Chương 80: Chapter Eighty

For all he'd said it would be easy to get a day off, William had honestly thought it would be harder to arrange. There was a war on after all, for all that the North seemed ill-inclined to follow the Royal Navy South – or do much of anything really, beyond squat atop the capital. Still, as convenient as their immobility currently was, it wasn't a state of affairs that would last forever.

To that end, surely it was in everyone's interests to start production on the myriad upgrades and factories the South would most definitely need if it wanted to stand any chance of winning this war. Only that hadn't happened. Oh, the twins had asked him a few questions when he'd stopped by to, well, essentially request the day-off, but that was all that had been asked of him.

If anything, they'd seemed practically eager to foist him off on Verity for the day, happy to have him out of the way while they organized the promotion ceremony and got settled into the Ducal manse. Which he supposed he was happy for. The setting up of his new factories and production lines had been going on in the background for days now, but Xela and Piper were very much on top of it and wouldn't need his direct input for a while yet.

So it wasn't like he'd have had much to contribute if he'd stuck around the manse. I suppose I could have gotten into a few more arguments about the Shrieker's viability, he mused as he stared out at the lake. More than a few of the traditionalists amongst the nobility were unhappy with the concepts and had not been shy about voicing those opinions at the post-duel party. Though in all fairness, William hadn't exactly been shy about voicing his opinion on their opinions.

In retrospect, that might have been why the twins had been eager to get him away from the mansion. He shook his head. At the end of the day, it didn't really matter how many idiots claimed building more Shriekers would be practically 'giving airship cores away to the enemy' – the only real opinions on the subject that mattered were the Queen's and his. They were the only ones with access to an excess of cores without the airships to house them.

Sure, technically as a Count he was only legally allowed to possess a single airship sized core, but the devil was in the details where that particular law was concerned. Because, when one got past all the incredibly lengthy legalese, the law essentially specified that any Count or below who had access to more than one airship sized core was obligated to sell it on to the Crown or their liege lady as soon as a reasonable offer for its purchase was made.

And I can bet the bounds of what constitutes a reasonable offer have been stressed to their breaking through the years by unscrupulous Queens and Duchesses, he thought. So in short, as a Crownlander, he was required to sell the excess cores he'd claimed from the underships that attacked the capital if his Queen made him an offer. Except she was never going to make him an offer, so it didn't matter.

"Careful around the reeds, Olivia!"

"I know, Sara!" Smiling, William turned his gaze down to the shore of the lake they'd chosen for this particular 'outing'. Olivia stood there, controller in hands, a small group of friends crowding about her as they watched her direct her small boat across the water. A boat he noticed was sailing rather perilously close to the reeds, despite his little sister's words to the contrary.

"When you said you wanted to make some kind of fancy new toy for your sister, I thought it would take more than just the morning," Verity said from her position on the picnic blanket next to him. He shrugged.

"If I was making it from scratch, it might have taken me a few days even with magic. Fortunately, I had most of the parts I needed on hand." Parts he'd acquired by taking apart a few half-finished prototypes for various things and one of the radios that had yet to be installed into a Shard. He'd also 'borrowed' a model sailing ship he'd found on display in the Summerfield manse. He doubted it would be missed.

Much as sewing and embroidery were considered traditionally 'womanly' practices back on Earth, woodworking and furniture crafting were 'manly' pursuits here. To that end, any noble house worthy of the name typically had rooms full of intricate carvings built up over the years by generations of bored house-husbands.

With that in mind, there was a fairly decent chance the boat Olivia was now sailing had been meticulously assembled and painted by the now deceased brother of the former Duchess – and thus Olivia's technical father – or one of the man's ancestors. William would like to think the man would approve of what he'd done to the small boat and how it was making his daughter smile. … If not? The guy could go eat a whole bag of dicks.

"Why a boat though?" Verity asked. Again, it was amusing to him the inherent… disdain for waterborne craft in this world. Even from someone like Verity, who had been, politely, practically at the bottom of the social totem pole but a few years ago. He took a bite from the small pile of nibbles that they'd laid out.

"I was tempted to make something that flew, but I thought better of it." He knew from experience with his nephews and nieces that anything he built would have been airborne for all of five minutes before it smashed nose first into a tree or the ground. Something Verity clearly picked up on as she smirked.

"Ah, yeah, that was probably smart. I can easily imagine what would happen if my sisters got ahold of something that could fly." As if to prove her point, the pair of them watched as Olivia set her little boat barrelling determinedly towards an innocent flock of ducks. Fortunately for the local wildlife, the boat had neither the speed nor mass to do more than lightly bounce off them if it made contact, even if they chose not to move out of its path for whatever reason.

If anything, the boat was in more danger from the wildlife than anything to the contrary. Which Olivia soon discovered as a nearby goose took umbrage to the wooden invader and set about sinking it with much gusto.

"Wha- no!" his bloodthirsty little sister cried, before turning towards him.

"William! How do I activate the ballista! The goose is going to kill my ship!"

"I'm sorry to say, Olivia, that the ballistae dotting the deck of my gift to you are entirely cosmetic. Your valiant craft should have steered toward safer waters, for it seems it's quite defenceless before the great kraken-goose."

"No!" she cried, before surprising him by diving into the water - utterly uncaring of the fact that in doing so she was ruining her clothes. Doubly unfortunate was that while womens' fashion tended significantly more towards the 'practical' than on Earth – while mens' ran the opposite – things had not gone quite so far that women no longer wore dresses. They just happened to be dresses with pockets and room beneath to conceal all manner of weaponry. They were still dresses though.

And as anyone who has ever chosen to swim in a dress – of which George unfortunately counted himself after one particularly drunken party with his friends amongst the accounting department – the design did not aid the act of pushing oneself through water. Or floating at all, honestly. So his beloved sibling quickly found herself in straits nearly as dire as her poor ship within moments of entering the water.

"William! Maids! Sara! Help!" she yelped without a hint of shame.

"And save my- my ship too!" Sighing the eternal sigh of an older sibling, William stood up to go to her aid. Only to stop as Verity put a hand on his chest.

"I'll do it," the orc sighed as she pulled off her shoes.

"Pa would never let me live it down if I forced a man to dive into a lake when I was standing right next to him." He opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it.

"Well, if you can rescue both of them, I'll make sure she lets you have a go with her ship."

"I'm n-not a kid," the orc muttered as she jogged down the embankment. William was of the opinion that might have sounded more believable if she didn't have a slight skip in a step as she ran – or if she had explicitly said she'd turn down the opportunity to play with the boat. Still, as she dove in – managing to beat the watching servants and Olivia's friends to the water - he smiled.

He'd been a little worried when Verity had called this a date, but it seemed he'd managed to successfully distract her away from thinking about anything romantic by dangling something more enticing in front of her. The world's most technologically advanced toy. Yeah, he thought. I've got this under control. Olivia continued to drown. The Goose was victorious.

Princess Palmer Lindholm stood at the edge of the Royal Pavilion overlooking the Summerfield gardens. She'd stayed at this estate a number of times and she never failed to be impressed by them. The late Lady Summerfield had possessed something of a green thumb, and her regent had ordered the gardens maintained after she fell ill.

Given the expense in doing so – the late Lady Summerfield seldom used those talents, instead employing a small army of gardeners – she doubted the new Lady Summerfield would continue to do so. With that in mind, this would likely be the last time Palmer would get to enjoy the view in all its splendour. … That did not, however, mean she lamented the change. Far from it.

For all that Palmer played the 'moderate' to her mother's 'radical', she had long agreed that the South would benefit from increasing its military spending. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. A task she had failed in. The latest in a long line of failures. Because her other role had been keeping the North from open rebellion. She snorted derisively, taking a sip of her wine.

She had spent years quietly playing House Blackstone and New Haven off against each other. Stoking their animosities just enough to make the Crown's reforms seem more palatable than joining hands with their ancient rivals. She'd been doing quite well, until the news of the Summerfield Duchess falling into a coma had forced her south. Honestly, the whole event was rather inconveniently timed by that standard, pulling her away from the North at just the wrong moment.

So I supposed it's only fair that the timing of her death was convenient for us by contrast, she thought bitterly. Of course, there had been nothing convenient about it in truth. Whatever time the late Duchess might have expired naturally, it had not been the time at which she actually died.. Palmer had less of a loose hand with her mother's invisible assassins than the Queen herself did, but on that one occasion she had seen fit to use the Palace Guard 'offensively'.

The moment the Crown needed the Summerfield Duchy to change hands, the late Duchess died of a 'heart attack'. Fortunately, no one suspected the death was anything other than 'natural'. Or if they did, they were wise enough to keep quiet. The Palace Guard's role as invisible assassins was something of an open secret among Lindholm's highest echelons of power. Fortunately, they remained little more than a rumor at the lower levels.

It helped that any failures that might unveil them could always be blamed on Mainland agents using the same invisibility potions. On a few occasions in Lindholm's history, a failed assassination attempt had actually bolstered the nation by giving the intended recipient of the Crown's ire a burning hatred for the Mainland. Sighing, Palmer turned from the garden and approached her mother, who sat in quiet contemplation beneath the pavilion's awning.

"He'll be a Ducal Consort now, and the bedrock behind our technological revival. Are you sure you still want me to stay away from him?" she asked without preamble.

"I ask, as it would be odd for me not to at least be seen speaking with him now. I will be Queen one day after all, and I will likely be dealing with William Redwater long after I take the throne. So it behooves me to begin forming a relationship now." Yelena shook her head, her expression tired, but firm.

"Win the war, my daughter, before worrying about what comes after. And on that front, it's all the more important that you stay away from William Redwater. The Traditionalists think you're one of them and the only thing holding me back. So, stay away from William. Be disdainful of him behind closed doors." Her mother leaned back, hand resting over her eyes.

"Void knows, we'll likely need to upset them all soon enough – and I need them to be able to go crying to you instead of Eleanor Blackstone." Palmer nodded slowly.

"So you're going ahead with this… Shrieker then?" Yelena's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Definitely. William's Corsairs and other inventions will help us win this war, but only if we last long enough to make enough to make a difference." She snickered at the wordplay.

"Which we won't if the North decides it's not that worried about a Mainland invasion and wants to roll over us. We need a stopgap measure. The Shriekers are it." She shook her head.

"Honestly, I don't know if that boy plans this shit or just makes it up as he goes along. Either way, I intend to churn out as many Shriekers as I can, as fast as I can." Palmer nodded, not commenting on her mother's vulgarity.

"But the traditionalists will buck hard against it. Even if it is 'your' stockpile of cores being used for these new Super-Shards." And there was a reason for that. There was a tacit understanding in Lindholm's nobility: the Crown's wealth was not infinite. And airships rarely made money. In fact, in Palmer's experience they were a near constant coin-sucking void. Even with a hypothetical infinite number of cores, the Royal Navy had practical size limits.

To that end, when the Crown lacked the funds or means to produce another hull for a surplus core, it would raise a new House by granting someone that core. That newly raised noble would then shoulder the debt required to both build a new airship and pay for its ongoing running costs. It was a win-win. Someone got to be a noble. The crown saved a lot of coin. Of course, a new House generally required land – for how else would it accrue coin? – and the Crown did not have infinite amounts of that either.

So when a new House was formed, there was a decent chance one of the Duchies would be the one to gain a new vassal, thereby expanding its power. It was an old system, and one that more or less worked. And now the Shrieker concept stood a decent chance of shattering the entire thing. Even if a Shrieker wasn't as powerful as an entire airship, it was still significantly cheaper to build and maintain. To that end, it was no wonder many amongst the nobility were wary of the whole concept.

After this, there would be no new noble houses. Merely a Crown Authority that would only ever grow more powerful.

"I'll do as you ask. I can make no promises, but so long as you make it abundantly clear the Shriekers will be temporary, I doubt we shall see any of the traditionalists switching sides," Palmer said simply before pausing.

"At least, not unless the war starts going poorly."

"Same as usual then," Yelena said. The mother-daughter pair stopped talking as a servant slipped into the pavilion and whispered urgently into Yelena's ear. After the woman was done and away once more, the Queen sighed, rubbing her temple.

"What has he done now?" Palmer asked.

"I thought they said he would be out of the way and unable to cause further trouble?" At least for now. In a few days, they'd both want and need William Redwater's particular brand of trouble, but for the moment the Duchy would benefit from as few world-shattering innovations as possible while the new Duchess was installed.

"Made some kind of boat that can be puppeteered from afar apparently." Yelena's expression was equal parts exasperation and amusement. Palmer was no military woman - that was her younger sister Tyana's domain - but even she could immediately see the applications of being able to guide something from a distance with precision.

"For what reason?" she asked.

"As guidance for some kind of new weapon system?"

"No, it was a toy for his sister, apparently," her mother said – before reaching over to pour herself another glass of wine.

Tala stood on the raised parade stand beside her mother, the roar of the crowd washing over her like a physical wave. Below the balcony, thousands of marines and sailors packed the square, their cheers thunderous as Princess Solana Lindholm gestured grandly from the palace balcony. The woman's voice, amplified by magic, rang out across the capital.

"Tomorrow we strike south!" the princess declared.

"At long last, we move to finish what you all started when you took this city. Now you move to take Lindholm itself!" The crowd erupted again, fists pumping. Tala's jaw tightened. She doubted anyone who hadn't met the Princess would notice, but even from here she could see the small hesitations in the other woman's movements and the stiffness in her posture. Her back was too straight. Her movements were too rigid.

Both spoke of military discipline – and while she'd normally applaud, that wasn't something the Princess should have had. Resisting the urge to shake her head, Tala leaned closer to her mother.

"So I take it we're finally moving? This isn't the way I was expecting to find out." Her voice was low enough to be lost beneath the cheering. Eleanor Blackstone shook her head, eyes fixed on the balcony.

"It was decided last night. We've dallied long enough." Tala frowned.

"Does that mean you've finally agreed on a strategy?"

"Of sorts," Eleanor said.

"One neither of us are happy with, but hopefully we can both live with. And one you'll play a key role in." Her mother finally turned to look at her.

"We'll split off a small part of the fleet. Less than four ships. They'll be yours to command when the garrison troops arrive." Tala felt like she'd bitten something bitter.

"Please don't tell me I'll be expected to babysit the capital while you fly south?" Elanor shook her head.

"No. I have others in mind for that. You'll leave two ships here and take the other two back North. Your role will be to seize the castles we skipped over on our trip south. More importantly, I want you to seize their enchanted munition stockpiles." Tala nodded slowly, processing.

"What about you? I take it you still intend to avoid a full-scale fleet engagement." Eleanor's lips curved in a grim smile.

"If I can help it. No, instead we'll be spreading out and moving in slowly to the South's outlying castles. The hope is that if we can seize enough, the Southern nobles might surrender without any large fight being needed."

"I know they're Southerners, but they're not going to just… not fight."

"No, as convenient as that might be, they won't. Fortunately, by spreading out, we'll force them to do the same or risk losing everywhere they don't defend. And in any small-scale engagement between two or less ships, our ships hold the advantage in quality."

"You're risking a defeat in detail," Tala said. Eleanor shrugged.

"Perhaps. It'll be a delicate dance for sure. And require a lot of coordination to pull back the noose anywhere they choose to push us in force. We'll also be keeping back a reasonably-sized task force whose role it will be to counter them if they choose to split into multiple smaller fleets big enough to counter our paired ships. Using that, we can put them at risk of a defeat in detail." Tala felt a flicker of unease.

"And what if William thinks of something? We still don't fully know how he blew up that airship. Or how his ship managed to down so many others during the pirate attack." Eleanor nodded slowly.

"There's nothing we can do but remain vigilant. Harrowed or merely smarter than average, the boy's still just one person. And no single invention will change the tide of a war. I will admit that splitting like this puts us at risk of… tricks, but it's still the superior option to a full-scale fleet engagement."

"Because if that happens, the Solites and Lunites will smell blood in the water and we'll win just to find ourselves facing down an invasion fleet," the younger Blackstone said. And that was the kick. They could win this war tomorrow – but in doing so they'd lose the next one. So instead they had to be smart about this. Honestly though, it was a difficult position to be in; to be expected to fight a war while trying to preserve your enemy's ships as well as your own.

"Exactly." Eleanor's gaze flicked toward the New Haven contingent on a nearby stand.

"Now if only I could get those damn elves to understand that."

"New Haven is still arguing for one big push then?" Tala asked. Eleanor nodded.

"Aye. But they can't push without us, and I refuse to do something so foolish. I'll let us both lose before that happens. Truthfully, I wanted to double back for those castles before committing to the noose strategy, but this is the compromise I've reached with the elven bitch. Neither of us are happy about it." Tala hesitated, then voiced the thought that had been gnawing at her.

"I want to go with you. For the real fight." The task she'd been given was important, she knew that, but anyone could accomplish it. Placing an airship in the skies of an enemy county was an automatic win condition. The only question involved was how long the defenders could hold out underground and how many marines would die in the process of clearing them out. It would be grim tedious work. Eleanor turned to her fully, expression softening for the briefest moment.

"I know. But the fact of the matter is, I need you to be held back. In case anything happens to me." Tala's eyes widened.

"Mother-""Don't get all mushy," Eleanor cut in gruffly – the softness fading instantly.

"I'm not planning on dying any time soon. It'll take more than those Southern milksops to beat me. With that said, we're Blackstones and we always plan for the worst." Tala swallowed her protest.

"I won't let you down." Eleanor clapped her on the shoulder.

"I know you won't. You've come a long way over the past year." Tala nodded slowly before turning her gaze back to the balcony as the Princess finished her speech with a flourish, arms raised to the sky. They were finally moving. The only question Tala had was what William was cooking up to try and stop them.

"You know, this is actually quite fun," William said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched the little boat carve neat circles across the lake's surface. The sun was dipping low, dyeing the water in deep shades of crimson and gold. Olivia and her friends had left nearly an hour ago, the girl herself bundled in a thick towel to ward off the chill after her impromptu dip. She had begged to take the boat with her, but William had pointed out that it was currently rather non-functional after the goose attack.

He'd promised to send it up to the estate the moment it was repaired. Repairs he'd finished a few minutes ago. Fortunately, they'd been rather simple. In the end, the issue turned out to be that the aggressive waterfowl had somehow managed to knock a wire loose inside. Which was easily fixed. Now he was just… testing it. For functionality.

"Are you sure you don't want a go?" he asked Verity without turning around, fingers deftly adjusting the controls.

"I did promise you one?"

"Ah, I'm fine," the orc replied from behind him, likely having finished her own towelling off.

"I found some… ducks."

"Ducks?" he asked.

"Ducklings," the orc corrected. Oh, that got his attention. It was a bit late in the season for ducklings though wasn't- Something warm and soft was suddenly pressed against his back. No! Not one. Two things! Two large yet soft, yielding things. Each with a noticeably firm point at the centre. …He could feel someone's breath on his neck.

"Quack," a voice whispered into his ear.

"Quack."