Steampunk Cleopatra

by Thaddeus Thomas

  “We hope so.”

  “I trust we've been good to you in return?” she asked.

  He bowed his head. “More than fair, but if I may be honest?”

  His words drew my attention.

  “Please,” Cleopatra said.

  He held high his chin, giving dignity to his flattened, scarred face. “Syria has too much civilization for its own good. Here, there is always a fight and always a woman. Alexandria is a city where men feel alive. They cannot send enough soldiers to drag us away.”

  I tried to resist a smile, but the wine failed me.

  Cleopatra set an uncertain foot on the top step. “Walk me down? I'd hate to fall.”

  He took her arm.

  The lights of the palace were too bright, the colors too loud, and the music too insistent. Cleopatra stood just outside the flood of light. They looked at one another, Cleopatra and Amani, neither able to move. Neither able to speak.

  I cleared my throat and dabbed at my eye.

  Salvius left Cleopatra behind and peered into the palace. It must have taken him a moment to take in what he was seeing. Cleopatra woke from her spell. She had almost reached Amani, but it was too late. Salvius understood.

  A piston-powered arm shot out. His leather and bronze glove closed around Amani's neck. A burst of steam rose from Salvius's back, and Amani's feet dangled inches off the stone floor.

  Fear cleared my wine-addled head, and I sprinted down the stairs.

  The calliope played. Between notes, Cleopatra screamed. She clawed at Salvius's arm. He stood frozen in place, his hand tight around Amani's throat. Her eyes bulged. The tip of her tongue parted her lips.

  I ran, my shoulder lowered for his armored back.

  I heard him speak. The words must have come before I hit him, but they jumbled together with my movement as I fell. Pain sheered through my shoulder, but I felt his words sharper than the pain.

  “The suit locked. I cannot release her.”

  I hit the floor and skidded to a stop. He stood where he had before, the pistons frozen in a cascading failure that locked everything from his shoulder to his fingers. Amani's feet kicked.

  I lay in a warm trickle of blood.

  Salvius wobbled. Amani stopped kicking. Salvius tottered. Amani’s legs swung limp and free. Salvius toppled. Metal rang out against stone, and Amani tumbled free. Her body rolled to a stop at the feet of seven guards, their strange weapons drawn.

  Cleopatra threw herself over Amani, her hands searching her face for signs of life. With a spasm, Amani sucked in a fresh breath. Cleopatra dropped her brow to Amani's bosom.

  For a long while, no one moved.

  Salvius strained against his rigid suit. “Someone pry me out of this thing and find Lucius Septimus. Pharaoh is dead.”

  In memory, my thinking is clear. The elegant design of Amani's hair stood in contrast to the simplicity of her tunic. Her hair was a mess now, but you could still tell if you knew what to look for.

  She and Cleopatra stood together at the end of the bed. Pharaoh lay pale and still.

  Three words came to mind. Cleopatra is queen.

  Cleopatra pulled away, and with a single command, silenced the cornucopia and turned down the lights.

  She faced the soldiers gathered at the threshold. “You stood by my father. Now, whom among you extend that allegiance to me?”

  Free of his armor, Salvius stepped forward. “Lucius is coming. He'll answer for all of us, not in this room only, but wherever we're stationed. One body. One voice.”

  One mind, I thought.

  While we waited, Cleopatra directed one soldier to see to my wounds and the others to follow my orders. Then she and Amani retreated to the adjacent room. I sat at the door between the rooms, protecting their privacy.

  The soldier pulled my tunic away, bared my wounds, and cleaned and bandaged me. His hands were warm.

  Cleopatra rested her head against Amani's. “In the richest homes of Alexandria, children know the story of Amesemi and Apedemak. I taught it to them, believing it was an ancient myth from Kush that had passed down to you and from you to me. Turns out, it was something your family invented.

  “Egypt can't agree over who created the world. In your first century, the Ogdoad was the essence from which creation sprung. Of those eight, one god would later return as Amun, the god who breathed the world into existence. After other gods replaced the Ogdoad, but before Amun returned, there came Ptah, who created everything with a thought.

  “Your very name is a Kushite variant of Amun. I thought that all meant something. But there's more than one version of Amun. And maybe he was one of the Ogdoad, and maybe we linked him with them later. Maybe he was a creator god, and maybe he wasn't. I studied every clue you left behind. The books. The bedtime story. In the end, you were Amun. Maybe you were more mythology than fact, but I knew one thing. You created my world. For the rest of my life, everything that grew out of it would be because of you.”

  Papyrus 6.04

  Amani held her throat and tried to focus past her racing heart and hear Cleopatra’s words. They were beautiful, but there were so many. It was all so much. In Jerusalem, she had Malachi, Miriam, and her work. Days came slow and quiet. She never concerned herself with the politics of their world. The city ignored her, and she worked in peace.

  Alexandria overwhelmed.

  Chatter rose among the soldiers. They had found Lucius Septimus drunk in a married woman's bed, her husband weeping outside the door. Hear him, they said. That is his voice raging against the heavens as he commands the soldiers at the gate and drinks a skin of wine to clear his head.

  Cleopatra stood. Amani meant to let her go, but Cleopatra would not allow it.

  “You must address Lucius.”

  Amani tapped her fingers on her injured throat.

  “Find your voice.”

  Amani felt the panic well up within her. Each breath struggled.

  “This moment saves or condemns us both,” Cleopatra said and then let her go and entered the main room without her.

  Amani sat, closed her eyes, and breathed.

  She only opened her eyes again when she heard Lucius enter. He was a monster of a man with a dignified, intelligent presence. Otherwise well-groomed, his scalp and face needed a shave; both were peppered gray.

  Cleopatra stood behind him; the rest of us, behind her. Amani stood. Lucius began with simple questions, confirming the account he had heard from others. Amani responded to each with a nod or a shake of her head, her fingers still guarding her throat.

  “We placed Ptolemy upon his throne,” Lucius said, “and we kept him there. That role renews with the next pharaoh. The regents in their palaces think they have it all decided, but no plan for the throne comes to pass unless the Gabiniani are in agreement. Your Cleopatra recognizes that, but before I can consider her proposal, I must understand the situation we face and all its players. You, girl, are the mystery. You interest me, and you don’t want to interest me. What you want is for me to return my focus where it belongs. Demystify yourself. Speak.”

  Amani walked to him, so what little noise she could make, he would hear. She faced his chest and looked up at his chin. “I am a scholar, raised in the Library, and to the Library I have returned. I came thinking that only here could I learn more about the old knowledge. I imagined I would return to a city reborn, awash with the light of energy transmitted through the atmosphere. Hunger and sickness vanquished, while the people lived in equality and the nation bathed in wealth untold. I expected a military beyond the nightmares of Rome, ready to stand forever against a million legions. Instead, I find filth and injury. Alexandria has nothing to teach me, but I have much to teach her.”

  She gripped her throat against the pain and listened to the sound of his breathing.

  “If that was meant to make me lose interest, you failed.” He turned to Cleopatra. “If she remains in your custody, she is free to go. We will continue this discussion when she’s well.”

 
“What of Pharaoh?” Cleopatra came alongside Amani. “Are we in agreement? I shouldn't tell you Cerberus's plans for the army, but only a fool would think there's any whisper you haven't already heard.”

  “Pharaoh’s ministers can do whatever they wish with the Alexandrian legions.”

  “As long as they leave your men alone,” she said.

  “Do you have reason to say it would be otherwise?”

  She gave him a pitying smile. “You served my father. You can serve me or whatever we'll have when Cerberus plays pharaoh. I suggest it will mean chaos, and that's not something Alexandria needs.”

  “What does Alexandria need?”

  “Time to secure our positions before Rome realizes there has been a transition of power.”

  “Our positions?” He returned her smile.

  “My case is obvious,” she said. “I've been held back by my father, and I'd be swept under now. I won't have it.”

  “And my case?”

  “Visibility. Recognition. Honor,” she said. “Be recognized for who you are in the eyes of the people before the ministers step in.”

  Lucius looked out over his men gathered in the main room, watching. “Pharaoh’s death remains secret, tonight, and until I say otherwise.” He returned his gaze to Cleopatra. “May we continue this discussion, tomorrow, my queen?”

  She gave a slight nod, royal and reserved. “That would please me well.”

  Papyrus 6.05

  I secured Lochias and left for Cleopatra's palace and found her and Amani asleep on a couch where they had exhausted themselves in conversation. Amani's eyes opened. She smiled at me.

  We took a walk among the gardens. She held my arm and leaned her head against my shoulder, and we stared at the city, the palaces, and the warehouses. I hugged her to my chest, needing the certainty that the moment was real.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  She put her hand to her throat and said nothing.

  When we returned to the palace, she pulled parchment from the desk and wrote. “I owe you for the pain I've caused.”

  “You owe me nothing,” I said.

  “I hear you burned down our house. Perhaps, I can call that a partial payment against my debt.”

  I lifted her hand and kissed it. She drew it away.

  “You've been busy,” she wrote. “The warehouses are full of new and terrible weapons.”

  “The books will save Alexandria,” I said.

  “To the ruin of Rhakotis,” she wrote.

  The many pat answers of the palace came to my lips, only to be left unspoken. None of them would satisfy Amani. I knew this because none of them were true.

  We all have our sacrifices to make for the good of the kingdom. Times like these call for us all to give what we can and do what we must. These are not easy days, not for anyone.

  “Your grandfather would be unhappy with me,” I said.

  She hesitated, either thinking of what to write or arguing with herself whether to write it. “We can affix blame, or we can find solutions. The choice is ours.”

  “I don't know what solution there can be,” I said.

  “They see strength as a deterrent,” she wrote. “It is also a commodity; one Rome will acquire, whatever the cost.”

  Amani wanted an audit of our steam-powered arsenal, which I was happy to provide. I loved the warehouses, as I loved anything that spoke of the time before we banned the foreign scholars, when our intellectual achievements were at their height. The metal doors folded back on their own. I knew how water pressure and counter-weights operated them, but the artistry seduced me. Panels flapped back upon one another, making me think of fish scales becoming bird wings.

  Inside, pneumatic platforms moved between levels, transporting cargo and workers, and none of this used the Cypriot books. Even after our return, I had clung to the idea that we had designed the warehouses on our own. Now, I felt some of that old wonder tarnish.

  The old simplicity didn't exist anymore. We had built upon and extrapolated from the work of Egyptians whose contributions we denied. Uncovering that was important. Returning that pride to Amani's people was right, but what they had gained, I had lost. I was less a part of my own world now, less tied to and proud of the wonders that surrounded me. In my generous moments, I realized that was how it had always been for others.

  The Cypriot books had consumed years of my life, first in their pursuit and then in their study. I always thought the next revelation would make it all worthwhile, and the beauty of the world I had lost would reveal itself in the new. After all, the only real change was power. We had gas for the lamps, springs for the finest of mechanisms, and steam for everything else. They granted us strength our inventions had never achieved with only water, air, and counter-weights, but we had only power, not beauty. I had brought an ugliness upon our city.

  Theodotus was with us. Having him there, I hoped, would satisfy suspicious minds. Theodotus brought Andros. I had seen little of Andros these last few years, only at official functions when he came as Theodotus's guest. They seemed happy together.

  We rode a platform to the top and worked our way dCyprus,own from the lightest weapons to the heaviest. I pointed out that many of the devices, technically, were not weapons, but the distinction did not move Amani. We had designed them all for war.

  By the third warehouse, I stopped finding new wonders to unveil. The task reduced itself to a simple audit. We counted pieces, and Andros took notes.

  Amani's voice was recovering. She could speak above a whisper. As we went, Theodotus engaged her, attempting to test her motives and allegiances. If she noticed, she hid it well beneath the thrill of discovery and her surprise at what she did not find. We had no replicas of the metal men from Cyprus nor of Moira's metal arms. There were arms of other sorts like those Amani encountered at Lochias, and, though we had the little flying machines with the fiery tails, we'd built nothing larger than a locust, and nothing that truly flew.

  Steam-powered carriages filled the lowest level, followed by large-scale projectile weapons. We had smaller, portable weapons, and exoskeleton suits that combined strength and bodily protection like the one Salvius wore.

  “What will you work on, now that you're here?” Theodotus asked.

  “Research and design, I hope,” Amani said. “The last several years, my studies were limited by what I could carry with me.”

  “The machines,” he said, “you have them with you?”

  She bent to examine the workings of an exoskeleton's knee joint. “You think I brought them from Jerusalem?”

  “One might hope,” he said.

  I cut in. “You wouldn't want to risk important information falling into foreign hands.”

  “No,” Theodotus said, “most certainly not.”

  If Amani caught the edge in his voice, she gave no sign. I wished she had. Not to acknowledge it was to admit she was playing dumb. Theodotus had all but accused her of representing a foreign interest.

  Even Andros looked up.

  Amani's inaction was a mistake. I felt it in my gut.

  Theodotus whispered in my ear, requesting a private meeting.

  Papyrus 6.06

  In the glow of moon and torchlight, I stood before the statue of Serapis as it coddled three-headed Cerberus. The temple doors opened. Theodotus entered, and I caught a glimpse of Andros, shadows tracing the perfect contours of his face. His cheek and scalp blushed with the kiss of torchlight, and I found myself transfixed, staring, once more aware of what had slipped away while I scourged myself with grief. The doors closed.

  Theodotus moved past me and triggered the idol's mechanism with a coin. Serapis released a tiny scroll, and it slid down the ramp into the bowl. He read the paper aloud.

  A bountiful family is the reward of a well-tended marriage.

  I tensed. If Theodotus knew Pharaoh was dead, he had chosen the message well.

  He slipped Serapis's tiny scroll into my hand. “How many barren couples returned to tear dow
n the god who failed them?”

  “None.”

  “None,” he said. “Not in Alexandria. They wait forever in the promise of future blessings, but the oracle is fake. Serapis is a lie. So, what would be the right thing to do? Does the righteous soul have faith in these scribbles, or does she tear down this abomination?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I'm saying Amani is a good person, too good for Alexandria.”

  “That's not reasonable.”

  “When we recognize someone as good, we mean that person is beneficial to the smooth running of the system,” he said. “We don't mean someone's objectively good, but that they're a good disciple of Serapis, like yourself. You’ve served Ptolemy since his return, faithfully and dutifully. Yet, this is the man who murdered Dio, the love of your life. Was what he did righteous? No, it was evil. So, what of us? Is it righteous to serve him?”

  He waited for me to answer, and, though I was a master in the art of debate, I found myself silenced.

  “For us, the survival of the Ptolemaic dynasty, the continuation of the system, is the ultimate goal,” he said. “Maybe we even convince ourselves it's the ultimate good. Do you suppose Amani will see it that way?”

  “Supporting Pharaoh is the righteous thing to do,” I said.

  “We deserve to rule?” he asked.

  “We do.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “When Alexander came, Egypt welcomed him. They gave us the kingdom, and they've prospered under us.”

  Theodotus put another coin in the cup. Serapis repeated his routine. “We repeat the mythology that defends the system, but if we're honest, we know better. Our allegiance isn't to Egypt. Egypt is something we possess, something we control, and we build our systems to keep it under our control.”

  “We all make our compromises,” I said. “It's the only way.”

  “It's the only way to thrive in the system we've built,” he said, “and that is why we are not good people, you and I. We did not build the system for good people, only good disciples. Amani is not a good disciple.”