Ten for Dying

DAY FIVE
Chapter Thirty

At sunrise a placid sea cradled the Leviathan, which still lay at rest, helpless as a baby. Already the sound of hammering echoed through the dim hold. The crew had worked through the previous day without managing to finish repairs. John suspected that the damage to the hull must have been more severe than anyone wanted to admit. Obviously Captain Theon did not trust the vessel enough to pull up the anchors and escape the rock upon which they had run partly aground.

Or so John understood. He might have grasped it wrongly, given when approached Theon gave nothing but short grunts of annoyance. After all, who was John to be wasting the captain’s time? Just another passenger, additional cargo. The crew seemed to have been ordered to say nothing about their predicament so John was forced to piece the situation together from inadequate snatches of overheard conversation. It was frustrating for a man to whom Justinian had confided the secrets of the empire.

He was also left to worry that a weak spot might suddenly, catastrophically, give way, allowing the sea to burst into the hold and drag the Leviathan down.

John sat below, trying to distract himself by watching Hypatia, seated on the mat that served for a bed, make protective charms.

“In case the weather turns foul again,” she explained.

Peter assisted her, dutifully tearing strips off an empty grain sack. Hypatia tied intricate knots in each strip before fastening the ends to form a loop. She held one of them out to John. “You might want to wear it around your wrist, master.”

John slid the loop over his hand to be polite. It didn’t ease his anxiety. At times he wished he could believe in magick. “Why does this bring good luck?”

“Knots keep things secure, don’t they? And these are very special knots. They hold onto good fortune.”

“I should think a cross would be sufficient,” Peter sniffed.

“Perhaps,” Hypatia replied, “But in Egypt we think differently. And what about what you call your lucky coin? The one you found in Derbe when you were on campaign?”

“Oh, but that’s different!”

“Is it?”

Peter looked baffled and fell silent.

John heard Cornelia’s laugh. She came in from her walk on deck, dropped down beside John, and poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “I think Hypatia has won that argument, at least for now! All the same I’ll be happy when we reach dry land again.”

John nodded. Thinking of the greedy sea slapping on the wooden boards at his back made him uneasy. He distracted himself by turning his mind toward the matter of the stolen relic.

Hypatia had advanced a possible explanation for the visions those in the church had seen. Would it be of assistance to Felix?

“I wonder if Felix has located the stolen shroud yet?”

Cornelia looked at John sharply. “You shouldn’t dwell on that business. Felix can take care of himself. Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I could send a letter.”

“A letter from the exiled Lord Chamberlain? You might as well send him a bottle of poison.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.” He looked away from her scowl and watched Hypatia’s fingers move almost too quickly and nimbly for him to follow. She might indeed have been tying up Fate. The knots she was forming looked more complicated than those needed to hold anything physical.

She handed a knotted loop to Cornelia, who put it on.

Peter tore off a new strip to add to the pile beside him. He got to his feet. “That should be enough for now. I need to start preparing our meal. Captain Theon is well provisioned, but I can never find the proper utensils.”

As Peter left, John noted that despite his protest, the servant was wearing his own bracelet.

“If Felix hasn’t found the shroud, he must have at least unearthed new facts about the theft,” John mused. “The question is whether they are sufficient to lead him to the solution of the mystery. If I were there just long enough to hear the results of his investigations, I feel I could help.”

Cornelia gripped his arm and dug her fingers in. “John! What are you thinking?”

“A letter might be intercepted. But if I were to ride back to the city, in disguise, for just long enough-”

“No! Don’t even think about it!”

Hypatia averted her eyes, embarrassed. Who was Cornelia to give orders to the Lord Chamberlain?

“You can’t leave us, John,” Cornelia continued, her voice urgent. “You wouldn’t return. You know that. The emperor would find out and…”

“Yes, you’re right, Cornelia.” John excused himself and went up on deck. He walked with small, uncertain steps, like a sick man, ever aware of the slight rolling of the anchored ship. Wasn’t anyone else troubled by the incessant motion? Would he ever feel solid ground beneath his feet again?

From somewhere below came a burst of hammering.

Then there was an inarticulate cry, followed by shouts, running footsteps.

Crew members were converging near the rail beside the captain’s cabin, looking down into the water. Someone pointed.

He made his way to the crowd as fast as he dared.

The pilgrim Egina was there. She turned an anguished face toward him. “Sir! It’s your servant. He’s fallen overboard.”