CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
As much as she hated to admit it to herself, Ambassador Squillace had grown fond of seabird eggs as part of her breakfasts at Terramort. Whether scrambled, poached, over easy, or even occasionally presented sunnyside-up with a huge domed yellow-orange eye of yolk staring up at her, Tratton's palace chef's knew how to coax the most delectable tastes and textures from these shelled delicacies, and the crusty old hedgehog savored each one as much as the next.
On this morning, the royal court of the searats lavished upon their grudging guest a double helping of the avian treat, presenting her with both a sweet cakelike bread battered and fried in whipped albatross egg, along with krill omelets folded and grilled to perfection.
Unlike her counterpart Erzath at Salamandastron, Squillace was all but banned from the common eating areas where she was likely to mingle with talkative rats. Instead, Tratton had assigned her to a suite of her own on the palace floor beneath his, an airy and well-lit accommodation worthy of a senior captain of the fleet. By searat standards it must have been opulent, but it was no less a prison for all its luxurious amenities, with windows overlooking a sheer drop to the deadly wave-pounded rocks far below, and multiple guards posted outside her door day and night - and Squillace didn't need to dwell very deeply on just why they were there. Although, for all that those sentries were meant to restrict her, she also couldn't help taking some satisfaction from the knowledge that they might have been stationed outside her apartment as much for the protection of the other rats here as to limit her movements and prevent her from venturing about unauthorized. Also unlike Erzath, who could be so easily unnerved by his Badger Lord host, Squillace comported herself with a gruff invincibility, sparing not a word of ridicule, reprimand or scorn for anyrat who thought to cross her - and, wrapped in the protective mantle of diplomatic immunity, she pulled no punches - sometimes literally.
On her first day at Terramort, when one of Malvarkis's court officers decided the new Ambassador had not displayed the proper deference to the Searat King, he took it upon himself to lightly cane her into respectful subservience - whereupon she spun and leapt on him, driving him to the floor and, before anyrat could stop her, wresting the cane from his shocked grasp and doing something quite indecent to him with it, in full sight of the entire court. When other guards jumped on her in response, she put three of them in the infirmary with her bare paws before Tratton himself called an end to the altercation, Squillace herself emerging from the scuffle with only bruises and a few bent spikes to show for her warrior's efforts.
From that day forward the rats of Terramort referred to her as Ambassador Battleaxe - an appellation in which the bellicose Squillace positively revelled.
For her own part, Squillace didn't care one whit whether she dined alone or among multitudes - although her isolation did make it much harder to glean any news she might have gained from loose-lipped rats which might be of interest to Lord Urthblood. And her virtual house arrest rankled her only slightly, for as much as she would have liked to gather useful intelligence for her badger master, she was also pragmatic enough to accept the realities of her situation. At Terramort, Tratton had final say on all such matters, and the force of arms to enforce his will, so if he decreed she was to be confined to her posh prison most of the time, she would not fight it - or at least not too much.
That very Searat King announced his presence with a knock on her suite's door as she polished off the last of her omelet offering. Without any word of assent from her, the door opened just as it always did during the sea tyrant's unannounced visits and, as always, four of the elite palace guards preceded Tratton into the chamber, deploying themselves in a defensive posture to make sure the hedgehog wasn't in an assaultive state of mind. Seeing her seated and relatively docile by her standards, they parted to allow their ruler to approach the table, although Tratton made a point of halting several paces from the breakfasting woodlander, safely beyond easy striking distance.
"And how are we this fine morning, Ambassador?"
She screwed her face up at him. "Food's passable, as allers. Some bum coulda made a meal outta it. Nice t' know there's one thing you salty seathieves're halfway decent at."
"Oh, we're good at other things too - but you'll just have to take my word for it." Behind him, Tratton's retinue stood tensed, ready to club Squillace down at the first sign of any hostile move - not that they need have bothered. Tratton's paw rested assuredly near his sword hilt, and nobeast there doubted he could have the hedgehog disembowled in mid-charge should she try anything so suicidally foolish.
"So, guess this ain't th' day I get th' guided tour o' yer weapon shops?"
"No more than yesterday was, or tomorrow will be. Although I've come to realize that won't stop you asking."
"Hardly hospitable, eh, keepin' yer honored guest all bottled up like y' do."
"You are a guest of necessary protocol, not honor, and you will be allowed only where you must go to discharge your responsibilities as Ambassador - which, sadly for you, leaves out most of Terramort. You should feel privileged, even so, since you are the first woodlander of any species I've permitted to set foot on my island in many, many seasons."
"Hmm. Consid'rin' what I've seen of most of this place so far, it's no loss fer them, I'd say. So, Yer Majesty, what's on your agenda fer today?"
"Oh, this, that and other things. You'll be informed of anything you need to know - and I should emphasize, that's what I decide you need to know, not you. Or your master at Salamandastron."
"Pity. We 'hogs've got insatiable curiosity. Must be one o' the reasons Lord Urthblood picked me for this post."
"Really? I assumed it was because of your willingness to commit assault and battery against the rats of my royal court."
Squillace gave the Sea Lord a toothy grin, missing a few teeth in key places. "Ain't never dished it out to any rat who didn't ask fer it. Gotta admit, they learned their lesson right quick not t' go layin' their grubby paws - or their cowardly canes an' wimpy whips - on the old 'og, didn't they? I helped Lord Urthblood tame the Northlands durin' his campaigns there, an' I've knocked down my fair share o' vermin, even 'fore comin' here. But if you think I'm scrappy, you should see my nephew Tillamook when 'ee gets t' settin' about with that battle mallet of his. Then ye'd see some rat skulls crackin' fer sure! A reg'lar berserker, my Tilly!"
Tratton grimaced at this mental picture. "Then let's both be thankful he's still back on the mainland, because I'd hate to be responsible for slaying any Ambassador's kin. Might complicate diplomatic relations a bit, hm?"
"Reckon it might at that. So, what brings you here this fine sunny morn, Yer Majesty? Rubbin' it in how you get t' wander 'round yer domain free as y' like, while I'm stuck here starin' out at th' same old scenery as yesterday, an' th' day before, an' th' day afore that?"
"It is, as you say, my domain. I am King, after all. And since your memory seems to show some convenient gaps, let me remind you that I've afforded you a fair amount of latitude in visiting many other parts of the palace, and many parts of the island, as long as you go with the appropriate escorts."
"Many, but not most. An' escorted? Frogmarched is more like it, with spears 'n' blades at my belly an' throat if I make one step where they don't want me. Some honored guest ye're makin' me feel like."
Tratton kept his expression regally dour to match the hedgehog's perpetual scowl. "There will be another Fleetrunner dispatched to Salamandastron by day's end. I imagine Lord Urthblood will be expecting your latest report - and we would hate to disappoint him, wouldn't we?"
Squillace snorted. "A report, eh? Be nice if I had anything to report, aside from how many diff'rent ways yer cooks can whip up seabird eggs, or how spankin' clean yer chambermaids keep the indoor latrines, or how rat-made tunics almost fit me just fine as well, 'cept fer my spikes ... "
"Then write nothing, if it pleases you. You are the Ambassador, after all."
"Hrrmph! T'would be nice if I was made t' feel like one once in a while ... "
"All the usual amenities are at your disposal - and you'll find you enjoy a more comfortable lifestyle here than many of my officers can claim, so you're not doing too badly by Terramort by almost any measure you care to use. Perhaps you'll find it useful to remind yourself of that whenever you feel denied in some aspect of these arrangements."
Finishing the last of her triple helping of egg-battered toast, Squillace pushed back her chair and rose, prompting Tratton's guards to tense and tighten their grips on their swords. "Aw, relax, ya starched shirts. I'm just payin' my mornin' visit to the pot. Have yerself a good day, Yer Majesty - whatever it is ye're doin' t'day."
Taking her unilateral and rather indelicate leave of the Searat King thus, Squillace trundled off to her privacy stall while Tratton and his guards withdrew from the suite. Out in the corridor he found Uroza waiting on him.
"So, is there to be a message from the Ambassador on Fleetrunner Six, Sire?" the spymaster inquired.
"She's still making up her mind about that, it appears, although we both know there will be. She'll have it ready for you by this evening, unless I miss my guess. She'll want at the very least to let her master know she's still alive and well-tended, if nothing else."
Uroza's whiskers twitched as they strode down the hall. "A beast more coarse than most deckpaws, and that badger sends her to us as his official representative from Salamandastron. If that is not a message to us, I don't know what is. She comports herself like a shrew!"
This observation provoked a bark of laughter from the Sea Tyrant. "I've not known many shrews myself, but the description does seem to fit, doesn't it? Shrewlike indeed, in both speech and manner. In the end, however, it matters not one sail stitch what message Urthblood intended, or what secret purpose she might have for being here. We have neutralized any intelligence threat she might pose by restricting her movements, limiting who she talks to and keeping her under constant surveillance. There is nothing she could have told him these past two seasons that he could not have learned or surmised through other means just as easily. She is a trivial annoyance and occasional diversion, nothing more. And as long as we treat her well, Urthblood will have no grounds for saying we stand in violation of the Accord - at least not on that score."
"Did you inform her you will be leaving Terramort?"
"Of course not ... although she'll likely figure that out on her own soon enough, once I'm gone. But no need to spot your adversary any advantages, is there?"
"A wise course, Majesty."
"Is the Darktide nearly ready for departure?"
"Malvarkis and I will give her a final inspection later this morning. She is fully provisioned and crewed, and should be ready to sail on the noontide, if that is your choosing."
"It is. But first I must stop by the workshops to see how our favorite ferret weapons-crafter fares. He seems bursting with ideas and inspirations these days, and I want to make sure he'll have everything he requires in my absence, so I will pay him a brief visit ... and our inquisitive hedgehog friend will not get to tag along, as much as she would undoubtedly like to."
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"I need a boat, Yer Majesty."
Tratton regarded his ferret inventor with cool aloofness there on the sea cave docks of Terramort's subterranean shipyards. The place was relatively quiet for a change, most of the available stocks of metals having been used up in hull plating and weapons manufacture and thus leaving no heavy work to be performed at the moment. This allowed master and maker to tarry in the cavernous space without need for ear wadding, and to converse without having to shout.
"You can have your pick of any ship in the fleet for what you need, Clucus. My captains will see to your wishes, and grant you whatever you ask."
The inventor scratched at his jaw in distraction. "I was thinkin' more of a trader vessel, M'Lord."
"We have those too. You'll find a number to choose from around on the western docks, including some recent seizures and confiscations. You're welcome to whichever best suits your purposes."
"Well, y'see, that's th' thing, Sire. None of 'em do. I was out lookin' over 'em yesterday, an' their top decks're all patchwork an' irregular, with no clear level expanse of th' kind I need fer mountin'. Looks like they were all cobbled t'gether without much thought or plannin', with bits 'n' pieces stickin' up all in inconvenient spots, an' awkward hatchways too. I need a boat with a wide, clear deck topside."
"You mean like a barge."
"Nay, a barge'd ride too low in th' water. Need sumpthin' with more height to it."
"Would none of my frigates or galleons do? They have room amidships for catapult platforms, after all. We could clear one of those for you."
"My new shooter takes up a lot more room than a catapult, Sire. An' I plan on mountin' it on a rotatin' turntable, so it can be aimed an' fired in any direction. Our warships have way too many masts 'n' sails 'n' such in th' way fer that t' work - 'ceptin' fer our ironclads, that is."
"The ironclads are the one thing you may not have. They are too valuable to be used for tests and experiments."
"Aye, Sire."
"And wouldn't the problems you cite with our masted vessels also apply to most trader vessels as well?"
"Most, but not all. Seen a few over th' seasons that'd fit th' bill, but none of th' ones tied up out there now are that configuration."
"Could they be modified?"
"P'raps, in time, with a lotta work. But it'd be so much better if we could get one of 'em high seas cargo haulers that's already got th' basic shape I need. I was hopin' t' get this out fer open ocean range testin' 'fore summer. Retrofittin' any of th' ships we got on site'd take too long fer that."
Tratton sighed. Clucus was one of the very few creatures in his Empire who could make such demands of him freely and openly, and reasonably expect that they might be met. Then again, the ferret had delivered time and again, and his latest innovations held great promise indeed.
"Very well. Draw up schematics of the kind of vessel you require, and I will have them duplicated and distributed to all my captains currently ashore at Terramort, and by Fleetrunner to all who are at sea. That way, if they should chance upon such a craft in their voyages they will be sure to recognize it, and take appropriate action."
Clucus grinned and nodded his appreciation. "Thank you, Sire, thank you! Get me that boat, an' I'll build ye a ship killer like none ever seen on th' main before!"
"We already own the waves, Clucus. Make sure it can kill more than just ships, and then you will have truly earned my praise."
"Aye, Yer Majesty!"
Tratton, Uroza and their retinue of palace guards took their leave of the enthusiastic ferret inventor and strolled farther along the underground pier to take in the newest jewel in the searat navy. Nearly completed, the Reefgrinder lay at placid anchor, quiet now except for a small crew within, finishing up some of the interior work. Over three-quarters of the ironclad's hull stood encased in armored plating, with only the uppermost sections and the top deck awaiting application of the fireproof, and perhaps even catapult-proof, outer layer. She would make a fine companion vessel to the Wedge and the Deeprunner, and stand as Tratton's grandest such ship so far, increasing the number of steel-hulled battlecraft in the fleet to three. Taken in concert with the strides Clucus had made in treating wood and canvas to make them more resistant to fire, Tratton possessed great confidence that he would soon have a navy far better suited to withstand the kind of attacks Urthblood had sprung upon him in their previous clashes.
One thing remained, however, in his quest to neutralize the threat posed by the Badger Lord ... and his birds.
"Is she not grand, Uroza? One more shipment of ore and she will be finished. Then I'll have three warships Urthblood won't be able to touch!"
"Unless he truly has divined the composition of the stormpowder for himself, as his birds have hinted to you, and has embarked upon the manufacture of his own stockpiles. We've no idea how well armored ships would withstand such bombardment."
"Which is precisely why, in addition to countering what Urthblood drops on us, we must also counter how he drops it - and why my voyage to Talaga will not be just to check on the health and status of the Queen."
"You really think this alliance you propose can be made to succeed, Sire?"
"You would know better than I, Spymaster, since your agents have been the ones laying most of the groundwork for it."
"True. And they've also been paying for their efforts with their lives. Three more slain, at last report."
"Then a formidable alliance it shall be, if fulfilled. Do what you can to open the way for me, Uroza, and if my designs come to fruition, Urthblood will no longer be able to hold the spectre of renewed war and annihilation over our heads for the rest of our seasons!"