any rate) for only about a third of its length, however, and Sarmouth itself was little more than a sleepy fishing port with occasional delusions of grandeur when a particularly ambitious Earl of Charlz started trying (usually with a depressing lack of success) to attract trade away from Ferayd. At the moment, it was probably even more of a ghost town than Ferayd, thanks to the systematic Charisian destruction of the Delferahkan merchant marine and Clyntahn’s embargo. Nor was Sarm Keep any more impressive than the “city” it had been built to protect.

“I can’t answer that question completely at this time, Rhobair,” Yairley said after a moment. “I will tell you, however-and this is not to be discussed aboard your ships, even with your first officers-that the primary purpose of the attack is to serve as a distraction. While everyone’s attention is hopefully focused on our noisy efforts to properly wreck everything in sight, we’ll be sending a small party up the Sarm River in boats. The reason I say this isn’t to be discussed outside this cabin is that I want none of our men who might be going ashore during the raid itself to know anything about it. I trust their hearts completely; I’m a little less confident about their tongues.” He smiled briefly. “I want no careless comments ashore to alert any Delferakhan that we might be hanging about to recover those boats.”

The captains glanced at each other again. It was amazing how gaining additional information hadn’t left them any less in the dark.

“I realize you’re all puzzled by the purpose of our orders,” Yairley continued. “I promise I’ll inform you more fully as soon as my own instructions permit. In the meantime, however, it’s vital that we carry out our attack no later than twelve days from today.” One or two sets of eyes widened, and he smiled thinly. “Perhaps you can see now why haste has been so imperative.”

“I think you could safely say that, Sir Dunkyn, yes,” Lathyk said dryly, and two of the others chuckled. Even at the insane rate of speed Yairley had maintained, it would require another six or seven days just to reach Sarmouth, and there was no guarantee they’d be able to maintain that speed. In fact, the odds were against it.

“I thought I could,” Yairley said in an equally dry tone. “Still, I believe we can probably spend the time to properly enjoy the dinner Sylvyst promises me will be the high point of our entire voyage before we get back underway. I’ve taken the liberty of informing your first officers by signal that you’ll be remaining aboard to dine, and I’m confident they’ll take the opportunity to see to it that your people are properly fed, as well. Of course, we’ll be driving as hard as ever as soon as you’ve returned to your ships. I’m sure-Charisians being Charisians-that there’ll be quite a bit of grumbling among your ships’ companies when the people realize that. However, you may inform them that Their Majesties have graciously consented to pay head money for every member of the garrison taken into temporary custody and to pay prize money for destroyed vessels and warehoused goods, based upon a fair valuation.” It was his turn to chuckle. “I know it won’t be much, but I also know Charisian seamen. Telling them they’ll have a few extra marks rattling around in their pockets if they do well always seems to cheer them up, doesn’t it?”

“What is it, Merlin?”

Cayleb Ahrmahk’s question was broken in the middle by a prodigious yawn. He pushed himself up in bed, careful to avoid disturbing Sharleyan, and grimaced as he looked out the bedchamber window.

“What time is it?” he demanded in a mildly ominous tone.

“It’ll be dawn in another hour,” Merlin replied over the com earplug.

“I’m going to assume there’s a good reason I’m not still blissfully asleep,” Cayleb remarked, climbing out of bed and shrugging into a light robe as he walked across the room and sat on the windowsill, looking out at the peaceful predawn garden. “I don’t think I’m quite as ready to assume there’s a good reason you’re not still blissfully asleep, however. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we in the middle of that ‘compulsory down time’ you’re supposed to take every night? Do I have to go ahead and sic Owl on you to report you when you don’t take it?”

“Actually, we’re not halfway through it,” Merlin replied with scrupulous accuracy. “We’re closer to two-thirds of the way through it, if you want to be persnickety about it.”

“Oh, that’s much better.” Cayleb’s lips twitched, but he firmed them back up in a disapproving frown. “There was a reason I promulgated that particular arrogant imperial decree, if you’ll recall, Seijin Merlin. And it just happens we have several other people now who can cover things while you ‘sleep.’”

“That’s true,” Merlin admitted. “In rebuttal, however, I’ll just point out that all of them happen to be in the same time zone at the moment. So I told Owl that if anything urgent comes up in the middle of the night, he’s supposed to give it to me rather than wake up one of you flesh-and-bloods-who need actual sleep, not just the opportunity to rest your diodes. Besides, I’ve gotten quite a bit of rest since I got back to the Cave, you know. In fact, I’m getting too damned much rest at the moment.”

Cayleb folded his arms and glowered at the garden, looking for some logical way to attack Merlin’s reasoning. Unfortunately, none occurred to him.

“All right,” he said finally. “You got me. This time. Now, what’s so damned urgent you decided to wake this flesh-and-blood up at this godforsaken hour? I could’ve gotten at least another solid hour of sleep, you know.”

“Owl’s just spotted what looks an awful lot like it must be Clyntahn’s assassination team.” Any trace of humor had disappeared from Merlin’s tone, and Cayleb sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not absolutely positive, but we’ve planted a couple of parasites on them. If these are the people we’re looking for-and I can’t think of why anyone else would be traveling to Delferahk from the Temple Lands this time of year, especially with snow all over the roads in both Havens-they’re bound to say something to confirm it.”

“What makes Owl think this could be them? Aside from the fact that they’re riding through the snow and ice, that is?”

“There are fifteen of them, all in a single party, and twelve of them have Charisian accents. They’re making it a point to stop at Church hostels along the way, and when they do, they make sure the staff hears those accents of theirs. And they’re dropping the occasional Charisian mark when they pay their tab before they head on down the road. And, just as another little indicator that they’re probably the people we’re looking for, they’re being very careful to let people know-or think, anyway-that they came out of the Republic. Obviously Clyntahn’s decided that suggesting active collusion between Lord Protector Greyghor and Charis may give his operation there an extra boost. Unfortunately, whatever they may be suggesting to the people they meet along the way, Owl has the same crew getting off a Harchong-registry ship-whose immediately previous port of call was in Malansath, not the Republic-in the Duchy of Malikai two five-days ago. Now, I suppose really sneaky Siddarmarkian assassins might have decided to travel a couple of thousand miles west overland to get aboard a ship in the Harchong Empire and then sail back east for fifteen hundred miles before they head south for their real destination, but… I don’t know, Cayleb. It seems a little roundabout to me.”