by David Weber
"Oh, no, he hasn't!" Cayleb said with a chuckle. "Not since you and Father sent me to sea, at any rate!" He looked at Merlin and shuddered dramatically. "There's this unfortunate tradition, here in Charis," he explained. "For some reason, people seem to feel the heir to the throne ought to know how the Navy works, so they send him off to sea as a midshipman. And," he added feelingly, "his superior officers are expressly forbidden to treat him differently from any other midshipman. I got to 'kiss the gunner's daughter' more than once."
"-'Kiss the gunner's daughter,' Your Highness?" Merlin repeated with raised eyebrows, and it was Gray Harbor's turn to chuckle.
"The bosun's responsible for disciplining the midshipmen," he explained. "That means miscreants find themselves bent over one of the guns while the bosun thrashes them firmly enough even a midshipman might think twice about repeating his offense."
"Oh, I always thought twice," Cayleb said cheerfully. "I just went ahead and did it anyway."
"Somehow, I find that depressingly easy to believe," Merlin said.
"So do I." Gray Harbor did his best to produce a properly disapproving glower. Unfortunately, it bounced off the crown prince's unrepentant grin without even a scuff mark.
"All the same," the earl continued more seriously, "that 'unfortunate tradition' exists for a reason, Your Highness, and the way you've taken hold out here shows why. I'll be honest, Cayleb. When your father first assigned this to you, a part of me thought it was solely a way to get Merlin out here without raising any questions. But I was wrong. He gave you this job because he knew how well you'd do it, too."
Cayleb waved one hand, still enough of a boy at heart to be embarrassed by anything which sounded like praise, but Merlin shook his head.
"The Earl is right, Your Highness," he said, rather more formally than he normally spoke to Cayleb these days. "In fact, I've been very impressed watching you and Baron Seamount in action. I think you have a natural feel for this sort of thing."
And, Merlin thought, you're young enough not to have too many preconceptions to overcome in the process.
"So do I," Gray Harbor agreed. "And I can understand why the two of you wanted me out here to see all this firsthand. I've read your reports to the King, and, of course, Cayleb's briefed the senior members of the Council several times, but until you've actually seen it, you can't really believe it or grasp all of the implications."
Merlin nodded. Cayleb had handled those briefings because even now Gray Harbor and Wave Thunder were the only councillors who knew the truth about Merlin's contributions. But even though Gray Harbor had been privy to the full details from the very beginning, this had still been his first chance to actually see the new hardware. The demonstration had been carefully planned to show the new artillery in action under near-perfect conditions, as the earl understood perfectly well, but his genuine enthusiasm pleased Merlin enormously. It wasn't really a surprise—the first councillor was a highly intelligent man who also happened to be an experienced naval commander—but that made it no less welcome.
"At the same time," the earl said, turning to look back out over the squadron's anchored ships, "I'm worried about how much time we have. Hektor's obviously getting more and more nervous about what we're up to, and I'm afraid our time may be running out more quickly than we'd hoped. Especially"—he turned his eyes back to Merlin's face—"in light of the reports we're getting out of the Temple and Bishop Zherald's offices right here in Tellesberg."
"I know," Merlin sighed. He leaned forward, bracing his folded arms on the battlements, and his sapphire eyes were distant, unfocused as he gazed across the harbor.
"I'm hoping," he continued, "that the Temple's . . . agitation will settle down a bit once Father Paityr's latest reports have a chance to circulate."
"In a reasonable world, that's probably what would happen," Gray Harbor told him. "In a world where Hektor and our good friend Nahrmahn are pouring their lies into the Church's ear, it probably won't."
The first councillor's expression was grim, and Cayleb nodded in bitter agreement.
"Do you think the Council of Vicars is likely to take an official position?" Merlin asked.
Even with his unwillingness to risk putting bugs inside the Temple proper, he had an excellent feel for what the Church's hierarchy was saying, thanks to his ability to eavesdrop on the Vicars' subordinates living in Zion. But he'd discovered that knowing what it was saying wasn't the same thing as knowing what it was thinking. Just as he'd come to realize that Gray Harbor and Haarahld had far more insight into the realities of Safehold's theocratic politics than he did.
"Probably not," Gray Harbor said after a moment. "Not openly, at least. Their own intendant is reporting that we've violated none of the Proscriptions, which is only true, after all. The Church can issue whatever decrees and commandments she chooses, and no one has the authority to gainsay her, but the Council's usually cautious about appearing capricious. That doesn't mean the Vicars—or, at least, the 'Group of Four'—won't do whatever they believe they have to, but, traditionally, they've preferred to act deliberately, after considering all of the evidence. Officially, at least."
It was Merlin's turn to quirk an eyebrow, and Gray Harbor chuckled. The sound was both cynical and rather sad.
"Mother Church is supposed to be above issues of political power and greed, Merlin. Some of her clergy truly are—like Father Paityr, for example, or Bishop Maikel. But others—like Chancellor Trynair and his allies in the Group of Four—aren't. I wouldn't say this before any other ears, but the truth is that the episcopate and even the Council of Vicars is more concerned with the wielding of power than with the salvation of men's souls these days." He shook his head slowly, brown eyes distant, and Merlin sensed how much it cost him to admit his own cynicism where the keepers of his religious beliefs were concerned. "Calculations are made in the Temple, and in the brothels and gaming houses of Zion, on the basis of political expediency and greed, as often as on the basis of doctrine or the Writ, I'm afraid."
"More often," Cayleb said harshly. Merlin looked at him, and the crown prince's eyes were deep and dark with bitter memory. "There was a time," the prince continued, "when Mother Church truly was a mother to all of her children. That day is gone."
Merlin managed to keep his expression tranquil, but this was the most frankly he'd ever heard Cayleb or Gray Harbor express themselves on the subject of the Church, even after the interview with Father Paityr, and Cayleb's bitter observation hit him like a splash of cold water. He hadn't truly realized until this moment just how fully justified the Council of Vicars' concerns over Charisian restiveness under the Church's oppressive control actually were.
"Cayleb's right, I'm afraid, Merlin," Gray Harbor said heavily. "On the other hand," he continued, "probably exactly because of the way those political factors have come to influence the Council's decisions, the Vicars are extraordinarily careful to avoid drawing attention to them. The Group of Four will be very certain that any decision—any official decision—the Council or the Grand Inquisitor may hand down is carefully written. It will make the Council's orthodoxy and devotion to truth crystal clear. And, so long as Father Paityr insists on reporting we haven't fallen into error, haven't violated the Proscriptions by thought or deed, the Council has no justification for moving openly against us.
"That, unfortunately, doesn't mean the Group of Four won't move against us. Never forget, Merlin, that the Temple Lands are one of Safehold's great kingdoms. The Vicars aren't simply the princes of the Church; they're secular princes, as well. As such, they're as subject to political pressures and calculations—and ambitions—as any other ruler. Whether or not Mother Church openly condemns Charis for doctrinal error, the Council may well choose to put forth its secular power against us. We have not, perhaps," he smiled faintly, "appeared sufficiently pliant for the Council's taste."
Merlin looked at the first councilor, and Gray Harbor shrugged.
"Don't misunderstand me, Merlin. The King—and Cayleb
and I—doubt neither the power nor the love of God. Nor do we doubt the Church was created and ordained to safeguard the salvation of men. But the Vicars are also men, and if those responsible for the salvation of others fall into error, into the snares of ambition, greed, and corruption, who will redeem them?"
"I don't know, My Lord," Merlin said after a moment, his voice soft. If Cayleb's bitterness had been eye-opening, the implications of the earl's analysis were breathtaking.
"Neither do I," Gray Harbor said sadly. "But, whether or not any of us dare to admit it openly, much of the Kingdom's current danger is the direct result of the Church's encouragement of Hektor and Nahrmahn. Charis has grown too wealthy, too powerful, for the Council's taste. There are many reasons for that, but the consequence is that the Group of Four has quietly and quite unofficially supported Hektor's ambition to . . . reduce our power. I suspect Hektor, for all his cunning, fails to grasp that having used him to humble us, the Council is scarcely likely to allow him to assume our present position. Nor does that matter at the moment.
"What matters is that, to date, the Group of Four has had only to support our enemies' natural ambitions. That, without your arrival, would have been quite sufficient for the Vicars' purposes, in the fullness of time. But you have arrived, and I very much doubt that the Council has any concept of how radically the conflict between us and Hektor and his allies is about to change as a consequence. When the Group of Four does realize the truth, it will act. Not officially, perhaps—or not as Mother Church, at least. But there are many avenues open to it, and I feel quite confident it will find one of them."
The earl's voice was even grimmer than his expression, and Merlin turned to face him fully.
"My Lord," Merlin said quietly, "if this 'Group of Four' chooses to act against Charis with all of the Church's resources, can Charis survive?"
"I don't know," Gray Harbor said softly. "I truly don't know. Before your arrival, I would have said we couldn't—that no single kingdom could possibly hope to. Now, I see some possibility we might, but only a possibility."
"It wasn't my intention to bring Charis into direct conflict with the Church," Merlin said. Not yet, at least, he added to himself with painful honesty. Not until we'd built the kingdom up into something which might survive the confrontation.
"I never said—or thought—it was," Gray Harbor replied. "But the truth is, Merlin, that I'd long ago accepted that the best we could hope for was to stave off disaster for a time. For my lifetime, probably. Possibly for Cayleb's. But not any longer than that."
Merlin glanced at the bitter-faced crown prince, and Cayleb nodded. For just a moment, the crown prince's mask slipped, and Merlin saw through the young man's habitual cheerful humor to the ultimate despair which had hidden behind it.
It seemed to be a day for revelations, he reflected, as Gray Harbor continued.
"It's certainly possible the things you've done will bring the Council's suspicion and distrust of the Kingdom to a head sooner, but that day would have come eventually, with or without you. The King's decision to insist upon a Charis-born priest as Bishop of Tellesberg wasn't made lightly, and Bishop Maikel's seen the coming storm as clearly as any of us. The only thing which has changed is that you may have made it possible for us to survive that storm. And, if you haven't—if my Kingdom and my King and Prince and what we believe God requires of us all go down into ruin anyway—that will still be a better fate than to live as the gelded slaves of someone like Hektor. Or"—the earl looked directly into Merlin's eyes—"of a Council of Vicars so corrupted by its own secular power that it uses the authority of God Himself for its own gain in this world."
"Father agrees," Cayleb said softly. "And so do I, Merlin." The crown prince looked straight into Merlin's sapphire eyes. "Perhaps you're beginning to understand why Father was so ready to listen when you appeared. Don't think either of us—or Bishop Maikel—have failed to notice how careful you've been never to openly criticize the Church. And don't think we haven't recognized that you recognize that, ultimately, what we believe, what we see as our responsibility to our subjects, is a threat to the Council."
There were shadows in the prince's own eyes, and in those shadows Merlin saw Cayleb's memory of their conversation following the kraken attack, as well.
"I won't," he said after a moment.
"Good," Gray Harbor said, his voice as soft as Cayleb's had been. But then he drew a deep breath and spoke much more briskly.
"That, however, brings us back to this Experimental Squadron of yours. While I would never wish misfortune upon a prince of the Church," his smile, Merlin noted, was downright nasty, "I must admit that the way Archbishop Erayk's accident's prevented him from visiting us as scheduled has provided a useful cushion. By the time he actually gets here, Father Paityr's reports probably will have made it even more difficult for the Council to contemplate any official action against us. And," he gave Merlin a piercing glance, "we'll have had time to further obscure the fact that so many of 'our' recent innovations have come from a single man. Trust me, Merlin—seijin or no, the Inquisition would look very closely at you if the Temple realized everything you've shown us over the past few months."
"That it would," Cayleb agreed.
"But whatever the Council's position," Gray Harbor continued, "Hektor, and Nahrmahn aren't going to react well if—when—they realize just how you, Cayleb, and Sir Ahlfryd are in the process of increasing the fleet's fighting power. At the moment, Bynzhamyn shares your confidence that they haven't tumbled to what's going on out here at King's Harbor, but they have to be aware of the other changes you and the College have been introducing."
"I know," Merlin agreed. And, he thought, Wave Thunder's right about what Hektor and his buddies know . . . so far. The SNARCs' bugs make that clear enough. How long we can keep it that way, though, is another question, isn't it?
"They've been careful to avoid open warfare with us this long, Rayjhis," Cayleb pointed out, and Gray Harbor nodded.
"That's true. But that's been because our fleet is almost equal in numbers to Hektor's and Nahrmahn's, combined, and they know our captains and crews are better than theirs. As Merlin's visions have shown, however, they're working hard to acquire new allies to increase their own naval strength. If they succeed in doing so, and especially if they should realize how things like the new cannon are going to increase our existing strength, they may well choose to strike quickly, in an effort to destroy us before we can complete our plans and preparations."
"The Earl's right, Cayleb," Merlin said soberly. "At the moment, they believe they've got time—that our present strength is effectively the greatest we can sustain. That means time favors them, if they can acquire those allies Rayjhis is talking about. If they decide time's no longer on their side, though, their plans are likely to change."
"Precisely." Gray Harbor nodded energetically. "Which brings me back to the point I wanted to raise originally. How quickly can we complete our planned expansion?"
"In a lot of ways, that's really a question Sir Ahlfryd and Master Howsmyn could answer better than we can," Cayleb replied after glancing at Merlin.
"That's true," Merlin agreed. "I think we could probably make a fairly accurate guess, though."
"Please do, then," Gray Harbor invited, and Merlin shrugged.
"The problem is how few galleons the Navy had in commission when we began," he said. "That, and the fact that your galleys carried so few heavy guns, which means we don't have that many existing weapons to work with."
Gray Harbor nodded patiently, and Merlin grimaced internally. As he'd told the earl earlier, the combined experience and knowledge of Ehdwyrd Howsmyn, Sir Ahlfryd Hyndryk, and Sir Dynnys Olyvyr had been priceless. There'd been countless difficulties inherent in taking the conceptual knowledge Merlin had been able to provide through to a practical hardware stage which would never even have occurred to him. And because of that, unfortunately, he'd underestimated how long it was going to take to put that hardware into p
roduction in adequate numbers.
Except, he reflected wryly, for the coppering technique. The one thing that's gone perfectly is also the one that's the hardest to conceal when we put it on, and the one that has the least immediate effect on our ships' firepower. Of course, his amusement faded, there's more to combat effectiveness than gunpower alone.
Still, even—or, perhaps, especially—coppering the hulls in adequate numbers was taking longer than he'd originally let himself allow for. Especially in light of the numbers of ships Charis' enemies could muster between them.
Traditional Safeholdian navies counted their strength in galleys. Those galleys—or most of them, at any rate—might no longer mount old-fashioned beaked rams, but aside from that, they would have been right at home when the Athenian navy went up against Xenophon at Salamis. Well, that was probably unfair, but they would certainly have been familiar to Don Juan of Austria at the Battle of Lepanto. They had evolved from purely coastal craft into something which at least had aspirations to a true seagoing warship, especially in the case of Charis, but they would never have survived typical Atlantic weather conditions on Old Earth.