The Sea Change

by Patricia Bray

  Josan smiled and took two steps forward ready to greet his favorite teacher. But he halted as he realized that Thanatos’s own face bore no look of welcome. The brother saw Lucius, not Josan, and so it must be.

  “Emperor Lucius?” It was not clear if Thanatos was questioning his identity or simply his presence here. Though surely the functionaries, with their distinctive tattoos, were proof enough of his status.

  “Brother,” Lucius said.

  “What is your purpose here?” Thanatos asked. It was far from polite, but the elderly monk had been known for his study of mathematics, not diplomacy.

  “Brother Alexander is fetching some scrolls for me,” Josan said.

  Just then Alexander and the novice made their appearance, each carrying a wooden box.

  Josan moved to the nearest table. “Bring them here,” he said, with an imperiousness that would have done credit to Lucius himself.

  He waited impatiently as the boxes were set down. “Your knife,” Josan said, holding out his hand to Brother Alexander.

  Alexander hesitated, then withdrew a slender knife from the writing case at his belt. Josan took the knife, then carefully sliced through the wax seals that held the lid closed. Prying up the lid, he peered inside and saw a half dozen journals, each labeled with his own precise script. He opened each one in turn, paging through it to ensure that these were indeed his writings and not some other monk’s works hastily relabeled in hopes of fooling him.

  Satisfied, he replaced the lid, then turned his attention to the second box. Inside he found a book of charts that he had brought back from Xandropol, along with four more journals from earlier that year.

  Everything was as he remembered. His plan had worked—the mere presence of the emperor within their domain had startled the brethren into submission. They would have ignored a written order, or cobbled together a set of nonsense journals that would be useless to him. But by arriving in person, he had given them no opportunity to deceive.

  Brother Thanatos came up beside him, peering over his shoulder at the boxes. “That is Brother Josan’s writing,” he said, wonderingly. “I thought Nikos had burned everything of his, for fear of contagion.”

  At the word contagion, Josan’s escort drew back a pace.

  But Thanatos, undaunted, reached for the journals with one trembling hand. Josan swiftly replaced the lid before Thanatos could touch the journals. It hurt to deny his former teacher, but if anyone were to be able to reason out the significance of these writings, it would be Thanatos.

  “The empire has need of them,” Josan said. Lucius would not have bothered to explain his actions but Josan felt he owed Thanatos that much.

  “But you cannot take them,” Thanatos said. “They belong to the order.”

  It seemed Thanatos had the courage that Alexander lacked. Or merely a poorer sense of self-preservation.

  “The emperor has commanded them,” One said, moving to place himself between the elderly monk and the emperor.

  “But—” Thanatos objected.

  “The knowledge in here must be studied rather than left to molder in the dark,” Josan said. “It is what Josan would have wanted.”

  Even this was a lie. The scholarly monk Josan had believed that knowledge should be shared for the benefit of all. He would have been appalled at the idea that his work would be used for political gain.

  Thanatos shook his head, seemingly unconvinced, but Alexander grabbed his arm, and Thanatos let himself be silenced.

  At Josan’s gesture Seven picked up both boxes, easily carrying them in one arm.

  Josan paused for one last glance around the library. He was tempted to linger, for surely there were other books here with knowledge that he could use to his advantage. Books that would explain the source of Prince Lucius’s magic, or perhaps even the spell that had combined their souls in a single body. But mentioning such topics would raise questions he could ill afford to answer.

  As he turned and left the library, he knew that this chance would never come again. As soon as he left, the monks would begin moving their most prized manuscripts, burying them elsewhere or taking them out of the city to safety. Once he would have been in their number, eagerly protecting their precious knowledge from defilement. Instead he was the barbarian who had disturbed the sanctity of the collegium, bringing strife and politics within its walls.

  But he was not the first to do so. Nikos had defiled this place long ago. Still, Josan’s own hands were no cleaner.

  He quickened his steps, as anxious to be gone from here as he had been to arrive. He was nearly at the gate when he saw Brother Nikos hurrying in.

  “Emperor Lucius, I beg your pardon, I did not receive your message that you intended to call upon me. My most humble apologies for not being present to greet you when you arrived.”

  Nikos’s words were gracious, but his face was flushed, as much from anger as from his hasty return. His eyes drifted from Josan to Seven and the boxes that he carried.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, his voice sharp. It was not the tone of a man speaking with his emperor.

  “Seven, One, you will go outside and inform my escort to make ready,” Josan said. “I would speak with Brother Nikos privately.”

  One glanced at Nikos, then back at Josan, before nodding. Brother Alexander and the young novice quickly discovered reason to be elsewhere, leaving only Josan and Nikos standing among the pillars.

  “Is this a jest? Do you think to challenge me?” Brother Nikos asked. “You forget, with a word to Zuberi I can see you broken, sent back to Nizam where you belong. Zuberi already despises you—how long do you think you will live once he realizes that you are an abomination?”

  Josan shrugged. “Punish me and you damn yourself,” he said, pretending that he still believed this to be true. Once the threat would have worked, but Nikos had had months to destroy any evidence of his role in the cursed spell that had placed the soul of a dying monk in the body of the traitorous prince. It would be Nikos’s word against Lucius’s, and it was clear whom Zuberi would believe.

  Josan needed proof of a different sort if he was to challenge Nikos. Proof that he had just obtained—but did Nikos realize this? Nikos had seen the boxes, but would he know what it was that Josan sought? Had he even realized what Josan had discovered before he condemned both man and his writings to obscurity?

  If Nikos had been a true scholar, he would have known the value of Josan’s journals and sought to disseminate that knowledge. But Nikos was a politician instead and assumed all other men thought as he did.

  He must not suspect the true purpose of Josan’s errand here today.

  “I knew you would not help me free myself,” Josan said. “If I am to break this curse, I must do so on my own.”

  Brother Nikos ventured a thin-lipped smile. “There are no scrolls that will help you. In his remorse, Brother Giles destroyed all records of what he had done.”

  Nikos turned as if to pass through the gate, and Josan knew he could not allow Nikos to examine the boxes. He must find something to distract Nikos’s attention.

  Summoning his anger, he demanded, “Where is my body?”

  Nikos turned back to face him but did not answer.

  Josan grasped Nikos’s shoulders with both hands, and shook him. “What did you do with my body?”

  It was a thought that had occupied him on countless sleepless nights, ever since he had learned that the body he wore was not his own.

  He shook Nikos again, pleased to see Nikos’s eyes widen as he finally realized his own danger. Nikos might have more political power, but physically he was no match for Lucius.

  “Your disease-ravaged corpse was dumped in the harbor, along with the trash,” Nikos said. “I imagine the scavengers made short work of it.”

  Josan’s stomach roiled. He had known that his body was gone, but had hoped for a peaceful spot in the catacombs with the brothers who had gone before him if he was denied the honor of a funeral pyre. But to b
e dumped in the harbor like a criminal, his flesh torn apart by sea creatures even as his soul survived in another? It did not bear contemplation.

  We will join you in the harbor if you do not leave before Brother Nikos suspects the true purpose of our errand, Prince Lucius murmured. We will have our vengeance, but not today.

  The gods must be laughing if Lucius counseled patience.

  Reluctantly, Josan released Nikos, then turned on his heel. He held his breath as he made his way toward the door, wondering if his gamble had succeeded. If Nikos tried to keep him here…He did not know whom the functionaries would obey.

  But there was no raised voice, no footsteps behind him. Nikos thought Josan in search of a cure for the soul-madness, and assumed that the boxes he had taken were what remained of Brother Giles’s studies. He should have inspected the boxes for himself.

  Thanatos would never have made that mistake. Nor would Hermes or any of the other true members of the brethren. As Josan allowed himself to be helped into the litter, he vowed that Nikos’s arrogance would be his undoing.

  Josan had chafed at his confinement, yet he felt a sense of relief when he was finally within the palace walls once more. The crowds that had followed his litter had grown increasingly restive once they realized that he would not scatter coins, nor even show his face. The cheers had turned to jeers and loud-voiced speculation that the emperor hid because he was a disfigured eunuch. At this, he was grateful that Lucius slumbered—it could have been a coincidence, but it seemed all too likely that the slighted maidservant had indeed spread her tale far and wide.

  If Josan had followed his first instinct and traveled without escort, he doubted they would have contented themselves with mere insults.

  He was surprised to find he had been gone less than two hours. He needed to speak with Proconsul Zuberi, but if the past was any guide, Zuberi would still be meeting with his ministers and would not welcome any interruption. Instead he would use the time to discover as much as he could about the knowledge contained within his journals.

  Josan startled Ferenc by commandeering his clerk’s entire supply of blank parchment, then retreated back to his sitting room, where Seven had placed the two precious boxes. He emptied them on the table, arranging his notebooks in chronological order. Glancing through the book of charts, he made a list of which pages most urgently needed to be copied.

  He opened the final journal of that year, paging through until he found the record of his calculations from the last day of his voyage back to Karystos.

  He puzzled over the symbols, written in jagged script rather than his normal clear handwriting. His hand had trembled when he had written these formulas—perhaps from the motion of the ship, or perhaps this was the first symptom of the breakbone fever that had struck him down only days after his return.

  A chill ran down his spine as he wondered if the contagion still lingered on these pages. The monks held that the fever came from the miasma that surrounded swamps, breeding in the stagnant water. But this was belief, not verified fact…

  Despite his fears, he did not move. It was not courage, but rather necessity, that kept his hand steady as he traced the symbols on the page. Their forms were familiar but their sequences were not. Still, this was proof that he had once understood the science of navigation, and what he had once discovered he could relearn.

  These pages were the conclusions of his research, and he used the weighted stones on his writing table to hold the journal open to that page. Then he picked up the first journal of that year, from when he first began his studies in Xandropol. He skimmed through his account of his arrival in Xandropol, then lingered over a sketch of a quadrant. He seemed to recall that the first quadrant he had studied had been flawed, without the engravings necessary to perform accurate calculations, and indeed it was featureless in his sketch.

  He had once owned a quadrant made in the federation style, but it had not been stored with his writings. He would have to acquire another one, and he wondered if he could order Admiral Septimus to seize the navigation instruments from the first federation vessel he came across. Though such a tactic would give away the element of surprise. Instead, perhaps he could find a simple quadrant and transform it for celestial navigation. The details were surely buried somewhere within his notes—he would not have forgotten to record such vital details.

  He continued reading, pausing from time to time to take careful notes. Lost in study, he was oblivious to his surroundings. He might have been in his cell at the collegium, or in the alcoves of the great university at Xandropol. Nothing mattered except unraveling the mysteries upon the page.

  He heard a shout and lifted his head, wondering who had disturbed the sanctuary. He blinked in confusion, still lost in the memories of those long years ago.

  “And what did you hope to accomplish with your little visit?” Proconsul Zuberi demanded. “A private consultation with Nikos, perhaps? Or do you wish me to believe that you went there to pray?”

  Zuberi. The palace. The missing years came back to him in a rush, and his mind scrambled to make the transition from scholar to an emperor fighting for his life.

  “You had no permission to leave the palace,” Zuberi said, his voice tight with anger.

  “I did not know that I needed your permission,” Josan said.

  “Anything you do requires my permission, or have you forgotten your place?”

  Zuberi towered over him, but Josan remained seated. He would not allow Zuberi to provoke him.

  “I did not go to see Nikos; I knew he was with you. I went for these,” Josan said, indicating the journals on the table before him.

  Zuberi barely glanced at the table. “The functionaries tell me that you went to the collegium and spoke only with the monks. Tell me, was this a test of how you were regarded in the city? Or a meeting with a conspirator who failed to show?”

  Zuberi saw plots everywhere, except for the one that was right under his nose. It was time to enlighten him.

  “Do you remember our discussions with Admiral Septimus?” Josan asked, leaning back in his seat. He knew his appearance of ease would infuriate Zuberi. “He reminded us that the federation ships outsail ours because they employ sorcerers.”

  “What of it?”

  “Only this,” Josan said. He picked up the journal he had been reading, turning back to the page that he had marked earlier. “I think you will find this interesting.”

  Zuberi stared at him for a long moment, then finally accepted the book. His eyes flickered back and forth as he read down the page.

  Josan could see the moment when he reached the entry for A study of the methods for calculating a ship’s position using celestial reckoning.

  “What of it?” Zuberi asked.

  “The federation captains do not practice sorcery. They use mathematical formulas taught from one generation to the next, preserved by oaths of secrecy.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Think on it. How many ships do they have? How many sorcerers would they need to craft magic tools for all of them? How could it be that all their captains possess the gift for practicing magic?”

  Josan elaborated each point, but Zuberi was not swayed by mere logic.

  “So you, the boy who could never be found for his studies, now fancies himself a scholar.”

  “I am not the man I was as a youth, but the same can be said for all men,” Josan replied. “The secret to making our ships the equal of the Seddonians’ is contained within these pages, waiting for me to decipher it.”

  “So you stole these books before Nikos could bring them to me? Seeking to prove your worth by claiming them for your own?”

  “Nikos held these journals for years without speaking of them. He knew what they would mean to the empire, but he held his tongue rather than revealing the secrets of his order.”

  Zuberi was prejudiced, but he was not stupid. He turned the journal over in his hands as he considered what Josan had told him. Mere words would not be enough, bu
t the evidence was in Josan’s favor, from the boxes with their carefully labeled dates to the fact that the functionaries must have told Zuberi of the brethren’s reluctance to part with the journals.

  He still did not know if Nikos had understood Josan’s discoveries and willfully concealed this knowledge, or if Nikos had simply overlooked the importance of the journals in his haste to hide all evidence of Josan’s existence. It did not matter—even if Nikos was not guilty of deception in this matter, he was still guilty of far greater crimes.

  “Why should I trust you?” Zuberi asked.

  “I do not ask you to trust me. But I am telling you that you cannot trust Nikos. He puts his own ambitions first, in all things.”

  “Nikos was the one who proposed you as emperor,” Zuberi said.

  “Nikos underestimated me,” Josan said. “He remembered the man I once was and thought he could control me.”

  It was the truth, of a sort. He knew Zuberi would take his words as reference to the callow Prince Lucius, while in actuality Nikos had seen the young monk Josan, sworn to vows of obedience.

  “You have five days to prove to me that there is worth to be found in these pages,” Zuberi said, handing him back the journal. “I will deflect Nikos’s anger for that long. But if you are proven a liar—”

  “And when I have proven the truth of my claims, what will happen to Nikos?” Josan asked.

  Zuberi smiled, his wasted flesh creating a ghastly resemblance to a grinning skull. “One of you is a traitor,” he said. “And he will meet a traitor’s fate.”

  Chapter 16

  Ysobel peered at the charts spread across the table, the hanging lantern casting flickering shadows as the Dolphin rocked at anchor. She’d discovered a sheltered cove on her last patrol, and though it had been empty, the scarred beach showed that it had recently been used to transfer cargo. But it was at the edge of her area of responsibility—she’d only happened on it by chance. And if she shifted her patrol to extend this far, it meant leaving other equally accessible beaches unguarded.