HOME (The Portal Series, Book 3)

by Bowker, Richard;

  “Perhaps you could tell us your story,” Valleia said to him.

  “Of course,” he said. “You’ll find it strange. Beyond strange, I suppose.”

  And he began. Yes, he was not mistaken about the strangeness. She and William interrupted him constantly, trying to understand. Affron had created his own Via. Then Larry had followed him to another world, and Affron had taught Larry how to do the same thing. Valleia had already half-imagined something like this; it was the only way to make sense of their odd behavior and sudden disappearance. But the next part of his story seemed beyond belief. “You have met Hieron?” she gasped. “How can that be?”

  Larry tried to explain. Hieron still existed, in a world built only for those like him, a world where time passed differently than in other worlds. He got up in the morning, read books, drank wine, talked to his friends. Elysium was the name given in the old religion to the home of the blessed after their death, Valleia knew. Is that how the world where Hieron now lived had gotten its name?

  And then there was this: Affron was in love! It was hardly strange, yet Valleia felt a swift twinge of regret, of lost possibilities, of worlds forever closed off to her. She had been in love with Affron once. Now that seemed like a very long time ago. She was happy for him, in any case. He deserved the happiness he had found.

  “Frankly, I don’t understand any of this,” William said. “But then, there’s much I haven’t understood since I first encountered the portal.”

  “I don’t understand these things myself,” Larry replied. “Why I can do what I can do, why I’m sitting here talking to you in this world…”

  They sat in silence for a long while. Valleia found herself listening to make sure Henry was all right. He had a tendency to wander. She thought of the particularities of her life: the way William snored. Henry’s delight at seeing a rabbit in their yard. Emily’s fine golden eyebrows. Where had she gotten that color hair? The well-trod path to the village. Fishing in the lake. The health of their pig. The food she would cook for supper. It was all so very real to her. She loved her family. She had no wish to go to Elysium. Or Egypt.

  She was where she belonged.

  But Larry wasn’t.

  Larry

  They went to bed soon after dark. Henry was full of energy until suddenly he wasn’t, and the whole family seemed to collapse when he did. Valleia and Carmody worked hard and didn’t have the leisure to sit at a café and talk by torchlight till early in the morning.

  But Larry couldn’t sleep. Finally he removed the blanket Valleia had given him, rose from his spot on the floor, and left their cottage. He walked a few steps down the path. The night was cool and clear. Insects chirped. He smelled hay and sweet flowers. He looked up at the stars.

  Here he was, back on Terra. These were the same stars he had seen in Roma and in Gallia, and on the great sea. And on Earth. Gratius had taught him the names of the constellations on their journey to Scotia. He picked them out: Scorpius. Aquila. Canis Major.

  It was good to see Valleia and Carmody again. And their children. He smiled at the thought of little Henry. Henry reminded Larry a bit of his own brother. Younger, of course. But still: the same energy and curiosity. The same endless questions. Matthew was probably in high school now, he realized with a pang.

  “It seems as if people are always leaving us,” Valleia said from behind him. “Affron, Palta, Gratius, you.”

  Larry turned. She was standing in the doorway.

  “I’m not leaving right now,” he replied. “Just enjoying the night.”

  She came up beside him. “It is beautiful here,” she murmured. “But I understand why all of you have had to go.”

  “I wish Palta had stayed with you,” Larry said. “It would have made things easier.”

  “You will have to travel to Egypt.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a long journey. Can you use your portal to get there?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “No, I thought not.”

  She reached out and touched his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Larry. In this world. Even if you leave us tomorrow.”

  “I am leaving you tomorrow.”

  “So be it. Perhaps you’ll return.”

  Larry didn’t respond. But finally he said, “Watch the stars with me for a while.”

  “Of course,” Valleia replied.

  So they stood there together, looking up at all those constellations, until finally Larry decided he was ready to sleep.

  In the morning he said good-bye to his friends and left for Egypt. Palta had said she would never forget him; now he only hoped he could find her.

  Forty-Two

  Ploterus

  The war had been difficult and lengthy. Uncounted thousands had died in ferocious battles in this cultured but alien land. Now the fighting was all but over, and the empire had won.

  And Ploterus had returned to Alexandria to rebuild the city.

  It was a daunting task, but he rather enjoyed it. War had its excitement, of course, but peace offered greater satisfaction. He liked to think he was good at both.

  Alexandria needed peace. Ordinary life in Alexandria had been ignored during the war, and now that the war was winding down it was important to get things back to normal—to rebuild houses that had been destroyed, to give work to peasants and laborers who would otherwise be restless and therefore dangerous. The rebel administration had been competent enough, Ploterus had decided, but it never had the money or the men to accomplish much.

  Ploterus was doing what he could. He spent the warm morning inspecting building sites. Some people actually cheered him. He was usually cheered only by his soldiers.

  But he knew he had enemies. He might be popular, but the Gallians surely weren’t. And so, alas, he had started investing in spies. It was a sordid business, but he was an outsider here. He did not speak Coptic; he knew little about Egyptians and their customs. But for now he was their governor, and he needed to understand what was happening if he was to be successful.

  In the afternoon he spoke to Babaef, a local man whom he’d placed in charge of the spies. Babaef was short and thin and smiled a great deal, and how was Ploterus to know whether he was telling the truth? You have to trust someone, of course, and Babaef seemed honest enough, even if unctuous and too eager to please.

  Babaef bowed almost to the floor when he entered the room. “My lord, I am most grateful to be allowed to make my report,” he said in passable Latin.

  “Yes, of course. Please sit.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” He sat.

  Babaef liked to begin these discussions with fulsome praise of the general and all he had accomplished, but today Ploterus was not interested in being praised. “I want to know about rebel activity in the city,” he said. “Have you discovered any?”

  Babaef produced a scroll from a pocket in his robe. “My lord, here are the names of people who have been overheard complaining about the imperial government or you personally. As you can see, it’s quite long.”

  Ploterus unwound the scroll and glanced at it. “Everyone complains,” he replied. “Are any of these people actively plotting against us, or planning to join the rebels?”

  “As you say, my lord, some people seem to enjoy finding fault with even the most enlightened ruler. We have uncovered no active plots, however.”

  “What about the woman Palta—the aide to Decius—she was seen here even after the rebels evacuated the city. Have you found her?”

  “No, my lord. Alexandria is a very large city, as you are of course aware. Palta was known to frequent the library, but to our knowledge she hasn’t been seen there lately. I expect that the sighting of the woman must have been an error.”

  Ploterus had learned about Palta only recently, and he wondered if this was the same young woman he had met with Feslund and the others in Massalia, when they arrived there to sail for Urbis. How many Paltas were there in the empire? Strange if she had joined
the rebels; stranger still if she had left the rebels behind. “Have you talked to the director of the library?” he asked Babaef. “What’s her name—Olef something?”

  “Olef-Nan, my lord,” Babaef replied. “No, we do not ask people directly about such things, of course. We merely listen, and report.”

  “Of course.” Ploterus contemplated this. Palta was unlikely to be important, but her presence in the city did seem odd. She could be trying to stir up trouble, but where was the evidence of it? The information about her could have been incorrect, certainly. Rumors, mistakes, suppositions…this place was full of them. “And what about priests?” he asked. “Any more sightings of priests?”

  “Ah, no, my lord. Any priests who are here are too smart to make themselves known, I fear.”

  “But you have heard rumors.”

  Babaef inclined his head. “There have been many rumors. But I fear that priests will not be found easily.”

  “Well, keep looking.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Ploterus dismissed the man and thought some more. Then he made up his mind to visit the library.

  He had never entered the library before, even though it was the largest building in the city—a massive stone structure near the harbor—and some called it Egypt’s greatest glory. He wasn’t especially interested in books. He could read well enough, certainly, but books frightened him; they seemed to possess a kind of magic that he did not understand. Utter foolishness, of course. At any rate, he wasn’t interested in the books right now.

  The people at the library were predictably taken aback by his unannounced arrival, and then predictably effusive in expressing their joy at his presence. Someone ran off to summon the director. While he waited for her he stood in the bright, high-ceilinged entrance hall that extended up six stories or more, lined on all sides with long shelves filled with books and scrolls. He found it difficult to imagine how so many books could actually exist. What was there to write about?

  Before long he spotted the director coming down the main staircase. He recalled meeting her at a dinner for the city leaders after he had retaken the city. She was stout, middle-aged, dark-skinned, and spoke perfect Latin. She wore a crimson robe with a white vertical stripe on the left side. Was it some kind of uniform? She bowed deeply to him. “My lord, this is a great honor,” she said. “Have you finally come for the tour I offered you?”

  Ploterus vaguely remembered the offer. “Some other time, perhaps,” he replied. “Today I only wish to have a brief conversation.”

  Olef-Nan looked puzzled for a moment, and then smiled and inclined her head in acquiescence. “Of course, my lord. Will you follow me to my office?”

  She led him up the stairs to a large, crowded room also lined with bookshelves. A marble statue of a naked woman with the head of a bird stood in a corner next to a door. From the window of the office he could see the lighthouse on Pharos. A table in the center of the room was covered with scrolls and manuscripts. She offered him a seat on one side of the table, and she sat on the other. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

  People in Egypt drank beer, which was a vile beverage, but there was nothing better to be had. He nodded. Olef-Nan made a signal, and a servant quickly brought in two cups on a tray and placed them on the table.

  “Now, how can I help you?” the director asked.

  She was less obsequious to him than others in the city, he noticed. He supposed that her position was quite important. He was happy to talk to people as equals. “I am told that one of the rebels—an aide to Decius—stayed on in the city after the rebels left. Her name is Palta. She is a young woman. Fair-skinned, blonde-haired. Not Egyptian, of course. I met her once, years ago, in Gallia.”

  Olef-Nan shrugged. “I vaguely remember such a woman. If she was an aide to the rebel governor, I’m sure I must have met her. As to whether she stayed on after the rebels left, I cannot say. And the rebels departed quite some time ago.”

  “So you know nothing about such a woman.”

  Olef-Nan shook her head. “I can make inquiries. Or you can search the library, if you like. But what is the concern? I hope you do not think that the library is involved in a plot against your rule.”

  “You worked well enough with the rebels, I’m told.”

  “Ah, but that is my job! You can see that the library is a very large place. People from all over Terra are constantly arriving and leaving. Roma, Gallia, all of Barbarica…We do not inquire about their political beliefs or allegiances. They seek knowledge here, and we strive to provide it for them. We strove to work with priests when they were in power, and we will strive to work with whoever comes after you. We need to ensure that the knowledge in this building is preserved for generations yet to come, living in a world we cannot imagine.”

  “I am not interested in future generations,” Ploterus pointed out. “I am interested in doing my job, which is to rule Egypt. Now, about the priests.”

  Olef-Nan raised an eyebrow. “Yes, my lord?”

  “They are enemies of the empire, as are the rebels.”

  “Of course.”

  “Have you had any dealings with them? Have you seen any of them? Have they come to the library?”

  “I am unaware of any priests living in Alexandria,” she replied. “But even if they were here, why would I have knowledge of them?”

  Ploterus shrugged. “They, too, are interested in knowledge, as I understand it. It would be natural of them to come here.”

  “It would be more natural of them to hide their identities and entirely disappear from view, don’t you think? They are clever and resourceful, I imagine. And they must know the empire is looking for them.”

  “Perhaps they let down their guard while the rebels were in control. There have been rumors.”

  “Rumors of what, my lord? Of people who claimed to be priests? Who acted like priests? Who have the same name as a priest? I can only repeat: I know no priests in Alexandria.”

  Ploterus took a sip of beer from his cup and stared at Olef-Nan. She sounded somewhat exasperated. She herself was obviously clever and resourceful, he thought. Was she also truthful? He could not tell, but he suspected that she wasn’t. What should he do about his suspicion, then? Arrest her? Torture her? And then what? She presumably had a lot of powerful friends, and he needed the cooperation of those friends. He probably needed her cooperation as well, although he wasn’t sure why. He put down his cup. “You will please tell me if you obtain any information about this woman, or about any priests,” he said. “The last thing you want, I think, is further war and destruction here. I am your best hope of avoiding these things. Please keep this in mind.”

  “I shall certainly do so, my lord,” she replied. “And I hope you will keep in mind how important the library is to the city and the world.”

  They both rose then and bowed low to each other, and the interview was at an end.

  Not especially satisfying. Ploterus returned to the government palace. He closed the door of his office and then sat for a long while alone in the afternoon heat. Finally he took two letters out of a locked drawer. The first was from Cymbian. Cymbian had written before, imprudently. Ploterus had read his most recent letter often since it arrived. It was filled with news, some of which he had already heard from other sources: King Carolus had finally died, alas, and Feslund had been crowned as his successor. General Gregorius, leader of the legions in Roma, had died as well. The new palace had been completed on the Roman Forum, and the royal family had left Urbis to take up residence in it. Queen Bathanala had miscarried yet again, so Feslund still did not have an heir. He spent his nights drinking and womanizing, and his days complaining. The people were sullen and angry. So were many of the soldiers.

  “You must return,” Cymbian concluded. “You must come back to Roma and end this. The people have heard of your successes and respect you. They will follow you. You are our only hope.”

  Such a letter would surely destroy them both i
f it were discovered. But still he held onto it.

  And now a new letter had arrived, which he opened and re-read. It was from Gretyx. It praised his many successes in Egypt and ordered him to return to Roma, where he would be appropriately honored and given a new assignment worthy of his great abilities.

  He remembered old General Gregorius’s advice: Go far away, my friend, and stay there.

  He had much to ponder. He liked his life in Alexandria. The war had been won, but there were people to be tracked down. Where was Governor Decius? Where was Palta? Were the rumors of priests in Alexandria true? He could make excuses to stay in Egypt.

  He couldn’t stay here forever, though.

  Eventually he would have to decide what to do about Gretyx, and the empire.

  Forty-Three

  Larry

  Larry’s ship reached Alexandria late in the day.

  To get here had taken a long ride through Scotia, then two endless sea voyages, with little to do on them but hope and worry. The food had been bad on both ships, and his fellow passengers made no effort to be friendly to him. At least neither ship had sunk, which was what had happened the last time he had sailed on the great sea.

  And now at last he was here.

  Larry left the ship and wandered into the city. Alexandria reminded him of Roma: the same teeming streets, the same high fountains and wide plazas, the same majestic architecture, the same blistering heat, even as twilight approached. On the other hand, the people’s skin here was darker, and they spoke a different language. And they dressed in extremes—some wore robes more colorful than any he had seen in Roma, while many women, despite the heat, wore austere gray robes with hoods that all but covered their faces.

  He made his way immediately to the library, an immense stone building situated not far from the harbor. It was dark, except for lamps shining in a couple of windows. Two stone lions sat on either side of the large entrance. He went up to it and tried the doors, which were covered with panels showing scenes of ancient Egyptian gods; they were locked.