The Macedonian Hazard

by Eric Flint

  “I’m not sure he did. All I know is that the radio team from Abdera is now at Seuthopolis.”

  “Well, why don’t we go upstairs and ask Rico about it?”

  * * *

  Rico and Sophronike were in the radio room. Rico was playing with the computer and Sophronike was reading a printout of something. Daniel Lang looked at Sophronike and considered whether to ask her to leave. Then he remembered that she was Thessalonike’s maid and probably knew more about what was going on than he did. “Rico, how did you find out that Lípos was going to Seuthopolis?”

  Rico, suave master spy that he was, immediately looked at Sophronike like they were kids in the process of being caught trying to rob a candy store.

  “When did you tell him?” Daniel asked Sophronike.

  Sophronike looked at Daniel, then back at Rico and rolled her eyes. Daniel figured Rico was going to hear about this later. Then she told him.

  Daniel shook his head, trying to figure it out. He knew that Thessalonike was unhappy with Cassander, but helping Eumenes…that didn’t make sense. “Why? You may have gotten Thessalonike killed. Cassander knows, thanks to Malcolm Tanada here. Well, at least suspects.”

  “Seuthopolis is a holy place. It’s new, not entirely finished yet, but it is built on the ruins of a previous holy place and sanctified to Sabazios, and Cassander planned to desecrate it.” Then she looked at Daniel. “You have to protect Thessalonike.”

  Daniel considered that. “Where is Eumenes’ army?”

  Rico turned back to the computer and called up a mapping program. He pointed. “He should be right about there.”

  Eumenes’ camp, en route to Seuthopolis

  November 20, 319 BCE

  The camp was in a valley, and by the time they got set up the sun was sinking below the hills to the west. By now their radio wagon was a thing of practical beauty. The Macedonian craftsmen made a rod in sections that was held upright by a quadruped stand also made in sections for easy set up. Each leg of the stand fit into a corner of the wagon; together, once it was set up, it sent their antenna wire forty feet up into the air. Erica watched as the eight Macedonian soldiers pulled the contraption upright and placed the front legs in the holes in the wagon, then as Tacaran attached the antenna to the connector cable. Then she climbed into the wagon.

  Erica Mirzadeh pulled up the computer, fired up the radio set, and set it searching for active radio sources. She got Rico Gica at Pella and Alice Blevins at Seuthopolis.

  Shouting back and forth as Tacaran used a crank to shift the antenna, she got and recorded signal max vectors for each station. Then she had Tacaran adjust the antenna for both. Between the vectors and terrain features from Google Maps, she placed them. They were a bit east and well north of Pella, but actually a bit west of Amphipolis now, having had to go around the mountains. But they were behind Lípos.

  Once she had their position she pulled up the messages and got the emails from Seuthopolis and Pella, as well as Carthage and every place else relayed through Pella. Like the internet back in the world, as long as you had an active link, your message could be retransmitted to anywhere.

  “Let’s see,” Erica muttered as she worked. “A request for our location from Seuthopolis.” She would let Eumenes decide about that. “And another one from Pella.” That was from Rico Gica, who was mapping their progress just for himself. She sent him the new cords. There were also private messages for a merchant who was accompanying the army and several of the soldiers. The standard request for weather information, wind speed, humidity, temperature, barometric pressure. She fed that in, then pulled up the weather program. It was a perfectly fine program, but there were less than fifty weather stations on this side of the Atlantic. It could predict the weather, but the level of confidence was not much better than Sergeant Kopra’s game leg. Still, it was better than nothing.

  The printer, a dot matrix job using lampblack and oil for its ink, clattered as the messages came out. And it took a while.

  About half an hour later she collected up the sheets of papyrus. She shut down and disconnected the antenna. It was raining and though the weather prediction program didn’t predict lightning, she didn’t want to take the chance.

  * * *

  Eumenes read the decoded message from Seuthopolis, then handed it to Eurydice.

  “Well, at least the radio made it,” Eurydice said as Eumenes started reading the next message, also from Seuthopolis, then started to smile. “Someone in Seuthopolis is clever.” He passed it over.

  Eurydice read it, then looked at him. “Do you think the imitation rockets will work?”

  He shrugged. “They might. For that matter, just the presence of the ship people might give Lípos pause. But it doesn’t really change anything. Seuthes doesn’t have the force to defeat Lípos in the field, not by himself. We still need to proceed to Seuthopolis.”

  He turned to Erica. “Please see that our position is sent to Seuthopolis and that goes for every stop we make until we get there. And let us know as soon as Seuthes reaches his capital.”

  Erica Mirzadeh nodded and left.

  Seuthopolis

  November 21, 319 BCE

  The afternoon sun was getting close to the hilltops when the lookout on the south tower saw a flash from near the edge of the valley. He looked again and saw more flashes. It was a signal mirror. He noted the flashes with a charcoal stick and soon enough he got confirmation it was Seuthes. He would be here, at least at the walls, by midmorning tomorrow. Grinning, the guard turned toward the army to the northwest and made a rude gesture, then shouted for a runner.

  Lípos’ army camp, one mile northwest of Seuthopolis

  November 21, 319 BCE

  Lípos got the news not from the guard’s rude gesture, but from his scouts. He turned to his commanders. Each of whom had their own opinion about what to do now, but all of whom—even those who had yesterday been insisting that he not attack—blamed him for failing to attack before Seuthes and his cavalry got here.

  They were about evenly divided between “attack now” and “retreat.”

  The deciding factor was the rockets. He had seen them with his own eyes. They were real. They were there. And he noted that his one commander who had been with Lysimachus at the Bosphorus insisted that an attack against rockets was suicide and was firmly in the retreat camp.

  Lípos gave the orders to break camp in the morning and move away from Seuthopolis. All the while wondering what Cassander would say when he brought his army home with its tail firmly between its legs, and without a battle.

  Cassander’s private chambers, Royal Palace, Pella

  November 22, 319 BCE

  The sun shone dimly through the translucent shutters. They were made from animal intestine on wood frames, painted with tree sap. But they let some of the light in and did a decent job of keeping the cold out. It gave the room a dim feel that Cassander fought with two of the ship people–designed oil lamps with blown-glass chimneys.

  Cassander sat in a chair on a platform, the two lamps behind him and a table in front. Across the table and a step down stood the spy, Kallipos.

  The spy was a small man and Cassander didn’t like him, but he was reliable. “I have it from a serving woman who works for the ship people,” said Kallipos. “Lípos has retreated from Seuthopolis without ever drawing his sword. Seuthes has his army in the city and will leave at least a thousand horsemen and real rockets there when he leaves to pursue Lípos.”

  “Real rockets?”

  “The ones that scared Lípos away were fakes. Just painted wood.”

  There was, Cassander was sure, a sneer under that calm recital. But he needed this man. It had taken months for the agent in the ship people’s kitchen to learn enough of their barbarous tongue to be of any use. In a way, this news was worse than Lípos’ defeat would have been. He had been frightened away. Macedonians would put up with a lot, but not cowardice.

  Cassander hadn’t heard of the game of chess before The Ev
ent, but now he played it regularly, and he was quite good. He was a man who saw the board several moves ahead. And the next move on this board was clear.

  Lípos would retreat ahead of Seuthes until he ran into Eumenes’ army, then either surrender or be defeated in battle.

  All of Cassander’s credibility with the Macedonian nobility would be destroyed by Lípos’ ignominious defeat.

  And he would be deposed.

  It would take several more days, perhaps even weeks. But he wouldn’t be both king and alive by the end of the year.

  He had to escape, but to where? Ptolemy was out. He would give Cassander to Eumenes without any hesitation. He doubted that he could reach Antigonus One-eye, or any of the eastern satraps. And even if he could, none of them would shelter him.

  Nowhere in Alexander’s empire was safe for him now.

  Carthage was possible, but he didn’t trust the slimy bastards. They would sell him to the queens and Olympias would have him flayed alive.

  Rome…maybe. It wasn’t much now but in a few hundred years…And maybe earlier. With enough silver, he could buy a seat in the senate, or at least a tribuneship. Marry a Roman noble’s daughter, build a new life. But Romans had silly rules about only having one wife.

  Thessalonike would have to go. But not now. Not until his son was born. Then he would have her killed and his son brought to Rome later. For now, all he would take was the treasury.

  Cassander looked up from his brooding and considered the spy. An Athenian, and not of good family. Reasonably educated, but of the lowest classes. A man with few opportunities. “Kallipos, I need you to quietly start collecting gear for a long trip. A wagon…No, a ship. And food, clothing for you and for me. There will be several chests I will be bringing.”

  The little Greek got a calculating look in his eyes, and Cassander almost called the guards to have him killed. But he could trust Kallipos as much as he could trust anyone. “Go now.”

  Kallipos left.

  Pella, police headquarters

  November 23, 319 BCE

  Pella is one long-running Spy vs. Spy cartoon, Daniel Lang thought as he read the report by one of his confidential informants—spies—while he sat in the lamplit room. The lamp was semi-modern and proof of international trade. The design was from Wikipedia, the wick from Egypt, the copper body made right here in Pella, the glass chimney from Carthage and the kerosene from the oil fields at Trinidad. That was, in a way, what the report was about. The ship people didn’t introduce international trade to this world. Trade was here long before The Event. But the ship people added greatly to the product list and provided more trustworthy forms of currency. What Daniel was reading about was a silver coin smuggling operation. Cassander wanted his tariffs, and money from merchants here in Pella was finding its way to Amphipolis, where it was picked up by the Reliance and became ship people dollars that could be used from Tyre to Trinidad, to buy things like the glass chimney on his lamp.

  He continued reading the CI’s report.

  A little after sunset yesterday, Cassander opened the door to the strong room and came out with a large heavy case.

  Now, why would Cassander be stealing from his own strong room? Daniel wondered. The only reason he knew about it was because Daniel’s beat cops had lots of CIs, most of them slaves. There were more slaves in Pella than free people. Most craftsmen were slaves, and most households had at least a couple of slaves. Many of the slaves were quite loyal to their masters, but a lot weren’t. And while slaves couldn’t buy their freedom without their owner’s consent, it was legal for them to buy it if they could put together the money. So in a place as big as the palace, it was a safe bet that at least a few would sell information on their master’s actions.

  He made three more trips to the strong room. Each time he carried away a heavy leather case.

  Daniel still didn’t know why, but it was pretty clear that Cassander was raiding the treasury. Whether that was legal, Daniel wasn’t sure. But doing it by the dark of night didn’t suggest it was aboveboard.

  Daniel wrote out a note describing what the report said, then went upstairs to visit Rico Gica and Sophronike.

  Royal Palace, Pella

  Around midnight, November 23, 319 BCE

  Sophronike handed Daniel’s note to Thessalonike, who opened it and took it over to a lamp to read. Her face paled.

  “He plans to abandon us! Me and our child. He will steal the silver from the strong room and run, if he hasn’t already. I have to find out how much he has taken.”

  She dressed quickly, used the chamber pot and waddled out of the room, motioning Sophronike to silence.

  Sophronike didn’t wait more than a few minutes before she left at almost a run. She couldn’t gainsay her mistress, but was afraid of what might happen if Thessalonike were to run into a guard. Daniel Lang would protect them all with his ship people magic.

  Royal Palace, Pella

  Around midnight, November 24, 319 BCE

  Thessalonike moved through the halls of the palace as silent as a ghost. It was part of her training. She carried no light, and felt her way using the occasional dim lamps left burning overnight. It was a slow way to travel, but what was needed here was stealth, not speed.

  Finally, after almost an hour, she reached the strong room. The bar was locked in place by a bronze lock of ship people design but made in Egypt. She, however, knew the three-letter combination. Cassander thought he was so smart. ICP wasn’t that hard to figure out. Iollas, Cassander, and Plistarch, Antipater’s three eldest sons, of whom only Cassander still lived.

  Carefully, more by touch than sight, she rotated the three wheels into the proper position and removed the lock. Then, as quietly as she could, she shifted the heavy bar and pulled open the door. It didn’t squeak at all.

  Once in the room, she found the lamp that was located next to the door and tried to light it using a flint and steel. The flint and steel struck and produced sparks, but the angle was wrong and the wick didn’t catch. She tried again and again. Sparks all around the wick and no flame. The flashes from the sparks had dazzled her night sight painfully, but she persisted. It was almost two minutes later that she finally got the small wick on the Aladdin-style lamp to catch. It gave her dim light in the dark room, and first she pulled the door closed. Then she went to a shelf on the right.

  Her dower was stored in those chests. She opened the first. It was empty. Then the next. Again empty.

  Macedonia had more money than a man could carry, but much of it was in forms other than coins. The money in this room was to cover day-to-day expenses, and when needed to do things like pay the army. That was still an enormous amount of money, but Cassander, over the last couple of nights, had managed to make quite a dent in it.

  She heard a noise and turned to see the door opening.

  * * *

  Cassander saw the lock missing from the bar and the bar pulled to the open position and knew he had not left it so. He readied the bronze copy of the cap-and-ball pistol that he now always carried. The caps were stolen and very hard to come by so he had very little practice with the thing. Gun in one hand, he pulled open the door.

  There she was. The little harpy who loved only the gods, not her husband. Disloyal. He was surrounded by disloyalty. He pointed the pistol at her, mostly just to hold her there while he called the guards. But she didn’t freeze into immobility. She pulled a dagger from her belt. He fired. The report was loud and the room was filled with smoke. When he could see again, she was on the floor with a hole in her shoulder and blood everywhere. For a moment he thought he’d killed her. Then she started to get up.

  * * *

  Daniel Lang was already in the hall leading to the strong room when he heard the shot. He ran, followed by Demos and Sophronike. Surprisingly, Demos was turning into something approaching a good cop. He had fewer of the bad habits than the older city guards and didn’t need the graft that was an ingrained part of their income. The door was half opened, and their runn
ing footsteps must have alerted the perp. He turned and Daniel saw the bronze copy of a ship person pistol in Cassander’s hand. Daniel stopped and drew his own pistol.

  The bronze gun came around and Daniel was looking down the shaking barrel. He brought his own gun up as Cassander pulled the trigger. The bullet whistled by his head and he was blinded by the smoke. Daniel fired blind and fired again. Cassander fired again. Daniel fired a third time, and barely over the ringing in his ears heard a body hit the floor. As the smoke cleared, he moved forward to see Cassander. One of his shots had hit the man in the right chest and turned him half around. Another hit him in the side of the head, and the .45 caliber bullet propelled by a black powder charge shattered the weak part of the skull just above and in front of the ear. Cassander was dead before he hit the ground.

  * * *

  Daniel didn’t wait. He reached down, grabbed Cassander’s pistol from the floor and ran to the strong room, to see Thessalonike trying to sit up, tears coming from her eyes, but not a peep out of her. “Stay where you are,” Daniel said to her. “Let me check it. Demos, where’s the emergency kit?” All Daniel’s cops carried emergency kits. They contained bandages and a small vial of wood alcohol. He’d started by using grain alcohols, but that didn’t last more than a few days before it was drunk.

  Demos handed him the kit. Daniel pulled it open, hauled out the vial of alcohol and poured it on to the wound.