The Wizard from Earth

by S. J. Ryan

  An hour more of scanning, and Matt decided to call it a day. It was still early evening when he emerged from the library, but he heard no sounds and all the lights were out save for a lantern by the entry. Matt quietly climbed to the roof and looked over the dark cityscape silhouetted by sparse torches.

  A breeze wafted from the sea. It was fresh and reminded him of the ride on Archimedes' sloop that had carried him to freedom so recently.

  He murmured, "This isn't such a bad life. I could see living here. At least for a while." He raised his eyes to the stars. “When will we be able to see Alpha Centauri and Sol from here?”

  “Three months from now, after the autumn solstice. If you desire to see them, I have photographs of both stars from the observation port aboard Delta Pavonis Station.”

  “Yeah, I forgot to look. Let's see them. I want to know if they ever put up a Dyson Sphere.”

  They – whoever 'they' were – hadn't. Matt closed the view window in his field of vision and gazed over the city to the moonlight glimmering upon the waters of the bay.

  He then wondered, what if this city was the greatest work of humanity that remained in the universe? The rickety tenements, the crumbling facades, the untreated sewers, the mechanical clock that had to be reset every day, the streets lit only by fire . . . it would be a sad fall for a species that had once traveled between stars. And he could well be the only person alive who remembered that more civilized – and gentle – era.

  It made him feel all the lonelier.

  27.

  In a narrow, shaded alley south of the Coliseum and north of the slave market, Carrot opened her purse and counted three imperial 50-gram gold coins. She reflected on how much she hated the Emperor's profile, and how much more she hated to let it go.

  "Come on now," the wizened man said. "You'll get nothing unless you give."

  Carrot plopped the coins into the man's palm. He brandished a device that measured weight and size, then he balanced each coin on his knuckle and tapped with a knife blade. The ringing of gold had sounded so sweet the first time she'd heard it, but now was a reminder of how little in surplus funds she had remaining.

  She asked, "You're sure your associate saw them on the plantation.”

  "Yes, and he'll give you directions. Follow me."

  They exited the alley onto the street. They headed southwest. Crowds thinned to nothing. Carrot suppressed a gag from a whiff of the sewage off the bay. The passages became narrower and darker, the buildings more ramshackle.

  Carrot was not surprised when the thief's two larger compatriots stepped from the shadows.

  "The rest of your bag!" the wizened man demanded.

  Daggers and short swords drawn, the men closed in. Carrot whirled and faced the other direction – and two more men equally armed.

  She calmly tucked her purse beneath her belt, wrapped and tied the drawstrings. She backed against the wall. The men closed in, weapons extended.

  She observed how out of shape they appeared and how ineptly they moved. These were not soldiers. As combatants, they were barely worthy of thought. Just do it.

  She faced their leader and said, "I have only one thing to say. Thank you!"

  In a blink, she lunged and swiped his money bag and flung it at the face of one of the assailants. He groaned and staggered and she grabbed his wrist and yanked him over her extended foot. He crashed into the man next to him. The way was clear and Carrot, scooping the money bag from where it had fallen, dashed around the corner.

  She was in a blind alley, bordered on three sides by multistory tenements whose first floors were featureless walls. Her five assailants blocked escape, but their smiles were short-lived as they watched her leap and grab a second story ledge.

  She pulled herself up and climbed four more stories to the roof. They stood below and shouted curses. She snapped a flake of tiling off the roof and casually dropped it. They yelped and fled.

  Carrot did a 360-look-around. A few roofs over, a woman was hanging laundry. Other than that, the view was roofs, sea, and sky. With the sun's rays slanting over the bay, Carrot turned east and got her bearings from the high tower with its circular face bordered by numbers. She headed southwest.

  A few minutes later, she looked at the tower again, and noticed that the mechanical arms had moved slightly across the face. Comprehension dawned. Oh, it is like a sun dial! The Romans had made their buildings so tall that they could not use sun dials in their streets, so they had made a mechanical sun dial and put it on a tower for all to see! But then, their buildings were so tall and the streets so narrow that they couldn't see the tower either . . . .

  Romans are insane, she decided. But she had known that back in Britan.

  She leaped from roof to roof, peering over the edges to the streets below, until she recognized the location of her current residence in Rome. She scaled down to the alley, then ducked into the hole in the crumbling wall of a long-abandoned building. The darkness of the cellar was so absolute that even Carrot had trouble seeing. Not that there was much to see: her dresses hanging from a rafter, a sheet spread on the stones where she slept.

  She shooed away the rat and opened the thief's bag and sighed. Aside from her retrieved gold, the coins were copper with only a couple of silver.

  "A little advice," she said to the rat. "If you rob from thieves, be sure they're successful thieves."

  The rat stared briefly, then resumed foraging. Carrot poured the contents of the thief's money bag into her own and reclined on the sheet and stared at the ceiling.

  She was in the dark of an abandoned building in the worst part of Rome, but she was not afraid. She was, however, bored and lonely.

  "What good are you?" she whispered softly, almost crooning. "What good are you?"

  In a way, that made her feel better, for it made her realize that even these conditions were preferable to certain parts of her childhood.

  She thought again about her mission. It had seemed so clear, once. Come to Rome, buy their freedom, bring them home. But day after day in the slave market had yielded nothing. She had learned that most of the prisoners from Britan had been dispersed already to plantations, gladiator schools, and . . . Palras.

  There was no way off Palras, the auctioneers and sellers and buyers at the slave market had assured her. Roman Law said so. Carrot was experienced enough with Roman society to know that its 'government of laws not of men' was a meaningless catchphrase, for of course laws are created and enforced by men, who are easily prostituted by the jingle of a bag of coins. But in this case, the law actually did seem to be the law, in that no one knew of a single prisoner of Palras who had returned to the world of the living.

  Being Carrot, she wondered how she could get there, and how she could get out with the men.

  What I dread most is the swimming, she thought. For some reason, I had a tendency to sink in the rivers back home. She knew it was said the salt in sea water makes floating easier, but how much so? She wouldn't have to swim if she could just stay in a boat all the way there and back, but then where would she get a boat? How could a boat elude the patrols? Perhaps I could stowaway aboard a supply boat . . .

  Turning thoughts over and over made her restless. At one point, she realized that she didn't even know for sure that they were on Palras. Nonetheless, for some reason, though she couldn't imagine why, she was fixated on going to Palras . . . .

  Finally she gave up on thinking and changed to her best dress and said to the rat, "I'll remember to bring something for you, so be kind to the mice."

  She climbed out of the hole and went to Victory Square. She purchased admission into the least expensive women's public bath and idly listened to the chatter of servant girls and dreamily soaked tensed muscles.

  Afterward, she bought a loaf of fresh bread from a bakery, savoring the multiple grains and herbs as she sat on a public bench and fed crumbs to the birds and watched the passing throng of poor and rich.

  As happened every time she came to Victory S
quare, she was possessed by two disturbing visions of the imminent future.

  The first vision came as she gazed across the square at the Senate Building and imagined herself dancing madly through its chambers with flashing blades, leaving behind a trail of spurting blood.

  Her second vision was more disturbing. She could see herself living here the rest of her life.

  She knew her life in Britan was over. Her parents were dead, she had no siblings, she was a fugitive from her village, Uncle Ral was kind but her presence would only draw unwanted attention from the Romans. And Geth and Croin were not there, so she had no friends there.

  And Rome, for all its flaws, was exciting. Around every corner were new people and vistas. The food was indescribable, the music ethereal. Just watching ships enter and leave the bay easily beat watching crops grow.

  Carrot thought, I could admit the hopelessness of my cause. I'll send Uncle Ral's money back, then seek a job as a house servant, save money to go into business as a seamstress, perhaps someday open a boutique here on Victory Square –

  Carrot's reverie was broken by a sharp cracking noise. A Roman citizen was whacking his walking stick upon a slave's back. Carrot took half a step, then saw the constables watching on. She knew they weren't there to stop the violence, they were there to assault the slave if he showed inclination to fight back. She stood motionless and expressionless as the slave curled into a moaning ball.

  I need to go home, she thought. To the realms of Britan yet free – where any man who tried to make himself a master would be the one to receive a thrashing.

  But as long as she was at that moment strategically situated near the heart of Roman commerce, she would put off going home and get back to work.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deep, omitting the fragrance of the bread and concentrating on the smells of massed humanity.

  Here was a man, here was a woman, then a girl, then an infant. With little effort, she could tell rich from poor by the odors resulting from their diets, not to mention perfumery and frequency of bathing.

  She also recognized individuals that she knew. Even out here in the plaza she smelled the baker and his son in the shop, their wife in the back.

  In the time that she had been in Rome, if Geth and Croin had crossed her path even half a day earlier, she would have been able to single out their distinct scents from the foot traffic of hundreds. Even Dran and Jran – she still retained their scents in memory more clearly than their faces. Everyone she had ever met – providing emotions did not make a barrier – she remembered.

  She folded the remains of the loaf into a scarf and meandered into the crowd. She walked a few meters, closed her eyes, and sniffed again. The results of her informal sensory survey were inconclusive. She walked a few more meters. Nothing special. A few more meters. This is pointless. A few more meters. People are looking at me. A few more meters –

  She opened her eyes wide. "Him!"

  She whirled around, but he wasn't there. But smells don't lie! It's not strong enough for his presence, but he was here. Not long ago. Hours, perhaps only minutes.

  She was standing near the clock tower. Warily, she approached. The scent she had detected as a trace became overwhelming. There could be no doubt. Unless he had a twin – and she was convinced there couldn't possibly be two the likes of him in the same world.

  Of all the people to find here! Why, he had touched this door not once but many –

  She became aware that a constable was watching while she sniffed the lock. Noticing the warning sign with the imperial seal on the door, she bowed and retreated. With the crowd for concealment, she bent over the pavement and drew in long breaths. She caught the trail that led to the tower, and followed it in the other direction eastward. Leaving Victory Square, she proceeded northeast along a street.

  How odd, she thought. I'm far from the sea and the river, yet now I smell water. And hear it too.

  But there was no water on the street. She wondered if she was going mad. It was the most vivid of hallucinations, for the water was freshly scented with mountain flowers!

  And then she stopped in the middle of the street and frowned. The Wizard's scent had become as strong as if he were standing next to her. But the nearest building entrance was meters away. To be sure, there was a series of thick columns running down the middle of the street, but she peered around them and couldn't see him. But – he was here!

  And then even more disconcerting, she heard his voice as if he were alongside:

  "So what I was thinking, you could build a flow meter that could – oh! What are you doing here?"

  She whirled and there he was, standing in Roman clothing and looking no worse for wear than the day they had met at Fish Lake. But – no one had ever been able to sneak up on her – ever!

  "Where did you come from?" she demanded.

  He pointed skyward.

  She growled, “Don't give me nonsense about you descending from – “

  He pointed emphatically at a particular spot, and she looked up and saw that the columns on the street were supporting a bridge-like structure over their heads. It was then that she realized that it was where the sound of the water was coming from.

  Yes, Carrot thought, Romans are truly mad. In Britan, bridges are built so that streets may cross rivers. In Rome, bridges are built so that rivers may cross streets!

  She looked down at him, then over his shoulder. Behind him was a much-thicker-than-usual column, and at the base of the column was an open door, and through the door was sight of a stairwell.

  “Oh,” she said.

  An old man descended the stairwell and stepped onto the street and stood alongside the Wizard. He was tall and thin and had a long white beard. His robe was well-woven but unadorned. Carrot found his visual inspection unnerving. She was familiar with being appraised by men, but this was different. It was as if she were a part of a machine, and he was trying to figure out where she fit into it.

  "Someone you know, Matt?" the old man asked He was swinging his walking staff as if he had no real need of it.

  "Yes, uh, Carrot, this is Archimedes, and Archimedes, this is Carrot."

  The Wizard had side-stepped so that he was interposed between Carrot and Archimedes. Carrot suspected that he was trying to protect the old man from her.

  "Interesting name," Archimedes said, bowing. "So Carrot, are you a friend of Matt's from Seattle?"

  "She's from the other side of Britan," Matt said. "And, uh, we're just acquaintances."

  "I – I best be going," Carrot said.

  "Nice to see you again," said Matt in a monotone.

  Archimedes stamped his staff hard on the pavement, several times. Carrot froze in mid-step and turned. The old man smiled innocently.

  "Carrot," Archimedes said. "Would you like to come along with us?"

  "I don't wish to disrupt. You seem very busy."

  "Not at all. We're just going down to the north shore of the bay, to inspect the catapults."

  "Catapults?"

  28.

  While Archimedes and Carrot chatted, Matt walked a step behind and subvocaled, “Be ready to go into hypermode.”

  "You have not yet received any practical training in hypermode," Ivan replied. "If you were to engage in hypermode now, you would be likely to sustain serious injuries."

  “Yeah, well, I'm not going to let her harm him.”

  “I have a question, Matt. Why do you think she would harm him?”

  “Because she hates Rome, and sooner or later she'll find out that Archimedes is what keeps Rome running. I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't know that already. It's a little too coincidental, her bumping into us like that. It's like she's been following me. What is she doing in Rome in the first place?”

  “Four of her friends were taken prisoner. She hopes to find them and purchase their freedom.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  Ivan replayed the audio and video of the conversation between Archimedes and Carrot
that had occurred while Matt had been preoccupied with his thoughts.

  "So why have you come to Rome?" Archimedes-in-replay asked.

  "Four of my friends were taken prisoner," Carrot-in-replay replied. "I hope to find them and purchase their freedom."

  “Oh,” subvocaled Matt. “I guess she means Dran and Geth and . . . uh . . . . “

  “Croin and Jran,” supplied Ivan.

  “What kind of names are those, anyway? Anyhow, she says she came to rescue her friends. Well, it makes for a good cover story.”

  Ivan was silent for a moment, then said, “To answer your question, many of the names we have encountered on Ne'arth have no equivalent in any terrestrial culture. This uniqueness occurs so often that I believe it is – ”

  “Shhhh.”

  Matt willed the video replay window shut and listened to Archimedes and Carrot talk in real time.

  Archimedes stroked his beard and said, "I can't offer you much hope. But from time to time, one hears of a prisoner of war who became a slave and then a freedman. It used to be more common than it is."

  "I see." Carrot stared at the pavement.

  Their travels had taken them to the north of the bay, where the shore was enclosed by a high wall. Archimedes presented himself at the gate and the guards let them pass. From the presence of so many soldiers, Matt judged them to be on a military base.

  Barges were tied to the docks. On each barge was a neatly stacked pile of bricks next to a man-high framework covered with a sheet.

  "In the event of a naval attack," Archimedes said, "these barges are to be towed and anchored at the entry to the bay, where their catapults will be able to bombard the enemy fleet."

  "Bombard?" Carrot asked. "How?"

  “Well, I am told that doing is more fun that watching . . . .“

  They walked onto a barge. Archimedes threw off the sheet, revealing a catapult with a wooden frame and a throwing arm as long as Matt was tall. Archimedes hefted a brick into the sling of the throwing arm. He inserted a wooden pole into a slot at the side of the catapult. He pushed the pole again and again, working a ratchet, tightening the torsion spring. Grunting with satisfaction, he nodded to Carrot.