Chapter 10

Factorium

“ ... appreciate it, but I really came to find out how the steamship project is coming along.” Lucilla said.

It had been a week since she’d received notice that the fuse test failed, and she hadn’t heard from the manufacturer since. She’d sent requests for updates, which had been met not with silence, but with demurs. Which was unusual for Hortensius and enough to prompt Lucilla to visit to see what was happening.

“We are working as fast as we can, Your Majesty. These things take time.”

“I understand that, but the Easterners are advancing into Germania at an alarming rate. We need something to stop them, and soon. They will be out of the mountains and onto the plains, where the rivers will give us a chance to block them, but only if we have the ships in place to make it work.”

“I appreciate that, Your Majesty, and we really are trying, but it is much more difficult than we’d originally thought it would be. The main issue we’re facing is creating a compact, high-pressure boiler that’s efficient enough to power a ship. The Consul’s plans were thorough, but we’ve yet to have a successful test.”

“Is it really so different from the scaled-down engines we use for trains?”

“Yes and no. The principles are similar, but the scale and application present unique challenges. A ship’s engine needs to be much more powerful and more reliable than a locomotive’s. Primarily, our issue has been with pressure regulation and fuel efficiency. We’ve managed to create a boiler that can generate the necessary steam pressure, but maintaining it consistently is proving to be difficult, especially over the distance needed. With trains, we have the luxury of space and proximity. The engine sits close to the boiler, and the power transfer is relatively straightforward. On ships, it’s not so simple.”

“Why not?”

“On ships, the boiler must be situated deep within the vessel’s core to protect it, and we need to transmit that power to the propulsion systems at the ship’s extremities. It’s a matter of distance and efficiency.”

“Couldn’t we simply scale up the engine?”

“No, in fact, we need to scale it down, as much as possible. It’s a problem of size and weight, especially for river vessels. A larger engine might solve our power transmission issues, but it would render the ships too heavy for shallow waters. It wouldn’t be an issue in larger screw-driven ships intended for ocean use, or even in the larger rivers, but for the paddle wheel design needed for the smaller rivers, it just doesn’t work. If I had my preference, I’d concentrate on the screw design. It has broader applications, including ocean-going vessels. However ... that’s not possible.”

“That’s fine. But we need to accelerate the progress you’re making. I know that’s asking a lot, and you’re already pushing as hard as you can, but we need to begin building a technological advantage over these people, and we cannot wait until the end of summer to do it.”

“I understand, Your Majesty, and I will push my people to go faster, but I am not willing to compromise on the quality of the work. Sending faulty equipment to the Consul is no better than sending nothing at all.”

“That’s fine, but please go as quickly as possible,” Lucilla said. “What about your other projects? Any progress?”

“I messaged you about the fuse failure.”

“You did. Have you come to any conclusions since your report?”

“Only that it continues to be a challenge. We’re struggling to find the right balance of sensitivity. Too sensitive, and they’re unsafe to transport. Too stable, and they won’t detonate on impact. We’re aiming for that sweet spot in the middle, but it’s proving elusive. We continue to work on it and understand that it, too, is a priority.”

“Very well. So I guess I will just wait patiently to hear of your success,” Lucilla said, a little more bitingly than she intended.

She knew that Hortensius was doing his best and understood how important these advances were, but she needed something. Aside from promises, both here and from the allies, little forward momentum had been achieved, which left Ky dangling dangerously unsupported in the east. She needed to do something to help him, and she needed to do it soon.

“Not everything has been a failure. We do have one success to report.”

“Really?” Lucilla asked, perking up. “What?”

“Come with me.”

He led her across the compound to the cluster of buildings dedicated to chemical research, finding Sorantius inside, bent over a workbench as always, oblivious to their approach.

“Sorantius,” Hortensius called out. “I brought Her Majesty to see the hydrogen tanks.”

The chemist looked up, blinking as if emerging from a trance, his expression becoming excited as the words finally registered. “Of course. Of course. This way, Your Majesty.”

He guided them to a series of large, cylindrical containers connected by an intricate network of pipes.

“These tanks,” Sorantius explained, “are designed to capture and store the gas the Consul called hydrogen. Actually, we were already creating it as a byproduct of other processes, but it is odorless and colorless, and light enough that it floats away instantly, so we had no idea of its existence until the Consul explained it to us. With these tanks, we can now redirect the hydrogen as needed, although aside from adding it to a few other chemicals, I’m not sure what the Consul needs it for.”

Lucilla wasn’t sure either, but Ky had said it would be important, so she didn’t question it.

“I remember there being something in the instructions about portable containers.”

“We’ve made progress there as well,” Hortensius interjected. “We’ve developed prototypes that can be filled from these larger tanks. However, we’re still in the testing phase, checking for potential leaks or corrosion issues.”

“I’m pleased you two have made progress on this,” Lucilla said. “I would have liked something more immediately useful, but that does not mean I don’t recognize the work you’ve both put in.”

“We understand, Your Majesty, and we will continue to push as hard as we can to get you the results you need.”

Sorantius looked a little perplexed at how the conversation had turned, but nodded along nonetheless.

“Good. I have faith in both of you to come through for us.”

Now, she just had to hope it didn’t take too long for her faith to be proven out.

West of the Horn of Africa

Valdar had made the trip around the horn of Africa a dozen times, and had learned to both appreciate and, to some degree, mitigate its dangers. And yet now, as they neared the bottom of the continent once again, he was as nervous as he had been the first time, when he had sailed into uncharted waters.

He and all of his men had been on edge ever since leaving Port Kalb and starting the trip south. Weeks of anxious, nervous sailing wasn’t good for a man, and yet there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was a fleet out there somewhere. Supposedly a large one, and he was hoping to stumble across it.

Worse than his concern of what would happen when he did find the enemy was the more catastrophic outcome ... if he did not. That their fleets, and Valdar had no doubt they were out here, might sail past each other, putting an enemy fleet in his home waters and him, and more than half the Britannia fleet, an ocean away from them.

So he was waiting for those two little words that...

“Sail Ho,” came the cry from the crow’s nest.

Valdar shook off everything he’d been thinking and focused on the moment, raising his spyglass and staring into the distance. It took him a minute to find what the lookout had spotted. But he found them.

How could he not?

“Thirty-one ... no, thirty-two ships,” he muttered.

“That many?” his first mate asked.

He could be off, of course. Counting sails at this distance wasn’t an easy task, but even if he had missed badly, he was still going to be outnumbered. He’d brought fourteen caravels and nine schooners. A formidable force, but if these ships were anywhere close to what had been described to him, they would be undermatched for the mass of sails even now turning toward him.

“Bring us about. Signal the fleet to form up. We’re intercepting.”

His men snapped to faster than he’d ever remembered them moving. Of course, they’d been waiting for this moment as long as he had.

As the Britannian ships maneuvered into position, Valdar studied the approaching vessels. They were the same people he’d fought on the Sea of Reeds five years ago; he had no doubt. The horizontal design of their sails was unmistakable, and not used by anyone else he’d ever met.

And Valdar was pretty sure he’d met or encountered every captain who’d ever sailed beyond sight of land.

The ships weren’t exactly the same, however. The sail design was the same, but they had smaller sails, too, much like his own sail plans. The bodies of the ships, though, were completely different. Closer to his own caravels, actually. Not exact, but very close. He was also starting to make out the square openings of exposed gunports. Which meant cannon.

“Signal the fleet. Line of battle formation. We’ll engage them broadside.”

The first mate nodded and relayed the orders. Flags unfurled as the signalmen waved the message across, sending it rippling down the line of ships. His men responded well, each vessel maneuvering into position.

Valdar left the details to his men, keeping his attention focused on the enemy, watching the distance close, envisioning the battle in his mind. Seeing the whole field, as the Consul liked to say.

“Bring us to windward,” Valdar ordered as the enemy crossed an invisible line.

The helmsman complied, adjusting their course with the rest of the fleet changing course in accordance. The enemy followed suit, taking a similar line formation, the two fleets angling toward each other to close the distance while keeping their guns more or less pointed in the right direction.

Who would shoot first? There was a benefit to being the first to fire. If your rounds hit the target, you might cripple some of the enemy’s tubes and lessen the damage they could do in return. Fire too soon, though, and your shots would invariably miss, leaving your men to reload as the enemy got a clean, and closer, shot in return.

They answered that question for him as puffs of smoke erupted across the line of enemy ships. Valdar didn’t call out a warning. His men saw them.

Besides, it was going to happen quickly.

Moments later, his prediction held true as dozens of rounds splashed well short of his boat. How fast could they reload?

Valdar let the range close a little more before calling out, “Let’s return the favor. Fire one salvo. Let’s get their range.”

The order was carried down to the gun deck, where the men were waiting. His guns, and those of the rest of his fleet, roared to life in a wave of smoke and fire. They were at long range for his men, but they’d practiced these distances.

Valdar watched through his spyglass as their shots landed. Most fell short, but not all did. Rounds found their mark, tearing into ships here or there, ripping through wood and flesh. Not all of the rounds resulted in damage. At this range, thick timber could bounce the iron balls off, and some did just that.

Still, he’d drawn first blood.

“Good shooting,” he said. “But we can do better. Adjust elevation and reload.”

The exchange of fire continued, with both fleets finding their range. Valdar’s ships proved more accurate, landing more hits on the enemy vessels. But the Eastern fleet’s guns were significantly more numerous, and his ships began taking damage.