Lost Republic

by Paul B. Thompson

  Hans took her by the arm, and they hurried after Eleanor. They went quite a ways through the residential wards of Eternus, out of the District of Mercury to the artisans’ quarter, the District of Vulcan. When they topped a good-sized hill, they were able to look down on a large portion of Eternus. It was like a black reef in the sea, set with many warm, tiny lights. Here and there, a great temple shone in the night, glowing with its own power. Hans was reminded of casinos he’d seen at Nice and Monaco, classical piles bathed in garish light all through the night. Even so, Eternus was a mighty sight. None of them had ever seen so much of it at one time before.

  “How many people live here, do you think?” Linh asked.

  “Half a million?” guessed Hans.

  “Three hundred forty-nine thousand, six hundred sixty-two,” Eleanor recited. For some reason, the precision of her answer made Hans laugh. Linh joined in, a little titter she hid behind her hand.

  “That’s only a guess,” Eleanor said, deadpan. Hans and Linh laughed harder.

  They found the house of Falco. It was shut tight. Hans considered boosting Linh over the wall surrounding the rear courtyard, but she spotted shards of sharp glass imbedded in the top of the wall. They were debating how to get in when they heard the watch coming. Hans hid in a deep doorway while Linh and Eleanor pretended to be strolling down the street. The watch—eight men from the XXIII Legion—passed by, marching in close order. They eyed the girls, but Linh looked away so haughtily, they laughed and marched on. Hans emerged when they were gone.

  “There’s no easy way in,” he said.

  Just then, a door in the courtyard wall opened. A man emerged with a large jar under his arm. He poured the contents in the gutter and started back. Linh darted out quiet as a bird. The man let the door shut, and she slipped the hem of her shawl under the latch as it closed. When they heard the inside door close, she waved her companions over.

  “I have the latch!” she whispered. Carefully they pulled up on her shawl. The latch slipped off its hook. The door was open!

  They crossed the cluttered courtyard in single file, Hans and Linh tiptoeing, and Eleanor gliding with uncanny silence. There were timber frames under construction, piles of bricks, and wooden steps being cut out and pegged together. They avoided all this. Eleanor led them to a covered porch on the south side of the yard.

  She pointed to the second door. Hans tried the latch. It yielded. One by one, they slipped inside.

  There was no safe way to wake France, so Hans clamped a hand over his mouth while Linh knelt in a sliver of light cast by an open atrium. France flinched hard, but instantly relaxed when he saw Linh spliced by shadows beside him.

  Hans lifted his hand.

  “What the hell are you doing?” France said, too loud. Eleanor, by the door, put a finger to her lips.

  “How many of you are here?”

  “Ioannes, Linnea, Elianora.”

  France sat up. He wasn’t wearing anything but a sort of breechcloth. Linh turned away, redder than usual.

  Hans outlined their problem. France listened gravely without revealing anything he thought or felt.

  “I’m doing well here,” he said when Hans finished. “I’ve discovered I like woodworking and house building.”

  Hans stared. Linh, facing away, said, “So you’re happy to stay here and see Julia end up a prostitute?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So, will you join us?” asked Hans.

  France drew up his knees and locked his arms around them.

  “Have you thought more about why we’re here—and where ‘here’ is?” He let the question hang in the air and went on. “I have some ideas.”

  “What about Julia—?”

  “Julia can wait a moment. I want to say aloud some of the things I’ve been thinking.” France lowered his chin to his arms. “First, we never left our time. It’s still the twenty-first century and still planet Earth we’re on. Agreed?” Hans and Linh said yes. Eleanor said nothing.

  “This place is exactly where we think it is—the North Atlantic ocean, somewhere between Europe and North America.”

  “But there’s nothing there,” said Linh. “A few islands, like Ireland and Iceland, but no place like this!”

  “And yet here we are,” said France. “In this parody of ancient Rome. With Arabic numerals and electrically charged arrowheads.”

  Hans’s voice rose. “They have printing presses and moveable type!”

  “And matches,” said Linh.

  “We’re not back in time. This place is some kind of secret enclave, hidden from the outside world. How, I don’t know. But I am sure whoever runs this place caused the wreck of the Carleton.”

  “Why would they do that?” asked Linh.

  “Fresh blood,” Hans said, catching on. “‘Newcomers,’ they called us. They captured us alive and brought us to the city to be assimilated—”

  “They’ve done this before!” Linh cried. Eleanor, by the door, whispered, “Shh!”

  “Many times, probably,” said France. “Think of all the planes and ships that have disappeared in the Atlantic. Hundreds of ships and planes, thousands of people! We’re dealing with amazing technology, very powerful. They can brainwash people into believing they live in an ancient Roman republic. They made us speak Latin, all in a flash.”

  Eleanor cleared her throat. The others glanced at her. She turned away to peek out the door, diligently watching for trouble.

  “Most amazing of all, they healed me instantly when I was badly wounded.” France’s hand went to the spot over his kidney where the soldier had stabbed him. There wasn’t even a scar, but he knew exactly where the blade had gone in.

  “Who has such power?” Linh said.

  France stood up. “That, I don’t know.”

  “All very interesting,” Hans said. “But what about Julia and Levius? If he tries to help his sister alone, they’ll kill him, and maybe her, too.”

  “Who knows how to find Levius?” They looked to Eleanor, who nodded slightly. “Ask him to meet us on the Field of Mercury tomorrow night, by the Temple of Mercury.”

  “What if he can’t get away?” Linh said.

  “Then he’d better get used to the idea of his sister serving Venus in the house of Luxuria.”

  Eleanor said, “I will get him there. At what hour?”

  France glanced up through the atrium. “As soon after sundown as he can manage. We’ll need all the darkness we can get to cover our escape.”

  “Are we all going?” Hans said. “If so, I want Genera to go, too.”

  “What about Aemilius?”

  None of them had thought about Emile Becquerel. “I think he succumbed to the brainwashing like all the others,” France said.

  Hans and France were not allowed to approach the Temple of Ceres, being male, so Linh offered to find Jenny and tell her what was happening. If she had been brainwashed, too, then they would have to leave her behind.

  Hans and Eleanor said good-bye and crept out. Before Linh could follow them, France caught her by the hand.

  He focused hard and tried to say "Take care!" in French, but what came out was “Commodo exsisto curiosus!”

  When she did not pull away, he took the chance and touched his cheek to hers. He felt a flare of warmth there, and Linh slipped away. Then France was alone in the empty darkness of his room.

  Chapter 20

  Jenny stood in line to greet the sun. As the newest and least of the priestesses, her place was behind all the others. Through a veil of sheer linen, she saw the rose crescent of sunlight spread across the eastern horizon, go amber, and then suffuse the sky with clear white light.

  “Ave! Ave!” chanted the older priestesses. The lesser servants of the goddess, not allowed to speak, shook tinkly instruments called sistrums in time with their elders’ song. Thi
s went on until the sun was fully risen.

  Enough already, Jenny thought. No punishing pain followed her disrespectful thought. She wasn’t surprised. She had learned that the infallible, all-powerful goddess was none of those things. Ceres could punish you for acting or speaking sacrilegiously, but she couldn’t read minds. This suggested something very concrete and mundane was at work. Cameras? Microphones? Somehow, the goddess’s senses were no better than Jenny’s, though her wrath was more painful.

  After greeting the sun, the temple was ritually cleaned, which meant a real scrub down with primitive brooms, mops, but no useful cleaners, not even soap. The garden detail went to work pruning and weeding, watering and debugging the temple grounds. It all reminded Jenny of being in some fanatical organic nursery, with a thick layer of pagan superstition on top.

  She was surprised to have a visitor in the midst of her duties weeding the flower beds. No one ever came to see the priestesses except important officials or wealthy patrons seeking the goddess’s help. When the second senior hierophantess Urgula called Jenny away from her work, her first thought was she’d done something wrong. Urgula, a humorless woman in her midfifties with iron-gray hair, never had a kind word about Jenny’s work.

  “Someone to see you, Genera,” she said. She was quite calm about it.

  “Who is it?”

  “Her.”

  Urgula pointed to a columned gazebolike structure standing thirty yards from the temple. It was a shrine of Proserpina, the daughter of Ceres kidnapped and taken to the underworld by dirty old Pluto, god of the dead.

  “I didn’t ask anyone here,” Jenny said quickly.

  “It’s all right. She has the grace of the gods with her. Go and speak to her, then return to your duties.”

  Jenny was amazed. Who was this visitor that grumpy Urgula showed so much respect for? She hitched up her annoyingly long skirt and crossed the still dewy grass to the shrine. The person waiting there was a woman of modest height, wrapped in a homespun gown. Her head was modestly covered. Only at arm’s length did she recognize Eleanor Quarrel, from the Carleton.

  “Good god!” Jenny said. “How did you get here?”

  “Good god indeed,” Eleanor replied. “Do you remember Gallus, Ioannes, and the fair Linnea?”

  In her mind, these names were translated into France, Hans, and Linh. Jenny vowed she remembered them well.

  “They need you.”

  She explained, in cool words and simple gestures, the plight of Julie Morrison and how the group of teens planned to help her escape.

  “You’ll all have to go if that happens,” Jenny said, dropping into a whisper. She asked when the rescue plot was to take place.

  “Tonight.”

  Jenny rocked back against a cold stone column. “So soon?”

  Eleanor said, “Julia’s mistress is determined to initiate her into the mysteries of Venus.” Under the euphemisms, Jenny got the message. Julie’s days as Cinderella were ending. It was time to go to the ball.

  “I’m with you!” Jenny hissed. “This place is driving me crazy! Rules, rules, rules, a lot of ancient claptrap designed to keep the young ones working for the old ones!” She paused, waiting for the lance of pain to strike. Nothing happened. She went on, “After sunset we’re confined to our dorm, but I can get out. The windows are high, but not too high for me!”

  Standing next to the statue of Proserpina, Eleanor looked as stone-faced as the goddess. “Be by the Temple of Mercury as soon after dark as you can. We will be waiting.”

  Eleanor turned to go. Jenny said, “What about that weird kid Aemilius?”

  “No one has seen him. Gallus says he must have lost his memory, like the others.”

  She walked quickly away, feet kicking up the hem of her long gown. Despite her message, Jenny had the odd feeling Eleanor was angry for some reason. Did she not approve of their escape? Why would that be so?

  The day passed in a dull blur. She had never longed for sunset so much in her life. Her preoccupation was so high, she did all her chores more quickly and thoroughly than she ever had, which won her praise from Scipina herself. Jenny tried to look humble, but inside she was thinking, I’ll soon be rid of you!

  They sang hymns to the goddess after dinner and went to their quarters for the night. Jenny was tired and dropped solidly onto her bare straw mattress. It would have been easy to fall asleep until dawn, but thoughts raced about in her head and kept her awake.

  The room around her was filled with even breathing and soft sighs. Jenny sat up, pulled on her sandals, and sat perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for one of the watchdogs—Urgula, for example—to sense her being awake. No one stirred. Jenny picked up the chamberpot at the foot of her bed. If stopped, she could claim she was taking it out to empty or else break it over her interrogator’s head. Either way, she was going.

  She had only the vaguest notion of where the Temple of Mercury was. The dim streets outside the sacred enclave of Ceres were busy as Latins hurried about finishing their last business of the day. Because she was garbed as a priestess, no one bothered Jenny. The laws about molesting clerics were severe. She heard a story once about a drunken merchant who laid hands on a priestess of Diana. He was tied to a pillar and shot full of silver arrows by the other women of the temple.

  A mile away, Leigh Morrison was polishing his equipment. He had an inspection the next day before the proconsul, and Rufus Panthera meant every man in his cohort to pass perfectly. For all his hard work, he had earned a night off, and he bluntly told Rufus he intended to visit the House of Luxuria. The grim centurion approved, but he reminded Leigh that Luxuria’s fees were high. There was another house, Berenice’s, that many of the legion patronized. They knew how to treat a soldier there, he said.

  Leigh pretended to take the advice to heart. He had a few denarii saved up, and he won some more by introducing his comrades in the cohort to Vegas-style craps. He was still short of the twenty denarii he promised to pay Luxuria. All he could do was pad his purse with copper coins and hope it would fool Luxuria long enough to get Julie out.

  Rufus Panthera inspected Leigh’s maniple and passed them. He offered a rare smile.

  “You louts are finally turning into soldiers,” he said. “That’s good. One day you may be worthy of the legions.”

  The men cheered themselves, and those with leave dispersed. Leigh lingered. When the barracks was empty, he slipped his newly honed and polished short sword, his gladius, under his tunic and threw a wool cloak over his shoulders to help hide it. He nodded to the guards at the camp gate, who knew about his destination and offered to take his place.

  You wish, he thought. The idea of any of these macho creeps getting near Julie made his blood boil.

  A block outside camp, he was picked up by Eleanor. She was standing so still inside a street shrine, Leigh mistook her for a votive statue. There were little shrines like this all over Eternus, mostly devoted to foreign gods like Isis or Serapis. They were tolerated, but only the great national gods had real temples.

  Eleanor emerged from the tiny roof enclosure so quietly, Leigh drew back, his hand going for the hilt of his sword. She saw this and froze.

  “You are armed!”

  “Damn right I am. This is going to work.”

  “Will you shed blood?”

  He stepped around her and kept going. Hobbled a bit by her long gown, Eleanor tried to keep up.

  Dusk became night just about the moment they reached the Field of Mercury. They found France and Linh standing beneath a chestnut tree—rather closely, Leigh noticed—and as they drew near, Hans came out of the lengthening shadows on the lawn between the street and a row of ceremonial cedars. They came together in a small circle. No one said anything until Hans murmured, “Genera?”

  “I spoke to her,” Eleanor replied. “She’s coming.”

  “We’ll wait,” sa
id France.

  “Not too long,” Leigh said.

  In the Field of Mercury, as the stars came out, darkness closed in on them. Eleanor became a statue again. Linh shivered, even though the night was mild. France stood closer to her, and then took her hand. Leigh stood with arms folded, looking very martial in his kilt and military cloak. Only Hans moved. He walked in a slow circle around the others, studying the surrounding darkness as if he could pierce it with his eyes alone.

  They heard a soft, rapid thumping. Drawing together, they watched Jenny emerge from Maia Way, the large street that made up the east border of the park. Her sandals dangled from her hands as she ran, barefoot.

  She arrived, breathing hard. “Dammit,” she said, “to be this winded after running a little more than a mile! I am out of shape!” Linh remarked she hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  Leigh interrupted any further homecoming. “We gotta go.”

  It would be suspicious for them to go to Luxuria’s together, so they broke up into two groups. Leigh, France, and Hans went together, posing as guys on a night out. They talked loudly and laughed, being as obvious as possible. Linh, Jenny, and Eleanor trailed by a full block, as quiet as they could be. Only once were they bothered, by a pair of workmen reeking of wine. As soon as they saw Jenny’s priestess garb, they turned pale and made themselves scarce.

  In the street outside Luxuria’s, the boys saw three men waiting to enter the house. The giant guard, Ramesses, checked them for weapons. He was thorough, and found a dagger on one man and brass knuckles on another.

  Leigh put out his arm to halt his friends.

  “We can’t go straight in,” he said. “I have a sword.”

  “Give it to the giant and go in,” said Hans.

  “No. I might need it.”

  “What, then?”

  Leigh beckoned them to follow him. He circled around Luxuria’s usual entrance. The garden wall was a little more than head-high, but the enclosure was so small Ramesses couldn’t fail to see them climb over. Leigh slipped into a very narrow alley along the north side of the house. He had to moved sideways to fit. France and Hans, less muscular, found the tight gap easier going.