A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (22 page)

The lieutenant was not to be swayed. “This vessel has just arrived from Linna. There is a rebellious fleet gathering there.”

Finesz stepped forward. Pitching her voice lower, she said, “I have been gathering intelligence on the, ah, rebel fleet. I need to get it to my superiors on Shuto.”

“My orders are clear, ma’am. You are to be taken into custody.” Bandogge gestured his two rateds forward.

“Who gave you these orders?” demanded Finesz.

“My captain,” replied Bandogge, as if the answer were obvious.

“Then I wish to speak to him.”

Bandogge’s fellow officer, a midshipman, looked to the lieutenant, then put up a hand to halt the two rateds. “Sir?” he asked.

“My orders,” Bandogge repeated, “are clear.”

Finesz straightened. She put a hand to the hilt of her sword. “Then I shall have to arrest you.”

That gave Bandogge cause for thought. He frowned, peered at Finesz and then opened his mouth—

Finesz relaxed. The moment the lieutenant’s blind obstinacy had become apparent—and he seemed the sort to ride over objections with violence—she’d felt worry. It manifested as a tremor in her hands: too slight to be noticeable, too pronounced not to affect her swordsmanship. As if that mattered! She was barely dangerous with a sword. Now, however… She had the measure of Lieutenant Bandogge. He still had the power—through
Cave Wolf
—to cause her harm but she knew she was the more… astute. So, before he could speak, Finesz added,

“For obstructing an OPI inspector in the pursuit of her duties.” She gave a winning smile. “Give me time and I’m sure I’ll remember the relevant statute.”

“You can’t arrest me,” Bandogge retorted. “I’m under orders from Captain Murë.”

“Not a defence, I’m afraid.” Finesz turned and crossed the boat-bay to the nearest wall-mounted caster. Clicking the switch, she put her mouth to speaker/microphone grill and said, “Prepare the brig for four prisoners.”

“Ma’am!” protested Bandogge. He no longer seemed so sure of himself. “You cannot arrest me!”

“I’m an inspector in the Office of the Procurator Imperial,” returned Finesz. “I can arrest whomever I choose.”

“You will relinquish command of this vessel.” Bandogge had fallen back on his orders.

Finesz turned back to the caster. She spoke into it: “Make a signal to
Cave Wolf
. Tell them I’ve arrested Lieutenant Bandogge.”

The launch flew under the twin drive-tubes of the frigate, great long pipes extending from the rear of the warship. After an abrupt yaw, the launch arrowed up to the opening of the boat-deck at
Cave Wolf
’s stern, an open rectangle at the foot of the grey slab-sided tower that was the frigate’s superstructure. Once the boat had penetrated the force-curtain, rateds ran forward and attached hawsers. The launch was quickly winched down into its berth and umbilicals attached. Finesz watched this through a scuttle, but it was a procedure she had seen many times before. A noise for’ard caught her attention and she looked round to see Bandogge unbuckling from his seat.

It had taken a great deal of argument but Bandogge had finally submitted to Finesz’s demand to talk with his captain. But rather than do so via signals, a face-to-face meeting had been arranged. The lieutenant had ferried Finesz across to
Cave Wolf
in the frigate’s launch.

The hatch swung open and Bandogge stepped down onto the wooden jetty surrounding the dock. Finesz followed him. As she looked up from placing her feet, she saw a trio of ship’s corporals armed with billy-clubs waiting for her. Troop-Sergeant Assaun had asked to accompany her. She had refused. Now she wished she hadn’t. Throwing her shoulders back, she pretended to confidence and strode towards them.

“Take me to your captain,” she demanded.

The most senior of the ship’s corporals, a petty officer, replied, “This way, ma’am”, and set off towards the hatch leading from the boat-deck. The other two took position either side of Finesz.

In this fashion, she was escorted along the frigate’s gangways, up into her superstructure and up a ramp onto the lowest deck of
Cave Wolf
’s conning-tower. Two ship’s corporals, also armed with billy-clubs, stood guard outside an entrance hatch and Finesz guessed this was the captain’s suite. She wondered why he would need sentries aboard his own ship. One sentry knocked on the hatch and then pushed it open. Finesz’s escort gestured for her to enter. Doffing her cap and tucking it under her arm, she ducked her head and stepped over the coaming.

Captain Murë, Viscount Inugo, was seated behind a desk to Finesz’s right. She turned to face him. Behind her, she heard the hatch swing close.

“Ah, inspector. Welcome aboard.” Murë rose from his chair and strolled around his desk. He approached Finesz, both hands held out to greet her.

Releasing her grip on her sword’s hilt, Finesz held out a hand. He shook it in both of his. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said.

After Lieutenant Bandogge, Murë was something of a surprise. A small man, slim, with sharp features and a palpable air of urbanity. His uniform was immaculately cut, his boots polished to a mirror-bright sheen, and his sword with its ornate hilt was plainly the work of a master armourer.

Finesz returned his greeting. “I’m glad you agreed to see me, my lord.” She looked about the cabin. She had been aboard Imperial Navy frigates before, although not, she believed, one of this particular class. However, the quarters of a frigate’s captain were much the same—a day cabin which doubled as sitting-room and office, and a sleeping cabin depending from it. But that desk… An antique from the Fourth Century, if Finesz did not miss her guess. And the sofa and arm-chair at the other end of the cabin were equally expensive. Captain Murë clearly enjoyed the trappings of his noble rank. A pair of paintings on one wood-panelled bulkhead were, if original, each worth more than Finesz’s entire holdings. Surprisingly, the subject of neither was appropriately martial. One depicted three people posing before a tomb. The tableau was based on some ancient Genezi legend, although she did not remember the details. The second was a portrait of a woman in garb that had not been worn for more than two thousand years. The identity of the subject was unknown to Finesz.

And there was the ship’s crest: a snarling wolf, incongruously gold, and the legend, “‘Ware the Wolf”. Finesz thought the implication of ferocity somewhat juvenile but said nothing.

Turning back to Murë, Finesz gave a smile and said, “Nice place you have here.”

“A small place but mine own,” Murë replied. “Come.” He gestured at the comfortable chairs at the other end of the cabin. “Have a seat.”

Once they were seated, the captain steepled his fingers and gazed across them at Finesz. He smiled. It was the smile of a man used to getting his own way. “I will confess to some annoyance when people choose to disobey me,” he said. “However, I am more than magnanimous; so if you would care to explain?”

“Explain what?” returned Finesz. She did not like this noble captain, and saw no reason to pander to his arrogance. “It’s quite simple: I am on OPI business. You have no authority to detain me.” Seeing Murë’s smile congeal and his eyes harden, she added, “My lord.”

“Inspector, this is a Mountain Hunter class frigate. She is armed with torpedos and a main gun with an aperture of two feet. My weaponry is my authority.”

Finesz wondered if she had over-estimated her own confidence. Bearding the wolf in his lair, so to speak. As Murë himself had pointed out, what defence was a piece of paper against an armed crew? She must tread carefully. “Point taken.”

“So, tell me: what do you know of this rebel fleet gathering at Linna?”

“Gathered,” corrected Finesz. “Past tense. It’s left. Heading for Geneza.”

Murë frowned. “Geneza? But there’s nothing there. Parkland and a town of significance only to Henotics.”

“She didn’t see fit to tell me why,” Finesz lied. “Perhaps she hopes to meet reinforcements?”

“She?” Murë frowned.

“The Admiral.”

“Ah. That is what Captain Shutan calls herself?”

“So I have been, ah, informed.”

Murë dropped his hands and gripped the arms of the chair in which he sat. “You must explain why I should permit you to continue. How do I know you are not part of this rebel fleet?”

“You don’t,” Finesz admitted. She was beginning to regret this interview. Perhaps she should have just persuaded Parol to make a run for it.
Cave Wolf
would never dare fire on
Lantern
. She hoped.

She continued, “I was on Linna, following a line of enquiry in an ongoing investigation, when the Admiral arrived. I thought it best to keep my presence, ah, on a need-to-know basis. Once her fleet had departed, I commandeered
Lantern
.”

“With the intention of doing what?”

“Telling what I had learnt to the knights signet.”

The captain nodded. “So,” he said, “you know the Admiral’s plans?”

Finesz nodded. She did indeed. To Murë’s questioning look, she only smiled mysteriously. When his expression turned to irritation, she added, “I see no reason to tell them to you.”

“And the name of the person to whom you will tell?”

Ah. Finesz winced inwardly. She had no way of knowing if Murë had visited Imperial Court recently. While she knew plenty of nobles, both from her days as a courtesan and since joining the OPI, she had been away from Shuto for a year. They could be dead or in disgrace by now. And if she gave the wrong name…

“I don’t know his name,” she said, thinking fast. “He’ll identify himself using a password.”

Murë was not convinced. “This all sounds very cloak-and-daggerish —”

“Do you know what the Admiral intends?” put in Finesz.

“She’s after the Imperial Throne. She has never said as much, but it’s as clear as the nose on your face. She’s had enough of taking orders—damn it, she mutinied more than six years ago! She’ll not live that down unless she makes the rules herself.”

This was a dilemma. If Finesz agreed with Murë, then perhaps he would swallow her tale of spying for the Throne that much easier. But if she told the truth, that the Admiral was set on defending the Throne against the Serpent… Murë was plainly none too imaginative and would likely find such a story impossible to credit. He would never let Finesz go.

She chose to agree. “Indeed. So you see how vital my intelligence is.”

Cave Wolf
’s captain leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “Then perhaps,” he suggested, “you should apprise me of the —” He gestured vaguely—“the generalities. And should I encounter a knight signet, I can pass them on.”

There was no reason to keep the size of the Admiral’s forces secret, Finesz felt. So why not pander to Murë’s transparent bid for glory? “An excellent idea,” she replied, smiling brightly. “There’s little enough to tell. The Admiral’s fleet comprises four battleships, six battlecruisers and sixteen cruisers. She also has troop-transports, carrying some 11,500 soldiers.”

“Twenty-six capital ships? Dear lords.” Murë’s brow furrowed. Moments later, his forehead smoothed as he began to smile. “There could be a promotion in this,” he said conspiratorially.

Dropping his foot to the decking, he leant forward. “And the password?” he asked.

More quick thinking. Finesz floundered for a moment, bereft of inspiration. A recent memory suddenly intruded:

“Kwamatsz,” she said. “Poer Kwamatsz.”

Murë sat back. “The author of
A History of the Pacification Campaigns
?”

“You’re familiar with the book.”

He waved a hand at a shelf books behind his desk. “I have a copy over there. There’s one in
Cave Wolf
’s data-pool too. I expect my officers to be well-read in the classics.”

“Is that useful?”

“I don’t follow,” Murë said, frowning. “Useful?”

“In their, ah, duties.”

“It is their duty to keep me satisfied in their performance.” His gaze narrowed. “I would not have expected someone in your position to question the need for a good education.”

Finesz wondered what position Murë believed that to be. She could not boast the breadth of education of the frigate captain—at least not judging by the books on the shelf behind his desk. Even from the other side of the cabin, she recognised the spines of several classics, one or two of which she had tried to read herself. They had been hard-going, she recalled; she had never finished them. But a passing knowledge was all she had really needed at Imperial Court—just enough to make for sparkling conversation, but not enough to intimidate others with learning.

On the subject of which, she hoped Murë was not hoping for erudite conversation. What little Finesz did know of whatever subjects passed as high culture she had long since forgotten. She winced inwardly as Murë said,

“You will stay for dinner, inspector. We have few enough visitors aboard and I am sure my officers will be happy to see a new face.”

“I wish I could, my lord. But I must leave as soon as my ship is ready. You know my intelligence is important.”

“Yes, yes.” Murë gestured impatiently. “It had not slipped my mind. But if you feel you cannot spare the time… However, you shall stay for a drink at least.”

Finesz stepped into Mubariz’s cabin. He turned from the desk and looked up at her. “We are moving,” he said.

“Yes, we’ll be entering the toposphere soon.”

“So you did not allow the frigate to detain you.”

Finesz crossed to the bunk and sat on it, taking care to hold her sword out of the way. “No. I persuaded Captain Murë to let us go.” She cocked her head and peered at the commander. “Do you know him?”

“By reputation.” Mubariz frowned heavily and looked down at his lap. “A strict disciplinarian, with powerful patrons.”

“He has? Then why is he only in command of a frigate?”

“There have been… incidents. Mutinies.” Mubariz glanced across at Finesz. “But no matter. I admit to being surprised that Murë proved so tractable.”

“Well…” Finesz squirmed. “I didn’t exactly tell him the truth.”

“You should not lie, Sliva. It demeans both you and the person you lie to. The truth would serve better given our situation.”