Chapter 11

Port Caolros

Admiral Valdar wished he could have stayed on his ship. At least his quarters there, cramped as they were, had a comfortable chair for him to sit on. The temporary commander’s office, which he had taken over, was in a nearby temporary shelter until the buildings of the port itself were in place.

Which wouldn’t happen until the four forts on the peninsula were finished.

Priorities being what they were, they could not waste resources on simple pleasures when there were so many critical things to do that even the building he was in was slipshod. He understood that, but there were times, like today, when he was forced to go over pages of reports from supply ships, scout ships, construction teams, and an endless list of others, where he almost wanted to order a retreat to his cabin.

Or at least order his chair unbolted and brought to him.

Still, it would not do to have his men thinking the admiral had gone soft. So he had to forbear and deal with the poorly assembled wooden atrocity masquerading as a seat.

Valdar scribbled another quick note to address the supply chain issues with the quartermaster. The recent storms had taken their toll, delaying shipments and hampering construction, and the engineers were using that as the reason things were falling behind.

Well, that might not be fair. He knew the men were working hard. While some things they could get from inland, most of the produced metal parts had to come to them aboard ships. It was his job to light a fire under the posteriors of those captains not keeping to their schedule.

Not that it was all bad news. At least their scout ships had reported no sign of Eastern vessels in the vicinity.

As Valdar set down his pen and was about to stretch to prepare himself to address the next batch, the door to his office burst open without warning, slamming hard against its backstop to rebound and almost hit Doctor Phelan in the face as he rushed in. The man looked to be in a state, his face ashen and his normally impeccable appearance disheveled.

“By the gods, man,” Valdar said in surprise, rising to his feet.

Doctor Phelan, seeming to realize how sudden his appearance was and the breach of protocol, bowed slightly and said, “My deepest apologies for the intrusion, Admiral. I wouldn’t have barged in like this if the situation wasn’t a matter of utmost urgency.”

“What situation?”

“Sir, we have a rapidly spreading illness among the men stationed here. It started with just a few cases, nothing out of the ordinary, mind you, which is why it has surprised us like it has. We thought it was just exhaustion from the construction work, maybe a touch of fever. But this morning three men who seemed to be on the mend suddenly took a turn for the worse. They ... they didn’t make it, sir.”

“From what appeared to be a simple fever?”

“They didn’t die of the fever alone. The Consul’s lessons have taught us that fevers are just a symptom of the body fighting off an infection of some kind, although it can be fatal if it gets high enough. It’s why we weren’t alarmed. It’s how quickly the fevers went from minor to life-threatening that is concerning. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before, Admiral. High fevers that spike without warning, severe muscle aches that leave the men writhing in agony, and a type of respiratory distress that makes it appear as if they’re drowning on dry land.”

“How many are affected now?”

“That’s the truly terrifying part, sir. It’s spreading like wildfire. One of the things I’m here to request is the need to convert one of the newly constructed barracks into a makeshift infirmary. Even that, I fear, will not be enough. The illness seems highly contagious, but we can’t figure out how it’s transmitting so quickly. Men who’ve had no direct contact with the sick are falling ill.”

As if on cue, there was a commotion outside. The door burst open again, and two burly construction supervisors stumbled in, supporting a third man between them. The sick worker’s face was flushed with fever, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Doctor!” one of the supervisors called out, panic evident in his voice. “Segestes just collapsed on the job site. He was fine an hour ago!”

Phelan rushed to examine the stricken man, putting his hand to the man’s neck, feeling his forehead, and lifting his eyelids to look into the man’s drooping and unresponsive eyes.

“It’s the same symptoms. Take him to the infirmary immediately,” the doctor confirmed, before turning back to Valdar as the men left. “Admiral, I fear we’re on the brink of a full-blown epidemic. Our current facilities simply cannot handle this volume. If we don’t act quickly...”

“Have you seen anything like this before, Doctor? Anything similar?”

Phelan shook his head. “Nothing quite like this. The fever pattern is reminiscent of some ailments in Egypt and Nubia I’ve read about, but the speed of onset and the respiratory symptoms; it’s baffling.”

“Should we begin quarantining them?”

“We are in the process of doing that, but I fear it will be woefully inadequate. We’ve isolated the sick as best we can, but with new cases popping up seemingly at random across the camp, it’s like trying to plug a sieve with our fingers.”

“What do you need from me, Doctor? I have to rely on your judgment on this.”

“We need more supplies, for one. We are quickly running out of what we have. Especially the distilled alcohol from Factorium, along with some of the more traditional herbal remedies, such as willow bark and the rest that we’ve been using to reduce fever and pain. One of Chief Ekoko’s men mentioned several plants they use that have worked well for combating a similar disease they have seen. I wanted to try some of that as well.”