By Heresies Distressed (25 page)

As the signal flags started to climb the halyards, Cayleb turned back to the still-rising column of smoke where the battery had exploded, and grimaced.

“I could wish we'd been wrong about Hektor's ingenuity,” he said. “If he's managed to cobble up something like this to defend Dairos, what has he come up with for one of his
major
ports?”

“Probably more than we'd care to tangle with unless we absolutely have to,” Merlin replied.

“At least his logistics problems have to be more complex than ours, if only because of his ammunition problems, Your Majesty,” Captain Gyrard pointed out, and Cayleb grunted in agreement.

The Royal Charisian Navy had standardized the armament of its galleons long before it had become the
Imperial
Charisian Navy. Ships like
Empress of Charis
carried the newest artillery, which was actually a bit lighter than the guns Cayleb had taken to Armageddon Reef and Darcos Sound. Ehdwyrd Howsmyn and Baron Seamount had seen no choice before the previous year's campaign but to use the existing kraken for their standard artillery piece. It had already been the closest thing to a standard heavy gun the Navy had boasted, so there'd been enough of them to give the fleet a useful initial stock, once Howsmyn had figured out how to add trunnions.

But although it had been the only practical choice, it hadn't been the one Seamount had really wanted, for several reasons. The biggest one was that the “standard” kraken, unlike the larger and longer “great kraken,” or “royal kraken,” had been intended as a comparatively short-ranged, smashing weapon. Even with the new powder, its relatively short barrel length had reduced the velocity and range of its shot, with a corresponding drop in accuracy at longer ranges. In addition, when Howsmyn had reamed out the bores to standardize them and reduce windage, he'd had to go to a heavier weight of shot than Seamount had wanted. The baron had experimented with several different shot weights, trying to find the best balance between hitting power and the speed with which human muscles could load the weapons. Especially the
sustained
speed with which they could be loaded. Those experiments had suggested that reducing shot weight even slightly would help substantially, so he and Howsmyn had designed somewhat different models and adopted them once they began producing only newly cast weapons.

The new-model weapons had longer gun tubes, but they also had reduced bores, so they weighed no more than the older guns. The change hadn't made much difference where the upper-deck carronades were concerned, but it had given the much longer and heavier main-deck guns greater muzzle velocity and striking power, despite the reduction in each shot's weight by almost eight pounds.

The change had its downsides, of course. The most prominent one was that it had introduced at least some ammunition complications, since the older galleons still mounted their original converted krakens, whose ammunition was not interchangeable with that of the guns mounted aboard the newer vessels.

Compared to most navies, however, the Charisian Navy's ammunition arrangements were simplicity itself. Howsmyn and Seamount had settled on a total of four “standard” long guns: the “new-model kraken” with its roughly thirty-pound shot, an eighteen-pounder, a fourteen-pounder (intended specifically for chase armaments, with an especially tight windage to enhance accuracy), and a ten-pounder (for the same role aboard lighter ships). Their carronade “stable-mates” were a fifty-seven-pounder, a thirty-pounder, and an eighteen-pounder. That was an enormous improvement over the “old-model” artillery, which had included no fewer than fifteen “standard” long gun calibers. (Not to mention the fact that guns of nominally the same bore size frequently hadn't been able to use the same round shot because different foundries' “inches” had been a different length from one another before King Harahld's draconian enforcement of the new official standards of measurement.)

They'd sought to further simplify things by decreeing that each individual ship must mount the same caliber of carronades and long guns, at least for broadside armament. They were willing to be a bit more flexible where the chase armament was concerned, but the fact that all of the broadside weapons fired identical projectiles made both the gunners' and the purser's lives ever so much easier. For the moment, at least. Personally, Merlin suspected it wasn't going to be long before the neat “official establishment” began to leak. As more specialized galleon designs evolved and the differentiated frigate/cruiser and ship-of-the-line/battleship emerged, topweight considerations and designed combat roles were going to begin dictating a reversion to mixed armaments.

The Corisandians' rush to improvise as many as possible of the “new-model” guns had left them in a far less enviable position, however, with no time to waste working out any sort of standardized table of naval ordnance. Their
new
guns appeared to come in no more than one or two calibers, but the conversions with the welded-on trunnions had pressed as many existing guns as possible into service. One of the floating batteries engaged against them in Dairos' defense had obviously mounted at least three, and possibly four, different calibers, which must have created nightmares for the man responsible for getting the right size and weight of shot to each gun.

Which, unfortunately
, Cayleb reflected,
doesn't keep those guns from being damnably effective when the gunners
do
get the right shot size
.

“Your Majesty, we've just received a signal from General Chermyn.” Gyrard's polite voice interrupted Cayleb's thoughts, and the emperor turned to the flag captain.

“And what did the General have to say?” he asked.

“Brigadier Clareyk has reported by heliograph, Your Majesty. He has his entire brigade ashore, and the second wave of Brigadier Haimyn's troops are landing now. Brigadier Clareyk estimates both brigades will be in their assigned positions within the next thirty to forty minutes. An hour at the outside, he says.”

“Good!” Cayleb's tight expression lightened slightly.

One of the new Charisian innovations had been the introduction of the heliograph, using reflected sunlight to transmit messages in what another world in another time would have called “Morse code.” Another had been the construction of specifically designed landing craft. They came in two sizes, with the larger capable of landing field artillery or up to a hundred men at a time, while the smaller (and faster) version could land only forty. Although both designs were capable—theoretically, at least—of making extended independent passages under sail, the shallow draft and flat bottoms designed to make over-the-beach landings possible also made them less than ideal blue-water vessels at the best of times. Sir Dustyn Olyvyr had improved things at least a bit by providing them with retractable leeboards, but the smaller ones (almost half the total) had made the voyage from Charis as deck cargo, and the captains responsible for getting them to Corisande had not been delighted by their assignment.

At the moment, Cayleb's sympathy for their unhappiness was limited, to say the least. The deck cargo landing craft had been swayed out the day before to join their bigger, rather more weather-worn sisters who'd made the passage the hard way, and while Dairos' defenders' attention was glued to the galleons systematically reducing the harbor's seaward defenses to wreckage, Clareyk and Haimyn had busied themselves putting their two Marine brigades ashore just out of sight of the town's fortifications. They had only four batteries of field guns, and no siege artillery at all, to support them, but four thousand rifle-armed Marines wouldn't need a lot of artillery support.

“Someone ask Father Clyfyrd to join us. I think it's time to send another note ashore.” The emperor showed his teeth in a tight smile. “I realize Baron Dairwyn wasn't especially impressed by his brother-in-law's letters. Frankly, I wouldn't have been impressed by anything from Grand Duke Zebediah, either. But the beating his batteries have taken ought to be enough to incline him to see reason even without having Clareyk and Haimyn ashore behind him.”

“It seems likely, at any rate, Your Majesty,” Captain Gyrard agreed.

“It better,” Cayleb said in a harder, somehow darker voice. “If we have to storm his town, it's going to get ugly. I realize our men are better disciplined than most, but even Siddarmarkian pikemen's discipline can slip if they take heavy casualties. Especially if they take them storming a position everyone on both sides knows couldn't hold out against them in the end. Besides, even if our people behave themselves perfectly, there are civilians—lots of them, including women and children—in Dairos.”

“Were you thinking of making that point to the Baron in your note, Your Majesty?” Merlin asked, and Cayleb barked a laugh at his bodyguard's painstakingly neutral tone.

“As a matter of fact, yes. But tactfully, Merlin—
tactfully
. I wasn't thinking of handling this the same way I handled Earl Thirsk, if that's the point you were delicately raising. Observe.”

Father Clyfyrd had arrived, portable writing desk in hand, while Cayleb was speaking. The emperor watched his secretary setting up the desk and pulling out a pad of notepaper. The brisk breeze blowing across the deck caught at the edges of the pad's sheets, ruffling them exuberantly, and Cayleb quirked an eyebrow at Laimhyn as the priest grabbed the pad, set it on the desk, and jabbed a pair of pushpins through the bottom corners of the top sheet to tame its gyrations.

“Would it be easier on you if we went below, Clyfyrd?” the emperor asked then with grave courtesy . . . and careful timing.

“No, thank you, Your Majesty.” Laimhyn's deadpan expression would have done credit to any trained stage actor, and he shook his head courteously. “By the strangest turn of fate I appear to have just this
instant
finished tacking down the notepaper. A peculiar coincidence of timing, I'm certain.”

“Goodness,” Cayleb said demurely. “That
is
astonishing, isn't it?”

A sniff, barely audible over the sound of wind humming through
Empress of Charis
' rigging, might have escaped from Laimhyn. Then again, it
might
have been only the onlookers' imagination.

“Truly,” Cayleb said, his expression much more serious, “are you ready, Clyfyrd?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Laimhyn replied, his tone equally serious, and dipped his pen in the desk's inkwell.

“Make sure it's properly addressed,” Cayleb told him. “Use some of that correspondence of Zebediah's to be sure we get the details straight. And I'll rely on you to choose a properly polite salutation.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very well.”

The emperor cleared his throat, then began.

“My Lord, your men have fought with a gallantry and determination which deserves only praise and honor, but their position is now hopeless. Your defensive batteries are destroyed or too badly damaged to effectively defend themselves any longer, and my infantry is now ashore in strength and will shortly be prepared to assault your landward defenses. Men who have shown such bravery in action deserve better than to be killed when their position has become obviously untenable, and Dairos is a city, not a fortress citadel. I am confident that neither of us desires to find civilians—especially women and children—caught in battle in the middle of their own town, amid their own homes, churches, and shops. In order to avoid additional and ultimately profitless loss of life, both military and civilian, I once again urge you to surrender your position. I will guarantee civil order, the safety of your civilian population, and the preservation of private property in so far as the exigencies of war allow, and men who have fought as valiantly and steadfastly as your men have this day deserve, and will receive, honorable and correct treatment under the laws of warfare.”

He paused, as if considering adding something else, then shrugged.

“Read that back, please, Clyfyrd.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The priest read the entire brief message aloud, and Cayleb nodded.

“I think that should just about do it. Make a clean copy for my signature. And let's be certain it's properly sealed, as well as addressed. I don't want the Baron thinking we dashed it off hastily, now do I?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Laimhyn bowed to the emperor, and this time he did retire to the shelter of Cayleb's day cabin to produce the formal note on Cayleb's personal stationery, complete with the properly correct and ornate calligraphy.

“There,” Cayleb told Merlin. “You see? No crude threats. Just one reasonable man sending a note to another reasonable man.”

“Much smoother than your conversation with Thirsk, Your Majesty,” Merlin agreed respectfully. “I especially liked the bit at the end when you
didn't
say ‘or else.' ”

“Yes, I thought that was well done myself,” Cayleb said with a smile.

The man who stepped through the Laughing Bride's front door was plainly dressed. The hot, humid March night was blacker than the inside of a boot, but thunder rumbled out over Howell Bay, and occasional flashes of lightning lit the banks of heavy cloud rolling steadily in across the city of Tellesberg. Even though no rain had fallen yet, the fact that the visitor wore a poncho was certainly understandable, despite the temperature, under the circumstances.

“Can I help you?” the tavern's owner asked as he stepped across to personally greet the newcomer. It was late, and with the threatening weather, the Laughing Bride was scarcely packed.

“I'm looking for someone,” the man in the poncho said. “I was told to ask for Master Dahryus.”

“Ah.” Something might have flickered deep inside the publican's eyes. If so, it disappeared as quickly as it had come, like one of the cloud-buried lightning flashes out over the Bay, and he nodded. “He's taken the private taproom for the evening. Through that arch,” he pointed, “and down the hallway. Last door on the right.”