Freamhaigh

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Freamhaigh Page 5

by Donald D. Allan


  “We continue to train using our veterans as instructors. So far we’ve….”

  Brent dropped his saddlebags beside the dresser and removed his heavy outer jacket and tossed it toward the bed. He missed, and it slid off the edge to land on the floor. He ignored it and looked about his room in the main Jergen barracks. As General, he was entitled to this suite, and he didn’t begrudge himself the luxury. He had had similar accommodations in the castle in Munsten when he was still the General of the Lord Protector’s Guard. He didn’t expect to use the suite in Jergen much and it was just two rooms and a bed. But compared to my cell in the Munsten dungeon this is an absolute luxury.

  He had arrived at noon and was glad to have been properly challenged at the gate. He had nodded to the guards and returned their salutes. On horseback, just inside the gate, he found James, and they had clasped arms across the gap between their horses.

  "‘Bout time you showed up," mocked James with a wide grin.

  “Ass,” laughed Brent in a loud booming voice and the guards and those nearby turned with smiles to the sound. “Lead on, my horse is hungry and so am I.”

  After stabling the horse, James had taken him straight to his suite, and he now waited in the outer living room for him to change out of his riding clothes. Brent could hear him lifting little things that decorated the suite and setting them down again.

  Brent picked his jacket up off the floor and tossed it on the bed before sitting on the edge and starting to work one of his riding boots off. He raised his voice so James could hear him. “Tell me, what news?”

  He heard James move closer to the door that separated the outer room with the bedroom. “Healy has taken an island in Portsmouth Harbour. Georges Island. It’s where the black powder is made and stored.”

  Brent wrenched one boot off and dropped it with a heavy thud to the floor. He lifted his other foot over a knee and grabbed the heel. “Say what? Georges Island? Black powder?”

  “Yes, do you need me to repeat it again?”

  “Ass,” replied Brent and grunted and pulled the last boot off. He dropped it beside the other one and rose and started unbuttoning his thick cotton shirt. “What does the Admiral say?”

  “Nothing good. Says we need to destroy it. And take back his wordsmiths, those that know the secret.”

  “What’s that?” said Brent. He tossed his shirt on the bed and then picked up his saddlebags and laid them on the bed and opened one pouch. He heard a creak at the door and looked over to see James leaning his shoulder against the door jamb with his arms folded across his chest. “Hey! I’m changing here! A little privacy?”

  “I’m getting tired of repeating myself. The island stores all the black powder. The Admiral wants it gone. Says it’s too powerful. He also says we need to round up all the wordsmiths that make it and know how to manufacture the cannons.”

  “Huh,” replied Brent and then pulled a crumpled uniform shirt from the pouch.

  “You have freshly pressed uniforms in the wardrobe. Undergarments are in a dresser drawer.”

  Brent looked up at James and blinked for a moment before the words sunk in. “Really?” Brent went to the wardrobe and swung the doors open wide. Lined up were four complete General uniforms on hangers. “Well, looky-looky. Imagine that. Reminds me of my Guard days. I forgot about these perks.”

  “You think that’s a perk? Wait until you meet your aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Barkhouse. The Admiral picked her out just for you.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes, she was the most qualified. You’ll like her. Promise.”

  Brent glanced askance to James and then crossed to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. “Undergarments and socks. Lovely.” He turned to James. “What’s the schedule?”

  James shrugged and then smiled when a loud knock sounded on the outer suite door and a strong female voice called out “Sir?”

  “Ah, perfect timing. One moment, let’s ask her, shall we?”

  James left the bedroom and disappeared to answer the door. Brent frowned and then removed his pants and tossed them on the bed. He stood in a pair of cotton underpants and pulled out a fresh pair from the drawer and a pair of long woollen socks.

  He heard a female voice make a small noise, and he turned to find a blushing young lieutenant standing in his bedroom doorway. James stood behind her grinning from ear-to-ear. She wore Navy colours and held a clipboard tight to her chest. She looked Brent up and down and then glanced at the bed. She frowned and then strode forward.

  “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Barkhouse. Emily Barkhouse. I’ve been assigned as your aide and military secretary. I was recently the yeoman for the Admiral. He gave me a commission and sent me ashore. I have your schedule for the day to go over with you.” She reached the bed and tucked the clipboard under an arm before grabbing Brent’s discarded clothing. “Sir, really? You need to put these in the wash basket. It’s right here in the corner, kind of hard to miss, no? By the Word, you’ve got dirt on the bedspread. How did you manage that?”

  Brent stood in his underpants and watched in fascination as Emily Barkhouse flew about the room putting things right. She pulled the fresh undergarment and socks out of Brent’s hands and laid them on the bed. Next, she swung over to the wardrobe and looked at one uniform and the next. Making some kind of decision he couldn’t quite fathom between the identical uniforms she chose one and laid it on the bed next to the socks.

  She stopped at last and looked Brent up and down once. “You’ll want to wash up and shave. Sir, you look unpresentable. You have thirty minutes until the Admiral requests to meet with you in Colonel Sibbald’s conference room on the first deck. This is the third deck. So down two flights, yes? The Admiral is ashore and having lunch in the Wardroom. He likes the pasta there. I swear that man only eats pasta. I can have lunch brought in to you now if you like. I took the liberty of ordering something for you. It’s prepared and outside in the hallway on a cart. A steward is watching over it.

  “Fresh boots are being brought round. I’ve had a corporal working on them for the past few days. He’s really good at spit polishing. He won’t share his secret and now he has a business on the side doing other people’s boots. Keeps him in beer and women, I suppose. The army and your shiny boots. Too much pomp and not enough circumstance if you ask me. You really should have joined the Navy, sir. Much better life than trenches and latrines. Can’t fault you though, you seem to have done okay.

  “Right,” Emily paused and looked about the room. She returned the clipboard tight against her chest. Her gaze lingered on Brent and her eyes dropped for a moment and then snapped back to his face. “If that’s all, sir, I’ll be in the hallway waiting until you’re presentable. We can go over your schedule then.”

  Brent stared at her and then, uncertain on how to respond, he nodded once. Lieutenant Barkhouse nodded and started to turn around before stopping. “Sir, one last thing. I’m Navy. We don’t salute indoors. Wouldn’t be proper.” She spun on a heel and disappeared through the door. James had to step back to let her pass. A moment later the outer door opened and closed, and Brent stood silently in the middle of his bedroom and then glanced at his uniform laid out on his bed and started laughing.

  Colonel Robert Sibbald waited until everyone was seated. He had brought everyone into the windowless conference room near his office. His batman laid out tea and pastries on a side table and snapped a salute to General Bairstow before bowing out of the room, pulling the double doors closed behind him. Robert looked around at the occupants: General Brent Bairstow, Admiral Charles Kingsmill, Major James Dixon, Mayor Robert Oldfield, and Lieutenant Emily Barkhouse were present. This was their War Council.

  Emily was relatively new to him and she opted to sit at the outer wall behind Brent with a clipboard held firmly in her grasp. When she had entered with Brent she had glared at the Admiral and he was surprised to see a smile appear on the Admiral’s face for a fleeting moment. She wore a thick gold braid on the left shoulder of her Navy double-b
reasted uniform. Two gold rings marked her rank at the bottom of the sleeves, the top ring swirled in a loop. Robert had never seen Navy aides assigned to an army general before. He supposed it didn't matter. Brent was the head of the army and the navy and could have either. He shrugged internally.

  "Gentlemen…and lady," he began. "We have much to discuss so I propose we get right to it. Emily, if you could be so kind as to serve tea while we start?"

  Emily shot a glare at the Admiral and frowned when he smiled. Emily rose and made a show of making one cup of tea before sitting back down and sipping from it.

  Brent watched this and then laughed. “Oh, Charles,” he said with difficulty between bouts of laughter. “She’s perfect!”

  Charles’ smile grew broader. “Thought you might like her. Reminds me of James except with more bite. Careful with her. She’ll be in my uniform soon.”

  Brent missed the look of confusion she shot him, but James saw it and exchanged a look with Robert.

  Already I’m losing control of this meeting, thought Robert. He rose and made his own tea. I am perfectly able to make my own tea. On that thought, he looked at Charles and saw a knowing look. Right, I get it now.

  “My apologies, Emily,” he said when he returned to his seat. She tilted her head and then flashed another look of defiance toward the Admiral. “Brent, you have my apologies, too. If I knew the Admiral was going to gift you with an aide, I would have given you one of mine. No matter. We have much to discuss. Let me start by tabling…”

  “Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Emily, and she rose and pulled sheets out of her clipboard. She laid one down in front of everyone. Robert looked down and saw an itemised list of topics. All written in neat, perfectly formed, letters. He scanned it quickly and saw it contained everything he wished to talk about. “How'd you…?”

  Charles chuckled. “You’ll find she has a way of running everything if you let her. Don’t fight it, Robert. Just go with it. Trust me, it’s easier.”

  Emily sat back down and picked up her tea and sipped demurely.

  The others read their papers and then looked at one another.

  Robert cleared his throat. “Alright, item one. Navy sponsor. I see the speaker is identified as our Admiral. Sir, if you would?”

  “Certainly, Colonel Sibbald. Thank you for running this meeting. Brent, it is good to see you again. It’s been far too long. Congratulations on your promotion, I could not think of a better man for the role. Perhaps we can dine together this evening and catch up? You have a stateroom in the Wardroom. I’ll have Emily have it prepared. Say around six?”

  Brent smiled warmly at Charles. “Admiral, it would be my pleasure. Six it is.”

  “Very good. To matters. This is a simple enough issue. James tells me, Brent, that he spoke to you of Georges Island?”

  “Yes, he did. But briefly.”

  “Very good. Let me elaborate, sir. Georges Island is on the approach transit into Portsmouth harbour. She is a fortress, in fact. We tunnelled into solid bedrock and carved out a massive facility to conduct experimentation on advances in naval weaponry. I had two wordsmiths approach me about ten years ago with an amazing discovery they had made. They showed me, explained what their vision was, and I hired them on the spot. About five years ago, they perfected the manufacture of black powder. It’s made from horse droppings, yellow powder, and charcoal or coal. Three simple ingredients that when combined, and packed down, results in an explosive force. My wordsmiths worked on how to best use it and came up with the idea of using it to accelerate a ball of metal to strike ship sails and sides. It changed naval warfare overnight. We used it for the first time in anger in Jergen harbour. We decimated the invading army. Far too easily. I have nightmares, still.”

  The Admiral looked briefly at Emily and for a moment Robert saw pity on her face. The Admiral looked back to the others and continued. “Healy found out about it, of course. Not the best-kept secret of the Navy, I’m afraid. I had thought we had compartmentalised it well enough, but alas, he learned of it and took the island last week.

  “I should mention, I have ships loyal to us, but they’re tied up alongside in Portsmouth and ready to be torched if need be by Miller and Healy. My sailors are watched and followed. Ships loyal to Healy remain alongside and we know who they are. They fear to leave due to my ship-of-line. I would make short work of them. Portsmouth, however, is controlled by Healy and Miller. Nothing moves in the city or harbour without their eyes on it. Now that they have the black powder I fear the worst.”

  “And why’s that?” asked Brent in a quiet voice.

  “Healy will use the black powder to take this city and others with impunity. Its destructive force is incredible to see. Put aside navy ships with cannons for a moment. With the same cannons on reinforced carts, you could position them outside bow range and level any city walls in the Realm. Now imagine a cannonball the size of a child’s playing marble. With smaller handheld versions you could teach a child to point and kill a man with ease. No training and years of drill. Point and fire. It will change warfare forever. I want it gone. Destroyed. With my wordsmiths taken back under our control. We need to seek out all who know the secret and deal with them.”

  “You talk about killing people to hide a secret?” asked Brent.

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  Everyone looked at one another in some surprise. Robert, who had since last evening had time to think it through understood the need. He cleared his throat and Brent looked at him. “General Bairstow, yesterday I wanted this power for our use. I still do, but I now find myself agreeing with the Admiral. It may seem harsh in the bright light of day and at first blush, but I ask you think about it for a day before responding to the Admiral. The risks are far too severe to allow black powder to remain in the hands of the enemy.”

  James looked disappointed but kept silent.

  “What about in our hands?” asked Brent.

  Robert knew the question was coming and did not hesitate. “It is not safe in our hands either.”

  Brent looked down at his hands for a long moment and then rose and moved to the side table. He took his time making his tea. He took his cup and grabbed a pastry. He walked back to his seat but stopped to hand the pastry to Emily. She looked startled and accepted it. Brent sat back down. “No need to wait. I agree. Destroy it. How do we make that happen, Admiral?”

  Admiral Kingsmill beamed and perched forward in his seat. “Excellent. We strike hard and fast with a specialised group of people. We find our elite. The best trained in covert operations and send in a small team. They have orders to destroy the island, and remove the wordsmiths, or kill them if it comes to that. Whichever is easiest. We have detailed maps of the harbour and the interior of Georges Island. Everything we need. The details of the operation we will leave to this special team, all we need do is authorise it.”

  Brent thought a moment. “Specialised team? Do we have anyone in mind to lead this?”

  James interrupted. "If I may, sir? Major Tibert is perfect for this job."

  Robert was pleased. "I agree. Hugh Tibert, that's his full name. Outstanding performance at the Crossroads if you remember."

  James smiled. "Yes, sir, that’s him. Major Hugh Tibert. He was the only man who could manage Baron Andrew Windthrop if I heard correctly?"

  Admiral Kingsmill reddened slightly and looked at Emily eating and enjoying her pastry. She smiled tightly back at him.

  Robert laughed. "Yes, I do. That poor man. He’s a good choice, General Bairstow. He's perfect for the job. Let him recruit who he needs and point him in the right direction. He'll get the job done."

  "Alright, that's settled. We'll come back to it. Next item on the list…" Robert looked at the paper in front of him. "Druids. Brent?"

  Brent looked over at Emily for a moment. She looked calmly back at him. He turned back to the others. "Later I plan on finding out how this agenda was tabled. Okay, the draoi. Not druids, they prefer the title draoi. Will Arbor is their Fre
amhaigh, which means their leader, or their root. He has a couple dozen draoi stocs—which means full draoi, trained in their abilities. His wife is their high priestess, called the Cill Darae. She communes directly with Gaea. Will, I can confirm, is fully committed to restoring harmony to the Realm, and that means siding with us for now."

  The Admiral looked surprised at the words. "What do you mean, for now?"

  "Exactly that, I'm afraid. Will is outside our politics, he says. His draoi answer to Gaea and she tells them what to do. For now, he is helping us and that's enough for me, for now at least. I can't ask more of him. The power of his draoi is something to behold. We need him on our side."

  "Much like your power, eh General?" asked the Admiral. "I heard what happened at the Crossroads, and before."

  Brent looked at James accusingly. "Yes, well. I don't like rumours. We are talking about Will, not me. He will help and that is important to our success. We talked a couple of days ago on this very subject. He will provide healing and strengthen our men and women, so they can fight stronger and quicker. We saw the effect of that at the Crossroads. It turned the battle for a time.

  "Will warns us of Erebus. He was the black creature that strode forward at the Crossroads. It is the enemy of Gaea. Will says the draoi can do little against him. He also says there is a larger battle occurring all around us that makes our dispute with Healy pale in comparison. For us, our fight with Healy is what matters and I mean to win it. I will leave Will and the draoi to deal with Erebus and we will help where we can. The Church is in turmoil, but Vicar Martin is trying to unite the towns and villages. He seems to be the voice and de facto head of the Church. Will intends to send his draoi throughout the Realm to help with the uprising. If they work with the Church, perhaps they can make a difference. And perhaps the Church can help against Erebus. I have faith this will be so.

  "In any event, I will ask Will to join us here in Jergen sometime over the winter. Before Yule, I hope. We need to plan our relationship with his draoi and agree on how to work together and where. I admit to a certain frustration with dealing with him. He's not military—his way of thinking seems foreign to me. He and his wife Nadine don't understand military matters and don't seem inclined to want to. They have Steve Comlin and his crew with them though. They're well-guarded, but after seeing what Will can do, I'm not certain who is guarding who. Nonetheless, Steve has a way of talking sense into the boy. Sorry, man. Will’s a man in his own right and he controls a formidable force."

 

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