The Sea Change

by Patricia Bray

  Josan shook his head.

  “Then be still as we tell you what we have decided. Emperor.”

  Josan resisted the urge to mop his brow. He had won this skirmish, but Zuberi’s resistance had been greater than he expected. He would have to tread lightly in the coming days if he wanted to avoid further suspicion.

  Chapter 13

  “I am flattered that you think I may serve, but I do not know what it is you think I can accomplish,” Septimus said.

  Josan ground his teeth. If Septimus continued to refuse, Josan would be made to look a fool. And they would still face the same problems.

  The situation had deteriorated in the weeks since the council had issued a decree assuring Septimus the Younger of his safety should he choose to return to Ikaria. Perhaps inspired by patriotism—or perhaps by memories of the property he had left behind—Septimus had gambled on these promises and returned. He had shown courage by returning and a fine sense of diplomacy before the council.

  Mindful of his precarious standing, Josan had held his tongue and let Demetrios be the one to suggest that Septimus could prove his loyalty by taking charge of the Imperial Navy. The honor of being named admiral should have been a dazzling incentive for a man who had been living in exile, but Septimus, so far, was proving resistant to the idea.

  “The navy needs an admiral, so we can carry the fight to the Seddonians,” Josan said.

  Navies were not like armies—they were often out of contact for weeks if not months at a time. The navy needed to be led by someone they could trust—someone who could set tactics in response to the ever-changing situation. Someone who knew how to use ships to their best advantage. There were easily a dozen men who had the experience to be general of the armies, but finding a man who could lead the navy and be counted on not to commit treason was a much harder task.

  “And you are certain the federation is behind our recent losses?” Septimus asked.

  “We know they seized Gallifrey harbor,” Zuberi said.

  “They’ve long disputed our claim upon that port,” Demetrios countered. “It is not surprising that they took advantage of our distractions to reclaim their former possession.”

  “So we should let them keep it? I suppose next you will propose handing Kazagan back to the barbarians.” Zuberi’s voice was sharp—his temper flared more often these days, as the signs of his illness grew obvious to all. There had been no announcement yet, but all knew that the proconsul had mere months to live.

  He’s too stubborn to die, Lucius thought. Despite his firmly held belief that the navy was irrelevant, Lucius had been furious when he discovered that Josan had proposed the recall of Septimus without first consulting him. It had taken hours of silently waged arguments before he had agreed that Josan should remain in control for this meeting, but even now Josan could feel his lingering disapproval.

  “We yield nothing,” Demetrios said. “But practically, Gallifrey is a minor port. We have more pressing concerns.”

  “What do you want the navy to do?” Septimus asked. “To protect our merchant ships as they ply the coastal trade routes? To defend our ports against incursion? To carry the fight to our attackers? We do not have enough ships or men to do them all.”

  “All know our navy is currently in harbor,” Demetrios said. “Learning that it is once again patrolling our shores will give these so-called pirates pause.”

  Septimus shook his head. “And what if it is the federation behind these attacks, and they choose not to be discouraged? It is not clear to me that Ikaria would prevail if it came to open warfare between our two countries. In the past, the federation has hesitated to attack, but if they decide the time is right…”

  “The federation is a motley collection of islands. They could never defeat our empire,” Zuberi said.

  “On land, no. But on the sea? Their navy is no match for ours, but their merchant fleet is vast. If they begin arming their merchant ships…”

  “So you take the coward’s path, believing us already defeated?” Demetrios asked.

  If he was hoping to draw a spark he was disappointed, for Septimus remained unperturbed.

  “I think the challenges are grave,” Septimus said. “I do not want to start by misleading you. If you still want me to serve, I will do so to the utmost of my abilities. But if you want ready promises of easy victory, then you must find another.”

  Josan looked at his councilors, waiting until he saw Zuberi’s nod. “Your candor does you credit,” he said. Inwardly he celebrated his triumph, but he was careful to appear grave, not wishing to give the councilors any reason to doubt him. “The empire accepts your service, Admiral Septimus.”

  “It is my honor to serve you, my emperor.”

  At least there was someone who was honored to serve the emperor. A few meetings with Zuberi would swiftly teach Septimus where the true power lay in Ikaria, but no matter. By agreeing to name Septimus as admiral, the council had handed Josan a victory—recognizing the new emperor as someone to be reckoned with. Not their superior, nor even their equal. Not yet. But the next time he spoke, they would pay heed to his words.

  To our words, Lucius reminded him. For all Lucius’s anger over the scheme, it seemed he was ready to claim whatever advantage Josan had won for them.

  “If I may, I would like to summon my senior captains for consultation and review any reports the ministries have received on naval activity,” Septimus said. “Winter is fast approaching, but there is still time for a few sorties and to arrange regular patrols along those coasts where the weather is not too severe.”

  “At least the season hinders all equally. The federation sorcerers know no tricks to steer a path around the storms of winter,” Zuberi said.

  His words resonated oddly in Josan’s mind. “They are not sorcerers—” he began.

  “It matters not whether their captains are sorcerers or if they merely employ the tools crafted for them by magic,” Brother Nikos interrupted, glaring at Josan as if he were a novice caught in some mischief. “I am certain that Admiral Septimus is well aware of the advantage that their ships have and will plan his strategy accordingly.”

  “Of course,” Septimus said, seeming oblivious to the tension between his emperor and the head of the Learned Brethren.

  There was something wrong. Something Josan had said angered Nikos—was it his denial that the Seddonians employed sorcerers as navigators? Did Nikos think the emperor so arrogant that he would claim himself as the only true magic user?

  Or had Nikos realized what the others had apparently missed—that now both the Admiral of the Navy and the General of the Armies owed their appointments to the emperor’s influence? Should he ever wish to cast off the council’s yoke, these men could form the basis of his challenge.

  Yet neither of these explanations felt right. For the first time in months, Josan felt that odd sense of dislocation—that there was something he had once known but could no longer recall. Much of his past had been lost when the spell had placed his soul in the body of Prince Lucius. He had gradually grown used to the gaps in his knowledge, but each time he found a new one, it hurt, as if another piece of his soul had gone missing.

  He did his best to cover his confusion, listening with seeming attention as the council concluded its business, then withdrew to his chambers. But the problem would not leave him alone. It was a relief when Lucius demanded control of his body, leaving Josan to sift through the fragmented memories that he claimed as his own.

  Only the most credulous believed that dreams brought enlightenment, but when morning came, Josan knew why Nikos had moved so swiftly to discourage yesterday’s discussion of sorcery. It was not the discussion of magic that Nikos feared, though as one who had dabbled in forbidden spells, Nikos would do well to be wary.

  Instead Nikos feared that Josan was about to expose his discovery that the federation navigators relied on skill, not sorcery, to ply their craft. Josan’s studies had enabled him to unravel a mystery that had baffled
the Learned Brethren for decades. It was mere ill luck that he had been struck down with a fatal fever even as he returned to the collegium to share his knowledge with them.

  Nikos would have guarded that knowledge as closely as he guarded the memory of Brother Josan, waiting until the time was right to reveal it.

  That is, if he even understood the contents of Josan’s notebooks. Josan felt a pang as he realized that his discovery might have been lost—the knowledge rotting away in the shelves of the great library, waiting for another scholar to stumble upon it.

  Lucius seemed to be slumbering, but still Josan clutched this revelation to himself. Lucius claimed not to be able to read Josan’s thoughts, but Josan did not trust his assertions, and this new knowledge was too precious to be shared. Not until he had decided what he wished to do about it.

  A general audience had been scheduled for that day, and when Lucius’s consciousness returned, Josan allowed him to take charge of the preparations, as was their custom. Lucius enjoyed the process of grooming himself and selecting which robe to wear from a selection of seemingly identical garments. Josan generally roused enough of his awareness to peruse the list of petitioners and Proconsul Zuberi’s instructions on how to deal with each, but today he left even that to Lucius, trusting that the prince would not be foolish enough to go against the council’s wishes.

  Instead he stayed silent, meditating to keep himself calm. When it came time for Septimus to present himself and be acknowledged as admiral in front of the court, Josan could not repress a bitter surge of anger, as the sight of Septimus reminded him of the dilemma he faced. He felt Lucius’s curiosity, but quickly buried himself in recollections of dusty scrolls until Lucius’s attention turned outwards again.

  Such tactics could not protect him forever, but he needed time to think. To weigh his options. He knew that Lucius would see his actions as betrayal, but he had no alternative. All of his choices were equally fraught with risk. Whatever he chose to do with his newfound knowledge, it would be a betrayal of some part of himself.

  He had only to choose which bits of himself he wished to sacrifice. He was not a whole man; he had come to terms with that knowledge months ago. But each decision since then had led to a further diminishment of self, until he no longer recognized the man he had been. He had fought hard to preserve this strange life he led, as much for his own sake as for the sake of the man whose body he wore. But there were times he no longer remembered why he had tried so hard to survive.

  For a long moment he wished that he were more akin to Lucius, able to rail against the unfairness of his situation, to whine like a petulant child denied a promised treat. But he was no child. It was neither the gods nor the cruel forces of a fickle fate that had forced him into his situation, but the actions of men. He and he alone must decide how he would face this latest challenge.

  In the next days, Lucius’s presence remained strong. Josan used every trick he had learned in his years of study at the collegium to avoid thinking on his dilemma, but he could not prevent his anxiety from leaking through. He was short-tempered, and Lucius grew short-tempered as well, believing that Josan’s fears came from his lack of confidence in Lucius’s ability to rule.

  It did not help that he could not deny the accusation. He did not trust Lucius to deal with the perils that faced them. Aitor himself might have quailed before the challenge of a restive populace and a council of advisors that had chosen him solely because they knew they could control him. Anytime he felt himself safe, he had only to trace the faint scars on his body to remember that this safety was but a momentary respite. Should Proconsul Zuberi order the guards to arrest the emperor, he had no doubt that they would comply.

  Josan told himself that there was no urgency in deciding what to do about his discovery, but he knew that he was playing the coward’s part. Still he waited, paralyzed by indecision, until Admiral Septimus came before the council to deliver his recommendations.

  Josan had not seen Septimus since his court presentation, though he knew that he had met privately with Zuberi on more than one occasion. Thus he was not surprised that Septimus directed his attention toward Zuberi rather than to his emperor.

  “So we are agreed,” Septimus said. “I will send a small fleet under Flavio to patrol the northern coastline, with instructions to winter over in the Keys,” Septimus said. “A second detachment will sail for Kazagan, to combat the so-called pirate raiders. I will sail with the remainder of the fleet to accompany Flavio as far as the Samos River, then return along the trade routes, to discourage attacks and escort any vessels we encounter.”

  It was a sensible plan, one that would give Septimus time to learn the intricacies of his command. Once the storms of winter began, only a few coastal ships would ply their trade, careful not to stray far from safe harbors. The rest would remain lying safely at anchor, where they could be guarded by the navy. Even the federation was not so foolish as to launch an attack in winter.

  “There is no hope of retaking Gallifrey?” Demetrios asked.

  Septimus shook his head. “It is too late in the season to sail for Gallifrey. A federation captain might make it, but not one of ours.”

  Ikarian captains sailed coastal routes, as their fathers and grandfathers had done before. An Ikarian vessel would take months to reach Gallifrey, while a federation vessel could journey there in less than half the time.

  “Perhaps it is time to seize one of their captains and let Nizam convince him to share with us the secret of their magics,” Zuberi said.

  Josan felt his head nodding, as if Lucius were prepared to consider the idea. For the first time in days he took control of their body, letting Lucius feel his revulsion at the thought of anyone in Nizam’s hands. You are quick to condemn another to a fate that you could not endure.

  Lucius’s mental voice fell silent.

  “We’ve tried it before, with no success,” Septimus said. “There are no federation-crewed vessels in Karystos, and if we seize one of their captains at sea, it will be as good as a declaration of war.”

  He wondered why Nizam had failed. Had his victim been one who lacked the true knowledge? Had Nizam simply lacked the ability to understand what his prisoner told him? Or was the captain a victim of his country’s deception? Having convinced the world that their skill at navigation was based on magic, any other explanation would be seen as a lie.

  What do you know of this? Lucius’s mental voice was sharp, and Josan realized his mistake. Later, he promised.

  “We are not ready for war with the federation,” Josan said. From the corner of his eye he could see Brother Nikos staring at him, but was careful not to return his regard. Nikos had no means of knowing which memories of Josan’s had survived, and he must give Nikos no reason for suspicion. “But we must be ready come spring, for the decision may be taken out of our hands.”

  “So we are agreed to Septimus’s plans,” Zuberi said.

  “And the senate will authorize the funds you requested for improving the fleet,” Demetrios added.

  The monk was hiding something. Lucius had been right to distrust him. He had known that no man could be as noble and selfless as the monk held himself to be—and yet now that he had proof of his suspicions, he could not repress a feeling of disappointment. He had wanted to be wrong.

  The monk had been pitiless in his judgment, but his own flaws were equally as great.

  I never judged you, the monk thought.

  But you did. Every time you condemned my ignorance, my so-called cowardice, my failure to do what you wished.

  That was not my judgment, that was the voice of your own conscience, the monk replied.

  And what does your conscience tell you now?

  There was no response.

  Despite the monk’s lowly opinion of him, Lucius could be patient. He did not want any trace of his internal debate to be visible to the council. He let the monk hide in silence while the council finished its deliberations, then made his way back to his chambers. Di
smissing the waiting functionaries, he poured himself a glass of harvest wine, savoring its earthy flavor. Less than a fortnight before, this wine had been grapes on the vine, and he fancied he could taste the sunshine.

  He felt Josan’s impatience with such a comparison, but the monk had no head for the finer things. He knew only the appeal of musty books. And treachery.

  It was not treachery, Josan thought.

  But you are hiding something from me. Something to do with Septimus. Perhaps he was not innocent of the rebellion after all.

  It is not that, Josan thought, but he volunteered no further information.

  If it was not Septimus himself, then it was something else. The monk had been angered at the idea of interrogating a federation captain—understandably so, given his own history.

  Lucius knew the monk thought him ignorant, but merely because he had not memorized hundreds of scrolls did not make him any less clever. The monk had been disturbed by the mention of magic, yet all knew that federation captains traveled secret paths on the sea by using magics passed down from one captain to another.

  Lucius had his own form of magic, the gift of his ancestors. Perhaps he, too, could master the secret ways of the sea, and this is what had disturbed the monk. He had always envied Lucius’s talent with magic, the one thing that belonged to Lucius rather than the invader.

  Lucius took another sip of wine, letting it roll on his tongue. Yes, that was it. The monk could not bear the idea that Lucius was greater than he in this way, and thus fought to keep Lucius from learning more about this magic.

  It is not magic. The monk’s thoughts came slowly.

  I can call fire to my hand, tell storms where to strike, and heal the most grievous wound. How can this not be magic?

  You have magic, but the federation captains do not. They chart their courses by the mathematics.

  But how can math tell them where to sail?

  An image arose in his mind, a chart of the great basin, crosshatched by numbered lines, with mathematical formulas written in the margins. He saw a second image of a table with a compass and a metal instrument, hinged at the top, with a curved piece at the bottom.