David Weber - How firm a foundation

He wheeled away from the auxiliary bishop, staring out the opened stern windows with his hands gripped together white-knuckled behind him while he fought his anger and tried to throttle his despair. He’d already put Maik into an invidious, even a dangerous, position and he knew it. Just as he knew all the reasons he shouldn’t have done it. There were limits to what even the most broad-minded Schuelerite could overlook at a time like this, and he’d come perilously close to that limit. Which was particularly reprehensible when the Schuelerite in question was trying so hard to do what he knew was decent despite the all too real danger into which that plunged him.

“You’re right, My Lord,” the earl said at last, still facing the panorama of the harbor beyond the windows. “We are sons of Mother Church, and we have no choice but to obey the commands of her vicarate and the Grand Inquisitor. Nor is it our place to question those commands. Yet speaking purely as a layman, and as the commander of one of Mother Church’s fleets”- and the only effective fleet she has left, he added silently-“I must express my concern about the future implications of this decision. I’d be derelict in my duty if I didn’t, and-”

“Stop, my son,” Maik interrupted, cutting him off before he could continue. Thirsk looked over his shoulder at him, and the auxiliary bishop shook his head.

“I know what you’re about to say, and based purely on military logic and the reasoning of the world, I agree with you. This is going to create a situation the heretics are only too likely to seize upon as an excuse for carrying out atrocities against the loyal sons of Mother Church, and I fully realize the way in which it’s likely to… adversely affect the other side’s willingness to grant our soldiers and sailors quarter in the first place. From that perspective, I can’t argue with a single thing you’re about to say. But as the Grand Inquisitor has reminded all of us”-his eyes stabbed Thirsk’s-“the logic of the world, even the mercy natural to any man’s heart, must sometimes give place to the letter of God’s law. That law sets one penalty, and only one, for the unregenerate, unrepentant heretic. As Schueler teaches, for the good of their souls, for the possibility of reclaiming them even at the very last moment from Shan-wei and the Pit, the Inquisition dares not relent lest the transitory illusion of mercy in this world lead to their utter damnation in the next. And as the Grand Inquisitor has also reminded us, at a time when God’s Own Church stands in such peril, we dare not ignore the requirements of His law as set forth by the Archangel Schueler.”

Thirsk’s jaw clenched, but he heard the warning, and he understood. Understood not only that Maik was telling him further protest, however logically and reasonably couched, would be unavailing and almost certainly dangerous, but that the auxiliary bishop would be unable to protect him if he drew the Grand Inquisitor’s ire down upon his own head.

“Very well, My Lord,” the earl said finally. “I understand what you’re saying, and I accept that I must obey the instructions we’ve been given. As you say, the Church stands in peril and this”-he emphasized the last word ever so slightly-“is not the time to question the Grand Inquisitor. Or the rest of the vicarate, of course.”

Maik winced. It was almost imperceptible, but Thirsk saw it anyway, and he responded with an almost equally tiny nod. The auxiliary bishop raised one hand and started to say something, then visibly changed his mind and shifted subjects.

“Turning from our instructions to the rest of the dispatch, what did you think of Vicar Allayn’s analysis of what happened, my son?” he asked instead.

“I thought it was cogently reasoned,” Thirsk replied, smiling faintly and without humor as he recognized Maik’s quest for a less volatile topic. He shrugged. “Obviously, the Charisians”-he seldom used the word “heretic” any longer in his conversations with Maik; probably another dangerous habit he was getting into-“have found some way to load their round shot with gunpowder, exactly as the Captain General is suggesting. I hadn’t considered the possibility myself, and I’ll have to have a word with the foundry masters before I could hazard a guess as to how difficult it might be to cast hollow shot that don’t simply break up when you fire them, but it’s obvious the Charisians have figured it out. How they manage to get the things to explode when they want them to is another matter, of course.”

He frowned thoughtfully, his brain and professional curiosity engaged almost despite himself.

“It’s got to be some sort of fuse,” he half murmured, “but how do they light it? The barrel’s too long to reach down and light it after they’ve loaded the gun, unless they’re firing them only from carronades, and that doesn’t seem possible given the weight of fire Father Greyghor reported. Hmmmmm…” His frown deepened. “Muzzle flash? Is that what they’re using? And if it is, how do they manage it without blowing the fuse into the shell and setting it off early?”

Staiphan Maik breathed a mental sigh of relief as Thirsk was diverted from his dangerous anger. It was only going to be temporary-the auxiliary bishop knew that-but he needed to back the admiral off before his stubborn sense of integrity dug in any deeper and left him no path of retreat. Lywys Gardynyr was too good a man to be allowed to deliver himself into the Inquisition’s hands because of the very things that made him such a good man. And even if he hadn’t been, Mother Church couldn’t afford to lose the one admiral she had who seemed to be capable of meeting the Charisians on their own terms.

“Assuming Father Greyghor’s reports are accurate,” he said out loud, “what can we do in the face of such a weapon?”

“Nothing, My Lord.” Thirsk raised both eyebrows, his tone surprised. “If they can make their cannon shot explode inside our ships, their combat advantage becomes effectively absolute. Presumably we could still get close enough to at least damage their ships, but only at the cost of coming into range at which they’ll be able to destroy ours.”

“So there’s nothing we can do?” Maik couldn’t hide his anxiety, and the earl shrugged.

“For now, My Lord, the only response I see is to attempt to learn how to make the same sorts of hollow shot for ourselves. Until we can respond in kind, we dare not meet them in battle. In some ways, however, this may actually work to our advantage. Once we’ve learned how to make the same weapon for ourselves, I mean.” He grimaced. “I don’t see how any ship could survive more than a very few hits from something like this. And that, I fear, means sea battles are about to become affairs of mutual annihilation, which will ultimately favor us, since we have so much more manpower and so much greater capability to build replacement ships. We can trade two ships, possibly even three, for each of theirs in the fullness of time. The cost in both money and lives will be atrocious, but it’s one we can pay in the end, and they can’t.”

He obviously disliked saying that, and Maik’s face tightened as he heard it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything the auxiliary bishop hadn’t already thought.

“It’s probably not a bad thing that we’re going to have to spend some time trying various approaches to the problem of producing and fusing hollow shot, really,” Thirsk continued. “We’re going to have to rebuild the Navy of God before we could even think about engaging the Charisians at sea again, especially given how the prizes they’ve added to their fleet will increase their own numbers. In fact, it looks to me-”

He broke off suddenly, eyes intent as they gazed at something Maik couldn’t see. He stayed that way for several seconds, then blinked twice, slowly.