The Imperial Capital, Rigour: The Whisper Palace, Scarlet Drawing RoomThe room was a symphony in red. Peregrine Montclair could feel the crimson stain seep into his vision as he entered, the gaslights making the crimson damask, the red velvet curtains, the scarlet upholstery, the carmine carpets all glow rich and bloody.
Oh, there was gold, too, glittering from the furniture and the panelling, and crystal took hard white fire in the chandeliers and decanters on the sideboard, but the overwhelming impression was of red.
It was not, perhaps, his favourite room in the Whisper Palace – too harsh, in a way, and far too overpowering. Its décor all-but screamed power and pomp, prestige and ceremony – but the empress liked it and its glorious view over Salano and Godsreach, and that was that.
He was, after all, her servant and subject. They all were, from the highest duke to the lowest scullery maid; everyone bowed to the imperial crown – and the woman who wore it.
Even at this late hour, the woman waiting for him by the roaring fire was immaculate. Fashionably pale skin vanished beneath a shimmering silken gown the colour of flame, and rubies the colour of blood glittered in the pale hollow of her throat. Black hair washed down from her head, and dark grey eyes like thunderstorms glittered above rich crimson lips.
This, then, was the Serene Empress, and – surprisingly – she was not alone, even given the late hour. The footmen didn’t count, but next to her, a snifter in his hand and filled with – by the smell of it – three fat fingers of peach brandy, stood the Viscount St. Clair, Alexander de Serenne, looking anxious and uncomfortable.
A Government Box was in his other hand, the black-and-silver briefcase stark in the gorgeously overwhelming colour of the room, and it was to this that Perry’s eyes were drawn even as he glided forwards over the acres of floor and gave of his best and most courtly bow.
“
You summoned me, your majesty?”
“
Yes, Perry. Alex here-” she tilted her head towards the Marshal of the Imperial Army, who gave a weak smile and sipped his peach brandy. “
-has a problem. Emergency dispatch from Argentine. Alex?”
The click of St. Clair’s brandy glass on the mirror-polished surface of the table was loud in the silence. “
Five days ago, troops from the Mauwanti Empire crossed the land borders of the Counties Palatine, laying siege to one of our border forts and raiding a town called Jardin. Reports are sketchy, at best, but our man over there says a couple of hundred civilian casualties, minimum – and the butchery of a company of troops. After, we believe, their surrender.”
Perry had initially believed the fine tremors rushing over his colleague’s athletic frame to be anxiety or fatigue. Now, he realised with a sort of detached numbness, it was
rage.
“
Dear lord,” he breathed, caught utterly on the hop. “
There was no warning? No declaration? Nothing from the Foreign Office about it?”
Alexander’s lips quirked. “
Not a blessed thing. A bolt from the clear and shining blue, by all reports.”
Liliana smiled, and it was a mirthless thing, a skinning-back of red lips from gleaming white teeth. “
Our Chancellor is remarkably sanguine,” she observed. “
We used rather stronger language. Regardless, gentlemen, one of our imperial possessions has been invaded by a foreign power. Never mind there’s been no declaration of war - Raids on our towns? Sieges of our fortresses? The slaughter of our troops? We’ll not wear it, Perry, not as long as we sit on the throne!” She took a single, sharp breath – which had the effect of compressing and concentrating her anger. The Empress Liliana, it was known, held grudges until they died of old age and then had them sent to the taxidermist so she could
continue to hold them.
“
We will brook no compromise on this,” she informed him, voice precise and clear and hot as a blowtorch. “
We took an oath, Perry, when they put the Crown on our head, to keep faith with our subjects, to protect and defend. Well, we’re no rifleman and still less a Navy captain, but these Mauwanti have attacked our people and we want them to bleed.”
Peregrine coughed, trying to get back onto an even keel, the world reeling around him. Tara was no stranger to bloodshed, of course not, but it was rare for them to be caught so utterly by surprise. “
No, no, of course not, ma’am,” he soothed even as his mind raced furiously. “No question of abandoning your subjects, no question at all.”
“
Good. You run our government, Perry, and you run it well by our reckoning – but it is still our government, at the end of the day, and we require you to repulse the attacks on our colony and our people by whatever means necessary. Fail in this charge at your peril, Your Grace. St. Clair.” With a sharp nod to them both, they were dismissed, bowing away from the imperial presence in unison.
Once the doors had clicked shut behind them, Alexander let out an explosive breath. “
What a damned mess, eh? Lord knows what’s got into those wretched natives down there.”
“
Picking apart motives isn’t going to be very helpful right away,” Perry pointed out as they walked briskly through the Palace halls, escorted by a silent equerry. “
We need to work out what to do about this attack, and quickly before it gets out of control.” Perry was right to worry; a part of Tara’s gleaming armour on the world stage were its stable and prosperous colonies, and the utter unthinkability of attacking one. Unless decisive action were taken soon, that armour would begin to crack, and it was far harder to repair that sort of damage. Worse, the Counties Palatine were a key trading hub, and the loss of revenue didn’t even bear thinking about.
And the less said about raiding, looting, rape and pillage, the better.
“
The College of War has better facilities than the Chancellery for this sort of thing,” Alex proffered. “
I can have Alasdair and Richard-” the military heads of the army and navy, respectively “
-here in an hour?”
Perry nodded and pinched his eyes, shaking off the tiredness. “
Good thinking. We’ll need Gabriel on-side, too, and probably the Attorney-General as well. I’ll have my staff round up the people we need from Cabinet, if you can get your chaps working on a more comprehensive briefing.”
Alex nodded, face grim. “
I’ll lay in coffee and cake. It’s a godawful hour in the morning and I don’t think any of us are going to get any more sleep.”
At the gates of the Whisper Palace, handed into their respective carriages by fresh-faced equerries, the two ministers split to their respective duties, and in short order the telegraph lines burned with order and counter-order, all the normally-ponderous machinery of government waking from its somnolence at the sudden, dramatic news.
The Imperial Capital, Rigour: Godsreach District, The Imperial College of War, General Strategy Room“
All right, so what do we know so far?”
“
Precious little,” grunted Alasdair, glaring at the small stack of telegraph flimsies. “
Seems like some of the natives got restless and envious of our colony down there and went for the old smash-and-grab. Bloody savages, if this report-” he waved one of the translucent pink papers dramatically “-is accurate. Fort Holloway – that’s here¬-” the Field-Marshal jabbed viciously at a map and then at the large and splendidly detailed globe in the centre of the table “
-got massacred to the last man. Silver Hearts all round, and a posthumous Imperial Cross for the Lieutenant.” He harrumphed, and then changed the subject from the past to the present.
“
Who’ve you got in command over there?” the Admiral wanted to know, absently drumming his fingers on the polished wood of the desk as he thought.
“
James Harvick,” Alasdair replied shortly. “
Came up through the Royal Engineers. IGS thought it’d be a good posting for him to really get to grips with wide-area command before we bumped him to Major-General. Sound instincts, just needed a few of the rough edges polished off. We all thought some time down in the Counties with all its traders would do him some good, and keeping the Colonial garrison in fighting trim would keep him busy, too.”
“
Well,” Richard replied with a slightly sardonic laugh “
He’s certainly got enough on his plate now. Baptism of fire, I shouldn’t wonder. What’s he up to at the moment?”
“
Followin’ procedure, with a few wrinkles of his own, near as we can tell. Pulled back the troops to the fortresses and big garrisons, and broken up some of the Colonials into scouting formations. Keepin’ his strategic supply routes open, denying the enemy land control, and keeping abreast of where they are and where they’re headed. Knowing him, I’d not be surprised if they’ve got orders to the effect that if they catch an enemy commander three sheets to the wind, it’s to be five rounds rapid and no survivors.”
Richard hmmm-ed thoughtfully. “
Aggressive commander, then?”
Alasdair wobbled a hand. “
Confident in his troops and his assessment of the battlefield,” he replied after a few moments’ thought. “
He’s RE, and like everyone he knows the strength of the Army’s in the fortresses and the artillery.”
This was true; for centuries Tara’s army had been the little brother to the mighty Navy, and its main role, historically speaking, was in securing and improving imperial territory after it had been won. Artillery and superior technology to batter down any local opposition, ably supported by crushing fire from Navy battleships, and then out with the shovels
en masse.
“
He’s sent for reinforcements and explained the situation as best he knows it,” the Field-Marshal continued after a few moments. “
I don’t think he’ll deviate much from the defence plans unless something major happens; the whole aim is to stack the deck as much as possible in our favour and buy as much time to bring the big guns to bear as we can.”
Richard nodded. “
Sound thinking. What’s the current plan for reinforcments?”
“
Five regiments, and all their artillery too,” Alasdair said shortly. “Her Majesty was insistent with the Chancellor and the Marshal, I understand. They’ll not be wanting to do it half-arsed, or it’ll be their heads rolling, not just poor citizens out in the Colonies.”
“
Hah. Empress red in tooth and claw.” The trim and dapper Admiral shook his head. “
All right, I suppose your troop ships will want escorts?”
“
Aye, and some offshore support if it comes to it. Amazing how much safer people feel with a battleship’s guns guarding their town – and Argentine’s a bloody enormous port city. They’ve already got some fairly substantial coastal batteries; ten battleship-rated cannon and a score of cruiser-weight guns, at last report, but some mobile platforms to rain hell on any invaders coming close to the coast would be…useful.” He smiled a thin, wintry smile, and the Admiral nodded in agreement.
“
Sound thinking. A show of rapid, effective force should help keep the faith in the other colonies, and here at Home too, when news of this breaks.”
“
Ah, that would be my domain, I think,” one of the other figures – who up until that point, had remained silent. Gabriel de Marin, the Empire’s Foreign Secretary and – as part of that, someone with extensive contacts amongst the burgeoning Taran press. “
It’s a fairly clear-cut case of self-defence; I don’t anticipate any major difficulties with it, either here at Home or out in our other possessions. I’ll be briefing the Viceroys and Lieutenant-Governors to present it as a rapid and decisive action to protect imperial citizens.” He paused. “
Which has the added advantage of being the truth. Always useful, that – if not in the short term.”
The Admiral gave a little, courteous bow. “
Thank you, m’lord. Now, Alasdair, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? How many troops are you thinking of sending, and how many ships am I going to have to scrounge up to form an escort?”
Planning and discussion – between the Admiralty, the Imperial General Staff and key elements of the civilian government – continued as the night wore on and the first touch of dawn brightened the sky outside. Fuelled by sandwiches and cake and copious amounts of strong coffee, the movers and shakers of the Serene Empire continued their work, uncaring of the time. The ancient adage – admonishment and commandment both: ‘To the good order of the Empire and the safety of her citizens’ burned in more than one mandarin’s brain as they bent themselves to the task at hand, and orders flew out on electric wings to far-flung parts of the imperial war machine, waking it from its slumber.
Counties Palatine Coastal Waters, Near Argentine“
Argentine coming into view!” the first mate of Her Majesty’s battleship HMS Goliath reported, saluting his superior smartly. “
Conditions foggy but otherwise calm, we have a bead on the harbourmaster’s tower and the seawall.”
“
Thank goodness for that,” remarked said superior, Commodore the Hon. Edward Selleck, turning from his own pensive contemplation of the sea and its drifting fog banks. He was a powerfully-built man, not fat – never fat, not in the Imperial Navy – but simply built to a scale somewhat bigger than normal, all of it overlaid with muscle from a rigorous exercise regimen.
Strength was all well and good, as was a powerful presence to bolster the morale of the men – but what really mattered in this day and age was
brains. The intelligence to come up with newer and better instruments of war, and the intelligence to use them effectively.
The battleship was the most deadly such instrument yet devised – but like all things, it was a tool, and it had to be used correctly, and with complementary devices where possible, too (to extend the metaphor). The destroyers, in this case – and it was his job, his happy job, to wield those tools.
To the glory of the Serene Empire and the safety of her citizens.
“
Contact the troop transports – and General Harvick, too. He’s been waiting for a chance to give these invaders a taste of the imperial hammer, and I can’t say I blame him. Oh – and tell Guns we might have some work for his crews soon.” A wintry smile cut across Selleck’s craggy face at that, the mirror to his Admiral’s, far away in Rigour.
Tarans thought very similarly, at times.
And thus it was, mere hours later as the brief tropical night swept in, the transports were docked and disciplined lines of Taran riflemen, followed by the detachments from the Artillery Corps, were disembarking, swelling the capital garrison to bursting under the watchful eyes of the coastal fortresses and the Navy ships both.
Nothing could be permitted to impede retribution, after all – and, after having the colony bleed under his watch, although through no fault of his own, Lieutenant-General James Harvick was feeling very much in the mood for revenge.
Not that he’d call it such.
The Home Duchies; Sairland, ThalassaA world away from the brief, hot night of Argentine and the Counties Palatine, away from the looming spectre of war and the smell of ordnance and fear in the air, the Board of the Bitter Sea Trading Company were throwing a party.
It was a very
nice party, as befitted a very, very powerful corporation indeed. They’d hired the finest resort on Sairland for the event, a beautiful mansion - built in the Baroque style so beloved of the Home Duchies – with its own private beach, a perfect arc of curving white sand leading down to the clear turquoise sea. Sleek yachts bobbed at anchor, and just beneath the water’s surface corals waved in glorious rainbow profusion.
This was appreciated – in a background sort of way – by the glittering guest list. These were, after all, people near the top of imperial society, each of them used to untold luxury and ease in their daily lives. Movers and shakers; vice-presidents and CEOs, Directors and Chairmen, all mingled and laughed and danced and drank under the aegis of Bitter Sea, plied with the finest of food and the best champagne, all to celebrate Bitter Sea’s good fortune.
They’d struck a deal, supplying cattle in return for opium. A reasonable trade, but what had made it deliciously profitable was that Tara knew opium was a mere precursor to what could be. Imperial Chemical Industries had been contacted and a contract drawn up; their pharmaceuticals refineries had eagerly taken the raw opium, fresh from Bitter Sea docks, and turned it into far more valuable things; morphia, for one, so beloved of hospitals and hospices the empire over. The Surcease of Pain, the paramount analgesic, forever in demand.
In smaller quantities, too, but still substantial, and with such a lucrative price, they’d gone further and made diamorphine. Stronger and more powerful even than morphia, it eased even the worst of pain and sent its users into a glorious, blissful state akin to rapture.
Orders were flooding in from across the empire – and the company was putting out tentative feelers beyond imperial borders, too – and in every ear there rang the sounds of triumphant
profit, louder than the soft wash of the waves and the delicate classical strains of the orchestra.
Of course, the Treasury would take its cut, but even so there were
fortunes in the making, here and now, for those with the will and the means to grasp them, and Bitter Sea would ride that golden tide ever higher.
Life was good.
The Counties Palatine, Argentine, Pierpoint FortressThe campaign in the Counties Palatine had been harder than imperial planners had expected or might have liked. Oh, there’d been great victories, lauded in the Press and Parliament both, but the conflict had ground on and on – and there had been a pitched battle – a pitched battle, of all things! right outside the capital Argentine.
Imperial forces had carried the day; the city defences supported by the Navy battleships raining hellfire and brimstone down on the Mauwanti, but the troops had been exhausted, their strength sapped from forced marches, the heat and humidity and the sheer bloody-mindedness of the enemy.
Harvick himself had been wounded in that climactic battle, bravely directing the defences from the perimeter bastion of Pierpoint Fortress. A lucky shot from the enemy had grazed him even as he exhorted his artillerists and infantrymen to ever greater feats, scoring a long line of torn skin and powder-burns across his left cheek, and it had put him under the Surgeon-General’s tender mercies for longer than he or the troops had liked.
Infection was a real risk down here, yes, but
still…
Now, though, it had healed, and definitively so. His troops were rested, their ammunition reserves topped off. The time had come, therefore, to strike back, and strike back hard.
As he entered the enormous planning room, the officers present snapped to attention – their drill still perfect – and then went back to their tasks, all the thousand and one minutiae of command that were necessary for the smooth running of any military force.
“
Gentlemen.” His
basso profundo voice cut through the low hum of chatter, bearing with it an unmistakeable note of urgency. “
Your attention, please.” He looked around for just a moment, searching for the right words to put some ginger into his officers. “
We’ve bloodied the enemy’s nose and blunted their main fighting force. They hit us hard – harder than they should have, and I bear the blame for that – but we survived, and we kept hold of our key objectives. Our troops are now well-rested, we’re well-supplied and our magazines bulge with shot and shell. In short, I believe the time is ripe to strike back, gentlemen. I want a preliminary plan drafted by oh-nine-hundred, and readiness reports from all departments by the same time.”
Harvick saw the carefully-hidden looks of consternation flash between his officers and offered them a rare, lightning-quick grin. “
I said preliminary plan. I don’t need perfect, I want ideas. Plans we can discuss, kick around, think about and improve. We’re not going into this half-cocked – the Mauwanti have proven themselves wily savages, after all.”
