'What will happen to those Brothers you find?' Ullsaard joined his son at the rail.
'I'm sending them all to the camp outside Parmia, where they can't do any trouble. The most senior ones tend to put up a bit of a fight and we have to make examples of them. I can't have anyone undermining my claim to the Crown.'
'What sort of examples?'
Ullsaard wondered, not for the first time, if Jutaar was really suited to the legions. He laid a hand on his son's shoulder.
'We slit their throats, Jutaar.'
'Killing Brothers?' Jutaar was aghast at the suggestion. 'Is that really wise?'
'Only a few,' Ullsaard replied with a half-shrug. 'You'll be surprised the number of them that decide to get out of town when word of that gets around. It saves us the trouble of hunting them down.'
'But killing Brothers… If you become king-'
'When I become king,' Ullsaard interrupted. 'You're worried that I'll lose the Brotherhood? I don't think so. Lutaar and Udaan have them agitated at the moment, but things will return to normal once I have the Crown. The Brotherhood is dedicated to Greater Askhor before any particular king. They may be upset with me for a while, but the empire will continue and they'll see that I am not their enemy.'
'And what about the people of the empire? If they learn you've been killing Brothers, what will they think?'
Ullsaard was not sure whether Jutaar was being dim-witted or fearful. Either way, his son's reluctance to accept the facts as they were was wearing the general's patience.
'The people will do what they're fucking told!' he snapped. 'That's the other reason the Thirteenth are here. There will be a curfew for the next ten days, enforced by penalty of death. We'll flood the town and docks with legionnaires from the Thirteenth and Tenth and remind these people who is in charge here. Askhira needs reminding that their governor supports me and that means that they do as well.'
Ullsaard realised his temper was getting the better of him. Noran had warned that the general could not just order people around as if they were his army. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Jutaar and leaned casually on the rail, trying to appear calm.
'Look, you've been very good to these people, son,' he explained, hoping that some of what he had to say would settle in Jutaar's slow-moving brain. 'We've paid them well, brought a huge amount of work and commerce to the harbour, and what have they given in return? They've been muttering and conspiring against you, ignoring your offers and disrespecting your position as my representative. If they refuse to do what they are told when we treat them well, they'll swiftly learn of what else we have to offer.'
'I suppose you can't have discipline without the threat of punishment,' said Jutaar. 'As a captain I'm always quick to enforce the regulations.'
'That's right, son,' said Ullsaard. 'When they see what the alternative is, these people will be grateful to have the kind and understanding Jutaar in charge again. And just like the way a company works, most folks in Askhira will start to take care of the matter themselves. After the next ten days, nobody here will want me coming back, so they'll cast out any Brothers that stay behind, as well as anyone else that wants to upset the wagon.'
Realisation crept across Jutaar's face like the dawn spreading across the harbour.
'It's a bit like when Urikh and I were kids,' he said. 'He was always saying 'I'm telling Father what you did', even when I hadn't done anything wrong.'
'Yes,' said Ullsaard. 'But when I've left and you need to remind people of the consequences of ill discipline, I wouldn't use those exact words.'
III
Ullsaard's crackdown on the Brotherhood and the other malcontents in Askhira rapidly brought work back up to speed. Though Jutaar was still behind on delivering the fleet his father needed, the pace was quickening and there was still a chance that they would be ready to sail with the legions before the winter.
Five days after his father had departed, Jutaar discussed this with Urikh; Ullsaard had left his eldest son in Askhira to help Jutaar ensure progress went smoothly. The two of them were making a tour of the docks, followed by a coterie of scribes with wax tablets and styluses making notes of the work being done.
'This is the sixteenth of the thirty warships we need,' Jutaar was saying as they stopped to look at the skeletal timbers of a trireme. Hundreds of men were cladding the ribs with hull planks and putting down decking. 'We have four hundred and eleven of the six hundred and fifty transports too.'
'It is still taking too long,' said Urikh.
Jutaar had always known his brother to be an industrious, ambitious, busy person. Even as a child Urikh had constantly devised ways to take advantage of his younger siblings and their friends, persuading them to lend him money for some scheme or other; money that he almost inevitably failed to repay due to the poor sense or bad luck of someone else. Urikh's apparent appetite for this operation outstripped anything he had shown before. The promise of becoming the heir to the Crown was clearly the greatest incentive Jutaar's brother had ever felt. Since coming to Askhira, he had thrown himself into every aspect of the endeavour, berating any foreman whose team so much as laid one plank or hammered one nail or tarred one seam less than was required each day. Jutaar was pleased that Urikh was around to deal with the more unpleasant practicalities of controlling a work force and Urikh had even admitted, somewhat drunkenly and aggressively the night before, that the two of them made a good team.
'More men won't help,' said Jutaar. 'There's only so much space to build and so many things that can be done at once.'
'That does not solve my problem,' said Urikh, squinting in the sunshine. He was obviously suffering from his over-indulgence of wine the night before. 'Give me answers, not excuses.'
Jutaar thought about the problem as they moved onto the next dock where a flat-bottomed transport was taking shape, waiting only for its mast and cabin to be built.
'Lanterns,' he said.
'What's that?' Urikh replied absently, having snatched a tablet from one of his attendants to scribble down some thought of his own.
'If we bring in some of those large camp lanterns the legions use, maybe thirty or so, we could extend the shifts into the night by another watch before it gets too dark to work.'
Urikh stared at his brother as if he had suddenly turned a strange colour and spouted Nemurian.
'What?' said Jutaar. 'What's wrong with that?'
'Nothing!' Urikh exclaimed with a grin. 'It is brilliant! I should have thought of that.'
'Well, you didn't, brother,' said Jutaar, feeling pleased with himself.
'So, where do we get these lanterns from?'
Jutaar hesitated. He hadn't got that far ahead in his thinking.
'We'll have to send for them,' he said.
'That will take too long,' said Urikh as they resumed their tour, walking along a stone wharf as the waves lapped over its edge and crept towards their sandaled feet. His smile disappeared and became a frown, but that soon vanished as he came to an answer. 'We will get the artisans in the Tenth to make them. I'm sure they have everything they need and it is not like they have much else to do at the moment.'
Jutaar thought about this and could find no fault with the plan.
'That would work. An extra watch each day should increase production by another fifth. We would have the fleet ready in time.'
Urikh laid a brotherly arm around Jutaar's shoulders and slapped him on the belly.
'With a fleet, we take Askhor,' Urikh said. 'When we have Askhor, we take Askh. After that, father becomes king. And we will be Princes of the Blood!'
Jutaar nodded and smiled. That certainly sounded good.
