Henry Wallace stood on the deck of the Terrapin, staring through the spyglass. He was not alone. The ship had arrived in Haever to sounds of cannon fire and the sight of ships wreathed in smoke and dying in flames. Every officer on board was at the rail, spyglass in hand, trying to see the battle.
Gradually the sound of cannon fire ceased. No one spoke; no one moved. They listened tensely and then they heard church bells. The ringing was tentative at first, as though the people could not quite believe it, and then the bells grew louder and more clamorous as every bell in Haever rang, spreading the joyful news.
“We have won!” Henry cried. Overcome with emotion, he lowered the spyglass to take out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. “We have defeated Guundar! This battle will go down in history!”
“And we missed it!” Alan said bitterly. He snapped his spyglass shut in frustration. “Do you see the Valor?”
Henry raised the spyglass and swept the sky, cursing the smoke that obscured his view.
“I see her!” he said, pointing. “The Valor is damaged, but still afloat.”
He handed the spyglass to Alan.
“Good old Randolph,” said Alan. “Let us hope he survived.”
He moodily gave the spyglass back to Henry. “The grandest naval victory Freya has ever achieved, and we arrive just in time to witness the surrender.”
Henry was in an ebullient mood. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “My dear fellow, you cannot be the hero of every battle. You must give others a chance.”
“You mean Randolph,” Alan grumbled. “He will never let me live this down. I can hear him now. ‘Where were you during the Battle of Haever, Alan? Enjoying a nap? Taking afternoon tea?’”
Henry laughed. “Tell him you were winning the Battle of Wellinsport. I doubt Randolph sank five enemy ships and found a magical well. I just hope he didn’t get his fool head blown off in the process.”
“You know Randolph. If he didn’t lose a little blood, he wouldn’t consider he’d been in a fight,” said Alan. “And it seems he had help. Unless I am much mistaken, those are members of the Dragon Brigade flying this way. They probably want to make certain we are not a threat.”
“I know that man in the lead,” said Henry. “He is an old enemy of mine, Dag Thorgrimson.”
Captain Thorgrimson brought his dragon to a halt a respectful distance from the ship, not wanting to alarm the crew. He removed his helm.
“Hail the Terrapin!” he called. “I would speak with your captain!”
Henry waved. “Dag Thorgrimson! Henry Wallace. Good to see you, sir. How goes the fight?”
“We are victorious, my lord,” said Dag, saluting.
Henry asked the question uppermost in his mind. “What happened to King Ullr? Is he dead? Captured?”
“As far as we can tell, the king was not present at the battle, my lord,” Thorgrimson returned. “We have questioned the Guundaran prisoners regarding his whereabouts. They claim he was aboard his yacht. The dragons have been searching for it, but we cannot find it. We fear he must have escaped.”
“Damnation!” Henry swore.
“What about the ships armed with the green-beam guns, Captain?” Alan asked.
Captain Thorgrimson scratched his beard in bemusement. “I know you will think I have been nipping the Calvados, sir, but the four were attacked by a house and destroyed before they could do any damage.”
Alan and Henry both looked at each other.
“Simon!” Henry exclaimed.
“Even he got to take part in the battle,” Alan said discontentedly, but he gave a grudging smile.
“I have come to ask you a favor, Captain,” said Thorgrimson. “Since your ship is the only one that can sail the Deep Breath, I was hoping you could search for survivors. Several ships went down and may have foundered on rocks, which means men might still be alive. We are also searching for survivors who escaped in lifeboats.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Alan.
“Wait a moment, Captain,” Henry said, realizing what Thorgrimson had said. “You stated four of the green-beam guns were destroyed. I know for a fact that there were five.”
“We saw only four, my lord,” said Thorgrimson.
He saluted his thanks. His dragon dipped her wings and flew off, heading back to Haever.
Henry scowled, his good mood evaporating. “I do not count this as a victory. Ullr is missing and so is one of the green-beam guns. He could be anywhere.”
Henry lowered the spyglass and, remembering their quarrel, deferentially turned to Alan.
“Before you start looking for survivors, would it be possible for the Terrapin to convey me to the palace?”
Alan smiled, knowing Henry of old, knowing that in the past he would not have bothered to ask. He would have ordered.
“I should not delay the search,” Alan replied, “but I can send you in the pinnace. Why do you want to go to the palace?”
“I must ascertain that His Majesty is safe, of course,” Henry replied.
Alan grinned. “I will wager you a case of Calvados, Henry, that you will not find King Thomas anywhere near the palace.”
“What are you talking about?” Henry demanded. “Where else would the king be?”
“Thomas Stanford is young. He is a soldier. Do you think he would hide from the Guundarans in the cloak closet? Unless I much mistake our king’s character, I will wager six cases of Calvados that Thomas fought in the thick of the battle.”
Henry regarded him in horror. “You are not serious! What if something happens to him? I tell you, Alan, I could not survive another succession crisis. I must find him.”
“Then I suggest you start by asking Randolph,” said Alan. “If anyone will know, he will.”
“Deck there!” the lookout bellowed. “Ship off the starboard bow!”
“Likely some poor merchantman who blundered into the fighting,” Alan remarked. “Mr. Finch, go aloft. Tell me what you see.”
The midshipman scrambled up the shrouds and put his glass to his eye.
“Yacht, sir!” he reported. “A big one. Three masts. I can’t see the name through the smoke. The Stein-something, sir.”
“Stein-something, Mr. Finch?” Alan shouted, displeased.
Mr. Finch flushed red, watched intently, and finally managed to get a clear view of the name.
“Steinadler, sir,” he stated in triumph. “She is sailing east by north, all sail set, sir.”
“Steinadler…!” Henry repeated. “That’s King Ullr’s yacht! He’s sailing east by north for Guundar. The bastard’s lost the war and now he’s running for home!”
“By God, Henry,” Alan said excitedly, “we may get in on this fight yet! Has the Steinadler seen us, Mr. Finch?”
The midshipman watched for several moments, keeping them in suspense, then shouted down, “Don’t think so, sir. The yacht is maintaining speed, holding her course.”
Alan hurried to confer with the helmsman.
“What are you going to do?” Henry asked, going after him.
“Cut her off,” said Alan.
“She is faster,” said Henry.
“But we do not have as far to sail to intercept her,” said Alan. “And she won’t know we are chasing her.”
He gave orders for the Terrapin to sink down into the mists of the Deep Breath. He was taking a risk. The Steinadler’s lookouts would have a difficult time seeing the Terrapin sneaking up on them. But she risked losing sight of Ullr’s yacht in the mists. The Terrapin would be sailing blind.
“Are you sure about this, Alan? What if Ullr orders a change in course?” Henry asked nervously. “We will lose him, and we need to capture him! I want to see him stand trial before an international tribunal, humiliated before the world. His utter defeat will serve as a lesson to future despots.”
“He won’t change course,” said Alan with maddening confidence. “He is desperate to reach the safety of home.”
Henry conceded Alan had a logical argument, but as he paced the deck, shivering in the cold, he kept thinking of everything that could go wrong.
At last Alan gave the order to bring the Terrapin up out of the Deep Breath. The ship cautiously rose out of the mists, moving slowly, giving the lookouts time to see. They immediately sighted the Steinadler and reported that the yacht was right where Alan had predicted they would find her, still on course.
The Terrapin increased speed, continuing the pursuit with a will, and then the wind died. Not much, but enough to slow the heavy metal-plated warship. Those on board watched in dismay to see the sleek, trim yacht race ahead; it scarcely seemed to notice the drop in the wind. Henry began to swear.
Alan remained calm. He ordered the helmsman to gain altitude in hope of finding more wind. His crew was enthusiastic. Word had gone around that they were pursuing King Ullr and everyone on board ship worked with a will to squeeze every advantage out of even the smallest puff of air.
“It’s going to be close,” Alan remarked.
Henry had his spyglass trained on the Steinadler. He saw a flurry of activity among her crew: men rushing to the rail, sailors scrambling up the shrouds.
“They’ve seen us,” he reported.
The wind was erratic. The breeze that had failed the Terrapin continued to breathe on the Steinadler. She added more sail, flying through the Breath while the Terrapin lumbered along, burdened by her shell.
Henry fumed. “We’re going to lose him!”
“Not if I can help it,” said Alan.
He gave the order to open the gun ports on the port side and run out the guns.
“We want to cripple her, not sink her,” Alan told the gun captain.
Henry watched as several members of the yacht’s crew ran to the front of the ship and hauled at a tarp draped over something on the foredeck. He had noticed the tarp before, but thought only that Ullr was trying to protect his comfy deck chairs from the elements. But when the tarp fell off, Henry sucked in his breath.
“Alan! A green-beam gun!”
“So it is,” Alan said coolly.
The green-beam gun began to glow with a faint green light. Henry could see the crafter crouched over it, bringing it to terrible life.
Alan watched a moment, then raised his voice. “A hundred silver talons to the gun crew that blows up the green-beam gun!”
“I will double that!” Henry shouted.
The gun crews bent over the cannons, eager to win both the prize and the glory. The Terrapin was armed with twenty-four-pound cannons, twelve on each side. The Steinadler was also armed, but only with nine-pounders that could do little damage to the Terrapin’s iron-clad hull. The green-beam gun made all things equal.
Alan went down to the gun deck and walked along the row of cannons, looking down the sights of each gun, adjusting the aim. The range was long yet, but he gave the order to fire.
“May the devil’s luck hold, Alan,” Henry said beneath his breath.
He stamped on the deck to warm his feet and felt the ship rock and heave as the cannons fired a salvo. He raised the spyglass to view the trajectory of the balls and watched with disappointment as they fell short.
But then, the devil delivered. The wind that had failed the Terrapin now failed the Steinadler. Her sails flapped, and her speed slowed. The Terrapin began to slowly gain on her.
The gun crews started to find their range. The guns went off sporadically as each crew sighted in on their target and fired.
A single cannonball smashed into the hull of the Steinadler, spoiling her gilt trim, but missing the green-beam weapon.
The cannons fired again. Another ball struck the hull, but the rest missed completely. Henry gnashed his teeth in frustration.
The cannonade continued, and finally he saw a ball smash into one of the airscrews that were attached to the keel, two forward and two aft, protected by metal casings. The ball knocked off the casing and destroyed part of the keel.
“A hit!” Henry shouted excitedly. “That will slow the bastard down!”
The green glow of the heinous green-beam gun grew stronger. It must have been mounted on a rotating platform, for as Henry watched, it swiveled about until it was aimed at the Terrapin, seeming to stare at him, an evil little eye.
Three cannons boomed simultaneously and the Steinadler’s airscrew seemed to dissolve, shattering into fragments. The loss of one airscrew was not particularly significant. The Steinadler could continue to sail, though she could no longer hope to outrun them.
The Terrapin drew nearer and the green glow of the weapon on board the yacht strengthened. Soon the Terrapin’s guns would be close enough to knock down the yacht’s masts, disable the remaining airscrews, and puncture her lift tanks.
Unfortunately the green-beam gun would be close enough to destroy the Terrapin. The beam could not penetrate the magical steel, but it could heat the plates red hot. Every man on board the Terrapin would roast like raw meat thrown on a red-hot gridiron.
The green glow strengthened even more. The crafter was preparing to fire. Henry stood on deck watching with a terrible fascination, unable to move or look away.
He had the joy of witnessing a cannonball smash into the green-beam gun, obliterating it. The green glow vanished.
The lucky gun crew that had fired the shot whooped and cheered. The rest of the Terrapin’s guns continued to fire and began to dismantle the yacht, piece by piece.
“Ullr must surrender!” Henry said exultantly as Alan returned to the quarterdeck. “He has no choice.”
A blast tore the heart out of the Steinadler.
The explosion was powerful, massive. The concussive wave hit the Terrapin with such force it nearly sank her. The ship heeled, and men went sprawling. Alan caught hold of the helm and grabbed the helmsman, who had almost been knocked overboard. Henry seized the shrouds and held on for dear life. He feared for a terrifying moment the Terrapin might capsize.
The ship righted herself, saved by the weight of the metal plates on her hull. But nothing was left of the magnificent yacht and the one hundred souls who had been on board, except smoke and flaming debris.
No one on board the Terrapin spoke. No one cheered or celebrated. They had just seen the lives of one hundred men end in an instant.
Lieutenant Hobbs tried to say something, failed, and had to clear his throat. “Should I send out the boats to search for survivors, sir?”
“No, Mr. Hobbs,” said Alan. “No use.”
He walked over to stand beside Henry, who was gazing bleakly at the fiery remains raining down into the Breath.
“I guess King Ullr did have a choice,” Alan said quietly.
“That was not a lucky hit, was it,” said Henry.
“Could have been, but I doubt it,” Alan agreed. “Our gunners were targeting the green-beam gun. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say someone on board that yacht went down to the powder magazine and struck a match.”
He looked at Henry’s bleak face and added, “You have no way of knowing if King Ullr was on board.”
“He was,” Henry said harshly. “Who do you think scuttled his own ship? He could not face defeat.”
“Then he is dead and the war is over,” Alan said. “The killing can stop.”
“This war is over,” Henry returned despondently. “There will always be another.”
Alan regarded his friend with concern and rested his hand on his shoulder.
“But for now, there is peace, Henry. Our nation has won a glorious victory over a tyrant who sought to enslave us. Freya will soon be prosperous, Simon’s well will bring in untold wealth. Thomas Stanford will be a good king. He is young, filled with hope and the optimism of youth. You will help guide him. Our new king will need a spymaster.”
“So he will. All kings need spymasters,” Henry said. “But it will not be me.”