Why had Cleopatra come? She could out-think us all and knew all Ptolemy’s secrets. There had to be a greater reason.
I looked behind us, to Pelusium. Ptolemy’s weakness would always be the fuel. Cut off the fuel, and his machines would starve to death. Amani's designs for Cleopatra ran off her tiny power boxes, coiled springs, and compressed water and air. Her weapons were weaker, but if they could burn through Ptolemy’s power supply, her machines could cut through his forces at will.
I wondered if Theodotus and the other advisers realized the frontal assault was only a diversion. They would not hear it from me.
Papyrus 6.35
Amani and Iras knelt by a dune at the back of the beach and stared out at the sea. The waters had to be calm if Amani was to survive the journey. The etesian winds had blown all afternoon. If they calmed down by evening, the battle might not be lost, but the winds could blow endlessly for weeks, moving at such a force that no vessel dare leave Egypt.
“We haven't talked.” Amani checked her weapon, a machine that shot fiery arcs, yet was small enough to be held in one hand. “I've wanted to pull you aside, but since we reunited with Cleopatra, there hasn't been a chance.”
“She's taken to her role with ferocity,” Iras said.
“A true warrior queen.”
“As you would be,” Iras said.
Amani said nothing.
“If it had been me,” Iras said, “I would have stayed.”
“I wish it had been you,” Amani said.
“I'd make a lousy warrior queen.”
“But you'd do wonders for their hair.”
“That's true.” Iras smiled. “I still think you made a mistake, but I'm glad you're here.”
“Other than our grandfather, I know you better than any member of our family. You’ve been a sister to me and a friend. If I’ve disappointed you, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not about disappointment,” Iras said.
“I think it should be. I’ve done what was best for me and proven myself selfish and small. The gods gave me a kingdom, and I refused the gift. One day, I will stand in the Hall of Two Truths and profess that I have not acted in arrogance, and it will be a lie. The lie will weigh heavy upon my heart, and I will be judged.”
“You don’t believe in all that.”
Amani listened, trying to hear over the sounds of the battle. The sea had calmed, and the sound of the wind was gone. She counted off the seconds since she first noticed the lull, waiting to be sure it would not build again. Iras watched in silence. Amani took hold of her small craft and pulled it out to meet the water.
“Take care of Cleopatra.”
“I'm coming with you.” Iras ran alongside her as waves beat against their legs.
“The boat wasn't built for two.” Amani pushed out upon the sea.
A pressurized stream of water shot the boat forward, each ripple jarring her bones as she estimated the distance to the Nile. There she would turn south toward Pelusium, where Ptolemy kept the gas and coal. Then, as if coming from Alexandria, she saw three Roman ships sailing out of the setting sun.
On the battlefield, one of Amani's machines broke through the lines and entered Ptolemy’s camp. It moved on four legs with broad feet, designed to move easily through the marsh. A headless torso spun chains tipped with spiked balls and ripped men open in a spray of blood and flesh.
With a sound like thunder, a great metal spear skewered it to the ground. Ptolemy’s soldiers carried off our dead and rotated in fresh legions. The two armies faced each other. Neither moved. Ptolemy held his remaining machines back, not joining the number that now clogged the marshes. On Cleopatra’s side, I saw human soldiers for the first time.
Amani’s craft glided into shore, west of the harbor. She beached the machine. A silhouette of a man crossed the top of the wall. Amani let him pass, return, and pass again, as she counted off the timing of his movements. She set the dial on the device and placed it atop the wall. Then she slipped away. Either this worked, or the mission failed. If the mission failed, the army would fall.
She waited. The guard returned. He saw the device and drew his weapon. He moved slower now, but she had accounted for that. She counted off the seconds in her head as he crept forward. Almost time. Almost there.
With a crackling snap, an arc of fire danced across the space between the device and the guard's weapon. It flashed from the tip of his sword to the soles of his feet and then was gone. The guard trailed a plume of black smoke as he fell.
The Egyptian name for Pelusium was the House of Amun, and Amani reminded herself of this as she slipped over the wall and onto the walkway bordering the harbor. This was her house, not Ptolemy’s. The Hebrews called the place Sin, which meant mud. Pelusium, a name that originated with the Greeks, shared the same meaning.
It had once acted as the guardian for the eastern side of the Nile, but the Ptolemies had neglected it, allowing its banks to clog with silt. Though but two miles from the Green Sea, Cleopatra’s redirected shipments of fuel could not land here. They transferred their cargo while anchored off the coast. The harbor Amani entered was a vast and empty space, home to the few small boats that could navigate the ruined passage.
Storing a secret stash of fuel had not worked, but neither could Amani call it foolish. Ptolemy should never have guessed anything of worth would be found here, but he should have feared making his stand against Cleopatra in this place. Its history was one of falling to invaders. Cursed territory was less the cause than simple geography. It was the first to resist, the first to fall.
She crept toward the city and traced the movements of guards in the distance. In her arms, she clutched her strange device, feeling the residual warmth from its last discharge. Cleopatra had nicknamed it “the cat” because of its central role in the assault on Pelusium. Egyptians associated cats with the goddess Bastet, and certain stories claimed the Persians had defeated the city by throwing cats at the Egyptians, who held the cats in too great an honor to defend themselves. Or, so it was said.
She saw heavier patrols surrounding the fortress and in the city, but she reached the warehouses undisturbed. According to the plan, she needed only set her charge next to the storehouse of gas canisters. The explosion would set the harbor afire and spread to other warehouses, burning the coal.
Only, the warehouses were empty. The black dust of the coal marked its recent movement deeper into the city and toward the eastern wall, closer for overland delivery, which made sense. With the silt and the proximity of the war, movement by boat would have been impossible. Amani had not anticipated this, but the plan could still work if she followed the trail into the city.
She knelt a moment in the shadow of the warehouse to catch her breath and to think. Cleopatra’s army fought for just this purpose. If she failed, every death was in vain. Steam upset the balance of power, and only by removing it could they win.
The footfalls of a guard drew near. She had with her only the device, and it held only two more charges. If she were to leave the empty harbor and enter the city, she needed protection, weapons, maybe even a disguise. At the cost of one more charge, one more death, she could have it all, or she could spare the man’s life and enter the city unprepared and vulnerable.
She peeked around the corner to judge the guard’s gait and distance. Then she set the device’s counter, set it out for him to find, and withdrew to watch from behind the warehouse.
Reminding herself this was war did little to settle her guilt, but she had come for this purpose. When the gas exploded and the coal burned, even more people would die. It had to be.
The guard stopped and eyed the device. He looked over his shoulder, bent to pick it up, and held it out into the light as if he might discern its purpose. The device sparked and a cobweb of blue fire embraced him. The arcs jumped from him to the airborne coal dust which erupted into great bursts of fire. An explosion shook the stone walls of the warehouse, and fire ripped through its timbered ceiling.
&n
bsp; The device, black and smoking, tumbled across the burning street. Amani left it where it lay and ran into the city.
Papyrus 6.36
The city came out, drawn to the fire, soldier and citizen alike. Amani disappeared into the chaos, pushing away thoughts of Cleopatra, who would have heard the explosions and seen the fire. The explosion had come too soon, but she would assume the fuel destroyed. She would send her troops against a militia that would never tire and never quit.
Amani focused her scattered thoughts and looked for coal dust ground into the paving stones. She ducked into an alley to avoid a band of soldiers. Across the main thoroughfare, two men shouted after them, wanting to know what had happened. Amani waited for the men to go back inside, but they stood in the street, peering toward the harbor, their tunics stained and splattered. They pleaded for news from everyone who passed, but they never moved far from the open door. The light caught the splatter on their tunics. It looked like blood.
Amani’s pulse quickened. She peered down the alleyway, but if she strayed too far from the main street, she risked getting lost. She considered walking on, ignoring them, but they would cry out to her, wanting news from the first person returning from the fire. It would draw attention.
With a breath, she rose to her feet and walked toward them. The questions poured out as they peered past her, hoping for a glimpse of something exciting. The blood on their tunics was brown and dry.
Amani talked about the explosion in the warehouse and looked past them through the open door. Something snake-like lay on a table. Lights reflected off its metallic surface.
“You could look for yourselves,” she said.
One of the men laughed. “We’re in trouble enough as it is.”
The other did not share in the humor. “He promised we’d be ready before Cleopatra arrived, but it was always hopeless.”
“If they had only found her alive,” said the one.
“But they didn’t,” said the other.
She pushed passed them and through the door. They came after her, scolding, not yet realizing their situation. Lying on a table was one of Moira’s mechanical arms.
Tools littered a bench against the wall. Amani grabbed the first sharp blade. Still, their voices only registered annoyance. She slashed once, catching the first man across the throat, and sliced open the second with the return stroke.
Blood spurt in rhythmic fountain; it dripped from her face and hands. It stained her garments. She trembled, and a wordless void filled her. She looked away from the men on the floor and to the arm on the table. The void allowed no thought, no questioning of right and wrong, but dread seeped in at the edges.
Amani stepped over the bodies and closed the door. The room had no back exit, but a flight of stairs led to a second story. She blew out the lights and, blade in hand, crept up the steps.
On the second floor, her mouth opened, but her restricted throat refused to take in air. The blade tumbled from her fingers and clattered across the floor.
Moira’s preserved corpse hung from the rafters, her arms and legs spread out, her back cut open. Where once there had been four mechanical arms, only one remained, and the flickering light revealed its careful connection to the back muscle, shoulder blade, and spine.
A voice whispered her name, calling out to her as from the land of the dead, but it wasn’t Moira. Something moved in the shadowed corner of the room. A mechanical arm braced itself against the wall, helping the creature stand. A second arm hung useless from his back. Chains rattled against his ankles. He lifted his face to look at her.
Amani whispered his name, Urban, and her voice broke. He reached out a human hand to her. She ran to him, but the pain in his face warned that she dared not touch.
He looked into her face and smiled. “I’d wished myself dead a thousand times, but I’m happy to have lived so long, if it meant seeing you.”
Her thoughts escaped her lips, unbidden. “They used you for their experiments.”
He reached out to her with his one, good mechanical arm. “They’d hoped to meet you with an army of these, but their ambition outreached their talent.”
He touched the blood on her face.
“I’m not hurt,” she said.
“How did you know we were here?”
She shook her head.
“You’re not here for us,” he murmured.
She sat with him, and he told her how he had been caught atop the roof of the palace. Moira had fallen dead just shy of the docks. She told him Cleopatra’s plans to retake Alexandria.
“Pompey is coming,” she said. “She will win him to her side.”
“We’ve seen power change hands so many times.” He stared up at Moira’s dark and shriveled face. “I’ve often doubted whether change had any meaning at all.”
“Moira fought for Cleopatra,” she said.
“We both did.” He tore a tattered piece from his clothing and wiped the blood from her face. “The cost of it never ends.”
“I think the warehouses are near the east gate,” she said. “I might be able to get you that far, but my escape must be through the harbor. There’s no room for two.”
“I’ll never leave this city,” he said, “but if you’ll unlock my chain and help me cut her down, I will ignite the explosion.”
She found the key downstairs and unlocked Urban. Together, they cut Moira free and, holding her in his mechanical arm, he lowered her gently to the floor. He rested his fingertips against the drawn flesh of Moira’s cheek and kissed her forehead.
“They preserved her, as for mummification,” he said, “all the while, intending to study how the machines worked with her body. They just wanted to keep her body from rotting while they worked.”
The salting process itself would have taken half a year.
“We’ll never make it if we take her with us,” Amani said.
“You have no way to time the charge unless you do,” he said. “I won’t leave her behind.”
“Love can only get us so far,” she said.
“And I will go no farther than that.”
Papyrus 6.37
Amani carried Moira on her back. The corpse weighed little, even with only one remaining arm. Urban draped a cloak over them and another over himself and led the way as they left the work building behind. Amani carried the blade at her side, all too aware now of her ability to use it. Four lives she had taken since her arrival, and the wordless void had collapsed.
Murderer, it said. Warrior queen, she answered back.
From the equipment on the workbenches, Amani had tried to piece together something to replace the device she had lost, but Urban had placed his hand upon hers, ceasing her frustrated attempts.
Now, with his metallic arms hidden, he approached the temple and asked for embers.
“We can find another way,” Amani said.
He smiled at her. “This is the way I’ve chosen.”
She felt the weight of another death upon her conscience and stumbled as if that weight were as tangible as Moira’s. Urban reached out to help, but she motioned him off and righted herself.
In the street, they dared not speak of anything important, but little time remained to speak at all. “I want to thank you,” she said. “In the year before all this happened, you showed me something rare.”
“Moira taught you, not me.”
“You showed me selflessness in your devotion to the woman you loved,” she said. “Your devotion never faltered.”
“In a very real sense, she was everything to me. I tried to be everything in return.”
The fire at the harbor had dimmed. Amani heard voices in the distance as people returned home and soldiers headed back to their posts, but for the moment, the street foisted upon them no company. The eastern gates stood ahead, the warehouses at their sides.
She leaned against a stone wall for strength, and Urban handed her the fire.
“I’ll give myself one gas and one coal to choose from,” he whispered.
“If I have time, I’ll release a canister. It’s more certain but will take more time.”
“Otherwise?”
“I’ll run into the coal house and hope it’s enough to ignite its neighbor,” he said.
“Be quick. I don’t want to set her down until I’m inside.”
He gave her a nod and said, “I guess I’ll never know how well this worked.” Then he was gone.
She waited as the voices grew behind them; Urban’s mechanical arm snipped away at the locks, and the pot of fire burned in her hands. Moira’s weight shifted on her back. The last metallic arm slipped free and struck the ground. The clatter echoed through the street. Atop the wall, guards turned to look. More stirred at the gate.
At last, Urban returned and took back the fire. “Third storehouse on the left.” He pulled back the cloak and pressed his lips to Moira’s dried flesh.
Amani watched the guards at the gate, awaiting a chance to move, unseen. “You know the time.”
“It’ll happen as promised,” Urban said. “Don’t you worry.”
“I can’t talk you into another way?”
He shook his head and watched a guard cross the top of the wall. “I always told myself it was irrelevant that Moira’s name means ‘fate’. It wasn’t fate that brought us together.”
“But it’s a romantic notion,” Amani said.
“I would always picture the Moirai, measuring the life of a man and snipping it with their shears. However it comes, death is inevitable. No one survives his own story, but I never liked the idea of someone else determining the number of my days.”
Amani wanted to believe he made his choice, but it seemed cruel, and she found some part deep inside her doubted it was true. He didn’t choose to lose the love of his life, to be caught by Ptolemy, or to be used as an experiment, praying for the day death would come. Life had stripped him of everything but the desire for death. What kind of choice was that?
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