Fires of Alexandria

by Thomas Carpenter

  Chapter Fifteen

  Heron pulled a book from the shelf, admiring the soft beechwood cover and compact design. She favored the searchability of the book rather than the scrolls that kept most of the knowledge of their world.

  She also enjoyed that Hortio had transferred his favorite scrolls into the tomes, so the ones she sought were easy to find among his massive private library.

  Heron traced her finger across the title: The Taming of Caesar. She desperately wanted to open the cover and begin reading, but she needed to find the other books first.

  Cocking an ear, she could still hear the wild raucous of the post-play party. Heron grimaced, thinking of the stones she'd loosed by doing that play for Hortio.

  "Miracle worker, whore slayer, and now a book thief," said the baritone voice of the barbarian Agog, finishing his sentence with a satisfied click of the tongue.

  Damn that man is silent, she cursed under her breath.

  "What makes you think I'm going to steal them," she said.

  Agog raised one eyebrow in a taunting salute. "I consider myself student in the nature of intention. It's kept me alive in battle and outside of it."

  "Fine," said Heron. "Grab that sack and put this book in it...carefully...," she said as he took it from her.

  Agog frowned at her admonishment. The Northman was clearly unaccustomed to taking orders.

  Listening for the state of the party, Heron limped around the room, pulling another three books and two scrolls from the walls. She silently thanked Hortio for having a sense of organization. She'd been in other private libraries that had more in common with a rubbish heap.

  Agog followed her around the room, taking each book and putting it in the sack, not gently enough for her tastes, but she didn't want to delay them longer.

  "Come now," she said, noticing a slight bristling at her command. He really didn't like to be told what to do. She filed that away for later use.

  They left Hortio's dwelling, nodding to the guards on the way out. The taller guard eyed Agog's sack suspiciously, but her presence was enough to stay any questions. She doubted Hortio would even notice the books were gone for months.

  Away from the flickering torches of the party, they made their way through the streets. Though they weren't far, already the harnesses rubbed against her leg and the poles dug into her hands.

  "Why steal those books? Wouldn't Hortio have given them to you for your play?" Agog asked as he marched next to her.

  Heron glanced up at the Northman, noticing for the first time flecks of gray streaking through his hair knot, highlighted by the gibbous moon.

  "Hortio is a prickly man. He'll promise the stars and the sun, but in the end, hand you a bucket of dung and call it even," she said. "Which is why I have long hesitated to create that mechanical play for him, given that the material could inflame tensions in the city."

  Agog nodded, listening attentively. "Alexandria would throw off Rome's yoke?" he asked after a time.

  "If it could," she replied. "But Rome's armies are too great and we have no leader to rally around. With the ending of the Ptolemies, and Old Egypt rotting and fractious, no one could take the throne."

  Agog made some sign, for which Heron didn't recognize. A warding sign from the North, she supposed. His casual nature from their book thieving, seemed to have changed to a more serious tone.

  As Heron was about to question her financier more, he asked a question, almost, as she guessed, to cut off her line of thinking. "Why did you tell the lies about the Thracian whore?"

  Her pole caught a dent in the street and nearly caused her to tumble. "How did you know?"

  "When would you have time for whores? When you're not sketching new designs, barking orders at your workers, or scribbling in books, you're brooding in the darkness of your upstairs room, sniffing lotus powder and reimagining the world," said Agog.

  Heron opened her mouth to speak, when a clutch of boys scrambled out of the darkness, nearly bumping into them. They were playing a game of sorts and paused, as if deciding whether or not to cause mischief, when they took in the size of her companion and disappeared into the darkness.

  "So why lie?" he asked after the boys were gone.

  The stray barking of dogs echoed through the street behind them, chasing a rodent probably.

  "Because it's useful for the upper class of Alexandria to think of me in that way," she said. "They spend their time fucking their slaves, drowning themselves in wine and spending their coin on the latest fashions."

  She paused and adjusted the harness on her leg. "If they see me only as an inventor, then they will guard their coin jealously. If I am one of them, the coin will flow."

  Agog grunted in agreement. "A worthy plan."

  "If only they used their coin in more productive ways. I could remake the city as a beacon for the world," she said.

  "Is it not already?" Agog asked with true interest in his eyes.

  "It is the City of Miracles, yes. A city dancing on the purse strings of the temples. But it could be so much more. A City of Wonders. Unbeholden to the gods. A citadel of man to forge a path to a wondrous future," she said, almost out of breath in her excitement.

  "Some call it the Clockwork City, but a few statues and waterclocks do not make it so. If I had the funds, I would free the slaves and replace them with clockwork servants."

  Heron paused, realizing she'd said too much. She glanced sideways at the Northman, to gauge his reaction. His white teeth glinted in the moonlight, grinning.

  "You think me a fool," she said.

  "I would not dare," he said. "Your statue of Alexander the Great ran across the stage on two mechanical legs to kill Caesar."

  "Guided by wires and powered by ropes," she said. "He would have fallen over otherwise. Not a miracle, just a trick."

  Agog shrugged. "Even battle strategies are just tricks. And countries are won and lost on them. But the world changes upon them. Didn't your Cleopatra conceal herself in a carpet? That sounds like a trick to me."

  The Northman paused, cocking his head in thought. "Who knows? Maybe the world will change upon that little spinning toy in your shop. What's it called?"

  "The aeolipile." A cold shudder went through Heron.

  She hadn't realized she'd stopped until she looked up to see Agog steps ahead, looking back at her with head tilted.

  "Did I say something wrong?"

  Heron shook her head. The aeolipile. The spinning toy danced through her head. It was important, but she couldn't figure out how. She needed to see it.

  She glanced around trying to remember where they were. "How far to my workshop?"

  "We're past the Paneum. A third of the journey," he said.

  Heron hurried her pace, ignoring the rubbing harness. The palm of her hand had blistered from the poles. She hadn't walked so far before.

  Visions of the aeolipile spinning, spitting out steam as it rotated filled her head. The two escape pipes were pointed in opposite directions on the rotating ball, so when the central chamber was heated by fire, steam escaped, spinning the ball in tight revolutions.

  She didn't know what it meant, but she knew enough that when she had strong feelings about an object or an idea, to study it closely to let her mind finish its work. She wanted to get home quickly and see the aeolipile in action so she didn't lose the connection.

  "Talk to me," said Heron.

  "About what?" he asked.

  "Anything. I need to keep my mind from focusing on the aeolipile until I can get home and see it. I've been missing something about its nature, but I can't place my finger on it," she said.

  They traveled a few more steps before Agog started talking. "In the North, the days are weaker. Clouds vie for attention with the sun, blotting it and leaving us in a smothering gray twilight..."

  Heron let the aeolipile remain in her mind, but focused on the baritone of the Northman, letting it soothe
away her anxiousness and allowing her deep mind to work on the problem.

  "...the forests flourish under the constant rains and so do the beasts within their depths. When I was a young man, and wanting to make a name for myself, I sought out the greatest beast in the surrounding area."

  "There was a great black bear. The mother of all black bears, who towered over the trees and whose teeth could be made into pale white boats that would fit forty men."

  "Like an avatar of the forest, she'd slain the warriors who had come for her pelt. Swiping the flesh from their bones as easily as we swat flies."

  "In preparation for the hunt, I took the tallest tree in our village and cut it down to make a spear that could get past her long claws. But when I made it, I realized I was not strong enough to carry it to her lair, nor wield it in battle."

  "I was a smaller man then. So I started by cutting down smaller trees in the village and carrying them around at all times. The men laughed at me, openly mocking me while I circled the village with the tree on my shoulder."

  "The women mocked me too, but behind snickering hands and downcast eyes. As I cut down bigger and bigger trees that winter, circling the village and enduring their laughter, I knew that once I killed the great black bear, I would never return."

  "Once I was able to carry around the largest tree, the one I had fashioned into a spear, I went to visit the Witch of the Wood in her walking house...."

  Agog's voice trailed off, waking Heron from her trance. The aeolipile still spun in her head like an hourglass falling over and over itself, steam spitting out in puffs.

  She realized then why Agog had stopped. A group of men wandered out of the darkness, at least six of them.

  Heron thought they might have just chanced upon travelers making their way through the city to their homes, but then she heard her name on their lips.

  Steel whispered out of sheaths and the glint of swords reflected the moonlight as the men approached. Despite the danger, Heron still saw the aeolipile rotating in her head.

  Agog handed her the bag of books and stepped forward to confront the thugs.

  Heron saw what they saw. A large, but unarmed man, in a Roman tunic and a strange hairstyle.

  They spread out and encircled him, laughing as one might at a child pretending in his father's armor.

  Heron hobbled to a spot against a wall, leaning on her poles and trying to snap the vision of the spinning toy out of her head. These men had been sent to do her harm, but yet she couldn't stop thinking of the aeolipile.

  The men attacked.

  The first thug leapt. Bringing his sword down in a deadly arc at Agog.

  The Northman nimbly side-stepped and connected a fist to the man's face, dropping him to his knees.

  He'd moved faster than she thought possible.

  The other thugs saw that as well and as a group, they hesitated. The first man stood, holding a hand to a bloody nose.

  Then they realized they were six and armed, and he was one and unarmed, and advanced again.

  This time they moved in two at a time.

  Agog moved like a snake. Sinfully quick for such a big man.

  The swords sung through the moonlit air, shining blades.

  Heron heard the impact before she saw it. Agog had deftly moved past the sword thrust, grabbing the man's arm and using him as a shield for the other.

  She could see how outmatched his opponents were, even unarmed as he was.

  The Northman seemed to be stalking through them. She swore he was relishing the fight.

  Agog took the sword from the fallen man.

  The sharp kiss of sword on sword gave voice to the silent battle.

  Agog stepped through them like a dancer.

  Their footfalls were heavy, grunting with effort. His steps were a maiden's touch upon the hip.

  He used his hilt to break a nose.

  The four remaining men attacked from all sides.

  Agog spun around, slicing his sword in a downward motion, creating a shield of whirling steel.

  The image of the Northman and his blade, married with the aeolipile in her head.

  Heron felt on the edge of a great abyss. She could see the spinning toy puffing steam and the sword connected to the arm on top of it. The images meant something but she couldn't figure it out.

  Why would she care about the bent arm with the aeolipile?

  A kicked shuffle woke her from her vision.

  A man with a sword over his head was approaching fast. The Northman had slain two more of the thugs and was finishing the third, but the last had escaped to attack her.

  Heron tried to bring her poles up, but her mind was so enthralled with her vision, she felt mesmerized by the approaching man.

  The thug stumbled a few steps from her and dropped to his knees.

  A sword tip was sticking from his chest.

  He whispered, "Heretic...," before dying.

  Agog stood a few paces back, his hand empty of sword, the thugs lying in a scattered pile around him.

  Barking dogs sounded around them, woken by the clanging steel. Torch light flickered rapidly toward them. She could hear the clanging armor of approaching guards.

  Agog appeared at her side and lifted her on his shoulder, handing her the bag of books.

  "I'll get us to the workshop," he said.

  And as he sprinted away, his heavy shoulder banging into her gut, the vision of the spinning toy and the swinging sword came together in her mind.

  She knew what it meant.

  Her whole body shuddered with the implications.