The Wings of Mercury - Chapter 24

Sardinia

The sprawling villa was, at first glance, opulent and over the top in the classic Italian style, which had become something of a melding of older pre-diaspora Roman style and follow-on Carthaginian styles melded together.

The closer Llassar got to the villa, however, the more signs of wear and age he could see. It was the kind of place built when there was great abundance, but that fell off as the money disappeared. The decline wasn’t significant, the kind of thing that happens in bits through bad weather and mishaps.

Llassar wasn’t an expert on the upkeep of property like this, but if he was to put a wager on it, he’d guess the money had run dry five years ago. A very suggestive time for the money to run out, but one that fit with what he’d learned about Nuraian.

If he was willing to sell out his neighbors to work as some kind of middleman for a corrupt Roman, he was definitely willing to sell them out to the Carthaginians.

There was still enough money for servants, one of whom met Llassar as he got to the front gate and led him into a room that was a close approximation of the new Roman-style libraries that had become popular after the sudden mass introduction of printed books that came with the Consul’s printing press and technologies for paper and binding. The name made sense, considering it was essentially a small personal version of the large repositories found in places like Alexandria, although it was a bit egotistical.

Which also made sense, considering it originated with the Romans.

Llassar looked across the books on his shelf, the majority of which were Britannian, which also made sense. Most books printed came out of Britannian, although the presses had started being sold into other regions, and books in Egyptian and Phoenician, which were still widely spoken and read across the pieces of their former empire, had also begun to pop up.

He had spent some money on this collection, and from the condition of the books, fairly recently.

Llassar turned from the books as Nuraian walked in. “What are you doing here?”

“We haven’t spoken for some time, and I was hoping we could continue our discussion on Sardinia’s future.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. My stance hasn’t changed. Sardinia doesn’t need Britannia or its meddling.”

“It’s interesting you should say that.”

Nuraian clearly did not expect that answer because he paused, as if he was trying to figure out Llassar’s game.

“Why is it interesting?”

“I just couldn’t help but notice all of the shipments you have been receiving. It’s interesting just how many of them come from Britannian merchants, for someone who is so much against Britannian meddling. In fact, how many of them come from the same Britannian merchant, in fact.”

“I’m … not sure I know what you mean.”

“Really? Considering the amount of business you’ve been doing with Marcellinus, I’m surprised you don’t know who he was. I know I’d want to be aware of the name of a man I took shipment after shipment from.”

How Nurain managed to double deal as long as he had baffled Llassar. The planter’s face read like one of the books on the shelves, displaying the fear, then worry, then feigned confusion that told Llassar exactly what he needed to know, without the man saying anything.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nurain said. “What exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating facts. You’ve been receiving regular shipments from a Britannian merchant named Marcellinus. A man who, by all accounts, shouldn’t be doing business with someone so vehemently opposed to Britannian involvement in Sardinian affairs.”

“You’re mistaken. I’ve never heard of this Marcellinus. Perhaps you’ve confused me with someone else?”

“I’m sorry, I believe I am not the one who is confused. Although I can see it would be difficult to grasp that your deceptions is finally at an end. The records are quite clear. As are the testimonies of your staff.”

“My staff? What nonsense is this?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t notice several of your servants going missing recently? A curious time for them to up and leave, wouldn’t you say?”

“People come and go. It’s hardly noteworthy.”

“Perhaps,” Llassar conceded. “But when those same people somehow found their way onto a Britannian warship in the harbor, under guard, all telling the same story which corroborates those documents, well... then I would consider it noteworthy.”

“You bluff.”

“Often when I gamble, but not now. Your secrets are out, Nurain. Marcellinus is in Britannian custody. He’s been quite forthcoming about his business partners.”

“This... this is outrageous. You can’t just come in here and make these wild accusations!”

“Again, I am not making accusations. I am simply stating facts. It seems your business partner was quite the record keeper. We have shipping manifests, financial records, eyewitness accounts, all of which tell the same story.”

Nurain’s face drained of color. He must have been trying to think of how Llassar knew Marcillanius’s name, or how he knew anything about his activities. He also looked like he wanted to bolt. Although, where the man thought he could go on an island that could be shown his treachery at any moment was beyond Llassar. 

The Sardinian’s composure crumbled as the reality of his situation sank in. Llassar allowed the silence to stretch, giving Nuraian time to fully grasp the precariousness of his position.

“What do you want?” Nuraian finally asked.

“Don’t sound so down, Nuraian, I have no desire to see you ruined publicly.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Because if I wanted to destroy you, I wouldn’t be here having this conversation,” Llassar replied matter-of-factly. “I’d be presenting my evidence to the other landholders and major town leaders and watching your world crumble.”

“If you’re not looking to destroy me, what are you after?”

“I want to use you. You have quite the reputation, especially among the more rural sections of Sardinia. It’s why you were able to do what those paying you wanted so well. I want to use you exactly the same, except I want my sale to be final.”

“And how much will this cost me,” Nuraian said, sounding almost disgusted, his ‘better than you’ attitude returning.

“I think you misunderstand me. I am not asking for a bribe, Nuraian. I’m offering you a chance to do something for your people for once. I want your full support behind Sardinia’s unification with Britannia. Not just passive acceptance - active, vocal support.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to explain my sudden change of heart?”

“I don’t care, and honestly, that isn’t my problem. But surely someone as skilled in persuasion as yourself can find a way to spin the narrative to your advantage.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I ensure that everyone in Sardinia knows about your treachery. Your former friends and allies will turn on you faster than you can blink. Your reputation, your wealth, your influence - all of it will vanish.”

Llassar could see Nuraian working the offer in his head. He also was the type of man who didn’t like to give in and cared very much what his public image was.

He was trapped and he knew it.

“Damn you.”

“I take it that means you’ll do it.”

“Yes,” he said sullenly.

“Good. We have a meeting in three days, and I expect you to speak at it. Lay whatever groundwork you need to beforehand, but know there are people watching you. If there is even a whiff of betrayal, you will be exposed.”

The man looked as if he wanted to chew nails, but Llassar could see his resignation. He’d do what he was told.

***

Factorium

Hortensius trudged up the worn stone steps to Sorantius’s chemical workshop, trying to suppress annoyance over being pulled away from his own work. The summons hadn’t been urgent, but he knew the chemist had been working on the nitrocellulose for some time and was eager to get the testing over and move on to the next step.

In truth, Hortensius needed this stage done as well, as several of his current projects were going to need the new propellant, especially the metal cartridges he was currently working on. As soon as he finished his testing, that would be the next step.

He found the chemist in the section where they’d been working on the nitrocellulose, talking to several workers.

“Ah, Hortensius!” Sorantius said, seeing him. “Excellent timing. We’re just about ready for the test.”

“Good, although I am in a bit of a hurry. I’ve been elbow-deep in resetting the line process for the new contained metal shell casings. The tolerances are giving me fits. Just when I think I’ve got the right balance of malleability and tensile strength, another batch comes out warped or…”

“No, move that over there,” Sorantius said, yelling at one of his assistants.

Hortensius frowned, biting back a sharp retort. Sorantius had always been like this - brilliant, but utterly self-absorbed. Hortensius was usually the live and let live type, but at times, it could be very grating. Besides, there was a larger goal they needed to focus on.

“So you think it’s ready then?” Hortensius said, bringing the topic back to one Sorantius would care about… himself.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I believe so. The burn rate is much more consistent now, and the pressure build-up... well, you’ll see for yourself. Come, let me show you the testing area.”

He led Hortensius through a door at the back of the workshop and into a larger chamber. Dominating the center of the room was a massive steel box surrounded by thick cement barriers, clearly designed to contain any potential explosion. A thin cord ran out of the box, dangling in the air outside the metal.

Hortensius stood aside as Sorantius fussed over the final preparations. Finally, he stepped back on the other side of the barricades.

“Everyone ready?” he said, looking around. “Right then. Put in the test strip.”

The assistant, moving with exaggerated care, placed a thin strip of a more solid material into the box. The side facing them was open, so they could see what was happening, but other than that, it was closed, to contain the explosion. The barriers they stood behind had a slit to look through, but otherwise left them protected by thick concrete. It seemed a lot of precaution for such a little piece of material, but he knew firsthand how badly tests that failed could go, and didn’t fault Sorantius for his caution.

The assistant then lit the fuse sticking out of the rear of the box before hurrying to take cover on the other side of the barrier. The flame traveled up the fuse. It got to within a few finger spans of the test strip before there was a bright flash of light and flame leapt up from the material. Not compressed, there was more of a pop than a boom, but he’d done enough tests with gunpowder to easily see how much more flame and heat was released by this than a similar amount of gunpowder would produce.

Unlike the gunpowder, however, only a small amount of whitish smoke remained, instead of a thick cloud of black smoke.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Hortensius said, moving closer to inspect the results.

“Yes, and look at the burn pattern.”

Hortensius peered into the box. Where the strip had been was now just a faint, sooty residue.

“Remarkable. The burn rate is much faster than gunpowder. And judging by the color and intensity of that flame, it’s burning much hotter too.”

“True, but it’s still not meeting the exact specifications the Consul outlined in his instructions.”

“Come now, Sorantius. This is already a vast improvement. Faster, hotter, and significantly less smoke? That’s revolutionary. Besides, this is much looser than grains would be once you get it to the final form, if I read the instructions correctly.”

“I suppose,” Sorantius conceded grudgingly.

“What about the pressure? With black powder, it was easy to see the gases produced. But this being what the Consul calls ‘smokeless,’ though I’d argue that name might be a bit premature, it’s harder to gauge. Does it generate sufficient pressure?”

“I thought you might ask that. Come, I’ve prepared another test.”

He waved his assistant to bring out another box, this one closed on all sides with a wick out the back and what looked like clay packed into one side, and set it inside the larger box that had just held their previous test.

“This setup will give us an idea of the pressure without actually firing a bullet. The clay isn’t sealed, so it can be ejected, but it’s much safer than a metal bullet, which has to wait for your end before I believe we can test successfully.”

“Clever. Shall we?”

Again, Sorantius nodded to an assistant who lit the wick and ran. The fire traveled up the fuse and into the box. For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was a sharp crack from inside the box, not as loud as when a bullet was fired, but louder than the sound the test strip had made. Almost at the same time, the clay plug shot out, splattering against the wall of the larger box.

“So it is generating pressure then.”

“Yes. We won’t know how much or what kind of velocity it puts out, at least not until your stage is done.”

“Still, I think we can call this complete and move on to whatever else you need to do to make it production ready,” Hortensius said.

“I am not sure. At least not quite yet. There is still work to be done.”

“What more could possibly be needed? The burn rate is excellent, the pressure generation is clearly sufficient. What is the holdup?”

“The current state of the nitrocellulose is good, yes, but not perfect. Ideally, I would like to get it perfect before I begin to put it through the final process to stabilize and granulate it.”

“I am not sure we have that kind of time. We have a long list of projects waiting on this, and you have additional things the consul has asked for that we have not even started yet. I believe the Consul would point out that we are at war, and we do not need perfect. We just need good enough to produce. I would say this reaches that level.”

“Maybe,” Sorantius said, still clearly not convinced.

“What else do you have to do after this point?”

“We have still got to stabilize it before we can granulate it. From the instructions, it is an involved process, although it is hard to tell how much so before we actually get into it. But, without it, the compound could degrade over time, and the last thing you want is to fill a bunch of rounds, have them sit in a stockpile, then go to the front lines and not have the punch to shoot the bullet. According to the Consul’s notes, stabilization significantly improves shelf life and reduces decomposition.”

“If it is necessary, then it is necessary,” Horteniusus said. “But we should start on that right away.”

“I have already prepared the necessary solvents. We can begin the stabilization process immediately. We will still need to conduct a series of fire tests once the stabilization is complete. However, I would like to finish processing the powder first. Then we can move on to simple pressure tests using your cartridges. Assuming they will be ready in time.”

“They will be ready,” Horteniusus said. “From there it is simply a matter of embedding the primer and seating the bullet. Then our new rounds will be complete.”

Of course, this was still only one step to get to the Consul’s new weapons. Still, progress was progress.

***

Carthage

The beggars’ quarter of Carthage, which wasn’t its official name, but what the residents had taken to calling it, was a winding mess of incredibly thin streets and alleys which crisscrossed and bisected in seemingly random ways.

Had it not been for one of the pair of praetorians Claudius had helpfully sent to guide her to them, it was doubtful they would have found this one, out of the way alley on their own. Even with the guides, they had to double back several times as they made wrong turns.

It occurred to Medb that, should an uprising happen, it would be fairly easy for the locals to block off certain routes and make it very difficult for troops to get in and dig them out. They could turn this quarter into a fortress fairly easily.

She also couldn’t see a way to easily fix that problem without razing this quarter of the city to the ground and rebuilding it in a more sensible way. Of course, that would as likely cause an uprising as anything else.

The alley, when they made it, was filled with a handful of praetorians, some holding flickering torches which made up the only light in the small, cramped space.

Claudius stood among them, his face more pensive than usual, which was saying something. They were all gathered around a sheet-covered form lying on the ground at their feet.

“Lady Medb, thank you for coming so quickly,” Claudius said as he saw her.

“Your message sounded urgent, although the men you sent were a little opaque on details. What is this about?”

Without a word, Claudius knelt beside the body lying at his feet and pulled back the rough cloth covering it. Had Medb not schooled herself so carefully on controlling her reactions, she would have gasped. Even in the faint torchlight, she recognized the face of Geral, the informant she’d sent into the instigators of the unrest in Carthage. She stepped closer and knelt next to Claudius, looking at the corpse closely.

The cause of death was immediately apparent - a deep, savage cut across Geral’s throat. The wound gaped open, a silent scream frozen on the young man’s face. Medb took in every detail. She knew she came across as cold and uncaring to many, but she took her responsibilities to heart. And she’d been responsible for this man.

She’d known the danger she was sending him into, and made him aware of it, but that didn’t make her feel the responsibility of his murder any less seriously.

Standing, she began to look around the alley where the body lay. The narrow passage was littered with refuse, the stench of rotting vegetation and refuse was overwhelming, and common for this kind of place. Especially in this quarter of the city.

“We saw that too,” Claudius said, seeing where her eyes were tracing. “No dried pool of blood and it hasn’t rained recently, so nothing to have washed it away. No blood anywhere, in fact, except a little around the head. No sign of struggle or fight. Wherever this happened, it didn’t happen here.”

Medb nodded as the Tribune followed her thoughts. He was actually quite good at this kind of thing. Better than she would have expected.

“How long has the body been here?”

Claudius scrunched up his face, considering. Medb was fairly certain he’d already considered that answer, given how he’d treated everything else. He didn’t seem like the sort to shirk from offering his own opinions, but he was young. He also didn’t hedge or clam up, only hesitated briefly.

“We found him about an hour ago. But if I had to guess, I’d say he’s been dead for at least a day. The body isn’t stiff anymore, and...” He gestured towards the corpse with a grimace. “The maggots have found him.”

“Were there any witnesses?” she asked, trying very hard to keep her anger in check.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “This part of town... well, people keep their heads down. Even with increased patrols, crime’s common enough that most folk pretend not to see anything.”

Medb’s lips thinned. It was the answer she’d expected, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“How did they manage to find him? Was there any indication his cover had been compromised?”

“Not that I’m aware of. In fact, during our last few meetings while you were in Sardinia, Geral seemed to think he was making progress. Said he was close to getting some names that could lead us to whoever’s funding this mess.”

“But he didn’t know who yet?”

“No. Not yet. But he was fairly certain it wasn’t someone from Britannia, nor anyone from the far north like Scandia or Germania. He’d said there were comments made that suggested whoever it was had interests in the Middle Sea.”

“And nothing else?”

“I’m afraid not. That’s all he told me. He said he would keep digging and find what we needed.”

Medb frowned, dissatisfied. She’d been hoping for more. Geral had been her best shot at uncovering what was happening, and if he’d taken most of his secrets to the grave, it would leave them in a difficult spot.

“When was your last contact with him? I’ve been trying to signal him for a meeting ever since I returned from Sardinia, but hadn’t gotten a response. Now I know why, but still…”

“Almost a month ago. Nothing since then.”

Medb put the pieces together, trying to work out a timeline. If Geral had gone silent a month ago, it meant he’d either been compromised or gone to ground long before his death. What they’d done with him in that intermediate time, she did not want to think about. Either way, it didn’t bode well for their intelligence gathering efforts.

“Is it possible they had him for all that time?”

“I... I assumed he was maintaining a low profile. Given the sensitive nature of his work, I didn’t want to risk exposing him by pushing too hard for contact.”

“I’m not blaming you, Claudius. These were the very dangers I warned him about when we first started. I just want as many facts as I can manage, if we are to figure out a new way to get inside their network.”

“But they know we’re trying now. That we know an organization exists and we sent someone in to get information out of them. They will become more careful in the future, especially of new people.”

“True, which might force them to slow down. Even if it doesn’t, groups like this have to deal with a constant cycling of new faces, to keep from being easily tracked. It’s one of the dangers of what they’re doing. But you’re right, it won’t be easy. Still, I want increased surveillance on all known troublemakers and rabble-rousers in the city. If Geral was close to uncovering something important, his killers might make a move soon, if they’re worried we’ve uncovered anything.”

“I’m not sure what good that will do. Everything he said, the people we know about are stooges, distractions, and not part of the real plot.”

“I know, but there’s little else to do at the moment.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Medb patted him on the shoulder once, and turned, leaving the alley, already thinking through plans and contingencies. Geral’s death was a tragedy, but she couldn’t afford to dwell on it. There was a bigger game at play here.

She just needed to find out what it was.