Steampunk Cleopatra

by Thaddeus Thomas

  What kind of fate?

  His eyes followed the movement of the guards. “Life is a law, organizing itself in an accidental space.”

  “Whatever life is, Moira loved you.”

  He offered her an unhappy smile. “Maybe love is the same.”

  She kissed his cheek, warned him to be careful, and lumbered out into the street. She crossed half the distance before a guard called for her to stop. Thoughts of running flit through her mind.

  Two guards emerged from the shadows at the gate. “What are you carrying?”

  “A corpse,” she said.

  The guards looked at one another and quickened their pace. Another watched from atop the wall.

  “A dead body?”

  She nodded. “The weapon makers are done with it and told me to stash it in the warehouse until they figure out what to do with it.”

  “You can’t keep a dead body here.”

  “It’ll be gone tomorrow,” she said. “Besides, it’s mummified. You won’t smell it.”

  “That’s not the point. You can’t leave it here.”

  “I can’t very well take it to the harbor,” she said.

  “I don’t care where you take it.”

  Amani shrugged at the binding and lowered Moira to the ground. “Whatever you like, but I’m done carrying her. I can’t take another step. You’d have two dead bodies soon. A person can only take so much.”

  They stared down at the mummified woman with a metal snake protruding from her back and offered whispered curses.

  “These are dark times,” said the one.

  “It’s not right,” said the other.

  “Are you going to deal with it,” Amani asked, “or do I put it in the warehouse?”

  “Just till tomorrow?” asked the one.

  “Be quick,” said the other.

  Amani secured Moira among the canisters, and when she returned, Urban was gone.

  Papyrus 6.38

  Night had not yet given way to morning when Amani pulled her craft to shore. Southwest of where she struggled against the muck, the two armies would face off against each other, but for now, the world was quiet and dark. She left her boat among the grasses and walked.

  Cleopatra designed her camp to show confidence. If it looked poor, the enemy would assume her army was weak, and she had squeezed an extravagant exterior from her meager resources. Inside was simple and bare.

  Cleopatra dressed as if for court, awash with color and topped with her crown. She stood, visible, on the highest hill. With most of her secrets spent, she would open herself to the enemy, bold, fearless, and displaying the appearance of a wealth that could buy armies without end.

  Amani ran to her and whispered assurances of her success. Cleopatra did not ask about the night’s explosions and only said that she should have sent Amani sooner, but they both knew she could not have made the trip until the heat of battle distracted the city.

  “Roman ships came from Alexandria during the night,” Amani said. “They’re anchored offshore.”

  “Pompey.”

  “If he joins your brother, we’ll be fighting Rome.”

  “My brother won’t be able to turn him away. The repercussions could be disastrous, but welcoming him would set Alexandria against Caesar.”

  “So, it could work in our favor, after all, if you can bring yourself to fight against Pompey.”

  “Come.” Cleopatra led her into the tent. “You need rest, and I need to think.”

  A pallet of blankets lay on the grass in place of a bed. Cleopatra guided her down, and Amani allowed herself to imagine she might lie down beside her.

  “It’s gone poorly for us,” Cleopatra said. “I’m sending men to their death. All my strategies have fallen short. Soon, every man will fall and every machine will splinter. We’ll be hunted down and slaughtered unless something changes.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I will look for whatever opportunity change brings and take it, no matter the risk, no matter the odds. Everything is wrapped up in this moment, and if I were to flee, there would be no coming back.”

  “I’m afraid for you,” Amani said.

  “I have no intention of dwindling away in exile.”

  “Even if we’re together?”

  Cleopatra cupped her cheek. “You loved a pharaoh. I will not ask you to love a beggar.”

  “I didn’t love a pharaoh,” Amani said. “I love you.”

  Cleopatra bent to kiss her cheek, and Amani met her with her lips. They lingered, and then Cleopatra rose.

  “I must stand witness. They will not see me look away.” She pushed through the opening and, when the fabric swung back, Amani could see her standing upon the hill and gazing out over the field.

  Amani heard the two armies face off against each other, hurling insults, but not yet throwing themselves into battle. Ptolemy's troops had suffered greatly, but Cleopatra's knew they were outmatched. The wounded morale of the enemy would heal when the killing began.

  Amani considered closing her eyes but arose and left the tent.

  Cleopatra waved her away. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “You’re making a mistake in sparing me.”

  “I don’t need you on the battlefield.”

  “You’re waiting for change, and change has come.”

  Cleopatra remained focused on the battlefield. “Pompey.”

  “If he comes ashore this morning, he will be your brother’s ally. If I can get to him, we can make him yours.”

  “He won’t be my brother’s ally,” Cleopatra said.

  Amani fell silent, waiting.

  “At worst,” Cleopatra continued, “Pompey would call due my family’s debt and declare himself the new pharaoh of Egypt.”

  “He would do such a thing?”

  “I would,” Cleopatra said, “and the regents will assume the same of Pompey. They won’t welcome the thought of being replaced and having Egypt set against Caesar. Their counsel will be to kill him.”

  “Pompey would have already sent envoys. Your bother will have responded with envoys of his own. We need to reach them before Pompey goes ashore. I can bring him to you. As he helps you to retake Alexandria, you will help him retake Rome.”

  “Morning has come,” Cleopatra said. “The winds are against you.”

  Amani held her hand, an acknowledgment that perhaps their end had arrived, that all things yet unspoken would go forever unsaid, that anything yet undone, would never be. Amani clung to that instant, and then she ran.

  The winds blew, and heavy waves rolled up to meet her. Gulls watched her from the beach until the sounds of battle gave them orders to fly as one.

  Amani climbed into the boat and primed the pumps that fed the machine within. Pompey's landing craft was powered by men pulling oars, but their training aided their strength. They made good time, and the distance from ship to shore was short compared to the distance Amani needed to cover.

  The winds rose. The hull slammed her from side to side and pounded into her face. Blood ran into her eyes and stained the cabin sole.

  She prayed to whatever god would hear that the boat would hold.

  The tar seal bubbled and tore. Timbers broke. Amani cut off the water flow; silence engulfed her, but no action now could change her fate. The gunwale split open. White water rushed, and her feet flung forward over her. For a moment, she flew.

  Amani landed on her back with a view of the sky with all its color drained. Her body shook and ached from the shaking as her tears mixed with the sea.

  She waited for death to come and thought of Cleopatra, not of how she was that day but rather of a night become morning, two years earlier. They had shared a bed, and, when they woke, Cleopatra had confessed her betrayal.

  Amani’s heart had retreated when she heard what Cleopatra’s heart had hidden. In the seconds it took Cleopatra to speak, Amani had lived hours and days and years, alone and full of regret. She lived them more than once, these lives repeati
ng in her thoughts, each a variant of her leaving and how it should be for her then; the evil she would suffer without Cleopatra was worse than the pain of her betrayal.

  The daydreams had taken her to Kush, away from Rome and Egypt, to the birthplace of all her mysteries. By skill, she impressed and married the qore and gave to him all that politics demands from a woman. She had run from Cleopatra only to become her.

  Cleopatra had broken through that dream, taken Amani’s hand, and curled around her like a shell. Amani had felt loved. In that moment, she would have called it safety, but love and safety are not the same. Infantile in her embrace, Amani had slept, and her dreams were of Cleopatra, not of Kush.

  The lives she had lived in Cleopatra’s room, she lived again on the sunlit sea. In them, she married a man who gave her power, and she gave him an heir.

  We owed Pompey our power and our lives, but his arrival put the regents in an untenable position. If we welcomed Pompey, he could claim the throne of Egypt as his own. To turn him away would be nearly as devastating. We owed him everything, and it would cost us everything to repay it.

  Theodotus's counsel: Dead men don't bite.

  Amani's craft spat her out, and I could do nothing. I saw Pompey watch the destruction, unaware of his own impending death. He pointed to the debris and must have thought himself the survivor of a failed assassination attempt.

  Salvius reached out to help Pompey to shore. As Pompey made the lunging step, Salvius, Lucius Septimus, and Achillas thrust in their blades. Pompey fell, murdered where sea met land.

  Achillas called for Pompey's head to be cut off and the body buried. Caesar was only a few days behind Pompey and on route to Alexandria. Ptolemy would be there to greet him with evidence of his opponent's death.

  I waited for a moment's silence to make my plea. “We should send someone to explore the wreckage.”

  Achillas opened his mouth to answer, and an explosion lit Pelusium’s harbor. Echoing explosions followed, big and small. Behind us thundered the sounds of battle as Cleopatra's troops charged against our startled men.

  Achillas turned away from me, barking orders, but Lucius Septimus grabbed me by the collar and shoved me into Salvius.

  “Take him,” Lucius ordered. “Bring me any survivors. I've grown weary of that woman's surprises.”

  She seemed little more than a clump of sargassum, half-submerged and limp upon the tempestuous waters. We drew her into the craft, and she flopped upon its sole with little semblance of life. When she opened her eyes, I thought it a curse that mercy had not taken her before Cerberus could tear her apart. Once again, the curse was my doing. I was too weak to allow her to drown.

  The scent of roasted meat lingered around the largest tent. When the soldiers parted the heavy folds and let me in, Achillas sat alone in a wooden chair. I assumed the others had returned to the Pelusium fortress with a report for Ptolemy. A fine rug sat at Achillas’s feet and a table sat by his arm, ready with grapes and figs. Through an open flap, he stared across the battlefield.

  Amani was not with him.

  “I’ve never understood why we didn’t kill you when Cleopatra fled,” Achillas said. “I don’t care about your history with Theodotus, but I do appreciate quick thinking. Now, I need the truth. When we’ve won, and Cleopatra is dead, can Amani be of use to us?”

  “She knows Cypriot science better than anyone,” I said, but Achillas wanted to know if she would work for us as she had once worked for Cleopatra. Theodotus might want to protect Amani, but he would never claim she could be trusted. My answer would require finesse. “She will serve the books for her own purposes, but I believe we can manage those purposes.”

  Achillas stared. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means she can be of use.”

  Achillas’s face soured. “My guards will escort you to the harbor. You’ll sail with the others to Alexandria. The gods know I don’t want you here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He held up a hand, indicating I had not yet been excused. “There is a chance for you to prove your worth.”

  I waited.

  “Cleopatra ruined our fuel supplies, but her machines are destroyed. She has taken heavy casualties.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “What will she do next?”

  Through the tent flap, I studied the battlefield. Cleopatra could never have counted on victory in Pelusium, not with her numbers. She risked the loss of her machinery that she might destroy the fuel. Until another shipment arrived, the machinery in Pelusium would be trapped here, and we had left the forces in Alexandria armed with conventional weaponry. Had she a larger army, she might have fought the Pelusium battle only to cut off reinforcements as she attacked Alexandria with her second unit, but I knew no such second unit existed.

  “She must have thought her machines would fare better against ours,” I said, “but she was outmatched. You have ruined her, and what you see now is only the death rattle of a defeated army.”

  He nodded, perhaps even believing my assessment. I prayed to the gods that they would let nothing I had said prove true.

  Papyrus 6.39

  Duat

  From my perch atop the rock, I watch the river flow. A swarm of insects moves like a single creature, darting above the water's surface. A long and spiny Oxhyrinchus fish snaps at the dark cloud, but the insects defend themselves and drive the fish back beneath the river.

  The river has existed from the beginning of time, an expression of the Ogdoadic gods, Nu and Naunet. The Ogdoad ruled Duat after the rise of the other gods, and they have since ascended, leaving Duat to Osiris. I sense the wake of their presence.

  Amun and Amaunet, I feel them in the expanse, that which separated the serpent-filled sands from the cavern's moonstone ceiling. I see Kuk and Kauket in the darkness that Ra has pierced.

  An insect buzzes by, interrupting my thoughts. I swat it away.

  The last gods of Ogdoad are Huh and Hauhet, eternity and infinity, but unlike the others, nothing comparable to them remains in the land of the living. Only the dead know the eternal.

  The insect lands on my leg, a tiny, humanoid figure with four wings and proboscises instead of hands, like blood-sucking lances. It stabs one into my vein. I strike down with my palm, and, when I pull away, my hand and leg both bleed.

  In a crumpled ball the insect twitches and writhes. Out of the broken shell, a fleshly creature bursts forth, now the size of a bird. Its soft and bloody flesh hardens into a metal shell with pistons at the joints and tiny valves where steam escapes.

  The creature rises and lunges for my throat. I crash down upon it with a rock and bits of metal fly left and right. Again, it writhes and bleeds, and a larger, fleshly form bursts out of the armor that once held it. It is now the size of a dog, and I see hatred in its eyes.

  I run. With the safety of the rock behind me, I head east. Maybe, like the serpents, the insect must travel west. I glance behind me. The creature follows.

  Damn.

  The serpentine ripples bend my way, hunting me through the sand. I reach another outcropping, and the flying creature slams into me. It digs into my flesh, flips me over, and draws back an arm to skewer me through the heart. We have only just reached the rock. We are not high enough. A serpent bursts through the sand, its teeth bared. I thrust the creature into its mouth.

  As they sink beneath the sands, I scurry away and climb higher. The sands twist and churn. The metal creature explodes out of the sand and lands in my lap. I think myself dead, but it just lays there, an empty shell. From the sands, the fleshly, bleeding creature emerges, now the size of a man. Before its armor has time to harden, I turn and run, its discarded shell still in my hands.

  Fingers of stone run through this part of Duat. I could run for a mile, maybe two, without fear of serpents, but there will be no outrunning the armored creature. Its wings buzz behind me.

  I swing in desperation, using its discarded shell as a shield and sword. We bounce off ea
ch other. It flies a tight loop. Steam engines turn wheels, and those wheels move the wings. I could almost think it beautiful.

  I beat it back with its own shell, but I cannot hurt it. Eventually, I will tire, but it is the one who stops and stands before me, breathing heavily, its limbs twitching. Its chest piece bursts open on its hinges, and out of the armor crawls the fleshly, bleeding creature, now the size of a giant. The dog-sized shell tumbles from my hands.

  It screams into the sky as its shell hardens, and I crawl into its discarded armor. Perhaps, I mean only to hide there, but my arms fit into its sword-like proboscises, and the four wings beat, reacting like any other limb. The giant strikes, and I fly.

  Its arms move like silver scythes. I dance over and around them with a freedom I've never known. In the next instant, I may die, but in this one, light radiates from my soul. The creature chases me until the rocky fingers are far behind us and the sea of fire looms close. It tires and drops to the sands below. I know now is my chance to escape, but I stay. I draw near as its armor shakes; the chest plate bursts open.

  My mind refuses to imagine the size of the creature that now emerges. As it unfolds itself from its cramped case, I land upon it and thrust into its flesh the metallic proboscises at the end of my arms. I push in deep, and I drink. I drink until I vomit blood, and then I drink more. When I finish, there is nothing left but a paper-thin shell. It blows away with the wind.

  I sit atop the metal giant and vomit. Serpents rise out of the sand to look at me, but they slither on. Soon, the sickness passes, and I no longer feel so full. My wings buzz and lift me into the air, and I fly out over the river, heading east toward judgment.