Fires of Alexandria

by Thomas Carpenter

  Chapter Twenty

  The walls of Punt's house constricted around Sepharia, squeezing the breath from her lungs. She sat in the dark, staring out the back door into the courtyard, even though she couldn't see much more than shades of night.

  The three-footed dog that was normally a fixture in the far doorway was only a blotch of slightly lighter darkness.

  A rare batch of cloud cover had moved in during the afternoon and as night had fallen, the streets had been dipped in ink.

  She glanced at her work on the table. Another bronze connecting device. Punt had asked her to make another when he'd picked up the first.

  She'd barely cut two teeth.

  Punt refused to tell her news of the workshop, no matter how she begged. He just stood in the doorway, rubbing the edge of his leather apron absentmindedly.

  Once the request had been given and the bronze device taken, Punt had left, with only a brief hug for his wife.

  Sepharia fingered the shaving tool. Letting the sharp edge scrap her at skin. She considered jabbing it into the palm of her hand just to feel something. She'd been trapped in the house for weeks. Astrela was unpleasant enough in small doses. But long exposure had brought on a form of madness in Sepharia.

  Thoughts of the workshop were warm and inviting. Punt had been silent about the conflict with Lysimachus, but since she was at risk, she wanted to be part of the solution.

  Her real father would have let her help. Ada was doing more than stealing her father's identity, Ada was squashing her own identity by keeping her locked up with Punt's crazy wife.

  She could probably sneak out on her own in the covering darkness, but if a guard caught her they would arrest her for being on the streets unchaperoned at night. If she were a man, she could at least try to bluff her way through.

  She knew where her Roman tunic was at least. She'd watched Astrela tuck it under the head of her mat to keep Sepharia from using it and to add a little padding to her slumber.

  Not that she needed it. The woman snored like a thunderstorm.

  Aunt Ada...Heron. She. She could help her, even though she'd been the one to send her away. Sepharia blew hot breath from her lips.

  Did her aunt get confused by her own gender? How did she hide her interest in men? Or was she interested at all?

  Maybe she didn't have room in her head for those thoughts. Too busy with her inventions and miracles.

  Sepharia had them. She wanted to experience the world and taste its fruits.

  But right now she couldn't even enjoy the workshop, spend time with gruff Punt learning to turn precious metals into rings and pendants, or weave through the warehouse watching Plutarch assemble miracles piece by piece like a puzzle that only existed for him.

  Sepharia huffed and crept to the edge of Astrela's room. The woman lay snoring on her back. The leather bag containing her bones could be seen peeking from the place between her breasts.

  The barest edge of her tunic had slipped from beneath the mat. Sepharia had to squelch the desire to run into the room and rip the tunic out from under, before disappearing into the night. If she did it fast enough, Astrela wouldn't even know what had happened.

  But she didn't even want Astrela to know. A plan was forming in her mind.

  She would sneak out to the workshop and survey the situation. If it seemed safe, she would sneak in and reveal herself. If not, she could disappear into the night and return to bed. Punt and Plutarch would protect her from her aunt's wrath.

  She just needed the tunic first so she could move through the streets. Her disguise had fooled the sharp-eyed barbarian, so she knew it would fool the Roman guards.

  Her thoughts lingered on Agog a little longer. When she'd first met him, she thought he was a dull brute using his pillaged funds to buy war machines for some far off war.

  Heron had treated him as such in the beginning. But over time, Sepharia had noticed how Heron spoke to him with ever increasing respect. And not just because she was taking more and more of his coinage.

  Sepharia didn't know what Agog's standing was in his country, and though he was a barbarian, he had a stately aura.

  As she thought more about Agog, a kernel of frustration lodged itself in her mind. How could Heron trust a barbarian of the North with the secrets of her workshop, while she sent her own niece away?

  The kernel grew into a full fledged aggravation and before any logical arguments could dissuade her, she'd convinced herself to steal the tunic back and sneak into the workshop.

  Astrela had proved to be a light sleeper before, so Sepharia took care as she stepped into the room. Dogs barking in the distance startled her and she scuffed a foot.

  Astrela reacted with an interrupted snore that turned into a snort.

  Sepharia paused until the woman resumed snoring.

  At the side of the mat, Sepharia tugged on the tunic lightly to determine how difficult it would be to dislodge.

  It barely moved, only a slight fold giving her slack. The majority of the tunic lay trapped under Astrela's mat.

  Astrela's wide nostrils vibrated with each snore. Kneeling so close was like standing in a windstorm.

  Sepharia kneeled for a long time trying to determine how to remove the tunic. She feared waking the woman, but had to get to the workshop.

  She'd just about convinced herself to do the yank and run, but then fortune smiled and Astrela rolled onto her side, away from Sepharia.

  The tunic came freely away and Sepharia tip-toed from the room without making another sound.

  Changing into the tunic only took moments as she let her robe fall from her shoulders. The chilly night air kissed her body lightly, bringing goose bumps.

  She bunched up her clothes and tucked them under her own mat and fixed her disguise before she went out.

  Her hair had grown since she'd cut it Roman style a few weeks ago, but she had no shears to trim it. Sepharia decided the darkness would hide the flaws in her disguise if she was stopped.

  Just in case she needed a pretense to be wandering the streets at night, she grabbed a small stoppered vial with a cleaning acid she used for jewelry and tucked it into a hidden pocket on her belt.

  Sepharia straightened her tunic, squared her shoulders and went into the night.

  The streets were quiet, dead almost.

  A cold wind sliced right through her tunic. Sepharia shivered.

  It'd been warmer in the house. The heat from the day had been stored in the stone.

  She made her way toward the workshop, avoiding the Roman patrols easily. They carried lanterns that made them as obvious as the day.

  At one point, creeping along a wall, the stench of burning hair assaulted her nose. She couldn't determine its source, it was faint and disappeared quickly.

  Her mind was so wrapped around that smell, she didn't notice that she'd come upon an unlit Roman patrol until the deep voice rumbled from the darkness.

  "Halt in the name of the Empire."

  Sepharia had to hold up her arm to block the light as the lantern, previously hidden, flooded across her.

  "Ave," she whispered, the words getting caught in her throat unprepared.

  "You're not supposed to be wandering the night, boy," said the soldier.

  Sepharia let the knot in her stomach loosen slightly at the calling of "boy."

  "Apologies," she said, lowering her voice. "My mother was sick and I was getting medicine from the apothecary."

  A second Roman solider began laughing. The knot tightened.

  "Hear that, Gradicus? Sounds like the boy's balls haven't dropped yet."

  More laughter followed.

  "Say something," came the command.

  Sepharia squinted into the light. "What should I say?"

  The two soldiers began laughing harder. "Bet they're still bald as a Thracian's arse."

  Their laughing doubled and Sepharia waited silently,
trying to make sense of their joking.

  The first Roman soldier stepped into the light with his sword drawn, and put the tip of it against the bottom edge of her tunic.

  "Shall we take a look, Gradicus?"

  Fear seized her throat. If they lifted her tunic they would see she wasn't a boy at all.

  The other's laughing trailed into a chuckle. "Nay," he said, bringing relief. "I've seen enough bald balls to serve a lifetime, campaigning with the Gauls against Tolosa. Damn Gauls sent a legion of hairless boys to fight along with us. Only one in ten survived the assault on the walls."

  The sword was sheathed, but the light stayed firmly on her.

  "I would like to see this medicine," he said.

  Sepharia nearly dropped it pulling it from her belt pouch. She tried to keep her hand from shaking as she handed the vial to the solider.

  The soldier took the stopper out and sniffed at the opening.

  "Smells like lime," he said. "Not like medicine at all. Medicine always tastes bad."

  The solider with the vial leaned toward her. "What would happen if I drank from it?"

  He held it up to his lips tentatively. If he touched the vial to his lip, she was prepared to run. Even the slightest contact with skin brought immediate blistering.

  Sepharia cleared her throat. "It's for painful constipation. The medicine is supposed to liquefy my mum's bowels so she can shit again. Since yours, I assume, are in working order, you would shit through a sieve for a week." She did her best to hide the shaking in her words.

  The soldier immediately pulled the vial away from his lips and stoppered it. "Well, that would be unfortunate."

  He stared at her a moment longer, his brow hunching in thought. And then he handed the vial back to her.

  "Let's not see you again tonight, shall we?" the soldier asked.

  Sepharia nodded her head enthusiastically, no acting this time, and scampered into the darkness as soon as they gave her leave.

  She was quite proud of herself for lying so skillfully to the guards. The bit about the liquification of the bowels was the perfect touch to keep the guard from being too curious.

  When she was verbally sparing with Plutarch, there were no repercussions, other than the gentle ribbing she'd receive for it.

  This time she kept her guard up as she finished the journey to the workshop, watching out for soldiers lurking in the darkness with their lanterns hooded.

  But her attentiveness wasn't enough to spy the two men hidden in the alleyway on the street before the workshop.

  The thin moon, that had been hidden behind the bank of clouds entirely, slipped a stray beam through, illuminating the street.

  She cringed as the light fell upon her white tunic, making her visible for all to see. She didn’t want to come up on the workshop in such light, so she backed into the alleyway, peering into the street for signs of soldiers.

  Sepharia kept her attention to the streets, thinking about the Roman soldiers. Soldiers never lurked in alleyways.

  The scuffed step was her only warning and there wasn’t time enough to react as rough hands grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her backwards, deeper into the alleyway.

  She couldn't yell out, lest she draw the soldiers, but she thought she might have to, to save her life. Murder on the streets wasn't uncommon in Alexandria. Especially at night.

  Sepharia struggled against the hands. A knee shot forward and hit her squarely between the legs. Sepharia tried to double over and feign injury, but there was no hiding her lack of male genitalia and she'd never thought to make a harness like Aunt Ada's.

  A dim light flickered from a small handheld lantern. The barest of flame was revealed, casting heat across her face.

  "How interesting," said the voice in the darkness.

  Sepharia knew it right away.

  Lysimachus.

  She'd walked right into his waiting arms.

  More light was loosed from the lantern and she could see Lysimachus leering at her in the darkness.

  Instead of his usual fashion flare, resplendent in vivid colors, he was dressed in an all black tunic. His blond curls caught the lantern light, making them appear reddish, even blood tinged.

  "Do you like? Not my usual colors, but for this evening, I'll make an exception," said Lysimachus.

  Sepharia kept her mouth shut, not wanting to give herself away.

  Lysimachus strolled forward like an arrogant peacock. He reached his hands between her legs and cupped upwards. Sepharia tried to keep her face still, but his touch made her want to recoil.

  "How very interesting," he said.

  Sepharia pulled herself away from the Alabarch.

  "Oh don't be coy. I know who you are," he whispered menacingly. "You're Heron's daughter, dressed up in boy's clothes."

  She felt the grip on her shoulders change. Suddenly the man behind her was pressed against her backside. Horrid breath washed over her and she tried not to retch.

  "Don't worry," said the Alabarch. "I want you all for myself."

  Lysimachus drank her in with his penetrating gaze. He stared at her like he wanted to suck the marrow from her bones.

  Sepharia wasn't sure which way to shrink from, so she tried to withdraw inward.

  "I would claim my prize and take you home right now to begin your training, but I've set too much into motion and need to complete the evening's festivities. It won't be long now anyway," he said.

  Then the Alabarch paused, tilting his head as he reviewed her face. "It just occurred to me how much you look like your father. Especially with the haircut. How uncannily like him." His eyes sparkled with deviousness. "Everything makes sense now. I thought I was losing my touch the night we hobbled him."

  Lysimachus ran his hand across her cheek.

  "Yes. Yes. This evening has gotten more interesting by the moment. I think I shall enjoy this even more," he said. "We shall have to make special care that your father is not harmed." His lips made special care when he said father.

  Sepharia cringed. Not only had she given herself up, she'd given up Aunt Ada as well. Even if she survived, she was ruined.

  Lysimachus noticed the despair on Sepharia's face, and ran his hand through her hair possessively. "Don't worry. Soon this will all be over and you can begin your new life with me."