A Company of Heroes Book Two: The Fabulist (24 page)

“Wrong with
me
? You accuse me of having no empathy, but look at yourself. You’ve had this fixation, this goal, that you’ve been looking at as though you had some sort of tunnel vision. You’ve not been able to see anything else than that. You’ve been totally oblivious of anything that goes on around you that doesn’t directly relate to achieving whatever it is that you’ve decided you want. You’ve never considered for a moment what the cost may be to anyone else, not for an instant. Look at you right now: you’re more worried about
your
loss as far as Thud and the baron are concerned than you are about what might’ve happened to them.”

“I
do
care!”

“Oh? You have a peculiarly personal way of showing it. I honestly believe that if either one of them got between you and what you want, you’d walk over him without hesitation. And what’s worse, you’d rationalize it and justify it to yourself until you believed in your heart that you’d done the right thing. You see things so clearly that you can neither admit nor even comprehend that someone else may see things differently.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Perhaps; but you haven’t says it wasn’t true.”

Bronwyn chews her lip: of course it is true, but that doesn’t mean that she has to admit it either to herself or to anyone else.

“Princess,” offers Basseliniden with an embarrassed cough, “perhaps we’re all losing sight of what’s most important.”

“More important than Thud and Sluys?” she asks tautly.

“There’s nothing that can be done about either of them at the moment, is there? At least not until we know more. I’m not suggesting that you forget about them, of course not, but there are other, more immediate things that need to be done. And most of these things will help materially toward discovering what’s become of your friends.”

“He’s right,” says Mathias.

“Yes, he is,” replies Bronwyn.

“Shall we go on with our luncheon?”

“If you wish.”

They continue their discussion over the meal. Mathias explains that he has sent a call to his neighboring states, even to Londeac, where there are many companies of semilegal mercenaries. Aid began arriving almost immediately, most of it unofficial. In less than ten days he already has most of the men and supplies the campaign requires, and the eleven ships at Diamandis Antica are more than sufficient to carry his army to Tamlaght. Another week will see him ready to launch his expedition.

“I would like to make a suggestion, your Grace, if I may,” offers Basseliniden.

“Of course.”

“Well, perhaps two suggestions. First of all, I’d like to offer the services of my ship and crew. They’re very experienced, ah, fighting men. This offer includes the use of my submarine boat, the
Torpedo.”

“You have a submarine boat?”

“Well, yes . . .”

“That’s generous of you,” puts in Bronwyn.

“Ah, yes,” says the duke, “thank you very much. It is very, um, generous of you.”

“The second suggestion is a little more mysterious. I’d like your Grace’s permission to contact one of my own friends whom I can promise you will be worth any hundred soldiers.”

“Well, that’s an intriguing promise. By all means; I’m certainly in no position to turn away assistance.”

“Do you think, then,” asks Bronwyn, “that we’d be able to leave for Tamlaght in a week?”

“We?”

“Yes, ‘we.’ You’re certainly not going to keep me from going.”

“This is ridiculous. We keep coming back to this over and over again. I thought it is settled weeks ago.”

“I can’t imagine what gives you that idea. Unless you think that you can settle things by proclamation.”

“I don’t; this is just something that you simply cannot do.”

“How do you propose to invade Tamlaght without me?”

“What do you mean? It’s exactly what I
do
intend to do.”

“And if I disown what you’re doing? If I publicly condemn this action? What then?”

“I’m doing this for you!”

“What if I don’t want it?”

“But I can’t very well stop this now; there are too many commitments!”

“Difficult position, isn’t it’?”

“But it must be done! There’s a moral responsibility to put a stop to Payne Roelt . . .”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“ . . . and think of what those blackguards have done to you!”

“That’s exactly it! They’ve done this to
me
!”

“What’s the difference? If the army’s acting in your name, what difference if you’re at its head or in Diamandis?”

“I’ll
be
there!”

“Sir,” Mathias says, turning to Basseliniden, who has been observing the exchange with some amusement, “can you explain to her that there’s no real difference?”

“I wish I could, your Grace, but, after all, it is her grievance. You’ve only made it yours by proxy. I think that she perceives the army as her weapon and you as the finger on the trigger. She must be there to aim it. Since you asks my opinion, even though you must now be regretting it, I believe the princess has every right to what she’s asking. Tell me, Princess, who first suggested the invasion of Tamlaght?”

“I did.”

“That’s true enough,” added Mathias.

“She asks you to do this for her?”

“Yes.”

“Then, in my opinion, she’s been in command from the beginning.”

“And, Mathias,” says Bronwyn, “there’s an army out there that’s been promised a campaign, a paying campaign, I might add. It’s an army that is established in my name and to represent my interests. I asks you to general it for me. If you’re not willing to execute my wishes, I’ll simply find another who will. Now that they’re here, I don’t think the army’ll care very much . . . at least not as much as they would object to being sent home. Or don’t you agree?”

* * * * *

There is not much for Bronwyn to do during the following week. She actually knows nothing whatsoever about military matters. Except for the use of the sword and pistol, the whole subject is a mystery to her, from weaponry to strategy. She has the castle armorer prepare a steel cuirass for her while at the same time she procures a uniform from the duke’s quartermaster. She at least looks more like a soldier than she feels. The uniform is a deep burnt orange, or Mars red, more appropriately, with blue frogging, piping and stripes. Her cuirass is a polished, domed shell that covers her torso from waist to neck. An enameled crest over her heart features the double-headed eagle of the Tedeschiiys beside the rampant boar of the Strelsaus. Black leather boots come to her knees and raise her height to well over six feet; she wears a saber and a plumed helmet of polished steel that makes her look something like an elaborate garden ornament.

Basseliniden left the city almost immediately after her last conversation with the duke, promising to return before the week is out. She believes him, but having the last of her old friends gone depresses her terribly: Gyven, Thud, Milnikov and now Basseliniden, all gone. Even in the forests between Biela-Slatina and Hasselt she had never felt as lonely. While she still believes she loves Mathias, she does not know if she trusts him. The others, however, supported her, protected her, understood her. If in the process they had become crutches, then perhaps she needed crutches. But whatever the quartet was to her, she needed it and feels incomplete without it.

By the end of the week what had been, to Bronwyn, an almost chaotic confusion of men and equipment has become an organized, efficient-looking company. An orderly encampment has been established near the beach below Diamandis Antica. Neat piles of supplies have been arranged on the piers and are being rapidly and efficiently loaded onto the waiting ships. A barge-load of coal has arrived for the three steamships and is being transferred to their bunkers. The supernumerary ship, the schooner
Barracuda, is
noticeably absent, but the whale-like hump of the
Torpedo
float serenely at the end of the wharf, its abbreviated mast now flying the orange-and-white quartered flag of Tamlaght. One man sits watch atop its turret, politely declining any offers of supplies, fuel or equipment.

The next morning, if everything continues according to plan, the army will be transferred to the ships and the expedition will be on its way to Tamlaght on the first tide. Approximately eight hundred miles separate Lesser Piotr from the entrance to Stuckney Bay . . . perhaps four days of sailing, if all goes well.

That penultimate afternoon Basseliniden returns. With him is a scarecrow-like creature that Bronwyn immediately, if with disbelief, recognizes as Professor Wittenoom.

“Princess,” says the captain, “I imagine you remember the professor?”

“Of course,” exclaims the puzzled girl. “I’m very glad to see you again, Professor, but I don’t understand why you’re here.”

“There’s not very much time to explain,” replies Basseliniden. “The
Barracuda
is at Cape Pantler, on the north coast of Londeac. Certain items are being transferred there by rail from Toth. The cape is about two and a half days from here by sea. The fleet will of necessity pass within fifty miles or so of the coast, in order to avoid the Grand Bank. The
Barracuda
will rendezvous with us at sea sometime before the fleet reaches Guesclin Bay.”

“But what,” asks Bronwyn, “is your ship carrying that’s so important?”

“Victory,” Wittenoom answers. “Victory!”

“Would you like,” she offers, “to discuss this over a little wine or ale?”

This suggestion is accepted gladly and it is easy enough to locate a secluded table in one of the numerous taverns in Diamandis Antica. Bronwyn orders a glass of wine (the duke has been justified in his opinion of Piotran viniculture and the princess has grown quite fond of its product), Basseliniden a thick, black ale and the professor a little sherry and water. The captain takes a long, appreciative swallow from his mug before speaking.

“Professor Wittenoom,” he says quietly, after wiping brown foam from his moustache, “for reasons which he will explain in a moment, has some truly unique services to offer you, if you wish to accept them.”

“What are they?”

“The brains of the Academy of Sciences!”

“I don’t understand.”

“My dear Princess,” says Wittenoom, in his flutey voice, “nothing has impressed me in a very long time as much as did your brief sojourn in Toth. I enjoyed your visits to the Academy immensely, and I know my many associates agree. Your intelligent curiosity, imaginative questions, quick grasp of complex propositions and concepts, your remarkable ability to associate and connect seemingly unrelated subjects and details . . . all of these things and more made your visits more a pleasure than a hindrance to scientists who are normally so deeply engrossed in their work that occasionally one or two would forget to breathe.

“Your interest in science has inspired me to offer a few practical demonstrations of some of the Academy’s hitherto theoretical or prototypical developments.”

“I realized,” interjected Basseliniden, “that we could take advantage of Tamlaght’s one real, fatal weakness.”

“What’s that?” Bronwyn asks.

“Its paranoic fear of science and technology. Its army, and the Guards too, are certainly as well trained as any in the world, but what are they given to fight with? Swords, sabers, lances, pikes, horses, and guns that have not seen any improvement in nearly fifty years. Most of its army’s rifles are muzzle-loaders, for Musrum’s sake!”

“I know what you mean,” Bronwyn says. “We’ve made it seem a virtue.”

“A false and dangerous pride,” says Wittenoom. “I truly believe that with what the
Barracuda
carries within its hold we could conquer all of Guesclin without the aid of the duke’s army!”

“And what you have on the
Barracuda
are some of the things I saw at the Academy?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t see many weapons . . . I mean, except for the submarine boat . . . oh, and I suppose the explosives those men are working on. I don’t know if they’d be a help or a hindrance. What if they blow up our own army?”

“There are many more weapons at the Academy than you might think, my dear Princess. You just didn’t recognize them as such because they aren’t designed to be weapons . . . to their inventors they are just projects in pure research. And I don’t think you need worry about our explosives experts . . . why, they consider this an unprecedented opportunity to test their theories.”

“That is reassuring. Something I don’t understand is this: how’ve you been able to carry out all of this virtually under the nose of my uncle? I mean, you’re talking about a carload of equipment, maybe more so far as I know, and the cooperation of dozens of people at the Academy, and you had to do it all so quickly. How could you’ve kept all this secret?”

“We only had to pretend that it is secret,” replies Basseliniden. “The king knows perfectly well what we’re doing. Do you think he
wanted
to extradite you? He is forced; there is no alternative for him, you have to understand that. He had no choice but to put Londeac before you. However, he can and did turn his back on what we are doing. We pretended that it is all covert; guards, attendants and officials all along the way pretended they saw nothing, and the king pretended that nothing is happening.”

“So what now, then?” she asks.

“We sail before dawn tomorrow. You and I’ll be on the sloop
Sommer B.,
it’s the fastest of all of them. It will enable us to rendezvous with the
Barracuda
somewhere between the Grand Bank and Cape Pantler and then rejoin the fleet without losing any time.

“What have you worked out with the duke?”

“There’s been nothing
to
work out. Mathias’ll be in direct command, but he’s not to forget that it’s my army and that its goals are the goals that I set. He’s not to interfere with nor contradict my general wishes, and in turn I’m not to interfere with how he carries them out.”

“And you’ll ride with him?”

“Of course. There is never any question about that.” She looks into the film that shimmers at the bottom of her glass, her face inverted and distorted in the golden meniscus. “I just don’t like leaving without knowing what happened to Thud and the baron.”