Chương 66: Book 2, Chapter 5: Esperança

Up close, House de Bragança's flagship was even more imposing than it had been from the cliffside. Clara tilted her head back and tried to take in the full scope of the vessel as the small boat carrying their party approached the warship. The thing was a floating fortress, a mass of riveted black plate with imposing dark funnels and heavy turrets fore and aft.

How something like this could exist in a world that didn't even have guns was a mystery to Clara, perhaps only partially answered by the rubies arrayed in a band around the rim of the naval guns.

"Beautiful, is she not?" asked Bel, though Clara was certain it'd been rhetorical.

"She's called the Esperança. Built her in our own yards last year. The other three are reliable broadside ironclads, just like the ones we built for the Crown five years ago, but this one is the only one of her kind, the jewel of Bragança. Literally, in a sense, though saying more would be volunteering far too much information."

"Astonishing," said Warren.

"It hasn't been all that long ago since the first steamships were developed, and yet it seems clear that sails will be a thing of the past within our lifetimes." Iris crossed her arms, unimpressed.

"I rather like sailing ships. They have an elegance to them—at least more than these sordid towers of smoke." Bel patted her affectionately on the shoulder.

"Ah, little Iris, I cannot deny that the sail will always have a place in the hearts of all who love the sea. But time moves forward, and so do we." When their boat got close enough, two marines aboard the Esperança dropped a wooden ladder along the hull.

"After you, my dear," said Bel to Iris with a sweep of her hand. Iris glared at the ladder, then at Bel.

"Auntie Bel."

"Yes, my treasure?"

"How does one ascend without…" Iris gestured vaguely at her own dress, by which she meant to say without the sailors below seeing more than was appropriate.

"Oh, it is quite easy, really. You go briskly and do not look back, and anyone who looks up before you reach the top finds himself at the end of my blade. Or Connie's, if he's faster." Conrad put his hand on the saber at his hilt and gave Iris a reassuring nod. She went up. Bel followed, then Conrad, then Warren. When it was Clara's turn, she noticed Emma's hands shaking, and she gave the girl a reassuring pat on the back and let her go first. After Emma, Clara finally climbed.

Between the armored structures, the forward turret, and the ventilation cowls, the deck of the Esperança wasn't nearly as wide as Clara expected. The crew moved around the ship with precision, unloading the luggage that had come with the duchess. But amidst the organized chaos, there was at least one safe space for those who needed some order.

Waiting for them at the center of the front deck, surrounded by the only officers who seemed to take their uniforms seriously on the entire ship, was a young woman in a yellow dress uniform, its high collar fastened all the way up. Her black hair went down to the base of her neck, and her bronze skin and dark eyes made the family resemblance unmistakable. She thumped her fist against her chest in salute.

"Admiral-Duchess. The fleet is ready. We can depart with the evening tide, if you wish."

"And good evening to you too, Commodore. You are a delight to your mother. Would it hurt you to show some affection?"

"Good evening, Mamãe. The fleet is ready, and you are a delight to me as well. We can depart with the evening tide, if you wish." Luisa's voice had the same warmth as Bel's, but every word was clipped and ordered. Bel smiled.

"Yes, let us make haste to save your troublesome grandfather." Luisa turned to Conrad. When their eyes met, a faint flush disturbed her perfectly composed expression.

"Lord Conrad. Lady Iris."

"Lady Luisa." Conrad bowed stiffly, himself also blushing.

"It is good to see you again."

"It has been four months, four weeks and two days since your last visit to Santa Maria."

"Yes. That sounds correct. It was longer than I would've liked." Luisa nodded slowly. Oh. They're totally into each other. Iris clasped her hands together, making no effort to disguise her delight.

"It's good to see you again, Lady Luisa. I'm glad you and my brother continue to get along."

"It is my pleasure, Lady Iris." Luisa turned to Warren and cleared her throat.

"Mamãe, perhaps introductions."

"Ah, yes! Forgive me, my love, I was enjoying the view. Luisa, I present Clara Casewell, the advocate, and Warren Righton, Duke Albion's son-turned-inquisitor. Clara, Warren, this is my youngest—Commodore Luisa de Bragança, the woman who will keep us all from drowning."

"Lord Warren. Counsel Casewell. I look forward to witnessing your work."

"Likewise, Commodore," said Clara.

"Though personally, I hope we won't have to see yours." Luisa's serious eyes lingered on Clara.

"That will depend on the two of you." Warren lowered his head briefly.

"I will do my best for your grandfather, Lady Luisa."

"Now," continued Bel, gesturing to two men standing near Luisa—one in an officer's jacket and another in a dark grey habit.

"These are Flag Captain Alfonso, master of the Esperança, and Father Anchieta, our chaplain." The captain stepped forward and saluted. He looked to be around fifty, with a full black beard and small eyes.

"My ladies, my lords, welcome aboard the Esperança. She is a new ship and proud of it, so I would ask you to mind your fingers around the hatches. The doors are heavier than they look, and it wouldn't do to lose any of you." This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Lose?" Emma muttered. Bel patted Emma's head.

"Don't worry, dear, he only means your fingertips. We won't lose all of you." That didn't seem to be enough to reassure the girl, who gulped. The priest stepped forward. His habit was similar to Leofric's, but their facial features were very different. His nose was broad, and the wrinkles on his forehead were partially covered by his sandy hair.

"My ladies, my lords. Father Anchieta, at your service. I hope you'll forgive the modesty. I'm afraid I'm a rather poor substitute for the Bishop of Santa Maria, but His Excellency was called for a meeting of the Ecumenical Council."

"Poor substitute, he says." Bel rolled her eyes.

"He talks like this because he is humble. He is the only holy man I have ever met who can deliver a sermon in under ten minutes, which makes him worth his weight in gold, if you ask me."

"I believe my best time was twelve minutes, Your Grace."

"And he is honest, too. Truly, the man is a saint." Father Anchieta turned to Clara and smiled, and she found herself smiling back without meaning to. After Leofric, she had braced for something colder when she'd heard a chaplain would be present, but Anchieta's mild eyes had no echo of the high inquisitor. That didn't mean Clara could afford to be careless, but it was still a minor relief. Hopefully, he's exactly what he looks like, just like Bishop Dicton. But I'll keep my guard up.

You never know who's going to end up being a Veiled Key.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Casewell," he said.

"I heard you have raised certain questions about the Blessing of Truth." So Father Anchieta knew about that. Was it because the information had spread so far, or was it because of the Ecumenical Council meeting he mentioned the Bishop of Santa Maria attending?

"I have, Father," said Clara in her best neutral tone.

"Good." His smile deepened.

"It is the role of those who serve the Goddess to ask such questions, especially if it means we may have been misinterpreting her will." After a few more minutes of small talk, a deep rumble ran through the deck. Clara felt an energy pouring outward from the interior of the ship, and the smoke coming out of the funnels thickened. The Esperança was moving. Dinner aboard an ironclad was an interesting experience.

Clara had been expecting to eat inside her room, or in a mess hall with sailors, and maybe go have some tea with Iris later so that they could finally talk. Instead, she was summoned to the flag officer's wardroom, tucked deep within the armored citadel that was the Esperança, below even the waterline. The room's walls were oak panels mounted over the bare iron of the hull, and a long table was set beneath brass lamps that swung gently with the ship.

It was warmer than Clara had expected, and the air was thick with the tang of coal. I should probably stop insisting on wearing the suit and just give in to the dresses, business be damned. Bel had taken the head of the table, with Luisa on her right and Captain Alfonso on her left. Conrad had rushed to sit next to Luisa, and Iris sat next to him, across from Clara. To Clara's right was Father Anchieta, and Warren took the foot of the table on her left.

"It is a tradition of House de Bragança's navy for the chaplain to offer blessings on the first night out," Luisa announced.

"Father?" Anchieta dipped his head.

"Goddess of the sun and the sea, bless this voyage, this table, and the company at it. Bless those who labor above and below. Bless the fair winds, and, in these new times, I suppose I should ask You to bless our steady boilers as well. Fiat a Dea."" Fiat," echoed the others.

"Beautiful," said Bel.

"Alfonso, pour the wine. Iris, my dear, I know the food aboard won't be your favorite, but I will make it up to you next time you visit us in Santa Maria." Iris pursed her lips and cautiously tried some of the spiced fish stew in front of her. To her credit, she clearly tried her best not to let her distaste show. That said, 'her best' was not very good.

"Lord Warren, what is your impression of the Esperança?" asked Luisa.

"Albion is also well known for its shipbuilding, so I find myself keen to hear your thoughts." Conrad frowned, evidently not pleased that Luisa was making small talk with someone else.

"Our expertise is merchant vessels, Lady Luisa," said Warren.

"I myself cannot even begin to imagine the engines required to move something of this size. What does it displace, seven thousand tons? Eight?"

"Nine thousand three hundred and thirty," corrected Luisa.

"Mm. It was a true family project," Bel added proudly.

"With help from Papai, Luisa refined my older ironclad design for her Magical Engineering thesis during her final year at Claves." So at least some of this ship is magically powered. Given that the turrets also seemed to be, that's not surprising, but I'm curious about the kinds of spells they're using. Clara tried to think of how an incantation to power an engine or a cannon might work, combining Latin terms in her mind. Maybe if she had a napkin— She forced herself to stop.

Goddess, am I turning into Morris now that I can use magic? I'm not going to scribble Latin at dinner, but since I'm already on this train of thought, might as well ask something I've been puzzled about.

"Commodore, after seeing your ships, there's something I've been wondering," said Clara.

"What is it?" asked Luisa.

"If it's within my knowledge and not a secret of House de Bragança, I will do what I can to answer."

"I couldn't help but notice the very impressive guns on all your vessels. Broadside cannons, even turrets. Have you ever tried to make smaller versions of them? Something that could be used by a single soldier, for example." It wasn't as if Clara was keen to bring handguns into this world, but it was odd that ships of this magnitude existed and yet no one had apparently thought of making a musket or a rifle.

"Why, of course we have. As have so many others. But there's a reason the proscriptions advise against that—miniature guns always end up exploding," answered Luisa. Clara furrowed her brow.

"Exploding? And what do you mean by proscriptions?"

"The holy proscriptions, passed down by Saintess Elowen and her apostles," said Anchieta.

"They contain the few direct instructions on the workings of the Sacred Tongue, and specifically advise against making guns smaller than a certain size, as that may incur the Goddess's wrath." Clara glanced up at the ceiling. I see you, author. So naval cannons are cool, but normal guns are prohibited? Some biased worldbuilding you've got going there.

"Lady Luisa, if I may ask." This time, it was Warren who spoke up.

"Will the Empire allow foreign warships to get close to Istantinople? What is the plan if they engage us?" Luisa set down her spoon and folded her hands.

"The Imperial Fleet has thirty-one capital ships of the line, none of which are armored. Their guns—including their coastal batteries—are smoothbore, and their rounds are solid shot. If they engage us at long range, they cannot harm us. If they come close, we can, with reasonable certainty, destroy a ship of the line every few minutes, after which they would have no fleet."

"I see."

"The Empire will learn a much-needed lesson if it chooses to confront House de Bragança," said Conrad.

"While that is true, I must say that such an outcome would be a tragedy and a needless loss of life," said Anchieta.

"Despite being led astray by the Matriarch, their people are still followers of the Goddess." Conrad smirked.

"If it comes to it, we will weep for them after we're done."

"Surely they won't engage us, considering the obvious power imbalance," said Clara.

"If all they have are ships of the line, they would know how outmatched they are just by looking at us."

"We can hope," said Bel cheerfully, gesturing for more wine.

"But knowing and believing are different animals, my dear. The Empire still tells itself the story it has always told: that they sit at the center of the world, that the wind belongs to them, that the Goddess speaks to their Matriarch first. They will rationalize, insist that the fire-ships that were sufficient against our great-grandfathers shall be sufficient against us."

"Why don't we just avoid trial entirely?" asked Conrad.

"You said Lord Pedro hasn't been apprehended. We can take a small group, find him, and sail out."

"It would be simpler," Bel agreed." If we could find him. But we have no idea where he is. Plus, if we sail into Istantinople and plunder Papai from under their noses, we would be all but admitting his guilt, and the other nobles and Parliament will spend the next twenty years asking whether House de Bragança can be trusted. It would be strongly preferable for the situation not to come to that." Bel's dark eyes met Warren's, then settled on Clara's. The message was clear. Do not let it come to that.

"Mamãe, the stew will go cold. We should eat," said Luisa.

"Yes, my pearl." Bel picked up her spoon.

"Have your fill, everyone. We'll need you in top shape in Istantinople."