If the Muse-inspired men and women on the grounds thought it odd to see a little girl in a slave’s shawl hurrying through the Museum alone, they said nothing. And certainly Selene gave her appearance little thought until she’d entered the fountain-adorned plaza surrounding the building and was approaching the wide, pillar-framed steps of the east-facing entrance to the Great Library itself. Then, seeing the scholars of the Muses standing watch beside the heavy iron doors, she abruptly stopped walking and stood on the paved walkway under the shade of a palm, wondering how she was going to get in. They wouldn’t just let some girl off the street into the Library, would they? Probably not, she decided. And if they didn’t, should she tell them who she was? Or would they take her back to Antirhodos before she got a chance to see Didymus again, to find out whatever Caesarion was finding out?
“You look as astonished as I am,” said a male voice beside her.
Selene, startled from her own thoughts, turned to see a young man sitting on a bench just a few feet away, under the shade of the same tree. His body was facing toward the Library, but he’d turned his head to look over at her. He was a handsome young man, she could see, about Caesarion’s age, and his smile was strikingly warm and kind. He was not, however, anyone she knew, so she hastily started to walk away.
“I’m sorry,” the young man said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Selene turned quickly—too quickly, in fact, as the slave’s shawl slipped from her grip and fell open for a moment, exposing hints of her more luxurious linens beneath. She hastily pulled it closed, hoping he’d seen nothing. She felt safer on the grounds of the Museum than she did at Lochias, but she still didn’t feel totally safe. “I’m not scared,” she said, trying to maintain her composure even as she tried not to appear too royal. It was difficult to do. Talking so close to someone, she wondered if her soft skin and fine hair would give her away, too. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
The man squinted an eye at her in what seemed to her a kind of mock appraisal. “Ah,” he concluded. “I can see you’re not. So you’re here for the Library?”
“Yes,” she said, biting her desire to scold him about minding his own business.
“Me, too,” he said, as if she’d asked him the same question. “It’s hard to work up the courage to go in there, though. I had to sit down here for a bit to think about it. And besides,” he said, glancing up at the sun, “I was early, and it’s a nice day.”
“It’s not that scary,” Selene said without thinking.
“Oh? You’ve been in there before?” He paused, then laughed a little. “What am I saying? A clever girl like you, of course you have. Lots of times, I bet.”
His accent was a little different from most of those she heard on a regular basis. Not Egyptian, certainly. But not Greek or Roman, either. Nor was his appearance easy to place in any of those cultures: he was dressed in simple, well-used traveling robes, wearing the cloth wrapping atop his head that she’d seen on some of the desert people who had made occasional calls to the court. He had the scraggly beginnings of a beard, and lightly curled locks drifted down from his temples, much longer than the rest of his hair. A strange young man, but he held himself well, Selene thought. Self-assured and satisfied. Not rich, but not poor. A bit better than common, she decided, but probably of little importance. “I’ve been inside a few times.” She shrugged.
The young man chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking. Then his eyes brightened. “Say, I’ve got an idea. You’ve been in there before, right? And I need a boost of confidence to get in. How about we go in together?”
“I don’t think—”
The young man stood, stretching his arms high before relaxing and seeming to shake himself out with a smile. He was, Selene saw, about the same height as Caesarion. And though he didn’t appear to be as strong as her half-brother, and his eyes were not the same deep brown, she thought he could pass for Caesarion’s full-blood brother if he trimmed back his hair. She’d seen that kind of hair before, but she couldn’t remember where. “Plus, you’ll never get in alone,” he said when he was done.
“I won’t?”
“Nope. You need to have business in the Library. Or be in the company of someone important. You know, like royalty or something.”
Selene felt her throat swallow. “Well,” she said, “I do have business. I’m going to see the chief librarian.”
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the young man’s face brightened even more. “Is that so? I’m here to see Didymus, too. Not to worry, though: I’ll let you go first. I’m sure your business is more important than mine. Shall we?”
The young man started walking toward the Library. He didn’t seem hurried, but she had to move her legs quickly to catch up.
“My name is Jacob,” he said as they walked.
“Oh,” Selene said, trying to decide whether she really should be walking with the odd young man. He seemed friendly enough, but was it proper? Then again, what if he was right about not being able to get in otherwise?
She was still mulling it over when they started mounting the wide, smooth steps. One of the scholars stopped chatting with a companion and approached them. He was a very young man, perhaps even younger than Jacob, though she found it tough to tell. Unlike the guards she was accustomed to at the palace, he seemed far more casual than deadly. “On what business?” he asked.
Jacob’s smile never left him as he retrieved a folded letter from his robes. “We’re here to meet with Didymus,” he said.
The scholar took the letter, started to unfold it. “From the Jewish Quarter?”
“Nearby, yes,” Jacob said.
Jewish Quarter? Selene looked over her companion again. A substantial number of Jews lived in the eastern portion of the city, said to be the largest community of them outside of their homelands to the north and east. She’d never had occasion to tour their quarter—it had built up around what once had been an eastern necropolis to rival the City of the Dead to their west—but from time to time she’d seen some of the Jewish leaders in court. They’d always been old men, speaking carefully, with long, full beards and full heads of hair. That’s where she’d seen Jacob’s oddly long locks of hair before, though. She just hadn’t recognized him for a Jew without the long beard.
The scholar started to read Jacob’s letter. “Summoned by Bronze Guts himself, eh?”
Another scholar standing guard let out a small laugh, and Jacob looked down at Selene with a quizzically arched eyebrow, but they said nothing.
The scholar looked up from the letter, then glanced to Selene. “Doesn’t name two people.”
“It should,” Jacob said. “This is my—”
“Sister,” Selene blurted out.
The scholar started to say something, then appeared confused as he looked back and forth between them. “I … um…”
“In the faith,” Jacob said, still smiling, still calm. “Didymus had wanted to talk to her, too, since she’s converting to the contemplative life.”
Becoming a Jew? Selene glared at Jacob, wanting to stomp his foot or order his seizure for such an improper—
“Ah, good,” the scholar said as he turned and opened the door for them. The heavy portal opened slowly, and Selene’s anger washed up against her thrill at gaining entrance. She thought she could smell the scrolls already. The hundreds of thousands of scrolls. The knowledge. The power. “So, you’re looking for Bronze Guts, are you?” The scholar grinned as he led the way inside. “He’s popular this morning.”
“I’m sorry,” Jacob said. “‘Bronze Guts’?”
“What? Oh, it’s something we call him. He’s tireless, you know. Works right through meals. Never takes breaks. We figure his bowels aren’t real.”
“Ah. I see.” When the scholar looked away for a moment, Jacob made a disgusted face at Selene, causing her to suppress a giggle.