Napoleon tried it against England, with his "Continental System," Merlin reflected. It didn't work out all that well for him, which is probably a good sign for Howsmyn's theories. Then again, there was a lot more to Earth at that point than just Europe. In this case, it would be as if Napoleon controlled all the major ports of North America, South America, and Asia, including Russia, China, and the Ottoman Empire, as well. And, for that matter, the Church's control goes a lot deeper than Napoleon's did. Which is only going to get worse as the religious aspect of this confrontation gets clearer and clearer to everyone involved.
"I'm inclined to agree with Ehdwyrd," Gray Harbor offered. Cayleb and Staynair both looked at him, and the first councilor shrugged. "I don't doubt the consequences here in Charis would be . . . serious if the Group of Four could pull it off In fact, they could well turn out to be catastrophic. But I'm inclined to think Ehdwyrd's arguments about the availability and cost of our goods would make things almost as bad for the mainland realms, as well. Almost certainly bad enough to lead to major covert resistance to any such decree, in fact. For that matter, it could well lead to open resistance in a lot of cases. Unless, of course, the Church goes ahead and declares Holy War. Under those circumstances, things could get a lot dicier."
"Maikel?" Cayleb turned to his archbishop, and there was rather more concern in the king's brown eyes than he would have let most people see.
"My opinion hasn't changed, Cayleb," Staynair said with a serenity Merlin envied, even as he wondered how justifiable it was. "Given the way the Group of Four approached this entire bungled affair, they're going to be feeling a lot of internal pressure. Remember, they've always had enemies of their own in the Council of Vicars. They haven't forgotten that, at any rate, and some of those enemies have significant power bases of their own. Our little note to the Grand Vicar is going to both weaken them and embolden their enemies, as well. Against that backdrop, they're going to have to move at least a bit cautiously, unless they choose to risk everything on some dramatic, door-die gesture of defiance. They've never done that in the past. Indeed, if they'd had the least notion their attack on the Kingdom could possibly turn into the disaster it has, they would never have undertaken it. Or, at least, never so offhandedly and casually. Having already fed one hand to the slash lizard, I believe they're unlikely to want to raise the stakes any higher than they absolutely must, for a time at least."
"I hope you're right about that," the king said. "I really do hope you're right about that."
So do I, Merlin thought dryly. Which is why I hope you and Maikel were both right about setting forth your position vis-à-vis the Church quite so . . . forthrightly.
"My hope is the same as yours, Your Majesty." The archbishop smiled slightly. "Time will tell, of course. And"—his smile broadened and his eyes twinkled—"I'm very well aware that the nature of my own concerns lends itself to operating on the basis of faith rather better than yours does."
"My own impression is that His Eminence is probably right about the Group of Four's disinclination to rush into some sort of white-hot religious confrontation, at least in the short term," Merlin said, and saw Cayleb's almost subliminal grimace. Merlin hadn't actually advised against Staynair's letter to the Grand Vicar, but he hadn't exactly been one of its stronger supporters, either.
"I think that's inevitably where we're headed, unfortunately," he continued now. "Completely ignoring our own correspondence with them, the mere fact that we're no longer obeying their orders would push them into that, and things are going to get extraordinarily ugly when it happens. For now, though, habit, if nothing else, is going to keep them trying to 'game the situation' the way they've always done it in the past. That's how they got themselves into this mess, of course, but I think it's going to take at least a few more months for it to penetrate just how completely the rules have changed Which means we should have at least a little time to press our own preparations."
"Which brings me to the real reason I asked you and Rayjhis to stay behind, Maikel," Cayleb said.
He leaned back in his chair and ran the fingers of his left hand across the emerald sets of the chain he had inherited so recently from his father. He did that a lot, as if the chain were a sort of talisman, a comforting link between his father and himself Merlin was confident that it was an unconscious mannerism on his part, but the seijin felt a familiar pang of personal grief as it reminded him of the old king's death.
"Bryahn is right about the necessity of dealing with Nahrmahn and Hektor," the new king continued. "There's always Gorjah, as well, but Tarot can wait. At least, though, we know where we are with Nahrmahn and Hektor. Our options there have the virtue of straightforwardness, you might say. But then there's Chisholm. Have the two of you given any more thought to my proposal?"
"As a general rule, Your Majesty," Gray Harbor said dryly, "when the King 'requests' that his First Councilor and his Archbishop 'give some thought' to one of his proposals, they do that."
"All right." Cayleb flashed a smile, although Merlin was well aware that in quite a few Safeholdian kingdoms, that degree of levity and informality from a first councilor might well have resulted in the summary replacement of said first councilor. "Since I'm the King, and since you've been thinking about it like dutiful servants, what conclusions have you reached?"
"Honestly?" Gray Harbor's amusement transmuted itself into sobriety, and he raised one hand and waggled it back and forth in a gesture of uncharacteristic uncertainty. "I don't know, Cayleb. In many ways it would be an ideal solution to at least one major chunk of our problems. It would probably reassure several people who are currently concerned about the succession, at any rate, and Bynzhamyn is right about just how frightening that entire question is right now. But it would also result in some significant upheavals, and there's always the question of whether or not Sharleyan would even consider it. She's going to be in enough trouble with the Group of Four when they find out about her navy's performance against us. And, of course," he showed his teeth in a thin smile of approval, "your decision to return her surrendered vessels with no strings attached is only going to increase the suspicions of someone like Clyntahn and Trynair."
"Trynair, at least, is likely to recognize exactly why you did it," Staynair put in. "Clyntahn, on the other hand, is more problematical. He's more than smart enough to understand. The question is whether or not his bigotry and prejudices will let him understand."
Staynair's certainly right about that, Merlin reflected. It would be so much simpler if we knew which Clyntahn is going to turn up at any given moment. Is it likely to be the self-indulgent glutton? Or the undeniably brilliant thinker? Or the religious fanatic zealot Grand Inquisitor? Or the cynical schemer of the Group of Four?
"And Sharleyan and Green Mountain are going to recognize exactly the same thing," Gray Harbor pointed out. "That's going to be a factor in how they may react to your . . . modest proposal. Turning up the pressure on them may not have put them in the most receptive possible state of mind."
"From what I've seen of Queen Sharleyan and Baron Green Mountain, I wouldn't think that would be too much of a problem," Merlin said. "Both of them understand the sorts of constraints we're facing. I won't say they're likely to be delighted by any effort on our part to manipulate them, but they're certainly going to realize there was nothing personal in it."
Both Gray Harbor and Staynair nodded in acceptance of his observation. They were well aware that Merlin's "visions" had allowed him to follow the inner workings and private discussions of Queen Sharleyan of Chisholm and her own most trusted advisers in a way no one else could have.
"Having said that," Merlin continued, "I don't have the least idea how she would react to what you have in mind. I don't think the possibility's even crossed her mind. Why should it have?"
"That's certainly a reasonable question," Gray Harbor said wryly. "On the other hand, there was the way she reacted to your father's proposal for a more formal alliance, Ca
yleb."
"The situation's changed just a bit since then," Cayleb replied. "And let's not forget "who Father chose as his ambassador."
The youthful monarch's jaw tightened in briefly remembered pain. Kahlvyn Ahrmahk, the Duke of Tirian and his own cousin, had represented King Haarahld in his effort to secure a defensive alliance against Corisande with the Kingdom of Chisholm. Of course, when Haarahld selected Tirian, he hadn't realized that the cousin he loved like a brother was already plotting against him in cooperation with Prince Nahrmahn of Emerald. Nor had Haarahld even begun to suspect that Kahlvyn intended to assassinate both Haarahld and Cayleb.
"There is that," Gray Harbor acknowledged in a painfully neutral voice, and his own eyes were dark and shadowed. Kahlvyn Ahrmahk had been Cayleb's magnificent older cousin, far more of an uncle and almost a second father than a mere cousin, but he had been Rayjhis Yowance's son-in-law, the husband of Gray Harbor's daughter, and the father of his two grandsons.
And it had been Rayjhis Yowance's thrown dagger which had ended the Duke of Tirian's traitorous life.
"So, bearing that in mind, who would you choose for your ambassador this time?" Merlin deliberately made his own voice a bit brisker than usual. "I assume you've given some thought to that?"
"I have, indeed." Cayleb smiled. "Given the nature of the proposal—and, ungentlemanly though it may be, the desirability of maintaining enough pressure to . . . encourage Sharleyan and Green Mountain—I thought we might send them a truly senior representative. Someone like"—he turned his smile on Gray Harbor—"my esteemed First Councilor."
"Now, just a minute, Cayleb!" Gray Harbor twitched upright in his chair, shaking his head. "I see where you're headed, but I couldn't possibly justify being absent long enough for a mission like this! It's the next best thing to ten thousand sea miles from Tellesberg to Cherayth. That's better than a month and a half's voyage just one way!"
"I know." Cayleb's smile faded into an entirely serious expression. "Believe me, Rayjhis, I know, and I've thought long and hard about it. Unless I miss my guess, you'd be gone for at least three or four months, even assuming everything went perfectly. And you're right, the prospect of having you out of the Kingdom for that long isn't likely to help me sleep soundly. But if we could possibly make this work, it would go an enormous way towards determining whether or not we manage to survive, and you know it. God knows how much I'd miss you, but Maikel could substitute for you as First Councilor while you were gone. He knows everything you and I have discussed, and his position would put him above the normal political dogfights someone else might have to referee if they tried to temporarily take your place. In fact, he's the only other suitable candidate for ambassador I've been able to come up with, and to be totally honest, we can afford to have you out of the Kingdom at this particular moment far more than we can afford to have him out of the Archbishopric."
Gray Harbor had opened his mouth as if to argue, but he closed it again, his expression thoughtful, with Cayleb's last sentence. Then, despite manifest reservations, he nodded slowly.
"I see your reasoning," he acknowledged, "and you're right about Maikel covering for me. I don't think a single king or prince in the entire world has ever asked his archbishop to act as a mere first councilor, you understand, but I can see quite a few advantages to the arrangement—especially in our present circumstances. Having the Church and the Crown genuinely working in tandem certainly isn't going to hurt anything, at least! And he does know all of our plans, and Zhefry could handle all of the routine documents and procedures under his direction." The first councilor's lips twitched. "God knows, he's been doing that for me for years!"
"The key points are that we can manage without you if we have to," Cayleb said, "and that I can't think of anyone who'd have a better chance than you of convincing Sharleyan. And the more I've thought about it, the more I think convincing her is probably at least as important as making Hektor of Corisande a foot or two shorter."
"And the prospect of getting to help you make Hektor shorter would probably be one of the major attractions of the scheme, as far as she's concerned," Gray Harbor agreed.
"That thought had crossed my mind." Cayleb gazed at the first councilor for another second or two, then cocked his head. "So, are you ready to go play envoy?"
.V.
HMS Destroyer,
Eraystor Bay,
Princedom of Emerald
Admiral Nylz is here, Sir. Captain Shain is with him."
Admiral Sir Domynyk Staynair, the newly created Baron of Rock Point, looked up from his examination of the double-barreled flintlock pistol as his flag lieutenant poked his head respectfully through the flag cabin door aboard HMS Destroyer.
"Thank you, Styvyn," he said. "Ask them to join me, please."
"Of course, Sir."
Lieutenant Styvyn Erayksyn bowed very slightly before he withdrew, and Admiral Rock Point smiled. Young Erayksyn was connected to at least two-thirds of the aristocrats of the Kingdom of Charis. Indeed, he was far better born than his admiral, despite the recent creation of Rock Point's own title, although that sort of thing was less uncommon in Charis than in most other Safeholdian kingdoms. And, Rock Point supposed, the fact that he himself was the younger brother of the Archbishop of Charis would normally have been more than enough to offset Erayksyn's bluer blood. Of course, in this case, given the . . . irregularities of Maikel's elevation to his archbishopric, that was a bit more problematical than usual.
If Erayksyn was remotely aware of the superiority of his birth he gave absolutely no sign of it. It did, however, grant the efficient, intelligent lieutenant a certain undeniable comfort level when it came to dealing with superior officers in general.
The admiral set the pistol aside rather regretfully, settling it back into its fitted velvet nest beside its mate in the hand-rubbed wooden case on his desk as the door closed behind the flag lieutenant. That brace of pistols was one of the latest brainstorms from Baron Seamount's fertile imagination, and Rock Point had always appreciated the baron's ever-active approach to life and to his duties. It was an attitude which would have served him poorly in many navies, but not in the Royal Charisian Navy—or, at least, not in the current Royal Charisian Navy—and the new weapon was typical of Seamount's efforts.
Before the introduction of the flintlock, firearms like the pistol Rock Point had just been examining would have been impractical, at best. Now, they were completely practical . . . aside from the diversion of manufacturing capability they represented, at least. Rock Point suspected that it had been difficult for Seamount to sit on the artisan who'd built the matched set of pistols in their box on the desk. Traditionally, presentation weapons were seen as opportunities to show off the maker's artistic talents, as well as his practical ability. Under those rules, the pistols ought to have been finely engraved, and—undoubtedly—inlaid with gold and plaques of ivory. This time, the only decoration lay in the small golden medallions set into the pistols' butts, bearing the crossed cannons and kraken of the coat of arms his monarch had awarded to him with his title.
I guess Ahlfryd knows me better than most, Rock Point told himself with a fond smile. He knows how little use I have for wasted finery.
Even more than that, the admiral thought as he closed the box and latched it, Seamount knew how much he treasured functionality and practicality, and the sleek, beautifully blued pistols had both of those in abundance. They cocked with a glassy-smooth, satisfying "click," the triggers broke cleanly and crisply, and the rich scent of gun oil clung to the pistol case like subtle perfume. With rifled, side-by-side fifty-caliber barrels, an admiral who no longer possessed two working legs would still hold four men's lives in his hands, even if his footwork was no longer up to the highest standards of swordsmanship.
"Admiral Nylz and Captain Shain, Sir," Erayksyn murmured as the cabin door opened once more and he ushered the visitors into Rock Point's flag cabin.
"Thank you, Styvyn," Rock Point said, then s
miled at his two subordinates as the flag lieutenant disappeared once more.
"Kohdy, Captain Shain," he said then. "Please, sit down." He waved one hand at the chairs waiting for them. "I'm sorry I wasn't on deck to greet you."
"No apologies are necessary, My Lord," Admiral Kohdy Nylz replied for both of them as they sat down, and Rock Point smiled again, this time a bit more crookedly, as he glanced down to where the calf of his right leg used to be.
"How is your leg, Sir?" Nylz asked, following the direction of his superior's eyes.
"Better." Rock Point looked back up with a small shrug. "They've fitted me with my peg, but they're still tinkering with it. Trying to get the angle right on the foot pad, more than anything else." He raised his truncated leg from the footstool on which it had rested and flexed the knee. "I'm lucky to still have the knee, of course, and the stump is healing well, but I'm getting a lot of irritation from the peg itself. I understand"—he shrugged again, this time ironically—"that Earl Mahndyr is having some of the same difficulties."
"So I've heard," Nylz acknowledged with a slight smile of his own. Rock Point's shattered lower leg had been amputated after the Battle of Darcos Sound, in which the fire of his flagship had already removed the left leg of Gharth Rahlstahn, the Earl of Mahndyr, who had commanded the Emeraldian Navy at the same battle. Rock Point's flagship in that battle, HMS Gale, had been damaged even more severely than her admiral, and would remain in dockyard hands undergoing repair for at least several more five-days yet.
"All things considered, I'm happier losing a leg than an arm," Rock Point said. "A sea officer doesn't spend a lot of time running foot races, anyway."