How firm a foundation s-5

by David Weber

  “Your father taught you well,” Coris said with a small, sad smile. “Always look for the other possibility, the less obvious one. Never decide something must be the truth simply because you want it to be.”

  “Father also taught me never to trust anyone completely,” she said, looking into his eyes. “That was his very first rule, his most important single axiom. But he set it aside in your case, and I’m willing to do the same. Only I’m not prepared to accept that simply because I trust you, you have to be right.”

  Coris’ heart swelled with pride as he looked at her, and he nodded.

  “My God, what a queen you would have made,” he said softly. “Your father and I talked about that once. He hated Sharleyan, you know, though it wasn’t really personal. She was just… in the way, and he knew she’d never rest until she’d avenged her father’s death. But he admired her, too-deeply-and I think he’d seriously considered trying to change the law of succession in Corisande.” The earl shook his head with a smile. “Only he told me he’d decided against it because he didn’t think Safehold could survive you and Sharleyan at the same time unless you were both on the same side, and that wasn’t going to happen.”

  Irys’ eyes softened and her mouth trembled ever so slightly, but then she shook her head and unfolded her arms to point a finger at him.

  “No courtier’s tricks, Phylyp! You’re not going to distract me that easily. You said you had ‘strong suggestive evidence.’ Show it to me.”

  “Of course.” Coris gave her a seated bow, then turned his head towards the closed library door. “Rhobair, Tobys!”

  The door opened a moment later and Tobys Raimair and Coris’ valet, Rhobair Seablanket, walked through it. Seablanket was a thin man, with stooped shoulders and a long nose. His brown hair, touched with white, was beginning to thin, but the neatly trimmed beard he favored to hide the scar on his jaw was still dark and full. Irys had always thought he was one of the most lugubrious men she’d ever seen, and she’d never really warmed to him.

  “I’m sure you recall my hiring Master Seablanket when we passed through Shwei on our way here,” Coris said, turning back to Irys as Seablanket and Raimair crossed the library and halted behind him. “I was fortunate to find a Corisandian suitable to my requirements that far from home, wasn’t I?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind, yes,” she replied slowly. “And, if you’ll pardon my saying so, it seemed a little suspicious.” She looked across the earl’s shoulder at Seablanket. “It struck me that if someone wanted to plant a spy on you, that might’ve been one way to go about it. On the other hand, I’ve known you since I was a little girl. It seemed… unlikely that same possibility wouldn’t have occurred to you.”

  “I’m afraid there are times even I can be a bit gullible and overly trusting,” Coris said with a sigh. “And this, alas, was one of them. In fact, Irys, Rhobair is an agent of the Inquisition.” He watched the young woman’s eyes widen in sudden alarm but continued unhurriedly. “He was, in fact, specifically assigned to worm his way into my employment by Wyllym Rayno himself. Unfortunately for Archbishop Wyllym, however, when Rhobair first entered the Grand Inquisitor’s personal service, he already had an employer… your father.”

  Despite her formidable self-control, Irys’ jaw dropped. She stared at Coris for a moment, then whipped her eyes back to the valet, who suddenly looked much less lugubrious. In fact, he smiled at her, eyes touched by an amused light she’d never seen in them before, and bowed deeply.

  “He worked for Father?! ” she more than half blurted.

  “Exactly.” Coris shrugged. “It’s an interesting thing about the Inquisition, Irys. They plant spies and agents everywhere, and they’re very good at finding disaffected people to inform on others, yet until at least very recently, it never seems to have occurred to them that anyone else might plant spies on them. I think it has to do with the arrogance of power. They’re so busy dealing with all the things they’re doing to other people that they never consider the possibility of what other people might do to them. Or what steps those other people might take to protect themselves against the Inquisition’s spies. And they did make a minor recruiting error in Rhobair’s case.”

  “They did?” she asked in a fascinated tone.

  “Oh, indeed they did,” Coris practically purred, yet there was an odd, icy edge under his obvious satisfaction. “You see, Rhobair is a Corisandian, born and raised, but his mother was born in Harchong… where his grandfather was beaten to death on the very steps of his village church while the local inquisitor looked on. And his crime?” Coris looked into her eyes. “The squire beating him to death had wanted to bed his youngest daughter. She’d refused, he’d ignored her refusal, and her father had had the unspeakable temerity to protest his thirteen-year-old daughter’s rape. That daughter was Rhobair’s mother.”

  Irys’ eyes flitted back to Seablanket and saw the truth as cold, bitter memory-and hate-quenched the humor which had flickered in his eyes.

  “I won’t bother you with the details of how his mother and her two sisters managed to reach Corisande, Irys. That’s not really my story to tell, anyway. But they did get to Manchyr, eventually, where your grandfather employed all of them on the palace staff and she married one of his armsmen. So when Rhobair came to your father and told him he’d been approached by an inquisitor about becoming a spy inside your grandfather’s household, your father told him to agree.

  “That was over thirty years ago. They soon realized what a prize he was and pulled him out of Corisande to use other places before I ever came into your father’s service. He became very valuable to them over the years-valuable enough that it took very little effort on his part to plant the notion that he be sent to Shwei to ‘infiltrate’ Daivyn’s court in exile. After all, he certainly knew enough about Corisande and about Corisandian politics to be perfect for the job. And he’d been a trusted agent of the Inquisition since long before I became your father’s spymaster, so even though he’d grown up in your grandfather’s palace, I wouldn’t recognize him when I saw him. It was, alas, childishly easy for him to worm himself into my confidence… and he’s been reporting exactly what I wanted him to report ever since.”

  Irys leaned back, shaking her head slowly. Not in denial, but in surprise.

  “Phylyp, I’m trying, but it’s a little hard to believe even you could be audacious enough to plant-what? A double agent?-on the Office of the Inquisition!”

  “I did nothing of the sort, Your Highness! First, he’s not a double agent; technically he’s a triple agent,” Coris protested with a smile, raising both hands in an eloquent gesture of innocence. “Besides, I had nothing to do with his original recruitment by the Inquisition. Your father did… when he and Rhobair were both about your age, in fact.”

  His smile disappeared, replaced by a far sadder expression.

  “I learned a great deal from your father, Irys. I’d like to think he learned a few things from me in return, too. Yet the one lesson neither of us learned until it was too late is that some things in this world are genuinely more important than the ‘Great Game.’ The truth is, I don’t think your father ever did learn that, but watching what happened to him, seeing what’s happening to this entire world, has taught me there are. Your father made mistakes, Irys. Even the smartest man can do that, especially when he’s blinded by ambition, and-forgive me-he was. I speak with a certain degree of experience, because I helped him make a lot of those mistakes and shared a lot of those ambitions. But your father wasn’t simply my Prince. He was my friend, and that bastard in Zion had him and his son-my godson -butchered on the streets of his own capital just so he could blame it on someone else. And now he wants to murder Daivyn, too.”

  “Daivyn?!” Irys gasped. She jerked up out of her chair, her face pale, and one hand rose to the base of her throat.

  “That’s my ‘strong suggestive evidence,’ Irys. I’ve been sent orders to help clear the way for a party of assassins to murder Daivyn. What m
y orders don’t tell me is that after Daivyn is dead, I’m going to be killed, as well. That will both remove any unfortunate witnesses who might know a little too much about how the tragedy came to occur and allow Clyntahn to argue that-just like your cousin Anvil Rock and his friend Tartarian-I’ve betrayed Corisande in return for some promised reward from Cayleb and Sharleyan Ahrmahk. Unfortunately for Clyntahn, the man who’s been charged with denouncing me to King Zhames and the Inquisition is none other than my valet, who will-unfortunately-have become aware of my treasonous intentions just too late to prevent your brother’s murder. Oh, and as a crowning touch, the murderers-all of whom will either perish in the attempt or die under the Inquisition’s urgent interrogation-will be Charisians. Or, at least, all of them were born Charisians, although most of them have grown up and spent most of their lives here on the mainland. That’s a nice refinement, don’t you think?”

  Irys sank slowly back into the chair, eyes huge, and Coris shrugged.

  “I could be making all of this up, lying to you, but I think you know I’m not. And even though I can’t show you a written order from Clyntahn to have your father and young Hektor murdered, I think the pattern we’re seeing is clear enough, don’t you?”

  “We can’t let him kill Daivyn, Phylyp!” For once, Irys Daykyn looked as young as her years, her eyes filling with tears. “ Please. He’s all I have left, all the family I have! And he’s such a little boy. He doesn’t deserve any of this!”

  “I know.” He reached out and took her hand. “I know, Irys, and Rhobair and Tobys and I will do anything we can to protect him-and you. But we’re going to need help, and lots of it, or all we’ll be able to do is to die in your defense. And I hope you’ll forgive me for saying it,” he smiled a small, crooked smile, “but I’d really prefer not to do that. Especially not if there’s a chance of getting away alive in a way that will piss Zhaspahr Clyntahn off badly enough pure apoplexy might just kill the son-of-a-bitch. Pardon my language.”

  “Help?” she repeated, ignoring the last three words, her expression confused. “Who’s going to be able to help us now?”

  “Well, it happens that if you’re willing to let me ask for assistance, I have a… friend who might just be able to do a little something for us after all.”

  ***

  “You’re joking!” Trahvys Ohlsyn said, looking back and forth between Merlin Athrawes and Bynzhamyn Raice. “Aren’t you?”

  “Does he look like he’s joking?” Baron Wave Thunder demanded, jabbing a thumb in Merlin’s direction.

  “No, but…” Earl Pine Hollow’s voice trailed off, and Wave Thunder chuckled.

  “All this new information access takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”

  “You can say that again!” Pine Hollow shook his head. “And, to be honest, the fact that I’m still playing catch-up in so many areas doesn’t help. I haven’t had as much time to practice with this ‘com’ as I should have because I’m so busy discovering all the balls Earl Gray Harbor had in the air.” He shook his head again. “I always respected the Earl, but I hadn’t even begun to guess everything he’d been up to!”

  “You do have a hard example to live up to, My Lord,” Merlin agreed soberly. “I think you’ll do well, though. And I hate to say it, but having you as a member of the inner circle’s going to help a great deal in the long run.”

  “I’ll grant you that it’s not going to hurt any,” Pine Hollow said with an off-center smile. “I do wish I’d known about it while Nahrmahn was still alive, though. And I wish I could tell Baron Shandyr about it now.” The Emeraldian earl chuckled. “Hahl still hasn’t figured out why your counter-espionage efforts here in Old Charis were so damned effective!”

  “Hopefully someday we’ll have the chance to explain that to him,” Merlin said with an answering smile. “For right now, though, there’s this other minor matter…?”

  “Of course there is!” Pine Hollow gave himself a shake. “I’m still having a little trouble believing it, though!”

  “Well, the messenger wyvern’s on its way right now.” Merlin shrugged. “The SNARC Owl has keeping an eye on Irys and Coris picked up on the key words ‘Charis,’ ‘Cayleb,’ ‘Clyntahn,’ and ‘assassination’ when they discussed what to do. That was enough to flag the entire conversation to me and Bynzhamyn. I’ll ask Owl to shoot the visual and the audio over to you later tonight, but the key point is that they’re asking for asylum. I don’t think Irys is quite prepared to promise she or Daivyn will swear fealty to Cayleb and Sharleyan or accept Corisande’s permanent incorporation into the Empire, but from what I can see she’s at least confident we won’t murder her baby brother. From her perspective, that’s a major step up from the situation they’re in.”

  “I can see where that might be true,” Pine Hollow said feelingly. “The question is what we do about it.”

  “I think the first order of business is probably to discuss it with Cayleb and Sharleyan,” Merlin replied. “On the other hand, I’ve discovered there are times when a little preparation work before you get around to the ‘ first order of business’ is indicated. Having a policy ready to suggest strikes me as an especially good idea in this case.”

  “And you want me to do the suggesting. I see.” Pine Hollow smiled. “Do you really expect them to react that adversely?”

  “On the contrary, I expect them to endorse the suggestion wholeheartedly. I just thought that as the Empire’s brand-new first councilor, with this opportunity to demonstrate your mettle coming along, you might want to take advantage of it.”

  “That’s Merlin for you,” Wave Thunder snorted. “Always looking out for opportunities by which we can advance ourselves. Remind me to tell you about the first opportunity he gave me someday, My Lord.”

  “Now, Bynzhamyn! Let’s not be bringing up the past,” Merlin said severely, and turned back to Pine Hollow. “What I’ve been thinking, My Lord-”

  ***

  “Sir Dunkyn?”

  “Yes, Hektor?” Admiral Sir Dunkyn Yairley looked up from the captains’ reports in front of him as Lieutenant Aplyn-Ahrmahk stepped into his day cabin.

  “A messenger from the Port Admiral’s just come aboard, Sir. He has a dispatch for you.”

  “And I presume there’s some reason you haven’t already handed it to me?”

  “As a matter of fact, Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to sign for it. Personally.”

  Yairley’s eyebrows rose. He considered his young flag lieutenant for a moment, then shrugged.

  “Very well, I suppose you should ask this messenger to step into the cabin.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Aplyn-Ahrmahk disappeared for a few seconds, then returned escorting a full commander.

  “The plot thickens,” Yairley murmured at sight of the “messenger’s” seniority.

  “Commander Jynkyns, Sir Dunkyn,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said.

  “I see. You have a dispatch for me, Commander?”

  “Yes, Sir. I do.” Jynkyns saluted, then opened an attache case and extracted a heavy canvas envelope. A paper label was stitched across the open end to hold it closed, and he laid it on Yairley’s desk.

  The admiral looked at it for a moment, then dipped his pen in the inkwell and scribbled his name across the label.

  “Very good, Sir Dunkyn. Thank you,” Jynkyns said, retrieving the envelope and examining the signature briefly but closely. Then he drew a small knife and carefully slit the stitches which had closed the envelope. There was another smaller envelope inside, and he withdrew it and handed it to Yairley before returning the outer envelope to his attache case.

  “I was instructed to inform you, Sir Dunkyn, that Admiral White Ford requests an estimate of your readiness to deal with this matter within the next two hours.”

  “I see.” Yairley weighed the envelope in his fingers. It didn’t seem all that heavy, but then again, orders never did… until the time came to carry them out.

  “Hektor, would you please see Commander Jynkyns
back to his boat?”

  “Of course, Sir Dunkyn.”

  “Thank you. And, Commander,” Yairley’s gaze moved back to Jynkyns-“inform Admiral White Ford that I’ll report to him as quickly as possible.”

  “I will, Sir Dunkyn. Thank you.”

  The commander saluted again and withdrew, escorted by Aplyn-Ahrmahk. Yairley watched them go, and when the cabin door closed behind them, opened the second envelope, extracted the half-dozen sheets of paper, and began to read.

  ***

  “Yes, Sir Dunkyn?” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said, stepping back into the day cabin ten minutes later. “Sylvyst said you wanted to see me?”

  The lieutenant, Yairley observed with some amusement, was clearly on fire with curiosity about the mysterious dispatch. It was equally obvious that nothing on earth could have prevailed upon Aplyn-Ahrmahk to admit his curiosity.

  “I did,” he acknowledged. “I think we’re going to be a bit busy for the next hour or so, Hektor.”

  “Of course, Sir. How?”

  “I am requested and required to report to Admiral White Ford within no more than two hours’ time the squadron’s readiness state and whether or not we can depart Thol Bay with the evening tide.”

  Aplyn-Ahrmahk’s eyes widened slightly. Destiny had only officially left dockyard hands the day before, and-as always happened these days-she’d hemorrhaged manpower while she was being repaired. Captain Lathyk was almost seventy men short of a full complement, and the chance of his coming up with that many men in the next six hours ranged from non-existent to something somewhat less than that. Then there was the minor problem of how they provisioned and stored the ship in that same six hours… which, frankly, sounded impossible to him. There could, however, be only one possible response from any king’s officer to such an order.

  “Of course, Sir,” Lieutenant Aplyn-Ahrmahk said calmly. “I’ll just go and find the Flag Captain, shall I?”