Chapter 76
The seven Household Guard soldiers who had been preparing to inspect the Prefect's troops—whose hands had already moved toward their spears and swords—immediately relaxed their stances.
They stepped back once, creating space.
The captain of the guards folded the letter carefully and returned it to Arya with both hands, just as he had received it.
He then looked alternately at Nirma and Arya with a gaze that was difficult to interpret.
There was respect there, but also curiosity.
Perhaps even a trace of admiration that two young people could carry a letter directly from the Emperor to meet one of the important officials in this northern district.
"Please follow us, Sir and Madam.
Lord Ioannis is currently in his study, and I am certain he will receive you immediately once he learns that you have come with this letter."
He pointed toward the large door behind him—a carved wooden door with an iron ring at its center.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking, signaling two of his subordinates to open the door wide.
Amid the smooth inspection process, between the sounds of military boots shifting upon stone and the breathing of horses calming after the long journey, Nirma suddenly frowned.
It was not a frown of pain.
Not of exhaustion.
It was the frown that always appeared when her left eye caught something impossible—something that should not exist in that place yet suddenly did, like a ghost in broad daylight or a fish atop a tower.
Her bandaged eye remained facing forward, unmoving and revealing nothing.
But her left eye—the one that could still see—was now fixed upon a single point across the courtyard.
It was the area where the Household Guards tethered their vehicles.
The shadows of those vehicles swayed gently in the morning wind that had grown colder.
And among the ordinary vehicles, among simple carts and tired riding horses, there was one shape that did not belong there.
One silhouette that made Nirma's heart beat faster even as she tried hard to remain calm.
The nudge came without warning.
Nirma's left elbow brushed Arya's arm with enough pressure to make him turn his head—enough to pull his attention away from the captain of the guards who was still busy reading the letter before them.
"Arya," Nirma whispered.
Her voice was barely audible, almost like the wind slipping through the sounds of the inspection.
"That vehicle across there… the one shaped like a small boat on wheels, with strange carvings along its sides, and a curved roof like the shell of a giant turtle.
Is there, this year—1101 of the Common Era—a state visit from the lands of Southeast Asia?
From the region people now call Indonesia, with kingdoms such as Sriwijaya in Sumatra or Medang in Java?"
Her eyes never left the object.
Even beneath the bright sunlight, it revealed details that felt utterly foreign—details she had never seen on the streets of Constantinople.
Details that spoke of another world, incredibly distant and impossibly out of place in the courtyard of a Byzantine official's residence on this cold morning.
Arya closed his eyes.
It was not a simple blink.
Not merely an attempt to clear dust or rest tired eyes.
It was a deliberate closing, measured—four full seconds in which he drew a deep breath and allowed his memory to work.
His knowledge of imperial diplomacy.
The records of foreign visits he had once read in the Prefect's archives.
All the reports that had passed across their desks for years.
Everything spun through his mind like scrolls of parchment unfurling one after another.
When his eyes opened again, there was no doubt in them.
No confusion.
Only a firm and cold certainty.
"There is none, Nirma."
His voice was as quiet as her whisper, just loud enough for the two of them to hear amid the small bustle of soldiers attending to their duties.
"There is no record of visits from Southeast Asian lands to Byzantium in the year 1101.
Even if we look ten years backward or ten years forward, there is none.
Our relations with those regions are almost nonexistent.
At most, we encounter their goods through Arab or Indian merchants who occasionally bring items from there.
But an official visit?
Royal envoys?
Never."
He paused briefly.
His eyes now followed Nirma's gaze, trying to see what she saw, trying to understand why she had suddenly asked such an unexpected question in the midst of an already complicated situation.
"Padati," Nirma whispered.
Her voice was scarcely more than a breath of wind slipping between their cloaks.
Yet it was enough to make Arya stiffen beside her.
Her gaze remained fixed upon the strange vehicle.
Upon its solid wooden wheels that had never been designed to travel thousands of kilometers.
Upon the Nusantara carvings that should only exist in the courtyards of Javanese temples or the palaces of Sriwijaya—not here.
Not in the courtyard of a Byzantine official's residence in the year 1101.
"An ox cart… padati… cikar… whatever name you give it, that thing should not be in Constantinople."
Arya beside her could only nod slowly.
He knew Nirma was right.
He knew what they were seeing was impossible geographically.
Impossible historically.
Impossible by every logic they had ever learned during their years living in this city.
Nirma drew a deep breath, trying to steady her heartbeat that had begun to grow irregular.
She leaned slightly closer to Arya, her lips almost touching his ear.
"Arya, listen to me carefully."
Her voice was now lower and faster, like someone sharing a dangerous secret in the midst of enemies.
"Do you remember the flying ship from before?"
Arya nodded, his eyes still fixed on the padati across the courtyard, on the oil-paper lanterns swaying gently in the afternoon wind.
"It is possible they returned.
It is possible that ship is still trapped in another era, and they were forced to send agents here—to the year 1101—for some purpose.
And perhaps that purpose is to disrupt our investigation.
To sabotage our interrogation of Ioannis Taronites.
To ensure that we cannot solve the murder of Étienne d'Arques easily."
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
The Household Guards remained busy with their duties.
Their captain was still reading the letter carefully.
The eight Prefect soldiers still stood watch behind them.
And across the courtyard, the Nusantara padati remained standing quietly as if it truly belonged there.
As if nothing about its presence in the middle of a Byzantine winter was strange at all.
Arya finally turned his head and looked at Nirma with a gaze difficult to interpret.
There was fear there.
But also determination.
There was confusion.
But also restrained anger.
"If they are truly here, Nirma—if agents from the future have really come to disrupt our investigation—then we must be more vigilant than ever.
They could be anywhere. Disguised as anyone.
Doing anything while we remain unable to predict their next move."
To be continued…