Chapter 15

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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.

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 windows. 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.

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 be 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, but 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.”