The Reformer

'And a great defeat here could see the Confeds in Chalice within this year,' Casull said, and then forced himself to relax. 'We must trust to our seamanship, and to your weapons.'

* * *

'I said, it's working well!' the new-minted engineer bawled in Adrian Gellert's ear.

The steam galley Wodep's Fist-the crew called it Wodep's Prick, from the shape of the ram at the bows-lay quivering with life in the great harbor of Preble. Adrian was quivering with shock at the heat, experienced before but forgotten; he understood why the crew mostly worked stripped to their loincloths, despite the risk of being pitched against rough timber or red-hot metal. Decorum required him to wear at least a linen tunic, and it was already a sopping rag plastered to his skin. The great arched interior of the revolutionary craft was dim, red-lit by reflected flames from the boilers, full of sweat-gleaming near- naked figures, like something from the fate of wicked shades. Most of the interior was taken up by the riveted iron tube of the boiler, hissing and leaking steam now from half a dozen places.

That floated in muggy clouds around the rest of the machinery. At either side stood a cylinder of cast bronze, as thick through as a small woman's waist, fixed at the bottom to thick timbers and joined to the boiler by pipes wrapped in crude linen lagging. From the top of each cylinder protruded an iron rod, joined to one end of a beam; the beam pivoted on an axle fixed to the hull, and the other end had still another rod that worked a crank running out through the hull. Like melancholy monsters run mad, the grasshopper beams worked up and down, up and down, with a smooth mechanical regularity like nothing Adrian had ever seen before.

He coughed. The air was thick with moisture, with the lard used as lubricant on the working surfaces, with the odors of sweat and scorched metal and wafts of soot where the twin stacks leaked smoke. Behind the boiler men were working in a frenzy, passing lengths of log to throw into the firebrick-lined pit beneath it; behind them others stood ready at the ropes and tackle that controlled the tiller, hitched to the world's first sternpost rudder.

'I say it's a wonder it's working at all,' Adrian bawled back cheerfully.

He set hands to the ladder that ran up between the smokestacks, and gasped with relief as he came up into the square blockhouse that protruded four feet up through the turtleback deck of the Wodep's Fist. Narrow slits lined it on all four sides, and looking through them he could see Preble spread out around him-as black and gray and blue with heads and faces as it had been for King Casull's arrival yesterday. Now people flocked to see the latest wonder of the wonder-worker Adrian Gellert, their savior. .

And I do wish they wouldn't call me that, he thought. He could see King Casull's eyes narrow every time some fool yelled it out in the street, and Prince Tenny's reaction was even worse.

He took a cork out of one of the speaking tubes, whistled sharply through it, and shouted into the funnel: 'Left full rudder!'

An answering whistle came, and he grabbed for handholds as the Wodep heeled sharply. One of the paddles came nearly out of the water, and Adrian winced as the piston rod on that side danced wildly up and down for a moment, then again at the crunch as the paddle bit solid water once again. The fabric of the ship groaned, and he could hear water sloshing around in the boiler. A thought struck him, and he bent to peer down and check on the safety valve. Good. Back in Chalice some enthusiastic soul had fastened it down once, to make the engine go faster.

'Pass the word!' he called, and shouted into the three speaking tubes. 'We're going on a ramming run!'

More cheers, which made him shake his head in bemused wonder. Just sailing this thing on the straight and level was bad enough. .

'Do you see her?' he asked the Islander skipper.

'Yes, lord. That's the Icebird's Claw. Sun God, but my father served in her!'

The skipper was a young man; that might even be true. The galley lay drifting in the slow harbor eddy, its scarlet and blue paint chipped and faded, a low slender shape on the water a thousand yards away. Nobody was aboard but a crew of hastily trained criminals to man the catapults, promised their freedom if they put on a good show and impalement if they didn't.

'Helm forward,' Adrian commanded. 'All ahead full, but wait for my command on the reversing levers. Go!'

The paddles beat faster, throwing foam up higher than the command blockhouse. Occasional droplets came through the vision slits, welcome coolness even when they stung the eyes. Water broke aside from the ram, and washed up the deck as far as the triangular-board wave breaker he'd rigged to keep the bow from digging in too deeply; he didn't want to think what might happen to this wallowing tub in any sort of sea. The forward motion built, like nothing he'd ever felt at sea before, even under oars-there was a blind purposeful waddle to it, a mechanical feeling. The galley grew, larger and larger. It was vastly lighter than the Wodep, but longer and higher at the gunwales. A dart arched out from the catapult, and another; distance made them seem to start slow and accelerate as they neared. They glanced harmlessly from the octagonal iron plates, with nothing but banging and sparks to show for it. Adrian ducked as one seemed to be coming straight for his eyes, but it caromed off the blockhouse as well. Closer, and he could see the empty oar ports of the trireme, the white faces of the men winching the catapults back.

Bang! Bang! More bolts skittering off the armor. They were aimed forward of the galley's midships, at a thirty-degree angle.

'Brace for impact!' Adrian shouted into the speaking tube. A man began pounding on a bell with an iron bar, loud enough to be heard even over the monstrous CHUFFF. . CHUFFF. . of the cylinders.

'Reverse engines!' he cried again, and wrapped his arm through a cloth-padded iron loop bolted to the timbers of the blockhouse interior.

Closer and closer, the sudden lurch as the paddles reversed, but far too late to do more than begin to slow the ram. Then. .

BOOOMM. The hull of the galley thundered like a giant drum, then cried out in a shrieking of snapping planks and timbers. Adrian was wrenched forward with a violence that almost pulled his arm out of its socket, and banged his head hard enough to bring blinding tears to his eyes, despite the padded leather helmet he wore. Somewhere there were screams of agony; men with broken bones, or those thrown against scalding metal and losing skin and flesh. When Adrian blinked his eyes clear and looked out the vision slit, he whooped nonetheless.

The galley was sinking, and fast. The Wodep hadn't just punched a hole in its side; the glancing blow had ripped ten yards of planking free of the slender strakes, and cracked most of those. Galleys had to be built lightly, if they were to be rowed at all; the Wodep was a massive lump of oak and iron by comparison, and when the two came together at high speed it was like a crockery pot striking pavement. As he watched, the other ship heeled over, raised its bow high and went straight down like a stylus punched into a watermelon.

'Left ten, paddles ahead one quarter-and well done, well done!' he shouted into the speaking tube.

The skipper yelled delight also, and pounded him on the shoulder. 'With this ship, and you in command, sir, we'll sweep the Confeds back to the peasant pigstyes where they belong.'

Adrian's grin left his face. 'Rejoice,' he said. 'You're to have the honor of serving under the direct command of Prince Tenny, son to our overlord King Casull.'

'Oh, shit,' the man mumbled, staring at Adrian with dismay and then clapping a hand over his mouth.

'You really don't want to say that,' Adrian murmured.

'Ah-thank you, sir. Yes,' he went on, in a louder tone. 'The Prince will lead us to glory!'

Well, he can't go far wrong, with a good crew and this ship, Adrian thought.

Don't count on it, lad, Raj thought grimly. You haven't seen as many high-ranking nitwits pull defeat from the jaws of victory as I have.

probability-

'Don't tell me,' Adrian muttered. 'There isn't a damned thing I can do about it anyway.'

He looked eastward. There the Confederacy fleet was making ready for battle; according to intelligence,