NOVEL NEXT Chapter 31: 31. Idea?
As they marched down the long, glittering hall, Bancroft did what he always did during these visits. He stared at the pictures of past Javan monarchs that lined the way. The great ancestors of the current emperor stood along the hall, watching down from their golden frames and passing silent judgment on all guests.
Bancroft could only wonder what they would say in this moment. No doubt they would be disgusted by Mortimus, but what would they think of Bancroft? Would they find him a most humble servant or fit to be strangled like a certain page? More importantly, what would they think about the current occupant of the throne?
"Your Imperial Majesty, may I present you the commander-in-chief of the Imperial Javan Navy, Admiral Percival Ban—"
"I know his name, you moron," croaked Emperor Charles IX before launching into a long fit of coughing.
The current occupant of the throne was an aged man indeed and long past the point of being merely overweight. The roles of blubber on the Imperial Majesty casually rolled over his sides and gave the overall appearance of a peach instead of a man. Charles had heavy jowls as well, with patches of facial hair that had long since turned gray.
Parts of the man's skin were crusted and gray, giving off the appearance of scales. His long, ragged mane of gray hair that was once golden as a young man had turned most foul. Even the man's breath reeked of the pickled mung beans he ate constantly throughout the day.
His outward appearance could be looked away if he proved to be a mighty leader but Charles IX was not cut from the same cloth as the men back in the hallway. Cruel and ill-tempered, he was not even supposed to be on the throne in the first place.
The third son of his father, George XIII, Charles was intended for the military while his oldest brother was trained to inherit the throne. Sadly, George XIV's early death and the cancerous death of the second child, Louis VI, meant that Charles took the throne despite all odds.
Never had there been a monarch more ill-suited for the throne. Bancroft wasn't fully convinced that Charles didn't have a role in the early deaths of his brothers just so he could seize power.
"So, Bancroft, what do you have to report today?" asked Charles as he fiddled along with his nails.
"Good morning, your Imperial Majesty. I bear more news from our outpost in Quiller's Cove. It seems the Occitanians have once again attacked our base but they were—"
"Attacked you say? What do you mean?" demanded Charles.
Impatience. Never the sign of an impressive monarch. "I mean, sire, that their warships fired on the base but they were driven off by—"
"Driven off by who?"
If it were anyone else, Bancroft would have strangled them. "They were driven off by Commander Jack Easterbrook, who is now in full command of Task Force 21."
Charles let slip a crooked smile. "Ah, Easterbrook, you say? Your star pupil from the academy?"
"It seems his training has paid off. They've sunk one of the cruisers with no losses of their own," said Bancroft.
"So we've shed some blood. The Occitanians won't forgive this. Curious that they haven't declared war as of yet."
Bancroft nodded. "There's been no news out of the foreign ministry and the Occitanian ambassador has remained locked in his office."
"Curious indeed. Has their been any other reports of attacks on our forces?"
"None, sire. Just the action at Quiller's Cove. I had a captain report some shadowing of Occitanian destroyers over by Lockhaven but there's been no hostile intent."
Charles grabbed another handful of mung beans and shoveled them into his mouth. "I want you to give all the commanding officers orders to shoot any hostile Occitanian ships. Let's see if we can force them into a declaration of war."
Bancroft resisted the urge to shout at the man. Instead he merely raised an eyebrow. "Your Imperial Majesty, that is likely to cause them to continue to escalate. Would it be not wiser to pull back and wait until our armed forces are in better shape to conduct a war?"
Charles snorted. "Why wait? Winning the war is your job, not mine. If you can't win with what you have, then I'll find another admiral who will. I'm getting tired of your blathering about our lack of preparedness, Bancroft."
"A thousand apologies, Your Imperial Majesty. Forget that I even mentioned it," said Bancroft with a deep bow. Thankfully, Charles's mind never concentrated on one topic for longer than five seconds and he went back to fiddling at his nails. Yes, the long line of conquerors, warlords, and mighty kings would be disgusted by the character of Charles IX.
"Also, Bancroft, I want you to raise the readiness level of the fleets. If this war is about to begin, I want everyone on full alert. No sense in being caught unawares if we can help it."
"Excellent idea, Your Imperial Majesty. I will see to it at once. Is there anything else I can do before I take my leave?" Bancroft took two steps back. He'd already put the fleet on high readiness the day before with the first attack on Quiller's Cove, and he'd had just about enough of listening to the doddering emperor.
"Just one last thing, Bancroft. This Commander Easterbrook. The one that we're sending into the Fourth Vector. Can he be trusted?" asked Charles. He stopped fiddling with the nail file to take a sharp look at Bancroft.
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