Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series (25 page)

Sans prop, John felt ... vulnerable.

The "saver" as John saw it, was that everyone
of importance had already seen the crystal. No reason for them to
think the gem had been stolen. Continuing that line of thought,
even the thief would not be able to advertise that John was now
"crystaless" because to do so would reveal the hit man as the
robber/assassin.

Then, too, if the going got really rough,
John could don the genuine article. ..... But not yet.

Not ever if John continued to have his
way!

Rather like a parent takes satisfaction in
the accomplishments of his children, John was proud of his troops.
Proud that, even without him, they had fended off a concerted
attack by the Malachite Navy. Though it was the construction of
John's defenses in the Claws that had won the battle, his men had
to have fought and fought hard. It took men to row the ram-enhanced
merchant ships that had finished off the Malachite cutters come
afoul of those strategically placed, undersea "mines." Men, to work
the catapults that rained down "fire" on enemy ships; on those
Malachites sailors unlucky enough to have come within striking
range of John's shore battery ballasts.

Most impressive to the soldiers and mariners
-- John was told -- was that the victory had been achieved without
the Mage using either magic or "on the scene" support.

And where had John been during the attack?
Though only John's immediate companions knew, fighting for his
life. Again.

While holding a pillow to his injured chest
during the last meeting had seemed like a good idea at the time,
the pillow had been keeping blood from soaking through, blood that
had begun leaking from the dagger wound's newly torn scar tissue.
So much blood, on top of what John had lost already, that,
following the meeting, John had collapsed. To be found later by a
cleaning drudge.

It was Golden who'd invented the fiction that
the Mage was controlling strategy from the palace. Dressing up in
John's Wizard clothing, Golden had let himself be seen at the
window of the war room from time to time, acting the part of
Mage-conducting-the-war-effort from afar. John was told -- and he
believed it -- that Golden played the part of John-from-a-distance,
perfectly. In effect, Golden's "Mage" performance had given John an
idea about the next military idea he intended to spring on his war
council today.

To make a short story even shorter, in the
middle of the two weeks John had been incapacitated, the "Battle
for the Claws" had been won.

It was also during John's convalescence that
Leet and his Malachites had come to the Claws to surrender.
Learning this, one of the first things John did after gaining back
some strength was to "allow" Leet and his men to join the
Stil-de-grain Army, giving the order that the Malachites were to be
issued the uniforms of a special forces unit attached to the local
military.

John now feeling well enough to assume full
command, he'd called this afternoon meeting in the war room.

The usual group -- plus Leet.

Introductions made all around -- John's
formal congratulations given to the two commanders on last week's
victory -- and it was time for new business.

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, the battle didn't
change the power balance." John swept the table with a slow glance,
Coluth and Nator nodding, their Seconds reflecting their respective
Head's concern. "It's too much to hope, I suppose, that our
defensive tactics destroyed a large number of Malachite
vessels."

"Yes," Coluth confirmed.

"When they failed to force a passage,"
General Nator added, the Army Head fingering his golden sash while
he spoke, "then felt the blows of our catapults, they
withdrew."

"A sensible thing to do," John agreed. "It's
always harder to attack fortified positions than to defend them. If
I remember right, the formula is something like three to one. It
takes three times the force to capture an emplacement as it does to
defend it." John paused for dramatic effect. "Which makes our next
task a formidable one."

"Next task?" Coluth asked, surprised. "Are we
not in a good position here?"

"Yes. For now. What I would expect, however,
is another Malachite assault, this time by land. Would that be your
guess, Leet?"

Somewhat shorter than the rest of the men at
the table, the Malachite Head looked uncomfortable in his cut-down
Stil-de-grain officer's tunic. Probably was uncomfortable. "It is
not my place to ..."

John cut him off with a chopping wave. "I
didn't ask you to come to this meeting to keep your place. I'm
asking for your advice." Leet sat up a little straighter.

"I have not seen your army, do not know its
strength ..."

"I'm afraid you have seen our army. It's just
that there isn't much to see."

"A confirmation of the rumor that your land
forces were lost in the Realgar Marsh," the former Malachite Head
said, nodding to himself. Leet pursed his lips. Used his left hand
to lift his dead arm to the tabletop. "If, as it is believed, the
pursuing Malachite Army did not go far into that sucking swamp,
then our ...." He paused; corrected himself. "Then the Malachite
Army is in tact."

"You would expect the army to attack,
then?"

"It would seem to be the correct
strategy."

"General Nator?"

"Agreed."

"Where is the Malachite Navy now?" John asked
Coluth.

"Gone."

"Might they be lingering out there somewhere,
just above the Claws?"

"I sent a ship. The report is, they have
retreated further than the tie-up docks above the Claws."

"I wonder if retreated is the right word."
John paused to think, tapping his compressed lips with a forefinger
as he sometimes did. "They could have pulled back to Xanthin
Harbor. Probably did, immediately after their defeat."

"And while we're playing hide-and-go-seek
with the Malachite Navy ...," blank stares all around, "... where
did the Malachite army go after its victory outside of Carotene?"
John pointed at Leet, figuring that, as a Malachite, he would have
the best idea of Malachite plans.

"I do not know," Leet said, shrugging his
functional shoulder. The others also shook their heads.

"Gagar?" What were spy "masters" for, if not
to ....

"It is my belief that the Malachite army
stayed in Carotene," chirped the little bird man.

"Your belief?"

"Since all Stil-de-grain messenger birds were
released during the rout -- to warn the navy away -- no birds can
come from there. It is my belief the Malachites are still in
Carotene because no messenger birds have come from other places,
saying the Malachites are elsewhere."

"Yes. The case of the dog that didn't
bark."

"Dog ...?" Coluth. At the end of the
table.

"Just an expression," John replied, wincing.
How did you explain Sherlock Holmes' rational approach to
criminology to people with medieval minds?

"What seems certain is that, since their
attack three days ago fizzled, it's a good bet that a Malachite
messenger bird is on its way to Carotene with news of their naval
defeat."

"They will not try again in the Claws,"
Coluth said positively.

"Not with their navy," John agreed. "But it
would be my guess that their fleet -- we didn't destroy their
ships, after all, just drove them off -- has disappeared because
its on its way to Carotene to pick up the Malachite Army." John
twisted around in his chair. Glanced about the room. "Where's a
map? I need a blowup map of the area from Carotene to the Claws."
Another of John's innovations -- the drawing of detailed maps --
had come to fruition.

Note:
To view Golden's maps, visit:
http://www.johnstockmyer.com/uts/

Nator pointed to an end table.

"Good! I was afraid you'd left the map behind
when you evacuated Xanthin. Bowing his thanks, Nator had his Second
rise from the main table, to stride to a small, overflowing stand,
ruffling through the untidy pile of map "blow ups" there to find
the one John had indicated.

Locating the right chart, he brought it to
the large, central table, smoothing out the crackling, yard square,
papyrus-like paper in front of John. "Yes," John said, standing,
leaning forward, putting his forefinger on Carotene and tracing as
he spoke. "If I were the Malachite commander, believing, as is the
case, that the Stil-de-grain Army is at half-strength at best, I'd
load my troops on ships here off Carotene. Transport them through
Sea Throat past the Realgar March, around Xanthin Island, landing
them in Realgar territory just to the 'east' of the Claws.

"Speaking of Xanthin," John said, looking up
to see that the others were leaning toward the map, following
along, Coluth standing at the table's far end, "it would be my
guess that with the island captured some time ago, with our forces
holed up here, they have only a token force on the island."

John sat down and waved the map away, the
others settling in their chairs, young Forsk returning the map to
the table before coming back quietly to sit at his place.

John looked down the
center of the table at Coluth. "How few sailors would it take to
handle your average merchant ship?" Not anticipating the question,
the Admiral's light eyes took on a puzzled look, Coluth drumming
the fingers of both, big hands on the table. Another agony of
dealing with these people was that they didn't do well with sudden
shifts of subject. "I know that aboard the
Roamer
, you had, maybe, 40 men."
Coluth nodded solemnly. "But how many were really necessary on a
trip from here to Xanthin Island."

"To reach the harbor?"

"No. To get to the backside of the island
nearest the Claws."

Coluth frowned, trying to calculate. "That
would require only one change-over."

One of the interesting features of this world
were the looping swirls of water rotating on the surface of the
sea. Rowing-steering from one of the whirls to a counter-rotating
current was the way sailors traveled on this world's seas. "Here,
the waters are calm .... I would say it would require, to be on the
safe side, twenty men on the oars, one to steer. Ten on each oar
bank."

From what John knew about rowing in this
world, Coluth's figures seemed right.

"Half."

Coluth nodded, rubbing his flat nose with one
finger as he sometimes did when puzzled.

"Here's the plan, then. Since the best
defense is often a good offense, we're going on the attack."

"Attack!?" General Nator, sensible man that
he was, was horrified. Had the Mage lost his mind? Attack with
what? Those questions and others could be seen flashing behind the
general's steely eyes.

"Failing to destroy us by sea, the Malachites
will now try by land. The quickest way to do that, by converting
their warships to troop transports in order to help bring their
army from Carotene. Our response will be to transform our seamen
into soldiers. As many as we can."

"But ..." Nator complained, practically
sputtering, "a seaman cannot to be taught to be a ... a
soldier!"

John knew about the feudal situation in this
world, everyone locked into his father's occupation. "If I'm right,
my new, seaman-soldiers won't have to fight. For my plan to work,
it will be enough if they look like soldiers."

At that retraction, General Nator seemed less
troubled ... though still confused.

"The right uniforms and a little drill should
do it. What I want is a force that will overawe a much smaller
army."

"But the Malachite Army is not smaller," the
general countered, not at all happy with this line of thought.
"Furthermore, each Malachite soldier being stronger because he is
from a heavier band, the enemy is better than our troops, man for
man." Unusual for this world, Nator didn't mince words -- even when
talking to his Mage.

"I have no intention of taking on the
Malachite Army in a fair fight," John said reassuringly. "What
we're going to do is recapture Xanthin Island."

Dead quiet prevailed. What, after all, do you
say to the insane?

"If we're correct about the most sensible
course of action available to Malachite commanders, they'll use
their navy to move their army from Carotene to the Claws. I see no
reason to stay here and take the medicine they've prepared for us,
do you?"

Silence.

"I propose an attack on a neglected Xanthin
Island."

Silence.

Until Coluth spoke. "Even if few troops are
holding Xanthin Island, that would be difficult. First, the enemy
will see that only half the oars 'a our ships are manned, that our
ships are helpless to defend themselves, even against what little
remainin' naval forces are at Xanthin. And, won't they have
barricaded the harbor by now?"

"I should think so." Never underestimate the
enemy was the cardinal rule of war. "But I have no intention of
attacking Xanthin Harbor."

"Around the rest 'a the island," Coluth said,
not wishing to sound negative, but determined, like Nator, to tell
the truth. "Our ships can't get close. Too shallow, as you know."
In the past, John had soundings made to establish just that
fact.

"No problem. I've got that figured out, too."
John had considered these objections, of course. (Nothing like
enforced bed rest to provide planning time.) "We hit 'em where they
ain't."

John sighed.

Snappy patter got him nothing but puzzled
frowns.

"We do to them what I was afraid they'd do to
us when we were holed up on Xanthin Island."

John was thinking about
the period after he'd become Mage on his last trip to this world,
when, fearful that a Malachite strike force might land troops on
the backside of the island, he'd had soundings taken around the
island, those fathomings revealing that the only spot deep enough
for military cruisers to approach the island was through the harbor
itself. John had then ordered ships to be sunk in Xanthin Harbor to
close the harbor mouth, a task that had fallen to Coluth, Coluth
sinking the
Roamer
and another ship to plug the harbor against a Malachite
attack. It was for Coluth's heroics in harbor defense that John had
appointed him to the position of Navy Head -- unfortunately, Head
of a much depleted navy.