David Weber - How firm a foundation

The main reason he wanted off the ship, though, had nothing to do with all of that and everything to do with the tasks awaiting him. One of them, in particular, promised to be especially ticklish, and the timing window for it was going to be interesting.

He watched the oared galleys that served as tugs rowing strongly out to meet his flagship and heard the cheers of welcome rising from their companies and his smile grew a bit broader.

“Just be patient, Nahrmahn,” he said soothingly. “We’ll have you ashore in no time. Unless one of those tugs accidentally rams us and sinks us, of course.”

Sir Rayjhis Yowance, Earl of Gray Harbor, was generally recognized as the First Councilor of the Empire of Charis, although the title tended to change off with Baron Green Mountain when the court was in Cherayth. Now he stood watching the galleys nudge Royal Charis closer to the stone quay and felt a vast surge of relief. Throwing lines flew ashore, followed by thick hawsers that dropped over the waiting bollards. The ship took tension on the mooring hawsers with her own capstans, fenders squeaked and groaned between her and the quay’s tall side, and a gangplank went across to her bulwark-level entry port.

Gray Harbor had commanded his own ship in his time, and he recognized the signs of heavy weather when he saw them. Much of the galleon’s paint had been stripped away to expose patches of raw wood; sea slime streaked her hull; one of her quarter boats was missing, the falls lashed tightly across the davits where the sea had stove in the vanished boat; the railing of her sternwalk had been badly damaged; two of her topsails had the newer, less stained look of replacement canvas; and one of her forward gunport lids had been replaced by the ship’s carpenter. The bare, unpainted wood looked like a missing tooth in the neat row of the galleon’s gunports, and as he looked at the other four galleons of her escort, he saw equal or worse signs of how hard their voyage had been.

I know that boy has an iron stomach, the earl reflected, but I’ll bet even he had his anxious moments on this one. Thank God I didn’t know anything about it until he got here! I’ve got gray hairs enough as it is.

Gray Harbor knew he tended to worry about what Cayleb airily called “the details” of keeping the Empire running. That was his job, when it came down to it, and he was well aware that whatever Cayleb might call them, the emperor knew exactly how important they truly were. Nonetheless, there were times he felt a distinct temptation to say “I told you so,” and looking at the battered ship at quayside was definitely one of those moments.

I don’t care how much sense it made from a diplomatic perspective , he thought now, sourly, this nonsense about their spending half the year here in Tellesberg and the other half in Cherayth is just that-nonsense! Ships sink- even the best of them, sometimes, damn it-and if anyone should’ve known that, it’s Cayleb Ahrmahk. But, no, he had to throw that into the marriage proposal, too. And then he and Sharley- and Alahnah-go sailing back and forth on the same damned ship. So if it sinks, we lose all three of them!

He knew he was being silly, and he didn’t really care. Not at the moment. And he didn’t feel any particular responsibility to be rational, either. Certainly, this time Sharleyan was on a different ship… but that only meant she’d have the opportunity to sink on her own on the way back from Corisande. Assuming, he reminded himself, HMS Dawn Star hadn’t already sunk somewhere in the Chisholm Sea, taking Empress and Crown Princess with her.

Oh, stop that!

He shook his head, feeling his disapproving frown disappearing into a grin as Cayleb Ahrmahk came bounding down the gangplank in complete disregard of the careful formality of an emperor’s proper arrival in his capital city. The trumpeters, as surprised as anyone by Cayleb’s diversion from the anticipated order of disembarkation, began a belated fanfare as the youthful monarch’s feet found the quay. Half the assembled courtiers looked offended, another quarter looked surprised, and the remainder were roaring as lustily with laughter as any of the galleon’s seamen or watching longshoremen.

You’re not going to change them… and even if you could, you know you really wouldn’t, Gray Harbor told himself. Besides, it’s part of the magic. And -his expression sobered- it’s part of their legend. Part of what makes this whole thing work, and they wouldn’t have it if God hadn’t given it to them. So why don’t you just do what they obviously do and trust God to go on getting it right?

“Welcome home, Your Maj-” he began, starting a formal bow, only to be interrupted as a pair of powerful arms which were obviously as unconcerned with protocol as the rest of the emperor enveloped him in a huge hug.

“It’s good to be home, Rayjhis!” a voice said in his ear. The arms around him tightened, two sinewy hands thumped him once each on the back, hard, and then Cayleb stood back. He laid those hands on Gray Harbor’s shoulders, looking into his face, and smiled that enormous, infectious Ahrmahk smile.

“What say you and I get back to the Palace out of all this racket”-he twitched his head to take in the cheering crowds who were doing their best to deafen everyone in Tellesberg-“and find ourselves some tall, cold drinks while we catch each other up on all the news?”

“Thank you for joining us, Paityr,” Archbishop Maikel Staynair said as Bryahn Ushyr ushered Paityr Wylsynn into his office once again.

The intendant began to smile in acknowledgment, but then his face went suddenly neutral as he realized Hainryk Waignair, the elderly Bishop of Tellesberg, and Emperor Cayleb were already present.

“As you can see,” Staynair continued, watching Wylsynn’s expression, “we’ve been joined by a couple of additional guests. That’s because we have something rather… unusual to discuss with you. Something which may require quite a lot of convincing, I’m afraid. So, please, come in and have a seat. You, too, Bryahn.”

Ushyr seemed unsurprised by the invitation, and he touched Wylsynn’s elbow, startling the young Schuelerite back into motion. The two of them crossed to Staynair’s desk to kiss his ring respectfully, then settled into two of the three still unoccupied chairs arranged to face the archbishop and his other guests.

“Allow me to add my thanks to Maikel’s, Father,” Cayleb said. “And not just for joining us today. I’m well aware of how much my House and my Kingdom-the entire Empire-owe to your compassion and open-mindedness. To be honest, that awareness is one of the reasons for this meeting.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?” Wylsynn’s expression was a combination of surprise and puzzlement.

The emperor had arrived back in Tellesberg only yesterday afternoon, and with all that had happened since he and the empress had left Old Charis for Chisholm, there must have been a virtual whirlwind of details and decisions requiring his attention. So what was he doing anywhere except the halls of Tellesberg Palace? If he wanted to meet with Archbishop Maikel or any of the rest of them, he could easily have summoned them to the palace rather than meeting them here. For that matter, how had he gotten to Archbishop Maikel’s office without anyone noticing it? And where were the Imperial Guardsmen who should be keeping an eye on him?

“In answer to one of the several questions I’m sure are swirling around inside that active brain of yours,” Cayleb said, “there’s a tunnel between Tellesberg Palace and the Cathedral. It’s been there for the better part of two centuries now, and I’m not the first monarch who’s made use of it. Admittedly, we’re using it quite a bit more now than we used to, and we never made use of the tunnel between the Cathedral and the Archbishop’s Palace before the, um, recent change in management.” He smiled infectiously. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover there were similar tunnels between a lot of cathedrals and a lot of palaces. Prince Nahrmahn’s confirmed that there’s one in Eraystor, at any rate.”