A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (55 page)

There was, Finesz decided, something more to the duke’s rebellion than everyone supposed. But quite what that something was she could not fathom.

A
s a child, Ormuz had indulged in daydreams. He had fantasised himself the hero of assorted melodramas, rescuing princesses, saving the Empire, a master of derring-do and daring deeds. Somewhere amongst those tall tales of his imagination he had seen himself visiting the Empire’s capital, had seen himself being presented to the Emperor to receive His grateful thanks.

Ormuz had never imagined he would visit Shuto at the head of a fleet of warships.

With an Imperial Princess at his side.

“Now it starts,” said the Admiral, with sadness and an undercurrent of anger.

As if prompted by her words, the formless grey visible through the Flag Bridge’s viewing slits drained away and was replaced by black. Ormuz stepped forward and peered out. He could see stars and, low to starboard, a ringed gas giant, striped blue and green and turquoise. As he watched, one by one, the other ships of the fleet began to appear, seeming to roll into view, the lit scuttles on their superstructures manifesting a fraction of a second before their hulls did.

He looked back over his shoulder at the Admiral and saw her give a tight satisfied smile.

“Mr Voyna,” she said, not looking at the comms-console to her left. “If you would be so kind as to inform me when all ships have reported in.”

To Ormuz, she said in a less commanding tone, “Casimir, I would have you below. Should we have to fight, I would not want you getting in my way.”

“You think there’ll be a battle?” he asked. Surely no one would be foolish enough to attack the fleet? They were there to save the Emperor, after all.

“The Home Fleet may object to our presence,” the Admiral replied.

“Why haven’t they done anything about the Serpent?”

“I do not know.” The Admiral frowned. “But we shall learn soon enough.”

“Ma’am!” called a voice from the comms-console.

“Mr Voyna,” responded the Admiral. “The fleet is all present?”

“No, ma’am. We’ve detected vessels approaching. Approximately eighty thousand miles.”

“Identification?” snapped the Admiral.

“We’re certain one is
Triumphant
.”

Ormuz straightened. He knew that name.
Triumphant
was the flagship of the Imperial Navy and its only dreadnought. The name had been handed down since the founding of the Empire some thirteen hundred years ago. Edkar I’s battleship had been
Triumphant
and ever since the Navy’s premier warship had carried that name. She was, he seemed to recall, half again larger than
Empress Glorina
. If the Admiral chose to fight,
Triumphant
would win. The Admiral, of course, would never be so foolish—and not just because she held the
Navy Fighting Instructions
in contempt.

“Is it the entire Home Fleet?” she asked the executive officer.

“No, ma’am, we don’t think so…” He was silent a moment. “Ah. A squadron only—
Triumphant
and three battleships. Duchy class.”

“Surely they don’t think they can defeat us with just four ships?” asked Ormuz in disbelief.

“Hush, Casimir.” She glanced across at him and, for whatever reason, explained, “There will be cruisers and destroyers too in the squadron. But I suspect
Triumphant
comes not to fight but to parley.”

She turned to the comms-console. “Mr Pismo, I would not be surprised if you were to receive a signal from
Triumphant
some time soon.”

“You think they’ll surrender?” asked Ormuz.

“I think they will ask to speak with me,” the Admiral replied.

She turned about on her stool until she was facing the battle-consultant. Ormuz gazed at her back for moment, and then returned to peering out of the viewing-slit. He gripped the wooden-rail with both hands and felt an excitement he had not experienced since Linna. Partly it was due to their imminent arrival at Shuto, capital world of the Empire.

A runner stepped through the hatch into the flag bridge and handed a signal to the Admiral. She took it, read it quickly and raised an eyebrow.

“Who is it from?” Ormuz asked, puzzled by her reaction.

“The Lords of the Admiralty. They apparently wish to come aboard.”

“Are you going to invite them?” he asked.

“This is not the signal I expected,” she admitted.

The Admiral was frowning at the paper in her hand. He watched her for a moment, wondering what she found so puzzling. She turned and put the signal down on the edge of the battle-consultant.

“I shall accept their request,” she said.

“Why? Wouldn’t it be better to make straight for Shuto? Ahasz is still besieging the Imperial Palace.
Triumphant
can’t stop us.”

“No. I cannot refuse the Lords of the Admiralty.”

“Why not? It’s not as if you’re still a captain in the Imperial Navy,” scoffed Ormuz.

“I have never stopped being Imperial Navy,” snapped the Admiral.

She glared at him and he saw he had angered her.

“You mutinied,” he pointed out.

“I did what needed to be done.”

“And you think the Admiralty will see it that way? Flavia, you broke the chain of command. And now you have a great fleet hanging over the Imperial capital.”

“The Lords of the Admiralty are not fools,” replied the Admiral.

“Exactly!”

“We cannot know what they want unless we talk to them.”

Ormuz shook his head. “I don’t think we should delay.”

The Admiral scowled. “I have decided.” She raised her voice. “Mr Pismo, issue an invitation to the Lords of the Admiralty.”

The launch’s pilot was more cautious than those who served the Admiral. The boat drifted slowly into view, edging nearer as it slowly filled the slot of the boat-deck. Soon its prow penetrated the force-curtain and rateds ran forward and attached hawsers. Winches strained into motion, dragging the launch further inside and hauling her down to the dock. The procedure never ceased to amuse Ormuz. Ships could travel between stars and yet rope was required to travel between ships. The force-curtain was one of the Gifts of the Anyol, but nothing else in the boat-deck had changed substantially since the Genezans had discovered those Gifts.

A head visible through a viewport in the control cupola looked down onto the jetty and then made a quick hand-signal. Moments later, the hatch cracked open and swung aside. A naval officer stepped out and down, saw the officers assembled before him and bowed.

The Admiral signalled for the launch’s passengers to be piped aboard.

Ormuz grimaced. The sound made by the “pipes” was far from musical. It was a shrill whistle and he did not understand its relevance or purpose.

Four old men exited the launch. Each wore naval uniform, but they were uniforms festooned with gold braid and frogging. They were accompanied by half a dozen aides, in uniforms less ostentatious but still a good deal more decorated than those of
Empress Glorina
’s officers.

One of the Lords stepped forward and bowed to the Admiral. It was not the bow given by a superior officer to a junior—as would a Lord of the Admiralty to Post-Captain Shutan—nor was it the bow of a subject to a member of the Imperial Family. There was some deference in it, but also an indication that this was a meeting of equals.

“My lord,” said the Admiral. “Welcome aboard.”

“Who is that?” Ormuz asked Rinharte quietly. The Admiralty Lord did not much resemble Ormuz’s idea of a senior Navy officer. He was a huge man, corpulent and boasting three or four chins. His complexion was an unhealthy red and he was balding.

“Lord Grubasz, Viscount Morsky.”

“We must talk,” Grubasz said.

The Admiral nodded. She gave a hand-signal to Major Skaria. Escorted by Imperial Marines, the party on the jetty left the boat-deck and entered the Upper Supply Passage. A small passenger train awaited them and Ormuz almost laughed to see it. The locomotive resembled a large travel trunk with wheels and a rated perched on its front. It towed four open carriages, each of which could seat six passengers, on a pair of benches facing each other. The train had not been there when Ormuz entered the boat-deck.

The Admiral and the four Lords climbed onto the first carriage. Ormuz joined
Empress Glorina
’s command officers on the second carriage. The aides, remaining officers and marine escort filled the other two carriages.

The train jerked into motion. It was at least a mile to the ramp leading up to the Great Hall and officer country.

Ormuz chuckled. “A train aboard a ship,” he said with a grin.

“The passenger carts are not used very often,” replied Rinharte.

“Indeed.” Ormuz looked over the edge at the deck passing beneath. “We’d be faster walking.”

“Not him,” said Skaria, nodding in the general direction of Lord Grubasz.

“Mattus!” admonished Rinharte. But she was smiling. Fortunately, she sat with her back to the Lords of the Admiralty.

“What do you think they want?” Ormuz asked her.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“But you must have some idea?”

Rinharte shrugged. “Perhaps they hope to persuade the Admiral against approaching Shuto.”

“And a face-to-face meeting would improve their chances?” Ormuz shook his head. “No, it’s not that.”

“You knew nothing of this from the nomosphere?” asked Rinharte.

“No.” Ormuz had visited the nomosphere on only a handful of occasions since leaving Geneza and the last such visit had been weeks before. Little enough seemed to be changing on Shuto, so he saw no reason for regular visits. Nor did he really want to encounter Konran again.

The train sped along the Supply Passage. The corridor had been cleared for the occasion and they passed no one. Eventually, it pulled to a halt, Ormuz watched the marine escort jump from their carriage and jog forward. They took up station about the Admiral and the four Lords, and the party headed up the ramp to the battleship’s Great Hall.

The fo’c’sle wardroom had been made over as a conference room for the meeting. The armchairs had been pushed to the bulkheads and a large table had been laid in the centre of the chamber. The Lords of the Admiralty and their aides took the starboard side; the Admiral, her staff and Ormuz took the port side.

They stared across at the table at each other. It was a moment before Ormuz identified the look in the staff-captain’s eyes sitting across from him. It was fear.

“What are your intentions?” demanded Grubasz.

He directed his question at the Admiral. He surely knew who Ormuz was, the Admiralty must have some intelligence on his fleet.

“To lift the siege on the Imperial Palace,” the Admiral replied.

Grubasz slammed his hand down on the table. “You must not!”

“You support Ahasz?” demanded the Admiral, surprised.

“Of course not! But he has control of the Navy Accounting Mechanism.”

Someone laughed. Ormuz leaned forward and looked to his left to see who it had been. Major Skaria had a hand to his mouth and a look of great amusement in his eyes.

“He has threatened to destroy its records should we move against him,” continued Grubasz.

Ormuz remembered the purpose of the Navy Accounting Mechanism. It was an enormous computational engine, possibly the largest in the Empire, and it handled all the financial transactions and records for the Imperial Navy. Without it, they would not know who to pay, who had been paid, and in what amounts. Crews would go without salaries, suppliers’ invoices would not be reconciled. The Imperial Navy would not be able to function.

“And you seriously believe he would make good on his threat?” the Admiral asked.

“He has taken the Imperial Exchequer and cut off the Emperor from his funds,” Grubasz replied. “So yes, I damn well do think he’ll make good on it.”

“I did not come all this way,” the Admiral said, “to stand by and watch Ahasz take the Throne.”

“Turn around,” Grubasz ordered. He settled back heavily in his seat, causing it to creak alarmingly. Ormuz suppressed a smile.

“Turn around,” the Lord repeated. “Take your fleet and leave, Captain Shutan.”

The Admiral leaned forward, hands flat on the conference table. “Take care, Morsky,” she said slowly, her voice expressionless. “I no longer follow your orders.”

“You would risk the Navy?”

“You would risk the Throne?” the Admiral snapped back.

“The siege cannot last much longer,” Grubasz insisted.

“Ahasz will not run out of supplies,” put in Ormusz. “Or are you waiting for the Emperor to surrender?”

All four Lords directed their attention at Ormuz, as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re the clone?” asked one contemptuously.

“I’m Casimir Ormuz, yes. And you are?”

The Lord did not reply.

Rinharte supplied his identity: “Admiral Fisc.”

“Ah,” said Ormuz with a wicked grin. “You’ve not long been a lord of the Admiralty, I believe. I expect you’ve made a tidy profit from all those supply contracts you’ve given to companies you own.”

“Impudent—” spluttered Fisc. “Are you accusing me of corruption?”

“You’d be a singular Lord of the Admiralty,” remarked the Admiral dryly, “if you weren’t corrupt.”

Grubasz snorted. “It is fortunate for us then, that you are merely a post-captain.”

“With the largest fleet the Empire has seen since the Pacification Campaigns,” replied the Admiral. She gestured dismissively. “Enough of the posturing. I have no intention of leaving Ahasz in place. As Casimir has said, the Palace will run out of supplies before Ahasz does, and I will not have my father forced to surrender.”

“But the Accounting Mechanism!” protested Grubasz.

“Should Ahasz destroy it, the Navy will survive.”

“Although, perhaps,” added Ormuz, “your personal fortunes may not.”

That comment prompted several chuckles from
Empress Glorina
’s officers.

“Indeed,” said the Admiral. Her voice had turned steely. “I would not have it thought the Throne was forced to defend itself because the Lords of the Admiralty were afraid they would be out of pocket. Does Edkar’s Promise mean nothing to you?”