Gears of Troy 2

by Daniel Pierce

  Helen and Zinni were no less eager than I was to understand the meaning of my discovery. The King’s daughter took it from my hands before I even cleared the threshold to her home and was able to explain the situation.

  “By Zeus! What is this marvel?” Zinni gasped.

  She held the box up to the light of a nearby window in an attempt to inspect the object further, and huffed at her lack of success. One of her hands mapped out the thing’s shape while her other held it up.

  “Never before have I seen such a curiosity. What does it do?” She looked to me, her mouth agape.

  “I was hoping you could help me figure that out,” I said. “We found it in the Hittite camp at Dardanelles.”

  “Dardanelles?” Helen asked. “What were the Hittites doing in Dardanelles? That is forever away from Hattusa.”

  “We’re not sure why they were there,” I explained. “But it’s where our visiting diplomat decided to set up camp for the night. He escaped, by the way. The rest of his gang wasn’t so lucky. The Thirians at Dardanelles have sent out several search parties in hopes of finding him.”

  “I am sure they will find him,” Helen said, arms crossed. “Their tracking abilities are unmatched by any in all of Troy.”

  “Yeah, I have every bit of confidence that they will,” I said, “but I’m hoping we won’t need the coward to help us fix whatever’s wrong with the King.” I pointed to the box. “There’s plenty of random mysterious crap in there that I’m hoping could clue us in on exactly what’s ailing him.”

  “So, this is a box?” Zinni asked. She gently shook it and heard the sounds of the items jumbling around inside. “Let us hope that this thing is not cursed as well.”

  The thought had not occurred to me until just then. I did not know a thing about how the magic of this world worked, but I assumed it was possible that Zidan could have cast some kind of spell on it before he snuck out. Nothing felt amiss to me yet, which was reassuring.

  “I—uh, I feel fine at the moment,” I said, taking a quick mental survey of all my faculties.

  “Let us hope you stay that way,” said Helen in a tone that was more of a command than a wishful remark.

  “Did you open it?” asked Zinni. “How does it open?”

  I shrugged. “I just shook it a bunch and it popped open.”

  Zinni tried my method, and it worked for her as well. She led us into her study and placed the box and its contents on the main table in the center of the room.

  The bracelet was still there from earlier. “Oh, did you find out any more about that?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, I have been unable to learn anything more about it,” Zinni said, only half present as her attention homed in on the new mystery I had brought her.

  I was surprised that she heard my question at all. The girl was known for her legendary tunnel-vision that blocked out everything not directly concerning her task at hand. It was because of that character trait that many people thought of her as rude on first impression. I knew better though. She was not the kind of person who would willingly ignore people; it was only that her curiosity overwhelmed her senses, taking the reigns until she found the answers she sought.

  She took up several of the stones and placed them under the discerning interrogation of her many peculiar instruments. With each stone she handled, she took a few moments to grasp it firmly in her palm, close her eyes, and feel the rhythm of the vibrations they emitted.

  “This one does not vibrate like the others,” she muttered, probably more to herself than anyone in her silent audience. “It hums at . . . irregular intervals. Unusual.” She placed the gem on the table away from the growing pile of stones she had already handled.

  “What is this?” Helen said, eyes wide as she strode to the enchanting box, leaving Zinni to her own explorations.

  She picked up the hunk of fleshy metal, her jaw open, much like Zinni’s upon seeing the box. Helen squeezed it between her thumb and index fingers, discovering that it did not give under the pressure. She pressed it against the table and ran it along the grainy wooden surface as if she were drawing with a piece of chalk. The thing was about the size of one of her fingers, and it was hard to distinguish the object from her hand at a glance. As far as I could tell, nothing of any significance happened during the few seconds of drawing, and she did not appear any less intrigued. Afterward, Helen took it between both hands and tried to snap it like a like skin-colored pencil. As before, it did not give in to the force she applied.

  “This looks like . . . me,” she finally breathed. “Or rather . . . it looks like the material used to make Egyptian androids.”

  “Those were my thoughts exactly.” I nodded.

  “That means it is likely the Egyptians may know what is ailing the King. But, what are the Hittites doing with this technology?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “I”—she thought for a moment—“I know that the Egyptians have established trade with the Hittites’ kingdom, but I have never known them to trade items such as this. They have always closely guarded their more powerful technology.”

  “Wait, they trade with the Hittites?” I asked. This was news to me. Honestly, I had not really even known who the Hittites were a few days prior and was beginning to realize what a huge blind spot that may be for me throughout the rest of this little adventure.

  “Of course, Troy.” Helen almost laughed at my ignorance. “They are both massive empires. They trade with many nations, one of which is our own. This is not to say they are on the best of terms with the Egyptians, though, but such relationships are always complicated.”

  “Right, that makes sense. I just did not realize. I don’t know how I’ve lived here for an entire year and haven’t heard a thing about them until now.”

  “Well, we have been rather busy establishing our own little kingdom, so I will let your lack of political awareness slide . . . this time.” She winked at me and put the chunk of robo-flesh back in the box.

  “So,” she continued, “it appears that our next step will be to find an Egyptian sorcerer and see what they can tell us. You can do that while Zinni and I continue to look into these items.”

  “You mean I have to go to Egypt?” I asked. “I’m more than willing, but I don’t think the King has that kind of time to spare, especially if I’m only chasing down a hunch.”

  Helen shook her head. “No, Troy. There is a port south of here. Yes, it is a hunch, but if you are lucky, you will find an Egyptian vessel docked for one of its regular trading routes. Sea traders typically stay at port for several days before returning home, and the Egyptians are no different. There will likely be a priest among them who can give you the information we seek.”

  “Okay, that’s better,” I said. “Where is the port, exactly?”

  “It should take you no longer than a day’s travel by ship along the coast. It will be the second port you come to, and it lies within the stretch of Hittite territory that reaches to the coast. You should have no trouble finding it, but if the Hittites do wish us ill will, as it seems they do, you may be met with opposition once you land.”

  “Eh, we can handle them,” I said.

  Helen gave me a knowing smirk. “Troy, I remember a brave man once told me to never underestimate my enemy. I think it would be wise to exercise his advice even now—especially now—as this enemy is clearly capable of the unexpected.”

  I had to laugh. On rare occasions like that, Helen would quote something I had said to get her point across.

  “Sometimes I think you listen a little too well.” I clasped a hand on her shoulder, grinning. “I’ll watch my back, Dear.”

  She rubbed my hand as it met her skin. “See that you do, my sweet.”

  Before I left Helen and Zinni to their research, Helen pulled a necklace from the pouch that she made a habit of carrying with her on these excursions to the mainland. From the chain hung a small coin with the embossed profile of a pharaoh on one side and her name embl
azoned on the other. She told me to present it to any Egyptian priest, and they would know I had her backing. Apparently, she had carried the trinket with her all the way from the place of her construction, but in all the time I had known her, this was the first I’d seen of it.

  I was hesitant to accept that an Egyptian priest would drop all suspicion simply by me showing him her necklace. It might have worked for the girl back in the day, before she went abroad, but a lot had changed in that time. For starters, she told me that the pharaohs had not intended for her to transform into a human—the magic responsible for that was still an unknown to her. It was likely that they would not trust her after learning of this evolution.

  Secondly, she had not kept in touch with them since she left. I do not know what her exact commands were when she departed—I never asked—but I was sure that she was expected to communicate updates every once in a while. That aside, I did not know how she should could possibly be working toward any Egyptian directive; she was setting up her own kingdom north of Troy with me. There was no way that course of action fit into the desert empire’s schemes. Last, but not least—well, maybe least, I wasn’t really sure yet—I killed an Egyptian Cyclops in an effort to protect her not long after the two of us joined together. The Cyclops, by the way, was an artificial construct known as a golem, which had no more brain than a grasshopper, but was nonetheless a complete horror to deal with and likely took a lot of manpower to create. I was sure they would not take kindly to my interference with one of their precious machine-things, the purpose of which we had been unable to understand.

  I made a visit to see Priam before embarking. He was awake and stable, though showing no signs of improvement. His aide urged me to not take too much of His Majesty’s time because he needed as much rest as he could get; the previous night had been fitful for the old man, and only made him weaker the next day.

  “Ah, Troy . . .” the skeletal figure wheezed when I entered. “Please, come in. Close the door behind you.” He coughed.

  I slowly approached the bed. Though he was awake, his body looked no more alive than the last time I checked in. I was happy to see him conscious but was worried of the strain it put on him. Even the slightest movement seemed to throw him into a world of agony. I wanted to make some conversation with the man to at least help take his mind off of it for a few moments, but I was worried that his efforts to respond would only make things worse for him.

  “Take a seat, my boy, please.” He glanced to the cushioned chair at his side.

  “Sir, do not speak if it hurts you so much. I can see you’re in a lot of pain right now.”

  “That I am, son.” He was overcome by a fit of coughs again before he was able to continue. “But leave the worrying to me. I may not have much time left, and I want to say everything I’m inclined to say before that time runs out.”

  “Please don’t talk like that, sir,” I whispered. “I’m committed to figuring this mess out. We’ve already found some promising leads in the last day alone.”

  He nodded. “Good. This is good to hear, but I am not holding out hope for my condition. Just . . . look at me . . .”

  He tried to raise an arm, I assumed in a display of his frailty, but even that was too much exertion for him. His failure to do so got the point across well enough. I did not like to hear him talk in such a pessimistic way, but the King was always known to be a pragmatic man, never one to take comfort in reassuring lies. He trembled before me with each breath, his teary red eyes unable to focus on me for more than a few seconds at a time, before wandering back to the ceiling as he dealt with the crippling pain that plagued his body.

  “Did they give you the medicine I brought?”

  “Yes, my son.” He nodded almost imperceptibly. If he was going to say any more, he was interrupted by another spasm of coughing, which sent shudders all over his torso.

  I wanted to ask if my medicine helped at all, but the answer seemed obvious.

  “The Queen,” I began, placing an arm on his shoulder. “She really loves you.”

  A faint smile appeared across his wrinkled lips.

  “She was telling us about how the two of you met, and she went into this whole story about how she had such a hard time trusting people—specifically men—before she met you. It seems like you’ve been sort of a rock for her all this time.”

  Another barely-perceptible nod. He said, “Yes, she will miss me sorely when I go, I am sure. But she has to remain strong. She is a strong woman. I trust you will help her when she needs it.” Again came the coughing. “She has been by my side during most of my bedridden hours it seems. She tries to hide her sadness, but I know my wife well.” He let out a sound that I thought might have been a laugh. “So . . . where has your investigation led you thus far?”

  I filled Priam in on all the details: the fight at Dardanelles, the mysterious black box and all its contents, and my next destination with the Thirians accompanying me.

  “Egyptians you say . . .” the King rasped. “All my years, I was never quite sure what to make of them and their ways. But to think they have some animosity towards me . . . well, the notion leaves me confused. I do not know what they could hope to gain politically from my assassination. Only the Fates would know what dealings they have with the Hittites, I suppose.”

  I was surprised that the idea had not occurred to me earlier, but it made sense from a logistical standpoint that the Egyptians were working with the Hittites to harm the King, for whatever reason. I didn’t know what I thought might be going on before, but that was the most logical assumption if it was indeed Egyptian magic in the hands of the Hittite ambassador that was responsible for the King’s ailment.

  Perhaps, I thought, the Hittites wanted to move in on Trojan territory and expand their empire. They were known to be aggressive. Maybe they coerced the Egyptians into helping their plans for expansion along. Hopefully my next trip would give me more information to work with.

  The King and I sat in silence for a while longer, both of us enjoying the warmth of the midday light shining through the window. A wave of exhaustion hit me then. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into one of the guest beds and curl up for a few hours, but time was fleeting. I did not want to rest until I knew I had done everything in my power to help the King.

  As if he’d read my mind, Priam turned to me and said, “Troy, how long has it been since you slept?”

  “A while.” I forced a laugh. “We traveled all night to get to Dardanelles, and on my voyage here before that, I maybe got in a few hours of shut-eye. It’s been about two days since I’ve had any real sleep.”

  “You are no use to anyone in that condition. Your mind must be drowning in fatigue.”

  “I’ve been through worse.”

  “Get some rest, Troy,” he urged. I could hear the strain in his voice over the struggle to breathe.

  “No, sir. Not until I get you taken care of.”

  His faint smile appeared again, and he stared straight ahead at the wall. “It is a lost cause, boy. I am almost certain of that.”

  “I’m not going to hear anymore of that talk from you, sir,” I stood to take my leave.

  He let out a hoarse chuckle and said, “At least promise me that, if I do die, you will accept there is nothing more you can do and get some rest. I do not wish to burden you with my problems now, and I certainly do not want this curse to haunt you from beyond the grave.”

  I really could not understand why he was pushing the subject. My lack of sleep was my own concern, my own responsibility. This guy was not my dad. His concern seemed unwarranted. I nodded that I understood and made my way to the door.

  “Troy,” he called after me, so faint I barely heard him.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Please look after my Hecuba.”

  I turned back to find that he was watching me with a pleading, earnest look in his eyes. He seemed so desperate and powerless there in his bed, and I was struck with the realization that, as helpless as
he appeared to me then, he likely felt a thousand times worse. I had known this the whole time we were talking together, but in that moment, it truly hit me. The situation was all too real all of a sudden.

  All I managed to say was, “Sir,” before walking out the room.

  5

  For all my big talk, I found myself in bed not long after returning to Moonshadow with my Thirian companions. I thought it might be best to listen to the King’s advice after all, and there was no telling when my next opportunity to recharge would be. From what Helen said, we had a day’s worth of seafaring ahead of us, and Linos was more than capable of steering my ship parallel to the shore.

  As I lay there among the sheets, my thoughts were crowded with Zidan and his pudgy aristocrat’s face. I was likely to never forget his indignant expression when he peeked out of his tent and saw me looking back at him the previous night, which was good because I would need to remember that face as I hunted him down.

  I mildly regretted not bringing the box or that strange hunk of metal with me to present as a reference for any Egyptian priests I ran across, but I decided it would be better off in the girls’ hands. That way, we would all be steadily working to find a cure for the King. I was confident that if a priest knew anything at all about the objects, he would be able to work off of my descriptions. That may have been a hasty assumption, but it comforted me to take some things for granted like that.

  With any luck, I thought, the Dardanelles Thirians would catch up to our old pal Zidan and bring him straight to Ilium for interrogation. If that were to happen, there was a chance everything would be solved before I even got back, which would be a nice surprise to come home to.

  Home. I chuckled at the thought. Troy was my home now. I was officially Troy of Troy, or Troy of Ilium, to spare anyone from confusion. Not much more than a year ago, I was sailing the Great Lakes back “home” in The States. My new hands had given me a new lease on life, a second chance at waking up and grabbing life by the balls, so to speak. I was charged with sailing around for a year, living a life of what I considered to be ease and luxury, while I broke in my new prosthetics. If everything worked out, the navy would see about welcoming me back into the fold and putting me back on active duty, pending positive reviews from my psychiatrist.