I smile at my own cleverness, but the Herene’s scowl deepens enough to form a furrow between her eyes.
“Let everyone watch,” she says. “Since you won’t give them safe conditions, good jobs, or food, at least give your people some entertainment.”
I have to admit, I like this idea. A show at the arena will be just like the games we once presented. Games always get people into the arena and, once in the stands and watching a riveting show, they spend their drachars to satiate their hunger and thirst. Since thirty percent of the arena vendors’ take goes straight into my coffers—
“A brilliant idea, Priestess. I’m sure we can dig up some engineers who can get the arena screen working.”
“That’s another thing, Excellency.” How skillful she is at making my title sound like filth she needs to scrape off her shoe. “You need to hire engineers to shore up some of these buildings. If another earthquake hits, the hospital will be overwhelmed with injuries. We can barely handle the ones coming in from—”
“My dear, we should cover this when we go over the budget next. You wouldn’t want these men to fail because you’re worried about a few bumps and bruises.”
She opens her mouth as if to argue, but then shoots a fretful look to Herc. He meets her eyes briefly before becoming interested in a pebble in his sandal, but the glance is enough to make her face soften.
Dear gods, could the Herene be lusting for my cousin?
“No, of course not,” she mutters.
“Then let us wish my cousins good luck.”
Iole gives Iolalus a brief hug before he swings up onto his horse. When she approaches Herc, he sticks out his hand before she can embrace him. She grabs it in both of hers and holds it a few moments before letting go and walking away. The curve of her ass dances under her linen gown and I wonder again how much she could be auctioned off for. From the height of a massive dappled mare, Herc clears his throat to take my attention off the Herene’s parting view. I smile at his scowl. “The gods do bless us, don’t they?” I say before strolling back to my carriage.
9
STAVROS
“We found work for you, thief,” the guard says as he clangs open my cell door.
I move off the bunk, my back protesting the change in position. “The accommodations here could use some updating,” I say. I twist right to left trying to ease the tension that has crept up on me after another night on the book-thin mattress, but my back refuses to relax.
The guard ignores my review and leads me to a horse-drawn cart. Both the cart and the horse look as if they might crumble apart on the wretched roads of this city, but, by the thin threads of the gods’ robes, I’m delivered safely to a monstrous arena.
We have our own amphitheaters in Athenos, but nothing of this scale. I remember seeing this gargantuan when I visited Portaceae as a child, but when you barely reach your mother’s hip, everything looks huge. Before my trial I’d only caught glimpses of the arena from my daughter’s area of town, but even from half a mile away, the thing dwarfed any building I’d seen before. And during my trial, I’d been too irritated with myself for getting caught stealing a stale hunk of bread to pay much notice to the impressive building.
Now, as the cart makes its way around to the rear of the structure, I size up the three tiers of arches that comprise the outside walls and make a rough guess that it can hold at least five thousand people.
“He’s yours now,” the guard says to the lanky, bow-legged man—barely twenty years old by the look of him—who greets us. The guard shoves me hard enough to twist my torso. My spine calls out in a series of pops that sends the cramps fleeing from my back. Relieved of my aches for the first time in days, I slide out of the cart to stand by my new boss. “Make sure he puts in a full day. If he don’t work, trip a call box and the vigiles’ll bring him back to our fine establishment.” The guard throws me a snide look that tells me my next stay will make the first seem like the finest Portaceae had to offer.
“Thank you, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” The cart clatters away and the boy sticks out his hand. “I’m Orpheus Keros. I hear you’re an engineer.”
I shake his hand and introduce myself.
“I was, but I haven’t done any work for several months.”
“You’re from Athenos, though? Gods, I can’t imagine it. Mother wants me to become a musician – natural talent, she says. But much to her disappointment I’m fascinated by engineering. I’d love a chance to apprentice in Athenos someday. I hear they have electricity throughout the polis.”
“Most of the polis has electricity as do a few other poli. I helped wire them myself.” And gods, how we had fought like mad to keep the Osterian Council from taking control of the distribution of power. The Council’s only reason for doing so was to have another way to keep their thumbs on the poli and to weasel money out of something Athenos and other poli had been producing and sharing for free.
“Then I guess you’re qualified for this,” Orpheus says cheerfully as he holds open a door and gestures for me to go through. When he closes the door behind us, the only light comes from the end of the tunnel we’re in. Orpheus eases by me. “Follow me.” He leads me down a side hall off the tunnel, right, and then left until we come to a set of stairs. We climb until I think we must be going to the top of Mount Olympus herself. Orpheus, showing no sign of exertion, explains our project as we go.
“We’ve got to rig up the feed screen in the arena for a public viewing. I guess like a game, but the players won’t be on the floor of the arena. Gods, they won’t even be in the arena. Seems strange to me, but I’m curious.”
“You’ve never seen something televised?” I ask through heavy breaths.
“Not that I remember. And that’s the problem. This stuff hasn’t been used for years. Engineers don’t get much experience with electricity because His Excellency keeps all the juice for himself. With the levy the Osterian Council charges for electricity, it’s too expensive to maintain power across the entire polis these days. We used to have it, so the lines and whatever else are there, but few people know how to do repairs on it.”
“How does the Solon maintain his own equipment then?”
“When he’s got a problem, he hires it out to someone from another polis, Athenos usually. You guys know your stuff. But it leaves me without a clue of how to do any of this and I’m hoping you do. You’re only needed for today, which is tough luck for you since you won’t get to stay in the House of Hera. I hear they serve the best meals and they have running water. Can you imagine?” I can, most of Athenos has had interior plumbing for decades. “Still, if you’re willing, I’d want to keep you on after today. Show me a thing or two,” he says hopefully.
We stop on a landing and Orpheus opens a door to a small room of which one wall is all window. A panel filled with buttons and knobs runs along the inside of half the window and other electrical equipment scatters the room. On the floor rests a tangled snake of cables. Many of the cables are frayed and the outer housing is missing, exposing the inner silver and copper wiring.
A groan rumbles from my throat. I can’t fault Orpheus for his enthusiasm, but this is a waste. This polis is a joke, or at least its Solon is. It took decades of digging and excavating to find the wiring, grid systems, solar panels, and other equipment to bring electricity to Athenos. We cleaned the Pre-Disaster equipment, repaired it and connected it to old stoves, grinding wheels, and even a handful of vehicles that ran on electricity. Eventually we learned to build our own panels. When other poli had seen what we’d achieved, they hired me and my crew to do the same for them. Just as I had as a child with my parents, I was travelling Osteria again.
Still, the areas that we wired have always used power to benefit the polis. Even though the Osterian Council has taken central control of the electrical system, sends patrols to check for homemade panels—“off-grid” as they call them—and collects hefty fees for distribution of electricity, it’s never something only one man could possess. Here
, the Solon has stolen power for himself and refused it to anyone else. Even worse, he’s let the system go to ruin just to satisfy his own show of status.
But moaning over the situation won’t get this job done and I’ve no desire to revisit that cell tonight.
“Mice have been in here. These need to be spliced before we do anything.”
“Spliced?”
Oh dear Athena, this is going to be work.
“You cut the bad part out and join the good parts.”
I go on explaining and helping as we clean up the wiring. It takes most of the morning, before I deem the wires safe. Looking over the control panel, I find an outlet that reads Incoming Feed. I match the cable jack to the outlet and then check the sound cables.
“Now, we just have to hope the mice haven’t developed a taste for the wiring in the walls. Take that cable with the prongs at the end and find an outlet that matches it. It should be on the wall nearby.”
“Got it,” Orpheus says with an eagerness that makes me wonder if I was ever so young.
From the control room I have a direct view of the arena’s giant screen. We have smaller versions in Athenos where films made before The Disaster have been recovered and are shown on festival days. The screen here has scratches on the front, nests of birds along the supports, and droppings piled below it. How have they let this get into such disrepair?
I flip the control switch. Nothing happens.
“Damn the gods,” I mutter. I flick the switch a few more times. No luck. “Let’s recheck the cables.”
We run our fingers along the length of the cables but all are intact and hooked up as they should be.
“It’s no use,” Orpheus says. “I think the problem is we don’t have enough power. His Excellency probably shut down the grid to all other outlets.”
“Then someone go tell him to turn it back on.” Orpheus looks down and pretends to fiddle with another wire. “Fine, I get it,” I concede. “Just show me where the fool lives and I’ll tell him myself.”
Orpheus breathes a sigh a relief and we head back down the stairs. We walk our way through the city and up a hill to possibly the largest estate I’ve ever seen. The villa itself could house a small arena.
“And yet your buildings are falling apart?” I say shaking my head and thinking of my daughter’s husband. “Where to?”
“Follow this road, I would guess.”
We take the winding road that leads not to a front door, but to a courtyard. Looking further up the path, I can see a row of stables in front of which a stable hand is polishing an ornate carriage. We turn into the courtyard and are halted by the sight of a tall man with a regal build engaged in a consuming kiss with a dark-haired woman. His hand cups her breast that has been slipped from her dress. From my trial, I know this is not the Solon. I clear my throat and the lovers jump apart from one another. The woman whisks her breast into the bodice and dashes away while the man pulls himself tall and gives us a bored look, completely wiping away any semblance that he’s just been joined to a woman’s mouth.
“May I help you?”
“The Solon needs to switch the electricity or the feed won’t work.”
He may have no idea what the words mean, but his dignified expression refuses to be blemished by a show of confusion.
“I’ll let him know.” He turns to leave, but before he can take a single step, a familiar man with a crooked nose perched on a long face peers out from a doorway.
“Baruch, have you seen Adneta? I’ve looked everywhere for her.”
“No, Excellency. These men are here with a request.” He moves aside and the Solon steps out into the courtyard.
“Well, what is it?”
“Your Excellency,” I say as Orpheus shrinks back. “The arena doesn’t have enough power to show the feed.”
The Solon looks to me, to the tall man who is ignoring him, and then back to me.
“Then don’t show it to them.”
“But darling.” The raven-haired woman slinks out from one of the breezeways and drapes herself onto the Solon. “You said we could watch the show there. It’s been ages since you took me to a show.” She pouts her lips while giving him a scolding look. “Are you embarrassed of me?”
“Of course not, my dear,” he coos and runs his hand over the curve of her hip. “Baruch, show them the electrical system and be certain the royal box is ready in the arena so I can show off my beautiful wife.”
As if we aren’t watching, the Solon delves into an even deeper embrace with the Solonia than Baruch had been in. She gives out little moans to his groping, but fixes her gaze on the servant’s scowling dark eyes. He turns away from the couple, unable to hide his scorn.
“Come,” he commands. “It’s this way.”
The electrical grid that has been set up for the Solon is a simple system. It’s only a matter of rearranging a few wires and flipping some switches to divert power from the villa to the city. It’s a weak system powered by only a few solar panels on the villa’s roof and won’t supply power to much more than the screen, but it will serve its purpose.
I thank the servant who gives only a bored nod in return. Orpheus and I hurry back to the arena. As we near the behemoth structure, bells clang and people fill the streets slowing our progress.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The bells, they tell people when there’s an unscheduled event at the arena. Probably our little show.”
“Then let’s hope the switch worked. We still don’t know if that screen is even functioning or if the signal from the camera is strong enough for us to receive it.”
Orpheus gives me a questioning look. He has no idea what I’m talking about. He would have learned some rudimentary electrical principles during his training, but it’s apparent he hasn’t worked with any complex electrical system in his life. I reproach myself for not acknowledging his earlier request for an apprenticeship and swear once I return to Athenos I will send him a travel permit to train under my guidance. During my stay in Portaceae I’ll make a point to teach him what I can, but for today the finer points will have to wait, we just need to get the feed up and running.
From the control room, I see people cramming the seats of the arena. I guessed wrong earlier. The place must hold at least ten thousand and it seems every seat will be filled.
“That’s a lot of people for an unscheduled event,” I say as I check the wiring.
“It’s usually trials. People love those.”
“I remember. It felt like all of Osteria was watching mine. Now, plug us in.”
Orpheus inserts the plug into the outlet. Nothing happens.
“Shit. Try again, the other outlet.”
The screen remains blank.
“Wait,” Orpheus says. “See if there’s a switch on the side of control panel.”
I run my fingers along the right edge of the control panel and feel it: a toggle switch. I flip the switch and the screen flickers into life showing a blurry image of a peacock. Orpheus gives a whoop of excitement.
“And I thought I’d be the one teaching you,” I say.
“But there’s no show.” Disappointment tinges his voice.
“Give it a moment. Once it finds the feed we’ll get action and sound.”
I scan the crowd, then look across from the screen to a pair of box seats. The Solon and his wife sit in one. The servant stands behind them with his eyes fixed on the Solonia. In the neighboring box sits a young woman with hair so blonde it shines like mercury. Her pure white gown seems dull in comparison. Four other women dressed in plainer garb sit with her.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she? Another thing you’ll miss by not staying at the House of Hera. That’s the high priestess of the Herenes. She and the other priestesses sit equal to His Excellency.”
“I have a feeling he doesn’t appreciate that.”
“Rumor has it he had his servant trim down the legs of their chairs so the Herenes ha
ve to sit lower than the Solon.”
I shake my head at such a foolish and vain man who, once my attention has been drawn to it, does sit slightly higher than the women in the box next to him.
A whine of feedback pierces the arena and the screen lights up with two men on horseback. I lean forward, nearly tipping out the window in my surprise. Orpheus pulls me back.
“It’s him,” I say pointing to the screen. “I thought he was dead.”
“Herc Dion? No, he was released. Paying tribute just like you. My mother nearly tore her hair out when she heard. She witnessed against him. Me, I can’t believe he did what he was accused of, despite what Mother says she saw. Few people can.”
“Turn the volume knob, their mouths are moving but there’s no sound.”
Orpheus takes a moment trying to find the knob and then does as I tell him.
“Where do you suppose the bastard is?” a red-haired man asks.
“That’s Iolalus, Herc’s younger cousin,” Orpheus says.
A low-rumbling like thunder comes across the sound system.
“I don’t think we’ll need to look for long,” Herc says. Both he and his cousin dismount and pick up hand-sized rocks from the ground. In the background are hills and a lush forest of green, but the men appear to be standing in a low field. Herc looks to the camera. “Take the horses and wait over there,” he says irritably.
“But I’m supposed to be filming.”
“Then film from further away,” Iolalus chides.
The laughter that flickers through the crowd changes to a collective gasp as the camera jerks over to frame a huge lion sauntering toward the group on the screen. The animal’s dark mane stands out against its white shoulders. With every silent, stalking step, the animal’s muscles ripple.
“What’s a lion doing in Portaceae?” I ask.
Orpheus answers as we watch Herc size up the cat. The field of view gets broader and broader as the cameraman steps his way back from the beast.
“They call him the Nemean Lion. He’s been eating his way west over the past year. No one’s sure if he came from the Middens or further east, but most assume he’s an extremely well-adapted descendent from the lions Pre-Disaster people kept in caged enclosures in parks. What were they called?”
The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles Page 9
