David Weber - How firm a foundation

“Until we figure out how somebody with an army our size invades something the size of the mainland, I think this is probably the best use for his talents we’re likely to find,” Merlin said philosophically. “Thank God. For a while there I was afraid we might really need him in Corisande after all.”

“That could still happen,” Sharleyan pointed out.

“Not with Koryn Gahrvai and his father sitting on the situation,” Merlin disagreed. “The only real chance Craggy Hill’s lot had was to convince the Duke of Margo and the Temple Loyalists to support them against the Regency Council’s ‘traitorous ambition to replace our rightful Prince with their own tyrannical despotism in the service of traitors, blasphemers, and heretics.’ When that appeal fell flat, I knew we had them. For now, at least.”

“I wish you hadn’t felt compelled to add the qualifier,” she said dryly.

“To quote a truly ancient aphorism from Old Terra, ‘Nothing’s sure but death and taxes,’ Your Majesty.” Merlin smiled as the empress’ straight, slender shoulders quivered with suppressed laughter, then cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he said out loud, “but I believe Master Pahskal is trying to attract your attention.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” she said, turning from the rail and smiling at the sandy-haired young midshipman who’d been shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.

Faydohr Pahskal had just turned thirteen and he was the son of a family of Cherayth fishermen who’d never imagined he might come into such proximity of his queen and empress. He’d obviously been torn between whatever instructions he’d received from Captain Kahbryllo and an acute uncertainty over the wisdom of disturbing Empress Sharleyan when everyone else had obviously withdrawn to the far side of the quarterdeck to give her privacy.

“Should I assume the Captain’s sent you with a message, Master Pahskal?” she asked with a smile.

“Ah, yes, Your Majesty. I mean, he has.” Pahskal blushed hotly, although it was difficult to tell, thanks to how severely his fair skin had burned under the last couple of days’ intense sunlight. “I mean,” he continued, rushing the words a bit desperately, “Captain Kahbryllo sends his compliments and asks if you would be pleased to go ashore in about one hour, Your Majesty.”

“That would suit me quite well, Master Pahskal,” Sharleyan said gravely. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Your Majesty!” Pahskal half blurted, touched his chest in salute, and dashed away, obviously relieved at having discharged his mission without being incinerated by the imperial disfavor.

“It’s hard to believe Hektor was even younger than that at Darcos Sound,” Sharleyan said, her smile turning a bit sad, and Merlin nodded.

“It is, although I doubt even Master Pahskal seems quite that young when it’s simply a matter of life or death, Your Majesty.”

“Am I really that terrifying?”

“To a thirteen-year-old?” Merlin laughed. “Your Majesty, the thought of facing you and Cayleb can turn strong men’s knees to water. When a mere midshipman finds himself trapped between the doomwhale of his captain’s instructions and the deep blue sea of an empress’ potential unhappiness, the only thing he wants to be is somewhere else. Preferably as quickly as possible.”

“Do you think he’ll get over it eventually?” Sharleyan asked, trying very hard not to laugh herself.

“Oh, probably, Your Majesty. If he spends enough time in your vicinity, that is. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was why Captain Kahbryllo sent him instead of coming to speak to you himself.”

“You may be right,” Sharleyan said. Then she snapped her fingers and gave her head a half-shake.

“What is it, Your Majesty?” Merlin asked.

“I should have asked young Pahskal to pass the word to Spynsair and Father Neythan, as well.”

“I doubt Captain Kahbryllo forgot to include your personal clerk and your senior law master in the message queue, Your Majesty.”

“No, but I should have made certain.”

“Will it put your mind at ease if I go and personally bend all the sinister power of my fearsome reputation on making certain they got the word too, Your Majesty?” Merlin inquired, sweeping her a deep bow, and she giggled. Unmistakably, she giggled.

“I suppose that’s not really necessary, Captain Athrawes,” she said gravely, then sighed, her expression much less humorous than it had been a moment before. “And I also suppose I’m thinking about minor details as a way to avoid thinking about more momentous ones.”

“It happens, Your Majesty,” Merlin said with a small shrug. “But I’ve noticed you usually get around to facing up to all of them in the end. It seems to be a habit you share with Cayleb.”

“I’d better!” she said in a considerably tarter tone. “And I imagine I’d better go and get ready for a boat trip, too. Under the circumstances, though, I think it would be wiser to leave Alahnah on board with Sairaih and Glahdys. Assuming of course”-she rolled her eyes-“a mere empress can convince Sairaih to stay aboard herself!”

“Welcome, Your Majesty.”

Baron Green Valley went down on one knee and bowed very formally as Sharleyan stepped into the throne room of the palace which had once belonged to Tohmys Symmyns, and fabric rustled as every other man-and the handful of women-followed his example. Only the sentries standing against the huge chamber’s walls and the Imperial Guardsmen following at Sharleyan’s heels remained upright. Especially the grim-faced sergeant at her side and the tall, sapphire-eyed captain at her back, with one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. She rather doubted any of those kneeling Zebediahans were unaware of his presence, which was the main reason he was here, and she turned her head, regarding them all regally.

She let silence hover for almost a full minute, listening to a stillness so intense that the zinging flight of one of the local insects was clearly audible. Then, confident she’d made her point, she reached down and laid one slim hand on Green Valley’s shoulder.

“Thank you, General Green Valley,” she said, projecting her voice clearly and choosing his military title with malice aforethought. “We could wish the journey had been a little less tempestuous, but it’s good to be here… and to see such an old and trusted friend again.”

No one with a working brain would ever have imagined that she and Cayleb would have sent someone they didn’t trust to handle the delicate task of arresting a grand duke, yet she could almost physically feel the way attention clicked in Green Valley’s direction. It never hurt to make it publicly clear who enjoyed the Crown’s trust-and had the Crown’s ear, if it came to that. Which was also the reason-or one of them, at least-she’d used the imperial “we.”

“Rise, please,” she said, tugging gently on his shoulder, and smiled as he rose to tower over her. He was tall for a Charisian, within a few inches of Merlin’s own height, and he smiled back at her.

“We realize we have a great many details to which we must attend,” she continued, turning to look past him and let her eyes sweep the assemblage of notables. Every senior Zebediahan noble, and a great many of the lesser nobility, as well, were present in that throne room. It was almost claustrophobically full as a consequence, although her guardsmen maintained an open bubble at least four yards across around her at all times.

Wide enough to stop an assassin with cold steel, at any rate, she thought. A bit more problematic where muskets are concerned, I suppose, but getting one of those past Merlin and the SNARCs wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world. And then there’s the fact that every stitch I’m wearing, aside from my lingerie, is made out of antiballistic smart fabric. If somebody does get a shot at me, he’s going to be very surprised when the miraculous favor of the Archangels comes to my rescue. She suppressed an urge to smile. Now that I think about it, that might not be such a bad thing. It’d certainly give Clyntahn and the Temple Loyalists conniptions!