Artabanus nodded, scratching his ear. The coin, now gold, appeared in his hand. "The messenger, a very peculiar-looking fellow with jaundiced eyes, said you needed to get to Memphis, or perhaps further south, to Saqqara."
Shahin nodded minutely. The owner of the hostel clattered down the stairs from the upper floor, his arms heavy with blankets. Nodding genially, he passed out onto the street. Shahin licked the last of his porridge from the spoon, then pushed the wooden bowl aside. "I have a drawing."
The mage nodded, raising an eyebrow when the papyrus was placed before him. For a time, the man examined the paper itself, then he muttered his way through the letters partially visible on the decaying sheet. Finally, he looked up again and sighed.
"This is very incomplete," he said, "I can only make out bits and pieces. Do you know anything more about this machine?" A well-trimmed thumb indicated the interlocking wheels and gears.
"A little." Shahin rubbed his nose. "It was named to me as the duradarshan. The device is made of bronze and gold and likely affixed to a block of jade the size of a chest." The Persian indicated the reputed size with his arms.
"Better…" Artabanus rolled the coin across his knuckles, back and forth, then made it disappear again. "In different times, I would go across the street, to the matron of the temple of Artemis. She is a font of old knowledge-a true Egyptian, I believe, not a half-Greek mongrel like the rest-but I don't think the king's purpose would be served by consulting her, do you?"
"No." Shahin growled, eyes narrowing. "You are friends with this Egyptian woman?"
"We've known each other for a long time, my lord." When he spoke, it was with long-held fondness. "Penelope is pleasant company and very well read. Also-rare for this fractious, theological city-she can see both sides, or more, of an argument. Besides, we are in the same business. Not so strange, not here, not in Alexandria."
"What is your business?" Shahin asked, sounding more suspicious than he intended.
"You mean," Artabanus said, looking around with a comically guilty expression, "beyond being a spy? I am the custodian of the fire temple-now closed, as you may have seen. Like Dame Penelope, I watch over a disused and mostly forgotten residence of the god. Sadly, there have been no riots, no protests by the common people over this outrageous act of the provincial government! And very little for me to do anymore…"
Shahin gave the man a quelling, gimlet stare. "The prince felt you could lead me to the device. Can you?"
"Perhaps…" Artabanus considered the scrap of papyrus again. His brows narrowed and Shahin was relieved to see the man was concentrating on the matter at hand. "This is an ancient form of the Old Kingdom's writing. The name you mentioned-the far-seeing-eye-is in an equally ancient tongue. The writing shown in the sketch is older still. If memory serves, the oldest ruins are found at Memphis, where the Nile divides and enters the delta, and further upriver, at Saqqara." Artabanus frowned, pursing his mouth as if he tasted something foul. "Saqqara has a bad reputation-we should avoid the slumped pyramid, I think."
Artabanus examined the papyrus again, then sighed. "There is a scholar I know… his name is Hecataeus; he works in the Imperial Library. He knows everything about Old Egypt. He might have seen such a device mentioned."
The big Persian raised an eyebrow, glaring at the mage. Artabanus coughed.
"Not such a good idea, I suppose… he might mention our questions to the Roman authorities! I can take you to Memphis, if you desire, and we can see what might be found among the ruins of the old city."
Shahin rubbed his nose, thinking. Such a faint track to follow… but what else do we have? "I was told," he said, eyeing the mage suspiciously again, "you could lead me to this thing, and swiftly too. You do not seem sure of yourself."
Artabanus shrugged. "I am honored by the king's confidence and I am learned in these matters… but what have you brought me? Little more than the shadow of a memory out of ancient times. Yet Egypt is filled with old mysteries and some still live today. There are books I can consult, and friendly priests upriver with whom we can speak." The mage grinned. "Rome is not loved here and we will be welcomed in some houses with wine and honey, where Rome receives only millet."
"Very well," Shahin said. "We will leave as soon as you are ready."
Artabanus smiled, spreading five Roman coins, all alike, on the tabletop. "As I said, son of the house of Suren, I have little to do. We can leave today, if you like."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Palatine Hill
The Emperor pressed a short note into his tablet, reed stylus cutting into gray wax. His narrow face was smudged with exhaustion-dark circles under his eyes, a febrile quality to his skin. Anastasia thought he was falling ill. The others in the library were silent, waiting for him to finish. A muted scratching from the back of the room mixed with the tapping sound of fans rotating slowly overhead.
"How long until your flying machines are complete?" Galen put down the reed.
"Another four months." Prince Maxian, equally worn, young face made old by sleeplessness, slouched in a heavy chair opposite his brother. The table between them was strewn with fine Chin porcelain, half-empty cups of wine, bits and pieces of glazed duck, bread rounds, scraps of cheese and half-eaten apples. "But I have installed the fire heart in each steed. The foundry foremen in Florentia can complete the rest of the work without me-at least until my final invocations are required."
"And then?" Galen's expression was pinched. Despite considerable discussion, he was uneasy with these new weapons his brother promised. Mechanical devices-toys, he thought-were Aurelian's passion. The big redheaded horse should be here keeping an eye on Maxian, not in Egypt facing down the Persians. He would love this project: all gears, metal, pneuma and spiritus. "Each… steed… will need a thaumaturge to make it fly?"
"No." The prince sighed, knuckling his eyebrows. "That is what has taken so long. The fire-drake can accept the guidance of anyone-well, anyone the drake is directed to obey. These new ones will not be quite so fast, or so strong as the first one, but they will serve."
"Why aren't they as fast?" Galen squinted. The corner of his left eye was twitching. The Duchess hid a wry expression of compassion. A headache was stealing up on her as well.
Maxian breathed out in a long, irritated hiss. "Because, brother, when I built the first one, I was a student, following the direction of a master… and now, I can't remember everything old Abdmachus told me. At the time I was rushed… I wasn't paying close enough attention." The prince bit angrily at his thumb. "But they are far beyond anything Persia has… these young drakes cannot reach Albania in two days of flight, but they will be able to reach Egypt in four."
"Can they fight? Are they worth two Legions of troops?" The Emperor stared at parchment sheets laid out on the table, obviously tabulating the ever-rising expense of Maxian's project. "We could fit out a dozen heavy galleys for this cost."
"A single fire-drake is worth a dozen galleys." The prince tried to keep his voice level. "A fire-drake can fly against the wind, over storms, even through hail! From such a height, a man can see hundreds of miles, spying the enemy at a great distance. A fire-drake can-"
"I've heard all of this before." Galen glared at his brother. "Very well, press ahead. You'll need more money, I suppose…" He pinched his nose, eyes squeezed shut. When they opened, everything was the same. The Emperor swallowed, tasting something bitter at the back of his throat. "Duchess?"