On-Site Inspection - 2
Herbert asked, “What information would I be the best at providing?”
“You entered Zylan after ‘that city’ fell, didn’t you?”
Herbert stiffened. The reason Richard was asking about the timing of Erania’s fall while standing among the cannons at the foundry was obvious. She wanted to compare the performance of the Polbury-made cannons with the Kurzan ones.
For two thousand years the empire had endured, and on the day its thousand-year capital was trampled beneath the hooves of a pagan army, he had been inside that city. Five years had passed, yet he could still recall every moment with painful clarity.
At the center of that vivid nightmare were the cannons.
The city burned. Rivers of blood flowed through the streets. Men swung swords at the heathens until the last of them fell. They drew bows, hurled stones, braced spears against their shoulders alongside comrades. But the imperial army’s resolve proved meaningless. The scattered forces crumbled helplessly before the sheer numbers of turbaned pagan slave soldiers. Whenever they tried to tighten their formations to resist, a whistle would inevitably pierce the air from somewhere.
He had not forgotten the faces of those who tried to shield him from the Kurzan troops. He doubted he ever would.
The imperial army had fought bravely and earnestly, but never effectively. The moment soldiers began to cluster, the whistle came. After that ear-splitting sound, the upper bodies of men standing in tight formation simply vanished. A single massive cannonball could obliterate dozens of torsos, limbs, and heads and still retain enough force to crack twelve-foot-thick walls.
Even after escaping aboard a refugee ship under the desperate protection of infantry and knights, he had been forced to watch Kurzan cannons sink imperial vessels with single shots, showing no distinction between warships and refugee ships.
Herbert spoke, struggling to wipe the crimson vision from his mind. “That is correct. But… did you truly need to ask me about the power of Kurzan cannons?”
“Among everyone I know from the Eastern Empire who survived the fall of Erania, aren’t you the one standing beside me right now?” Richard replied, as though the question were perfectly ordinary.
Herbert felt the full weight of the realization that she was a true ruler. To him, the fall of Erania five years ago remained an inescapable swamp of memory. It was a nightmare he tried never to revisit, yet Richard demanded he drag it back into the light and measure it against the cannons that would soon be fired.
For a monarch, it was only natural. No matter how high his titles of archbishop and chancellor, the Queen of Zylan possessed every right to demand whatever information the war required. It was, in fact, what a sovereign was expected to do. He tried to steady himself with that thought.
Yet the more he reached for the memories, the darker the world before his eyes grew, entirely against his will.
“Just a moment… could you grant me a little time?”
“Are you all right, Your Eminence?”
“What’s the matter, Herbert?”
When Herbert staggered, Rio and Richard asked simultaneously in worried voices. Yet Rio seemed the more concerned of the two; the prince had already stepped to his side to keep him from falling.
It would have been better if Queen Richelle were the one supporting me, Herbert thought, even as he answered aloud, “I am fine, Your Majesty. Thank you for steadying me, Your Highness.”
“What’s wrong? Did you breathe in some foul vapor from the foundry?”
“…It is not that.”
When he answered slowly, Rio studied his face and said, “In any case, you do not seem to be in your usual condition. I doubt you can recall the Kurzan cannons properly. Am I correct?”
“No, Rio. A little dizziness is hardly enough to erase a memory that vivid.”
“Even if His Eminence remembers clearly, speaking of it may be difficult.”
“That is true enough.”
Richard regarded Herbert with a look of pity. “To be so frail—what use are you? Rest for now and watch my cannons closely.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Richard waved a hand dismissively. Once her gaze had moved on, Herbert turned to Rio as well. “Thank you truly, Your Highness.”
Rio caught the quiet words and answered, “It is nothing. I apologize for forcing you to recall such painful memories.”
“There is no need for Your Highness to apologize.”
“But my older sibling cannot very well apologize in person, can she?”
“Your Highness is correct.”
“What are you waiting for? Come sit. You too, Rio.”
At Richard’s command, Rio guided Herbert to a seat on her left. Herbert had no desire to sit, but he followed the queen’s gaze.
The men who had been moving busily ten to fifteen yards away retreated from the cannons and took cover. A soldier holding a flag in each hand turned toward Richard. When she gestured, he raised the red flag in his right hand at a forty-five-degree angle.
The men standing near the breeches with heated iron rods thrust them into the touch holes the instant the flag moved. Smoke billowed from the breech, followed immediately by flame roaring from the muzzle. The carriage recoiled violently.
The deafening blast made Herbert feel as though the nightmare from five years ago was resurfacing. The tearing whistle that followed and the mountain-shaking roar caused him to shrink inward even further. In his mind the shattered scarecrows looked like the blood of imperial soldiers and citizens. The cracked boulders resembled the walls of Erania. The earth and dust sprayed outward by the shells seemed like the wreckage and water columns of the refugee fleet.
He clenched his fists and stared at the fire-breathing cannons. The crew firing them took signals from a single man. The flag bearer’s eyes, however, were fixed on Herbert—or more precisely, on the woman seated beside him with one arm draped lazily over the chair’s armrest, legs crossed at an angle.
Herbert’s eyes widened. One of the artillerymen moved back and forth between the flag bearer and the woman. She shot the man an irritated look and waved him away. The gunner trembled with the fear of death; the woman demanded it. She was the one who had ordered his family killed.
He kicked back his seat and rose.
Whatever emotions held Herbert in their grip, the only one who paid them any mind was Prince Rio.
Richard raised her hand once more, and the gunners began preparing the next round. The process of swabbing the smoking barrel with wet cloth could not be hurried, but the steps of loading powder, driving the charge home, and seating the shot could be shortened.
Before Herbert had even recovered from the shock of the first volley, the next shell was already loaded.
Rather than gesture, Richard spoke directly to the flag bearer. “Once ready, fire without waiting for my command.”
“Understood, Your Majesty the Queen!”
The flag bearer waved his banner with enthusiasm. Red-hot rods plunged once more into the breeches of the bronze and iron cannons. Smoke, flame, and shot erupted.
Scarecrows simulating dense infantry formations and cavalry columns disintegrated into flying wood and straw. The boulders standing in for castle walls crumbled to dust after only two hits.
By the time the third round was fired in the same manner, Herbert was in a state that could scarcely be called human. He stared alternately at the ruined scarecrows, the shattered rocks, and the cannons, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
“Older sibling, shouldn’t we stop the firing?”
Richard answered, “Something is strange.”
Rio had been speaking of Herbert, but that was not what had caught Richard’s attention. She said, “Why has the pace slowed so noticeably?”
As she observed, the gunners’ movements had become visibly slower than before. The bronze cannons still fired rapidly, but the iron cannon crew was lagging. The gap widened steadily; when the bronze guns reached their fifth shot, the iron cannon was still loading its fourth.
The iron cannon crew was clearly fidgeting even from a distance. Several finally ran to the flag bearer. He shook his head firmly. In the end one of them approached Richard.
Richard asked the sweating gunner, “What is it?”
“A crack has formed in the touch hole of the cast-iron cannon.”
“So four rapid shots were indeed too much, Rio. We will need to reinforce the breech and chamber.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. But the archbishop right now…”
“Then may I ask what we should do, Your Majesty?”
The gunner cut Rio off. Richard addressed the soldier rather than the prince. “What should you do? Return at once and continue firing.”
“Pardon? But the touch hole…”
“I heard you.”
Richard turned her gaze back to the cannons. The bronze guns were firing their sixth round while the iron cannon crew had stopped loading entirely and stood watching her.
Irritation colored her voice. “Go and fire. Are you not the ones delaying the test?”
“But Your Majesty! If we continue, the cannon may explode!”
“Discovering exactly when it explodes is part of your duty. Now go!”
The gunner hesitated, feet rooted in place.
Rio, who had been watching Herbert’s complexion, intervened. “Older sibling.”
“What?”
“This is not a good idea. It must not be done.”
He spoke to Richard, then turned to the soldier. “What is your name?”
“Yes? Ah, yes! Sergeant Jacob Woodhill, Your Highness.”
“Good. Sergeant Woodhill, how long have you operated cannons? And your men?”
“Ten years…? No, nine years, I believe! The others have five or six years. Um…”
He faltered, unsure how to address Rio. “Um… Princess?”
Rio’s face hardened. Richard let out a small, amused huff.
Rio corrected gently, “Unfortunately it is Prince, Sergeant Woodhill.”
“Forgive me…”
“In any case,” Rio continued to Richard, “the sergeant has served more than ten years, and his men at least five. They were chosen to test this new iron cannon precisely because they are artillery specialists. Exposing them to further danger would be unwise.”
Richard replied with a bored expression, “That is no reason. If we halt the test now, we will fail to obtain the truly vital data.”
“A crack appeared at the fourth shot. Five shots will widen it for certain, and another five will cause an explosion. Is any further detail truly necessary? The most important information can be gathered once this new weapon is more refined. By then the measurements can be taken far more safely. An exploded cannon and crippled soldiers would be useless.”
Rio explained calmly.
Richard rested her chin on her hand and considered. The answer came quickly. Rio was right. She did not particularly regard Sergeant Woodhill as an especially valuable veteran, but the insurance payments to his family if the cannon burst would be a waste. The five hundred thousand gulden debt had only just been forgiven; she could not squander money so carelessly.
She nodded. “You are right, Rio.”
“Thank you.”
“No. I should thank you. Your wise counsel is always a great help to me.”
“N-not at all, older sibling! Serving you is my duty!”
“Rio. Refrain from calling me that.”
Richard wore an awkward smile. It was clumsy, therefore human, and so beautiful it sent a thrill through the air.
Rio stammered, “Ah… please forgive my slip of the tongue, Your Majesty.”
“Be more careful next time. …By the way, Sergeant?”
Jacob, who had been grinning at the exchange between the two beauties, snapped back to attention.
“Ah, yes! Yes, Your Majesty!”
“Why are you still standing here instead of going to stop the firing?”
“Understood, Your Majesty! I will deliver the cease-fire order at once!”
Jacob hurried toward the cannons. Rio watched him go and released a sigh of relief. Soon the crews on the bronze cannons halted as well. The guns fell silent. No more shells struck the already obliterated scarecrows or stones.
Richard quickly lost interest in the rear yard now that the cannons had stopped. After observing the cleanup for a short while with a bored expression, she rose.
“I will take my leave, Rio.”
“I will follow shortly.”
“Look after Herbert. For the Chancellor of Zylan to be so frail…”
Richard clicked her tongue. Rio smiled awkwardly. “Once His Eminence recovers, we will return at once.”
“See that the report is prepared as well.”
Without waiting for a reply, Richard strode out of the rear yard. Rio answered the empty air.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”