by David Weber
"That's exactly what I was thinking," Makferzahn agreed. "At the same time, as you just pointed out, he has stood the entire Charisian shipbuilding business on its ear. At the moment, people are so busy throwing money at him if he'll just design a ship for them that these people may've simply decided that if they want an Olyvyr-designed a ship at all, they have to take what they can get. And," the younger spy admitted, "they've already seen plenty of evidence that his new ideas about rigging work pretty much as advertised."
"That's all true enough. But I think the possibility that he's actually building them for the Navy needs to be considered seriously," Maysahn said. "And if that's true, we'd better report that possibility to the Prince while we work on either confirming or denying it."
He sat for a moment longer, contemplating the news, then shrugged.
"It may not make a lot of sense to us right this minute, but at least we know a bit more than we did. Good work, Zhames. I'll get a dispatch off to Manchyr with Captain Whaite tomorrow morning."
* * *
"—with Captain Whaite tomorrow morning."
Merlin Athrawes frowned as Owl played back the day's take from the bug assigned to follow Zhaspahr Maysahn around.
The endless hours he was investing in what he'd come to think of as "Project Bootstrap" left him far less time than he would have preferred to deal with things like monitoring Maysahn's whereabouts. He'd had to leave virtually all of that sort of activity up to Owl, and that made him nervous.
To be fair, the AI seemed to be handling the task adequately so far. It was Owl who'd identified Makferzahn as Mhulvayn's replacement, and the computer did an excellent job of keeping anyone in its sights after Merlin had tagged that individual for surveillance. But Owl remained hopelessly literal-minded and unimaginative, and Merlin had no choice but to allow the AI to sort and analyze the take from the majority of the SNARCs and hope nothing critical got lost. Some of the SNARCs Merlin continued to monitor personally—those watching Hektor, Nahrmahn, and Archbishop Erayk, for example—but even there he was forced to rely on Owl's recognition of critical keywords to direct his attention to relative bits of information.
Which category the afternoon's conversation between Maysahn and Makferzahn certainly fell into.
Merlin leaned back in his chair in his darkened quarters while he pondered. The fact that he could get along with so little "sleep" helped some, at least, although he had to remember to disarrange his bedding every night.
Should I take this information to Wave Thunder? he mused. It had to happen sooner or later, and at least they don't seem to've picked up on the changes in the artillery itself. But just what they already know is going to start someone like Hektor asking questions I'd really prefer not get asked just yet.
If he told Wave Thunder about this particular "vision," the baron might just feel inclined to pick up Makferzahn and all of his identified agents. In many respects, Merlin wouldn't have minded shutting down Hektor's network again. But if they did that, Hektor was going to wonder just what had inspired them to do so. And if they didn't shut down his entire network, then the information Makferzahn had already picked up would probably get through to Corisande anyway. Which would almost certainly start Hektor's agile mind down the same path.
Of course, there is another possibility, he thought more grimly. Nothing says "Captain Whaite" has to survive to get Maysahn's dispatches to Hektor.
Given the voyage time between Tellesberg and Manchyr, Sea Cloud's failure to arrive on schedule would probably throw at least some serious delay into Hektor's information loop. The transit time was almost forty days either way for the disguised courier. If she should suffer a mischief, it would be eighty days, at the earliest, before Maysahn learned of her loss, and then it would take his replacement dispatch another forty days or so to reach Hektor.
It was tempting. In fact, it was very tempting, and the recon skimmer could eliminate Sea Cloud almost effortlessly. Doing so would require the deaths of "Whaite" and his entire crew, of course. That thought was enough to make Merlin hesitate, but it wasn't as if they were exactly innocent bystanders. Every one of them was a member of the League Navy, and arguably all of them were spies, as well.
Which, Merlin admitted to himself, was really largely beside the point, except for his own desire to justify the action he was contemplating.
He replayed the entire conversation between Makferzahn and Maysahn one more time, then shrugged.
Destroying Sea Cloud wouldn't really do that much for us, he decided. Maysahn's obviously going to be sending follow-up dispatches as he and Makferzahn turn up additional information, anyway. So taking out Sea Cloud would only delay things a bit, unless I'm prepared to start picking off every courier Maysahn and Hektor send back and forth.
He grimaced distastefully at the thought and shook his head.
No. I need to discuss this "vision" with Wave Thunder and Haarahld. They've still got a lot better "ear" then I do for how Hektor's likely to respond. Besides, it's not going to be all that much longer before Erayk gets here for his pastoral visit. That's going to cause more problems than letting this snippet of information get through to Hektor ever could.
And this way, he admitted to himself, at least I won't have to feel like I'm shooting fish in a barrel.
He stopped shaking his head and nodded, satisfied with his conclusion, and turned his attention to the SNARC which kept tabs on Prince Nahrmahn.
JULY, YEAR OF GOD 891
I
Royal Palace,
Tranjyr,
Kingdom of Tarot
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Father Zhoshua Makgregair murmured, bowing deeply as the chamberlain ushered him into the private audience chamber.
"And to you, Father," King Gorjah of Tarot replied.
Gorjah was a slender man, especially compared to Makgregair's solid, broad-shouldered bulk. He was also barely into his mid-thirties, with dark hair and a complexion substantially darker than Makgregair's, and he was dressed in loose robes of silk. He also wore the "kercheef"—the traditional bandana-like headdress of Tarot—instead of the heavy three-cornered cap of the priesthood, and he looked irritatingly comfortable despite the weather.
As if thoughts of the weather had summoned it, thunder rumbled once more out over Thol Bay, gentle with distance and almost lost in the sound of rain. The equatorial downpour pounded heavily outside the audience chamber's open windows, beating on the tile roof of Gorjah's palace. Waterfalls spilled from the eaves and ran gurgling down the gutters, and the warm air was heavy with moisture. It was also curiously still, despite the thunderstorm, settling about Makgregair like a humid fist, and his undergarments were damp with sweat.
Tarot's no assignment for a boy born in Northland, he reflected, thinking back to his boyhood in the Republic of Siddarmark's Northland Province. He'd grown up fishing in the cold, deep waters of Hsing-wu's Passage—when the ice melted enough to let him—and this wet tropical oven pressed down on him with an almost physical weight. It's amazing to me that any of them have working minds, putting up with this kind of heat. I'd think just the mold would be enough to rot their brains!
At least his summer-weight cassock was made of cotton instead of the traditional wool, but that was relatively little comfort at the moment, and a part of him looked longingly at Gorjah's even lighter silken robes.
"Thank you for making time in your busy schedule for me. And for agreeing to see me privately," he said as he straightened his back once again, just a bit more quickly than most diplomats would have. Gorjah was a king, whereas Makgregair was a mere upper-priest. But that upper-priest was here as the direct representative of God's holy Church, and he looked Gorjah squarely in the face. There was nothing disrespectful about it, but it was always best to make one's status clear from the outset.
"It's my pleasure to adjust my schedule in order to meet with Mother Church's representative at any time," Gorjah said. He actually sounded as if he meant it, too, Makgregair noted. On the other
hand, kings got a great deal of practice sounding as if they meant things.
Almost as much as those of us who serve as diplomats in the Chancellor's service, he thought with a small inner smile.
"That's the sort of thing any priest is happy to hear, Your Majesty." He allowed himself an outer smile, as well, but then his expression sobered. "I'm grateful for it, nonetheless, Your Majesty. Indeed, I only wish all of Safehold's princes and kings were equally mindful of their responsibilities to God and His Church."
Gorjah's expression seemed to freeze, and his eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me, Father," he said after the briefest of hesitations, "but what prince or king could be so lost as to forget those responsibilities?"
"Mother Church, and the Holy Inquisition, must be always mindful of the fashion in which the duties and responsibilities—and temptations—of worldly power may draw a ruler away from his duty to God," Makgregair said gravely. "Not all of them are as scrupulous as you when it comes to the observation those duties, Your Majesty."
"I find that thought distressing, Father," Gorjah said slowly. "And, to be honest, a little frightening, since I must assume you're telling me this for a reason."
"Don't be concerned that anyone is displeased with your own respect for Mother Church, Your Majesty," Makgregair's tone was reassuring, and he smiled once more, albeit a bit sadly. "Yet you're quite correct. I am here to see you because of the failings of princes. Specifically, Vicar Zahmsyn's grown increasingly and deeply concerned about another ruler. One whose preoccupation with worldly power and wealth has led him perilously far from the path of obedience to God and His Church. And one with whom, I fear, you are closely associated."
Gorjah's swarthy complexion paled ever so slightly, and a few fine beads of sweat which had nothing to do with the morning's heat and humidity appeared on his forehead.
"I assure you, Father, that I would never associate myself with anyone who would defy God!" He shook his head emphatically. "If I believed for a moment that Prince Hek—"
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Makgregair broke in gently. "I had no intention of implying that you or anyone in Tarot was guilty of any such thing. Indeed, I ought to have made it clear from the beginning that you yourself are not responsible for your relationship with him. It was your father who signed the treaty of alliance with his father."
Gorjah had opened his mouth, but he closed it again with an all but audible click. Makgregair could almost literally see the thoughts chasing one another through his brain and waited patiently while the King of Tarot worked his way through them.
It didn't take very long, and Gorjah's shoulders straightened as if a weight had been removed from them. Obviously, he'd feared that Makgregair was in Tranjyr because the Council of Vicars had learned about his secret negotiations with Hektor of Corisande. It was far from unheard of for the Chancellor to use the Church's priestly diplomats to warn secular rulers away from alliances of which the Church disapproved. And under normal circumstances, the Temple would have been most unhappy with Hektor's machinations. The combination of his obvious ambition and the skill with which he'd been manipulating the situation would have made him a substantial threat to the balance the Church sought to maintain to prevent any one secular ruler from growing too powerful.
Gorjah was as well aware of that as Makgregair. Just as he was also aware the Temple had, on more than one occasion, encouraged the ambition and avarice of a secular ruler as a counter to the power of someone else of whom the Council of Vicars disapproved even more strongly. So if the Chancellor's personal representative wasn't trying to warn Gorjah away from Hektor . . .
"Father," the king said after a moment, "from what you've said, I can only assume you're referring to Haarahld of Charis."
"Alas, I fear I am," Makgregair replied gravely.
"I'm . . . shocked to hear that," Gorjah said, and rubbed his short-trimmed beard thoughtfully. "While I've always known Haarahld was . . . deeply aware, let's say, of the opportunities his kingdom's wealth and naval power make available to him, I'd always believed he was equally aware of his responsibilities before God and His Church. I assure you, if I'd believed for a moment that he wasn't, it would have caused me to think very seriously and critically about the treaty between Tarot and Charis."
"Vicar Zahmsyn fears that the temptation of worldly power, coupled with his no doubt genuine sense of responsibility to his dynasty, is leading Haarahld astray." Makgregair stressed the noun "dynasty" ever so slightly, and watched Gorjah's eyes narrow as he recognized the implication.
Odd, Makgregair thought, how well the vicars can differentiate between someone else's responsibilities to the land he rules and those to the ambition of his dynasty.
It wasn't the sort of thought a priest was supposed to think, but those who served as Mother Church's diplomats required an appreciation of the realities behind their missions. Makgregair had that appreciation, but he allowed no trace of his reflections to touch his expression as he shook his head sadly.
"We're hearing some disturbing reports out of Charis," he continued. "Obviously, there's always been some cause for concern, given Charis' distance from the Temple. These latest 'innovations,' are most disquieting, however. While none of them appears to violate the Proscriptions, change begets change, and it cannot be long before violations do occur."
"May I ask if Mother Church intends to take action?" Gorjah asked diffidently.
"However concerned Mother Church may be, or may become," Makgregair replied, "she must be always mindful of her responsibility to act only after careful deliberation and mature consideration. Nor must she ever forget she is governed by mortal men, and that mortal men—even those called to the orange—are always fallible. Because of that, she hesitates to unsheathe her sword until and unless she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that transgression has occurred. With Mother Church's enormous power, and her equally great responsibility to exercise that power judiciously and in accordance with God's will, comes an obligation to be certain beyond question that the line between darkness and light has truly been crossed before she may act. What we may fear lies in Charis' future cannot justify Mother Church in taking official action if no offense has yet been committed."
"I see." Gorjah leaned back slightly on his throne, the fingers of his right hand drumming lightly on the upholstered armrest as he gazed at Makgregair.
"Should I understand, then, Father," he said after a few seconds, "that the reason for your visit is primarily to warn me? To alert me to the Church's concerns so that I don't follow in Haarahld's wake if he does cross that line?"
"That is, indeed, a major portion of the reason for my visit, Your Majesty," Makgregair agreed, bowing slightly but gravely. "And I don't believe the Chancellor would be upset with me if I added that other princes and rulers will be receiving similar . . . alerts."
Gorjah's eyes flickered visibly at that, and Makgregair hid a smile of satisfaction.
"I am, of course, deeply distressed to learn that a ruler and a kingdom with whom I've been so closely associated has come to cause God's shepherds such concern," the king said. "Obviously, given how many years Tarot and Charis have been allied, it's difficult for me to believe Haarahld could be so lost to his duty to God. But I thank you and Vicar Zahmsyn for the warning. However distressing it may be, it's far better to be forewarned. I fear it will behoove me to very seriously reconsider my relationship with Charis in light of what you've told me."
"You must, of course, act as your own sense of responsibility to God and your realm requires," Makgregair said gravely. "I'm merely Vicar Zahmsyn's messenger, and it would be inappropriate for me to urge any specific course of action upon you without instructions to that effect from the Chancellor. I will say, however, speaking strictly for myself, that I believe it would, indeed, be wise to review your relations with Charis, and your treaty obligations, most carefully."
"I appreciate such wise counsel," Gorjah said with matching gravity. "Please tell the Chancellor I'm m
ost grateful for his timely warning, and that I'll be thinking very seriously about all you've told me this morning."
"I feel confident nothing could please Vicar Zahmsyn more than to hear that, Your Majesty," Makgregair said with another bow. "And now, having discharged my instructions from the Chancellor, I'll bid you farewell and allow you to return your attention to the pressing matters from which my visit must undoubtedly have distracted you. With your permission, Your Majesty?"
"Of course, Father." Gorjah waved his right hand in a graceful gesture of permission. "Thank you."
"You're most welcome, Your Majesty," Makgregair murmured, and withdrew from the presence chamber with yet another bow.
II
The Galleon Blessed Langhorne,
Markovian Sea
"Good afternoon, Your Eminence."
"Good afternoon, Captain Braunyng." Archbishop Erayk Dynnys smiled pleasantly at Ellys Braunyng, the captain of the galleon Blessed Langhorne, although he didn't feel particularly pleasant.