by David Weber
The fifth man at the table wore the same sky-blue uniform tunic and loose, black trousers as High Admiral Lock Island. But Sir Ahlfryd Hyndryk, Baron Seamount, was only a captain, and while Lock Island was long, lean, and heavily tanned, with the crow's-feet and weathered complexion of a lifelong mariner, Seamount was a pudgy little fellow. He looked almost ludicrous standing beside the tall, broad-shouldered admiral, at least until one saw his eyes. Very sharp, those eyes, reflecting the brain behind them. He was also missing the first two fingers off his left hand, and there was a peculiar pattern of dark marks on his left cheek. A powder burn, Merlin knew, received from the same accidental explosion which had cost him those fingers. However unprepossessing Seamount might look, he was the closest thing to a true gunnery expert the Royal Charisian Navy (or any other navy) possessed.
Cayleb completed the introductions and took his place at the head of the table. The others waited until he'd been seated, then settled back into their own chairs. They didn't waste time worrying about who took precedence over whom, Merlin noticed with satisfaction, although Seamount did wait for Lock Island to seat himself. Clearly, though, that was in deference to the high admiral's superior naval rank, not to the precedence of this title. All of them obviously knew one another well, which might help explain their comfort level, but it was impossible to imagine grandees from, say, Harchong or Desnair accepting the social equality of any commoner.
Cayleb waited until everyone had settled, then looked around the table. Despite his relative youth, there was no question who was in command of this meeting, and Merlin rather suspected that there wouldn't have been even if Cayleb hadn't been the heir to the throne.
"There's a reason why my father commanded all of us to meet here today," the prince began. "As a matter of fact, there are several reasons. The fact that it's imperative that we prevent our enemies from discovering what we're up to—especially with you and Sir Ahlfryd, Bryahn—helps to explain why we're way out here at Helen.
"It's also the reason Father delegated this meeting to me. I'm still young enough that people may not expect me to be doing anything important without 'adult supervision.'-" His smile was droll, and most of his listeners chuckled. Then his face sobered a bit. "More importantly, I can disappear to meet with all of you here without anyone noticing much more readily than he could. But I want it clearly understood that at this moment I am speaking for him."
He paused for a heartbeat or two, letting that sink in, then waved one hand at Merlin.
"I'm sure all of you have heard all sorts of fantastic tales about Seijin Merlin. Our problem is that most of those tales, despite their fantastic nature, actually fall short of the reality."
One or two of his listeners stirred, as if they found that difficult to accept, and Cayleb smiled thinly.
"Believe me, it's true. In fact, the reason Father's gone to considerable lengths to keep anyone with good sense from believing such ridiculous stories is because they happen to be true. Only two members of the Royal Council, Bishop Maikel, and a handful of our most trusted people—like Ahrnahld, here—know the truth about the seijin and his abilities. To everyone else, he's simply my new, personal guardsman and bodyguard—and, one whose imposition I've rather publicly complained about on several occasions—assigned to keep me from sticking my foolish nose into any more ambushes. A trusted and valuable retainer, but only that.
"There are several reasons for that, and one of the reasons for the secrecy of this meeting is to keep . . . certain other people, shall we say, from realizing just how important to us he is. As we all know, according to the old tales, seijin are sometimes teachers, as well as warriors, and that's exactly what Seijin Merlin is. He has things to teach us which may very well give us the advantages the Kingdom needs to defeat our enemies. But Father believes it's vital that people like Nahrmahn of Emerald and Hektor of Corisande, among others, don't realize he's the one teaching us. If for no other reason, because they would spare no effort or expense to assassinate him if they did."
All eyes had swung to Merlin as Cayleb spoke. Merlin looked back, his face carefully expressionless, and Cayleb smiled again.
"The purpose of this meeting is to accomplish several things," he continued. "First, Seijin Merlin's going to begin by sketching out how what he knows and what all of you already know can fit together to accomplish our objectives. But second, and just as important, we're going to discuss ways in which the six of you can take credit for what Merlin is teaching us."
Lock Island straightened in his chair, glancing around the table, then looked at Cayleb.
"Excuse me, Your Highness, but did you say we're to take credit for Seijin Merlin's knowledge?"
"If I may, Your Highness?" Merlin asked diffidently before Cayleb could reply, and the prince nodded for him to take the earl's question.
"High Admiral," Merlin said, turning to face Lock Island squarely, "much of what I know—of what I can 'teach you,' as Prince Cayleb's put it—would be of limited value without the practical experience which you and these other men possess. In many—most—cases, it's going to take what you already know to make what I can show you effective.
"Each of you is also an acknowledged master of your own trade, your own specialized area of knowledge, if you will. That means that when you speak, people will listen, and that will be important, because many of the things we're going to have to do will fly in the face of tradition. Change makes most people uncomfortable, even here in Charis, and your people will take more kindly to change that comes from men they know and trust than they will to change that comes from a mysterious outlander, whatever his credentials.
"And on top of those factors, there's the need to introduce the changes we're going to have to make on the broadest possible basis. They can't all come from one man, for a lot of reasons. One personal reason of my own is that what I can tell you comes from the teachings of many others, some of whom I knew personally, some of whom I never met myself. It isn't my work, and I'd prefer not to be known as some sort of mysterious, possibly sinister, and definitely foreign 'genius' just because I happen to be the person in a position to pass it on to the rest of you.
"On a more pragmatic basis, if a single stranger suddenly appears and becomes a fount of all knowledge, it's going to create both more resistance from those who cling to tradition and an unavoidable tension. It's always dangerous for a stranger to become too great, too powerful. It destabilizes things, creates jealousies and resentments. It can even lead to a fragmentation of authority, and Charis simply cannot afford anything like that when so many external enemies are already gathering around you.
"Besides, I feel quite confident that even though something I teach you may be what starts you in a given direction, where you finally arrive will, indeed, be the result of your own energy and work."
"And," Mychail said with a thin smile of his own, "if you'll pardon me for pointing this out, it will also help keep you alive, Seijin Merlin."
"Well, there is that minor consideration, Master Mychail," Merlin acknowledged with a chuckle.
"I trust," Howsmyn said, his tone carefully neutral, "that none of this 'teaching' of yours is going to infringe upon the Proscriptions, Seijin Merlin."
"You have my solemn oath that it will not, Master Howsmyn," Merlin replied gravely. "In fact, the King intends to involve Bishop Maikel and Father Paityr from the beginning to make certain of that."
A few tense sets of shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly, and Merlin hid an inner chuckle. He'd come to the conclusion that Cayleb's estimate of Bishop Maikel was correct. There was no question about the bishop's personal piety, but he was also a Charisian patriot. And one, Merlin was coming to believe, especially after that cathedral sermon, who had few illusions about the nature of the Council of Vicars and the rest of the Church's senior hierarchy.
Father Paityr Wylsynn, on the other hand, was no Charisian. In fact, he'd been born in the Temple Lands, and he was Archbishop Erayk's chief intendant in Charis. Like many
intendants, he was also a priest of the Order of Schueler, which made him the local representative of the Inquisition, as well. The prospect of coming to the Inquisition's attention was enough to make any Safeholdian nervous, and none of the men seated around that table was unaware of how the Schuelerites' wariness automatically focused on their own kingdom.
Despite that, Father Paityr was deeply respected in Charis generally, and in Tellesberg in particular. No one could doubt the strength of his personal faith, or the fervor with which he served the responsibilities of his priestly office. At the same time, no one had ever accused him of abusing his office—which, unfortunately, could not be said about a great many other inquisitors and intendants—and he was scrupulous about ensuring that the Proscriptions of Jwo-jeng were applied fairly. Schuelerites in general had a reputation for erring on the side of conservatism, but Father Paityr seemed less inclined in that direction than many of his brethren.
"Seijin Merlin is correct," Cayleb said. "Bishop Maikel has already been consulted and given his blessing to our efforts. Father Paityr hasn't yet, and Bishop Maikel has advised Father that it would be wisest to avoid . . . embroiling Father Paityr in all of the details of what we're doing."
He didn't go into all of the reasons for that; there was no need to.
"Bishop Maikel also strongly supports," the crown prince continued, "Father's belief that the degree to which Seijin Merlin is involved in all of this should be minimized. Not just for the reasons we've already discussed, although Bishop Maikel agrees all of them are valid, but also because the involvement of a seijin would automatically trigger a much more thorough—and time-consuming—preliminary inquisition if Father Paityr were forced to take formal cognizance of it. Bishop Maikel would prefer to avoid that, and he believes Father Paityr would, as well. After all, the critical point, as the Writ itself makes clear, is the substance of that which is tested, not its origin."
He paused until heads nodded solemnly, and Merlin resisted the temptation to smile cynically. All of those nodding men were perfectly well aware that Bishop Maikel was effectively advising Haarahld on how best to "game the system." But that was all right with them, because "gaming the system," whether it was called that or not, had been an everyday fact of the Church's life for as long as anyone could remember. As long as Mother Church formally approved a new concept or technique, its originators were covered, and at least in Father Paityr's case, approval wouldn't depend on the size of the bribe offered.
And every one of the men in this chamber also understood that one major unstated reason for them to take credit for the things Merlin was about to begin teaching them was to spread out the responsibility for those innovations. To avoid having so many simultaneous new ideas come at Father Paityr from a single, possibly suspect, source that he was driven to focus on where they came from, rather than upon their content.
"There's one more initial point Father wanted me to stress," Cayleb continued after a moment. "Nothing that Seijin Merlin is about to share with us can be kept indefinitely as our exclusive property. Once others have seen the advantages, it won't take them long to start trying to duplicate those same advantages for themselves. Some of what we're going to be talking about today, like what Seijin Merlin calls 'Arabic numerals' and an 'abacus,' are going to have to spread widely to be of any use to us. As such, their advantages are bound to be recognized, and they're bound to be adopted by others very quickly. Others will have exclusively, or at least primarily, military implications, involving ways to make the Navy and Marines more effective. The results of those changes are going to be quickly apparent to our adversaries if and when they encounter them in battle, but Father would be much happier if people like Nahrmahn and Hektor had no idea what we're doing until they encounter those changes in battle."
Heads nodded again, much more emphatically, and Cayleb nodded back soberly.
"In that case, Seijin Merlin," he said, "why don't you go ahead and begin."
* * *
"Is it really that simple?" Baron Seamount asked several hours later, staring at the coarse black grains on Merlin's palm and shaking his head slowly. His expression was a curious mixture of awe and chagrin.
"It's really that simple," Merlin confirmed. "Of course, producing 'corned' powder like this has its own set of problems. It's easy to strike a spark, or even set it off from simple friction heat, especially during the grinding process. But overall, it's a lot safer, and more powerful, too."
He and the navy officer stood in Seamount's office in a squat stone structure beside the King's Harbor citadel. The office was a wide, low-ceilinged chamber, newer than much of the rest of the fortifications, since it sat squarely atop the fortress's main powder magazine.
Location is everything, Merlin thought dryly. Although, now that I think about it, maybe it does make sense to put the officer in charge of the magazine's safety directly on top of it. If nothing else, it should make sure he pays attention to his duties!
"I doubt any of those problems can begin to compare to the ones we've always had," Seamount said now. He held out his own hand—the mangled one—and Merlin turned his wrist to tip the black powder into the captain's palm.
Seamount raised it to his nose and sniffed, then stuck out his tongue and tasted the powder delicately.
"I can see why this . . . 'corned' powder of yours is going to be a lot safer to handle, Seijin Merlin," he said. "But why is it going to be more powerful?"
Merlin frowned thoughtfully and stroked his mustachios while he considered how best to answer the question.
As Seamount said, the safety advantages were obvious. Safeholdian gunpowder hadn't been around that long, and it was still a very crude proposition. The exact proportions of sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal remained a matter of hot debate among the practitioners of the artillerist's art, such as it was and what there was of it. Worse, and much more dangerously, it was still "meal powder"—made by simply mixing the finely crushed ingredients into a powder with a consistency very close to that of flour. It worked, more or less, but the ingredients didn't stay mixed. They separated out, especially if the mixture was jostled or agitated. Which, given the state of most of Safehold's roads, meant a powder cart often found itself moving in a fine fog of highly flammable, highly explosive dust.
No one on Safehold had yet thought of the expedient of moistening the powder, pressing it into solid cakes, and then grinding it to a uniform consistency. The process bound the component ingredients together, preventing them from separating back out, which explained both Seamount's awe and his chagrin. The implications for the safe, efficient use of artillery and small arms were profound, yet the solution was so absurdly simple that it was difficult for him to forgive himself for not having already thought of it.
Which still left the the problem of how to explain the increase in propellant force.
"It's more powerful for several reasons, as I understand it, Sir Ahlfryd," Merlin said, after moment. "First, I've adjusted the . . . recipe just a bit. The one you were using had too much charcoal in it. But the main reason, as it was explained to me, is that basically what gunpowder does is simply to burn very, very quickly in a confined space. When the powder is made into grains this way, there's more space between each grain, which means the fire can burn even more quickly and completely. I'm sure you've seen the same sort of process when you've 'poked up' a fire on your hearth."
It was Seamount's turn to frown. He stood gazing down into his palm, gently stirring the powder grains with the index finger of his other hand, then nodded.
"Yes," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "Yes, I can see how that might be. I never considered it before, but then again, I never had 'corned' powder to experiment with."
He frowned some more, then looked back up at Merlin.
"But if it's more powerful, will our existing guns be up to firing it?"
"That's an excellent question, and I don't have a good answer," Merlin admitted. "From what I've seen of your artillery, it's well made, but
it was all designed for meal powder, not corned powder. I think you're going to have to experiment to find out."
"I can see that." Seamount nodded. "We've always proofed our guns by firing them with double or triple charges and loads of shot. I suppose we should start by firing some of them with standard charges, by weight, of corned powder, then increase the loading until they fail."
"That sounds reasonable to me," Merlin agreed. "One thing, though. You may have to thicken the walls of the gun tubes to stand up to the power of the new powder, but you can probably reduce the barrel length."
Seamount raised an eyebrow, and Merlin chuckled.
"The main reason you've needed as much length as you've got now is to give the powder time to burn before the ball leaves the bore," he pointed out. "Since corned powder burns more quickly, you won't need the same barrel length to get the same effect."
"You're right." Seamount's eyes gleamed as he considered the implications. "So we could reinforce the thickness and might still end up saving weight, overall. And"—his eyes glowed even more brightly as his agile mind raced onward—"a shorter gun can be reloaded more quickly can't it?"