Immortal Beloved

by C. E. Murphy

  “How many dives have there been?” Methos asked, studying the screen Jerry had brought up for him.

  “This is the fifth,” Ghean answered. “We went back to the States to try to get money to fund more.”

  Methos looked up momentarily, and grinned. “It worked,” he said dryly. Ghean grinned back, and turned to look out the window again.

  Methos studied the screen intently, trying to overlay his memories of the city onto the map. After a few minutes, he concluded memory was making it more difficult than it would be to study it fresh. He kept expecting streets and buildings where the map showed only empty stretches of rock. Still, four of the streets they’d mapped spidered inwards, and the additions from the new mapping indicated they were travelling towards the city center. A building was mapped there. Thoughtlessly, Methos said, “You found the temple.”

  Ghean gave Methos a sharp look, as Michael looked away from his camera to lift an eyebrow at the Immortal man. “Temple?”

  Methos winced inwardly. Clumsy, clumsy, he scolded himself, and tapped the smaller window in his screen. “Look at the layout. There’s a central building, isn’t there? Governments and religious institutions have a tendency to be in the middle of cities.”

  Michael nodded. “There’s a building there, all right, but except for one place where the stone was obviously broken, there are no entrances, no decorations, nothing that might indicate it was a temple.”

  Methos closed his eyes, building the image of the temple in his mind. Three diases, the temple centered on the last one, the House symbols holding the temple roof above its thick walls. Carved on the outer walls were renditions of the gods coming out of the mountains to share their gifts with the citizens of the fishing villages that founded the legendary city. Opening his eyes, he studied Ghean’s profile. Did the fire melt all that away? If it did, what happened to the room below, and the Book? “Is it higher than the city around it?” he asked aloud.

  “Yes,” Michael said, “but who would build a temple without doors?”

  “Someone who didn’t want his gods disturbed,” Jerry offered to his computer, and looked up defensively when Michael spun around to stare at him with interest. “What? Doesn’t the geek get to be esoteric and wise sometimes too?”

  Anne grinned. “You seem a little too grounded in this century for that, is all, Jerry.”

  “Hey,” the young man protested, “I’ve got a degree in philosophy.”

  Anne’s eyebrows shot up. “You do? What are you doing here?”

  Jerry shrugged. “Philosophy doesn’t pay very well.”

  “You may be on to something there, though,” Michael said slowly. “We call our churches the houses of God. Another civilization might have taken that idea more literally.”

  Methos and Ghean exchanged glances as a debate ensued, Ghean visibly biting her tongue to keep from protesting. She shook her head a little, turning to look out the window once more.

  The irritating thing, she thought, is that it’s not actually an unreasonable deduction.

  It is more likely than the truth, the patient one agreed.

  Ghosts, the frightened one whispered. Ghean leaned forward to see out the window better. They’re wrong. Our gods deserted us and left Atlantis a ghost city. When will we go home? We’re close to home now. When will we go home?

  Soon, Ghean promised automatically. She looked over her shoulder to watch Methos, absorbed in studying the map again as it built itself. It frightens me, she admitted silently. That I can’t tell what direction anything is in. That I can’t remember. I think the only reason I was sure about the temple was the hole we’d chopped in it.

  Patience. We’ve found pieces from the Houses within the city. Even though the Houses themselves are beyond the boundaries we’ve explored, we’ll find a way to get out there. Once we can find a House we’ll know what direction we’re facing, where everything is.

  Ghean shook her head a little. We have no reason to go beyond the city, she argued with the patient one. There’s no way to suggest it. Our resources are too limited to go on wild goose chases.

  We have time, the patient one reminded her. In time, we’ll reach the Houses, and we’ll be gain perspective, be able to place the streets and buildings into our memories. We have time.

  “Care to explore, Adam?” Michael asked suddenly. Methos and Ghean both looked up, equally startled out of their respective musings.

  “Explore? Perhaps I’m a little narrow-minded, Michael, but somehow the idea of popping out of the sub for a quick jaunt through the streets doesn’t entirely appeal to me.” Methos grinned, and Michael laughed.

  “Look, practicality dictates we take this in a pretty methodical manner, mapping out the city and then focusing on what we think will be the biggest motherlode of information. If we can find a place with access to the sewer system, that’ll probably be our number one stopping place. Sewers tend to have more information about a culture than anything else.”

  You’re going to be badly disappointed by Atlantis, Methos thought, bemused. Even after all the centuries, he was still impressed by the unique sewer system Atlantis had developed.

  “However,” Michael went on, “we’ve recently recieved a generous donation by an extremely generous fellow,” he grinned, flicking a salute at Methos, “and it seems like we ought to bend to his whim today. You won’t get another chance, Adam, so what would you like to look for?”

  “Buried treasure!” Methos said promptly. “Pirate’s gold!”

  Anne laughed. “All men are little boys,” she said, “and little boys always want pirate treasure.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Methos asked reasonably. “All right, if I get to make the choice. What if we took a spin around the outer edge of the city?” He nodded at his screen. “It looks like you’ve found some boundaries. I wonder if there’s anything beyond them.”

  Michael wrinkled his forehead, looking dubious, as Ghean arched an eyebrow at Methos. “I thought you’d want to look at your so-called temple,” she said.

  I do, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to get the sub into and under the temple to excavate the Book. I think I’m going to have to go swimming. “You’ve already been there,” he shrugged. “I was looking at the symbols on that cup you found, the one with the bull’s head? There are points outside it, all in that circle. I had this idea the city might be laid out like that. The central point would be that temple, and maybe there’s something in the outlying area that might be interesting.” Methos widened his eyes, shrugging. “Who knows? Could we do that?”

  Ghean’s smile was slow and approving. “Who knows,” she repeated. “Can we, Dan?”

  Dan glanced at Michael, who shrugged and nodded. “Sure,” the pilot said. “The seafloor maps say we’re in sort of a valley here, maybe the original structure of the island. Probably is, actually. We’re on kind of a high plateau on the Med floor here anyway. Anyway. I’ll go up a ways, maybe halfway up the valley wall, and we’ll buzz around there, see what there is to see. How’s that sound?” Dan looked over his shoulder again, too briefly to obtain approval, and pulled the submarine up through the water.

  Methos met Ghean’s eyes again, smiling. The gods lived on the mountaintops, according to Atlantean religion. The thirteen Houses had been build halfway up, between the gods and the people they’d been raised from. “Sounds like a plan,” Methos agreed. “Let’s see if we can follow the path of one of these wider roads up. Maybe it’ll lead to something.”

  “Sure thing.” Dan nodded.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Anne advised. “I’d hate to see you disappointed on your first dive.”

  Methos smiled at the blonde woman. “You’d hate to see me put a stop on that check,” he teased.

  “Too late,” Michael said cheerfully. “The University called me yesterday morning to say it’d been cashed and credited to our fund.”

  “Ah well.” Methos spread his hands. “If I’m disappointed, I’ll just have to live w
ith it, then. I’ve been disappointed before.”

  “Wise man,” Jerry said, without looking up from what he was doing. “You could be a philosopher, too.”

  Methos grinned. “I don’t know enough about computers.”

  Jerry raised his eyes with a laugh, touching a finger to his nose. “On the nose, buddy,” he grinned. “You got it on the nose.”

  “Mountains coming up,” Dan reported a few minutes later. “Keep your eyes peeled, folks. We’ll see if Adam’s feeling lucky today.”

  “Do ya feel lucky, punk?” Ghean grated in a singularly terrible imitation of Clint Eastwood. “Well? Do ya?” Anne shot her a grin as Methos focused out the window.

  “I believe I do,” he murmured several minutes later. “I believe I do. Mary.” He nodded out the porthole.

  “What?” Michael demanded sharply, jumping to his feet to step across the sub and look out Methos’ porthole. “Did you find — oh my God. Anne. Anne, give me the camera, Anne.” He held out his hand, fingers beckoning impatiently as he leaned over Methos’ shoulder. Anne handed it to him, switching sides of the submarine to look out Ghean’s porthole with her.

  At least one of the Houses had survived Atlantis’ fall surprisingly intact. The outer wall nearest the submarine had been partially shattered, the roof caved in at the corner, allowing the sub to cast light into a home unvisited for centuries. Unlike the guest house Methos had lived in, this was part of the permeant structure, and even the visible furniture had been designed with eternity in mind. A stone table still stood, cracks at the bases of its legs where it had once melded with the floor. Fragmented pottery lay across the floor in pieces, the sediment in the room so low that even from where the sub hovered, yards away, patterns were still visible on the pottery. Slender pieces of stone lay in lengths around the floor; chairs with broken legs and backrests suggested where they came from.

  “Get Handy, get Handy, get Handy,” Michael chanted, filming the ruins. “Get Handy in there, Anne. My God, Adam, you’re a genius.”

  “Just lucky,” Methos demurred, lifting his hand to block the camera’s lens as Michael swung it to face him. “I’d rather not be filmed, please.”

  Jerry finally untangled himself from his computer so he could lean over and squint out an unoccupied porthole. “Are you nuts?” he demanded. “This is the find of a lifetime, and you don’t want on-film credit for it? Damn, Adam, can I have it, then?”

  Methos kept his hand up, a determined smile of apology fixed on his face. “Please, Michael.” I’d hate to have to expose your film. I’m too fond of my head to see it displayed on the Discovery channel with other five thousand year old treasures.

  Michael snorted in disappointment, turning the camera back to the apparent dining room setting. “Not much of a glory hound, are you, Pierson? Anne, have you got Handy ready yet?”

  “Just a minute,” Anne said, as Methos shook his head. “Really, Adam,” she admonished, “you should take credit. Okay, I’m launching him now.” Arms in the waldo, she reached up, twisting her hands. The submarine shook a little as the two-fisted robot detached itself from the bottom and dropped into the water. “Okay, Michael, here’s your eyes.” Anne’s screen flickered, light changing as Handy’s headlamps added to the wash of light. “In we go.”

  The little robot swam up to the break in the wall, looking absurdly slow to the watchers in the sub. A few seconds later, as the camera perched atop Handy sent back detailed images of the pottery on the floor, everyone scrambled for a good look at Anne’s screen. A plate, nearly whole, was a few feet in front of the robot. Anne carefully extended a hand, clasping with the waldo. A momet later, the plate was held directly in front of the camera. “Damn,” Anne said admiringly. “That’s pretty.”

  A shallow, curved groove had been carved in the outer rim of the plate. Below it, baked into the clay, ran a pattern of dancers and bulls, each quarter of the plate a different step of the dance. In the center of the plate, only a few shades darker than the clay itself, was a representation of the bull of House Taurus.

  “The must have been bull worshippers,” Michael proclaimed in a hushed voice. “The pattern, the bull’s head, that’s the second time we’ve seen that. Look, it even has the thirtreen bullets around it like the cup did.” He made a quick circle above the screen, pointing out the faded detail. “It’s beautiful. Anne, can we bring it in?”

  “Sure.” Anne lowered the plate away from Handy’s eyes, tucking it away out of sight under the robot.

  “He’s got a pouch down there,” Ghean explained quietly to Methos. “Not a lot can fit in it, but it means we can bring up more than one thing at a time.”

  “Go on, go on,” Michael said excitedly. “Let’s see what else there is. Go look behind the table. Look, there’s a door in the corner,” he added triumphantly, as Handy’s lights picked detail up at the back of the room.

  “Wow,” Jerry said a moment later.

  A fourth chair, completely intact, lay behind the table. Handy hovered above it, focusing on the legs, and then the back of the chair. The back was squared off, but open, the symbol of Taurus carved in the stone.

  “How the hell did that survive falling over?” Anne demanded. “Want me to pick it up?”

  “Do you think we can bring it out?” Michael asked breathlessly. Anne bit her lower lip. Methos was almost surprised the robot didn’t make a similiar motion.

  “I’ll try,” she said. “I hope that back doesn’t fall out when I pick it up.”

  “Wait,” Methos said. “How far can Handy go looking?”

  Anne looked over her shoulder at him. “About a hundred yards, why?”

  Methos nodded. “There’s that door,” he said, half smiling. “Don’t you want to know what’s on the other side?”

  Chapter 26

  The sound of the sub’s engines filled the silence for a few seconds. “Wow,” Jerry said, “did anybody else get a feeling of impending doom when he said that?”

  Anne let out a breath. “I admit I sort of expected a kraken to burst out the door.”

  “There’s no such thing,” Dan said reasonably, and Methos smiled.

  “Atlantis is only a legend, too,” he reminded the pilot. “Michael, do we have time? Can we explore the house?”

  Michael looked wryly at Methos. “You’re a better archaeologist than I am,” he accused. “I see something pretty and want to haul it topside so we can get a good look at it. Sure, we can go exploring. Even if we don’t find anything else we can always get the chair on the way back out again.”

  “If this room is intact, maybe others are,” Ghean said quietly. “Adam seems to be having a good day. We may as well cash in on it.”

  “All right, all right,” Anne said. At her command, Handy rose away from the chair and puttered up over the half wall, into the next room. It was almost half again as long as the dining room, with stone counters built against the walls. Above them was shelving, all of it stone, much of it emptied. Endless broken pottery on the floor pointed to where the material that belonged on the shelves had gone. Some of the counters had collapsed, leaving piles of rubble on the floor, but a few still stood, one with a bowl sitting on it.

  “Go look at it!” Michael instructed excitedly. Anne grinned, and Handy swam towards the bowl, which sat as if it had been left there only yesterday. It was considerably less elegant than the plate they’d found, made of fired clay, but undecorated. “A kitchen?” Michael hazarded. “A mixing bowl. Let’s see if we can find any utensils. If we’re lucky they’ll have used stone, not wood.”

  Dan chuckled. “What, you don’t think we’re going to find any stainless steel? Over there, Anne, to the right. I thought I saw something on the floor.”

  “There’s a lot on the floor,” Anne pointed out. “Mostly broken. Must have been one hell of a quake.” Still, Handy dropped away from the bowl to veer to the right, exploring the floor a few feet at a time. “Good eye,” she added admiringly a moment later, and used one of Handy’s claw
s to carefully push away debris from a long spoon and a stone knife that still visibly held an edge. The end of the spoon was broken off, but Michael crowed with delight anyway.

  “Mary,” he said, grinning, “you should have brought Dr. Pierson on board for this project a long time ago. At this moment I’d say he’s worth his weight in gold. Anne, can we do a quick perimeter sweep before we look at the floor any more? I want to see how big the room is.”

  “Sure.” Handy bobbled back up, working his way down the wall they’d begun on, over the bowl.

  Methos glanced at Ghean, who mouthed ‘servant’s quarters’. He nodded, looking back at Handy’s screen. The Atlantean Houses had been run by servants, still part of the House, but not the noble blood who ruled the city and island. The kitchen almost invariably was in their quarters, set off a little from the rest of the House. The dining room they’d come in through wasn’t the main one, then. There would be another one, larger, somewhere else.

  Methos straightened abruptly, almost cracking his head on the top of the submarine. Servants, scholars and housekeepers, Ragar had said to him, laughing, as he and Methos had made their way through the gardens towards House Taurus. We all live in this part of the House, not quite part of the nobility, but too useful to keep further away. “Ghean,” he said out loud, and the woman looked at him sharply.

  “Afraid so,” Michael said. “Half the back wall is gone, in fact.” Handy lit up what had once been part of a door, the left side of it broken away, along with most of the corner of the kitchen. Michael leaned forward, as if he could bring Handy a little closer to the wreckage by doing so. “It doesn’t look like there’s anything past that. No more walls.”

  Anne pushed Handy up to the remains of the door, shedding light on the ground outside. “Looks like this had floor laid here, though. Out, or do you want to look at the rest of the kitchen?”

  “The kitchen,” Michael said. Ghean stepped back to lift her eyebrows at Methos.

  “And you were admonishing me to be careful?” she asked very softly. “What is it?”