Gunpowder God (11 page)

When King Theovacar had learned about the fall of Greffa City in Kylos Port, he had promised his retainers and captains new estates and lands in Ult-Greffa. The remaining ships of the Northern Fleet had spirited the King, his retainers and most of the surviving army, from Ragyath to safety in Ult-Greffa.

Theovacar was a man of his word, but what he hadn’t said was those new estates were to come at the expense of nobles that the King thought were plotting against him. Nor had he said that the King’s men would strip the estates bare of all valuables. Petrus now had a large holding outside Ult Town, but he was having to furnish and refurbish it out of his own purse. The typically parsimonious Theovacar was now even more tight pursed since the Great Treasury had been lost in the surrender of Greffa City.

After he was announced by Chancellor Gundhyr, Petrus was escorted into the throne room by two of the King’s Companions. The room was much more Spartan than the King’s former throne room. King Theovacar was seated in a replica of the original Iron Throne, wearing his fur-lined mink robe and doeskin trousers covered with complex embroidered symbols and snakeskin boots. The only thing different Petrus noticed about the King were the worry lines that bracketed his eyes and the gray streaks in his blond hair.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Petrus said, noticing the lack of the usual formal rituals involved in seeing the King.

“Leave,” Theovacar said, waving away his Chancellor and his bodyguards. The presence room was quickly vacated.

“I’m pleased that you arrived so promptly,” the King said.

Petrus nodded. He wasn’t sure what mood the King was in today and while fortune appeared to be shining his way, that could change in a moment like Theovacar’s quicksilver moods. “What can I do for Your Majesty?”

“Give me your assessment of the Army and Navy’s strengths and weaknesses.”

That took him aback. Did the King want the unvarnished truth, or a whitewash? He chose the truth, since he couldn’t defend the other. “The Navy is badly damaged after our defeat in the Battle of Thagnor, as is our Army. The Navy still has two remaining fleets and will be able to recover in due time; the Army is in much worse shape. Over ten thousand veterans were lost and we have lost a major recruitment base in Greffa.”

Theovacar nodded as if he agreed with Petrus’ assessment. “Continue.”

“If King Kalvan were to send his army against us, we would be hard-pressed to keep them out of Helmout or even Ult Greffa. His army not only outnumbers our own, but has arms superiority and better leadership.”

Theovacar winced at this pronouncement, but did not disagree.

“With a determined effort, Kalvan could invade and own most of Grefftscharr and its outlying territories by the end of the next campaign season. Our best hope is that he does not realize just how desperate our situation here has become.”

“You are the first one to tell me what I have long suspected,” Theovacar said, nodding. “All these others are more concerned with their lost possessions and lands. They care little for the Kingdom’s welfare, instead telling me tales of our preparedness that are as substantial as clouds.”

He nodded.
Maybe I will get out of here alive…

“What can we do to remedy our deficits?” Theovacar asked, his face pale.

Petrus had given this a lot of thought since the fall of Greffa City and the loss of his former estate. “First, we need to modernize the Army and our weapons.”

“Yes, by replacing the crossbows with fireseed weapons.”

“Of course, we need to do that, but not all at once. We need more gunsmiths and foundries to make big guns, as well. The Traitor Verkan was generous with his formulas for fireseed and his knowledge of gunsmithing.”

Theovacar’s face turned red at the mention of the Great Traitor, but he did not interrupt.

“We need more fireseed works, foundries and gunsmiths. Also, we need to eliminate our spearmen and convert them to pikes. The spears are not long enough to hold off the cavalry, and if thrown leave our men vulnerable to both shot and horse. Our cavalry is under-armored and without proper weapons, both lances and pistols, to face the Hostigi. In essence, we need to rebuild our entire Army. I will leave the Navy to those more familiar with fighting ships and sea battles.”

Theovacar nodded. “I find your words ring with truth. I want you to become Grand Captain-General of Our army. I will also elevate you to Duke and transfer lands sufficient for your new title.”

Petrus was dumbfounded. “Thank you, Your Majesty….” he stammered. “I will do my best.”

“You will do better than that. I want you to rebuild Our army, not so that it can defend us from the Usurper Kalvan, but so that it can drive him from Our lands and destroy him!”

A cold chill shot up his spine. Defending the Kingdom of Grefftscharr against Kalvan would be difficult, but not impossible. But to defeat Kalvan and drive him out of Nos-Hostigos—well, that was purely a fever dream. But he was not stupid enough to tell Theovacar that.

“I will do my best, Your Majesty.”

Theovacar looked him straight in the eye. “I know you will.”

Now, he would have to find a back door in case things didn’t go well….

“How dare you go over my head like that!” Dalla demanded. “You old fools, you’ll pull Management Party right down with you if you try to enforce any such draconian decree. What the Paratime Commission is committing is political suicide! I don’t think any of you appreciate just how much the average Citizen values his proles, whether they be servants or friends—or, in some cases, lovers.”

Tortha recoiled. “It’s the only reasonable and efficient way to deal with the prole problem—”

“Not on my watch!” Dalla interjected. “You think we’ve got riots now, wait until the Citizens learn that the Paratime Police are about to eject all their proles from Home Time Line. That’s if the proles roll over and accept being deported by the tens of millions. And where are we going to get the staff to herd them all, to say nothing of all the additional transtemporal conveyors we’ll be needing for an operation this size? Even if everything went smoothly, which it won’t, it could take years, and that’s only if we stopped using most of our conveyors for Outtime work!”

“We thought we’d start with the most rebellious proles first—”

“Oh, like the Prole Liberation Movement members? And what do you think they’re going to do while you attempt to arrest them? They’ll either go into hiding or break into open rebellion. Now, wouldn’t that make a pretty picture for the newsies!”

“No, of course not, Chief Hadron,” said Paratime Security Commissioner Dalgroth Sorn. “We were just trying to come up with a permanent solution to a problem that’s only going to get worse over time.”

“Well, your solution is too late and too drastic,” Dalla replied. “Management will never go along with it, nor will the Paratime Police as long as I’m in charge. If the Paratime Commission tries to enforce such a decree, it will be the beginning of the end of First Level civilization as we know it.”

In the cold light of day and faced with such determined opposition from someone he had counted on as an ally, Tortha could only agree. “You’re right, Dalla, we really didn’t think this through.”

Dalgroth Sorn looked at him as if the whole thing were his fault.

“Maybe we have become a bunch of ‘old fools,’ like you say,” Tortha added. “But that doesn’t solve the prole problem, either.”

“I don’t know if it can be solved at this late date,” Dalla said, shaking her head. “My adopted sister Zinganna’s a former prole; or maybe you forgot?”

Tortha shrugged. Yes, he had forgotten.

“What we need to worry about first,” she said, “is how many people outside of the Paratime Commission know about this cockamamie idea of yours. Any answers, Commissioners?”

The Paratime Commissioner of security answered. “Only the members of the Paratime Commission were informed. Tortha and I were to inform you of our decision. We thought you’d help us work out the details before we announced the decree.”

“First thing you do, is forget there ever was such a decree. Destroy all recordings and records of your proceedings.”

They both nodded.

Tortha winced, “We do have another little problem.”

“By the Fangs of Fasif, what now?”

“I had to use my authority to arrest Commissioner Lagrath Sart, who appears to be a spy for the Opposition Party, and had him sent to Fifth Level Pol-Term.”

“You did what?”

“He threatened to expose our Decree.”

“So you arrested him. Did you think of contacting me before you sent him to Police Terminal?”

“We didn’t have time. Temporary arrest and deportation are within the sphere of the Paratime Commission’s authority,” Tortha said

“Lucky for us,” Dalla replied sarcastically. “Now, how are you going to explain his disappearance? He’s very popular, being the youngest Paratime Commissioner, and has a number of important friends, including a lot of newsies. Now, Opposition’s going to know something is up.”

“But as long as they can’t prove anything—”

“There’ll be a big investigation over his disappearance, you have my personal guarantee! We need a cover story, Tortha. And it better be a good one.”

“I have an idea,” he said. “Since Lagrath’s been a critic of the Force, we can say he requested a trip to Police Terminal to see in person if there were any abuses going on. Once there he had an accident.”

“Oh, great. This is your ‘idea.’ That must have taken all of ten seconds of thought.”

“Cut the sarcasm,” Tortha bellowed. He wasn’t used to being talked to like an idiot. Vall might have to put up with Dalla’s sharp tongue, but he didn’t have to. “We only did this at your instigation. You’re the one who asked me for help!”

“I asked for help, not another disaster,” she bounced back.

“That’s enough out of both of you,” snapped the Commissioner of Paratime Security. “We need to do something about Commissioner Lagrath. He’s a loose cannon and there’s no telling how much damage he could do to all of us if he ever got interviewed by the media.”

“He has to disappear for awhile,” Dalla said. “Otherwise, we’ll lose control of everything. It’ll be the end for Management, the Paratime Police Department, all of us.”

Tortha nodded. That was the first comment she’d made that he could agree with. “What if we say that Lagrath, as part of a Commission Inquest into the treatment of proles by the Paratime Police, was sent to Fifth Level Police Terminal? While he was interviewing one of the proles, he was snatched by the PLM.”

The Commissioner of Security said, “I like it. It not only takes care of a big problem and potential leak, but it casts the proles in a dangerous light.”

“I don’t like it, but it does the job,” Dalla said. “I’ll have Gathon Dard, one of my special detectives, handle the operation. I’ll get him on it right away. You two need to lay a paper trail and cue the other Commissioners as to what’s going on. I’d suggest a hypno-mech block for the other Commissioners after you fill them in. This story is too hot for anything else.”

K
alvan entered the large wooden structure followed by Admiral Herad and Master Boatwright Dargoth. Inside the warehouse were almost a dozen boats in various stages of manufacture, some were just bare keels with ribs, while others were almost water ready. It was here-and-now’s first boat factory dedicated to the production of gunboats.

Even with the blacksmith’s furnace burning in the corner, it was icy cold in the big room. Kalvan rubbed his hands together briskly. If it was this bad in the Moon of the Golden Corn, or October as he still thought of it, he wondered how cold it was going to be in December, Moon of the Long Darkness.

The rifled eighteen-pounders and the gunboats had turned the tide of battle in last year’s fight with the Grefftscharri fleet, but the enemy had sunk more boats than Kalvan thought was acceptable. Along with the new paddlewheelers, which were still in the design phase, the gunboats could give Hostigos ownership of all the Great Lakes rivers and tributaries. So he and the old shipwright had come up with a new unsinkable design.

Shipwright Dargoth, a small elderly man with a wrinkled face like a crab apple and a fringe of white hair, pointed to a half-completed boat. “Your Majesty, note the five compartments. Watertight barriers are built-in along with these floatation tanks, that Your Majesty suggested, underneath the boat. Even if a cannonball knocks a hole in the stern, the boat’s in no danger. The new gunboats are designed to float with two flooded compartments.”

Kalvan examined the boat, running his hands along the seams. The boats were in the classic carvel design: a skeleton of steam-bent oak was formed to support planks from stem to stern. The planks were elm, hard wood designed to survive extreme stress with the seams between planks packed with oakum caulking to make the structure watertight. He noted the oak reinforcement of the stern where the guns would be seated.

Kalvan watched as a boat builder used an adze to trim a plank, swinging it so close to his sandals that he marveled the man didn’t chop off some of his exposed toes. Other boat builders were using bow drills, caulking mallets and other tools of the trade he was unable to identify.

Dargoth pointed. “See those cutter-sized frames over there? When they’re done, they’ll be big enough for the twenty-four-pounders you want installed. They’ll be stern-mounted with a six-pound bow chaser.”

“Good. How many will you have built by next spring?” Kalvan asked.

“We will have four of the cutters finished by the Flower Moon. Not as many as Your Majesty wanted, but that’s all the twenty-four pounders that the Royal Foundry would promise.”

Kalvan nodded. The brass foundry was working night and day to cast all the new guns, all of them rifled, that he’d requested. The rifling demanded more precision casting and, of course, added more time to the process. He needed additional cannons for the City Walls, the new men-of-war ships and the gunboats. Each military branch had its own needs and priorities.

“How’s the draft on the cutters?”