by S. J. Ryan
“We believed in it in Seattle. So do the Sisters.”
“How do you know that?”
“Look at the mural maps in the Palace, the ones that they had painted. There's a Box in Britan. That's the one that they're looking for.”
“This is the first I've heard that there's more than one Box.”
“Well, according to that painting, there are three. I think they have one already. One is in Britan, and the Sisters are looking for it.”
“If they have one already, why do they need another one?”
Matt shrugged. “You'd have to ask them. Offhand, I'd say spare parts. The Boxes can repair and refurbish themselves, but that ability declines with age. So maybe they need another one to scavenge in order to repair the first. But that's only a guess.”
“But why do they need a Box at all?”
Matt hesitated. Valarion was power-hungry, and telling him about the power of the Box would only cause him to desire it and exploit it for his own purposes. But how could he be worse than the Sisters? At least, Valarion was human.
Assuming that's a good thing, Matt thought.
“The Box,” Matt replied, “can create almost any form of life. It can create and cure plagues. It can create organisms that can bioengineer the climate. It can create a race of super-warriors. It can create plants and animals that can provide energy and materials for industrial – “
“Plagues and super-warriors? You really believe that?”
Matt nodded.
“You're a greater fool than I had thought. Even Archimedes knows the Box is only a myth.”
Matt looked into eyes that had originally belonged to Eric Roth, and wondered whether Valarion was sincere in his dismissiveness.
“Anyhow,” Matt said. “It doesn't matter what I believe. What matters is what the Sisters believe. And they believe in the Boxes, and that there's one in Britan, and that's why they want you to invade and occupy Britan, so that they can have thousands of soldiers looking for it all over the countryside with no one in their way.”
“Why not just hunt for it themselves?”
“I'm guessing they tried that. Maybe now they want a more thorough search.”
“Yes, I can see that . . . but hold now. Inoldia has refused to tell me of the true purpose of the Britanian campaign for years now. And now you're claiming that they had the truth painted on the walls of the Palace. How does that make sense?”
Matt frowned. “You make a good point. It does seem rather dumb. Like one hand doesn't know what the other is doing.”
It was Valarion's turn to frown. “I've often had that experience dealing with the Sisters.”
It appeared the Emperor was going to say more, but then he nodded to an unseen signal behind Matt's back. In a grave tone, he said, “Do not speak of this topic in her presence, or we will both die.”
A moment later, Inoldia walked into the courtyard, swaying arms and hips. Valarion arose and bowed.
"Lady Inoldia! How delightful! Come to see the Wizard?"
She glanced dismissively. “He is no wizard. Only another foolish mentor host. And now he isn't even that.”
“Are you sure? I've never been told of a mentor host who displayed the powers of last night. I saw it myself. The way he dodged arrows – “
“Dodge arrows? I can do that.” She pointed to an open window on the second floor. “Have your man hiding there discharge his crossbow at me.”
Valarion, for once, looked sincerely pained. “Inoldia, really, no demonstration is necessary – “
“Do it.”
Sighing, Valarion made a quick gesture. An arrow streaked from the window, straight at Inoldia's chest. Her hand moved almost too fast to see, and she grabbed the shaft.
“I could dodge arrows if I needed to,” she said. She examined the arrow, broke the shaft in two, and held the half with the arrowhead like a throwing knife. She smiled at Matt – then flung the piece back at the window – as fast as the arrow had flown from the crossbow. Matt heard a cry. A crossbow and a human body tumbled over the widow sill, the arrowhead and shaft embedded in the guard's throat.
Reflexively, Matt almost got up to heal the man. Then he thought of how Ivan was his one advantage against Valarion and Inoldia. This is about more than just one life, he told himself. Carrot, Archimedes – everyone. He remembered the analysis that Ivan had performed on the plague virus. It had been capable of killing everyone on Ne'arth. Ivan was the only one who could stop that from happening again.
The guard stopped twitching. For a moment, the Emperor's face flashed anger, but then he sipped his tea and smiled whimsically. Another gesture, and the corpse was carried out.
"I bring a message," Inoldia said as if nothing had happened. "The Council is turning the girl over to you. You are to be informed that she is a great threat to us all.”
“And what do you want me to do with her?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“Ah, I see. Once again, I am to do your dirty work.”
“She is a great threat to us all.” Inoldia casually picked up the prognosticator cube, tilted it end over end, and crushed it, letting the dust scatter upon the lawn. Valarion smiled and sipped while Inoldia swaggered out of the courtyard, giving Matt a sneer.
Once she was gone, Valarion scowled and the cup rattled against its saucer as he trembled.
“You see what I'm up against. Seven steps ahead in strategy the Sisters are, and yet they have as their emissary that – that – drunken bear!”
Matt watched the Emperor brush cookie crumbs from the sleeves of the purple robe.
“I told you what you wanted to know,” Matt said. “So . . . uh . . . you're letting us go?”
“Of course not. To be honest, I wasn't going to before, but she made it clear now they want the girl dead as soon as possible. Hmm, perhaps I can include both your executions during the installation ceremony.” Valarion picked up a notebook and pen, and began to make a diagram of blocks and arrows that reminded Matt of the ones drawn by Archimedes. Apparently, Matt realized, Valarion hadn't rejected everything that Archimedes had taught him. Just the sense of ethics.
Then he glanced at Matt. “Well . . . I suppose I could let you 'escape.' There was nothing in their order just now about you. And I've found you to be either informative or mad, neither of which is cause to kill you. So yes, you can leave Rome if you wish.”
Matt considered taking the offer. He had no intention of leaving Rome without Carrot, but perhaps he could best help her by being on the outside of prison –
Valarion burst out laughing. He pointed at Matt's face and rocked back and forth.
“Your expression is priceless!”
A gesture summoned guards. Without looking from his work, Valarion said, “Return him to Bloodbrick. See that he is brought to the Coliseum for execution at . . . oh, say three-ish.”
Tugged by the guards, Matt stood and asked, “Do I get a last meal?”
Valarion ignored him. Matt saw the cookie plate he'd set on the ground and clawed for it, but his grasp was too short.
Matt was escorted to the rickshaw, then carried back to Bloodbrick. Surrounded by soldiers and heavily chained, he saw no opportunity that even hypermode could use for escape. They threw him in the cell and chained him to the wall and slammed and locked the door.
“Don't I get a last meal?” he shouted at the receding footsteps. When the sound had died away, he yanked on the cuffs over his wrists and said, “Ivan, I remember that the first time I was put in chains, I asked you to develop the capability to print in metal. How's that coming along?”
“I have made progress, but it is still insufficient to print a key.”
After a few more minutes in darkness, Matt said, “Ivan, I have an idea. The way you cut the bone in my skull, you could do the same to the bones in my wrist, right?”
“Yes,” Ivan said. “Are you suggesting that I sever your wrist bones so that you can slip your wrists through the chain cuffs, and then fuse the b
ones together again once your wrists are out?”
“You seem to know something about this.”
“There are instructions in my archives for such a trick that was used by magicians to escape from handcuffs. It was very popular in magic acts on Earth during the early twenty-second century.”
“Well, I don't think anyone's done it here on this planet yet. Okay, once we do that, for my next trick, I'll strip naked and stand by the wall over there and you'll camouflage my skin to match the stone pattern. Can you do that?”
“My pigmentation modification software archives do contain chameleon emulation algorithms.”
“Great, given how dim it is in here, it should fool them when they come in and so they'll think I escaped. Then, assuming they leave the door open, we'll escape for real and – “
“Matt, may I make some observations that may have relevance for devising a means of escape?”
“Sure.”
“I have reviewed the architectural plans of Archimedes for Bloodbrick Prison and this particular cell. There is a key for the chains hidden behind a loose brick above your right hand. The bricks on your left form a hinged panel that opens into a tunnel that exits to an alley outside the prison.”
Matt quietly acquired the key, released himself from the chains, and opened the panel.
The tunnel was large enough to crawl on hands and knees, then entered into a larger passage that connected with other tunnels. Matt stood and climbed steps up to street level. The steps ended at a wall. With a gentle shove, the wall hinged outward and Matt stepped into the alley.
Before him, a man in the uniform of a Roman soldier pointed a sword at his chest. Matt met the man's eyes and smiled.
“Hello, Geth.”
45.
Archimedes knew a bistro that was not far from the reputedly inescapable Bloodbrick Prison, and they took refuge in one of its dark corners. He and Geth watched in equal fascination as Matt wolfed porridge and gulped cider as if the boy hadn't eaten in days. The former Chief Scientist of Rome, reduced to fugitive, then glanced at the handful of other patrons, who were ignoring them. He had never been more content with the lack of public recognition that came with his job.
“And Valarion is claiming that Seattle and Britan are going to attack Rome,” Matt said between gulps. “That's why he's got the city under martial law.”
“And you don't know where Arcadia is now?” Geth asked.
“Inoldia said the Sisters are returning her,” Matt said. “I think that means they took her to their island. But now they want her executed and Valarion was planning to do it at something called an 'Installation Ceremony.'”
“What is that?” Geth asked.
“The public so-called 'celebration' of the ascension of a new emperor,” Archimedes replied.
“Where is going to be held?” Geth demanded. “When?”
Finishing the meal, Matt put down the spoon. “In the Coliseum after three this afternoon. Uh, Carrot – she's your daughter, isn't she?”
Geth hesitated. “How long have you known?”
“Well, for a long time. And I think she has to know too, although she never mentions it. Is something going on between you two?”
“Nothing of enmity, if that is what you mean.”
“Well, what is going on?”
“Do we really have time? We need to rescue her.”
“And before we do, I'd like to know the nature of your relationship so that I know how far you're willing to go to save her.”
“Yesterday I jumped from a ship heading for home and swam back here because I thought she might still need me. And yet you question my dedication to her?”
“Well, if you won't admit to her that she's your daughter, yes.”
Geth sighed and his bearing as a proud soldier of Rome might have curled into a ball save for the intervention of the table. He stared into his beer as he spoke.
“King Letos was a good drinking companion, an adequate ruler, and a failure as a husband. He had countless affairs while Prisca, Arcadia's mother, stayed home and bore the brunt of his abuse when he stumbled in drunk each night. As his chief knight, I tried to be loyal to Letos, but one night in his drunken rage he had slashed Prisca across the face. As you know, Wizard, Arcadia has remarkable powers of healing, and her mother even more so. Letos knew of this power, and took advantage of the fact to inflict outrages that might have killed or permanently scarred any other woman and thus scandalized him before the village. Yet though his attacks left no external scar on Prisca, they made internal ones. That night of the worst attack she came to me, or I to her – does it matter? She had been married years to Letos, and had not conceived a child, but within a few weeks of our . . . relationship . . . she was with Arcadia. Letos of course suspected, and I could see from the child's resemblance that she was mine. Also Prisca told me, and I knew that she would know for certain.”
Matt said softly, “Please understand, I wasn't judging you for the affair. I just want to know, why haven't you told Carrot?”
“With good reason, at first. Letos by law could have put us all to death. It's an old law and I don't think even he would have used it, but the stigma of a child born out of wedlock would have been a humiliation to his kingship at a time when the Romans were sniffing at our door and unity was needed to fend them off. And illegitimacy would have been a stigma to Prisca and Arcadia too. And then there was the matter of inheritance and the title of princess that would be Arcadia's someday if I simply kept quiet.”
“But her village has been destroyed for over two years. She has nothing to inherit now.”
“Perhaps it seems that way. But consider her future. Consider for example, my stepson Croin is a fine young man and also happens to have been born out of wedlock, but it doesn't really matter since he's destined to make an excellent farmer. But Arcadia – she may yet someday wear a crown. It won't do for people to know that she is illegitimate, and it is far better if she carries the title of a princess than not.”
“That explains why you didn't reveal the truth in public. But why didn't you tell Carrot?”
“Inertia, I suppose. Also, in our society, it is the child who bears the guilt of illegitimacy, though she had no part in the act. It is not right, I will not let her bear such a burden – “
Archimedes clamped a hand on Geth's shoulder and said, “Young fellow, I've heard enough. Now, Carrot is indeed a fine young lady, but what she needs now is a father – more than a knight champion or whatever you conceive your role to be.”
“If not in words,” Geth replied, “I have been a father at least in action, especially these two last years. In the battles we have faced together, there isn't an arrow or a blade that I wouldn't sooner have at my neck than hers. My only failing has been not to tell her the truth.”
“I really think she already knows,” Matt said.
Geth frowned. “And why do you think that?”
“Well, uh . . . how do I say this . . . she can tell by your scent.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, uh . . . I kind of . . . have the same ability.”
“Oh . . . . “
Archimedes switched between the two faces, his own a cloud of puzzlement. “What are you two talking about?”
“You are not aware that Arcadia is . . . . special?” Geth asked. “You do not know of her . . . abilities?”
“Of course I do. I know that she's a good aim with a catapult and a promising cook and ever since she's been laundering my robes they have never been brighter.”
“What of her physical attributes?”
“Well, she has a becoming figure, but I'm really past the age of doing much with that.”
“And . . . you perceive nothing special with regard to her mind?”
“Hmm. She is able to read, which I'll admit is special for a farm girl from the hinterlands. I often find her in the library, but then it's a different book each time, so I have to question her span of attention. I also find her a bit incuriou
s these days, because whenever I attempt to explain something in detail about one of the books, she'll say 'I know.' And then, Matt, you heard her yesterday in the coach, going on about the interaction of light rays through the atmosphere as if she knew what she was talking about. Obviously, she prattled so because she feels intellectually intimidated in our company.”
Geth and Matt looked at each other, and Archimedes marveled at the power of young women to utterly distract fathers and suitors alike.
Then he remembered their circumstances and said quietly, “I must ask your forgiveness for an old man who spends too much time in his workshops. Clearly you both deeply care for her, and even I am aware that there are personal qualities of character that count for more than intellectual accomplishment. I know you wish to rescue her, and I will do what I can to assist.”
Geth gave a confirming nod and said, “Now, what is this Coliseum you say she will be taken to?”
“It's a – it's a – “ Matt said, then shrugged and looked haplessly at Archimedes. “I don't think they have anything like it in Britan, so how do I explain?”
Archimedes pondered for a moment, then said, “Surely, Geth, you have athletic games in Britan?”
“Yes, of course. You mean, wrestling and foot races and the like.”
“Imagine they built a building large enough to encompass the playing field, around which people could sit and watch. A building that would be larger than an entire village, that would allow thousands of people to watch a game at the same time.”
“There is such a grand structure in Rome?”
“Yes, and within they have competitions to rival the scale of the building, competitions such as chariot races, gladiator fights, naval battles – “
“Naval battles? As in real ships in water?”
“Yes, there are reservoirs that fill the entire – you know, that reminds me, there's a connection from the Coliseum reservoirs to the sewers. If memory serves me, the maintenance entry is on Draster Street.”
“Drasker,” Matt said.
“And how would you know? Oh never mind, just now you had that sideways look that you always have when you turn out to always be right. Anyhow, that underground passage will get us in and out of the Coliseum. The additional problem that I perceive is that Carrot will likely be placed before the Emperor's balcony, which is in the middle of the interior oval, while the reservoir release station is at one end. How do we reach her across the open field? I don't see a way for that to work.”
