The images made no sense to him, but the monk recalled them well enough to bring them to mind.
You know how to do this? Despite his earlier doubts, it did not occur to him that the monk would lie.
No. But I know where the knowledge may be found.
The monk’s mental voice fell silent for a long moment.
In the library of the collegium, Lucius guessed.
Yes.
We must go there at once. Excitement rose within him. With this knowledge the Ikarian navy would be the equal of the federation. Perhaps even its superior, for the Ikarian Empire had far greater resources to draw upon.
The knowledge belongs to the Learned Brethren. I swore an oath to guard their secrets.
An emperor’s duty is to his people, he thought, taking grim satisfaction in turning the monk’s own words against him. Josan was not the only one whose life had been twisted beyond all recognition.
If he could no longer be the heedless prince, then it was fitting that Josan could no longer pretend that he would one day resume the life of a scholarly monk. They were yoked together, and both must share the burden of their twinned existence.
If we do this, we make an enemy of Brother Nikos. We may not survive if he turns the council against us.
Nikos is already our enemy, Lucius thought, trying to give the impression that he had already considered this. He will not allow us to slip out of his control. At least this way we will be ready, rather than be taken unawares.
I hope we live to regret this, the monk thought, displaying a rare flash of humor.
As do I.
Chapter 14
Captain Elpheme drove the Dolphin and her crew hard, ignoring the grumbles of sailors grown soft after two months in port. After the first day, the grumbles ceased as the crew settled to their routines. Even the Dolphin seemed glad to be back at sea, for she bore the contrary winds with ease, cutting cleanly through the water with a speed that few ships her age could hope to match.
Restless, Ysobel volunteered to take the night watch, grateful for a few hours when she thought no further ahead than a change in the weather or the coming of dawn. But even this was a temporary respite—at the end of each watch she carefully noted their progress on the charts, watching as each day’s sailing brought them closer to Melene.
Melene. The pull of home was tempered by the growing fear that she was sailing toward a maelstrom. A prudent captain would chart a new course, one that took her ship far away from such danger. To Olizon, perhaps, or even as far as Vidrun. She had instructed her other ships to sail east. Why should she not join them?
But if she did that, she would be labeled a traitor and stripped of her holdings. With four ships she could make a life for herself in exile. But she could never return home.
Nor could her crew. And it was this, more than anything, that stayed her hand. Though she wondered how many other captains faced similar dilemmas and what courses they had charted. How far did Quesnel’s reach extend? She had made herself a target, but had he begun ordering other merchants into service? If he waited much longer, the great houses would send their best vessels and valued crews out on long trading voyages, where they would, alas, be too distant to be summoned.
She spared a thought for the house of Flordelis and hoped fervently that her father had paid heed to her warning and ensured that his prized ships were beyond Quesnel’s reach.
Lieutenant Burrell had no duties aboard ship to occupy him, beyond keeping a close eye on the small contingent of marines that had chosen to accompany him.
She sympathized with his boredom, though he remained outwardly cheerful. Her initial attraction to him had strengthened, and she knew enough of his character that she no longer feared that he would betray her. He was everything that she looked for in a partner—handsome, well built, and smelling of the clean scents of the sea. And best of all, he was not in her employ. Of all the men upon this ship, only Burrell and his marines were available to her.
She had no doubt that they would find pleasure in each other. But a night’s pleasure was all she could offer, and she sensed that Burrell wanted more from her. And this she could not give.
She could not sail into danger with a lover at her side. She would have to be satisfied with his friendship, instead.
Burrell had taken to bringing her a cup of hot tea at the end of her shift, and then lingering after she turned the watch over to Captain Elpheme. The three would speculate on what awaited them at Melene and spend endless hours poring over the charts of the Kazagan coastline. They agreed that the port cities might be attacked, and some of them even held for a short while. But without sufficient troops to occupy the countryside, it was inevitable that the invaders would be driven off by armies from the shore.
Surely King Bayard and his councilors could see the truths that were so obvious to the three of them. Perhaps Captain Justin’s words had been meant to mislead them, to provoke Ysobel into rash action. Another trap, since she had eluded the others.
A fortnight after setting sail from Gallifrey they arrived off the coast of Melene, the jagged coast lit by the waning moon. Neither Ysobel nor Elpheme had ever had cause to visit the small naval harbor on the northern end of the island, so they anchored offshore, opposite the harbor beacons.
Dawn came, revealing a harbor crowded with ships of every size and purpose. Some bore the red-striped sails of naval vessels, but most were merchant ships, deepening her unease. A pilot boat came out to meet them, directing Elpheme to anchorage, while Ysobel took a gig to shore.
The naval headquarters was easy to find, but Commodore Grenville proved more elusive. Ysobel was left to cool her heels in an antechamber as others scurried to and fro. No one paused to speak with her, but she overheard scraps of conversation—some complaining over being impressed into service, others grumbling about lack of supplies or crew. Those she saw seemed harried, but purposeful, like a merchant who had three ships arrive to be unloaded on a day when he had expected only one.
She saw no signs of the panic she would have expected if war had been declared, and she took heart from this.
It was nearly noon by the time a young woman stood at the entrance of the antechamber and called out, “Lady Ysobel?”
“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet. She followed as the woman led her through the main hall, where so many others had come and gone, toward a small door in the corner. The woman knocked once, then opened the door.
“Lady Ysobel,” she announced, gesturing for Ysobel to enter.
Commodore Grenville was her father’s age, with broad features that hinted at ancestors from the Northern Wastes. He sat at a large table so covered in scrolls that she could see only hints of the mosaic map underneath. His fingers were ink-stained and his complexion oddly pale for a sailor. She wondered when he had last spent a day at sea and whether this boded ill for his competence.
“Come,” Grenville said. “Forgive me for not rising to congratulate you on your victory at Gallifrey. I spent too long on my leg, and the healers have bade me stay off it, lest I develop rot.”
With his right hand he gestured toward the wall, where a wooden leg stood in a place of honor.
“I hope it is not a recent loss,” she said.
Grenville shrugged. “I’ve had a decade to get used to it, and it doesn’t slow me down on ship. On land, however, it’s a damned nuisance.”
There was no polite way to ask how he had lost his leg, though she doubted the tale was as colorful as the ones Brice told. It spoke well of his character that he had remained in service rather than accepting the king’s pension.
At his gesture she took a seat on a stool at the opposite side of the table, so she was no longer staring down at him.
“Your clerk has my report, and a letter from Captain Justin,” she began.
Grenville nodded. “I’ve read them. Captain Justin ascribes your victory to luck…” He let his voice trail off, waiting to see how she would react.
“We were lu
cky,” Ysobel said. “And the Ikarians were careless, grown complacent from too many years without a challenge.”
“They will not fall for such a ruse again,” he observed.
Ysobel shrugged. Let other captains plot their own tactics—she was only responsible for herself and her own ships.
“What is it you wish me to do?”
Grenville brushed aside the scrolls that covered the portion of the mosaic showing the coast of Kazagan. It was a brilliant work of craftsmanship, made up of individual tiles each no larger than a pea. The sea was shaded from deep purple to lightest blue, indicating the depths of the ocean, while differing hues of browns, yellows, and greens indicated the details of the coastline. Such a table would have cost the whole of the profits from an entire trading voyage. Its presence spoke of Grenville’s wealth, or his status within the navy, or possibly both.
Looking closely at the map she could see where wax pens had been used to indicate the positions of ships along the coastline. There were a dozen triangles, and a few scattered dots, bearing incomprehensible markings.
“As you see, we have a blockade along the coast of Kazagan. The eastern portion is controlled by ships from Sendat”—here his finger traced the symbols marked in red, then moved west to the symbols marked in black—“while my command covers the rest, all the way to the border with Ikaria.”
“A blockade,” she echoed. “As prelude to invasion?”
“A blockade for their own safety, as protection against pirates.”
“And does anyone believe this?” she asked, not bothering to hide her scorn.
Now it was Grenville’s turn to shrug. “If you had been home, you would have heard the proclamation from King Bayard and the minister of war. Too long have pirates harassed our vessels and those of other peaceful nations. The federation, as the preeminent force upon the sea, had taken it upon itself to stop these predations and ensure peaceful commerce.”
“To ensure that only our ships have free passage. Tell me, how many Ikarian vessels have been seized as pirates? How many of their cargoes left to rot in harbor because we would not grant them the freedom to pass through the blockade?”
“Enough,” he said. “Though my ships have been told to abide by their written orders, not all commanders are so strict.”
She rose to her feet, unable to sit still. “Ikaria will not tolerate this interference. They will see this as an act of war. Lord Quesnel is a fool if he thinks they will not see through this pretense. Pirates, indeed.”
Grenville grew in her estimation. He did not leap to defend the war minister, nor his policies. An invasion of Kazagan would have been sheer folly, but this was nearly as bad. Quesnel had not openly declared war on the empire, but he had set them on a course that would inevitably provoke the Ikarians into declaring war. And for what possible gain? Having the Ikarians seen as the aggressors might garner the federation sympathy, but it would bring neither allies nor ships to their cause. If the federation was truly set on war, better that they had risked all with a swift, sudden attack rather than waiting for the Ikarians to organize and arm themselves.
“I take it that I am to join this blockade?”
“Yes. Your station will be at the mouth of the Naryn River,” he said. “There are four other ships there, but their captains will be junior to you.”
It would be highly unusual to place a merchant captain in command over a navy vessel, so she assumed that the four ships were other merchant vessels that had been drafted into service. It was unlikely that any would be commanded by a master trader—most were far too valuable to their houses to be caught in such a trap.
“I will need some time to equip my ship and bring on provisions—”
“You can have two days. And if you give any of your crew leave, you are responsible for finding your own replacements, or sailing shorthanded.”
There would be no replacements to be found, not in a navy harbor where all the other captains would be competing to ensure they had a full complement.
Even the landsmen who worked the port would have grown wary, knowing enough not to walk alone after dark nor to accept a drink from a stranger lest they awaken to find themselves at sea.
“With your leave, I will retain Lieutenant Burrell and his marines,” she said.
“Of course. And when you arrive on station, you will find another familiar face. One of your captains is already there.”
That was not possible. She had given strict orders that should have kept her ships safe.
“Who?” she demanded.
Grenville glanced at the cryptic symbols on the map, then hunted through his scrolls till he found the one he wanted. He unrolled it, tracing the index with one finger until he found the entry he sought.
“The Swift Gull,” he said. “She’s been there this past month, under Captain Zorion. He was one of our first volunteers.”
The fear in her belly turned to anger. Volunteered. This was no mischance—Zorion had deliberately chosen to put his ship in harm’s way.
“If you will excuse me, there is much to be done,” she said. She needed to leave before she gave vent to her anger.
“I will send your orders to your ship, along with new orders for the captains who will be part of your company,” he said.
She left, striding so swiftly that those in the crowded outer chamber scattered before her.
Grenville had given her two days, but she would need only one. They would sail tomorrow if she had to set the sails herself. She had an old friend to see.
Four days later, the Dolphin arrived on station, helped by favorable winds. Three navy ships with their red-striped sails were at the mouth of the river, while two sets of plain sails were visible off to the west, where Zorion and the Gull were presumably to be found. Curiously, there was no traffic on the river, not even a single fishing boat to be seen.
She ordered Captain Elpheme to hoist the recall banner, with the signal flags below requesting a meeting aboard the Dolphin at sunset. A large cauldron was brought up on deck, and pitch fire set within it, producing a column of black smoke that could be seen for miles. If the Gull and her companion were not under attack, they would see the smoke and the sails of a newly arrived ship and hopefully return to station.
From such a distance it was difficult to tell whether a ship was advancing or retreating, though she checked their position periodically with the glass. Finally, after an hour, the lookout confirmed what her own eyes had told her a quarter hour before—that the sails were growing larger, and the ships were sailing east.
Precisely as the last rays of the sun fell, the three navy captains arrived. Captain Elpheme met them as they came aboard, and brought the captains to what was normally the quartermaster’s office, where eight stools had been set up around the chart table. It was a cramped space, but it was the largest room she had unless they wished to meet in one of the holds.
Ysobel poured heavily watered wine for her guests and offered them sliced fruits and bread that had been baked only a few days before. They introduced themselves and spoke of trifles as she waited for the others.
Zorion was the last to arrive.
“My ship and my crew, they are well?” she asked.
“The Gull is as sound as the day she left the dockyards, and the crew are a credit to your house,” he replied.
“Good.”
He took the last empty stool, crowding his large frame in between Lieutenant Burrell and Captain Chiara, who had been the senior officer here until Ysobel’s arrival.
“Elpheme has orders for each of you,” Ysobel began, nodding to Elpheme, who began handing out the sealed missives to each captain. “I am taking command, effective immediately. Captain Chiara, your presence is requested in Melene, where further orders will be given you.”
“May I ask why a naval captain was not sent?” Chiara, who was leaving and thus had nothing to lose, asked the question that was no doubt on everyone’s mind.
“Are you questioning me? Or Commod
ore Grenville’s orders?”
“Your pardon, I did not mean to slight you,” Chiara said. “Of course the commodore would not send anyone he did not have confidence in.”
“The navy is stretched thin, as you must know as well as I,” Ysobel said. “I did not ask for this command, but I am prepared to do my duty.”
She’d been shocked to read Grenville’s orders naming her to a command that included naval ships. In times of war, merchant ships were impressed to serve alongside the navy, not to take charge of them. Then, again, by placing her in command, she alone would bear the responsibility for any mistakes—which was no doubt what Lord Quesnel had intended.
Captains Sydney and Orville were too polite to express their doubts, but from their stiff postures she knew that they bristled at being placed under her thumb. Captain Durand, who commanded the other merchant ship, appeared more at ease, or perhaps it was simply that he was too young to properly appreciate the perils of their position.
He would bear careful watching. He might have achieved his position on his own merits, or his youth could be a sign that his house had sent their experienced captains off to safety, leaving the less valuable ones to be commandeered by the navy.
“As the woman who took Gallifrey harbor, I doubt that there are any challenges here that can match what she has already faced,” Burrell said.
It would have been rude to laugh at their openmouthed astonishment, though Zorion beamed broadly.
“Enough,” she said. Burrell’s defense warmed her, but she would not stoop to the level of trading accomplishments with these captains as if they were sailors boasting of their exploits in a dockside tavern. “Captain Chiara, if you would be so kind as to explain to me how you are enforcing the blockade? I have general orders from the commodore, but you have firsthand experience.”
Chiara, who had been leaning against the table, drew herself erect. “When we first arrived, I kept all ships here at the river’s mouth, so we could inspect any ship that tried to enter or leave. Traffic has diminished, so from time to time I send one or two ships to sweep up and down the coastline, to see if smugglers are trying to land along the coves rather than coming into the harbor.”
The Sea Change Page 21