Fires of Alexandria Read online

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following weeks the workshop bustled with activity. Heron had hired a select group of workers back, after Agog vetted them. She didn't know what contacts he had in the city, but she was prepared to trust him, given his defense of the workshop. He had to promise not to threaten or injure them first, since she was well acquainted with the information he extracted from Blackfinger.

  Heron rented a house next to her workshop that the workers could live in. She told them it was a benefit of their employment, but really she didn't want them to wander far out of sight. She'd hired back only the workers without families. It pained her to exclude some, but she didn't want them to risk their family's lives.

  The added labor still didn't meet their needs and after a suggestion from Punt, they started sending work to other workshops. They only sent components of the steam mechanics to the other workshops and assembled the final product at hers.

  Nothing, however, was sent to Philo, and once she started selling her steam mechanics to the other workshops, she learned he was trying to buy up pieces to figure out how it worked.

  The lesser workshops, careful not to anger the great Heron and his new miracle that turned steam into power, sold him nothing and told her about his schemes.

  The other challenge had been making the steam mechanic in a way that it couldn't be copied. Their initial designs were transparent and Heron refused to let this design be lost to Philo and his thieving mentality.

  The meager funds of the workshop had required it as well. The interim tax collector had come by and given her a proper payment sheet. The pay schedule was steep but one she could live with after being blackmailed to give up her niece.

  Agog, however, balked at the coinage claiming that his well was drying up. Or at least, in his terms, "he couldn't bail as fast as the hole she'd punched in the boat."

  So in a fit of nocturnal design, fueled by need and the violet powder (a crutch she desired to be rid of except that it deepened her voice to help her pass as a man and helped her survive the long sleepless nights,) she redesigned the steam mechanic so its parts could not be seen.

  The real feat of her engineering was hooking the power transference rods to the casing that hid the mechanic. Should anyone try to remove the covering, it would break the central pin and the parts would come loose.

  After the first workshop tried to reverse engineer her steam mechanic and broke it taking it apart, she barred them from purchasing another.

  She hated treating a fellow inventor so harshly, but the example ended any further investigations, because every workshop that had purchased one, had seen a sudden increase in output, even if they owned slaves.

  It wasn't that the mechanic allowed for work without a slave, it allowed for work that couldn't be done by slaves. Each time Heron made a visit to a workshop to sell another, the owner would show her the clever ways they were using the steam mechanic to perform new tasks like grinding metal surfaces flat or lifting heavy objects effortlessly with pulleys.

  Heron brought those ideas back to her workshop, promising a discount on the next steam mechanic for sharing their ideas. What she gave up in coin, she made up in productivity, which earned her more coin.

  She knew the design would eventually be copied. She just needed to make enough coin from it to erase her debt before it did.

  Then one day, in the span of a few hours, Heron received two urgent letters. The first was from Governor Flaccus. The contents didn't surprise her, though the length of time it'd taken for it to happen did.

  The second was a reminder from her secret benefactor, the one that wanted the truth about the Library fires. The tone was abrupt and somewhat rude, claiming she'd taken the coin for the investigation without making just efforts.

  The arrival of the two letters in the same day bothered her, since they were linked by a common theme.

  The truth was that she hadn't made any efforts into the Library fires since the assault on the workshop. Rebuilding the workshop and selling the steam mechanics had taken all her time.

  And she was out of ideas on the fires. The darkness of her room, which often was the canvas to which she painted her ideas, had become a suffocating gloom.

  So the day after she received the two letters, Heron sent a message to Agog to join her on an errand in the city.

  She'd asked him along for three reasons. The first that she couldn't spare Plutarch or risk the production schedule, the second was she needed a keen mind to bounce her ideas off of, and the third was to have him along in case of another attack.

  There was a fourth reason, buried down deep, but it'd been so long that she'd considered such things it didn't weigh in her decisions except in ways she didn't understand.

  Heron was astride her own horse when Agog rode up on a brown warhorse. Punt had made her a new set of harnesses that could be used in the saddle.

  "That poor horse," said Heron. "Did it lose at a game of straws with the other horses in the stable?"

  Agog chuckled. "I guess the sun keeps the horse flesh from growing too large. In the cloud stricken north, we grow them to a proper size."

  Heron walked her horse forward. "I think that one wishes it'd come from the north. Its knees look ready to buckle."

  "Then let us keep to a slow meander," he said.

  They rode for a while, keeping a leisurely pace and staying out of the thick of traffic. Though their city-bred horses were well inured to the noise and bustle, they skittered nervously along the side of the crowd. The frustration in the city seemed to be boiling over and even their horses sensed it.

  Agog pulled next to Heron. "To what purpose do we ride? Taking the pulse of the city?"

  Heron patted the horse, squinting in the bright sunlight. "The pulse is well known. Bitter at the crushing taxes and hunger from a lack of food. We ride for a different task today."

  "I'll let you reveal your purpose in good time then." Agog paused thoughtfully, and asked in a matter of fact tone. "Have the streets of Alexandria ever been this restless?"

  Heron detected Agog's interest in the subject though he tried to hide it.

  "In the decade I have been in the city...no," said Heron. "Rome is hungry for new coin to feed its constant warring and presses Alexandria too harshly. Even the governor is concerned he sits on a tinder box."

  Agog raised his eyebrow at her playfully. "Are you now privy to the mind of the governor?"

  Heron pulled the note from inside her tunic and handed it to the northerner. She noted how quickly he read the document, like a scholar well versed in books.

  She realized then that the Northman had a history and identity she knew almost nothing about. He made references that indicated he was a king of sorts, but anyone could claim such an honor. Or even be one, but of a pocket kingdom, lording over squirrels and deer.

  She'd pressed the man for details in the past, but he'd expertly diverted her inquisitions. She vowed to find a way to get the man to talk.

  "He's swinging at shadows if he believes your automata play about Caesar will cause an uprising," said Agog.

  Heron nodded. "True. But his perception that it will is dangerous."

  "Dangerous only for Hortio, should he continue to show the play to other like minds in the city. You're too busy to make another anyway," he said.

  "You speak our language fluently, yet you do not understand the politics of the Empire." Heron purposely needled the Northman to gauge a reaction. "Because I made the play in the first place, Flaccus will lay blame at my feet. Not because it is logical, but to leverage his power with me."

  Agog narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm well acquainted with the politics of intrigue. It's no different from a battlefield and with no less at stake."

  They rode a while longer in silence while Heron enjoyed the breezes from the sea. The streets led downward to the warehouse district and the docks. The Lighthouse stood proudly on the i
sland of Pharos guiding white sails into the harbor.

  "How are my war machines coming?" Agog asked.

  Heron detected the aggravation in his voice. The man had been patient with her, and generous with his coin, to a point. But she could tell his patience and generosity were growing thin.

  "I have two steam powered arrow launchers complete," she said, catching the hard look from the Northman.

  "Two? My orders were for ten," he said, increasing their pace.

  Heron tugged at the reins. "I have the structure complete, I'm short on steam mechanics."

  Agog spurred his warhorse with his heel in anger and had to pull back on the reins to slow the horse when it had surged forward.

  "That's because you keep selling them to the other workshops," he said, grimacing.

  "If you were more free with your coin I might be able to hold off the new customs man while I made them, but you've turned as hard as a mule's rump. I must sell them to pay my debts."

  She said it more harshly than she'd planned, but he'd been bothering her about the war machines constantly. He seemed restless and fidgety about the state of the work and it was driving her mad.

  She assumed he had some war he needed them for in the north and was itching to get back. She was beginning to look forward to that day because they'd been getting on each other's nerves for the past week.

  "What about the metal soldiers? Or have you forgotten about them?" he asked, frowning suspiciously.

  Heron blew hot breath out her nose. "I have not forgotten, mind you. I've been working on the designs each night. I cannot make the steam mechanic small enough to fit in the soldier."

  Agog opened his mouth, she assumed to make a quick retort. Heron decided she didn't want to hear it, and launched into a counter attack before he could get his words out.

  "I thought being freed from the temples would be better than this. They were always asking for bigger and better miracles. Complaining that their followers were growing bored with the current ones," she said, with a bit of venom. "And now, I've traded those high priests and priestesses for a barbarian, claiming to be a king, and wanting machines to fight his wars for him."

  She regretted the words instantly. Not the part about the temples and the wars, but about claiming to be a king. If he truly were, then he would be supremely offended by her tone.

  When Agog's head snapped back and he began laughing earnestly, she felt her anger deflate.

  "I was merely going to offer a suggestion," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

  "What?" she asked, sheepishly, expecting a pithy come-back.

  "Make the soldiers bigger," he said and spurred his horse forward.

  Heron had been ready to dispute whatever he was planning on saying, but the suggestion hit her like a thunderbolt.

  It made sense, she thought.

  Heron caught up to Agog, who slowed when he saw her.

  "I'm not sure why I'm rushing ahead. I don't even know where we're going."

  "To the warehouse district," she said. "And apologies for what I said."

  Agog raised a curious eyebrow. "The quip about being a king? I'd think the same of an overgrown trained bear come tromping through the sands and demanding such things. My only saving grace is my shiny coins."

  "It was still rude," she said.

  He shrugged her comment away. "How would you truly know if I were a king? The kings in the north do not carry themselves like the Romans or Egyptians. We just happen to be the ones strong enough to keep the peace."

  "Then why do you desire these war machines?" she asked, curious beyond just the point of business.

  "I'm owed a debt and I mean to collect it," he said.

  "What debt?"

  Agog pulled up and gestured to the row of warehouses before them. "We've arrived at your destination."

  He flashed an impish grin at her, indicating he had no intention of answering her question.

  Heron turned her horse towards the bay and inhaled the salty air. The breeze fluttered Agog's hair behind him.

  The sails of dozens of boats crossed the choppy waves of the harbor, while a hundred more waited at the docks. Dock workers carried crates and bags from the ships in droves.

  Customs agents poured over documents, their papyri flapping in the gentle breeze. Any writings found were taken to the Library warehouses to be copied by a team of waiting scribes and returned before the ship left port. If the copying wasn't complete before the ship had to leave, they were compensated, though rarely for the full value of the book.

  This was how Alexandria had grown her Library. The port sent grain from the delta throughout the known world. No reputable merchant fleet could ignore a port Alexandria's size and when they arrived to trade, the Library borrowed the books and papyri that were brought.

  The huge stone warehouses, devoid of anything but a simple door at the base, were across from the docks so the copying could begin immediately. It also made the ship captains more agreeable to the confiscation that the books hadn't left the docks.

  Heron explained this to Agog as they watched the stream of Library scribes running papyrus scrolls and the occasional book back and forth between the docks and the warehouse.

  "You brought me to the docks to show me this? I'm aware of how Alexandria gets its books, even though I have not seen it myself," said Agog.

  "No," she said, shaking her head. "I have another job I need help with."

  "Another job? Did you bring me out here so you could delay my war machines yet again?" he said, leaning over and patting his horse.

  She couldn't quite see his face to judge his reaction, the Suebian knot had flung his long hair in the way.

  "Months ago, I was requested to investigate the source of the fires that burned the Library's precious books." Heron glanced around to make sure no Roman soldiers were within ear shot. It was a fine day for patrolling and a few patrols wandered leisurely across the docks, but none near enough to hear.

  "The fires?" he asked, sitting up as if he'd been pinched. "Did they not happen one hundred years ago?"

  Heron curiously noted the exact knowledge of the timeline. She found it rather surprising that he would know such a fact.

  "Yes, and I've been asked, no...paid, to determine who did it," she said.

  "Was it not Caesar when he escaped the Ptolemaic army?" he asked, glancing out at the bay.

  "You know a lot about Alexandrian history?" she asked.

  Agog shook his mane of hair from his face where the breeze had blown it and he seemed preoccupied by the sudden interference.

  "Ah...can't see a damned thing that way," he said, bringing his horse around to face the dock side so the wind kept hair out of his face.

  "Yes, the winds are tricky here. Blowing across the Temple of Artemis on the long pier," she said, indicating the massive columned building at the far curve of the bay, opposite the Lighthouse.

  "Do I have a budding historian in my midst or have you been keeping secrets?" she demanded.

  Agog gave her a long look. "I'm a student of war. Only quick thinking saved Caesar when he lit the ships in the bay. I've studied it to learn the mistakes of others so I do not make them myself."

  "And what was Caesar's mistake?" she asked.

  "Throwing in with Cleopatra when her brother offered a stable alliance." He paused, his focus seeming to leave the moment. "But we men can be fools when it comes to women."

  Heron stared at the whitecaps on the waves. The day was very similar to the day the Library burned. The tides and time of year were nearly exact.

  "Right?" Agog asked. "You've been a fool for a woman before? Or are you inclined like Plutarch? Don't forget you've admitted lies about your whoring ways."

  Heron chuckled remembering the tales she spun at Hortio's party.

  "I'm a fool for my work and that is the only woman I will know," she said. It was a question she'd been asked before so it came re
adily to her lips.

  They paused as a pair of Roman soldiers wandered by. Heron nodded her head at them. They eyed Agog suspiciously which made Heron smile after they had left.

  "So what did you come here to learn? Did you figure out who started the fires?" he asked.

  Heron glanced up at the warehouses and then back to the ship-filled bay.

  "No. But I know who did not do it, at least based on the stories that have been told and read," she said.

  The Northman had turned his horse slightly, so the wind was blowing his hair partially across his face. Heron waited until she could study his reaction before she spoke again.

  "There's no way it could have been Caesar."

  Heron swore she saw a moment of disappointment, but then the wind switched slightly and threw hair in his face again.

  "Damn wind," he said. "And why do you say that?"

  "The damn wind," she replied. "Today marks the ninety-fifth anniversary of the fires. The tides and seasons match the day perfectly. And at that combination of conditions, the wind blows south-west across the Temple of Artemis, which means the wind could not have blown the fires into the warehouses."

  Heron extended her hand to the pier on the south side of the harbor. "Instead, it would have pushed the burning ships along the coast, but not into the city."

  Agog laughed. "Is not the weather a plaything of the gods? How can you not know if Apollo or one of the others threw their weight with Caesar?"

  Heron felt that Agog was mocking her. "You know my feelings for the gods. I did not think you such a fool."

  "I jest," said Agog. "But, by the gods, you've made quite a boast that you can know the weather from a century before, just by the similar nature of the day?"

  Heron nodded, understanding him. "Yes, I would be a fool. But I consulted the weather charts of the day, Alexandria is studious about its collecting of information, and the winds were blowing south-west that day."

  "Then why did we come out here?" he asked.

  "To get out of the warehouse and stretch my legs, as it were." She motioned to her harnesses and shrugged. "And to see it with my own eyes. Because one cannot always trust what was written in books."

  "A fair statement," he replied. "So now that you've determined Caesar isn't the culprit, do you know who is?"

  "No," she replied, turning her horse to head back to the workshop and holding her hand up to block the piercing sun. "But I have another place to check in a few days, if you'd care to join me."

  Agog shrugged, too casually by her accounting, and said, "I could, I seem to have a little free time coming up."

  "Good," she said, speeding her horse ahead. "I'll have a new invention ready to show you then. Come on foot, you won't need your horse." Heron paused, letting a smile rise to her face. "He wouldn't be able to carry you that far anyway."

  Heron left Agog there on the docks and rode back to the workshop alone, wondering the whole time if she'd uncovered a new secret about the Northman or was just imagining things.