Off Armageddon Reef (40 page)

There was more than a trace of family resemblance between the earl and the crown prince, and Merlin watched Cayleb closely but unobtrusively as the prince crossed to the admiral and extended his right hand. Lock Island clasped arms with him, and the older man's expression seemed to ease somehow.

So he was worried about the kind of scars Tirian might have left, too
, Merlin thought.

“It's always good to be here, just as it is to see you, Bryahn,” Cayleb said warmly. “Not that Helen isn't just a bit inconveniently placed for quick visits.”

“That's certainly true enough,” Lock Island agreed, and grimaced humorously. “Some of us, on the other hand, find ourselves required to make the trip just a bit more often than others of us.”

“And others of us are just as glad we aren't part of the ‘some of us' anymore,” Cayleb agreed with a chuckle, looking past his kinsman at the other men who'd risen from the chairs around the chamber's large table at his entrance.

“If you'll permit me,
Seijin
Merlin,” the prince continued, “I'll get the introductions out of the way, and then we can sit down and get started.”

Most of the waiting faces showed surprise at Cayleb's obvious courtesy to his “bodyguard,” and Merlin was pleased to see it. If
these
men were buying Haarahld's cover story, it might hold against the rest of the world far better than he'd feared it might.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he murmured.

“In that case, let's begin with Doctor Mahklyn.”

Merlin nodded, and followed the prince across to the five men at the table. He listened with half an ear, bowing, smiling, murmuring appropriate responses, as Cayleb made the introductions, but he didn't really need them. He'd already “met” every one of them through the interface of his SNARCs.

Doctor Rahzhyr Mahklyn was the Dean of the Royal College of Charis. He was a bit above average in height, gray-haired, with sharp brown eyes that were more than a little myopic. He was slightly stoop-shouldered, and he walked around with what the unwary might have thought was a perpetual air of mild bemusement.

Ehdwyrd Howsmyn was Mahklyn's physical opposite. Short, stout, with twinkling eyes and a cheerful smile, he was barely forty years old—less than thirty-seven standard. He was also one of the wealthiest men in the entire Kingdom of Charis, the owner of two of the kingdom's three largest foundries and of one of Tellesberg's larger shipyards, as well as a small fleet of merchant ships under his own house flag. Although he was a commoner by birth and hadn't bothered with acquiring any patents of nobility yet, everyone knew it was going to happen as soon as he found the time to get around to it. For that matter, four years ago he'd married the eldest daughter of an earl, and his noble father-in-law had been delighted by the match.

Raiyan Mychail, bald as an egg and at least sixty-five or seventy standard years old, was a sharp-eyed man who'd partnered with Howsmyn in a dozen or so of the younger man's most successful ventures. Mychail was a quiet man, whose apparently unassuming demeanor masked one of the sharpest business minds in Tellesberg. He was almost certainly the kingdom's largest single producer of textiles, and he was definitely the Royal Navy's primary sailmaker. Not to mention owning Tellesberg's largest ropewalk.

Sir Dustyn Olyvyr was about midway in age between Howsmyn and Mychail. Although he was a wealthy man by anyone else's standards, his personal worth didn't even approach that of the other two. He was physically unremarkable in many ways, but he had powerful shoulders, and his hands, although well manicured these days, carried the scars of his youthful apprenticeship as a ship's carpenter. That apprenticeship was far behind him now, and although he'd never owned (and never wanted to own) a shipyard of his own, he was always busy. He was one of Tellesberg's two or three top ship designers, and also the chief naval constructor of the Royal Charisian Navy.

The fifth man at the table wore the same sky-blue uniform tunic and loose, black trousers as High Admiral Lock Island. But Sir Ahlfryd Hyndryk, Baron Seamount, was only a captain, and while Lock Island was long, lean, and heavily tanned, with the crow's-feet and weathered complexion of a lifelong mariner, Seamount was a pudgy little fellow. He looked almost ludicrous standing beside the tall, broad-shouldered admiral, at least until one saw his eyes. Very sharp, those eyes, reflecting the brain behind them. He was also missing the first two fingers off his left hand, and there was a peculiar pattern of dark marks on his left cheek. A powder burn, Merlin knew, received from the same accidental explosion which had cost him those fingers. However unprepossessing Seamount might look, he was the closest thing to a true gunnery expert the Royal Charisian Navy (or any
other
navy) possessed.

Cayleb completed the introductions and took his place at the head of the table. The others waited until he'd been seated, then settled back into their own chairs. They didn't waste time worrying about who took precedence over whom, Merlin noticed with satisfaction, although Seamount did wait for Lock Island to seat himself. Clearly, though, that was in deference to the high admiral's superior naval rank, not to the precedence of this title. All of them obviously knew one another well, which might help explain their comfort level, but it was impossible to imagine grandees from, say, Harchong or Desnair accepting the social equality of any commoner.

Cayleb waited until everyone had settled, then looked around the table. Despite his relative youth, there was no question who was in command of this meeting, and Merlin rather suspected that there wouldn't have been even if Cayleb hadn't been the heir to the throne.

“There's a reason why my father commanded all of us to meet here today,” the prince began. “As a matter of fact, there are several reasons. The fact that it's imperative that we prevent our enemies from discovering what we're up to—especially with you and Sir Ahlfryd, Bryahn—helps to explain why we're way out here at Helen.

“It's also the reason Father delegated this meeting to me. I'm still young enough that people may not expect me to be doing anything important without ‘adult supervision.'” His smile was droll, and most of his listeners chuckled. Then his face sobered a bit. “More importantly, I can disappear to meet with all of you here without anyone noticing much more readily than he could. But I want it clearly understood that at this moment I am speaking for him.”

He paused for a heartbeat or two, letting that sink in, then waved one hand at Merlin.

“I'm sure all of you have heard all sorts of fantastic tales about
Seijin
Merlin. Our problem is that most of those tales, despite their fantastic nature, actually fall short of the reality.”

One or two of his listeners stirred, as if they found that difficult to accept, and Cayleb smiled thinly.

“Believe me, it's true. In fact, the reason Father's gone to considerable lengths to keep anyone with good sense from believing such ridiculous stories is because they happen to be true. Only two members of the Royal Council, Bishop Maikel, and a handful of our most trusted people—like Ahrnahld, here—know the truth about the
seijin
and his abilities. To everyone else, he's simply my new, personal guardsman and bodyguard—and, one whose imposition I've rather publicly complained about on several occasions—assigned to keep me from sticking my foolish nose into any more ambushes. A trusted and valuable retainer, but only that.

“There are several reasons for that, and one of the reasons for the secrecy of this meeting is to keep…certain other people, shall we say, from realizing just how important to us he is. As we all know, according to the old tales,
seijin
are sometimes teachers, as well as warriors, and that's exactly what
Seijin
Merlin is. He has things to teach us which may very well give us the advantages the Kingdom needs to defeat our enemies. But Father believes it's vital that people like Nahrmahn of Emerald and Hektor of Corisande, among others, don't realize he's the one teaching us. If for no other reason, because they would spare no effort or expense to assassinate him if they did.”

All eyes had swung to Merlin as Cayleb spoke. Merlin looked back, his face carefully expressionless, and Cayleb smiled again.

“The purpose of this meeting is to accomplish several things,” he continued. “First,
Seijin
Merlin's going to begin by sketching out how what he knows and what all of you already know can fit together to accomplish our objectives. But second, and just as important, we're going to discuss ways in which the six of you can take credit for what Merlin is teaching us.”

Lock Island straightened in his chair, glancing around the table, then looked at Cayleb.

“Excuse me, Your Highness, but did you say
we're
to take credit for
Seijin
Merlin's knowledge?”

“If I may, Your Highness?” Merlin asked diffidently before Cayleb could reply, and the prince nodded for him to take the earl's question.

“High Admiral,” Merlin said, turning to face Lock Island squarely, “much of what I know—of what I can ‘teach you,' as Prince Cayleb's put it—would be of limited value without the practical experience which you and these other men possess. In many—most—cases, it's going to take what you already know to make what I can show you effective.

“Each of you is also an acknowledged master of your own trade, your own specialized area of knowledge, if you will. That means that when you speak, people will listen, and that will be important, because many of the things we're going to have to do will fly in the face of tradition. Change makes most people uncomfortable, even here in Charis, and your people will take more kindly to change that comes from men they know and trust than they will to change that comes from a mysterious outlander, whatever his credentials.

“And on top of those factors, there's the need to introduce the changes we're going to have to make on the broadest possible basis. They can't all come from one man, for a lot of reasons. One personal reason of my own is that what I can tell you comes from the teachings of many others, some of whom I knew personally, some of whom I never met myself. It isn't
my
work, and I'd prefer not to be known as some sort of mysterious, possibly sinister, and definitely foreign ‘genius' just because I happen to be the person in a position to pass it on to the rest of you.

“On a more pragmatic basis, if a single stranger suddenly appears and becomes a fount of all knowledge, it's going to create both more resistance from those who cling to tradition and an unavoidable tension. It's always dangerous for a stranger to become too great, too powerful. It destabilizes things, creates jealousies and resentments. It can even lead to a fragmentation of authority, and Charis simply cannot afford anything like that when so many external enemies are already gathering around you.

“Besides, I feel quite confident that even though something I teach you may be what starts you in a given direction, where you finally arrive will, indeed, be the result of your own energy and work.”

“And,” Mychail said with a thin smile of his own, “if you'll pardon me for pointing this out, it will also help keep
you
alive,
Seijin
Merlin.”

“Well, there
is
that minor consideration, Master Mychail,” Merlin acknowledged with a chuckle.

“I trust,” Howsmyn said, his tone carefully neutral, “that none of this ‘teaching' of yours is going to infringe upon the Proscriptions,
Seijin
Merlin.”

“You have my solemn oath that it will not, Master Howsmyn,” Merlin replied gravely. “In fact, the King intends to involve Bishop Maikel and Father Paityr from the beginning to make certain of that.”

A few tense sets of shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly, and Merlin hid an inner chuckle. He'd come to the conclusion that Cayleb's estimate of Bishop Maikel was correct. There was no question about the bishop's personal piety, but he was also a Charisian patriot. And one, Merlin was coming to believe, especially after that cathedral sermon, who had few illusions about the nature of the Council of Vicars and the rest of the Church's senior hierarchy.

Father Paityr Wylsynn, on the other hand, was no Charisian. In fact, he'd been born in the Temple Lands, and he was Archbishop Erayk's chief intendant in Charis. Like many intendants, he was also a priest of the Order of Schueler, which made him the local representative of the Inquisition, as well. The prospect of coming to the Inquisition's attention was enough to make any Safeholdian nervous, and none of the men seated around that table was unaware of how the Schuelerites' wariness automatically focused on their own kingdom.

Despite that, Father Paityr was deeply respected in Charis generally, and in Tellesberg in particular. No one could doubt the strength of his personal faith, or the fervor with which he served the responsibilities of his priestly office. At the same time, no one had ever accused him of
abusing
his office—which, unfortunately, could not be said about a great many other inquisitors and intendants—and he was scrupulous about ensuring that the Proscriptions of Jwo-jeng were applied fairly. Schuelerites in general had a reputation for erring on the side of conservatism, but Father Paityr seemed less inclined in that direction than many of his brethren.

“
Seijin
Merlin is correct,” Cayleb said. “Bishop Maikel has already been consulted and given his blessing to our efforts. Father Paityr hasn't yet, and Bishop Maikel has advised Father that it would be wisest to avoid…embroiling Father Paityr in all of the details of what we're doing.”

He didn't go into all of the reasons for that; there was no need to.