“I thought it was cogently reasoned,” Thirsk replied, smiling faintly and without humor as he recognized Maik’s quest for a less volatile topic. He shrugged. “Obviously, the Charisians”-he seldom used the word “heretic” any longer in his conversations with Maik; probably another dangerous habit he was getting into-“have found some way to load their round shot with gunpowder, exactly as the Captain General is suggesting. I hadn’t considered the possibility myself, and I’ll have to have a word with the foundry masters before I could hazard a guess as to how difficult it might be to cast hollow shot that don’t simply break up when you fire them, but it’s obvious the Charisians have figured it out. How they manage to get the things to explode when they want them to is another matter, of course.”
He frowned thoughtfully, his brain and professional curiosity engaged almost despite himself.
“It’s got to be some sort of fuse,” he half murmured, “but how do they light it? The barrel’s too long to reach down and light it after they’ve loaded the gun, unless they’re firing them only from carronades, and that doesn’t seem possible given the weight of fire Father Greyghor reported. Hmmmmm…” His frown deepened. “Muzzle flash? Is that what they’re using? And if it is, how do they manage it without blowing the fuse into the shell and setting it off early?”
Staiphan Maik breathed a mental sigh of relief as Thirsk was diverted from his dangerous anger. It was only going to be temporary-the auxiliary bishop knew that-but he needed to back the admiral off before his stubborn sense of integrity dug in any deeper and left him no path of retreat. Lywys Gardynyr was too good a man to be allowed to deliver himself into the Inquisition’s hands because of the very things that made him such a good man. And even if he hadn’t been, Mother Church couldn’t afford to lose the one admiral she had who seemed to be capable of meeting the Charisians on their own terms.
“Assuming Father Greyghor’s reports are accurate,” he said out loud, “what can we do in the face of such a weapon?”
“Nothing, My Lord.” Thirsk raised both eyebrows, his tone surprised. “If they can make their cannon shot explode inside our ships, their combat advantage becomes effectively absolute. Presumably we could still get close enough to at least damage their ships, but only at the cost of coming into range at which they’ll be able to destroy ours.”
“So there’s nothing we can do?” Maik couldn’t hide his anxiety, and the earl shrugged.
“For now, My Lord, the only response I see is to attempt to learn how to make the same sorts of hollow shot for ourselves. Until we can respond in kind, we dare not meet them in battle. In some ways, however, this may actually work to our advantage. Once we’ve learned how to make the same weapon for ourselves, I mean.” He grimaced. “I don’t see how any ship could survive more than a very few hits from something like this. And that, I fear, means sea battles are about to become affairs of mutual annihilation, which will ultimately favor us, since we have so much more manpower and so much greater capability to build replacement ships. We can trade two ships, possibly even three, for each of theirs in the fullness of time. The cost in both money and lives will be atrocious, but it’s one we can pay in the end, and they can’t.”
He obviously disliked saying that, and Maik’s face tightened as he heard it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything the auxiliary bishop hadn’t already thought.
“It’s probably not a bad thing that we’re going to have to spend some time trying various approaches to the problem of producing and fusing hollow shot, really,” Thirsk continued. “We’re going to have to rebuild the Navy of God before we could even think about engaging the Charisians at sea again, especially given how the prizes they’ve added to their fleet will increase their own numbers. In fact, it looks to me-”
He broke off suddenly, eyes intent as they gazed at something Maik couldn’t see. He stayed that way for several seconds, then blinked twice, slowly.
“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Maik challenged. The earl looked at him, and the auxiliary bishop chuckled. “I’ve seen that blink of yours before, my son. Out with it!”
“Well, I don’t know how practical it might be, but one possible solution to this new weapon of theirs might be to find a way to prevent it from exploding inside our ships.”
“Prevent it from exploding? How?” Maik’s expression was perplexed, and Thirsk shook his head.
“Forgive me, My Lord. I should have phrased that more clearly. What I meant is that we have to find a way to prevent it from exploding inside our ships. To prevent it from penetrating our ships in the first place.”
“And how might we do that?”
“I’m not certain,” Thirsk acknowledged. “At the moment the only answer that suggests itself to me would be to somehow armor the sides of our vessels. I don’t think we could do it simply by increasing the thickness of their scantlings, though. That would seem to leave only some kind of protective layer-a sheath of iron, perhaps-applied to the outside of the planking.”
“Would that be possible?” Maik asked, his expression fascinated, and Thirsk shrugged again.
“That’s a question to ask the ironmasters, My Lord. What I can already tell you from our experience with arming our galleons, though, is that producing that much iron would be-if you’ll pardon the expression-hellishly expensive. I’m not at all sure what it would do to stability, either. Nonetheless, it’s the only solution that suggests itself to me at this point.”
“Expensive or not, it sounds to me as if you might be onto something here, my son.” Maik nodded enthusiastically. “Write up your thoughts on this for Vicar Allayn, please. I’d like to send them off to the Temple with my next dispatch.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Thirsk said, but the enthusiasm had vanished from his voice once more at the mention of dispatches to the Temple, and Maik cursed himself for having brought them up. Not that he had much choice. Sooner or later he was going to have to talk about reports to the Temple, and Thirsk was going to have to provide those reports.
The auxiliary bishop stood for a moment, looking at the man whose loyalty to Mother Church he was charged to safeguard. Then he inhaled deeply.
“My son,” he said carefully. “Lywys. I know you’re unhappy about the orders concerning your prisoners.” Thirsk’s eyes narrowed, but Maik went on in that same careful, deliberate tone. “I know the logical arguments in support of your position, and I’ve already acknowledged you have a point in that regard. But I also know one reason for your unhappiness is how deeply it goes against your sense of honor, your integrity, to deliver those who surrendered to you and to whom you offered quarter to someone else’s justice.”
Those narrowed eyes glittered icily at the word “justice,” but Maik allowed no answering reaction to cross his own sternly expressionless face.
“You’re a good man, Lywys Gardynyr. One of whom I feel-I know- God approves. And a good father. Your daughters are godly women, their children are beautiful, and your sons-in-law are men much like you-men of integrity and honor. But Shan-wei’s most dangerous snares appeal not to the evil side of our natures, but to the good side. She can-and will-use your goodness against you if you give her the opportunity. And if that happens, the consequences of The Book of Schueler await you. I know you’re a man of courage. You’ve faced battle-and death- scores of times without letting that danger dissuade you, and I very much doubt a man such as you would allow any threat to dissuade you from doing what you believe is the right and honorable thing. But think carefully before you set out on a course such as that. The consequences you might face at the end of your journey would affect far more people than simply yourself.”
Rage glowed at the backs of Thirsk’s eyes, flaring like a furnace and no longer icy, at the unmistakable implication, but Maik continued unhurriedly.
“I’m a bishop of Mother Church, my son. I have no choice but to obey the ecclesiastic superiors I swore to obey the day I took my priest’s vows. You’re a layman, not a priest, yet it’s your duty to obey Mother Church as well, although”-his eyes bored suddenly into Thirsk-“I’m fully aware you’ve taken no personal vow, as I have, to obey the Grand Inquisitor’s instructions. Obviously, even though you’ve sworn no oath”-he emphasized the last three words ever so slightly-“you’d be bound by duty and integrity to obey him anyway. And if, as I do not anticipate for a moment, you might be tempted not to obey him at some point, that would not absolve you of your responsibility to consider the consequences for everyone else who might be affected by your actions and to be certain the innocent do not find themselves drawn into those consequences. Recall what the Holy Bedard said in the opening verses of the sixth chapter of her book. I commend her thought to you as you grapple with the heavy and complex burden God and the Archangels have laid upon your shoulders at this time.”
The anger vanished from Thirsk’s eyes, although the rest of his expression never even flickered. Silence hovered between them for several seconds as the earl looked back at the auxiliary bishop. Then he bowed
