Off Armageddon Reef (53 page)

“I see,” Ahdymsyn repeated, although he was well aware that Wylsynn's views were not universally shared, even in the Order of Schueler. On the other hand, there was something about Wylsynn's voice, or perhaps it was his eyes. The young intendant's replies came quickly and easily, with the confidence of one who had, indeed, spent many hours reflecting upon them. But there was also an edge of…challenge. Not defiance, and not disrespect. Never that. Yet Ahdymsyn had the sinking sensation that the young man had made his decision in the full understanding that it was not the one his Archibishop or possibly even the Council itself wanted.

The bishop executor watched Smolth step back into the box and resume his batting stance, waiting while the pitcher and catcher tried to get together on what they wanted to do next. Although, Ahdymsyn thought, the decision shouldn't have been that complex. With two outs already and a count of two strikes and no balls, Smolth had to be feeling defensive, and the Dragons had three free pitches with which to work. Everyone in the stadium had to know it was time for something unhittable, well out of the strike zone, that they might possibly entice him into chasing for the strikeout.

Apparently the man on the pitcher's mound was the only person in Tellesberg who didn't realize that, the bishop observed sardonically. He watched the pitcher shake off sign after sign from the catcher, then glanced back at Wylsynn.

“Then I suppose that's all that needs to be said, Father,” he said. “May I assume your own report on these matters will be completed within the next day or two? I have a dispatch vessel about ready to depart for Clahnyr. If your report will be available, I can hold her in port long enough to include it with my own correspondence to Archbishop Erayk.”

“I can have it to you by tomorrow afternoon, Your Eminence.”

“Excellent, Father. I'll look forward to reading it myself, and—”

CRACK!

The sudden sharp sound of wood meeting leather stunned the crowd into an instant of silence. The Dragons' pitcher had finally made his pitch selection, and it was a nasty one. In fact, the ball had been almost in the dirt and at least ten inches off the plate. But somehow the Krakens' pitcher had actually made contact. And not just “contact.” His lunging swing looked impossibly awkward, yet it lifted the ball out of the infield, just out of reach of the leaping second baseman, and put it on the centerfield grass. It landed with a wicked spin, then seemed to hit something which imparted a nasty hop that sent it bounding past the diving centerfielder. It shot by him, no more than a foot beyond his desperately stabbing glove, and with the bases loaded and two strikes, the runners had been off the instant Smolth made contact.

The crowd's disbelieving roar of delight was ear-stunning, and even Zherald came to his feet as the ball rolled almost all the way to the centerfield wall before the Dragons' rightfielder managed to chase it down and scoop it up. The first Kraken had already crossed the plate by the time he got his throw off, and he threw it over the cutoff man's head. Given the distance it had to cover and how quickly he managed to get it off, it wasn't that bad a throw. But it wasn't a good one, either. It pulled the catcher a quarter of the way up the first-base line, well off of home plate, and he fumbled the catch slightly as the second Kraken crossed home with the tying run.

The Dragons' pitcher had charged in to cover the plate, but he'd started late, as if he couldn't believe Smolth had actually hit the ball. He arrived just after the second runner, but he was still in the process of turning towards the catcher, who was still juggling the ball and trying to set himself for a throw, when the
third
Kraken came thundering down the third-base line, all the way from first. The catcher finally got his throw off—a bullet, perfectly delivered to the plate—but the pitcher wasn't even looking in the runner's direction when the Kraken charged straight into him, knocked him over, and touched home base with the go-ahead run. The ball squirted away from the bowled-over pitcher, and Smolth—running harder than he ever had in his life before—found himself on third base, panting for breath, while the stadium went crazy.

“Well,” Ahdymsyn said with a chuckle several minutes later, as the tumult died and he resumed his own seat, “it seems miracles do happen, don't they, Father?”

“Of course they do, Your Eminence!”

Wylsynn's tone pulled Ahdymsyn's eyes to his face. The youthful priest seemed startled by the levity of the bishop's observation. No, Ahdymsyn thought, not “startled.” Disapproving, perhaps, although that wasn't exactly the right word either. Maybe the one he wanted was “disappointed.”

Whatever, I need to remember it
, Ahdymsyn told himself.
He's not here just to get him out from underfoot in the Temple. And he's not interested in…administrative compromises. I hope that doesn't turn into a problem
.

“Yes, they do, Father,” the bishop executor agreed, his own voice and expression more serious. “Indeed they do.”

Zhaspahr Maysahn sat several hundred seats away from Bishop Zherald and Father Paityr. Like many individuals and firms which did business in Tellesberg, the small shipping house which he ostensibly owned held season tickets to the Krakens' games. His seat wasn't as good as those in the Royal Box or the Church Box, but it was almost directly behind third, and he shook his head in disbelief as Smolth wound up on that base.

“That's going to hurt,” Zhames Makferzahn observed cheerfully from the seat beside him, and Maysahn glowered at him.

“It's only the seventh inning,” he growled, and Makferzahn chuckled.

“Of course it is,” he said soothingly, and rubbed his thumb and index finger together.

Maysahn managed to retain a suitably defiant expression, but he was afraid Makferzahn was right. The Dragons' devastating offensive lineup had made them the odds-on favorite to take the Series this year. Even the Tellesberg bet-takers had agreed on that one, however disgruntled they might have been by the notion. But Makferzahn had argued—and been willing to bet—that the Krakens' pitching, which had been very strong down the stretch, would carry the home team to victory. Maysahn had covered that bet, at two-to-one odds, and he was beginning to suspect that in this respect, at least, his new subordinate's judgment had been better than his own.

And it was like Makferzahn to have backed his judgment to the tune of several Charisian marks, despite the relatively brief time he'd been here. He'd arrived in Tellesberg as Oskahr Mhulvayn's replacement less than a month ago, but he'd gotten a quick grasp of much more than the way kingdom's baseball teams matched up. It was already obvious he was at least as capable as his predecessor. He was also self-confident and even more industrious…and, undoubtedly, ambitious, as well. Best of all, he was clearly not on Baron Wave Thunder's list of suspected foreign agents.

All of those—except, possibly, the ambition—were good things from Maysahn's perspective. Unfortunately, Makferzahn was still in the very early stages of assembling his own intelligence sources. Maysahn had considered putting his new subordinate into contact with some of the senior members of Mhulvayn's old web as a way to speed the process, but he'd rejected the temptation firmly.

It seemed unlikely Wave Thunder had managed to identify many of Mhulvayn's agents, despite the baron's obvious suspicion of Mhulvayn himself, since not one of them had been arrested. It was also possible, however, that Wave Thunder knew exactly who'd been working for Mhulvayn and had left them unmolested in hopes that Mhulvayn's replacement would identify himself by contacting them. But given the fact that Nahrmahn of Emerald's web of spies had been totally gutted, as far as Maysahn could tell, Maysahn's own organization had become the only window Prince Hektor and his allies had in Charis. Under those circumstances, he'd decided, it was far better to take a little longer getting Makferzahn fully up to speed than to risk walking into a Wave Thunder trap and losing that window, as well.

Not to mention risking the one and only skin of a certain Zhaspahr Maysahn.

He watched as the celebration of backslapping and mutual congratulation died down in the Krakens' dugout. The next batter—Rafayl Furkal, the Krakens' leadoff man—eventually advanced to the plate, while the Dragons' catcher trotted out to the mound to confer with the pitcher. Probably more in an effort to settle the pitcher down again than for any serious discussion of strategy. The Dragons had studied the scouting reports on the Krakens intensively, and they knew Furkal's power was almost exclusively to left field. The infielders were already shifting around to the left—indeed, the second baseman had become almost a second shortstop, and the first baseman had moved halfway to second—while the catcher was still talking soothingly to his pitcher.

I wish there'd been someone around to settle
me
down over the past few months
, Maysahn thought moodily. It had been maddening to realize all sorts of things were clearly happening under the surface at the very moment when prudence and future survival had required him to operate so cautiously. He'd done his best, but his own sources had been much more strongly developed among the merchants operating in Tellesberg. Until Oskahr was forced to run for it, he hadn't truly realized how much he'd relied upon Mhulvayn's judgment and fieldwork where political and military matters were concerned. The good news was that Prince Hektor's dispatches made it clear the prince understood the constraints under which his Charisian spymaster had been forced to operate.

Or he
says
he does, at least
, Maysahn couldn't quite help reflecting. He'd wondered, more than once, especially given Makferzahn's obvious capability, if Hektor might have sent the new man in with the intention of eventually elevating
him
to the top position in Charis. It was a distinct possibility, and if it happened, Maysahn's recall to Corisande would not bode well for his own career. Although, at least, Hektor was far less likely than Nahrmahn to simply have one of his agents eliminated.

For the moment, Maysahn had decided to take his prince's assurances of his continued confidence at face value and concentrate on finding out whatever it was Haarahld and Wave Thunder were working so diligently to conceal.

The pitcher delivered his first pitch, and Furkhal swung hard…and missed.

“Strike one!” the umpire announced, and Furkhal shook his head in obvious self-disgust. He stepped out of the box for a moment, clearly settling himself back down, then stepped back into it without even glancing at the Krakens' third-base coach for any fresh signs. He settled himself, and the pitcher came set and delivered his second pitch.

At which point, Furkhal astounded every single person in the stadium by dropping an almost perfect drag-bunt onto the first-base line. It wasn't—quite—a suicide squeeze, but it
was
a high-risk move, even for someone with Furkhal's speed. Despite that, its very audacity took the defense completely by surprise. The fact that he'd swung away at the first pitch probably helped, but it was obviously a preplanned ploy, despite the lack of any sign from the third-base coach, because Smolth had broken for home at the exact same instant Furkhal squared around to bunt.

The infield shift left the pitcher responsible for covering first, but he was left-handed, and his natural motion carried him towards the third-base side of the mound. It took him one critical instant to recover, charge over, and scoop up the ball. He was too late to tag Furkhal out, and by the time he whirled to throw home, Smolth had gotten just enough of a head start to beat the throw and score while the capacity crowd shouted, whistled, and stamped its feet in approval.

There was an analogy there, Maysahn decided.

He was only too well aware that he still didn't know everything the Charisians were up to. Most of what he did know was more disquieting than threatening. Unless Maysahn missed his bet, the new rigging design Sir Dustyn Olyvyr had come up with—this “schooner rig” of his—represented the most direct challenge anyone knew anything about. Maysahn rather doubted all of the fantastic tales about its efficiency and advantages could be accurate, but it was obvious those advantages were still substantial. They were bringing Olyvyr dozens of orders for new ships, the first of which which were already coming out of the yards to swell the ranks of the huge Charisian merchant marine. A merchant marine which was already far too big and had entirely too many advantages.

On the other hand, the “secret” of how it worked could scarcely be maintained for long, not if it was going to be used where anyone else could see it, anyway. And the same thing was true of Rahzhyr Mahklyn's new way of counting. Indeed, Maysahn had already personally acquired one of Mahklyn's “abacuses” and dispatched it to Corisande. He and Makferzahn were also following up the rumors of still more innovations among Charis' textile producers, and he expected to be able to deliver a preliminary report on them, as well, within the next few five-days.