The Plains of Pluto
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 2
Devnum Docks
The wheels of Hortensius’s hired carriage clattered to a halt on the cobblestones near Devnum’s sprawling dockyards. He stepped down, his boots meeting the stone with a solid thud, only to have to hop back into the carriage almost instantly to avoid being run down by a man with a hand cart.
To say the docks were busy was an understatement. People were moving in every direction, most carrying large and heavy things. Hortensius was used to the chaos of his factories, but at least that seemed to have a structure. Ordered workstations and a place for each thing, all mostly contained inside a building.
Here, the chaos stretched in all directions and there seemed to be no sense to the madness.
Hortensius exited the carriage again, this time more carefully, looking both ways to make sure it was clear before exiting all the way. He made his way toward the administrative building, which sat back from the water, a practical structure of brick and timber.
Inside, clerks bent over their ledgers while foremen consulted charts and schedules posted on the walls. One of the clerks, a thin man with ink-stained fingers, pointed Hortensius toward the meeting room without looking up from his work.
Hortensius found Lucan already deep in discussion with his staff, standing over tables covered with technical drawings.
“My apologies for the delay,” Hortensius said, stepping into the warm room, heated by a large stove in one corner. “I got tied up with a project and missed the train I’d intended to take.”
Lucan smiled and shook his head. Hortensius knew his reputation, and did not take it personally.
“I’m glad you made it. Perhaps you can explain this madness to me.” He jabbed a calloused finger at the blueprints. “This isn’t shipbuilding, it’s pure fantasy.”
“I’ve looked those over thoroughly. The calculations are sound,” Hortensius replied, moving to stand beside the table. “The displacement-to-weight ratio...”
“Calculations?” Lucan scoffed. “I’ve been building ships my entire life. I get the benefit of iron ships, but when we added iron plates to wooden hulls, at least on the riverboats, we were still working with actual ships underneath those plates. This? This is a metal box that will sink faster than a stone.”
“It won’t. Wood or steel, water displacement will hold a sealed vessel afloat. As you’ve said, you’ve been building ships your entire life. You know that principle.”
“Sealed is the key. Wood swells as it gets wet, pushes tighter into other planking. Tar and pitch seal it tight. Steel does not swell and tar and pitch will not soak into steel like it does wood.”
“Which is why the Consul instructed us on these new building techniques. Specifically, the advancements in riveting. See here, and here. The overlapping plates, when properly affixed...”
“I’ve seen plenty of riveted armor,” Lucan cut in. “Never once did I look at a lorica segmentata and think, ‘By the gods, this would make a fine boat.’”
“This is different from anything we’ve attempted before, true. But the principles are sound. The Consul knows what he’s doing, and as you can see, many of the parts here were in the river boats, which is why he wanted us to do those first. So now we can focus on the new techniques needed for this ship.”
“I don’t doubt the Consul, but different is an understatement.”
“I think you need to consider what we’re working with. Much of it we’ve been using on land and have a strong understanding of. This isn’t iron we’re talking about, but shaped tempered high-grade steel. It’ll hold up to immense strain that a wooden ship could never withstand. Second, the new riveting techniques the Consul has described should change the nature of shipbuilding completely. We’ve done some small-scale tests, and I can tell you, the results are amazing. These designs call for the same quality steel as the plates, heated to temperatures previously unattainable, since it can hold the heat better, and when cooled, creates a stronger bond than anything we’ve achieved before. Especially when paired with the new compressed air tool the Consul describes on page thirty-two.”
“I saw that, but it left me a bit confused,” Lucan admitted.
“I felt much the same way until we built one and started testing it. The results are ... extraordinary. The steam engine forces the air into a small space giving it intense pressure, and when allowed out it escapes with incredible force. More force than a man could apply with a single hammer. It not only pushes this larger bolt into the hole making an incredibly tight fit, but it flattens the larger head, which is too large to go through the hole, tight against the metal, which is where it will stay when it cools, keeping the plates tight together. Actually, it shrinks even more as it cools, pushing the overlapping plates even tighter together.”
“But does tight mean watertight?”
“Yes. We use similar riveting, although smaller rivets, on some of our steam boilers, and they hold incredibly high-pressure air. If it can hold that, it can hold water.”
“As you said, a ship like this isn’t the same as a boiler tank,” Lucan said. “The stresses involved in seafaring...”
“Are considerable, yes,” Hortensius nodded. “But we’ve accounted for that in the design. The plates will hold together and the metal hull will be stronger than a wooden one. This will revolutionize the way battles at sea are fought. The Consul’s designs are, frankly, very impressive.”
“Don’t get me wrong. If the Consul says these will work, then I believe him. He hasn’t led us wrong yet,” Lucan said.
“My concern is these gun emplacements,” one of Lucan’s engineers said. “Eight guns total? Most of our ships carry thirty or more. How can we expect the same effectiveness?”
Hortensius watched as Lucan pulled out a folded telegram from his pocket, spreading it carefully on the table.
“I had the same question, and the Consul addressed it specifically. Primarily, these aren’t standard cannons.”
“Actually, they are much, much larger than the ones we currently mount,” Hortensius added. “Larger even than the ones the legions use, because they would be too heavy to carry easily. The only other place we’ll be able to deploy these cannons is the fixed positions of the coastal fortresses Admiral Valdar is building. We actually developed them for that first. That is the other benefit of the strength of these ships. A wooden-hulled ship could never support this kind of weaponry.”
“But the design eliminates the gunports,” the engineer said. Eight guns and they have to be manually adjusted into position as a ship is moving. It seems too complicated.”
“That, too, has a benefit,” Lucan said. “We know the gun ports actually weaken the hull’s structural integrity, which we accepted as a necessary evil once we started building these ships. This eliminates that need ... and, with almost only the barrel exposed, the crew is protected. I will agree the rotating turret is ... complicated, and I do have my concerns about how quickly something this heavy can be turned to bring the guns into firing position.”
“That is a fair concern,” Hortensius said. “I’ve sent a message to the Consul asking about a steam-powered solution. We have enough power for propelling the ship and operating the turrets. I’ve already begun to develop some of my own ideas on a smaller scale, to test until I hear back from the Consul. My initial attempts tell me it’s possible.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Lucan said.
“And everything else is just scaled-up versions of what we have on the river boats. The steam engines, smokestacks, powered rudders, and propeller screws, they should all be much easier to produce this time around.”
“Good. So then all we have to do is wait for you to deliver the pieces and we can begin assembling our first test platform.”
“How long should that take?” Hortensius asked.
“Two years. Perhaps eighteen months if everything goes perfectly, but I wouldn’t count on it. Even with the Consul’s directions, this is much larger than anything we have done before, and more complicated since we’re outside of traditional building methods.”
“I know the Admiral will try and plead for it to be faster.”
“He can plead all he wants,” Lucan said. “Once we have one finished, we can begin working on multiple ships simultaneously and speed things up, but until then, this will take time.”
“Then I won’t hold you up any longer.”
Carthage
Medb put down the document she was reading and rubbed her eyes, tired of hour upon hour of sifting through minute records, trying to find any clue about what was happening in this damnable city.
Not that these documents had a chance of giving her any actual clues, filled as they were with half-truths and outright lies as every merchant and factor tried to avoid the import taxes charged by the Empire. Carthage was the biggest port with access to Oceanus, and had supplanted Kalb, which had become almost strictly a military port, sending trade either here or up the coast of Iberia to one of the ports controlled by the Hispania Alliance, to give that trade to their economy instead of that of the Empire.
Medb did not fault a little graft. She was a firm believer in catching a little and letting the rest operate more or less in the open. It kept people from hiding it as much and made it easier to keep it from obfuscating things she was trying to find.
Or that was normally the idea.
And yet, here she was, sifting through it, hoping that the rebels had tried to hide whatever they were doing inside the normal graft of business. With her agent gone, she’d had few other chances of finding anything.
She’d thought she’d been so clever when they’d first found the smuggling. They knew the rebels were getting arms and even low-grade gunpowder, so it made sense. But it had all been for nothing.
Arresting Marcellinus had, as far as she could tell, done nothing to stop them. His operation had been a distraction, nothing more. He’d just been a common, well, maybe somewhat uncommon, smuggler caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was happy he’d been dealt with, of course.
He’d gone beyond that acceptable level of graft and had to be dealt with, but he’d been an effective smoke screen for what the rebels were doing. Part of her wondered if they’d encouraged him, knowing he would be just that. It would have been clever, but she didn’t believe in accepting anything as fact without strong evidence, and there was none to say one way or another.
Just another possible pin, unconnected, left hanging. Like all the rest. Evidence everywhere she looked, and yet not a single clue.
It was maddening.
Worse, it had been over a month since her only actual source of intelligence had been killed, and his murder was still unsolved. She knew the rebels were behind it, and the fact they could kill with such impunity irked her.
She’d pushed Claudius hard since Geral’s death, to the point of vocally questioning his ability in one particularly heated moment, but she knew he’d done his best. His men had been relentless in their efforts to find the culprits, but the rebels were well entrenched and knew they were looking for them.
There was every chance they’d gone to ground and were waiting until the heat died off.
But, the longer the investigation dragged on, the more impatient she became, a state that made her a terror to those around her. The thought was a bitter one. Medb prided herself on her control, on her ability to manipulate others through intellect and strategy rather than brute force.
But when backed into a corner as she was, she’d been left with little choice.
She was saved from going around in any more mental circles by a knock at the door, which was then pushed open by one of the guards stationed at her door.
“My lady, a messenger from the gate is here. There’s a man insisting he must speak with you personally. Claims it’s urgent.”
“And did this urgent visitor provide a name?”
“No, my lady. Says he can’t discuss his business with anyone but yourself.”
Some might send the man away, as visitors regularly came to the palace, asking for position or favor. Those people did not come to see her.
Although not as bad as in Britannia proper, even here, her reputation preceded her. More than preceded her. She knew there were whispers of her whisking people off the streets, throwing them into dungeons never to be seen again.
In reality, only a few people had been apprehended on her orders. Most of those arrested in the city she had no knowledge or connection to, not that it mattered to the population, or her, really.
It helped that the person in charge of security had a reputation for ruthlessness. Which meant when a person did brave that reputation and come to her, it was usually worth hearing, one way or another. If it was good information, fine. If it was a ploy, it still brought someone she should be watching into view.
Either way, it was worth it.
“Very well. Bring him in but stay within arm’s reach.”
The guard nodded and left, presumably to go to the gate and retrieve the caller. Five minutes later, the guard returned with a thin man whose clothes marked him as coming from the poorer section of the city.
He was a nervous man, his eyes constantly darting between Medb and the guard hovering behind him, hands clasped tightly before him.
“You claimed urgent business with me. Speak.”
“I ... I knew Geral, my lady. I bring a message from him.”
That got Medb’s attention instantly. She, however, kept the sudden interest suppressed and off her face.
“Did you now? And you’ve waited over a month since his death to mention this because?”
“I was afraid, my lady. The way they killed him ... I thought they might be watching me, too. I have not stepped foot outside my home since his death.”
“And why would they watch you?”
“Because ... because I was one of the few Geral talked to. And because of what he said the last time I saw him. He said they were starting to suspect him, that he thought he might be in danger. Said if anything happened, I should come to you. He said that he worked for you. Said he needed someone to know, in case ... but then he disappeared for weeks, and I knew. I thought they might think I was a danger, being his friend and all. As I said, Geral didn’t have many friends.”
“What’s your name?”
“Arishan.”
“Sit,” Medb commanded, gesturing to a plain wooden chair opposite her desk.
Arishan hesitated, his knuckles white as he gripped the backrest before lowering himself onto it.
“Now, tell me exactly what Geral said to you. Spare no details.”
Arishan swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “He came by my house, on that last day I saw him before he disappeared, looking scared. Geral never looked scared. He told me he had to check something, something about shipping. He said the lead he’d been following there was a false trail.”
“We already knew about the false trail at the docks. It had nothing to do with the people Geral was investigating.”
“No, my lady, that’s not what he meant. He meant he’d discovered it was false and that he had finally found the real evidence. He meant the thing he was checking at the docks was something different. He said it was connected to a shipment going out that night. He said he didn’t know everything, only that it was important.”
“Going out?” she repeated. “Are you certain? As far as we know, the rebels have been focused on bringing supplies into the city, not sending them away.”
“I’m sure, my lady. He even repeated it when he told me to take a message to you should something happen to him. That I should tell you about the shipment going out, and that he thought it was connected to what he was investigating for you.”
“Did he say anything else? Who was behind the shipment? Where it was going? What was being transported?”
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