A Mighty Fortress (131 page)

That sounded like an awful lot, Merlin reflected, but it wasn’t really, given the normal ammunition allotments of ICN galleons. The “establishment” was forty rounds of round shot, ten rounds of grapeshot, and five rounds of chain shot per gun. That was almost
three
thousand rounds for a single fifty- four- gun galleon. Replacing just the round shot in her shot lockers on a one- for- one basis would require the next best thing to twenty- two hundred shells.

On the other hand, if the other side didn’t anticipate yet another new Charisian weapon, they might well break and run the moment they encountered it.

And they might
not,
too,
he reminded himself grimly.
This isn’t going to be like Armageddon Reef or Darcos Sound. These ships are coming directly from Harchong and the Temple Lands themselves, and Mother Church has proclaimed Holy War. Then there’s the little fact that we’ve already been denounced as Shan- wei- worshippers and demon- worshippers by Clyntahn’s propaganda. If we start firing exploding shells at them, that’s only going to confirm Clyntahn’s lies, at least in the short term. And the fact that they’re headed down this way on a
jihad
against the Powers of Darkness may actually help them take it in stride.
...“Not good enough, I’m afraid,” Cayleb said. Merlin and Sharleyan looked at him, and he shrugged.

“Ehdwyrd’s estimate is the number of shells he can deliver eight five- days from now. But by that time, they’ll be halfway across the Markovian Sea... and ships sailing from Old Charis at that point won’t possibly be able to intercept them before they’re into the Tarot Channel. We
might
be able to catch them at the southern end of the Channel, before they cross the Gulf of Math-yas, but we’ll never stop them from getting into Thol Bay, if they decide to do that. And, to be honest, even the chance of intercepting them in the Gulf’s probably no better than even.”

“We could load them aboard transports and deliver them at sea,” Lock Island said.

“We could try,” Cayleb conceded, “but we’d run the risk of getting caught by the other side while we were doing it. For that matter, just to get transport galleons to the northern end of the Tarot Channel would take a good four five-days, Bryahn. Which means Ehdwyrd would lose four of the eight five- days he’s planning on. And according to my numbers, that would cost six thousand or so of his total.”

“Maybe we don’t have any choice but for me to go call on Admiral Nylz the way I did on your father before Darcos Sound,” Merlin said unhappily.

“Forget it.” Cayleb shook his head. “Father was already at sea against an opponent he knew about. Not only that, but it was reasonable—if risky—for him to adopt the strategy he did, given that he knew I was going to be headed back from Armageddon Reef as quickly as I could. But Kohdy and his entire fleet are headed towards Chisholm to confront a threat
there
. There is absolutely no logical, reasonable argument he could use to turn the fleet around against his existing orders, even if we were lucky enough for him to take the truth in stride. I think it’s probable he
would,
as a matter of fact, but that doesn’t change the fact that if we turn him around
without
a good, solid reason everyone can grasp, no explanation short of demonic—or angelic—intervention could explain to anyone
else
— including his own officers and men!— why we did it.”

He was right, Merlin realized.

“All right,” Lock Island said. “You’re right, Your Majesty. We can’t turn Kohdy around, and we don’t have eight five- days to produce shells and ship them to the fleet. So, the way I see it, we only have one real option.”

“We have an option? Really?” The humor in Cayleb’s voice was biting but genuine, and the high admiral chuckled harshly.

“I didn’t say it was a
good
option,” he pointed out.

“All right, in that case tell us about this
not
- so- good option.”

“The way I see it, we’re going to have to take the pressure off the Desnairians. I don’t want to do that, and if anyone can think of
any
way we can encourage them to stay home despite Maigwair’s direct orders to sortie, I’ll be delighted to hear about it. In the meantime, though, it’ll be up to me to sail north. I doubt they’re going to just turn around and head home when they see my topsails, but knowing I’m in the area—and
not
knowing how much of our strength we’ve sent off to Chisholm in response to their ‘disinformation’— they’ll have to regard me as a potentially significant threat, at least initially. I’ll take enough schooners with me to keep them under close observation, try to make them nervous. With a bit of luck, I should at least be able to instill enough caution to slow them down. On the other hand, if they’re feeling frisky and adventurous, I may even be able to tempt them—or some of them, at any rate—into chasing me and draw them off.”

“And this will achieve exactly what?” Cayleb asked, although his tone suggested he was already following his cousin’s thinking.

“While I’m doing that, Domynyk will sail for home. We’ll be in touch by com, and we’ll both know where the Church fleet is. He’ll load however many shells Ehdwyrd’s able to manufacture before he has to pull out. Then, assuming the other side’s stayed concentrated and I’m still shadowing them, he’ll sail to rendezvous with me. If they’ve divided and sent some of them to pursue me, he’ll ignore them and go for the main fleet. He’ll be badly outnumbered—hell, for that matter we’ll be badly outnumbered if both our forces manage to rendezvous before the battle!— but he should have at least a few thousand shells in his lockers. If he does, and if we can catch them at sea, and if the shells work out as well in practice as Ahlfryd’s tests suggest, and
if
the other side panics when it realizes what we’re doing to it, we
may
manage to turn them back.”

“You do remember how often Father pointed out that a flag officer who builds his strategy based on the assumption that
all
of it will work the way he expects it to is an idiot, don’t you, Bryahn?”

“Of course I do. And if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be suggesting anything of the sort this time, either. Unfortunately, I don’t think we do have a choice.”

“Bryahn’s right, Your Majesty,” Rock Point said. “God only knows how we’re going to convince the Desnairians to stay home, or at least make them hesitant enough to let us deal with the northern fleet first! But this is the only approach I see which
could
work, no matter how many things may go wrong with it. And there’s this, too, I’m afraid. As long as we can avoid a close action that ends up doing to us what Thirsk did to Gwylym, we’re no worse off if this doesn’t work than we would be if we didn’t try to do anything about it at all.”

“And if you don’t have enough shells, and if they don’t work the way we expect them to, then just how the hell do you plan to avoid that?” Cayleb demanded. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but my powerful intellect suggests to me that to get into your range of them, you have to come into
their
range of
you
. Which means the only way you’re going to find out you
don’t
have enough shells, or that they
don’t
work the way we expected them to, is going to put you into exactly that sort of an engagement!”

“That may be what happens,” Lock Island said quietly. “If it does, though, then it does. And you’ll still have two- thirds of the Navy to come back and do something about it.”

HMS
Destiny
, 54,

Off Terrence Point,

Gulf of Mathyas,

and

The Duke of Kholman’s Office,

City of Iythria,

Desnairian Empire

Sir Dunkyn Yairley had always hoped to someday fly his own admiral’s streamer. He hadn’t expected it to come quite this soon, however, or under precisely these circumstances. He stood on HMS
Destiny
’s quarterdeck, gazing up at that striped strip of steel thistle silk flying from his ship’s foremast, and wondered exactly what the watchers ashore were making of his current antics.

He turned his gaze aft. Twenty- six galleons followed in
Destiny
’s wake, each in the severe livery of the Imperial Charisian Navy. Other fleets, other navies, painted their ships in gaudy colors, decorated them with gold leaf and ornate carvings. Charisian warships were painted in black, the only color they boasted the white stripes, marking the lines of their gunports, and the red-painted lids of the ports themselves. In its own way, it was the most arrogant decoration available, Yairley thought. First, because the Empire was the only navy which painted its ships in that fashion, which made them instantly recognizable at any range. And, secondly, because it was a statement that
Charisian
seamen needed no ornamentation to overawe any foe.

Despite the severity of their paint scheme, the ships forging along behind him made a brave show, although it was obvious to any observer that he had rather more of the Imperial Navy’s refitted merchantmen than he might have chosen. On the other hand....He turned his head, gazing out at the second column of mastheads, paralleling his own. A trio of schooners lay between his own column and those distant masts to relay his signals, and he’d kept young Ensign Aplyn- Ahrmahk occupied for the past several hours reporting his observations to them.

More schooners slid smoothly through the water between him and Terrence Point, and others hovered farther to the northwest, covering the waters between Terrence Point and Howard Island. With the light breeze blowing almost directly into the Howard Passage from the Gulf, the schooners’ speed and ability to work to windward made them ideal for keeping an eye peeled for the Imperial Desnairian Navy.

Assuming, of course, that the Imperial Desnairian Navy felt adventurous enough to poke its collective nose out of its snug little hidey- hole in the Gulf of Jahras when so much of the Imperial
Charisian
Navy was obviously waiting—longingly—for it to do precisely that.

“Oh,
crap,
” the Desnairian Army lieutenant in charge of the observation post on the tip of Terrence Point muttered quietly, but with great feeling, as he bent to peer through the tripod- mounted telescope at the apparently endless column of Charisian ships.

“See what I mean, Sir?” his sergeant asked respectfully.

“I do, indeed, Sergeant,” the lieutenant acknowledged, straightening his back and glaring out to sea. “What I
don’t
see is what kind of bee got up their arses for them to suddenly be doing this kind of shit!”

He stood glowering at the Charisians, then sighed.

“Well, I suppose we’d better get the message off.”

“And so yet another brilliant strategy goes astray,” the Duke of Kholman murmured, gazing at the transcript of the semaphore message from the Terrence Point observation post. He shook his head, then laid the transcript on his desk, very carefully and precisely, and looked at Baron Jahras.

“You know,” he said almost whimsically, “I don’t know how much Cayleb Ahrmahk pays his spies, but it obviously isn’t enough. They must’ve known about our instructions almost as soon as we did!”

“Not necessarily,” Jahras disagreed. The duke frowned, and Jahras chuckled sourly. “Oh, I agree they know what’s going on, but they could have found out as much as a five- day or more after we did and still managed to arrange this.”

He flicked an index finger at the sheet of paper on Kholman’s desk.

“You’re right about another ‘brilliant’ plan going straight into the crapper, though,” he continued. “And it’s obviously another case of Vicar Allayn getting too clever for his own good. I can understand why he didn’t want us sailing prematurely. But the way it’s worked out, we’re screwed, at least until—and unless—Harpahr and Shaiow get close enough to threaten these people from the north.”