“And what do your inspections encompass?” Ysobel had done her own share of ship searches at the harbor in Gallifrey, and a tedious task that had been.
“We look for forged papers concealing their ownership, weapons, or hidden cargoes,” Chiara said.
“Or a ship with too many sailors, or too few,” Zorion added.
“Too many crew? Or too few?”
“Too many is a sign that they are smuggling soldiers,” Chiara explained. “And too few is a clear sign that pirates have taken over the vessel, killing off the lawful crew.”
Ysobel closed her mouth with an audible click. “Indeed,” she said.
Chiara did not hear the sarcasm in Ysobel’s voice, or else she ignored it.
“And what happens to the ships that do not pass your inspection?”
“We seize the ship and set the crew ashore. Depending on the vessel, we may send it with a prize crew back to Melene, or if it cannot be turned to our service, our orders are to burn the vessel at sea,” Chiara said.
“Any suspected pirates are turned over to the local authorities to be hung,” Captain Orville said. “Though I suspect most are simply turned free once we return to our ships.”
Burning vessels and hanging their crews as pirates. No wonder there was no traffic along the river.
“And if a ship chooses to sail past and not be searched?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
“Then we will know them for pirates, and take appropriate measures,” Chiara said.
“I trust this has not happened often.”
“We’ve seized over a dozen vessels and sent them to Melene,” Chiara said.
“To our west, Captain Ancelin has hanged four pirate crews,” Captain Durand chimed in.
“Ancelin is a tad…strict in his observation of the rules of engagement,” Chiara said. “I have found it necessary to employ a certain amount of discretion, to allow the captains time to grow accustomed to our presence.”
It was madness. Sheer madness. Whatever they did here, it would not be long before the Ikarian fleet returned the favor. There would be no safety for anyone.
Any captain with the sense of a child would steer clear of these waters. Which did not speak well for Zorion, whose own orders should have taken him far to the east.
But now was not the time for expressing her own doubts. She had already chosen her course, and that was to obey the orders she had been given, however nonsensical they seemed. She listened as Chiara explained the routine of the station and the duties of each of the captains under her. The other captains chimed in from time to time, though Zorion remained silent.
At last Chiara fell silent, and Ysobel could think of no more questions to ask.
“Captain Chiara, I thank you for your counsel, and wish you a swift and safe passage back to Melene,” Ysobel said.
“I wish you well in your new command,” Chiara responded. “Before I leave I will send over my charts and a copy of my logbook. Any personal letters may be sent over as well.”
“I will have correspondence for you as well,” Ysobel said. “Grenville has asked that we make plans to winter over in these waters, so each of you should prepare a list of the supplies that you need and send it along with Captain Chiara.”
“Winter here? In the harbor, perhaps…” Captain Orville began.
“We are not welcome in their harbors,” Zorion pointed out. These were the first words he had spoken in over an hour.
“It is not firm, but you should make your lists,” Ysobel said. “Send a copy to me as well, so I will know what you have requested. Do not be extravagant, but do not be parsimonious either. Better to ask and be refused than to regret it later.”
Her guests rose to their feet, the tallest ducking their heads to avoid the low beams.
“Zorion, if you will stay for a moment?” she said.
“Of course.”
Lieutenant Burrell and Captain Elpheme escorted the captains topside. As the door closed behind them, Zorion rose, advancing as if to embrace her, but Ysobel moved away, keeping the table between them.
“It is good to see you,” he said, bracing one hand against the table as the Dolphin rolled in the gentle swell.
“I cannot say the same. Tell me, did you not receive my letter?”
“The one ordering your ships on extended trading voyages to the east?”
His words crushed the slender hope that she nursed—hoping against all reason that her orders had gone astray, that his presence here was an unfortunate accident. Her heart had wanted to believe in him, even as reason told her otherwise. Grenville had said that Zorion had volunteered for this duty.
“Then perhaps you were impressed as you attempted to carry out my orders,” she said.
“I saw the others off, set to winter in the east and return in the spring, then took the Gull to Melene. I’d hoped to join up with you there, but Commodore Grenville sent me here instead, saying that you would join me in time.”
“You betrayed me,” she said. “You betrayed your duty to my house.”
Zorion’s eyes darkened. “Without you, there is no house. I came because I knew this was where you would be, and I could not bear to see you sail into danger alone.”
“Bad enough that Elpheme and the Dolphin are already lost to this madness. Now you would have me lose the pride of my house? The Gull is worth more than the rest of my ships together.”
Zorion slowly circled the table. “The Gull is a fine ship, but she is only that. A ship. You are worth more than her, more than all your ships put together.”
Her anger drained away, replaced by the bitter realization that there was no way to undo what had been done. This was why her aunt had not taken Zorion as a lover until he had left her service. Nothing must be allowed to come before duty to the house. She had known that Zorion regarded her as more than a mere trader, and yet she had allowed his affection, indeed she had used it for her advantage. Now they would both pay the price.
“When the navy is done with you, I will release you from my service,” she said. “You will never sail for my house again.”
She wanted to hurt Zorion, the way he had hurt her. But to her surprise he nodded calmly, as if he had been expecting her condemnation.
“As long as you are still alive to give that order, I will be content.”
Chapter 15
The silk curtains of his litter were plain, unmarked by any imperial emblem. But any hope for anonymity was dashed by his escort of a dozen imperial guards, led by two tattooed functionaries, making a rare appearance outside the palace walls. As the small procession wound its way through the streets of Karystos, the usual city noises were overlaid with chants of his name as the populace vied for a glimpse of their reclusive emperor.
Empress Nerissa had often been seen in the city, her public appearances carefully crafted for maximum impact. But Josan had not left the imperial quarter since his coronation. Indeed, if he had been permitted to walk the streets dressed in a simple cloak, it was doubtful that any would have recognized him.
But he was not afforded that privilege. Instead he was under close guard—as much prisoner as protected.
The rocking motion of the litter abruptly stopped, and he swayed forward before regaining his balance. The curtains on the left side of the litter were drawn back, and the functionary he had named One extended his arm to help Josan alight. Despite the assistance, his exit from the litter was less than graceful as his long tunic tangled around his knees. He grimaced sourly, wondering if this was yet another skill that an emperor was expected to master in childhood.
A high wall surrounded the grounds of the collegium. On the north side a plain door marked the public entrance. Even during the day, this door was customarily locked. The brethren did not believe in granting free access to their domain.
His escort stared at the door, apparently bewildered by the lack of response.
“You will have to announce us,” Josan said.
&n
bsp; One bobbed his head, though his tattoos masked any signs of possible embarrassment. Striding forward, he pulled the bell cord and called out, “Open for his Most Serene Emperor Lucius.”
Josan felt anything but serene at the moment, but he hoped his nervousness was not visible to all.
There was a long pause before the door slowly swung open, revealing the novice on duty—a beardless boy who was a stranger to him. It was disquieting to think that all of the novices would be strangers—orphaned babes left in the brethren’s care, grown into youths while he was in exile.
“The emperor?” The novice’s voice squeaked with disbelief. “But—”
“I am here to view the great library,” Josan said. Protocol dictated that the emperor not speak directly with such a lowly one, but it seemed ridiculous for him to address the functionary, then have the functionary repeat his words. They did not have time to waste on such ceremonies.
The novice bent over in half, his bow so awkward it was nearly a parody. “Brother Nikos is not here,” the novice said, addressing the cobblestones or perhaps his own sandals.
“I have come to see the library, not the worthy Nikos,” Josan said.
Indeed, he had timed this excursion carefully for when Nikos would be occupied with Zuberi’s weekly meeting. Once news reached Nikos, he would come scurrying back with all speed, but by then Josan would have what he wanted.
That is, if he wasn’t forced to stand outside in the street like a common beggar.
The guards around him shifted closer, and he heard raised voices from the crowd calling his name.
The empress had been known to scatter coins to her people, usually on public holidays. It was not a custom Josan could follow. His own purse was flat—he could not even buy himself a cup of sour wine. His escorts had more coins than he did.
He panicked, as he realized that he was behaving as if he were a menial, waiting to be admitted by his betters. If he could not convince a mere novice…
“Lead the way or fetch someone who can,” Josan said.
The novice blushed and hastily bowed low. “Of course! It will be my honor, your worthiness.”
“You and Seven will accompany me, but our escort may wait here,” Josan said.
One raised his eyebrows, his way of expressing polite disagreement. “I have strict instructions for your safety—”
“Do you doubt the loyalty of Brother Nikos and his monks? I am as safe in the collegium as I am in my palace,” Josan said.
Perhaps safer. Count Hector’s killer had never been found, after all.
As the novice bowed once more, Josan passed through the door onto the grounds of the collegium, trailed by the two functionaries. The novice scurried ahead. “This way,” he said, though Josan had already turned right, taking the path that led directly to the library rather than the wide hall that led to the temple and the public rooms where visitors to the collegium were received.
Within the walls, the collegium was a collection of buildings connected by courtyards and colonnades. Most visitors ventured only as far as the first building, which housed receiving rooms along with private quarters for the senior members of the order, but there were also dormitories, classrooms, kitchen, a large gathering hall, and a small temple devoted to the twin gods. Dwarfing them all in importance was the great library, which lay at the heart of their order.
The dirty, chaotic city seemed impossibly distant as they strode through the colonnade that led to the library. The sound of young voices repeating their lessons drifted over the courtyard, reminding Josan of his youth. A brother crossing the courtyard stopped to gape at the procession, then turned on his heels and ran, presumably to alert whoever was senior in Brother Nikos’s absence.
The library was located at the rear of the central courtyard, a mere two stories in height, though it stretched the full width of the courtyard. Over the years, several levels had been excavated underneath the building to hold the brethren’s ever-growing stores of knowledge. Unlike the other collegium buildings, which mixed wood with marble and stone, the library was made entirely of stone, with bronze doors and a tile roof, meant to safeguard the contents from fire. A short flight of steps led up to a pair of large doors, which were propped open to take advantage of the cool autumn air.
The novice, who had never given them his name, dashed ahead into the library, calling out, “Brother Alexander! Brother Alexander! The emperor is here.”
Josan could hear a low voice admonishing the boy for disturbing the sanctity of the library with his fancies. The reprimands abruptly fell silent as Josan came into view.
“Emperor Lucius, how may the brethren serve you?” Brother Alexander asked, bowing deeply.
Josan knew Alexander, with whom he had shared classes as a novice. He recalled that Alexander’s talent had been for organization, not scholarship. When it came time for their first postings, Josan had been sent on a voyage of exploration while Alexander had been named as Brother Nikos’s aide.
Such a close connection with Nikos was not in his favor.
“Where is Brother Hermes?” Josan asked.
Alexander blinked. “Brother Hermes died five years ago, though he would be flattered that you remember his name. I had the honor of taking his place as librarian.”
“How did he die?” Josan asked. He knew that he was being careless. Prince Lucius would not have known the name of any of the monks besides his tutor, Nikos. Nor would he have been likely to care about their lives or deaths. Lucius would not have cared, but Josan had to know.
“It was his time,” Alexander said.
Impossible. Brother Hermes had been librarian since Josan had been old enough to read, legendary as much for his ill temper as for his near-perfect recall of the contents and location of every volume within these walls. He was supposed to be here, part of the fabric of the collegium, a place that had remained unchanged in Josan’s memories during the long years of his exile.
Josan himself had been warped beyond all recognition, but he had clung to the idea of the collegium as a place of refuge, a constant in a world that he no longer knew. Despite Nikos’s corruption, he still believed that most of the brethren were men of learning. He had once had friends within these walls though it seemed their numbers were diminished.
Remembering those friends made what he was to do next all the harder.
“I wish to see the journals of Brother Josan, collected during his last voyage,” he said.
Alexander paled, his eyes darting around as if looking for Nikos, or some other brother on whom he could lay this burden. “Of course. It may take some time to find his journals, but I would be happy to read them and prepare a summary for you—”
“As the learned brother is absent from the collegium, the journals will be found on the lowest level, in a box marked with his name, on the shelves from the fifteenth year of the beloved Nerissa’s reign,” Josan said.
“But Emperor Lucius, it is not our custom to share our private teachings with anyone—”
“I am not anyone. I am your emperor and the patron of your order. By my grace, this collegium stands in Karystos. But should I revoke that grace…” Josan let his voice trail off softly.
“Of course.” Alexander beckoned the novice forward, and after a few whispered words in his ear the boy scampered off in the direction of the stairs.
He could feel Alexander’s eyes upon him, wondering how it was that Emperor Lucius knew of the writings of an obscure monk. Hermes would have known immediately why someone would want those journals, but he doubted Alexander shared his predecessor’s diligence.
Alexander’s curiosity would be equaled by that of the functionaries who stood at his back. They must be wondering why he had not simply sent a messenger to Brother Nikos, asking for what he wanted.
He breathed the familiar scents of the library—the must of aging scrolls mixed with the rich scent of leather, and under it all the tang from the precious whale-oil lamps that supplemented the narrow glass-covered w
indows. His eyes wandered over the broad stone shelves, with their precious burdens of manuscripts and scrolls carefully gathered over the ages. Those in this first semipublic space would be common manuscripts, copies of which could be found in private collections and scholarly libraries. The floor above was divided into smaller rooms, each focused on a particular area of study.
The levels beneath were the repository of the private scholarship of the brethren—knowledge carefully hoarded over generations, grudgingly doled out only when it would benefit the order. Even the least scrap of paper was jealously hoarded. They would not relinquish their treasures lightly.
He was conscious of time passing. Surely a runner had been sent to fetch Brother Nikos as soon as the emperor had arrived, and he wondered how long it would take for the message to reach Brother Nikos and for Nikos to make his way back to the collegium.
“If the boy does not return swiftly, or if he returns with less than the full sum of what I have requested, I will have you both arrested for treason,” he said, not bothering to look Alexander in the face.
His words had the desired effect. “Perhaps he cannot find the box. I will go myself, to assist.”
“Perhaps you should.”
Three of the brethren were at tables in the rear of the library, but though their eyes were fixed on the imperial visitors, none dared approach. Josan wandered over to the nearest shelves, his fingers itching to pick up the books and examine them for himself. But he could not afford to indulge his own longings.
He heard the slap of sandals against tiles and turned as two monks entered behind him.
One was Brother Mensah, who had assisted Nikos during his coronation. Clutching Mensah’s arm was Brother Thanatos, who presumably had been fetched as the senior brother present.
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