The Sea Change

by Patricia Bray

  Josan’s eyes unfocused, lost in memories that were his own. Lucius felt the nausea welling up and the acrid taste of bile. Josan was paralyzed by remembered fear, so it was Lucius who commanded their body to stand, as he walked away from the desk, over to the table where his long-ignored lunch had been laid out. With trembling hands he poured himself a goblet of stale water and drank it down in swift gulps.

  We have nothing to fear, he reminded Josan. Once your calculations are proven, even Zuberi will have to see the truth.

  Will he? Or will he use this opportunity to destroy us and Nikos both, eliminating two rivals with a single blow?

  To this Lucius had no answer.

  The imperial gardens were a peaceful place, the sculpted paths lined with colorful flowers that were changed each season so that there were always fresh blossoms to delight the senses. But tonight there were no colors to be seen, nor perfume in the air, as the blossoms were closed tight against the chilly autumn night.

  The watching servants shivered in their cloaks, grumbling under their breath about the madness of an emperor who would not allow a single brazier to be lit, lest it interfere with his view of the heavens. Josan ignored their grumblings, just as he ignored the demands of his own body. He, too, was cold and tired, having slept only a few hours over the past four days. But the sky was clear, and that was all that mattered.

  Josan reached over to steady the quadrant as Lieutenant Chenzira sighted along it. “There, you see how the guide star is aligned with the axis?” he asked.

  Chenzira nodded, disturbing the carefully positioned quadrant.

  “Don’t move your head. Just say yes or no.”

  “Yes,” Chenzira replied. “Let me find it again.”

  Josan waited as Chenzira once again found the guide star.

  “Now, keeping the quadrant steady, move the first marker arm until it is aligned with the Eye of the Gazelle,” Josan said.

  He watched as Chenzira complied. He had done this himself last night, but it was not enough that Josan be able to do this. The emperor was known as a magic wielder. To prove that this was mathematics, not sorcery, he had to show that an ordinary man could do the same.

  At least Chenzira was willing to try. The first two captains he had been sent had been close-minded, unable to follow even the simplest of explanations. Given time, he might have been able to teach them, but time was a commodity that he lacked.

  Ferenc had found Lieutenant Chenzira for him. Like the others, Chenzira was adequate at math, able to calculate distances and his ship’s accounts. But unlike the others he was willing to listen to his emperor’s explanations and follow his instructions, even as it was clear that he did not understand what it was that he was doing.

  They had spent the afternoon practicing theoretical calculations, looking up star sightings and performing the calculations required to determine their position. Chenzira had been tongue-tied when summoned to the presence of his emperor, but by the time darkness fell he’d lost his reserve, not even blanching when Josan ordered an evening meal to be shared between them. It might have helped that Josan did not look the part of an emperor. Unshaven and bleary-eyed with lack of sleep, his hands covered with ink stains, he might have been mistaken for Ferenc’s assistant.

  Josan talked Chenzira through the process of sighting the next two stars and recording their angles of distance from the guide star. According to his theory, only a single star was needed, but the slightest error in measuring the angle would result in a calculation that could be off by dozens of miles. Given the difficulty of taking readings while on the pitching deck of a ship, two stars were better and three were optimal.

  Chenzira finished recording the final sight. “Do you want to check for yourself?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He had to trust that he had taught his pupil well.

  They returned indoors, much to the relief of their escort. The servants brought warmed wine, which Josan waved off. “Later,” he said.

  The sat side by side at the large table that had been moved into his sitting room, a copy of Aeneades’s map spread before them.

  Chenzira looked at the paper where he had recorded his measurements, then at the blank parchment before him. His hesitation was obvious.

  “Start by looking up the Eye of the Gazelle in the chart,” Josan prompted. “Write down the reading in the book next to the reading you have taken, and then do the same for each of the other two stars.”

  Chenzira had done this exercise at least a half dozen times already today, but Josan talked him through each step as if it were the first time, reminding himself to be patient. It was not that Chenzira was ignorant, but rather that he was unused to performing these types of calculations. No matter that Josan could have done the whole in his head in the time it took Chenzira to look up and write down his figures. What was important was that each time Chenzira did the exercise, he was faster than he had been before.

  At last Chenzira was finished. The results of the final two measurements matched, while the first measurement differed in the final digit.

  “What would you do now?” Josan prompted.

  “If I were at sea? I’d ignore the first, assuming it was the result of a shaking hand,” Chenzira said.

  “And if all three measurements disagreed?”

  “I would take their average. Unless, of course, they were wildly different, in which case I would start again with new readings.”

  Fair enough.

  “So what have you concluded?”

  Josan could read Chenzira’s notes, but he wanted the lieutenant to state his conclusions aloud.

  “The imperial garden is one degree north, and twenty-seven and a half degrees west of the center point of Sendat.”

  The star tables that the Seddonians had devised used the center of the island of Sendat as their base reference, which meant one more conversion was needed.

  “Now trace that out on the map.”

  The map of Aeneades was divided into sections using the center of the great basin as the central point, rather than Sendat. But the distances were standard, so following the guidelines Ferenc had copied onto the map days before, Chenzira used his protractor to count off the necessary intervals. When he was done, the point of the protractor rested directly on Karystos.

  Josan beamed with satisfaction, clapping Chenzira on the back. “There, you have done it.”

  “Done what?”

  “Proven where Karystos is,” Josan said, wondering at Chenzira’s lack of enthusiasm. Didn’t he realize what he had accomplished? Chenzira was only the second Ikarian to have performed these calculations. Ever. It was worthy of celebration. “Fetch wine for us both,” he called over his shoulder.

  “We already know where Karystos is. This proves nothing.”

  Josan stared at him in disbelief. “But—the star sightings. The formulas. You did the calculations yourself.”

  Chenzira gave him a pitying look. “This will not be enough to convince your doubters. A single measurement is not proof. You could have rigged these calculations to say anything you wished them to say.”

  “But that would be lying.”

  Chenzira laughed. “I can see why you have driven my uncle mad,” he said. “What man would not lie in order to save his life?”

  “Your uncle?”

  Chenzira waited as a servingwoman placed two crystal goblets before them, and poured out a measure of dark wine into each. The wine jug was placed on the table, along with a pitcher of clear water.

  Disdaining the water, Chenzira picked up the goblet. “To scholarship,” he said.

  Josan picked up his own goblet and sipped cautiously. He could not afford to be drunk.

  “I am a bastard, but my father is the brother of Lady Eugenia, wife of the proconsul. He has privately acknowledged me as his nephew,” Chenzira explained.

  With his connections, if Chenzira had been legitimate, he would have already been a captain in the navy, or more likely appointed to a
post in one of the ministries, where he could serve his uncle’s interests while lining his own pockets. Even as a mere bastard, his uncle had done well by him. And he would be expected to be loyal to Zuberi in turn.

  Did Chenzira understood what was at stake, or had he merely been sent to distract Josan, to ensure that there was time to train no other in his place?

  “So what will you tell your uncle? That the emperor has succumbed to mad fancies?”

  He wondered whom Zuberi had chosen to replace him as emperor. Did Demetrios’s elder brother yet live? Was that the reason that he had not heard from his erstwhile ally in the past week? Or had another candidate emerged, the result of secret negotiations while Josan was huddled over his calculations?

  He thought frantically but could see no way out of the pit he had dug for himself. He had run out of time.

  “Your uncle’s hatred of me blinds him to the truth,” Josan warned. “We need this knowledge to fight back against the federation.”

  Chenzira nodded. “I know. I believe you.”

  Josan sagged with relief.

  “Come dawn, I will convince my uncle to give this method a true trial,” he said. “His affection for me is a slender reed, so we must think of something that can be accomplished in a day, no more.”

  Josan had always planned to demonstrate his method at sea, but had assumed that he would be the one to make the voyage. Still, he had no other choice. If Chenzira was to trust him by taking his part, then, in turn, Josan would have to place his trust in what he had taught his student.

  “Have yourself taken aboard ship and blindfolded,” Josan said. “Let the captain spend the day sailing, dropping anchor off a familiar shore at sunset. When it is night and no landmarks are visible, you will take your sightings and tell him where the ship is. If you are right, then we will both win.”

  “And if I am wrong?”

  “Then you were duped by me and will return to tell your uncle as much.”

  And Josan would be sent to the dungeons below the palace, where Nizam could once again indulge his twisted desires.

  That is, if Josan allowed himself to be taken alive. His summer strolls in the garden had not been entirely idle—he had slowly gathered a collection of foxglove seeds, which had been secreted in his chambers. It had been months since he had carried those seeds on his person, but he would find them tonight and tuck them in the lining of his belt. Given a large enough dose, not even Lucius’s magic could save them.

  Or so he hoped. Because the alternative was too grim to bear.

  Josan spent the hours till dawn copying the tables that Chenzira would need. Fortunately, he already knew the date, and there was a limited distance that the ship could travel in a single day, so he only needed to copy two of the pages from the almanac. He put the tables in a document pouch along with a scale copy of Aeneades’s map, and, after a moment’s thought, tucked in the calculations that Chenzira had performed that evening as a guide.

  Early the next morning, Chenzira came by with the news that his uncle had agreed to a sea trial. He did not say how he had managed this feat, but he must have awoken his uncle at sunrise. A brave man, or perhaps merely anxious to see this to the end.

  Josan handed him the document case and quadrant and wished him good luck.

  When his clerk Ferenc arrived at the usual hour, Josan bade him make a clean copy of the notes he had assembled detailing each step of the calculations. If Chenzira succeeded, he would need to teach others.

  And if Chenzira failed, then Josan’s last act would be to send his notes to Admiral Septimus for safekeeping. Given proper incentive, Septimus might be able to reason out what Josan had uncovered.

  Then, with nothing else to occupy his time, Josan retired to his quarters and slept.

  He awoke in the afternoon, feeling vaguely sick as he always did whenever he fell asleep during the day. The few hours of sleep that he had managed had done little to make up for the days without. Rather than refreshing him, his mind felt slow and stale, as if his wits were befuddled by wine.

  For the first time in days he groomed himself properly, bathing in his chamber and scraping off the scraggly beard. He dressed with care, rejecting one tunic after another, until his attendant suggested a long overrobe of cotton tied with a wide silk sash. After the attendant had left, Josan went to his desk, opening a drawer to reveal a box of ground pigments ready to be mixed into ink. A twist of cotton held what looked like a coarse brown pigment, but were actually foxglove seeds, which he then tucked into the folds of his sash. It was unlikely that anything would happen today, but he would be prepared, just in case.

  He visited his study and inspected the copy of his notes that Ferenc had prepared. “Have these sent to Admiral Septimus for his consideration,” Josan said.

  “Yes, your highness,” Ferenc said. Though whether he would do so without first checking with Proconsul Zuberi was another matter.

  The studies that had consumed his past days held no further appeal, and Josan gave in to Lucius’s urging that they spend the afternoon strolling the grounds of the palace rather than seated at a chair. The exercise warmed his body, and slowly he felt his wits returning.

  Lucius stirred within him, or perhaps it was merely an echo of his own worries that he felt. It was tempting to relinquish control of the body to Lucius, but he could not take that risk. If Zuberi were to ask for an explanation of his theory, or, more likely, if Nikos were to challenge his discovery…Lucius would be unable to answer and condemned as a fraud.

  At sunset he ate a light dinner in his quarters, then retired to bed, after first tucking the foxglove seeds under his pillow.

  He was brusquely shaken awake the next morning.

  “Zuberi will see you now,” One said. “Quickly!”

  One threw open the shutters revealing a gray, cloud-covered sky, and the sight woke him more swiftly than One’s frantic summons.

  Josan had forgotten about the weather. What if it had been stormy at sea last night? If the skies were cloudy, no sightings could be made—but it was doubtful that Zuberi would accept any excuse for failure.

  He dressed, blinking sleep from his eyes, remembering only at the last moment to retrieve the poisonous seeds. There was no place for them in the tunic that One handed him, but rather than waste time arguing Josan simply tucked them in his sandal, under the arch of his foot. They prickled a bit as he walked, but he was not limping.

  The two guards on duty outside his chambers joined One in escorting him to the council room, then took up their posts outside.

  As he entered the council room he saw Proconsul Zuberi, with Brother Nikos seated to his right. Demetrios sat on the other side, opposite Zuberi and Nikos.

  There was no sign of Lieutenant Chenzira, nor the captain who had been assigned to supervise Chenzira’s demonstration. Instead, Admiral Septimus sat next to Demetrios. He must have returned to Karystos sometime yesterday.

  It was just past dawn, but the four men looked as if they had been awake for hours.

  “I take full responsibility for the disaster at Izmar,” Septimus was saying. “But even if I had been there myself, I doubt there was anything I could have done to change the outcome.”

  Disaster? What disaster?

  Septimus broke off as he caught sight of his emperor.

  “We will speak of this later,” Zuberi said.

  Meaning that he did not want to expose their disagreements in front of Lucius—or that Zuberi had decided that Lucius was irrelevant.

  This did not bode well for Lieutenant Chenzira’s errand.

  “Proconsul, have you news from Lieutenant Chenzira?” Josan asked, as he took his seat at the foot of the council table. Perhaps Chenzira was merely delayed.

  Zuberi scowled. “The lieutenant has returned and made his report.”

  “And?”

  It was Septimus who answered. “Captain Matticus sailed a circuitous route and anchored off the southern tip of Eluktiri. According to his report, after an hou
r of fiddling with his instruments and reckoning his sums, the lieutenant correctly identified his location.”

  Josan sighed with relief, and he felt his muscles un-clench. In his mind he heard Lucius’s shout of victory, and he longed to echo it.

  “It was a trick, of course,” Zuberi said.

  Brother Nikos nodded in agreement. “A good scheme, but you erred when you discarded the first two candidates as unsuitable. You must have been disappointed that the old blood ran so thin in their veins. Tell me, what would you have done if Chenzira had not carried the sorcerer’s taint in his veins?”

  Nikos was a poor scholar, but he had his own form of cleverness. With a few words he had neatly planted the seeds of doubt.

  “It was no trick. It was mathematics. I could teach any of you to do the same,” Josan insisted. He turned to Admiral Septimus. “Admiral, give me any man in the navy who is willing to learn, and I will teach him to do as Chenzira has done. Think of what that would mean for your navy.”

  “It would be a skill worth having,” Septimus said, each word coming as slowly as if it were being torn out of him. Then, with a glance at Zuberi’s red-faced visage, he added, “Though since I have not seen it for myself, I cannot rightly judge whether or not it is mere trickery.”

  “It is sorcery,” Nikos insisted. “A scheme devised to discredit me, so as to divide this worthy council.”

  Anger welled up inside him—whether his own or Lucius’s, it did not matter. He welcomed its heat.

  “You are the one who lies,” Josan said. “You would do anything to keep your place.”

  “Enough of this slander,” Zuberi said. “I know one way to prove the truth of your words.”

  “How?” He had already done everything he could think of. If Zuberi did not believe his own nephew…

  Zuberi smiled. “Let Nizam question you. He will get to the truth of the matter.”

  “You cannot mean that.” Josan looked around the table, but neither Septimus nor Demetrios would meet his eyes, while Nikos openly smirked in triumph.