The flag captain’s voice had taken on a dangerously pointed tone, and Thirsk gave him a cautioning glance. After a moment, Baiket inhaled deeply and sat back in his chair.
“Well, at least once we do get shells of our own, we’ll be able to respond to the Charisians in kind.” He grimaced. “It sounds like it’s going to be a damned bloodbath no matter what we do, My Lord, so I suppose the best we can hope for is to make it just as bad a bloodbath for the other side.”
“In some ways, that’s how it’s always been,” Thirsk replied. “Not that I don’t take your point, Stywyrt,” he added, remembering a conversation of his own with Bishop Staiphan. “I don’t really like to think about it this way,” he went on, “but if we could count on exchanging losses on an equal basis with the Charisians, or even on a two-to-one basis in their favor, we’d win in the end simply because we’ve got more bodies to throw at them. Unfortunately, that’s a formula that works better for armies on land than it does for navies at sea, because we’ve got to build the damned ships as well.”
“I hope you won’t mind me saying this, My Lord, but that’s not the way you’ve been teaching us to win battles.”
“No, but unless we can figure out some way to successfully protect a ship against these new explosive shells, sea battles are going to turn into mutual suicide pacts. Oh, I’m not going to give up on the theory that with proper tactics you can still mass fire and eliminate enemy units faster than they can eliminate yours, but it’s going to be like fighting a duel at twenty paces with carronades loaded with grapeshot.”
“There’s a mental image I could’ve done without, My Lord,” Baiket said dryly.
“I’m not enamored of it myself, Stywyrt. And I may be being overly pessimistic, but I don’t really think so. Not judging by the reports from Iythria. I think it’s going to be a matter of the fellow who fires first winning, since right at this moment I don’t really see any way to effectively protect a galleon against shellfire.”
“That idea of draping chains to protect the sides of the hull sounded to me as if it had some promise, My Lord.”
“It probably does, but there’s only so much anchor chain to go around. I’ve had Ahlvyn and Ahbail out canvassing every ship and every warehouse on the waterfront, and it seems a lot of old anchor chains’ve been melted down to make guns out ofthese days.” The earl grimaced a smile at his flag captain. “And looking at these diagrams,” he tapped the sketch on his desk again, “I’m less confident than I was about their stopping a shell with walls this thick at short ranges, anyway. It looks like it’s going to be heavier and hit with more force than I’d expected when I came up with the notion. I still think it’ll help, possibly a great deal, but we’re still looking for a better option, too.”
“I see, My Lord. Well—”
The sentry outside Thirsk’s quarters thumped the butt of his musket on the deck.
“Commander Khapahr to see the Admiral!” he announced, and Paiair Sahbrahan, Thirsk’s valet, emerged from his cubbyhole to scurry over and open the door.
“Forgive me for interrupting, My Lord,” Commander Ahlvyn Khapahr said, following Sahbrahan into the day cabin and coming to attention with his hat clasped under his arm. He was about thirty, dark-haired and complexioned, with a luxurious mustache. He was also a very smart young officer, in Thirsk’s opinion, which was how he’d come to hold the position which would have been called chief of staff back on Old Earth … or in the Imperial Charisian Navy. He was accompanied by another officer, one Thirsk had never seen before, in a lieutenant’s uniform.
“I knew you were going to be speaking with the Captain about the new weapons,” Khapahr continued, “and I thought I should bring Lieutenant Zhwaigair here to your attention while you’re doing it.”
“Indeed?” Thirsk sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the chair arms, and regarded Zhwaigair thoughtfully.
Lieutenant Zhwaigair was even younger than Khapahr—indeed, he was probably younger than Sir Ahbail Bahrdailahn, Thirsk’s flag lieutenant—with fair hair and eyes that hovered between hazel and brown. He was a well-muscled fellow, and quite tall; he had to stand with hunched shoulders and a bent neck to clear the deckhead without cracking his skull. Thirsk was a much shorter man, and he felt a pang of sympathy as he imagined how many self-inflicted headaches Zhwaigair must have enjoyed aboard ship.
“And why did you think you should bring the Lieutenant to my attention, Ahlvyn?” he asked mildly.
“Because he has an idea. It sounds pretty ridiculous at first, and I’ll admit I wasn’t particularly interested when he brought it to my attention this morning, In fact, I was distinctly not interested, but he’s a persistent sort, and since you had me inventorying those elusive, vanishing anchor chains, I decided I was, ah, willing to lay aside my vital labors long enough to hear him out.” The commander smiled at his superior, but then his expression sobered. “As it turns out, I’m glad I did. As I say, it sounded ridiculous when he started, but what he had to say actually began to make sense when I listened to it. A lot of sense, in fact, I think.”
Zhwaigair looked distinctly nervous. Unless Thirsk was mistaken, though, most of that nervousness came from finding himself face-to-face with an admiral, not from any doubt over whatever bizarre idea he might have in mind. Those oddly colored eyes were too level and steady for a man who felt uncertainty.
“All right.” The earl waved one hand in an inviting gesture. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me about this idea of yours, Lieutenant Zhwaigair?”
“I’ve actually taken the liberty of asking the Lieutenant to bring along some sketches of his proposal, My Lord,” Khapahr put in, beckoning at the heavy envelope under Zhwaigair’s right elbow.
“And I’ll be delighted to look at them … probably,” Thirsk said pleasantly. “First, however, let’s hear the Lieutenant explain it to me. After all,” he smiled, “if it turns out to be a good idea, I’m likely to find myself explaining it to quite a few people who aren’t going to be interested in looking at sketches and diagrams. Perhaps I can pick up a few pointers from the Lieutenant that will help me impress them if that happens.”
Zhwaigair flinched ever so slightly before the earl’s smile, but his eyes met Thirsk’s steadily, and the admiral noted that steadiness with approval.
“Very well, My Lord,” Zhwaigair’s voice was deeply resonant, despite his youth. “What I’ve actually been thinking about are the rumors about what happened at Iythria and what we might do, if it turned out they were accurate, to improve our own chances against the heretics. I haven’t had access to any of the official reports, but from what I’ve heard it seems evident the heretics’ve found a way to make their round shot explode. I’m assuming that means they’ve found a way to put a charge of powder inside a hollowed-out shot and somehow convince it to explode after it hits its target, which strikes me as a bit more of a challenge than some people might think.” He grimaced quickly. “My family’s been foundry workers since my great-grandfather’s day, My Lord,” he explained, “and I spent five years apprenticed to my Uncle Thomys before I joined the Navy. In fact, that’s why Admiral Tyrnyr assigned me to help develop the new gun carriages and mountings. So I suspect I have a better notion than most people would of some of the difficulties the heretics must’ve faced in making hollow, exploding shot work, especially when it came to making them explode reliably and consistently. At any rate, though, those are the stories I’ve heard, and I’ve heard some … additional rumors”—he seemed to be picking his words carefully, Thirsk noticed—“that it may be possible for us to … acquire the same sort of ammunition.”
The last six words came out in a slight but clearly discernible questioning tone, and Thirsk regarded him thoughtfully. No one had expressly told him the information about the new ammunition was to be kept secret, and it was unlikely any Charisian spies were going to be able to run all the way to Tellesberg from Gorath Bay to tell Cayleb Ahrmahk about it before its existence was demonstrated in combat
. Of the other hand, no one had told him he could start waving around the reports, either.
“I think, Lieutenant,” he said after a moment, “that you should probably assume that if one set of rumors was accurate, there’s probably also at least some accuracy to the other. Could I ask exactly how this relates to whatever this idea of yours is?”
“Well, My Lord, it occurred to me that if the rumors were true, each hit was going to become much more dangerous. Put another way, it’s going to take a lot less hits to beat a ship into surrender—or even destroy it outright—which means it’s going to be more important to shoot accurately and actually hit an opponent—consistently, I mean—than it is to simply line up a lot of guns and blaze away in hopes at least some of your shots will find the enemy.”
“I’d say that’s not unreasonable … with”—Thirsk’s tone was desert-dry—“the minor caveat that my experience has been that the more rounds you fire, the greater your chance that you will score a hit.”
“Agreed, My Lord. Certainly.” Zhwaigair nodded, acknowledging the point yet clearly unfazed by the earl’s irony. “But there are other factors than simply the number of guns. For example, how well trained your gunners are, how inherently accurate their weapons are, how big their target is, how steady your gun platform is, and perhaps most importantly of all, especially if both sides are using exploding shot, how readily you can maneuver your ship to give your gunners the best chance of hitting while giving the other fellow’s gunners the worst possible chance of hitting you in return. Or, that would seem to be the case to me, at any rate.”
“I can’t argue with any of that, either,” Thirsk agreed, steepling his fingers beneath his chin while he wondered where the lieutenant might be taking all this.
“Well, when I’d gotten that far, My Lord, it occurred to me there might be ways to make those other factors work for us. For example, I suspect that with a longer barrel, bored to tighter tolerances, we could considerably increase accuracy at extended ranges. With more time for the shot to accelerate before it leaves the muzzle, we’d probably get a flatter, more accurate trajectory even at closer ranges, but more importantly, the longer the range at which you can begin reliably hitting your opponent, the better, especially if he can’t match the range with his own weapons. In fact, I’ve had another thought, based on the new rifled muskets. If it’s truly possible to fire exploding shot out of a cannon, then it seems to me it would be worthwhile to consider whether or not it would be possible to rifle the cannon the same way we’re rifling muskets now. That wouldn’t simply increase accuracy, either; like lengthening the gun tube, it would probably extend the piece’s maximum range well beyond what a smoothbore can achieve, since a rifled projectile would have to have less windage, which ought to mean more of the force of the gunpowder could be trapped behind it before it leaves the gun.”
Thirsk’s eyes widened, and he darted a quick look at Baiket, whose expression looked as surprised by the suggestion’s audacity as the earl felt. And especially, Thirsk realized an instant later, by the realization that what Zhwaigair had just suggested had to be possible. Perhaps not simple, and not easy, but clearly if a musket ball could be rifled, then so could an exploding artillery shell. It was simply a matter of scale, after all. And if an exploding shell could be rifled—
“It also occurred to me,” Zhwaigair went on, apparently oblivious to Thirsk’s surprise, “that since one gun, firing exploding shot, will undoubtedly be able to do the work of many guns firing solid shot, it might be worthwhile to think about ways in which we could bring our guns to bear while presenting the enemy with the smallest possible target, even if that meant a reduction in the total number of guns we could bring to bear. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that what matters is the ratio of hits, not the ratio of guns, and that a bigger exploding shot is probably going to do much more damage than a smaller exploding shot, since the bigger shot can carry a bigger charge of power with it. So anything that made our ships harder to hit would be worthwhile as long as we still managed to hit them reliably and consistently, with the biggest guns possible. And when I thought about that for a bit longer, it fitted rather neatly with another thought I’d had a year or so ago.”
“And what thought would that have been, Lieutenant?” Thirsk asked intently, watching Zhwaigair through narrowed eyes, half frightened of where this remarkable young man might be about to go next.
“An alternative to the galleon, at least in coastal waters, My Lord.” Zhwaigair smiled for the first time, wryly. “At the time, it seemed best to keep any such notions to myself, since you appeared to be having difficulties enough convincing the Navy we needed galleons for blue water without someone coming along and proposing a new style of galley, instead. But it did seem to me the galley still retained several advantages over the galleon, especially in coastal waters or river defense. It was far more maneuverable, for one thing, and much less dependent on wind conditions. Obviously, with the new broadside artillery arrangements the traditional galley wasn’t practical any longer, but it seemed to me it might be useful to find a way to hang onto its advantages, if we could find a way that let us offset or eliminate it’s disadvantages. So I came up with an idea I think would let us do that.”
“You came up with what?” Baiket asked, startled into interrupting. He looked quickly at Thirsk, but the earl only waved his hand and kept his gaze on Zhwaigair.
“I really do need to show you one of my sketches to make this make sense, My Lord,” the lieutenant said apologetically.
“Then bring it out, Lieutenant. You’re beginning to interest me.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
Zhwaigair opened his envelope and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it on Thirsk’s desk, and the earl’s eyes turned even more intent as he gazed at it.
“The galley’s two biggest disadvantages are endurance, since it’s dependent on the backs and arms of its rowers, and, obviously, the need to use its entire broadside length for banks of oars, instead of guns. I couldn’t see any way to get around the advantages sail and wind power offer in terms of endurance, no matter what we might change about the way we apply muscle power to movement, but it did seem to me there was a way to move the galley without oars.”
Baiket scowled skeptically, but Thirsk only cocked his head and looked down at Zhwaigair’s drawing. It was neatly done, with labels and arrows pointing to different parts of it, and the lieutenant traced it with his finger.
“As I said earlier, My Lord, my Uncle Thomys is an ironmaster in Bess,” he said, “and this is something he came up with some years ago to improve the draft on his forging hearths. It’s called a ‘crankshaft’ because, as you can see, that’s basically what it is, and it’s been used to power small machines for as long as anyone can remember. A lot of the bigger, dragon-drawn fire engines use something like this, too, although a lever pump’s more common on horse-drawn engines, since it can be smaller and lighter. But the crankshaft lets the larger engines build much greater water pressure, since you can put a lot more men on it at once. The practice for larger foundry machines has normally been to use horses, or possibly mules or even donkeys, on a sakia gear if the power’s going to be required for a lengthy period and there’s no convenient water source available for a waterwheel.
“What Uncle Thomys did was come up with a crankshaft a lot longer than the ones we usually use—long enough he could put more workmen on it and generate a lot more power. A dozen or so of his men stand side by side in two lines with the crankshaft between them. Then, when he needs to increase the draft, they turn it, using these offset grips here and here. Actually, to be completely accurate, they’re the ‘cranks,’ and the shaft is this long bit, here, that actually rotates. You can think of it as a really big version of a carpenter’s brace and bit, if you like.”
The lieutenant tapped the drawing, looking up to meet Thirsk’s eyes.
“It’s actually a remarkably efficient way to transfer energy, when you come down t
o it, My Lord. And while I was thinking about ways to make galleys better, I realized that if it were possible to connect a crankshaft like this to the same sort of … impeller or fan blade he uses in his hearth, there’s no reason those blades couldn’t be submerged, where they could push water instead of air. When you come down to it, that’s all oars really do—push water, I mean—and anyone who’s ever used a hand fan knows how much more efficiently a rotary fan pushes air. I imagine the same thing would be true of water, and if you had enough men on the crank, and if your impeller was big enough, it could actually move the galley without oars. Better yet, to work effectively, the crankshaft would have to be in the middle of the ship, just above the keel, which would put it below any gundecks. In fact, it would be below the waterline, which would protect it from enemy shot. You’d have to change out the men on the crank at frequent intervals because of fatigue, of course, which is the main reason animal power’s always been preferred if it has to be provided for extended periods. But my calculations suggest you’d need fewer men on the crank, assuming my assumptions about the relative efficiency of impellers and oars are accurate, than you’d need on the oars of a regular galley. In fact, it’s even possible—I haven’t tried to work out the numbers on this, you understand, My Lord, since I don’t have any way to demonstrate how accurate my assumptions about impeller efficiency actually are—that it might be possible to install two crankshafts and two impellers in a single vessel. If that turned out to be possible, you might be able to increase your galley’s speed quite a bit, at least in relatively short bursts. Endurance would still be a factor, but I can’t think of any reason why you couldn’t put masts and sails on it for cruising between engagements. We did that for years and years with traditional galleys, and they only went to oars for maneuvering purposes or to enter battle. And with crankshafts and impellers, we wouldn’t need to stack oardecks on top of each other, so we could probably build a less lofty, more weatherly galley with the same propulsive power.”