by Dana Cameron
For me, if you couldn’t find “Cupcake Island”—and I hadn’t stopped my search—“Museum Island” was the next best thing.
Down along the canal, past the Pergamon Museum, I found the place. I wasn’t really sure what to expect, but the exterior of the Altes Museum was impressive. The museum formed one edge of a wide, square green space, with the Berlin cathedral on the next side and a line of trees along the canal. It was busy, a well-used space, even at midafternoon. The museum facade was lined with columns, and dramatic bronze sculptures of mounted hunters flanked the staircase leading to the central entrance. I was suddenly reminded that so many of the finest classical antiquities were now to be found in repositories outside their native lands. The nineteenth century had brought a gold rush for the best sites, and Germany, France, and England had gotten busy.
As I introduced myself at the desk, I was given a badge and directed to the main gallery. Row upon row of cases of the most exquisite ancient pottery were showcased by category: sacrifices, everyday life, women, warfare.
Clearly being a colonial power had its benefits.
“Miss Miller?”
He was every caricature of an aging professor. Untidy tweed jacket, tufts of gray hair poking out in a tonsure, smudged glasses. Folded papers stuffed in one pocket and, surprisingly, an Asterix comics mug nestled in the soft fabric of a basket from which he’d just taken a vessel that looked like a sort of vase with handles. He put the brake on the trolley he was using and held out his hand.
“I had an e-mail from Dr. Jenny Kelner, who told me you might be in touch. I’m so pleased you were able to stop by.”
“Thank you for taking the time to see me.” I shook hands, a little apologetically. “I’m afraid my bag was snatched, so I don’t have my notebook. But I do remember my questions.”
He tutted over my fictitious loss and nodded. “I was just replacing this kalyx krater. Mid-third century BCE from the Greek colonies in southeastern Italy. It depicts the release of Prometheus from his torture by Hercules, who killed the eagle feasting on his liver. It’s such a painful story, Prometheus sacrificing himself for having gifted humanity with fire. I look at this and feel happy and relieved for him; it’s a hopeful story about the end of pain and suffering.”
He smiled at his silliness. “But to the matter at hand. You have an interest in pottery decorated with three-dimensional figurines? I think I can help. Have you seen my recent paper on the subject? I happen to have an offprint, if you would like.”
He made one appear as if by magic. I took it and glanced over it. “Thank you. Mine…was in my bag.”
“My specialty is Greek pottery, which seems very dull, until you realize it tells you of the movements of people, trade, and whole civilizations. The rise of nations and democracy. And,” he nodded to the vessel he’d just replaced, “some of them tell wonderful stories, not only of myth, but of daily life.”
“I’m not sure if you can help me,” I said. “The object I’m interested in is clay, but not a pot. Though Jenny said it might be a pottery decoration, not a votive figurine as I first thought.”
“May I see it?” Then he shook his head. “Of course. Your bag was stolen. Perhaps you can describe it for me?”
I turned the offprint over and sketched out the object I’d taken from the museum back at home, but without enough detail to indicate specifics.
“I think Dr. Kelner is correct. You see the little roughness at the bottom? A peg might have been there once. It would fit in a hole in a ridge around the vessel. There would be a half dozen or a dozen of them, and all together, it would make a very decorative piece. Unusual. I’ve just seen a reference to such a thing in, of all places, northern Britain.”
“Oh? Where?”
“I found mention of a former Roman soldier to his brother, who was stationed at Vindolanda, on Hadrian’s Wall, in the north of England. You’re familiar with the wax tablets found there, the way that they were inscribed? How the marks were scratched onto the wooden holders so that when the wax disappeared, it left a more permanent record, capable of surviving in the archaeological record? Good. Well, we don’t know who this ex-soldier Secundus was, but he wrote to his brother claiming to have found a pot decorated in this fashion in what is modern-day Turkey.”
“Oh,” I said. I’d heard of the tablets, but didn’t really know how they could help me. I didn’t need to know the whole history of these things, just the specific importance of the ones in my possession.
Schulz was on an academic tear, though, and hadn’t noticed my lack of interest. “But most peculiarly, he described this vessel as an ‘unbreakable,’ perhaps of metal, at what is now the site of Notion. Clearly that wasn’t where it was supposed to be, as something as different and important as that should have been in the temple of Apollo in nearby Claros or at the temple of Artemis near Ephesus. A pithos of metal. From the temple of Apollo.”
He looked at me as if I should get the importance of that.
I didn’t. I cleared my throat. “Um, how old was it?”
“The letter dates to the end of the first century CE. The Apollonian temple at Claros probably dates to the second half of the seventh century BCE, but there was almost certainly a much earlier presence of the worship of Cybele there, two centuries before that. No one knows how old the jar is, because it was never found.”
I was missing the point. He kept looking at me so hopefully, wanting me to get it.
“The temple of Apollo. I mean, that makes sense to find a metal jar there, doesn’t it? As a special offering to the god or something?”
He nodded, giving me a chance to work it out.
“Metal jars…not all that common, right? I mean, they’re mostly always clay, right? Maybe some of carved stone?”
“Hesiod describes the ‘box,’ really a jar, given to Pandora as unbreakable,” he said, unable to keep it to himself any longer. “Therefore, a metal jar. Though the description of this one is unusual, ornate and small, not your usual storage vessel.”
It took me a minute to work it out. “You think a Roman in first-century Asia Minor found Pandora’s Box?”
“Well…” Academic habit made him cautious. “No, no, of course not. But this description stood out as unusual in the letters, and, naturally, I couldn’t ignore the Hesiod translation. Whatever Secundus found was rare enough, and certainly he was excited enough about it to write to his brother and give him a description of it. I am going through the letters exchanged between the brothers.”
I thought of the figurines in my possession. In his last breath, Grayling had said something about Pandora, but I thought it was only a way of saying how untrustworthy Dmitri was. But Clean-head had also mentioned the Box in Paris…“Is there a description of the Box? Jar?”
“Metal, I suspect. Decorated, Secundus mentions, but he is circumspect. He did mention that there were four spaces, perhaps slots for adornments, along a flange around the belly of the jar. I think he believed he’d found something very, very important. Very precious. I suspect it also originated from the same region as this kalyx krater, for instance, in Apulia.”
“Do you know where either of the soldiers ended up?” I asked. Four spaces jibed with what Grayling had told me, that there were four figurines or keys, each from a different temple.
“I believe Tertius died in the army, not long after this letter was received. This is no surprise; there was a great deal of disease at the time. A shame, because another letter from Secundus might have brought more information. I think he was trying to leave his brother a clue. Because Secundus became a merchant after his stint in the army, I suspect he would have lived in one of the major cities in the area, Ephesus, perhaps. But it’s also possible he could have moved on.”
And be anywhere in the Roman Empire, which at that time spread from Britain to Syria. “Do you have their letters?”
“Oh my, no. They’re all at the British Museum.”
“Oh.” Just my luck.
“I have s
pent a long time studying them, though, and have included several very clear, very detailed photographs of the fragments in my forthcoming article. I have a copy, if you’d like to see an early draft.”
“Oh yes! Thank you very much!”
“I would, of course, appreciate you not citing it until after the publication date this fall.”
I stared at him, then finally remembered: I wasn’t a student, researching a paper. I was working for a deranged thief who’d kidnapped my cousin. Intellectual primacy was not even on my radar. “No, I promise, I won’t.”
He pulled out the thick sheaf of papers from his pocket.
I took it.
“Interestingly, another party, an amateur from the States, has just contacted me with a similar question about decorated Greek pottery.” He noticed his glasses were smudged and began to polish them.
I had never heard of this stuff before Dmitri, and suddenly it seemed as though Pandora—and interest in my figurines—was everywhere. This couldn’t be a coincidence. “Oh yes?”
“I’ve never spoken to a real senator before,” he said in an excited, reverent whisper. “It was rather exciting.”
Given the context, it took me a minute to realize he wasn’t talking about Julius Caesar and Mark Antony. “Senator? As in a US senator?”
“Oh yes. Your Mr. Edward Knight, from New York. Apparently he’s an enthusiast, helping to organize a museum show to visit his state.”
A woman in a severe skirt and blouse approached, caught his eye, and handed him a note, which he read. “Oh dear. A phone call I absolutely must take. If you’ll excuse me? I won’t be long.”
I nodded, and he left, trailing in the wake of the woman. I gazed at the pot, remembering what I knew of Prometheus: His brother was Epimetheus, and they were responsible for doling out attributes to the animals. Epimetheus, or “hindsight,” believed he had nothing left for humans. This prompted Prometheus to steal fire from the gods in order to let humanity develop culture.
Prometheus, who, in return for this sin, was tortured and given Pandora for a sister-in-law.
I didn’t like to think how often Pandora, and her Box, and all the trouble it contained, kept popping up in my investigation. If chaos had followed the last time the Box was opened, I truly didn’t want to see it happen again.
A susurrus behind me. I turned, expecting Professor Schulz, and was startled to see Gerry and Claudia, with my backpack over her shoulder. At least there was no sign of Will. I sighed with relief.
“Have you met Professor Schulz?” Claudia said.
I nodded. “He’s taking a phone call. Should be right back.”
“We have to leave soon,” she said.
Gerry strayed over to one of the other cases. He peered at the pottery vessels and straightened, shaking his head. “Um, no problems about nudity in ancient Greece, huh?”
Claudia looked over his shoulder. “Whoa! Any excuse to wave your dick around. Penis here, penis there, get it out, lads, wave it in the air.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth. She had not just said that…
“Claudia!” Gerry was aghast. I suddenly realized Gerry the Werewolf was prudish. And his sister, under the layers of buttoned-down shrink, had an actual sense of humor.
“I’m serious, it’s nothing but penises over here. Zoe, how did they keep from getting sunburned?”
“Claudia! Jesus!”
“They probably used oil or fat or something, right?” She was genuinely curious now.
“Uh, probably,” I said. “Never really thought about it.”
Gerry shook his head. “I sure wouldn’t be so proud if my junk looked like a bunch of small, hairy radishes.” He caught my glance. “Which it doesn’t.”
Claudia had composed herself, as if the moment had never been. “What is that one, Zoe?”
I stepped back to show her the jug with the Prometheus painting.
She nodded, started to turn, then something caught her glance. “Gerry.”
This time it was a command rather than a joke. He stopped counting genitals and came over.
“What?”
“Hercules.”
He glanced at it, glanced at her. “Huh. Interesting.”
I realized why they were looking at Hercules; I understood now his lion skin suggested a possible Fangborn connection. I resolved to add “animal skins” to my list of Fangborn attributes to be studied. But Hercules, another Fangborn, associated with Pandora and Prometheus? It all bore consideration now.
He turned to me. “But we need to get out of here. As in, yesterday.”
“Yes. Zoe, come on.”
“But Professor Schulz—”
“You can leave word at the desk,” Gerry said.
I stopped by the front, and after a tentative “Guten Tag,” explained in English that I would miss Professor Schulz. “The police found my bag and I must identify it.”
“I will tell him, thank you,” the administrator said in unaccented English.
We hustled out, heading into the crowded tourist area full of shops and restaurants.
“Can we stop?” I said. “I missed lunch.”
I didn’t really want to stop, not with the discussions we had to have, but I was ravenous.
“Not quite yet. Let’s get a little farther,” Claudia said. “I know a place.”
“What are you worried about? My next meeting with Dmitri isn’t for hours, and I’m not even sure he’s in the country yet.”
We went a few blocks more, and the crowds thinned as we passed through a tony shopping district. It became mixed residential buildings and businesses, all very high-end.
I realized there were very few people I had to work hard to keep pace with, but the Steubens were among them. They weren’t actually running but eating up the distance quickly.
We went into an alley. Four tall apartment buildings formed a bricked courtyard filled with outdoor seating for a café. Suddenly my mouth watered. Not only could I smell the strong oils of newly roasted coffee, but there was a trace of truly diabolical chocolate baking nearby.
We were seated quickly. Claudia ordered, then turned to me. I said, thinking quickly, “Für zwei,” which meant I’d be having whatever she was having. But at least I wouldn’t feel like an ignoramus while I fished out my phrase book. My two years of flirting with German had been a long time ago, and while I might be a developmentally challenged werewolf, I still had some pride.
Gerry glanced at the menu and ordered something that took a lot longer to say. I wondered whether he’d gotten more food and whether he’d share, or if it was just more long compound nouns.
When the waiter cleared away, I was suddenly the focus of attention I’d not wanted.
“Nice skirt,” Gerry said. “You mug someone for it?”
“I needed to get out of there fast. That guy in the woods? He’s nothing but seven kinds of trouble.”
“Thanks for the promotion, Zoe. I think I used to be only six.”
I turned. That voice.
Will MacFarlane emerged from the basement of the cafe.
Chapter 14
What was Will doing here? After all the pain I’d gone through to protect him from the Beast, from me—
Habit drove me. I stood up, kicking my chair back, ready to run.
“Sit down, Zoe,” Claudia said.
I sat.
I realized what she was doing and tried to stand up again. My legs wouldn’t work.
“Goddamn it, Claudia!”
“Sit. The quicker you settle down, the quicker we get through this. And,” she added, “the sooner you get a handle on your powers, the sooner you can resist me.” She shrugged. “You’ll have a better chance, that is.”
As soon as she said “powers,” my stomach lurched away and my face went aflame. “Not in front of—”
“It’s OK, Zoe,” Will said. “I know all about it.”
“What exactly do you think you know?” I said. I didn’t want to look at him. I was so mad
he’d insinuated himself back into my life, but I forced myself. “I don’t even know what’s going on with me. How did you find me? What do you know?”
“More than you, but that’s no surprise.” He smiled for a second, but it vanished a heartbeat later. “I know all about the Fangborn, Zoe, because it’s my job.”
Impossible. After I’d sacrificed so much, it just got worse and worse. He’d known the very worst of me as a human, and now, somehow, he knew that I was a freak. Once again Will knew more about everything, more about me, than I did.
My breath came harder and harder, and I realized I was hyper-ventilating. The waitress came out with a loaded tray, and that gave me a moment to collect myself.
Will sat down at the table, right next to me, and ordered a coffee in idiomatic, ass-achingly perfect German. He’d aced his required language exams, of course; as a classicist, he’d come across Italian, German, French, Latin, and Greek, trying to keep up with archaeological reports.
I was trapped. If I thought I could have managed it, I would have Changed, right then and there, and taken off.
Instead, I took a sip of the hot chocolate and burned the shit out of my mouth. “Damn it!”
Zoe, chill out. If he knows… Taking a deep breath, I groped for words.
He reached for my hand, then caught himself and pulled back. “I can help you get Danny back.”
“What do you know about Danny?” I turned on the Steubens before he could answer. “What are you people trying to do? Telling him could kill Danny! You want me to trust you, then you ambush me with this?”
“Zoe, listen!”
I wanted to say, “Claudia, cut that shit out!” but suddenly I couldn’t say anything.
Damned vampire tricks. She wasn’t wrong, though, so while I fumed, I listened.
“I think I can help you with Danny,” Will said, “because I know who Dmitri Parshin is. You’re going to get a call from him, right? In about two hours?”
I nodded. He did know everything.
“I want to listen in on that call, and when you go to hand him the figurine, I want to be there. At the very least, I want you wired.”