By Schism Rent Asunder (6 page)

And they were also the eyes and mouth of a king whose kingdom still faced the short end of a battle of extinction unless he and his advisers could think of a way to avert that outcome.

Cayleb watched the distant rain for several more moments, then turned back to several of the advisers in question.

The group of men seated around the massive table weren't the entire Royal Council. In fact, they weren't even
most
of the Council … and they did include several people who weren't Council members at all. Cayleb was well aware that some of the Councilors who weren't present resented—or would resent—their exclusion when they discovered it.
If
they discovered it. But while his father's tutelage had seen to it that he was far from oblivious to the political imperatives of maintaining a broad base of support, especially in the present circumstances, he was also perfectly willing to live with that resentment for the moment.

“All right,” he said, “I think that deals with all of the immediate domestic reports?”

He looked around the table, one eyebrow quirked, and the compact, distinguished-looking man sitting at its far end nodded. Rayjhis Yowance, the Earl of Gray Harbor, had served Cayleb's father as Charis' first councilor of Charis for the better part of fourteen years; now he served his new king in the same role.

“For the moment, at any rate, Your Majesty,” he said. Despite the fact that he'd known Cayleb literally all his life—or possibly because of it—he had made it a point to address his youthful monarch with a greater degree of formality since Cayleb's ascension to the throne. “I believe Maikel here has at least one additional point he wishes to address, although I understand he's waiting for a few more reports before he does so.” Gray Harbor's rising inflection turned the final part of the statement into a question, and he raised one eyebrow at the man sitting at the far end of the council table from the king in the white cassock of the episcopate.

“I do,” Archbishop Maikel confirmed. “As you say, however, Rayjhis, I'm still waiting for two reports I've requested. With your permission, Your Majesty, I'd like to reserve a few minutes of your time tomorrow or the next day to discuss this.”

“Of course,” Cayleb told the man who had been his father's confessor and who—despite certain … technical irregularities—had been elevated to Archbishop of all Charis.

“I also expect additional reports from Hanth in the next few days,” Gray Harbor continued, and smiled thinly. “Current indications are that Mahntayl is considering a rather hasty relocation to Eraystor.”

“Probably the smartest move the bastard's made in years,” someone murmured so softly even Merlin's ears had trouble overhearing him. The voice, Merlin noted, sounded remarkably like that of the Earl of Lock Island.

If Cayleb had heard the comment, he gave no indication. Instead, he simply nodded.

“Well,” he said, “in that case, I suppose it's about time we considered breaking up. It's coming up on lunch, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry. Is there anything else we need to look at before we eat?”

“Zhefry reminded me of several items this morning, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor replied with a slight smile. Zhefry Ahbaht was the first councilor's personal secretary, and his ability to “manage” Gray Harbor's schedule was legendary.

“Despite his insistence, I think most of them can probably wait until after lunch,” the earl continued. “He did, however, point out that the Group of Four ought to be getting their copies of the writs in the next five-day or so.”

One or two faces tightened at the reminder. Cayleb's wasn't one of them.

“He's right,” the king agreed. “And I wish I could be a fly on the wall when Clyntahn and Trynair open them.” His smile was thinner—and much colder—than Gray Harbor's had been. “I don't imagine they'll be particularly pleased. Especially not with your personal log for the fire, Maikel.”

Several of the other men sitting around the table smiled back at him. Some of their expressions were even more kraken-like than his own, Merlin noted.

“I don't imagine they've been ‘particularly pleased' about anything that's happened in the past few months, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor agreed. “Frankly, I can't think of any message you could have sent them that could possibly have changed
that.
”

“Oh, I don't know, Rayjhis.” Admiral Bryahn Lock Island was the commander of the Royal Charisian Navy. He was also one of Cayleb's cousins. “I imagine that if we were to send them a mass suicide note, that would probably cheer them up immensely.”

This time there were a few outright chuckles, and Cayleb shook his head admonishingly at Lock Island.

“You're a bluff, unimaginative sailor, Bryahn. Remarks like that demonstrate exactly why it's such a good idea for us to keep you as far away as possible from the diplomatic correspondence!”

“Amen to that!” Lock Island's pious tone was at least eight-tenths sincere, Merlin judged.

“Speaking of ‘bluff, unimaginative sailors,'” Ahlvyno Pawalsyn said, “I have to say, although I'd really rather not bring this up, that your current plans for expanding the Navy worry me, Bryahn.”

Lock Island looked at the other man and cocked his head. Ahlvyno Pawalsyn was also Baron Ironhill … and Keeper of the Purse. That made him effectively the treasurer of the Kingdom of Charis.

“I assume that what you mean is that figuring out how to
pay
for the expansion worries you,” the admiral said after a moment. “On the other hand, what's likely to happen if we
don't
continue the expansion worries me a lot more.”

“I'm not trying to suggest it isn't necessary, Bryahn,” Ironhill replied mildly. “As the fellow who's supposed to come up with a way to finance it, however, it does leave me with some … interesting difficulties, shall we say?”

“Let Nahrmahn pay for it,” Lock Island suggested. “That fat little bugger's still got plenty tucked away in his treasury, and he's got damn-all for a navy at the moment. We're already camped in his front yard, and he can't be any too happy about the way we've sewed Eraystor Bay shut like a sack. So why don't I just make his day complete by taking a couple of squadrons in close and sending a few Marines ashore to deliver a polite request from His Majesty here that he finance our modest efforts before we burn his entire miserable waterfront around his ears?”

“Tempting,” Cayleb said. “Very tempting. I'm not sure it's a very practical solution, though.”

“Why not?” Lock Island turned back to the king. “We won; he lost. Well, he
will
lose, whenever we finally get around to actually kicking his fat arse off his throne, and he knows it.”

“No doubt,” Cayleb agreed. “Assuming we add Emerald to the Kingdom, however, we're going to have to figure out how to pay for its administration. Looting its treasury doesn't strike me as a particularly good way to get started. Besides, it would be a onetime sort of thing, and just expanding the Navy isn't going to solve our problems, Bryahn. Somehow we've got to pay for
maintaining
it, too. With the Church openly against us, we don't dare lay up large numbers of ships. We'll need them in active commission, and that means we'll have a heavy, ongoing commitment on the Treasury. We couldn't rely on regular ‘windfalls' the size of Nahrmahn's treasury even if we wanted to, so we're going to have to figure out a long-term way to pay for it out of our own ongoing revenue stream.”

Lock Island's eyebrows rose as he gave his young monarch a look of respect. Ironhill, on the other hand, positively beamed, as did Gray Harbor, and Merlin nodded mentally in satisfaction, as well. All too many rulers twice Cayleb's age would have settled for whatever got them the ships they needed in the shortest possible time and let the future take care of itself.

“Actually, Your Majesty,” another of the men seated at the table said, “I think paying for the Navy isn't going to be quite as difficult as it might first appear. Not, at least, as long as we're not trying to raise mainland-sized armies, at the same time.”

All eyes turned to the speaker. Ehdwyrd Howsmyn was short, stout, and very well dressed. At forty-one years of age (thirty-seven and a half, standard, Merlin automatically translated mentally), he was the youngest man in the council chamber after Cayleb himself. He was also, almost certainly, the wealthiest. It was his foundries which had produced the artillery and the copper sheathing for the galleons Cayleb and his captains had used to smash the recent attack upon the kingdom. In fact, his shipyards had
built
half a dozen of those galleons, as well. Howsmyn was not officially a member of the Royal Council, or even of Parliament. Neither, for that matter, was Rhaiyan Mychail, the sharp-eyed (and almost equally wealthy) man sitting next to him. Mychail was at least twice Howsmyn's age, but the two of them were business partners of long-standing, and Mychail's textile manufactories and ropewalks had produced virtually all of the canvas for those same galleons' sails, not to mention most of the cordage for their standing and running rigging.

“Unless you and Master Mychail intend to build ships gratis, we're still going to have to figure out how to pay for them,” Ironhill pointed out. “And without access to Desnair's gold mines, we can't just coin money whenever we need it.”

“Oh, I'm well aware of that, Ahlvyno. And, no, I'm not planning on building them gratis. Sorry.” Howsmyn grinned, and his eyes twinkled. “Neither Rhaiyan nor I have any intention of gouging the Treasury, of course. That'd be an outstandingly stupid thing for either of us to be doing at this particular moment. But we do have to manage to pay our own workers and our suppliers, you know. Not to mention showing at least a modest profit for ourselves and our partners and shareholders.

“What I was getting at, though, was that as long as the Navy can keep merchant shipping moving, the balance of trade is going to provide quite a healthy cash flow. And under the circumstances, I don't see me or any of my fellow shipowners complaining if the Crown decides to tack on a few extra duties and taxes on the Navy's behalf so that it
can
keep trade moving.”

“I'm not as certain as you seem to be about that cash flow, Ehdwyrd.” Ironhill's expression was far more somber than Howsmyn's. “If I were the Group of Four, the very first thing I'd do would be to demand that all of Haven's and Howard's harbors be closed to our shipping immediately.” He shrugged. “They have to be as aware as we are that the Kingdom's prosperity hinges entirely on our merchant marine. Surely they're going to do everything they can to cripple it.”

Gray Harbor frowned, and some of the others went so far as to nod in sober agreement. Howard and Haven, the two main continents of Safehold, contained at least eighty percent of the planetary population. The kingdoms, principalities, and territories in which that population lived were the markets upon which Charis' merchant marine and manufactories had built the kingdom's wealth. If those markets were taken away, Charisian prosperity would be doomed, but Howsmyn only chuckled.

“The Group of Four can demand whatever they want, Ahlvyno. I doubt they're going to be stupid enough to issue that particular decree, but, then, they've already done some spectacularly stupid things, so it's always possible I'm wrong. In fact, I rather hope I am and that they
do
try it. Even if they do, though, it's not going to happen.”

“No?” Ironhill sat back in his chair. “Why?”

“Why do I wish they would? Or why do I think it's not going to happen even if they do?”

“Both.”

“I wish they would because giving orders you
know
won't be obeyed is one of the best ways I know to destroy your own authority. And the reason an order like that wouldn't be obeyed is that no one in Haven or Howard can possibly provide the goods those markets require. I don't mean just that they can't provide them as
cheaply
as we can, Ahlvyno, although that's certainly true, as well. What I mean is that they literally don't have the capacity to provide them
at all
. And that even if they had the capacity, or developed it as quickly as possible, they still wouldn't have the ability to transport those goods at anything like the economies of cost
we
can achieve.” Howsmyn shook his head. “That's one of the minor details the Group of Four left out of their calculations, actually. I'm astonished Duchairn didn't warn the other three what would happen if they succeeded in what they had in mind.”

“Would it really have been that bad for them, Ehdwyrd?” Gray Harbor asked, and Howsmyn shrugged.

“It would've been bad, Rayjhis. Maybe not as bad as
I
think it would have been, I suppose, if I'm going to be fair. After all, my perspective is bound to be shaped by my own business interests and experience. Still, I think most people—including a lot of people right here in the Kingdom—don't understand how thoroughly we've come to dominate the world's markets. There was a reason Trynair chose King Haarahld's supposed ambition to control the entire world's merchant traffic as his pretext for supporting Hektor and Nahrmahn against us. He knows there are plenty of people in Dohlar, Desnair, Harchong—even the Republic—who deeply resent our domination of the carrying trade. And quite a few of them—the
smarter
ones, to be honest—resent their own growing dependency on our manufactories, as well.

“All of that's true, but their resentment can't change the reality, and the reality is that better than half—probably closer to two-thirds, actually—of the world's merchant galleons fly the Charisian flag. And another reality is that somewhere around two-thirds of the manufactured goods those galleons transport are made right here in Charis, as well. And a third reality is that it takes four times as long and costs five or six times as much to transport the same goods to their ultimate destinations overland as it does to ship them by sea. If, of course, it's even possible to ship them overland in the first place. It's just a bit difficult to get something from Siddarmark to Tarot by wagon, after all. There's this little thing called the Tarot Channel in the way.”