Menander bowed. “Thank you, Palta. That is the choice Olef-Nan expected you to make. I have brought a hooded cloak for you. I think you will not be recognized in it.”
“Thanks you, Menander. I know you’ve had a long journey, but can we leave early tomorrow?”
“Of course, my—Palta. As early as you like.”
“It was good of you to come so far,” she said.
Menander smiled. “This is important, is it not?”
“Yes, it is very important.”
Palta fetched Cetonia. “Show Menander to one of the empty rooms so he can rest after his journey,” she instructed her. “Bring him water and fresh linen. Ask your mother to provide him with refreshment.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Menander followed Cetonia into the compound.
Palta then found Lamathe, who was sitting in the garden behind the compound. She sat down next to him and told him what had happened.
“Ah, this is wonderful news,” he said. “We should let the others know.”
“Not just yet. They will find out soon enough.”
“Samos will be suspicious,” he suggested. “Theodosius will be worried, and Karellia will be overjoyed.”
Palta smiled. “We are all rather predictable, aren’t we?”
“We know each other well. And you, Palta? How do you feel?”
She considered. “I have thought about this for so long, imagined how it might happen, what he would say, what he would look like. And then I forced myself to stop. It seemed foolish—the dream of a child. I’m a child no longer. And now…”
She felt herself starting to weep. She hadn’t wept in a long time. She was not the kind of woman who wept. And this was not an occasion for weeping. “I have been happy here,” she said to Lamathe at last.
“Yes, but still you must go.”
“But what if—”
“Still you must go,” he repeated. “You know this.”
Of course she knew this. “Larry Barnes is in Alexandria,” she murmured, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. The words sounded so strange.
Later she said them again to the others: Samos, young and easily outraged; Theodosius, older and easily upset; and his wife Karellia, always ready to calm him down. They were the only ones left of the many who had first come to Alexandria with Lamathe. They did not want her to leave, but they understood what she had to do. How could they not understand? They had heard her story often since she arrived. “You can bring him back here, my love,” Karellia pointed out.
“Where else would you go?” Theodosius asked.
“I don’t know,” Palta admitted. “I haven’t thought.”
“What is there to do here?” Samos demanded. “For him, or for any of us. We have written what we can write. We are just sitting here, waiting for something to happen. But what will happen?”
“Our work will not be in vain,” Lamathe murmured.
Samos grimaced. He complained, but he never did anything about his complaints. Palta had grown very fond of him. “I will come back,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
“You must,” Karellia said, grasping her arm. “We couldn’t stand it otherwise. We have lost too much. We don’t want to lose you.”
Ah, this was going to be hard.
Palta slept little that night. Tomorrow she would leave, and what would life have in store for her then?
Menander
The journey back to Alexandria was both tedious and tense. Palta had little to say. One could barely see her face behind the close-fitting hood, but Menander knew she was excited. He would have liked to talk to her, but about what? He assumed that the people she was living with were priests, but Olef-Nan had forbidden him to inquire; it was better not to know. And as to what would happen when they reached the city…that was in the hands of the gods.
The day was warm but not oppressive, with a pleasant breeze from the sea. There were few travelers on the road. In better times he would have enjoyed walking along this road with Palta. He had always liked her. To be honest, he had loved her, a little bit. She, too, loved books. And she had been to so many places—Roma! Gallia! And far into Barbarica! But she was entirely mysterious to him. She never really explained what she had been doing in these places. She talked more freely to the director, of course. Well, he was no one. If he could help to make her happy, he would be satisfied.
They stopped at mid-day to drink water and eat bread in the shade of a tree. Palta lowered her close-fitting hood. “How much farther?” she asked.
“We are about halfway, I think,” Menander replied. “It is a long journey on foot.”
“What is Alexandria like nowadays?” she asked. “We hear little about it.”
“It is much the same, Palta.”
“Are there many soldiers on the streets?”
“Not so many as there used to be. Or perhaps I have gotten used to seeing them.”
“Are you happy under the Gallians, Menander?” she asked.
“As long as they don’t conscript me into their army, Palta, or take me away from the library. They say that Ploterus is doing good things. We were all so tired of the war.”
“How is Olef-Nan?”
“She, too, is much the same. She misses you.”
“Olef-Nan was like a mother to me,” Palta said. She said nothing after that, and she wept a little more.
Menander wanted to make her feel better, but of course he didn’t know how, since he understood nothing. So he stayed silent too. And eventually they arose and continued their journey back to the great city.
Olef-Nan
The man who called himself Larry Barnes showed up as instructed on the second day. He sat down in her office and refused refreshment. “My lady, I have followed your instructions,” he said. “I have stayed away from the library and asked no one about my friend Palta. Now I have returned to learn if you have any information about her.”
He was really quite a handsome fellow, she thought, although he looked rather disheveled and smelled rather bad. If he were a spy, they weren’t paying him enough to own more than a single robe.
She nodded. “Here is what I can tell you,” she said. “Go to the bazaar in the Bafelni district. It is not far, and anyone can direct you. I cannot be sure, but you may find information there.”
“‘May find information’?” he repeated. “Is there someone I should ask?”
She shook her head. “Ask no one. Find a bench. Sit. Wait.”
“Someone will find me?”
“I cannot say. Perhaps.”
“And if no one does?”
“Then return there tomorrow.”
“My lady, I do not understand,” the man said. “I think perhaps you are simply trying to get rid of me.”
“Think what you like. But if you want information about this woman Palta, I suggest that you go to the bazaar in the Bafelni district and talk to no one.”
The man stared at her, and his stare had some power in it. Olef-Nan thought he might be quite interesting to know. Then he shrugged, stood up, and bowed to her. “My lady, I thank you for your assistance,” he said, and then he left her office.
Olef-Nan watched him go. Palta, I have done what I could, she thought. And then she said a prayer to the gods.
Larry
Larry made his way to the bazaar.
What was the director up to? Maybe it was worse than he had thought at first. Maybe she wasn’t just getting rid of him; maybe she had sent him to this place so he could be arrested or beaten. But arrested for what? For trying to find a woman he once knew?
Wasn’t it more likely that the director knew Palta, and just wanted to be careful? More likely, perhaps, but Larry forced himself not to feel optimistic. The disappointment if he were wrong would be too crushing.
The bazaar, when he finally found it, was large and crowded, filled with stalls selling food, clothing, jewelry, little statues, and many other things he couldn’t even identify. He bought a roll, found an
open spot on a bench, ate the roll, and looked at the passing crowds. None of the people looked remotely like Palta. The women were all dark-skinned, and most of them wore the dark, hooded robe that covered their body and obscured most of their face. Occasionally soldiers strode past, but they paid no attention to him.
He waited.
He was tired and hungry and dirty, and now he was sitting on a bench next to a very fat woman in an alien city in an alien world. And what would he do if he didn’t find Palta in this bazaar? Where would he look next? How would he find her? Perhaps it was time to give up, to return to Elysium. He missed Lucia’s cooking. He missed talking to Rigol and Hieron and the others. He missed so much.
He stayed where he was.
The hours passed. The daylight waned. Torches were lit. Some stalls closed, and others opened. Fast music began to play—pipes and lyre and drum. Strange high-pitched voices began to sing. Was there going to be a dance? He went to pee finally, and he bought another roll, and when he returned his spot on the bench had been taken, and he had to find another bench, another weary fat woman to sit next to.
This was better than returning to his hot room in his dirty inn, he supposed. Would he even be able to find the inn? Perhaps he would sleep outdoors tonight; he had done that often enough on Terra. The fat woman heaved herself up and waddled off, and another woman took her place.
Perhaps he should buy himself something to drink. He probably had enough money. He sighed. If he stayed any longer in Egypt, he would have to find work. He would have to make a life for himself. Could he stand that?
He started to rise, but a hand suddenly covered his. He looked at the woman next to him on the bench, and she looked at him.
“Welcome home, my love,” Palta said.
Forty-Five
Palta
She took down her hood. He reached out to touch her face. “I just want to make sure you’re real,” he said.
“I’m real,” she replied. “I’m here.” And so was he. After all these years. After all that had happened. He was next to her, touching her, gazing into her eyes.
She didn’t know how long they sat there until finally Menander murmured, “We must go, Palta. I don’t know if you are safe here.”
Larry looked up at Menander, standing in front of them. “What’s happening?” he asked.
“This is my friend Menander,” Palta said. “I’ll explain more on the way. Come.”
They rose from the bench, and Menander bowed to Larry. “I am very pleased you are here, Larry Barnes. But we must hurry. The streets will be dark and travel difficult.”
Menander led them out of the bazaar. Palta and Larry followed, holding hands. She put her hood up once again. Larry’s hand felt warm and rough and strong. He was taller now, of course, and he had the beginnings of a beard—perhaps he hadn’t been able to shave lately. But he had the same curly brown hair and deep-set eyes. His robe was grimy. So was hers, she noticed, after she had walked along dusty roads all day. She couldn’t wait to change her clothes. But that didn’t matter.
“We are going to the house of Olef-Nan, whom you have met,” she explained.
“From the library? Yes. I hoped she was your friend, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“She is my friend—more than that, really. She was trying to protect me—I shouldn’t be in Alexandria. It is ruled by Ploterus—do you remember him from Massalia?—and he has asked Olef-Nan about me. Do you know any of this?”
“Some of it. Valleia and Carmody showed me your letter. I visited them first when I…came back. That’s how I knew you were here.”
Ah, there was so much to talk about, so much to learn. “How are they?” she asked.
“They are happy. They have two children—a boy and a baby girl. They wish you happiness, too.”
“That’s wonderful. And you traveled here from Scotia?”
“I did,” he said.
She squeezed his hand. He was here. He was real.
They fell silent as they walked through the darkening streets towards Olef-Nan’s villa. How many nights she had spent there, talking, learning!
When they finally reached the villa, it was dark except for a flickering light in the entrance hall. Menander knocked, and Olef-Nan herself opened the door. Palta fell into her arms, weeping with joy. “This is very good,” the director murmured. “Very good. Come inside, all of you.”
They went in. Olef-Nan bowed deeply to Larry. “I am sorry for the mystery and the subterfuge,” she said. “But Palta is very dear to me, and I could not risk harm coming to her.”
“I am glad she has such friends,” Larry replied.
They walked into the open, airy atrium. “I have dismissed all my servants for the night except Filomena, whom I would trust with my life,” Olef-Nan explained. “Menander, you are welcome to stay. You must be very weary.”
“No, my lady, I will go to my home,” he said. “It is possible you will speak of things I should not hear.”
Olef-Nan smiled. “Menander, you are becoming a very wise young man.”
Menander grinned at that. Palta hugged him. “I am so grateful to you,” she said, and his grin widened.
When he left, Filomena appeared, standing shyly by the door to the kitchen. And of course Palta had to run and hug her as well; she seemed older and frailer than when Palta had last seen her. “You are a mess, my dear,” Filomena pointed out.
“Yes, I know.”
“I will find a robe for you after you dine.”
“I love you, Filomena.” The old servant face lit up and she went back into the kitchen. Palta could smell the aroma of broiling fish. Delightful!
She returned to Olef-Nan and Larry.
“Now I will leave you,” Olef-Nan said. “Filomena will bring you dinner. Here is a jug of wine, and your know where your room is.”
“No, please stay,” Palta begged her. She turned to Larry. “If that’s all right?”
“Of course it’s all right.”
Olef-Nan smiled, and they all sat down. She poured the wine, and Palta took a sip. She hadn’t had any wine since she left Alexandria. The priests couldn’t afford it; they couldn’t afford much of anything.
Filomena brought out the fish on a platter, and Palta ate ravenously, in silence. Then she said, “Larry knows a bit about my story. Now can you tell us yours, Larry? Olef-Nan knows everything I know—up to the moment when you disappeared on that hill in Scotia.”
“Well, then,” he replied, “My story starts to get interesting at that point.”
And he told it.
Palta had thought constantly over the years about what had happened to Larry—was he alive? Was he happy? But she hadn’t imagined this. How could she imagine this?
“You can build your own portal,” she said, as if saying the words aloud would make them easier to believe.
Larry nodded. “I don’t know why I have this ability, but it seems that I do.”
“And Affron is alive and happy.”
“That’s right. And he will be pleased to know you are doing so well.”
This was better than Palta could have dreamed.
“The most remarkable part of your remarkable story,” Olef-Nan added, “is that Hieron is still alive.”
“He is. And not very long ago he visited Terra to learn what was happening here. It troubled him greatly.”
“Amazing,” she murmured. “And he created our Via? That is not the story we learned.”
“No, he didn’t want people to know.”
“So, people who build portals can live forever?” Palta asked. She found this idea disconcerting, even frightening. She didn’t want Larry to be so different from her.
“It’s not like that,” Larry replied. “There’s something about the world where he lives—the place called Elysium—that slows down aging, at least for some people. I don’t quite understand how it works, and Hieron can’t really explain it.”
“But you chose to leave Elysium. And come here.”
He reached over and took her hand. “Elysium is a wonderful place,” he said, “and Affron is happy there. But I needed to find you.”
“And now you must decide what to do next,” Olef-Nan said to Palta. “You are welcome here tonight, but it would be dangerous to stay longer in Alexandria. I have learned that Ploterus is returning to Roma. He is a Gallian, but as a ruler he has been fair enough. His successor is likely to be far worse, and far more interested in the rumors about you.”
Palta realized that it was time to explain her situation to Larry. “Perhaps I should have left with Decius and the others as the rebels advanced on the city. But I couldn’t. I loved the library—I loved Olef-Nan—too much. So I stayed. It was a mistake, I suppose—too many people knew me. Finally Olef-Nan convinced me to leave with some priests, who had been living here and were also in danger. We went to a compound south of the city, where they spend their time writing down everything they could remember from the schola. They were the ones who burned down the schola, Larry, to keep the Gallians from possessing all that knowledge. Someday, they thought, the Gallians would be defeated and their knowledge would be needed once again.”
“They’ve been at it a long time,” Larry said.
“Too long, I think. Many priests have given up and left—I don’t know where they’ve gone. Even the ones who remain are discouraged. We thought the Gallians might be overthrown when their gants ran out of power, but that hasn’t happened. Even so, I have been happy there. Menander went to the compound yesterday to tell me about your arrival. Today we walked back to the city. And here we are.”
“And now you must decided what to do next,” Olef-Nan said.
“I would like to meet those priests,” Larry said.
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