The Pillars of Hercules (49 page)

Of course, that was a rather big
if
. Ahead of Leosthenes, the Ortygia loomed, indomitable, undefeated. As he rode up the causeway toward the gates, he turned to Memnon.

“It’ll kick off any moment,” he said.

Memnon just nodded.

“So I guess the viceroy didn’t take the terms,” said Diocles.

“You think?” said Xanthippus sarcastically.

“The king would have offered to spare Syracuse,” said Agathocles. “So Leosthenes’ coming to terms with our people in advance was a deft move on his part.”

“You mean on
your
part,” said Xanthippus.

Agathocles shrugged. “We saw eye to eye,” he said. “That was enough.”

Xanthippus spat over the edge of the battlements. “Has it occurred to you that you might have been better off throwing in your lot with Alexander?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Agathocles.

“And?”

“And I trust weapons more than I trust words. This way the people are armed. Alexander would never have done that.”

“But now he’s liable to massacre all of you.”

Agathocles gestured out at the Macedonian army. “The price of peace would have been enslavement. I’m not an idiot: I know all about Alexander. As much as the viceroy does, in fact.”

Veteran that he was, Xanthippus took umbrage at that. “The viceroy’s one of
the archons of the city
. How would rebel scum like you know as much as—”

“Because the Athenian council leaks like a sieve,” said Agathocles. “That’s how. The Macedonians aren’t the only ones with spies in Athens. Add to that the fact that the Athenians have plenty of spies in Pella and maybe just as many in the Macedonian camp, and that means
I
know all about what happened to Alexander at Siwah. In his mind, that’s all that counts.”

But now Xanthippus just looked bored. “I know, I know. We’ve all heard that one. He thinks he’s—”

“Don’t you get it?
” hissed Agathocles.
“He doesn’t just think.”

As one, the Macedonian siege machines began firing.

Chapter Twenty

“P
eriscope up,” said Eurydice—but Barsine was already on it. The
Xerxes
was scarcely past the bridge beneath which it had submerged, but for all Lugorix knew they were sinking for real now… that all he and Matthias were doing was just propelling the craft to the bottom of this river. They’d been hit by a lot of shit hurled from that bridge. But Barsine claimed that nothing vital had been touched.

“What the hell
were
those things on the bridge?” Matthias asked, pulling on the oars.

“Does it matter?”

“I think it does.”

“Can we just agree to call them demons?” asked Barsine. As she said that, she slotted the cylinder she called a
periscope
up into the ceiling and projected the images it displayed along the walls. It wasn’t pretty. That infernal tower was coming ever closer—the river Lethe ran from a giant archway in its base, across the plain of Hades toward them. Barsine swivelled the periscope round to the shore where—

“Shit,” said Matthias.

Lugorix was thinking the same thing. In the distance, a portion of the forest had caught fire. Creatures that looked like crosses between men and bears were running from the flaming woods, only to be ridden down and speared by other creatures that looked to be some bastard offspring of men and horses.

“They’re
centaurs,
” said Matthias.

“They’re servants without masters,” said Barsine.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Matthias.

“How many times do I have to explain it? The masters are all in
there
.” She gestured at the approaching tower. “Imprisoned or asleep or just resting.”

“How do you know?”

“Because otherwise they’d be
laying down the law out here,
” said Eurydice. “Instead of letting their servants fight it out.”

“In rather squalid anarchy,” added Barsine.

Matthias snorted. “That’s just a theory,” he said.

“Of course it’s
just a fucking theory
. But there’s no doubt that anarchy has reigned in Hell for a
long
time. No one has united the realm of Hades because no one’s had the strength to. Hercules was the last to come down here, and the place was a zoo then too. Otherwise he’d never have made it out. As far as we can tell, the lords of Hell—the Chthonic gods, the Titans, whatever you want to call them—have been inactive for thousands of years.”

“And if they
hadn’t
been, do you think this place would confine them?” asked Eurydice. She pulled on some levers; gears turned, and the ship began slowing down—Lugorix and Matthias were still rowing just as hard but apparently the fins on the outside of the craft were no longer moving as quickly. They were hewing close to the shore now, Lugorix noticed. The ship was shaking as more waves rocked against it. A shadow fell across the wall—and then they saw it slicing past them: the Macedonian ironclad. Its engines were at full power as it surged on ahead. It was at least three times the size of the
Xerxes,
and had two steam-funnels, as well as grey-metal hatches all along its length. But in the dim light no one aboard it seemed to notice the periscope just off to their side.

“They think we’re dead,” said Eurydice.

“Let’s hope so,” said Barsine as she pulled on more of those levers. They began speeding up, getting in behind the ironclad, moving into its wake.

“Are we going to attack ’em?” asked Matthias. Lugorix wondered what he was proposing to attack them
with,
but Eurydice just grinned.

“Why should we?” she said. “Last thing we want to do now is call attention to ourselves.”

Lugorix laughed. It made sense to him. “You’re saying that whatever the defenses of that tower are, they’re going to be keying on
them,
not
us
.”

“Exactly,” said Barsine.

“Sure,” said Matthias, “but
why the fuck are we even going in there in the first place?”

“Because,” said Eurydice, “they’ve got something worth the stealing.”

“And when we get it?” asked Ptolemy.

Eumenes nodded. He understood the question perfectly—knew that Ptolemy wasn’t really asking what to
do
with it. He was asking who would
control
it. The two Macedonians had sequestered themselves in the forward observation chamber and barred the door. Kalyana was giving Hanno and his slingers a tour of the ship while pumping him for info. Because Hanno had to have
some
kind of info—surely he hadn’t come down here blind? At any rate, that gave the agents of Philip and Alexander some privacy while they tried to come to a meeting of the minds. Eumenes looked at Ptolemy’s aquiline face, saw in those eyes the same thing that filled his own head: raw calculation.

“We need to get our hands on it first,” he said simply.

“Right,” said Ptolemy, making one of those half-shrugs of his. They were on the same page: if by some miracle they weren’t killed by what was in the Tower—if they actually got what they’d come all this way for—then there’d be no splitting the difference. Ptolemy and Eumenes were both servants of the Macedonian Empire, but they were still bound to different masters. If Ptolemy got near Alexander, then the king would kill him, probably quite slowly. If Eumenes got near Philip, he would have to either betray Alexander or die. Which meant that if the Tower failed to kill either Ptolemy or Eumenes, at some point one of them would have to slay the other. There was no getting around it. But until that point, they were stronger working together. Years of surviving in the shark-tank known as the Macedonian court meant that such realities could go unspoken. The playing-field was very simple now. In theory Eumenes had the advantage, since he was the one who the soldiers reported to. Then again, Eumenes was Greek. As always, that was his weakness—the factor that might allow Ptolemy to suborn the loyalty of his crew and soldiers. So taking Ptolemy on board the ship was a gamble, to say the least. Then again, so was coming downstairs into Hades…

“What maps are you using?” asked Eumenes.

“I was following the Carthaginian ships,” said Ptolemy. “Who were following the Persians—”

“I’m not talking about how you
got in
. I meant
once you got here
. What are you using?”

“Some scraps that Philip lifted from Aristotle’s lab. Before the old man split. What about you?”

“Same. Some of Aristotle’s notes.”

“Which ones?”

“You missed some of the shit in the fireplace.”

Ptolemy looked disgusted with himself. “Tell me it wasn’t worth
too
much.”

“It had its uses,” said Eumenes. He watched as several crocodile-men ran along the shore and hurled themselves into the water, their tails thrashing as they swam toward the ironclad. There was the distinct sound of one of the ship’s gun’s whirring; next moment, Greek fire poured over them. The smell of a particularly foul roast meat drifted through the cabin. “Though not so much for trying to piece together whatever we’re going to find in that Tower,” he added. “For that I’ve mostly been relying on the Sibylline Books and some of the scrolls that Alexander took from Siwah.”

Ptolemy’s eyes narrowed. “So what
did
happen there?”

“The oracle told him what he wanted to hear.”

“Of course he did,” said Ptolemy. “We’re down in the pits of
hell,
so how about you level with me?”

“Sounds like you already know most of it,” said Eumenes evenly.

“Enough to know just how crazy the man really is.”

“He’s not crazy,” said Eumenes. And then, off Ptolemy’s look: “He’s not.”

“Then what is he?”

“He’s hearing voices.”

“So there you go. He’s crazy.”

“But say he isn’t?”

“How would he not be?”

“Say the voices are real?”

“Then I’d have to say you’re crazy too.”

“And let’s say those voices gave him powers over, oh I don’t know—how about some of the elements? Like, say, the currents of the sea and the winds of the air?”

Ptolemy took a deep breath. “You’ve seen this?”

“The Athenian fleet has.”

“So you’re telling me—what? …he really
is
the son of Zeus?”

“Honestly, at this point I’m not sure how productive labels are.”

“Spoken like an oh-so-pragmatic Greek.”

“You think we should just fall to our knees in wonder and throw reason out the window?”

“I’m more interested in what
you
think,” said Ptolemy.

“The Earth is flat.”

“That seems hard to deny at this point.”

“The Earth is flat,” repeated Eumenes. Off on the shore there was an explosion, followed by some truly hair-raising shrieking. “There’s been a debate about whether it’s round or flat, and now that debate’s settled.”

“Fine. Granted. Will you please tell me where you’re going with this?”

“Kalyana was the one who pointed it out to me. If the Earth was flat, and the Sun were far away—

“How far away?”

“Far enough so that the rays of the sun are in effect
parallel
to someone on Earth. Hundreds of thousands of miles. Maybe millions.”

Ptolemy looked skeptical. “Is the universe even that big?”

“Wait till you see where I’m going with this. If the Earth was flat—”

“Which it is.”

“—and the Sun
were
that far away, then shadows of the same-sized objects would be the same size no matter where you were on any given north-south line. Which they fucking
aren’t
. So the Sun is close.
Very
close. Only a few thousand miles away.”

Ptolemy frowned. He was struggling to keep up with this. “If it’s so close, wouldn’t it appear to change size as it crosses the heavens?”

“It should.”

“So then how do you explain—”

“Either we’re missing something, or… well, Kalyana thinks the atmosphere’s distorting it, magnifying it the further it gets away from the observer. I don’t know if he’s right. But what we’re starting to think is that the celestial sphere
isn’t that far overhead
. It probably includes the sun, the stars, the Moon, the planets, anything we can see up there. And
we don’t know what that sphere is made of.
We don’t know what intelligence or
machinery
is behind it. But somehow the operators of that machinery—
or that machinery itself
—is in touch with Alexander.”

Ptolemy mulled this over. “Is it possible that machinery is in the Tower?”

“I daresay it’s more than possible.”

Just as Ptolemy was about to reply, there was a loud rapping on the door. “Sir? You’re needed on the bridge.” Eumenes swung the door open—and walked out, following the sailor who had summoned him.

But then he turned.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked Ptolemy.

“Me?” Ptolemy hadn’t moved. “Oh, I thought I’d stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“How about you come with me to the bridge so we can keep an eye on each other?”

Ptolemy shrugged, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Works for me,” he said.

The bridge was crowded. Several members of the crew were there, along with Kalyana. The Tower loomed large in the observation window. Now that it was so close, it seemed like it was hewn from a single rock. The lights atop the tower were flickering on and off like flashes of lightning. The ironclad was closing in on the archway from which the river Lethe ran—above that archway was a single round window-opening. As Ptolemy inspected the gears and levers, Eumenes took Kalyana aside.

“Where’s the Carthaginian?”

“He’s with two marines and a sailor who speaks Phoenician. We’re getting him new armor, since his is so beaten up.”

“Never mind his armor,” said Eumenes. “What did you
learn
from him?”

“That he knows what we are after. And he wants it to.”