David Weber - How firm a foundation

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 gone 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.

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?”