Fires of Alexandria

by Thomas Carpenter

  #

  Heron snapped the reins, advancing the cart through the crowd. The streets were overfull. Rumors of free bread had brought hordes from the outer city. At least two fights had broken out since she and Punt had left the workshop.

  She was glad for the high wagon and horses to keep the people at bay, and Punt to keep her company, quiet as he was.

  She steered the horses around an old woman hobbling across the street. Heron grimaced as her knees erupted in agony, only to have to pull the horses up when another fight broke out right in her path.

  Three men argued with a meat pot merchant, claiming he was to be giving away his food free today, by order of Governor Flaccus. The merchant screamed at them, cursing in a multitude of languages, only half of which Heron recognized.

  The merchant had latched onto his pot, which normally cost a few pennies or a meat trade to draw a ladle from. Heron guessed more than a few rats made up the meat portion of the pot.

  The three men were trying to drag the pot away, but the merchant had wrapped his legs around it and was wailing at the top of his lungs.

  If it weren't for the crushing crowds, Roman soldiers would have been on the scene already, breaking it up. Heron imagined the soldiers were busy with other fights around the city.

  Attentive to the action in front of her, Heron didn't notice the old woman with only one eye until she'd grabbed onto her leg, eliciting a cry of pain.

  "Get off me, old hag," she grimaced, trying to kick her from her leg, but the pain kept her rigid.

  Punt reached across to pry the hag's fingers from Heron's leg, but woman had a tight grip. She climbed onto the step, and put her face up to Heron's.

  The fetid smells of rotting teeth emanated from the hag's mouth.

  "The fires...," the old hag said.

  "What?" The word tumbled out of Heron's mouth as her body snapped straight, even though the pain threatened to make her pass out.

  "The fires can only be found within the hidden waters of Ammon."

  Then, the old hag released her hold and dropped from the wagon, disappearing into the crowd so quickly it almost seemed she just evaporated.

  "What did she say?" Punt asked.

  Heron shrugged him off. Not because she hadn't heard, but because the way was opening up in front of them.

  The struggle for the meat pot resulted in it being spilled. Greedy hands snatched the meat in a frenzy, leaving the merchant crying, straddling the pot in the mud of his former soup.

  Heron wanted to take some meaning from the hag's mention of fires, but knew that fortune tellers and mystics, just like the temples, used vague wordings to lure weak minds.

  And likely, the mention of fires was merely coincidence. Heron struck the hag's words from her thoughts.

  "You should have let me drive," said Punt on the bench next to her. He crossed his arms and scowled.

  Heron laughed with tears in her eyes, rubbing her legs. "You look like a child refusing to eat ankut root."

  "Steering the cart is injuring your legs as much as that woman did," said Punt. "You should be resting them."

  "You'd make a horrible mother, Punt. I can poke fifteen holes in your feeble argument."

  Punt scowled deeper and shifted so he was facing away from her.

  Heron was enjoying picking on her blacksmith. Since the attack, the whole crew had been treating her like a child. Only the barbarian pulled no punches.

  Thinking of Agog as "the barbarian" struck her wrong. The man knew at least four languages and had working knowledge of her favorite thinkers. She couldn't let her guard down around that one.

  They approached Punt's abode from rear. A courtyard would give them opportunity to unload the crates without scrutiny. Heron slowed the wagon to bring it around, glancing at the wagon and wondering how her cargo fared.

  A familiar voice cut through the crowd noise, making her cringe before she recognized it.

  "Ave Heron. Might we talk a spell?"

  Astride a pepper gray stallion, Lysimachus rode up with Lefty and Blackfinger trailing behind on foot. The Alabarch wore a verdant silk tunic with a gold belt. His pot belly rested comfortably before the pommel.

  "No horse for your underlings?" asked Heron.

  Lysimachus piloted his horse next to the cart, leering at her legs. Lefty and Blackfinger bent over at the knees a few lengths back, heaving breaths.

  "The exercise is good for them. Keeps their legs in shape." Lysimachus chuckled.

  Heron left the reins across her lap, and put a gentle hand on Punt's arm. The blacksmith seemed ready to leap from the bench. While she was certain Punt could kill Lysimachus before Lefty and Blackfinger could get to him, they would both be hung before sundown.

  Lysimachus spurred his horse to prance, pulling the reins and cackling softly. Heron wished the Alabarch would leave so they could finish their work. Part of her feared that someone had tipped Lysimachus off to their purpose.

  "I haven't seen your daughter around," said Lysimachus, grinning.

  Heron squeezed Punt's arm, reminding him not to take the bait.

  "I don't know who you're talking about," replied Heron.

  Lysimachus laughed and glanced at the wagon. "Quite a cargo there. Strange to see the Michanikos out on a delivery."

  "With my legs in their current state, I'm not much use otherwise."

  "Interesting."

  Lefty and Blackfinger, partially rested from their run, staggered to the wagon.

  "Is this the one, Alabarch?" said Blackfinger, pointing his dead, black finger at the wagon.

  A chill burst down Heron's spine. She thought about driving the cart away, but knew that was a foolish notion. Lysimachus only had to ride along and call for guards and they would stop her.

  "You're ruining all my fun," said Lysimachus.

  Heron whispered under her breath. "Don't do anything rash, Punt."

  Lefty reached up and grabbed the reins from her lap. The man glared like a feral dog, baring his teeth.

  "Go ahead, open it up," said Lysimachus.

  Blackfinger nodded and climbed between the wagon and the horses. He started fumbling around the hitch, pushing and pulling on it.

  "Problems?" asked Heron, keeping her face neutral, despite the underlying rage.

  Alexandrians began to crowd around the scene, staying a distance away from the wagon. They eyed Lysimachus with excitement.

  Lysimachus grinned possessively. "Routine check up. Can't have a poorly connected hitch injure a defenseless horse." The Alabarch seemed so positively in control, he barely bothered to give a credible excuse.

  Blackfinger looked about ready to give up, when he punched the hitch and the hidden compartment under the wagon swung open with a huge clang. A triumphant grin burst onto Lysimachus' face.

  Both Lefty and Blackfinger hurried to the back of the wagon, as if they expected something to burst from it. Their immediate confusion cast doubt on the Alabarch's face. He steered his horse around to see the contents of the hidden compartment.

  "Expected to find something there?" Heron asked.

  Lysimachus kicked his horse, which sidled around knocking up puffs of dust.

  "Why do you have a hidden compartment on that wagon?" demanded Lysimachus.

  "To hide valuables from thieves, of course," she said. "Isn't it obvious?"

  Lysimachus rode his horse up to her, until the stallion's head hung over her legs. The stallion bumped into her harnesses. Heron steeled her face not to react even though it felt like her bones were being ground to dust.

  "Where are you taking these crates?" asked Lysimachus.

  "Why, right here," she answered in a mocking tone, hoping to keep him off balance. "Punt, unload them please."

  Punt nodded and hopped off the wagon, pushing past Lefty and Blackfinger to close the hidden compartment.

  "What's in them?" asked Lysimachus susp
iciously.

  "Show them, Punt."

  Punt climbed into the back of the wagon and opened the nearest crate. It was half as tall as Punt, and equal on all sides. After lifting the lid, he produced a self-trimming lamp. Punt threw it to Lysimachus, who had to scramble to catch it.

  "Consider it a gift for all the trouble I've caused you," said Heron, holding the grin between her teeth.

  Lysimachus stared at the lamp incredulously.

  "But why are you delivering them here?" he asked.

  Heron shrugged. "Punt has shown himself to be quite the lamp salesman. He offered that his wife might peddle them during the day. All proceeds going to pay my debts, of course."

  Lysimachus scowled, clearly unhappy with the turn of events. The crowd seemed disappointed by the results, and murmuring could be heard throughout.

  The Alabarch glanced at the people watching, and narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you two help our good friend Heron with his crates? With his legs so tragically mangled in the unfortunate accident, he can't help his blacksmith unload the crates."

  The two henchmen didn't look happy to have been volunteered for manual labor.

  "Thank you, Alexander. That is most generous of you," said Heron, bowing slightly for the crowd's benefit. With the potential showdown being turned into a simple job, the crowd dispersed.

  Punt grabbed the first crate, the one he'd opened and carried it through the courtyard into the back of his house. Lefty and Blackfinger awkwardly carried the second crate to the threshold and deposited it there.

  With the crates unloaded, Heron waved to Lysimachus. "I must be getting back, miracles await."

  Heron snapped the reins and brought the wagon around. Lefty and Blackfinger stared dumbfounded, while Lysimachus looked like he'd eaten a bag of wasps.

  Safely up the street, Heron allowed herself to take a deep and cleansing breath. The encounter with the Alabarch had been too close. If it wouldn't be improper and give Agog the wrong idea, she might hug him for the suggestion to move Sepharia from the hidden compartment to the crate next time she saw him.

  The Northman had been right in his concerns that there was a spy in the workshop. Lysimachus had gone right for the wagon. Only someone with knowledge of its design could have found the hidden lever and even with that knowledge it'd taken Blackfinger a while to activate it.

  At least Sepharia was now safely in Punt's house.

  Heron snapped the reins again, feeling the cold ache in her legs. All her plans would be in jeopardy while a spy was in the workshop. The spy had probably been the source of her "curse" as well.

  She shook her head, thinking of each of her workers. No one stood out.

  Heron snapped the reins harder, driving the horses recklessly through the street. Alexandrians scattered out of her way. A few yelled insults at her back.

  Without the identity of the spy, they couldn't work on any more projects, lest Lysimachus find out. But if she didn't make progress, she wouldn't have the coin to pay the Alabarch.

  Heron shook her head. She needed to uncover the identity of the spy tonight or all her plans would be sunk.