Chapter 276: Loaded And Ready
Even during the New Year, the Military Workshop had not stopped working. Craftsmen laboured day and night to finish all 150 naval cannons.
From the time Simon had left for Dunmere, it had taken three months to complete them, fifty per month on average. Similar to the cannons used to defend the city walls, these naval guns were 32-pounders. Of the ammunition loaded, 60% were solid cannonballs, and 40% were grapeshot.
According to Simon, grapeshot was specifically designed for naval warfare, ideal for smashing into enemy ships.
Looking at the galleons and the rows of cannons, Harlan said to Desmond. "Be very careful out there. Each of these galleons cost us 300,000 caps of silver. This isn’t a ship, it’s a pile of money."
Fjord added. "And don’t forget these cannons. Each one weighs nearly nine thousand pounds and costs about five thousand caps of silver. That’s 150 cannons, 750,000 caps total!"
Hearing this, Desmond broke into a cold sweat. He looked at Simon, distressed. "My Lord, after hearing them, how am I supposed to sail this thing?"
"They’re just telling the truth," Simon said. "These three galleons are worth over a million caps. Desmond, you must not mess around once you’re at sea. Remember your mission: you’re not going to fight, you’re going to explore. Our ships may be small, but they’re agile. If we need to run, they’ll have a hard time catching us."
Simon wasn’t heartless. He knew how dangerous the sea was. In the Eldorian Empire, he was a prince; people gave him face. But out there? No one cared about titles. If Demond and his men returned safely, it would be a blessing.
Still, he had to do it.
In the Age of Exploration, whoever ruled the seas ruled the trade routes.
The overland Silk Road had already been cut off by the Sapphire Empire, and the northern route was blocked by the reaver tribes. That meant he had no choice; he had to control the sea if he wanted to trade. And as long as he could secure the East and Southeast trade routes, he could dominate.
With a guaranteed outlet for exports, Brambleford’s industry could truly flourish.
Seeing the value of everything, Desmond now treated his ship like treasure. "Understood, My Lord. I won’t forget."
With all the naval guns loaded, everything was finally ready. Simon and Desmond boarded the flagship, the Brambleford.
Simon planned to accompany them from the Ford River to the Brambleton, then onward to Ashenford. Along the way, Desmond would practice using all the navigation skills he’d learned.
Harlan came aboard too. His son would now oversee the Ford shipyard, while he would manage the new shipyard in Ashenford.
After all, Simon had chosen Attelier as the location for his naval base.
Many people would recognise the name Attelier; it had played a major role in the First War.
Attelier sat on a peninsula, surrounded by the Yellow Sea on three sides. It faced the Contour Peninsula to the north and looked toward the Outside Peninsula and the Latin islands to the east and southeast. Its location was of huge strategic importance.
If he could secure Attelier, Simon would control the southern routes from the Outsiders and the Latins. He’d also have a straight path to the Split Rock Islands.
Choosing Attelier wasn’t just for strategy; it was personal. Once lost dignity would now be reclaimed.
"Raise the sails!"
At Simon’s command, the crisp call rang out. The sails dropped like waterfalls from the masts.
A strong wind puffed the sails full, and the ship’s first officer took the helm, guiding the Brambleford gently away from the dock.
The two other galleons followed close behind, anchors lifted, sails unfurled.
The Ford River was wide, and the fleet headed east with the wind. Within a day, they reached the river’s mouth and saw the vast ocean ahead.
Seeing the open sea, Simon ordered. "Begin drills."
Desmond nodded, shouting. "Drill, begin!"
On board, the signalman raised his flags, sending coded messages to the other ships.
Seeing the signals, the captains of the other galleons ordered their navigators to take readings and determine their positions.
On the Brambleford, Desmond pulled out his quadrant. He measured the shadow cast on the instrument and began calculating, then cross-referenced with the coordinate charts Simon had provided.
He had taken a reading back in Brambleford, and now with the new data, he said. "My Lord, we’re currently at latitude 53° North. We’ve sailed 97 nautical miles from Brambleford."
Half an hour later, Desmond gave Simon the final report.
Simon nodded. Back in Brambleford, their starting point had been 49° North. Now they’d gone northeast.
He did a quick check himself; the numbers matched closely.
He was satisfied. The instruments of this era couldn’t be perfectly accurate. But this was already impressive; they had a general idea of their position, which was enough.
Before Desmond set out for open sea, Simon had also given him a full set of latitude-longitude maps. With those, Desmond would always be able to locate himself.
After the position check, Simon said. "Speed and time."
The crew sprang into action. One sailor flipped an hourglass, the new kind produced by the glassworks.
As the sand flowed, another sailor tossed a triangular wood board tied to a rope into the sea. The rope was wound around a spindle, marked with knots at intervals.
As the ship moved forward, the knots sped through the sailor’s fingers.
"Stop!" Desmond shouted.
The hourglass was halted. The sailor counted the knots that had passed during that time.
Desmond did the math. "My Lord, our current speed is eight knots."
The cold sea wind howled over the galleon, pushing it swiftly across the water with its powerful gusts.
From time to time, Desmond would check their latitude and sailing speed, then mark the ship’s exact position on the sea chart.
Since they left the estuary and sailed into open sea, Desmond had been comparing the coordinates along the route. This journey was a test from Simon to see if they could navigate and reach Ashenford using only their knowledge of navigation, even far from the coastline.