On a moonless night in the port city of Singa, an old merchant summoned his three sons. He was dying, but he had one last secret to tell.

The merchant lay in his bed, skin sallow, breath shallow, clutching a locked box to his chest. Though it was plain wood and tarnished brass, his sons had never seen it open.

With shaking fingers, he unlocked the box.

It revealed an old, leathery parchment, stiff, marked with indecipherable symbols. The smell of roses filled the room. Nothing more than a piece of paper? his sons wondered.

But their father’s eyes gleamed.

“When I was younger than you,” he whispered, “I found this treasure map, hidden in a broken stupa, in the ruins of Nengalor. I never told anyone, not even your mother.”

His sons were surprised: the ruins were forbidden. But even if they weren’t, the ghosts weren’t exactly welcoming.

“I meant to go,” he said. “But then came trade, and children, and war, and… other wome—things. I leave the map to you now. Do with it as you will.”

“But father,” the first son blurted out, “If you’ve never gone looking for the treasure, how do you know it exists?”

“But son,” their father replied with a smile, “if you don’t go looking, how do you know it doesn’t?”

And with that, he passed away.

The Doubtless

The first son, Yi, never leapt before looking and sometimes didn’t leap at all.

He bought the Doubtless – a majestic ship, polished to a sheen. He hired the finest navigator and the most renowned weather-seer in Singa. They studied the map for weeks, consulting obscure texts and old charts for clues.

Doubtless was ready, but Yi refused to cast off until his navigator could guarantee the treasure’s coordinates, and the weather-seer could promise good weather on the voyage.

Neither could do either, so the first son waited. And waited. And waited.

The crew eventually left him. The ship grew barnacles. And Yi kept waiting.

The Fearless

The second son, Er, was a combination of haste and bluster. He grew impatient with his brother, made a copy of the map and hired the Fearless.

Fearless was lithe, angular, and looked like it was moving even when it was standing still. But the ship was still recovering from its last run, its lifeboats cracked, its crew ragged.

Er ignored his crew’s requests to replenish the ship – he couldn’t wait to lay his hands on treasure. Fearless sliced off into the waves, travelling light and fast.

He overruled the quartermaster’s plea to restock at the next port, pointing to the horizon and saying something about his destiny.

Destiny responded with a storm.

Lightning split the mast. The hull groaned and split in half. The crew went down beneath the raging waves.

Er survived by clinging to driftwood, alongside two sailors. They washed ashore on a desert island, where they spent seven miserable days and nights before being rescued.

Er returned home and never set sail again.

The Artful

The third son, San, waited longer than he liked, then watched his brothers fail exactly as he feared.

He engaged the Artful, an ageing patchwork of a ship that had mismatched sails and uneven repairs. His navigator was half-blind. His weather-seer was half-mad. They wouldn’t make promises, but San shrugged and said, “Let’s find out.”

He stocked more food than needed and helped refit the lifeboats himself. When all seemed ready, he tacked a charm to the hull and set off with his father’s map.

Artful got lost more than once. They dodged woolly octopi the size of small islands in the Midnight Sea. They narrowly escaped the cannibal shamans of the Southern Tribes. San nearly threw himself into the Phantom Reef, lured by mournful lullabies that sang to him in his mother’s voice.

At one point, San almost tossed the map overboard. But the smell of roses bloomed throughout the ship. He kept going.

They never found the treasure.

But they found the lost island of Surrusus, where the stars spun backwards. They found the crystal mountain at the top of the world, shining in the night. And once, when they were lost at sea, they glimpsed a wreck of Artful in the fog and dared not get close.

They made friends. They made enemies. They buried their dead. They became.

The way home

San returned home with grey in his beard. Yi barely recognised him. Er flinched at the smell of the sea. All embraced the other tightly.

San returned the aged map to the plain box and locked it. The scent of roses filled the air, stronger than ever. He smiled. He placed the box on a shelf, low enough for the children to see, but high enough that they couldn’t reach. Perhaps one day…

Epilogue

Somewhere in the city of Singa, a box clicked open. A breeze stirred. And a small girl whispered, “What’s that smell?”