A Dubious Peace

by Olan Thorensen

  “How do we know these craftsmen are worth anything? Gaya could be dumping incompetents or criminals on us.”

  Storlini now looked like a patient parent calmly correcting a child. “And you really think Gaya would do that? What do you think Yozef’s response would be concerning trade?”

  “All right, so Gaya probably made sure they’re skilled.”

  Balwis, as was his custom, focused on solutions once he vented spleen. “Let’s get a tally of the exact numbers and the skills they’re bringing. Yozef will want this as soon as we have it. He’s meeting with the hetmen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if these new immigrants are going to be a topic. Fortuitous that the telegraph system between here and Orosz City is operational. By semaphore, Yozef wouldn’t have gotten word probably until tomorrow because of the time and what looks like rain moving in. With the telegraph, we can get him first word within the hour and more information later, even into the evening.”

  Orosz City

  A full Senate session, including as many hetmen as could make the trip, was convened to give updates on developing the central government and progress with several of Yozef’s projects. Among the hetmen was Culich Keelan, Maera’s father. He had arrived three days earlier to spend time with his daughter and grandchildren.

  At the end of the morning session, Yozef called aside the four hetmen who had been the other members of the War Council. The four men showed various emotions: Tomis Orosz, interest; Welman Stent, worry; Culich Keelan, attentiveness; Feren Bakalacs . . . well, he always looked aggrieved.

  “Sorry to pull you from the mid-day meal break,” said Yozef, “but I just got a telegraph from Balwis with news I’ll be sharing with everyone this afternoon. Before then, I wanted to get your input on it and likely reactions of the other hetmen.”

  The briefing lasted a quarter-hour. All four hetman knew of Yozef’s plan to bring in skilled immigrants, and all four gave support to various degrees. However, Yozef’s briefing of the entire set of hetmen and representatives would be the first time some of them would hear of the plan.

  Four hours later, it was Yozef’s father-in-law who encouraged Yozef that the day could have gone worse.

  “Yeah, well, it could also have gone a hell of a lot better,” said Yozef.

  “It’s just too new an idea for some of them,” said Culich. “Remember what it was like getting the clans to unify, even in the face of imminent Narthani catastrophe. From my many years of experience with these men, I’d say a third actively support you on this. Another third are either uncertain or don’t like the idea but assume you know what you’re doing. The last ones may be opposed, but most of them are convincible . . . with time.”

  Culich grinned. “I liked the way you diverted people’s attention toward the end by promising an interesting tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I hope it proves interesting. I wanted to get more done in this meeting than I think can happen. The issues and plans for industrialization were supposed to be further along today, with today settling hetmen’s support. I don’t see how I’ll get as much finalized as I wanted.”

  “Possibly,” said Culich, “but the telegraph demonstration will be a good ending. Those who are already supportive will be strengthened, the doubters more convinced, and you may even pick up less opposition from the most recalcitrant.”

  The next afternoon, representatives of all twenty-one clans gathered in the newly constructed telegraph station, plus a dozen other men and women present for various purposes or because of their status. The sending room had not been designed for thirty-three witnesses and two operators, so it was elbow to elbow.

  Every eye watched the clock on the north wall. At precisely the designated hour, the chief operator’s right index finger began the up-and-down motion. The series of audible clicks continued for several minutes, with two different-length intervals between clicks. Long and short. The Morse code had needed only minor adaptations for Caedelli.

  When the operator stopped, he looked at Yozef and nodded.

  “That’s it, Paramount. If the message was received, an acknowledgment should come quickly.”

  A series of clicks followed the operator’s words within seconds.

  “Okay on their end. They’re waiting for the test questions.”

  Yozef had anticipated that the strongest convictions about the telegraph’s utility would come if the hetmen could witness it functioning . . . not only by observation but also by using the system. Four clans had been chosen at random—excluding Seaborn because of the difficulty of scheduling travel to the clan’s islands. A close relative of each of the four hetmen had traveled to Preddi City. Each hetman would ask a question that only an immediate family member would know the answer to. The first clan was Mittack.

  “All right, Hulwyn,” said Yozef. “What question do you want to ask your son?”

  Hetman Mittack’s grin was visible through the expansive beard that spread wider than his head and reached most of the way to his belt.

  “My question is, ‘What was I doing when word came of the Fuomi landing at East Head Point?’”

  Two minutes later, the operator finished writing and looked up.

  “Go ahead and read it,” said Hulwyn.

  “It says, ‘My honorable father was taking a shit.’”

  Hetman Mittack’s laughter was audible over the rest of the crowd.

  “Hah! Not even my wife knew that! My son only knew because he was waiting to take his turn. We were hunting, just the two of us. Word had come of a half-grown yorsza attacking a rancher. The man survived, and I led a hunting party. I needed to shit, so my son and I went into the brush. He decided he might as well relieve himself at the same time. We couldn’t both be shitting at once, so he stood watch while I went first. I was in the expected awkward posture when word came of the landing. The messenger found us, but my son yelled at him to keep away. A hetman has to have some dignity. Anyway . . . the messenger yelled out what the message was.”

  “I suspect you were already in the right position,” Welman Stent called out.

  “Damn right. With that message, I was going to shit standing or sitting.”

  The other three hetmen followed with their questions, though none quite so personal. The group exited the cramped space for carriages to take them to a meeting at the island headquarters.

  “This is your first exposure to the hetmen as a group,” Yozef said to Mark as they waited at a table for the hetmen and others to seat themselves elsewhere. “You’ve met Orosz, Adris, Stent, and Bultecki. The one with the peg leg is Maera’s father, Culich Keelan. He, Stent, Orosz, and Feren Bakalacs were the other members of the War Council during the war. The last one is the Farkesh hetman. He’s one of the hetmen whose family name is different from the clan. Historical reasons for that. Those four are the core of support for the Paramount position, along with several others like Preddi and Moreland, of course, and then Selfcell, Hewell, Gwillamer, Brell, and Swavebroke. There will be some mingling after this meeting and at the dinner this evening. You’ll get a chance to meet more of them . . . meaning you’ll be grilled by a few of them. Plan on having to talk with them more as your projects develop.”

  Yozef looked around. “Okay, I think we’ll get the show on the road.”

  He stood and raised his hands for attention. Discussions died away.

  “I think we can all agree the telegraph test went great. I want to take a moment to acknowledge Mark Kaldwel. We previously had problems with the messages’ range of transmission. We had success today only because Mark solved the relay problem, placing insulators on the poles and increasing the power of the transmissions.”

  Yozef turned to Mark and gestured for him to rise. Mark stood, gave a brief wave, and sat back down. Most of the men showed their appreciations via words, handclapping, and feet thumping.

  “Think of it,” said Yozef. “From today on, messages between Orosz City and Preddi City take only a few minutes, no matter what time of day or night and no matter th
e weather. As you all know, we were waiting for confirmation of the system before extending the wire lines. That will now commence starting tomorrow. We estimate it will take about six months to complete connecting the twenty provinces on the main island. Apologies to our Seaborn brethren, but the sea prevents connecting them. However, there are ideas on how to help with that, perhaps in the next year.”

  “What about the schedule for connections?” asked Lordum Hewell.

  “As already planned and shared with you, each province is responsible for erecting the telegraph poles on its lands. No wiring within a province will be done until the complete series of poles within that province is completed for the primary line connecting capitals. Adris will be the next line since Klyngo ignored my advice and has already finished the poles to Adris City.”

  The Adris hetman looked around. “If Yozef said it was going to work, I believed him. Lordum owes me a hundred krun. He didn’t think even Yozef could magically make wire send messages.”

  The Hewell hetman laughed. “It’s a small-enough debt to learn not to doubt Yozef.”

  “I’d have thought you’d have already learned that lesson,” growled Feren Bakalacs. The Farkesh hetman was irascible but highly respected.

  Mark noticed that not all the clan representatives joined in the laughter and good-natured comments that followed. At least four men frowned or had blank expressions.

  “One more thing,” Yozef said loudly to draw attention back to his agenda. “You were also warned to select potential telegraph operators. Right now, we only have perhaps a dozen people who can send and receive. Intensive training for operators will begin in two sixdays. Each province needs to have its people in Orosz City by then. Mark Kaldwel has pointed out that not everyone has the natural ability to be an operator. Unfortunately, there is no way to know who does, so you need to assume only half of the people you send can succeed.

  “This is also the time for the sites that we’ve planned to make wire and insulators to immediately begin production.”

  Mark was seated so that only Yozef saw him frown. Multiple sources were deliberately chosen by Yozef to allow more provinces to be involved. Mark had argued strongly for single sources until close supervision would better ensure wire and insulator quality. Otherwise, differences would inevitably lead to problems. Yozef understood the argument but countered that keeping new innovation contributions spread among the provinces had to be a major factor.

  Questions and discussion continued for an hour before the meeting ended, and carriages carried everyone to the local Snarling Graeko, reserved for the evening. A meal was two hours away at the same pub. In the meantime, various alcohol libations would grease further discussions on weighty matters and whatever rumors were to be shared.

  Disagreement

  Since arriving on Caedellium, Mark had learned more about the Narthani. In Frangel, he had been absorbed with his visions of introducing innovations and paid little attention to internal Frangel affairs, much less to what was happening elsewhere on Anyar. Fleeing from the clutches of the Narthani and the guilds, enduring his forced exposure to other realms, living through the battle with a Narthani ship, hearing the history of Rustal from Gulgit, and talking with Adalan, the Buldorian captain, had filled him in on the “big” picture related to Narthon. In his naiveté, he had thought of Caedellium as a safe refuge. That belief crumbled when he learned the details of the Caedelli/Narthon war, supplemented with stories and histories given freely by Reimo Kivalian, the Fuomi marine. His views had solidified enough for him to bring up the subject with Yozef . . . something he had thus far avoided, anticipating a significant difference of opinion.

  Mark decided the time to broach the topic was when Yozef might be in a positive mood. The opportunity came with the successful telegraph test at the hetmen’s gathering.

  Mark motioned for Yozef to hang back. “Do you need to accompany them right away? I’ve wanted to talk with you about something, but we’ve both been so busy.”

  “Oh, I can go to the Snarling Graeko later. Is right here okay?”

  Mark nodded, and they sat at adjacent sides of a table and waited for the last of the others to leave.

  “I afraid this is going to be a serious conversation,” said Mark, plunging right ahead. “It’s about long-term plans concerning the Narthani. I know you’ve talked about how you want to keep Caedellium out of direct action against them, except for possibly supplying food and maybe cannon and gunpowder.”

  He paused, noting Yozef’s incipient frown, then continued. “But I have to tell you I strongly disagree. Let me start by showing you something.”

  Mark laid the paper sheet he’d brought on the table and slid it to Yozef.

  “Here are a series of crude maps of the Anyar landmasses. I colored in Narthani-controlled areas with red ink using information from my own experience and talking with Kivalian.”

  There were nine small maps arrayed in rows of three. Mark’s right index finger pointed to the upper left map.

  “At the naval academy, we were taught that knowing the enemy’s intentions is key, and looking at long-term trends is as important as what’s happening at any one moment. This red area is supposed to be the ancestral homeland of nomad tribes that came to be the Narthani.” His finger slid progressively to the other maps. “What this shows is Narthani expansion over the last couple of centuries. See how they are expanding in all directions, first south, then east to approximately the current border, and then west. They’re like a cancer . . . starting from one spot and spreading in every direction. Seeing it this way emphasizes the threat.”

  “”What I hear is that it’s been pretty much a stalemate the last thirty or so years,” said Yozef.

  “Only if you look at Melosia, the main landmass.” Mark’s finger moved on to the sixth and seventh maps. “Those borders of Narthon may not have changed much, but the total expansion has continued, just in different directions. First Rustal fell to Narthon, and now they’re moving on Landolin, having taken Amalor and having some kind of presence in Jahmnor.”

  “Well . . . yeah, but you told me Rustal is only bogging them down. That it didn’t turn into a productive conquest. Plus, you said the mountain range separating Rustal from Sulako was pretty formidable and easy to defend. The Narthani probably should write off Rustal and use whatever forces they have there somewhere else.”

  Mark nodded. “That’s what I told you, but I’ve thought about it more and now wonder if I was looking at their move on Rustal the wrong way. Instead of considering it from the point of view of land taken, I changed to a naval view and looked to the future. Maybe they never intended to occupy all of Rustal. Maybe they were only interested in the coasts to secure the harbors. Look at where they are now with regard to the western part of the Throat.” His finger centered on the referenced part of the ocean separating Melosia from Ganolar. “With their own coast, plus Rustal and Amalor, I’m now wondering if they’re in the process of putting a stranglehold on that seaway. That would effectively cut Landolin and Iraquinik off from Fuomon and the Harrasedics.

  “I tried talking with Admiral Saka Mermi, the current Fuomi naval commander. He wouldn’t meet with me. Maybe if I’d told him I’d been in a navy, he might have relented, but . . . you know . . . he might have grilled me on the Amerikan navy, and that wasn’t a good door to open.

  “Anyway, I asked around for anybody in the Fuomi navy who might be more approachable. Several people mentioned Tahvo Navela, one of the Fuomi frigate captains. At first, he was at sea on patrol, but when his ship returned to Adris City, he was much different from Mermi and more like Kivalian in willingness to talk. Look at the eighth map and the island of Suramong off the Sulako north coast. Navela mentioned in passing several rumors of Narthani interest in the island. Navela says the island is mainly rocky and dry with hardly any rainfall. I didn’t say it to Navela, but I think it’s in the rain shadow of mountain ranges. Navela says it’s only sparsely populated but has two good natural harbors,
one at the northern tip and the other in this indentation on the eastern side. Apparently, the harbors are mainly used by small fishing communities and as safe havens during storms by ships of all nationalities.

  “Again, thinking from a navy view, now that Narthon has Amalor, if they took Suramong from Sulako, that could be a final nail in closing the western Throat. I know the Fuomi squadron that first came to Caedellium sailed the Great Ocean route, but that was to keep secret the Fuomon interest in what was happening around Landolin and especially Caedellium. Since then, Fuomon has used convoys to run the western Throat. However, Navela says that’s already becoming more problematic as Narthon builds up their navy and shifts units to the western Throat. I pressed him about Suramong, and he said rumors are that Fuomon is aware of the possibility I mentioned. I asked what Fuomon’s response would be if that happened, and he stopped being open and starting hedging. I’d give odds he’s heard Fuomon might stop trying to sail that route. Of course, if that happened, the only connection between all the eastern nations and us would be the Great Ocean, which is almost the same as a total blockade.”

  “If . . . what if . . . maybe . . . could happen,” said Yozef, his irritation blatant. “We can’t act based on every possible scenario. Even if there’s something to what you say, I don’t see an immediate threat and maybe not one for quite a few years. The Narthani have been in Amalor for almost a year and are only now apparently showing up in Jahmnor. It could take them ten, twenty years to occupy all of Landolin, if it all. In the meantime, we’ll be contributing to fight them without committing our men to go off Caedellium.”

  Mark shook his head. “The French and the British thought they could hold the line against the Germans when World War II started. Instead, France, Belgium, and the Netherlands fell within weeks once the Germans launched their blitzkrieg. Only a miracle and Nazi incompetence saved the British army at Dunkirk.”