"You are very strong," Sheshet said, straightening her tunic. For the first time, the Egyptian woman seemed to see Thyatis and the Roman felt a chill under the penetrating gaze. "You're a soldier." She reached out and turned Thyatis' right wrist over. Her cracked fingernails slid over glassy scars. "Are you an archer?"
"Sometimes, when need drives," Thyatis said, evading the question. "Your dear Hecataeus knew Nemathapi's name already-you've heard it too-has someone else been to see him, asking about a device?"
The curator's eyes glinted in amusement. "How much will you pay?"
"Tell me," Thyatis replied, "and you'll have enough for more than parchment, papyrus, ink, quills…"
The little woman laughed softly, looking down at her grubby clothing. "You mean, buy fewer books? Spend something on myself?" Sheshet shook her head. "There's not enough money for such luxuries, not in this world."
"Gold, then," Thyatis said, producing a double-weight aureus from her belt. "Who came to see Hecataeus about the old pharaoh?"
Ink-stained fingers snatched the coin from Thyatis' hand and the Egyptian woman weighed the gold in her hand. "Unclipped. Very thoughtful of you. A Western coin." Sheshet flipped it over, running a thumb across the stamped image. "A commemorative of Emperor Galen's triumph over Persia-very fresh, unworn." The woman licked her lips, thinking. "You've come recently from Rome then, drawn pay from the Imperial Treasury. You are official, aren't you?"
"Yes," Thyatis said, leaning close. Sheshet did not flinch away, meeting her eyes with an amused expression. "Who came to see Hecataeus?"
"Persians," Sheshet said carelessly, pocketing the coin. "Two of them-a big man, bigger than you, with a horseman's waist and dangerous eyes. The other, though, he's been in the city so long he speaks like a Rhakotis native… they had a rubbing; charcoal on thin parchment. They were looking for a tomb." The curator paused, wiggling her fingers.
"How many books do you want to buy?" Thyatis said, both eyebrows raised in amusement. She produced another gold coin.
"How many books are in the world?" Sheshet laughed quietly. "The poet said he needed to consult a geographica, but they wouldn't leave. So he came into my office and asked me to find some references while they waited."
Thyatis nodded, remembering the stains on the old table. "They had wine, from unfired cups."
Sheshet nodded, shrugging her shoulders. "Hecataeus is cheap, he won't buy good cups for his guests."
"What did the rubbing show? Was there a picture, wheels set within wheels?"
"No." Sheshet's interested perked. "Just some old graffiti. Scratchings from a wall-the stones were large and well cut-you could see the pattern of the chisel strokes reflected in the rubbing." The woman brushed curls out of her eyes, squinting into an unseen, internal distance. "A bronze chisel… even in the course of one block, you could see the strokes shallowing as the blade dulled… Nemathapi lived long ago, when iron was scarce. His tomb perhaps, or a funerary temple." She paused. "But there were no chips of paint shown in the rubbing-I doubt some Persians would clean the surface first. A tomb entry chamber then, unpainted."
"What," Thyatis said grimly, "did it say?"
"Oh, that." Sheshet grinned, dark brown eyes lighting up. When she smiled, her sharp cheekbones and narrow chin transformed into something almost inhuman. "The tomb had been plundered and the thieves left a message for those who might come after, both to mock any rival finding an empty hole and to deflect the anger of the gods. They were clever, the men working in candlelit darkness, chipping away at stone laid down a thousand years before…"
— |-
The echo of voices, not far away, brought Shirin up short. Stepping quietly, she turned the corner of a hallway filled with rough-hewn wooden crates. Not more than a dozen yards away, she could see the tall figure of Thyatis speaking to a short, dark-haired woman. Gold glinted for an instant, then vanished into the Egyptian woman's hand.
So, Shirin sniffed, we're back to work, are we? Irritated, the Khazar woman scratched her nose, ink-dark eyebrows narrowed in calculation. But who are you working for? The Order? The Duchess? The Emperor… your handyman is a Roman soldier-that much is clear from his boots, his hair, the long-shanked stride. So, the Imperial government again. But how?
A momentary vision of Thyatis, her wild, ecstatic face streaked with blood and sweat, standing on glittering, hot sand filled Shirin's memory. Her stomach turned queasily, thinking of the slaughter and the delight so plain in her lover's eyes.
You won out, Shirin thought, half-remembering things she had heard about the Romans and their customs. You killed all those men and the Emperor set you free. He must have taken you back into his service. The unsettled, greasy feeling in her stomach began to gel like meat fat cooling on a skillet. Now you're hunting again and this time you're here, searching for the same thing the Persians want. Kleopatra's weapon. A calm sense of certainty entered her. Fragments slid together; the grim look on the Persian faces, the dust on their cloaks, their long journey down the Nile fitting into a recognizable pattern. Shirin squinted at the woman in the ragged dress. A clerk or scribe, working here, cataloging the books. Hmm. A race to find Kleopatra's… treasure? Tomb? Hiding place? Those Persians thought it was downriver, but it wasn't, so they came to the Library, following an ancient trail. I should tell Thyatis what I heard in the inn…
Relieved and satisfied with her reasoning, Shirin started to step out into the corridor. Then she stopped, eyes lingering on the set of her friend's shoulders, her head, an escaped curl of brassy hair peeking from under the woolen hood of the cloak. Her chest felt tight and a rush of emotion made it impossible to breathe. Strong arms to hold me, a dear head in my lap, a laughing freckled face, sparkling sea-gray eyes… not a mad, contorted face, so like my husband's. My friend, my beloved…
Suddenly weak, Shirin put her hand out against the gritty, sandstone wall. Memories of her children running on a sandy beach welled up, Thyatis sprinting after them, roaring like a lion. Everyone sitting under a piece of sail, sunburned, eating red-backed crabs caught in the shallows. Thyatis dancing beside a bonfire, a sea of ebony faces laughing and clapping in time to thundering drums. The sky dark with flamingos as countless flocks burst up from a marsh. Thyatis holding Avrahan and Sahul each under a scarred, sun-browned arm, face tense, waiting, listening for the lionesses creeping in the high yellow grass. Oh, lord of my fathers, she won't know my babies are dead!
Shirin put a hand over her mouth for a moment, tears squeezing out between tight eyelids. Sometimes this life was too much for her to bear. When she opened her eyes again, Thyatis had moved aside, one hand raised to the Egyptian woman's face.
Thyatis produced a knife, and laid the shining, oiled tip just below the curator's eyelid. "I'm getting impatient."
Sheshet bared her teeth, showing glittering white incisors. "You are hasty. They proclaimed their pharaoh, said they worked in her name, by her command. So she would take the ill-luck from their desecration and they would be spared."
"Her?" Thyatis' nostrils flared and the tip of the knife slid sideways, away from the curator's unblinking eye.
Shirin jerked back, feeling the sharp, angry motion of Thyatis' shoulders as a physical blow. The blade of a knife glittered in the dim light for a moment, then disappeared. Distressed, Shirin stepped back, into deeper shadows. Thyatis' stance radiated repressed anger and impatience. The Khazar woman drew the corner of her cloak across the bridge of her nose, leaving only the pale gleam of her eyes visible. Careless violence? A blade set to an innocent eye? You've made no friend in this one. Foolish Roman! The Egyptian woman's face, half seen over Thyatis' shoulder, was a blank, tight mask.