Far-Seer qa-1

by Robert J. Sawyer

  "May I tell you of some other observations I’ve made?" asked Afsan.

  "Lad, I’ve got chores to perform." He looked pointedly down his muzzle. "I suspect you do, too."

  "I will be brief, sir. I promise."

  "By the prophet’s claws, lad, I don’t know why people put up with so much from you. Somehow, even Saleed takes you seriously. And you’ve got the ear of the crown prince." Keenir was silent for a moment, and Afsan thought about what he’d said. Saleed takes me seriously? Ha! At last, the old captain spoke again. "Very well, Afsan. But I’ll hold you to your promise of brevity. There’s only a few days until we set sail again, after all."

  Afsan decided that it would be politic to click his teeth in appreciation of Keenir’s joke. Then: "I’ve been making observations with the far-seer and with my own unaided eyes. I’ve seen that the Face of God rose into the sky as we moved east, until, as now, it’s at its highest point. It can rise no farther into the sky, for it sits directly overhead. I’ve seen, too, that it goes through phases, just as the moons do, and just — as I’ve learned by looking upon them through the far-seer — as some of the planets do."

  Keenir raised his muzzle, exposing the underside of his neck, a gesture of mild concession. "I’ve used the far-seer myself to have a peek at the planets. I was mildly intrigued by that. Told Saleed about it, but he dismissed what I’d seen."

  "Indeed?" said Afsan, grateful that Keenir had been curious enough to make some observations himself. "I think it’s significant."

  "Well," said Keenir, his voice a low rumble, "I did wonder how what previously had seemed only a point of light could show phases."

  "I’m sure you saw through the far-seer that some of the planets show visible disks, Captain. They appear as points of light only because they are so far away."

  "Far away? The planets are no more distant than the stars, no farther than the moons. All the objects in the sky move across the same celestial sphere, just sliding along it at different rates."

  "Uh, no, sir, they don’t. I’ve made models and I’ve done figuring on writing sheets." Afsan paused, took a deep breath. "Captain, my observations lead me to propose a pre-fact: the world is spherical, just as the moons are spherical, just as the sun is spherical, just as the Face of God is spherical."

  "The world spherical? How can that be?"

  "Well, sir, surely you have stood on the docks at Capital City and seen the tops of masts of ships appear at the horizon before the rest of the ship does." Afsan held up his right fist and moved a finger of his left hand over its curving surface. "That’s the ship coming over the curve of the world."

  "Oh, don’t be silly, boy. There are waves in the great River — you can feel them tossing this boat right now. Well, some waves are so big and so gentle that ships move over the crests and troughs without us being aware of it. That’s what causes the effect you’ve described."

  Can he really believe that? thought Afsan. Does he accept everything he reads so easily, without question? "Sir, there’s a lot of evidence to make me believe that the world is round. It must be! A sphere, a ball, whatever you want to call it." Keenir’s tail was swishing in disbelief, but Afsan pressed on. "Further, this round world is mostly covered with water. We, here in the Dasheter, are sailing not on a River but rather on the watery surface of our spherical world, as if almost the entire surface was a — a — super-lake."

  "You’re saying we’re a ball of water?"

  "No, I’m sure the rocky floor we see beneath the coastal waters continues all the way around, even here, out where it’s far too deep for us to see the bottom. No, our world is a sphere of rock, but mostly covered by water."

  "Like a raloodoo?"

  "Like a what?"

  "Eggling, they don’t feed you apprentices well enough at the palace. A raloodoo is a delicacy from Chu’toolar province. You take the eye of a shovelmouth, remove it carefully, and dip it in the sugary sap of a mladaja tree. The sugar hardens into a crunchy coating over the surface of the eyeball."

  "Yes, then, you’re right. Except that the eyeball is the rocky sphere of our world, and the thin coat of sugar is the water that covers almost all of the surface."

  "All right," said Keenir. "I don’t accept this for an instant, you understand, but at least I can picture what you’re talking about."

  Afsan nodded concession, then went on. "Now, then, how big is our world?"

  "Surely that’s impossible to tell."

  "No, Captain. Forgive me, but we have all the information we need to make the calculation. As you remarked earlier, we are sitting still beneath the Face of God. If we don’t move the ship, the Face doesn’t appear to move at all. It is only the movement of this vessel that causes the Face to apparently rise or set. Therefore, we can use the speed of the Dasheter as our measuring stick to calculate how far we’ve sailed around the world. You yourself told us it was a four-thousand-kilopace journey from the point at which the Face of God was just below the horizon to when it was just above."

  "Aye, I did say that. Thirty-two days sailing."

  "Well, if it takes thirty-two days for the Face to rise by its own height, we must in those thirty-two days have sailed one-eighth of the circumference of the world."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "Well, the Face covers a quarter of the sky, and the sky is a hemisphere — a half circle."

  "Oh, right. Of course. If the Face covers a quarter of a half, it therefore covers an eighth of the whole. Yes, I see that."

  "And the angles subtended by the Face…"

  "I said I saw it, eggling. I’m a mariner; I know all about measuring sky angles for navigation."

  Afsan cringed, bowed quickly, then pressed on. "Now, it took thirty-two days to sail the four thousand kilopaces needed for the Face to rise by its own height. Thus, in thirty-two days we sailed one-eighth of the way around the world. Therefore the circumference of the world is eight times four thousand kilopaces, or thirty-two thousand kilopaces."

  Keenir nodded dubiously.

  Afsan continued. "And it took us 113 days to get from Capital City to the point at which we first saw the leading edge of the Face on the horizon." Afsan blinked once, doing the math. "That’s 3.53 times as long as it took to sail one-eighth of the world’s circumference. So, in that part of the voyage, we must have sailed 3.53 times one-eighth of the way around the world." Afsan blinked again. "That’s just under halfway around; 44.125 percent, to be precise." He clicked his teeth lightly. "Of course, that’s too many places of accuracy."

  Keenir was deadpan. "Of course."

  "And we’ve sailed even farther now — enough to let the Face rise all the way to the zenith."

  "So you would have me believe that we’ve sailed about halfway around the world," said Keenir.

  "Just about halfway, yes. Land is on the other side of the world from here, permanently facing away from the Face of God."

  "The other side of the world," Keenir said slowly.

  "That’s right. And, good Captain, consider this: we could continue sailing eastward from here and reach Land again by coming right around the world, in no more time than it took to get here in the first place."

  Afsan beamed triumphantly, but Keenir just shook his head. "What nonsense."

  Afsan forgot his manners. "It is not nonsense! It is the only answer that fits the observations!"

  "A pre-fact? Is that what you called it? Your pre-fact is that the world is round, and that we’ve sailed halfway around it?"

  "Yes! Exactly!"

  "And you now want to test your pre-fact by having me order us to continue on to the east?"

  "Yes!"

  Keenir shook his head again. "Lad, first, I don’t agree with your interpretation. Second, the journey out is hard; we’ve been constantly sailing into the wind. It will be a lot easier going home by simply turning around and scooting directly back, so, even if you are right — and I don’t believe you are — we gain nothing by going your way. Third, we don’t have enou
gh supplies to last for more than a few extra days. We can’t risk that you are wrong."

  "Ah, but if I am right, we do gain, Captain. We gain knowledge…"

  Keenir made an unpleasant sound.

  "And…" Suddenly Afsan saw a new angle. "And we vastly simplify future pilgrimages. For if the world is round, and the winds run in the same direction around the entire sphere, as I suspect they do, at least here in the band farthest from the sphere’s northern and southern poles, then one could sail to the west to reach the Face, with the wind at your back the entire way. And, to return, one could continue on to the west, again with the wind at your back. Think of the savings!"

  "A pilgrimage is not about saving time, eggling. Our goal is to retrace the prophet’s journey, to see the spectacle as he saw it. And, beyond that, consider what you’re asking, lad! God lives upriver from Land, watching out for obstacles and dangers ahead. She protects us. You’re suggesting that we sail ahead, moving in front of God, into waters that She has not first observed. We’d be without Her protection, without Her blessing."

  "But…"

  "Enough!" Keenir raised his hand again, and this time the claws were fully extended. "Enough, eggling! I’ve been more than patient. We will head home as planned."

  "But, Captain…"

  The deck shook as Keenir slammed his walking stick into the floorboards. "I said enough! Eggling, you are lucky I’m not a priest; I’d have you doing penances for the rest of your life. You’re talking not just nonsense, but sacrilege. I’ve got a mind to turn you over to Det-Bleen for some remedial training."

  Afsan bowed his head. "I meant no disrespect."

  "Perhaps you didn’t." Keenir’s tone softened. "I’m not a particularly religious person, Afsan. Most sailors aren’t, you know. It’s just not in our blood. Superstitious, perhaps — we’ve seen things out here that would chill a regular person to the soul. But not religious, not in a formal way. But the kind of silliness you’re spouting just doesn’t make sense. Keep it to yourself, boy. You’ll have an easier life."

  "I’m not looking for an easy way out," said Afsan, but softly. "I just…" But suddenly Keenir’s head snapped up. "What is it?"

  The captain hissed Afsan into silence. Barely audible over the creaking of the ship, over the slapping of the waves, came a cry. "Kal!"

  And, moments later, the same cry in another voice, louder, nearer: "Kal!"

  Then again and again, as if being passed along: "Kal!" "Kal!" "Kal!" And the sound of heavy footfalls thundering along the deck.

  Keenir jumped to his feet, fumbling with his walking stick.

  There was the sound of claws on copper from outside his door. "Yes!" shouted Keenir.

  A breathless mate appeared, her face haggard. "Permission to…"

  "Yes, yes," Keenir snapped.

  "Sir, Paldook up in the lookout bucket has spotted Kal-ta-goot!"

  Keenir brought his hands together. "At last! At last it’ll pay for what it did! Unfurl the sails, Tardlo. Give chase!"

  The old captain hurried from his quarters up onto the deck, leaving Afsan standing there, mouth agape.

  *16*

  After a moment’s hesitation, Afsan raced up on deck, following Keenir, the clicking of the oldster’s walking stick a staccato rhythm on the planking. They were on the foredeck of the Dasheter. Ahead, along the angle of the bow, were most of the crew, their red leather caps like a line of bright berries against the horizon. Keenir looked up, the Face of God a vast crescent above his head, and shouted, "Where?"

  From high on the observation platform, Officer Paldook pointed. "Dead ahead, sir!"

  All eyes peered out into the vast watery distance, ignoring the beige and red and ocher highlights on the wave caps caused by the reflection of the Face.

  Somewhat out of breath, Afsan, too, made it to the carved keetaja-wood railing around the edge of the bow. He was only a short distance from Keenir. The captain was intent, staring, searching. His claws were unsheathed, his black eyes wide. The crew was spread out along the pointed bow, almost like a hunting line.

  "There!" shouted a sailor farther along the bow.

  "Yes!" chimed another. "There!"

  Afsan tried to sight in the direction the two were pointing. Way, way out, almost to the horizon, he saw something silhouetted against the azure sky — a crooked shape, like a bent finger, but thinner, more delicate.

  Afsan looked at the captain. "What is it?"

  Keenir glanced at the young astrologer. "A demon. A demon out of the deepest volcanic pits."

  Afsan turned his gaze back onto the distant waters. It took him several heartbeats to find the object again — faster than normal heartbeats, he realized, as his nostrils picked up pheromones passing down the line of Quintaglios. There it was, a crooked curving shape, a — By the prophet! Look at how it moves! Like a snapping whip, it shot forward, then recoiled.

  Keenir’s muzzle was pinched in rage; his tail stub twitched openly. "Give chase!" he shouted.

  ’’Give chase!" repeated an officer on his right, and others passed the command along. "Give chase!" "Give chase!" "Give chase!"

  The crew began to run, tails flying, to various stations around the deck. Some climbed the webbing of ropes that led up the naked masts. Shouting instructions to each other, they pulled on ropes at the tops of the masts. The four great sheets of red cloth unrolled and, weighed down by dowels as thick as Afsan’s waist, came crashing toward the deck. The sheets, each with its own tribute to the Prophet Larsk, billowed outward and soon began to snap. The deck lurched as the ship, having been still all these days, heaved into motion.

  Crewmembers were swinging on ropes, pulling on cables. Spray in his face, Afsan watched booms swing around. The sails cracked in protest as they were brought against the wind. The booms groaned and howled; the wooden deck creaked under the stress.

  But the Dasheter moved! By the very Face of God, it moved with speed and power, harnessing the wind, tacking toward :he strange object far, far ahead.

  "What’s going on?"

  Afsan turned, surprised at the voice. Prince Dybo had appeared at his elbow. "Ho, Dybo. I cast a shadow…"

  "Yes, yes. What’s going on?"

  "We’re pursuing something."

  "But what?"

  "Put a knot in my tail if I know."

  Dybo made a gruff sound. A sailor was approaching, carrying a coiled rope. Dybo stepped into her path.

  "What are we chasing?"

  The sailor wasn’t looking where she was going. "Get out of my way, child."

  Dybo thumped his tail against the deck and bobbed his torso in a territorial display.

  The sailor looked up. "What the — Oh, Prince Dybo. I’m sorry…" She bowed deeply.

  Afsan thought his friend played the role well. Measured, with a distinct pause between each word, he said again, "What are we chasing?"

  The sailor looked terrified. She realized that she’d insulted a member of The Family. Tail swishing nervously, she stammered, "Kal-ta-goot. The serpent."

  "Which serpent?"

  "Why, the one that attacked the Dasheter on our last pilgrimage. At least, we’re assuming it’s the same one. Keenir wants it."

  Dybo’s eyes went wide. "His injuries. His face, his tail…"

  The sailor bobbed agreement. "Yes, yes. He fought bravely, of course. He’s a hunter at heart, the captain. He wanted fresh meat for the passengers and crew, real bones to gnaw on. He took a hunting party out in one of the little landing boats, thinking to swarm the creature’s back when it surfaced, to dispatch it quickly, and have a feast for all. But that beast is a monster, a killer. We almost lost Keenir." The sailor fell silent, then, timidly, "Good Prince, they need this cable up front to lock off the boom. May I go?"

  "Yes." Dybo stood out of her way, and she scurried on up the deck.

  Afsan, who’d been marveling at how well his friend assumed the mantle of authority when it suited him to do so, edged closer to Dybo. "So we’re to give chase? If it
almost killed him once, what’s to say that this won’t be a dangerous pursuit?"

  Dybo looked at Afsan. "The hunt is always dangerous. But it purges our anger. Keenir certainly needs some purging."

  Afsan clicked his teeth. "That much is certain."

  At that moment, Keenir’s voice went up over the sounds of the ship. "Faster! Faster! It’s getting away."

  The Dasheter cut through the waves, foam and spit flying in its path.

  From high overhead, Paldook shouted, "It’s moving east."

  "Then east we go!" Keenir’s rumbling voice had a dangerous edge.

  A sailor near Keenir said, "But, Captain, if we continue east, we will move ahead of the Face of God."

  And then Keenir did something a Quintaglio almost never does. He stepped directly into the personal space of the sailor, and, with a violent sweep of his cane, knocked the hapless crewmember to the deck. "I said east!"

  Afsan’s nictitating membranes blinked. Ahead, at the eastern horizon, barely visible, a strange curving neck darted back and forth. The Dasheter surged forward into unknown waters.

  *17*

  Prince Dybo was surprised by the scratching of claws on the copper plate outside his cabin door.

  "Who’s there?" he asked.

  "Var-Keenir. May I come in?"

  "Hahat dan."

  Dybo had been leaning on his dayslab, snacking on a strip of salted meat. He looked up at the doorway, at the grizzled captain leaning on his walking stick.

  "Yes, Keenir, what is it?"

  Keenir’s tail swished. "Good Prince Dybo, I — I’m ashamed." He looked at the planks making up the deck. "I have not given proper thought to your safety. We are heading into uncharted waters; we are pursuing a dangerous serpent. My first thought should have been for your welfare."

  "Yes," agreed Dybo amiably. "It probably should have."

  "This beast has preyed on my mind ever since our last encounter. It’s an ungodly creature, Prince, and we’d be doing a service to all mariners by getting rid of it."

  "How long do you anticipate chasing it?"