Daughter of Independence

by Simon Brown

  Arden half wished he had been born a hundred years from now so he might see what the future held for this continent. He thought it was a promising future, a future of growth and peace and opportunity, and he would have liked to see what all that potential might bring about. But of course that would mean not being here right now at the very beginning and having the opportunity to shape that future. Given a choice, he would choose to be where he was now, doing what he was doing.

  Thinking of the future reminded Arden he wanted to talk to Galys or Poloma about a major project: the joining of Kydan and Sayenna by rail. It would take many years, and a great deal of money, but it would commercially and psychologically unite the two cities more than anything else could, and provide a dramatic boost to trade. Maybe he should visit Kydan; he might see Herriot again. When he allowed himself time to think about her he missed her more than he imagined was possible. So he did what he could not to give himself the time to think. Fortunately for Arden’s peace of mind, city-building was a time-consuming business.

  *

  A warm day threw golden light over the new iron and wood buildings standing on the island of Kayned. Grey smoke billowed into the sky, machines sighed and chugged and steamed. Kydans, many of them once Hamilayans, their skin darkened, striped and stippled with grime and coal dust, their faces half cooked by furnaces that melted iron are as easily as the sun melted wax, unloaded carriages of ore, siphoned molten metal into casts, measured, cut, trimmed and polished weapons, plate, rail and shot.

  Waiting at the Kayned Terminal for the first run of the new steam carriage was Strategos Galys Valera, a small bundle of Malvara named Berrat balanced on her hip. She tickled his cheek and he stuck his tiny fist into his gob and gurgled happily. Definitely Heriot’s mouth, Galys thought. And Berrat had her eyes as well. Poloma’s skin, dark and golden. Chubby and round like all babies, his thin hands and fingers made Galys think he would grow up with Poloma’s proportions. Berrat’s two-year-old sister, Sorkro, whom everyone called Sookie (the poor love, thought Galys) played with her toy horse at the feet of Kadburn Axkevleren, and made wet galloping sounds with her tongue.

  The carriage seemed to glide down the connecting bridge, with pedestrians on the underpass pointing and ogling, swung around the east end of the port with its warehouses and depots and slid easily into the terminus, a stone embankment decorated with arching hoops of iron lattice filled with coloured glass. As Poloma and Heriot got out of the carriage, little Sookie ran up to them and leaped into her father’s outstretched arms. Berrat strained against Galys’s grip as soon as he saw Heriot.

  ‘And did you enjoy the ferry ride?’ Poloma asked Sookie, who nodded happily.

  The other councillors were milling around the embankment, enthusiastically pointing out features on the steam carriage for the benefit of any spectators who would listen. After all, who better than the courageous band of first passengers who had just risked life and limb soaring across land and sea to prove the steam carriage’s speed and safety?

  Galys handed Berrat over to his mother. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Wonderfully,’ Poloma declared.

  ‘Exciting,’ Heriot added, but not with the same fervour.

  ‘Are we ready for the launch, then?’ Galys asked Sookie.

  ‘Yes. Can I push it in the sea?’

  Galys laughed. ‘If you’re strong enough.’

  The group started walking from the terminus to the shipyard at the western end of the port. Poloma took Galys’s elbow and said, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘It’s an important day for you.’

  Galys did not know what to say. She could not deny it, but affirming it would only add credence to Poloma’s concerns, concerns she did not want to deal with or talk about. Naturally the last few days had been filled with thoughts of Kitayra as the new ship named after her was readied for its official launch, but to some extent Galys spent every day with Kitayra, listening to her voice as she read the grammarian’s papers, wondering if the foundry and port and university and steam carriage were how Kitayra had imagined the future. And, too, Galys sometimes wondered about the way she had died and the imperial birth chain she had hidden in her personal chest. There were so many questions about Kitayra Albyn that Galys wanted answers to that she actually thought little, perhaps too little, about the life they had so briefly shared. Galys kept on telling herself that that would come later, that there would be time to properly release her grief when all this work was done. But in her heart Galys knew the truth, that she would never find time to deal with the hurt, the loss, the emptiness left inside her.

  As the official party made its way to the shipyard the crowd that had come to watch the first run of the steam carriage followed behind. Flags and pennants fluttered from masts and lines; red and gold ribbons were strung across buildings; mince pies and brightly coloured hats were handed out to children. A small group of musicians just outside the yard tried valiantly to be heard above the crowd.

  Galys led the party to their position on a wooden ramp that paralleled the Kitayra, ending in a railed cockpit near the figurehead, a wooden sculpture of the goddess Kydan, half-woman and half-crocodile, given to all three of the new warships. The ship, with its hull completely exposed to air, looked like a beached whale, while the workers on deck seemed like ants. Galys waited for the party to line up along the rail then waved to the launch supervisor near the hull. The supervisor shouted an order to several teams of workers who used sledgehammers to knock aside wooden wedges holding up timber frames on the seaward side of the hull. One by one the wedges flew away, and immediately the timber frames started to give way before the weight of Kitayra Albyn.

  Galys quickly picked up Sookie and told her to blow on the hull. Sookie clapped her hands with excitement and blew. Nothing happened. ‘Again,’ Galys told her. ‘Keep on blowing.’

  Sookie did, and then the frames finally gave way with a snap and the ship lurched down the slipway, shuddered, rolled slightly, and hit the water. A huge wave rolled up the slipway, dousing the cheering workers holding sledgehammers, while other workers on the ship threw lines to shore to secure the hull. Although launched, it would be five or six tendays before work on her was completely finished, the sails and rigging fitted and a crew put on board. The crowd cheered to see it all go so smoothly, and to see the hull actually floating in water.

  As soon as Kitayra had started moving down the slipway Sookie had stopped blowing and looked on agog at what she had accomplished. For a long moment she said nothing, then turned to Galys and said, ‘Again!’

  Galys laughed. ‘It’s not all done for your merriment,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid that Kitayra will be the last for some while. You’re very lucky to have seen this.’

  ‘No more?’ Sookie asked, suddenly miserable.

  ‘When you grow up, maybe. Just now, Kydan’s too small to support and crew too many warships that size.’

  Galys handed Sookie over to her father, who said, ‘Let’s hope three is enough, then.’

  ‘They are the best of their kind, I’m sure,’ Galys said. ‘Not the biggest, but the best armed and the best defended. But the crews need experience in blue water, not piddling around the bay and the coastline.’

  As the official party started to leave, slowly making its way back to Kayned Terminus, Galys turned back to Kitayra. Designed by shipwrights brought back from Somah by Commodore Avier three years before and combining experience from local sailors to suit sailing conditions in the New Land, Kitayra was built to exactly the same design as her sister ships. Forty yards long at the keel, but from bowsprit to stern jack nearly twenty yards longer, she had only one longgon deck, but it was completely enclosed, with twelve of the new longgons on each side. The main deck above was completely flush, no rising castle at bow or stern, which made her look strangely flat and low compared to Hamilayan vessels with their rising quarterdecks; another difference was the long boarding
ramp and spike carried along the centre of the main deck, its base attached to the mainmast for support. She represented a completely new type of ship, a fast sailor, long and low, undercrewed and undergunned compared to empire warships, but with a few surprises not seen before on the Deepening Sea.

  *

  Admiral Erom Agwyer was feeling very pleased with himself. His magnificent force of six ships, including the mighty steamship Hetha, had sunk three ships in as many days and severely damaged at least another two, and those would not have got away had the wind been blowing from the other direction. True they were only coasters, small trading ships not much bigger than ketches and yawls, but there was no doubt word would get around the New Land that the empire was not to be trifled with. Furthermore, by the end of this day, the rebel colony of Kydan itself would feel the might of his fleet’s longgons. Even now they were rounding into the Bay of Kydan. Smoke rose in the middle distance: campfires, Agwyer surmised, although he had the impression from his instructions from General Second Prince Rodin Kevleren that the city was more advanced than that. As the fleet drew closer the picture was even more confusing. His letters had specified that the city occupied two of the three delta islands at the mouth of the river Frey, but all three definitely appeared settled, as well as some of the hinterland, and the smoke was not coming from campfires at all but . . .

  He looked through his glass and tried to fix it on the most southerly island, a task made difficult by the roll of the ship. Bloody bathtub in even a moderate swell, he thought, then chastised himself. This was the Hetha, the most famous, most powerful and most innovative ship in the world. But, his seaman’s brain said, she still moves like a Somah whore in a two-wheeled carriage. As the ship moved further into the somewhat calmer waters of the bay and the rolling became less pronounced, he got a better look at the buildings at the western end of the south island. That definitely looked like ironworks, and he could see Kydans running this way and that as the fleet approached.

  ‘Captain Oble!’ Agwyer called.

  The captain appeared by his side, his prominent eyes blinking as they tried to focus on the city.

  Agwyer pointed to the ironworks. ‘I didn’t see those on the map you drew me, sir!’

  Oble stared at them in amazement. ‘Admiral, I swear they were not there three years ago. Nor was that installation next to it – a shipyard! In fact, the whole island was bare, I am sure of it.’

  ‘A shipyard?’ Agwyer said, his voice rising in alarm. ‘To build what ships?’

  ‘There seems to be something of good length tied nearby, only half-finished.’

  Agwyer peered through his glass again. ‘Of very good length. It’s almost as if these people had our shipwrights working for them. Although the superstructure seems lacking. If those squares on her side are longgon ports she’ll be a monster when she’s finished, and they look as if they have their own deck, like our own.’

  ‘Don’t forget, Admiral, that General Third Prince Maddyn Kevleren took many with him who had a skill or trade, and the Hetha was finished and anchored in Somah’s harbour by the time the general sailed from there.’

  ‘I doubt the empress allowed him shipwrights for his colony. Well, there’s our target. Those ironworks and the shipyard. And that half-built whatever-it-is.’

  Oble saluted and shouted orders to his officers. The Hetha’s twelve longgons, six aside, were run out, and a signal was sent to the other ships in the fleet to ready for action.

  ‘When this is done, Captain Oble, make immediately for Somah. The empress must hear of the progress Kydan has made as soon as possible.’

  Before Oble could answer there was a distant boom, and a puff of smoke went up from the Citadel on the middle island. Agwyer was glad he was not charged with assaulting the city: he would not fancy pitting his wooden ships against the defences of that fortress.

  ‘Wasted shot,’ the admiral muttered, knowing they were still too far for any ball to strike them, even one from a longgon with the advantage of height the Citadel might give it.

  ‘I don’t think they’re actually hoping to strike us, sir,’ Oble said. ‘I think it’s a warning shot, as much to alert their own people as to scare us off.’

  ‘Scare us off, indeed!’ harrumphed Agwyer. ‘How long before we’re in range?’

  ‘Almost there, Admiral.’

  There was a splash in the water about halfway between them and the city. The warning shot, Agwyer assumed. He looked to see where the other ships were. Although the flagship, and the largest vessel in the fleet, Hetha carried fewer longgons than the others because of the room its steam engine and boilers took up below deck. It may have been a technological marvel, but by itself Hetha would not inflict much damage on the enemy.

  The admiral peered at the city through his glass again, now able to pick up faces as pink blurs. He wondered what was going through their minds right now.

  *

  ‘I wish you’d let me put a full charge in it,’ Kadburn complained, patting the longgon that had fired.

  ‘Your crews are too good,’ Galys pointed out. ‘You would have hit one of the ships.’

  Kadburn did not try to hide his puzzlement. ‘That’s the whole point of these beauties,’ he said. ‘By Kydan and Frey, Strategos, they were your idea.’

  ‘Not my idea,’ Galys said, smiling to herself. ‘My inspiration. The screw barrel is Veira Vulper’s idea.’

  ‘Whoever’s idea, they are designed to hit the enemy before he’s close enough to hit us, yes?’

  ‘Yes. And no.’

  ‘You’re talking in riddles.’

  ‘Yes, they allow us to hit the enemy before he can hit us. But they also allow us to hit the enemy harder and more accurately when he’s closer, and that’s what I want.’

  ‘But they’ll be able to fire on us soon! They might damage, or even destroy, the foundry or shipyard!’ A horrible thought occurred to Kadburn. ‘Or destroy Kitayra Albyn.’

  Galys did not answer right away. She was momentarily distracted by the realisation that Kydan itself was suddenly as quiet as a grave. The streets were mainly occupied by soldiers waiting patiently for whatever might happen, and only a handful of the bravest civilians were still out and about.

  ‘Kitayra is a hull, uncrewed. We can rebuild her in half a year.’

  ‘Then the foundry –’

  Galys said tightly, ‘I would rather the foundry, the shipyard, the Kitayra and this Citadel be destroyed than let one of the enemy ships escape back to the empire. Kydan can build another foundry, can build another shipyard, can even build another Citadel. But if the secret of our progress is known to Lerena before she fully commits her forces, we are lost.’ She turned to Kadburn. ‘We are all lost and everything we care for.’

  ‘Then why did you fire the longgon at all?’

  Galys grimaced. ‘To close a net, Kadburn.’

  *

  After the launching ceremony, Commodore Avier on Sorkro Malvara had ordered the ship and Prince Maddyn out of the bay and north into deep water. He had understood the necessity of ceremonial tradition requiring his two new warships be present for the launch of their sister, or rather the need to start a ceremonial tradition for the fledgling Kydan navy, but chafed at the time it took away from training his crews. Most of the sailors were experienced, all recruited from other vessels including his own Annglaf and the four granary ships, but working on a warship involved different routines and much greater levels of efficiency. As well, the new longgons with the screw barrels required a great deal of familiarisation to work effectively. The longgon crews were reloading on average one round every sixty beats of the deck marshal’s baton, which was good, but rarely did they have a chance to practise with gonblack because of its cost and short supply. Kydan had established a gonblack factory, but the city still had no reliable sources of saltpetre, and it was not producing nearly enough for Avier’s liking.

  They had practised loading and reloading for half a day, then Avier had given the crews a
short break, and ordered enough gonblack cartridges up for a few rounds of live shooting. That’s when he heard the distinct but entirely unexpected sound of someone else’s longgon firing. Briefly he thought a longgon on Prince Maddyn had gone off, but it was too close and the sound from too far away. It could only have been set off from Kydan.

  Coolly, despite a quickening pulse, he ordered both ships to head back for the bay, and for all longgons to be loaded with full powder and shot.

  16

  ‘What do you mean you found nothing?’ demanded Commander Salo Mikhel.

  His subordinate, Master of Horse Mon Ouncel, could only shrug and spread his hands. ‘Look around you, Commander. There is, well, nothing. No people at all. No farm animals, except some pigs, a few dogs and a cat or two. We found some mice. Nothing else.’

  Mikhel sighed with dissatisfaction and turned in his saddle. All around them was a wide brown land with only a hillock now and then to break the monotony; wheat and barley fields run to seed, the remains of three or four dead cows, probably milkers judging by the shed and bails, and a house with crumbling eaves and missing tiles. He could hear a pig squealing as it was slaughtered by some of his men for food. If there had been a farmer around, Mikhel would have paid for the animal.

  ‘And there’s no one in the home?’

  ‘I had two men walk through, shouting for the owner,’ Ouncel said. ‘Nothing. They said the place had no bad smells. Just musty and empty.’