Sexy Steampunk Babes: Chapter Eighty Nine

Alas, for all that Tyana had called him away for a chat, it seemed she had no intention of actually being the speaker. Instead, William and the admiral were forced to stand around ‘backstage’ as Yelena continued her little exhibition.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the woman in question to make an appearance, as ever accompanied by a small army of her palace guard – who wasted not a second to form a perimeter between the trio and any would-be eavesdroppers. Meanwhile servants rushed out to set up a table and chairs, before disappearing just as quickly.

“I thought you promised me all your secrets,” she said without preamble as she took a seat – or perhaps collapsed into it would be more apt.

The woman looked tired.

“I promised you access to every technology that was in my territory or aboard my ship at the time of our agreement,” William responded as he took his own seat. “Which I have provided. And don’t act like me specifying exactly that and not ‘everything I knew’ is some kind of surprise. I sincerely doubt you failed to notice that detail.”

Yelena just sighed – a surprisingly uncouth move for a woman like her. “I did. Because I had hoped that with time and us coming to grips with a common enemy would have you come around to helping me more wholeheartedly.”

“And because trying to specify something as broad as ‘everything I know’ would likely see me accidentally violate the geas?” he pointed out.

Which the elf pointedly ignored as she continued. “In this case, though, neither of us can afford to be patient while you overcome your trust issues. Because here and now your reticence regarding what you’re working on in your personal workshop is to no one’s benefit. Not yours and certainly not mine.”

“Do you actually know what I’m working on in there?” he asked.

She scoffed. “I may have forbidden my people from trying to gain access to it, but in this case it wasn’t exactly needed in order for us to know what you’re probably working on. Elongated cannon barrels aren’t exactly subtle.”

William hummed, in neither confirmation or denial.

Yelena continued anyway, her tone shifting into something more measured. “Today’s exhibition could have included a plebeian gunpowder variant of the Wyvern design. But it didn’t, because I wasn’t lying when I said we need every example we can get for the Corsairs. It would have been wasteful when this new enchanted alternative exists.”

“Will I be getting royalties for the use of my spell-bolt concept?” William asked dryly.

“Do you want them?” she replied, sounding genuinely curious.

“No. Not really.” He had only wanted something to fire back with.

“I thought not,” she said, a small smile touching her lips. “My point is that your new project is hardly a mystery to us. After all, we’ve seen your ‘fifties’. Chemically propelled munitions capable of chewing through shards at incredible range. So why not scale that concept up? A larger barrel – like the ones you’re importing and likely modifying. A larger ‘bolt’. And suddenly you might have something intended not for shooting down Shards, but airships.”

“Because we already had the same idea,” Tyana spoke up for the first time from where she was standing. “And as a result, we know the spell-bolt method becomes impractical at that point. Enchantments provide diminishing returns with each application - and many would be needed to be applied to the base of each bolt to propel it at the speeds required to puncture an airship’s hull.”

Yelena nodded. “But your ‘gunpowder’? That suffers from no such limitations.”

“We have working prototypes of gun-cannons already,” Tyana said. “We’ve tested them and they work. But they’re still just prototypes. Crude and prone to failure. Explosive failure.”

William remained silent, his expression carefully neutral.

Tyana’s smile turned faintly commiserating. “So tell me, William. Do you truly believe there’s still any point in trying to keep what you’re working on a secret?”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, an annoyed expression settling across his face even as he smiled internally.

He been a little worried when Yelena started talking that they’d stumbled onto the project he was actually worried about being leaked.

Perhaps they were working under the assumption that the Firecracker was going to be a carrier-hybrid? Either way, it seemed they’d focused almost entirely on the parts of the project he’d really just kind of expected them to figure out.

Because Yelena wasn’t wrong – if you were getting gun barrels delivered to your workshop, it wasn’t hard to guess what you might be working on. Even in a setting where guns had been air-powered for the last thousand years or so.

If he’d really wanted to keep that under wraps, he’d have fabricated themself rather than putting in a work order.

Still, if he wanted to keep his ‘big project’ under wraps, well, it paid to pretend the guns were it.

“I guess not,” he finally allowed, as if the admission cost him something. “Though you can’t blame a guy for trying to keep a few secrets to himself. So, if you already know what I’m working on, what’s your angle here?”

Yelena looked pleased, if a little surprised, as though she had expected him to dig in his heels further. There was also a faint undercurrent of relief in her posture. Which he supposed wasn’t unreasonable.

The last few times she – or anyone else - had tried to pressure ideas out of him in this manner, it had not gone particularly well for them.

“Let my people help with what you’re working on,” Yelena said, her tone turning commiserative. “I can provide you a number of mage-smiths to help you work on the Firecracker and we’ll have it ready much faster than you’ll accomplish alone.”

“And you’ll get to skip over all the teething pains of figuring out how to build your own variants of my five-inch guns?” he said.

“Is that what you’re calling them?” Tyana asked, seeming amused. “Five inchers?”

William was confused for a moment before the rather crude comparison registered. He rolled his eyes.

Aether-cannons in this world tended to be called exactly that - aether-cannons. All of them. Because there was little to no variety in calibre.

Mostly because any ammunition said guns might fire had likely been fabricated generations ago. And once enchanted, those cannon-balls couldn’t be altered or reshaped without destroying the enchantments layered on them.

“It’s the size of the shell it’ll fire,” he said flatly.

Tyana chuckled, even as Yelena sent her offspring a reproachful look – though it was hard not to miss the mirth in the woman’s eyes.

“So long as they work, you can call them whatever you like,” the Queen said. “And yes, the idea would be let out us skip over the ‘teething issues’ that come with new technologies and let us start producing the more… refined variants from your world.”

“In return, you get your five-inchers faster. Honestly, I don’t see why you even felt the need to hide it from us,” Tyana said, having gotten over her brief bout of mirth.

William rolled his eyes. He was rather fortunate that the geass he had sworn - the one regarding him having no designs on himself or his bloodline ruling Lindholm – meant that the two weren’t leaping to the worst possible conclusions.

Even if those conclusions would be correct. That he was getting ready for the war after this one.

Fortunately, the culture of Lindholm provided him with a ready-made answer.

“I had hoped to profit off my innovation by keeping it to myself and my new house. The same as dozens of other families do with their personal family magics.” He leaned back in his seat. “Whitemorrow alloying. Southshore’s fire-gas. Even the Ashfield crop-growth formulae could all be useful in the coming days if it was distributed freely - given the reports we’ve got of hordes of refugees bearing down on us.”

And that was a problem he was aware Yelena and her people were keenly conscious of. It was one he might have been more worried about himself if he were not already focused on a hundred other things. The task of feeding the displaced towns and villages was something he was content to leave in the hands of others for the moment.

“You’re not wrong,” Yelena said after a moment of real consideration. “Though in our defence, those magics are unlikely to win or lose the war for us.”

“You’re not wrong,” he echoed. “But I think you’ll understand why I was at least trying to keep a few choice tidbits to myself. I’ve only got so many.”

Yelena eyed him for a moment, and he found himself wondering what was going through her mind.

“I’ve seen the inside of your head, William,” she finally voice said softly. “You’ll have to forgive me if I doubt that. I’ll let the topic rest though. For now, I’ll simply say thank you for being… flexible on this.”

“I’ve not agreed to anything yet,” he muttered. “But there’d be no point arguing at this point. Feel free to send your mages to the Firecracker – but my personal workshop remains offlimits. And that goes double for your invisible friends. I’ll not be held responsible if another one loses a foot. And keep in mind, that trap had half-a-charge in it. The next wont.”

Perhaps he might have imagined it, but some of the guards around them seemed to shift uncomfortably at that.

Or angrily.

Maybe a mix of both.

“That’s well understood, William,” Yelena said commiseratingly. “I do not mean to rob you of your innovations. My only goal is to see us victorious in this current war. For the good of Lindholm as a whole. And I hope in time that you come to see that and feel comfortable sharing any future creations more freely. Like you’ve already done with the Shrieker.”

And once again, he was reminded how tired the woman looked.

…Shit, why did her words make him feel bad? He actually missed the days when she’d just threaten him and he could rebuke her with a clear consciousness.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

--------------

It had been all of a week since that meeting with Yelena, and William had just overseen the first gun’s installation on the Firecracker. Though until they finally finished fabricating the shells for the thing that had been expended in early tests, the five inch gun would remain little more than a fancy decoration.

Unfortunately, he’d not been able to stick around for the quiet celebrations of the small work crew, as he’d been called back to his private office.

And it felt strange to have an office. Even if it functioned as little more than another workshop more often than not, with the number of half-finished projects – of the type he wasn’t too worried about being discovered - sitting around.

Yelena’s people weren’t dumb, but all the intelligence in the world wouldn’t allow anyone on this planet to figure out what the motherboard on his desk actually was beyond a strange square.

A square he had to resist the urge to pull to safety as a pissed off wood-elf slammed her hands into the desk perilously close to the priceless bit of technology.

“You knew I wanted the Redwater title!” Xela shouted without preamble as she strode up to him.

Still eying the motherboard, William thought that was rather brave for the woman to say, given her new liege lady had just taken a seat on a nearby couch right there in the room with them.

Hell, she’d been the one to finally convince his former second to come and meet him.

He had also very much not known Xela wanted Bonnlyn’s new title. Honestly, he had assumed she was happy acting as his second here in Summerfield.

Though in retrospect, that had been a little arrogant of him. Sure, she was sleeping with him, but that was more of a workmates with benefits thing than anything else. More than that, she’d known him for little more than a year and change. She had lived in Redwater - or whatever it had been called before he showed up - for decades.

“…Is it Redwater specifically you wanted?” he asked as he discretely slid the motherboard into a drawer. “Or a title in general?”

Xela glared. “Guess.”

“The latter,” he said.

Bonnlyn, unbothered as always, piped up from where she’d sank into the couch. “Well, I’m not giving it up. And if you’re tempted to let my subordinate have said title because she’s fucking you, William, I’d be more than happy to equal that offer.”

William snorted with laughter, then shrank back a bit before Xela’s glare.

…One disadvantage of losing his status seemed to be that the woman no longer needed to be ‘polite’ to him as a higher ranking noble. Despite his position as ducal-consort, technically he was the same rank as her now.

Mage-knight.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said to Bonnlyn without taking his gaze off Xela.

Because ignoring the other issues, shifting the title wasn’t really an option for him anymore. It was down to Bonnlyn or Yelena. And the Queen wouldn’t do it because she’d just made a whole hubbub about elevating the first dwarven high noble.

Un-nobling her now would seem like little more than a slap in the face.

So instead he would take a different tact. “Would you be willing to trade the position if I offered you a countess position somewhere else?”

It was strange to see. One moment, Bonnnlyn was as he’d always known her. The next, a certain blankness came over her face.

Oh god, was this her ‘merchant’ face!?

“In Summerfield?” she asked. “Does Clarice even any spare territory for me? And even if she did, it’d be very dependent on what she offered. Because while Redwater’s a bit of a backwater, that was only because it was never properly developed. Which you changed during your tenure there. Beyond that, it’s valuable for its proximity to the capital, if nothing else.”

Xela growled a bit at what she likely saw as a backhanded insult. Which again, seemed a little risky given that Bonnlyn was technically her boss.

Maybe the dwarf had yet to crack the proverbial whip? Or maybe she’d told the wood-elf to be candid? William had no idea.

“What if I offered you a county that was actually on the water rather than close to it?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be close to the capital, but direct access to the docks has to be valuable, right? And it’ll have crystal mines.”

Yes, communication orbs were likely going to drop in value when radio proliferated, but there would always be some value in them, if only because they could provide video as well.

Bonnlyn hummed in thought, and he got not a hint of what she was thinking behind that polished mask. “That, I might be interested in. With that said, there’s a lot of variables I’d need to consider.”

She eyed him, and her mask seemed to slip for a moment as she let a commiserating smile slip through. “I owe you a lot for elevating me in the first place William, but I’m not like you. I’m a merchant at heart. So I won’t just give the territory you gave me up on a whim. Even for you.”

Then the mask was back in place. “Though I’m not sure there’s anywhere out here that meets the criteria you mentioned. The South is pretty poor in crystal mines and I’ve not heard of any new ones being discovered.”

William shrugged. He didn’t know if there were any around here that meet that criteria either.

Not that it mattered.

“I was mostly thinking I’d grant you some territory in Blackstone territory when I become duke,” he said.

Both women seemed to freeze and he turned to Xela to continue before they recovered. “I was actually going to grant you some territory there too. It’s why I didn’t really think too hard about giving away Redwater. I was always planning on rewarding you.” He paused in though. “Though… do you… would you actually want territory in the Blackstone duchy?”

Xela stared, clearly not sure she had heard him correctly. She sighed and then ran a hand over her face.

“Of course that was your plan. And by rights I should say yes.” She mostly sounded like she was talking more to herself than to him. “That would be the smart move. What kind of woman would turn an offer like that down?”

William shrugged. He’d turned down better offers.

The wood elf eyed him as she turned back. “That’s an incredibly tempting offer and I’m honored you’d offer it to me. And I apologize for my… behavior before. I should have known you’d not just insult me so.”

William shrugged uncomfortably. Because he kind of had.

Xela eyed Bonnlyn and spoke in a tone that was almost apologetic. “With that said, all things being equal… I’d prefer Redwater over somewhere new. It’s what I know.”

She glanced at him as he spoke, as if afraid he might snatch the offer back - or be insulted. He needn’t have worried. Her words made sense to him.

Unfortunately…

“It’s not really up to me,” he said. “It’s up to Bonnlyn.”

Bonnlyn still had her merchant mask firmly in place as she regarded them both.

“You know, if you’d offered the Blackstone territory to me before giving me Redwater, I’d have been all over it,” she said.

William smiled weakly. “I needed to give you a title if you were going to manage the Corsair lines and unfortunately one in Blackstone isn’t mine to give until we win.”

Only then would he actually have the ducal title. That was the deal he’d made with the Queen. And she couldn’t ‘give’ him said title until the actual Blackstones were dealt with. Giving him the title ‘in advance’ would just hurt her credibility.

And if he didn’t have the ducal title, he couldn’t grant Bonnlyn a countship there.

Bonnlyn eyed him. “Right. If we win. And you know that compared to Redwater, any territory in Blackstone will be less than ideal for my needs. Because you, and by extension me if I accept, will be dealing with Blackstone loyalists and orc raiders forever?”

He nodded, seeing no need to sugarcoat it. “I’ve a plan for the latter, but yes, I expect it will be rough for a time.”

Bonnlyn continued. “And you’re asking me to give up a fairly prime bit of real estate for another bit of territory that theoretically seems nicer but is way worse once you actually think about it.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re mostly doing so to get in the good books of another woman,” Bonnlyn finished.

“Also yes.”

Bonnlyn sat there. For a full minute.

Then she sighed as her mask finally broke and she ran a hand through her hair in frustration.

“…Agh! My parents are going to kill me,” she said. “But fine. I’m an idiot! But I owe you for like… so much!”

William stood up, moving over to give the dwarf a hug, which immediately set her to squirming. “Thanks, Bonnlyn.”

“Don’t thank me yet!” She sputtered. “I ain’t doing shit until we actually have Blackstone! Until then I’m still the countess of Redwater! Because if we lose, I’ll probably still get to keep the title.”

William cocked his head, still mid-hug and conceded… that was… probably true.

The rebels would get all their lands stripped if the South won - but if the North won, there was a decent chance most loyalist countships would remain in the hands of their existing families.

…The duchies would likely be granted to whichever of those families switched sides first when things started to shift - or proclaimed their new allegiance the loudest once the loyalists lost.

“I’d give it fifty-fifty odds,” Xela drawled. “You’re a known associate of William’s. And they definitely hate him.”

Yes, on that front, he’d likely be going to the block if Tala had any say in things. As would the rest of House Ashfield. And his new betrothed’s family – though mostly because they were the new ducal house rather than their relation to him.

Though that likely wouldn’t help.

And the royal family of course. That was a given.

“Well, I suppose I better make sure we don’t lose then,” William said. “Now Xela, would you mind bringing me up to date on the training for the new pilots? Our first Corsairs will be coming off the line any day now and while I’ve read the reports, it’s not quite the same.”

Xela smiled tentatively and nodded.

Things were likely going to be a little awkward there for a time. But it was healing.

…He could only hope things didn’t break completely when he revealed exactly how… thorough his sabotage of Redwater had been when he left.

He felt guilty about continuing to omit that, but he felt little to no compulsion to be honest.

He’d said he’d try to be more honest going forward - but he could take things one step at a time, right?

----------

Tala Blackstone sagged into her cot, too tired to even take the time to unstrap her dented and soot covered armor even as it dug into her back.

Of course, after a few minutes, she managed to raise the energy to reach up and unbuckle the gorget at her throat, letting it clatter onto the small table beside her.

Normally she’d have had a combat-page to help her with this sort of thing, but the poor girl had been killed two days ago in a tunnel collapse and she’d not had time to find a replacement.

…Or the heart.

The poor girl had been dumb as a sack of rocks, but she’d been… so proud to serve the heir of House Blackstone. And Tala could still see the terror in that guileless gaze when the tunnel started coming down around them when she closed her eyes.

The Blackstone heiress stared up at the ceiling of her cabin, too wired to sleep just yet. She knew it would come eventually. Once the jitters faded.

According to the history books, once upon a time, prior to the advent of the first fae-contracts, sieges had apparently been dull, monotonous affairs.

Taking down castles, that had once towered high into the sky, had been more about starving out the defenders rather than any great shows of violence. Which meant years of waiting around while the occupants' supplies dwindled.

She imagined those ‘battles’ had to have been rather boring.

She wouldn’t have minded a little boring after the last few weeks.

Because in the era of airships and mages, sieges were still a grind, but now they were a brutal, claustrophobic one made up of cramped, vicious tunnel fighting.

Besiegers used magic to bore into the earth beneath enemy fortifications, while defenders sought to collapse those same tunnels with counter-spells or brute force.

It was dirty, exhausting work that left even the hardiest warriors bruised and hollow-eyed.

She – and by extension the warriors with her – weren’t unused to it. Fights against orcs often followed similar lines. Just in caves and caverns.

…Still, those battles tended to have weeks or months between them. Nothing like the punishing pace her taskforce had been set as they moved from castle to castle.

Three times now, she’d been forced to wait to requisition fresh troops from the long caravans full of garrison forces that were still making their way South. And she had a feeling she’d need to do it many more times before she was done here and finally able to return to the real war in the South.

Glancing over, she noticed there was a fresh message sat on her desk.

“Right,” she muttered. “Sara said something about that…”

 And despite a moments hesitation, she levered herself up to head towards it. As she did, her entire body cried out in pain. Honestly, she could have had the bruises healed, but she chose to let them focus instead on those warriors who needed it more.

She’d recover without healing magic.

Many of those who took part in the last assault would not.

As she walked over, she found herself momentarily lamenting the fact that she’d been born in the North. Not like those soft southern princesses who could conduct their wars from the safety of an airship bridge, issuing orders while servants brought them wine and cheese.

Of course, it was a momentary thing. One that had her shake her head and scoff as she sank into her chair.

As if she’d ever live like one of those cowards.

Reaching for the parchment, at first she scanned it, the words barely registering with her tired mind. Then she stopped. And started to read anew. With more focus this time.

Then again.

And yet the words didn’t make sense to her.

Why in the void were they burning human and elven villages in the South? That was… what they did to orcs – not people! To starve them out of hiding!

She saw the words. The explanations. But she didn’t understand. The South supposedly had some kind of new weapon. A Super-Shard equipped with advanced javelins.

What difference did that make!? She’d warned them William would create something and he had clearly done so. That didn’t excuse this.

Even ignoring the moral point of view, how could her mother expect the Southern nobility to surrender to them if they saw the North as little more than monstrous savages. They wouldn’t. They’d fight to the death instead.

She needed to stop this! Before her mother hurt their cause anymore with this… rashness.

Tala stood up, wincing a little as she did. Nonetheless, she slowly started moving towards the door, intent on heading to the bridge.

Only to stop as she opened the door to reveal a startled young marine who’d clearly been about to knock. The other woman quickly recovered though, snapping a salute before handing over a sealed scroll.

“Fresh report from Castellan Morrow, my lady. Transcribed prior to relaying the orb-signal.”

Back home? Tala thought as she accepted the parchment.

Her eyes flicked across the page, blood draining from her features with every line. Suddenly, all thoughts of any kind of action in the South was forgotten.

Looking up, she grabbed the marine by the lapels. “Return to the bridge and inform the captain to prepare the task force to move. All troops engaged in the siege are to return to the ships. Hurry! Now!”

Even as the confused marine took off at a run, Tala was hobbling after her. After all, there wasn’t a moment to waste.

Somehow three airships were attacking Blackstone Keep.