Chapter Eleven
Heron shuffled through the lists of books she'd scrawled in a marathon session the previous night. Even the fraction of information represented by her meager list had been a major blow to the world.
While her innovations had been her own, they'd been built upon the knowledge of previous great thinkers. How could she have written Pnuematica without the treatise of Archimedes? On Automata would not exist but for Strabo.
What might she achieve with the whole Library at her disposal? Her automata would sing and dance like flesh and blood, rather than stumble and jerk like drunken statues. The tyranny of slavery would be broken by the power of machines!
Heron flung the papers back into the bin. Whoever had instigated the tragedy of the Library deserved a fate akin to the crime. A thousand years under the cruel hands of Lysimachus would not be enough.
How might she have raised the city to be a clockwork marvel for the world to imitate? Instead of the poor shuffling mass chained and bound by distracted masters, beating each other in the alleys for scraps of food, or selling themselves in the slums outside the city.
But no clues surfaced from the lists of destroyed papyrus. No specific pattern of books lost could be seen scrawled in ink. Only a madman wanting to shutter the world in ignorance would gain anything by the burning.
The most likely reason was an accidental burning, though from whose hands? Caesar had started the fires in the fleet, that was written in his histories, recorded by his hand. But that didn't mean he wanted the Library burned.
Evidence would suggest the contrary. Caesar had thrown his lot in with Cleopatra, and she would have never condoned the burning of her ancestors' most precious gift to the world. So if he'd caused it, he would have covered it up immediately.
Heron rubbed her temples. One hand reflexively snaked toward the ornate box, but she yanked it back, scolding it with her eyes for disobeying.
Without clues to go on, she would call in a favor from an old friend. She knew what Hortio would ask for in return for access to his private library, and the thought made her shudder. But he had papyrus from before the fires, and some written around those times. If there were clues to be found, they would be found in Hortio's library.
Heron sighed and poked the fat purse on the desk. The coin from Agog would appease Lys for the moment, assuming the remainder arrived from her source requesting the fires investigation.
She surveyed the quiet workshop. The half finished head of Horus stared ominously at her. She wanted to be done making miracles for the temples. Their ways subverted her goals for the city, but she had no other way to gain significant coinage.
The cold shadow consuming her heart lifted slightly with the thoughts that it was time for her workers to begin new works. She'd sent messages for them to return the next day.
How she missed Plutarch and Punt, and the others, dusty and doused in sweat creating monuments to man's creativity.
Heron ran a finger along the ink filled papyrus on the desk. The designs were not complete, but she had enough that they could fire the cupola. Plutarch and Punt often contributed during the creation process. She would need their ideas more than ever.
She glanced at the wagon, wondering where Sepharia had gotten to. The disguise worried her. Had Sepharia been sneaking into the city? Heron wouldn't be surprised. She'd done the same as a youth and the stories she'd told Sepharia had probably emboldened her niece.
A rattling crash that came from the front of the building startled Heron. It could have been one of the cats that had adopted them, or the old man bringing coin for the investigation. Though she didn't remember leaving the door open.
Heron investigated and found a bronze tube lying in the middle of the entryway. She circled around, trying to remember which pile it'd come from.
The cats liked to play with objects like the tube, pawing it until it rolled away and then pouncing before it stopped. Heron had thought about building an automatic cat toy that would drag a colorful rope in a looping pattern, but the winding mechanism would require too much energy and make the whole structure top-heavy. She would have to refine the idea before building it, but not while more important - and paying - projects loomed on her horizon.
Heron leaned over to replace the bronze tube on its pile, when she heard a shuffling gait behind her. As she spun, her vision was consumed by a fist. Her consciousness fled right after.
Fires of Alexandria Page 11