Fires of Alexandria

by Thomas Carpenter

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lysimachus ran his fingers through the girl's short black hair, relishing its silky feel. He could feel himself rise with excitement. The girl was trembling in fear of him, but he knew in time, and after thorough training, she would come to accept his touch with relish.

  He grinned to himself, pushing an errant curl from his vision. The night was going better than planned.

  He'd planned on killing Heron and taking his...correction, her workshop as payment for the debt. And then sell the contents to Philo, who would pay grand sums to get his greedy hands on her papers.

  That way he would receive much more than the meager cut he took of the taxes he collected.

  But now, given his new information, a delicious twist as it was, he would take her into his house as a slave. Since she was a woman masquerading as a man, she wouldn't be able to raise a fuss or she'd be put on trial and hung at the first dawn.

  Gragne cleared his throat. "They should be breaking down the doors right soon."

  Lysimachus let his gaze lazily drift over his henchman, who pawed at the girl as he held her.

  Lysimachus frowned at Gragne. He was getting right too familiar with property that wasn't his. It was possible there would be additional casualties than just the ones in the workshop.

  The Alabarch fingered the blade at his hip. When events were firmly in control he would consider giving the man his final reward. Lysimachus couldn't much stand the man's odorous breath anyway.

  The mercs that he'd hired to do the evening's job could be added to his retainer. He would be able to afford them after the sales to Philo. They would be more disciplined than the pair of thugs he'd rescued from the fighting pits.

  The other one with the nasty cursed finger seemed to have disappeared anyway. Probably killed by a cheap whore when he got too friendly.

  A heavy thump followed by a crash echoed from the end of the street.

  "That would be the door," said Gragne.

  "I know, you idiot," said Lysimachus. "I made the plans if you don't recall."

  Gragne opened his mouth and then after a surprising bit of thought, closed it again.

  "And if you tell me they're breaking down the back gate now, too. I'll give you a limp in your other leg," Lysimachus spat. As his henchman shrunk beneath his gaze, the girl elbowed Gragne in the ribs and broke from his grip in a sudden burst.

  The girl might have gotten away if Lysimachus hadn't been preparing to kick his henchman. So as his foot flew forward, he redirected it slightly to catch her heel, spinning her into the dirt.

  Gragne recovered quickly and was on the girl like a cat on an injured mouse.

  Then Gragne reared up, shouting, "Ow! She bit me." He smacked her hard across the face. "Miserable whore!"

  Lysimachus kicked Gragne in the back. "Stop that. You'll wake the whole street."

  Gragne had the girl's arms pinned against the ground and turned his head. "But she bit me," he said with a surprisingly pathetic voice.

  "A just payment for letting your guard down," said Lysimachus. "If I hadn't been paying attention, she would have gotten away and I think you and I would be having a very different conversation right now."

  Gagne looked momentarily confused as he processed the words, until his eyes widened slightly and then his head dipped like an oft-beaten dog.

  Lysimachus sighed and whispered under his breath. "Idiot." Then he tilted his head and listened for sounds of battle in the workshop.

  His many spies had reported the barbarian had taken to helping Heron and that they'd been devising defenses. Unfortunately, he'd lost his eyes inside the workshop when Heron had finally realized there was a spy in his shop and released his workers from his service, so he wasn't entirely privy to the final state of the defenses. Still, the numbers he'd sent in should make for easy work.

  "Pick her up. We're going in," he said, kicking Gragne in the shin.

  His henchman pulled the girl up by her hair, producing a pained moan from her. Lysimachus thought about reprimanding Gragne, but decided the girl needed to fear the thug, so she would be more amiable to his own advances.

  Lysimachus checked for patrols before they went to the doorway. He wasn't worried about getting into trouble with the soldiers. As soon as they realized it was him, they would let him go.

  But he wanted to keep the night's adventure quiet. The streets had been restless since the new taxes and Flaccus had warned him not to incite the Alexandrians any more than necessary.

  As Lysimachus nudged Gragne to go through the door first, the high pitched scream of a man dying cut through the air. He couldn't be sure if it was one of his or one of theirs, so he pressed on. He'd sent twenty mercs, so he could assume they could take three men and one woman, and a gimp woman at that.

  Then before he left the entryway and entered the workshop, Lysimachus noticed a heavy whine punctuated by a regularly spaced tapping. It almost sounded like a great beast growling in the dark, while occasionally gnashing its teeth.

  Of course, he knew Heron's skills. The Michanikos had probably devised an automata to defend the workshop. But he'd also seen the miracles performed in the temples and nothing he'd ever seen inspired fear.

  A few more shouts and heavy thuds let Lysimachus know that events were still unfolding. He thought about waiting, but knowing the truth about Heron had gotten him excited. He'd strip her down just to make sure he was right.

  Lysimachus whispered to Gragne, "Let us see what the workshop brings. Give her to me and pull out your knife."

  The Alabarch took control of Sepharia, inhaling the sweet scents of her hair as he held her tight.

  He nudged Gragne to scout ahead, not expecting to find much more than his mercs cleaning up.

  The scene confused him as he stepped into the workshop, Gragne creeping ahead with his knife held out. The mercs had brought hooded lanterns with them to use once they had achieved surprise, but he saw no signs of them except for a broken one burning in the middle of the floor.

  The lights flickered against the stacks of lumber nearby. Glints of bronze and other metals reflected like eyes in the darkness.

  Lysimachus heard a few shouts from the back, the sound of swordplay and then a muffled thump.

  He wondered if he'd entered the workshop too early. It sounded like his mercs hadn't taken control yet.

  He didn't want to shout to find out if the mercs were still active in case the defenders had bows, but he had to know if he needed to leave.

  Lysimachus pushed Sepharia in front of him as a shield. "Vartus? Have you secured the area?" he shouted.

  As he waited for an answer, he decided to move from his current location in case arrows were being readied to fire.

  Gragne crouched along the wall, eyes wildly searching the darkness.

  "What in the Sha-Gu's name did you get us into, Alabarch?" shouted Vartus, his voice heavy with breathing.

  Lysimachus scowled. "Five to one odds not good enough for you?"

  At the twanging of strings, Lysimachus reflexively ducked. The girl tried to use the distraction to break away, but unlike Gragne, he had a proper hold on her tunic.

  He kneed her in the back of the leg in payment for attempted escape.

  Vartus' voice rang out of the darkness, shot through with worry. "It's not five to one. They have metal demons and the gods themselves at their command." The man sounded absolutely terrified.

  Lysimachus closed his eyes, wishing he could cuff the man upside the head for his cowardice. "These are no demons. The Michanikos makes them. Like the statue in the Sun Square."

  He had to do something quick to get his mercs from thinking they were beset by demons. He was regretting hiring the superstitious Gauls. His two thugs were at least too stupid to fear the gods.

  "Heron! I've got someone here with me. Do you recognize the screams of your daughter?"

  Lysimachus grabb
ed her by the back of the hair and pulled as hard as he could. Her rising scream made his ears hurt.

  When he stopped pulling, he whispered in her ear. "Now tell them you want them to give themselves up."

  Just to be sure, he placed the tip of his knife against her side.

  Sepharia whimpered.

  "That's right. Just say it," he said.

  Then she shook her head, refusing him.

  The bile rose instantly in his throat. Lysimachus pushed the knife into her side. She let off another ear piercing scream.

  "Say it," he told her.

  She shook her head again. Still refusing.

  "I will cut her, bit by bit," he yelled.

  The silence unnerved him. He couldn't imagine that Heron would let him torture her daughter very long.

  Lysimachus considered his options. He knew more ways to make people do what he wanted, but he needed his hands free. He had to make sure she wouldn't get away.

  "Vartus. Come to my side of the workshop," he shouted. "And bring your men with you."

  The merc almost sounded embarrassed when he replied, "They're all dead. It's just me."

  For a brief moment, like a flash of lightning, Lysimachus felt fear. He briefly considered that he wasn't in control and that events had gotten wildly out of hand.

  But as a man of his stature, he quickly dismissed it. He was the Alabarch after all. Events would just require a bit more creativity.

  He was glad there were two of them. Mother and daughter. That way he could kill one of them and have the other for his pet.

  He just wasn’t sure which one he would kill.

  But the night was still young.

  Lysimachus slowly brought the knife to Sepharia's throat, setting the edge against her soft skin.

  "Don't move," he whispered through gritted teeth.

  Then, he shouted into the darkness. "If you don't give yourselves up, I'll kill the girl."

  Lysimachus waited confidently for an answer. When he was about to apply pressure to his knife, Heron yelled from somewhere nearby.

  "How do I know that it's her?"

  Lysimachus hesitated, trying to control the rage he felt before he spoke again. He didn't want Heron to get the satisfaction of goading him.

  "If you'd like, I can cut her into pieces and you can examine them at your leisure." Lysimachus grinned, mentally applauding himself for keeping a level, venomous tone. Saying it in nearly the same way someone might offer a nice vintage glass of wine.

  Heron might be the miracle maker, but he still ran the city.

  With equal neutrality, Heron replied, "We sent Sepharia from the city weeks ago. I think you're bluffing."

  Lysimachus had a moment of doubt. What had the girl been doing creeping around in the dark dressed like a boy? No. While it sounded plausible, he didn't believe it. She'd been scouting for them and had gotten caught. Simple as that.

  "I guess I'll start cutting then," he said casually.

  Waiting for an answer, Lysimachus glanced to Gragne's position. The henchman was gone. He hoped he was still guarding his flank, but with Gragne, he never knew.

  The best he could hope for was that Gragne had pinpointed Heron by the sound of her voice and was silently dispatching her. A more likely scenario was that Gragne had left him.

  The thought seemed quite likely now. For all he knew, Vartus had fled too and he was alone with them in a workshop full of nasty traps.

  And if he killed the girl, they would descend on him for certain.

  The Alabarch dragged Sepharia backwards by the neck, keeping the knife pressed against it. The girl struggled lightly against him. Not quite escaping but pushing against his hands and whimpering.

  He backed up until he thought he was at the archway that led to the entrance, but he found nothing but blank wall. The broken, burning lamp didn't cast enough light for him to see if he'd lost his way going back.

  Lysimachus shifted up and down the wall, but blank stone stared back at him. He would have ran a hand along the wall, searching for an edge in case they'd blocked up the exit, but then he'd have to let go of Sepharia.

  He cursed Gragne for leaving him.

  Then the beastly growl with the tapping, that had been background noise, increased in volume. Before he could pinpoint the location of the growl, a series of slams, like wood hitting wood, echoed throughout a region to his right, not but a few lengths away.

  A dull drawn out scream followed. It was a man dying and it was close enough to give him chills. Vartus he assumed.

  Now he really wanted to leave the workshop.

  Lysimachus held Sepharia tighter and whispered, "We're going to move now. If you flinch, I'll cut your throat and leave you to bleed to death on the floor."

  At this point, Lysimachus was expecting a certain amount of limpness from the girl. Usually when he put the fear into them, they went all limp. Instead, her posture was tense and she seemed poised to run at any moment, despite his threats.

  "By the Gods of the Nile, I will cut you," he growled.

  Then, with equal menace back, Sepharia said, "Cut my throat if you want. Once you do that, they'll be free to kill you."

  Lysimachus had nothing to say. The truth hit so squarely in his gut, he just grimaced and dragged her along with him.

  He didn't know where he was going, but he didn't have much choice. He didn't dare chance the wide aisle that led to the center of the workshop. Instead, he took the wall, following the way he thought Gragne had gone. Maybe they could meet up and find their way out.

  The girl squirmed under his grip, so he kneed her in the back of the leg again.

  "Stop doing that, you cursed pile of dung," she said.

  Before he could restrain himself, he lifted his dagger and hit her upside the head with the hilt, knocking her to the ground.

  As if she'd been expecting him to do that, she was up and running instantly. Lysimachus had no choice but to chase after her. If she got away, then he was dead for sure.

  There was only one way forward and the girl ran ahead, just out of reach. Lysimachus was so focused on her that he did not notice the beastly noises increasing in volume.

  Then, the moment before he was going to reach her, a great black falcon head loomed out of the darkness and grabbed the girl with its beak.

  Lysimachus fell to the ground, dodging the beak, and began scrambling backwards to get away. Behind him, the girl was making grisly screams as if the god Horus was eating her alive.

  He scrambled under a table and crawled away, hoping Horus wouldn't follow him. Feeling safe for the moment, he pulled his legs to his chest and sat quietly.

  The girl's screams had stopped. Lysimachus wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad. His hands shook and he kept glancing around, expecting something else to loom out of the darkness at him.

  Once his breathing had gotten under control, Lysimachus thought hard about what he'd seen. It had to have been a trap that Heron had laid for him. He'd been lucky that the girl had run into it for him, or he might be dead by now.

  Lysimachus listened for the sounds of approaching feet, but he could only hear the beast noises carrying through the workshop.

  Did they have some caged beast at their disposal, ready to loose on him?

  Lysimachus shivered, imagining claws raking down his back.

  He shook his head. He couldn't think like that.

  After saying a quick prayer to the gods, Lysimachus began crawling along the floor with his knife in his mouth.

  Then from ahead, footfalls made him look up. He was near enough to the broken lantern that he could see the creature running toward him. A metal demon with eyes of glass and a great bronze sword.

  Fear consumed his thoughts, and Lysimachus leapt up, dropping the knife in his haste, and ran from the creature. He was aware after a moment that he was screaming.

  His path was constrained by scaffolding on both
sides, and without sight since the lantern was directly behind him, so he ran headlong into the wagon.

  Lysimachus coughed, trying to catch his wind again. Bent over, he realized he was leaning on the wagon with the secret compartment. The worker he'd bribed had explained all its secrets, including the latch on the inside.

  The Alabarch crawled under the wagon to the hitch and pulled the lever. He heard the wagon bang open, and hoped it hadn't made enough noise that they knew what he was doing.

  The compartment was tight, but he was able to crawl in, despite his pot belly. If he survived the night, he promised to eat a little less so if he were caught in a similar situation, the hiding space wouldn't be so miserable.

  Lysimachus grabbed the handle on the door and pulled it closed. It clicked into place. He pressed on the door just to make sure it was tight.

  Lysimachus took a deep breath, relieved that he had escaped death. They would think he'd snuck out and the next time they took the wagon out, or if he thought them properly unaware, he would sneak out.

  He congratulated himself for quick thinking. He would celebrate his escape with a full scale assault on the workshop. Called in favors with Flaccus would give him access to Roman soldiers.

  He would arrest them in the daylight so they couldn't defy the soldiers, put them on a sham trial and then torture them in the main square near Pompey's Pillar. Lysimachus would make sure no one ever trifled with him again.

  Lysimachus rotated around in the secret compartment. He wanted to be familiar with the escape latch so he could get out when he needed to.

  His belly got in the way of spinning around, the space was made for a small girl and not a man of his girth around the middle.

  The spy had told him the latch was on the back wall in the center. Lysimachus felt around with his palm expecting to quickly hit a lever but the wall was completely blank.

  A deep foreboding feeling began to settle in his gut. Lysimachus instead used his fingertips and ran them across the surface, finding nothing again.

  His hands began to shake.

  Lysimachus rotated to the side wall and searched it too in case the spy had made a mistake.

  Then he searched the other.

  Nothing.

  His breathing, which had only just leveled out, started getting quicker and shallower.

  Lysimachus spun around in the tight compartment, feeling each wall with his finger tips, scraping the wood for purchase.

  The space, which had been a sanctuary from the horrors of the workshop, started closing in on him.

  He was feeling the back wall with both hands, madly pawing at the wood, hoping to find a crack indicating the hidden lever.

  He didn't even want to think about what the lack of one meant.

  Just before he thought he might scream, his fingers found a rough edge.

  Using both hands, he felt around the area.

  It was an edge. And the shape was round.

  But as he felt around the space, the awful truth began to dawn on him.

  It was the lever.

  But it'd been broken off and smoothed over.

  The heavy thud of a person jumping onto the wagon startled him.

  When he heard his name being spoken, he screamed.