The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 10

Devnum

“You’re here very early,” Lucan’s voice came from behind him.

Hortensius stood from the small furnace that he’d been adjusting, looking up to see the shipbuilder standing a few steps away, looking tired. Which was to be expected, considering the sun was just now making its way over the horizon, washing out the torchlight the manufacturer had been operating under just a little bit before.

“Lucan! I’m glad you’re up,” he said, pushing himself up and walking over to stacks of metal sheeting that had been delivered late the previous evening. “Come take a look at this.”

The shipwright joined him and looked over the silver colored metal stacked up almost to his knees.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at.”

“See these color differences? And if you run your hand along this section, can you feel the texture differences?”

“I ... yes, I think so,” he said, following Hortensius’s suggestion and running his hand over the plate.

“I was concerned with the uniformity of the metal composition. Most of the metal we’ve made to date has been much smaller than these plates, and I was concerned we’d get some variations in the composition while rolling these sheets out. I’d hoped we’d compensated for it, but clearly we did not do a good enough job.”

“Do we need to wait and refine the process further?”

“We do need to refine it and see if we can get a more standardized product, but no, I don’t want to hold up production any longer than we need to. While they are not quite up to specifications, they are close. We just need to account for it in the riveting process. The metal itself should still stand up to the stresses once the vessel is assembled, and function fine.”

“So we’re ready to begin then?”

“Yes. I do wish we’d had time to establish more permanent facilities. These portable furnaces we brought will do the job for now, but they cannot hold enough fuel reserves to operate for long unattended. And I have some concern that might cause the temperature to dip and fluctuate a bit.”

“We discussed this. The need to get a larger, permanent furnace out here would also require reinforcing the docks to adjust for the weight, which we don’t have time for. We do have men working on it and we should be able to start installing something permanent in the next six months, but you said we could make do with the portable ones for now.”

“We can. We can,” Hortensius confirmed. “Like the plates, we just have to make adjustments for them. It will make the work harder and slower than I’d like, but yes, faster than if we waited.”

“As the Consul said, war waits for no man. I guess that applies to processes as well.”

“True enough. Still, it complicates matters.” Hortensius said, and then gestured to a stack of smaller metal sections off to the side. “I’ve selected those for our initial tests. The Consul’s notes warn of several variables affecting the riveting process that his instructions would be unable to account for and that we’d need to experiment before settling on the best method.”

“Did he say what sort of variables?”

“Metal expansion and contraction, primarily. The heating and cooling process causes minute changes in the steel’s structure, and can be affected both by the temperatures and humidity, as well as salt content in the air. If we don’t account for it properly, we risk compromising the integrity of the entire ship.”

“And here I thought the caravels were too complicated to construct quickly.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started. You need to look at the later plans, after the hull is assembled,” Hortensius said with a wry smile. He clapped his hands, calling out to the gathered workers. “Right then, let’s begin our first attempt!”

Men who’d been standing around waiting for the go-ahead for more than an hour sprang into action, some going to the furnace while others lifted up the plates, putting them between large holders Hortensius had installed earlier that evening.

While they had done some testing of the riveting process back in Factorium, the Consul’s warnings had prompted Hortensius to leave the bulk of it for testing here, so he could see the real challenges they faced. Hortensius watched intently as the first heated rivet was hammered into place, examining them closely as the workers stepped away, moving to the next section to rivet. After less than a minute, however, he called a halt to the process.

“Stop! Everyone, halt the work!”

“Problems?” Lucan asked.

“Yes. See this rivet head on the back end. It isn’t flush with the metal as it cools. There’s a gap, which means we don’t get it closed tightly together. The rivets are supposed to contract as they cool, with the smashed tail of the rivet pulling in and locking the plates in place. That force of the metal cooling is what causes it to lock into place. The force of smashing it into place should also cause the shank of the rivet to expand slightly, filling the entire hole. That isn’t happening here.”

“But this didn’t happen in your factory tests, right?”

“No. You,” he said, pointing at one of the workers. “Show me how you put in the rivet.”

The man nodded and hopped to his assignment, going to the furnace and dropping in one of the pre-made rivets into the glowing coals. The metal quickly heated and, once it was glowing cherry-red, he extracted it with long-handled tongs and carried it to the pre-drilled hole in the test plates. He carefully positioned the rivet through the aligned holes and then shifted the tongs to maintain pressure on the rivet head while drawing his hammer. Once positioned, he began striking the open end of the rivet, deforming the shaft. After several hard strokes, he stepped back, making room for Hortensius to look at it closely.

The manufacturer took the man’s tongs and nudged the still hot, but not glowing, bolt. To his dismay, it rattled slightly.

“Damn.”

“Problems?”

Hortensius didn’t answer right away, still staring at the offending rivet, his brow frowned in concentration.

“Yes. A serious problem,” he finally replied. “The rivet is cooling too quickly before it’s properly hammered into place. It’s not much, mind you, but enough to prevent the head from deforming completely. This means it’s not applying sufficient clamping force, and the shaft isn’t molding properly into the hole.”

Lucan leaned in, squinting at the rivet. “Which means?”

“It means the plates will have some wiggle room, and it won’t be watertight.”

“Ohh.”

The inventor looked at the bolt for another moment before he turned to the gathered workers, who were waiting expectantly for further instructions.

“Right, we need to reorganize. We’ll work in teams of three. One to heat the rivets, one to position, and one to hammer,” he said before pointing to a burly man with a hammer. “I want you to strike as soon as the rivet’s in position. Don’t hesitate. It’s important your end of the rivet is hit while it is still its hottest. And you, hold it in place tightly. You’ll feel some force when the hammer strikes, so brace yourself.”

When the men all nodded their understanding, Hortensius stepped back and gestured for them to proceed. Again a rivet was put into place, although much faster than the previous attempt. When they finished, he waved them off and inspected the result.

“Better,” he muttered, “but still not quite there. We’re still losing too much time between heating and positioning.”

After staring at the metal for a moment, thinking he moved over to a small work table that had been set up and pulled sheets of paper out of a satchel he’d set there. For several minutes, he flipped through the pages of diagrams and instructions, sometimes doubling back to reread a section. Finally, nodding to himself, he looked around the dock until he found one of the metal buckets his factories had been producing for several years sitting upside down as to not collect water.

Retrieving it and a thick leather apron next to the furnace, he walked over to the man at the furnace.

“When the rivet’s ready, I want you to toss it carefully at the bucket that man will be holding. It’s important you don’t miss,” he said, before turning to the positioning man, holding out the bucket and thick apron. “Put this on, it should offer some protection. I want you to catch the rivet in this bucket, fish it out and slot it into position as quickly as you can.”

“Is this safe?” Lucan asked.

“Less safe than I would like, but the damp air is helping the bolt cool off faster. This will be an even bigger problem when they are several more steps away, working on the frame well across from the dock. I can’t think of a way to get the rivet to the positioner faster than throwing it, and the Consul’s notes indicate this is one strategy that can be used.”

Lucan seemed unsure, but stepped back. The team looked equally as uncertain, especially the man tasked with catching the rivets, but they followed their orders.

The furnace worker heated the rivet until it glowed cherry-red, then quickly tossed it across, where it made a thunk sound as it hit the metal bucket. The positioner fished it out, moving with haste to place it in the pre-drilled hole, followed by the hammerer smashing the rivet into position.

The entire ordeal lasted only seconds.

Once again, Hortensius moved close to the rivet to check it. To his relief, the rivet had cooled in place, held firmly by the surrounding metal.

“Excellent! This looks promising. Let’s do a few more to be certain.”

The team worked diligently, assembling more sections of the test frame. Hortensius watched silently, following behind them. After they’d completed a sizeable portion, he called for a halt.

Carefully, he inspected each rivet, checking for any signs of weakness or improper seating. To his satisfaction, they all appeared to be holding strong.

“This is good work,” he announced. “I believe we’re ready to begin assembling the test frame in earnest. We’ll need to assemble a larger section to truly gauge its watertightness, but this is a promising start.”

He took Lucan by the arm and led him to the work desk.

“Let’s go ahead and begin assembling the test frame. Once we get the first few spans done all the way around, we can lower it into the water and check it for watertightness. If this works as the Consul says, we should be good through. I will send some more men to you, since I think I just tripled the men it will take to build it. While you do that, I’ll need to return to the workshop and see what I can do about the metal sheet production.”

“You have a lot more faith in this than I have,” Lucan said, still looking at the riveted sheets wearily.

“The Consul hasn’t steered us wrong yet. I know this goes against everything you’ve ever worked on, but the idea behind it is sound, I think.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

***

Carthage

It was late and Medb was not pleased at being summoned in the middle of the night like some kind of hired hand. The only reason she hadn’t immediately sent the messenger back with harsh words for his master was that the request had come from Claudius.

The praetorian had been all but silent for the past two weeks following their discovery of the contents of the crates. She’d even heard that he’d left the city for several days. She didn’t need him to report into her regularly, as he had earned enough trust for her to allow him somewhat of a free hand, but the silence had started to become concerning.

Although not as much as silence followed by a sudden summons.

She arrived with her small guard detachment at the prescribed warehouse and was surprised to see nearly twenty praetorians gathered around, waiting. More unusual than that was the pair climbing the warehouse with rifles slung over their backs.

She didn’t see Claudius right away, not until he stepped out of a darkened spot next to the warehouse. All of the men had dark cloaks draped over them, making them particularly hard to see.

“What is all this?” she asked when she reached him.

“My lady, thank you for coming. I know it is late. The surveillance operation you ordered bore fruit tonight. As you instructed, we maintained surveillance on the merchant ships involved in the smuggling, following them offshore when they left port. Most went on to other ports or headed back to Britannia, but three did not. I believe these three ships came in empty and left full, suggesting Carthage is being used as some kind of transshipment point. Those ships sailed a day to the east, where they met other ships out of sight of any harbor, each near dusk. The ships got close enough to rope and gangplank between them. We were not able to get close enough to see specifics without being noticed, but I believe they were transferring cargo.”

“That is interesting, but it does not explain tonight,” Medb pointed out.

“This will. Two of the ships were from the remaining Greek cities that had yet to declare to one side or another, and the last was Egyptian. More notably, the Egyptian ship had the previous day delivered a new set of Ptolemaic envoys and, after their mid-ocean meeting, they sailed back here. One of the men who disembarked from that ship was, in fact, one of those new envoys. They must not have completely unloaded or have exchanged cargo because he came to a warehouse one building over with crates that came off that ship tonight. He is, in fact, still inside.”

“By himself?”

“No. Several members from other questionable ships currently in port entered the same warehouse around the same time, along with several men we’ve been monitoring for connections with the rebels here in the city. If we are ever going to find a link between them, something solid like you were asking for, then this is the moment to get it.”

“How many are inside, in total? What kind of guards or combatants?”

“Twenty at most, with about half being muscle they brought with them. I didn’t see firearms on any of them, but they could have hidden them inside the crates or otherwise concealed them. The streets are already mostly empty and I have more men on a perimeter around the building. We control all access points to this block.”

Medb considered the situation. The intelligence gathered by Claudius was too valuable to ignore. This could be the break they needed to unravel the network of support for the Carthaginian rebels and figure out what this smuggling operation was really about. It wasn’t with risk, however. But a poorly executed raid could alert their contacts and drive them further underground.

Ultimately, though, they had been operating in the dark for too long. They needed answers, and they needed them now.

“Very well. Proceed.”

Claudius inclined his head in acknowledgment, then turned to face his men. He had clearly worked the details out with his men ahead of time, in case he got the go-ahead he wanted, because a single hand gesture was enough to send all the men gathered here into motion, running to predetermined positions.

The precision of it was impressive. Within a minute, the building was surrounded and the one man left outside as some kind of guard was hauled down by one of the Praetorians who moved on him with a fighting lack of silence, slashing the man’s throat before he could get a sound off.

Claudius had broken his men into three teams assembled at two different entry points, the main door and a side entrance, with additional men on the roof to cover the streets should any try to escape. Each had men stacked up at them, looking to him and waiting for the signal to enter.

“My lady, you should wait here,” Claudius said when he realized she and her guards were following behind him.

“I will be following behind you. Don’t worry, I will stay out of your way,” she said, her tone making it clear this wasn’t up for debate.

Claudius frowned but did not argue. Instead, he raised his hand, holding it aloft for a moment, before bringing it down in a sharp, quick motion.

Chaos ensued.

The main and side doors splintered inward with a thunderous crash as Praetorians burst through. Shouts of alarm and confusion followed from inside as the smugglers found themselves suddenly under attack.

Medb and her guards, who kept themselves between her and the ensuing combat, slipped inside behind the initial wave of soldiers, where her guards pushed her into cover behind a stack of crates. It was a good spot. She could see the fight without being in direct line of fire.

Well, mostly not in the line of fire.

The warehouse was a cavernous space, filled with towering shelves and scattered crates.

“By order of the Governor, you are all under arrest. Surrender now!” Claudius’s voice boomed.

His words were met with a hail of gunfire. Muzzle flashes lit up the gloom as several of the smugglers holding muskets opened fire. Even a few arcuballista bolts flew across, suggesting how haphazardly they were armed. The Praetorians responded in kind, their with the benefits

Medb ducked lower as bullets whizzed overhead, splintering wood and ricocheting off metal.

Near the center of the warehouse, she spotted the Ptolemaic trade representative that she had met roughly a week ago when he’d come to the city and introduced himself to Cormac. The man’s eyes were wide with panic as he fumbled for something at his waist. He did not get a chance to pull whatever weapon he was holding, as a nearby Praetorian saw the action as well and lifted his rifle. The Ptolemaic representative jerked backward, a red stain blossoming on his chest as he crumpled to the ground, dead before he hit the floor.

The firefight intensified as the remaining armed men were pushed further back into a corner of the warehouse by the better-armed and trained Praetorians. It was getting hard to see anything as the building grew hazy with gunsmoke.

In a matter of minutes, the gunfire tapered off and then ended.

“Clear on the left!” a voice called out.

“Right side secure!” another responded.

Medb emerged cautiously from her cover, surveying the aftermath. The warehouse floor was littered with spent cartridges, splintered wood, and bodies.

“We’ve secured the building, my lady. Seven survivors in custody. The rest...” He gestured to the bodies scattered across the floor.

“And your men?”

“Two wounded, nothing serious. We caught them by surprise.”

“Good work,” Medb said, her eyes roaming the warehouse. “Now, let’s see what our friends were so eager to protect.”

She moved purposefully toward a cluster of crates that had been at the center of the smugglers’ defensive efforts. Praetorians were already prying them open, revealing their contents.

Medb peered inside the first crate. It was full of muskets, and not the rifles she’d hoped for.

Claudius joined her, his expression equally puzzled. “None of this is protected ordnance. Nothing like what we saw before.”

Medb’s mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. “Most likely intended for the rebels, considering how they were armed. The other shipments must not have been intended for here, and either never left ships or simply transferred from ship to ship. They probably wouldn’t want any of it in any warehouses here, in case they were searched. Still, army rebels is a serious matter, and perhaps they know where the more concerning shipments went.”

As she continued her examination, a Praetorian approached, holding a small, ornate box. “My lady, we found this on the Ptolemaic envoy’s body.”

Medb took the box, turning it over in her hands. It was finely crafted, with intricate designs etched into its surface. She opened it carefully, revealing a collection of sealed documents bearing official-looking seals.

“Well, well. It seems our late friend was carrying some rather interesting correspondence.”

As she read, she couldn’t keep the annoyed look off her face.

“My lady?”

“It’s either just numbers or in code. Clearly something the recipients would know, but meaningless to us. Find me one of the rebels that were here, so we can ask them.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, the rebels fought to the last. The only men remaining are sailors who threw down their weapons once the last of the rebels fell.”

“Well, then let’s see what they know.”

Claudius nodded, gesturing to his men who dragged forward the seven enemy survivors, all looking worse for wear. Some sported fresh cuts and bruises. Two even had quick bandages for bullet wounds that were not, at the moment, life-threatening. All had a look that men who’d transferred in from the trenches in the east called shell shock.

A term apparently originating with the Consul.

Medb circled the group like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Gentlemen,” she said after circling them twice, building them up. “I trust you understand the gravity of your situation. Smuggling prohibited weapons. Consorting with rebels. These are serious offenses.”

One of the men, a fat sailor with a beard, spat at her feet.

“We ain’t telling you nothing, bitch,” he said in Egyptian, one of the many languages she spoke.

Medb smiled at him, cocking her head to the side. Then, without warning, she lashed out, her fist connecting with the man’s jaw. He crumpled to the ground, groaning.

“I suggest you reconsider your approach,” she said calmly. “Now, who wants to start talking?”

Some of the prisoners exchanged nervous glances, but the rest kept their defiant exterior.

Medb sighed dramatically. “Very well. Claudius, pick one.”

The Praetorian hesitated for a moment, then grabbed one of the men, shoving him to his knees in front of Medb.

“Last chance. Tell me about your operation. Where are these shipments coming from? Where are they going?”

“To the hells with you,” he said, following his older comrades’ example, spitting at her feet.

“Wrong answer,” she said, and nodded at him.

The praetorian behind him looked to Claudius, who nodded in turn. Medb frowned at the lack of obedience, but at least he carried out his orders. With a swift motion, the soldier brought a dagger across the man’s throat, sending a torrent of blood across the floor.

Medb stepped to the side to avoid the spray and frowned at the man, circling the group and stopping in front of the youngest of the group, a scrawny lad barely out of his teens.

The boy’s eyes widened in terror. “Please, I don’t know anything! I’m just a deckhand!”

“Wrong answer,” she said, looking up at another Praetorian.

“Wait!” One of the other prisoners, an older man with graying hair, said. “Leave the boy alone. I’ll talk.”

“A wise decision. Start with where these shipments were bound.”

The man swallowed hard, trying to ignore the looks of the other prisoners. “Syria and Judea. That’s all I know, I swear. We’d meet ships out at sea, transfer the cargo. They never told us exactly where it went after that.”

“And who received the cargo?”

“Easterners. Strange-looking men. It’s impossible to miss them.”

Medb nodded, processing the information. “What is Egypt’s role in all this?”

The man hesitated. “I... I don’t know much. Just rumors.”

“Tell me,” Medb insisted, her voice dangerously low.

“There’s been talk of changes coming. Something big. But I don’t know details, I swear!”

Medb studied him for a moment, then turned to Claudius. “Take them away. Quietly. We can’t risk alerting the Ptolemaic representatives in the city. Keep them locked up. No one is to talk to them without my order.”

“Good. Also, the surveillance is over. They will figure out we captured some of their men soon, so I want to bite into this operation before they do. I want you to seize any of the suspicious ships known to be part of this smuggling operation that enter the harbor. Detain all sailors for questioning and have the ships thoroughly searched. Leave no plank unturned.”

Claudius nodded grimly. “It will be done, my lady. But what of the Ptolemaic envoys still in the city? They’re bound to notice when their ships start disappearing.”

Medb’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “Let them notice. I will send a message to the Empress now, and she can decide how far we take it.”

As Claudius moved to carry out her orders, Medb found herself concerned. The pieces finally all came together for her, and she thought she knew what was going on.

And it wasn’t good.