Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air (29 page)

“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Willi asked. Jerry looked sideways at him and saw that he was smiling.

“I expect so,” Jerry said. “Mohammad, do you think your father would mind if we took a few bricks out?”

“I doubt it.” Hussein took his jacket off and draped it neatly over the water heater. “If he fusses, I’ll tell him I’ll pay to brick it back up again. Why not?” He grinned suddenly. “I’ve always been curious too.”

“Then do you have a sledgehammer?” Jerry asked.

“Of course. It’s up in the gardener’s shed. I’ll just run up and get it.”

Hussein was as good as his word, returning a few minutes later with the sledgehammer, a coil of rope, and another flashlight. “Ahmed wants to know why I’m going spelunking in the cellar. I told him it was archaeology.”

Willi threw up his hands. “And that explains all!” he laughed. “Then let us get this wall down! Hand me the hammer!”

It was short work to demolish the aging bricks enough to easily step through, their flashlights to light their way. Jerry flicked his over the arch above. “More of the Roman barrel vault,” he said. “This looks like a regular conduit.” It was about six feet tall — only Dr. Hussein had to bend to go through, the walls and floor still surprisingly regular.

“The Romans built to last,” Willi said.

“Wait until you see the Ptolemaic sections,” Jerry said.

Hussein was shining his light ahead. “My father said the footing was sometimes uncertain — ah! There.” His light played over a hole about a foot wide in the floor, the lip of it on both sides worn by water. “There’s one of the places where it flowed downwards from here. I think we can just step over it carefully.”

“Yes,” Jerry said. He was orienting himself easily. “Just above this, Willi — Dr. Radke — was the Roman street. This must have been one of the sewer lines that ran east/west across the city. There was one every few blocks. The drains would have been just over our heads, and then the runoff would make its way down like this.”

Willi looked at the hole doubtfully as he stepped over. “How deep is it?”

“Who knows,” Hussein said. “But if we keep going this way…”

Before he even finished speaking, the light showed an end to the tunnel, the tunnel broadening into a larger space.

“Good God,” Willi breathed, and Jerry flashed his light around it, a pale beacon against the eternal dark.

The sewer opened into a wide, round room, the floor an echoing distance beneath them, with various other sewers flowing into it through openings in the walls below and across, massive vaults holding up a space ornamented with elaborate columns ornamented with Ionic capitals and lotus blossoms alike, all done in golden sandstone that fairly glowed in the light of their flashlights.

“It’s a Ptolemaic cistern,” Jerry said. He shone the light down. Far below in the darkness there was the whisper of water, and the air wasn’t the least bit stale. There were outlets here to the living city above, and perhaps also to the sea. He put his hand on the wall, the rough touch proving it was real. “Ptolemy Philadelphus built dozens of them for the city water supply.” His voice ran round and round the chamber like whispers. “Philadelphus, Philadelphus, Philadelphus.”

“That’s what Mr. Cavafy said,” Hussein said quietly. “And that they made them beautiful because it was their way.”

“…it was their way,” the echoes answered back.

Willi’s breath caught.

Here, in the dark, it was easy to imagine them close, the men who had built this cistern, the generations who had used it not for the glory of gods but of men. “For the glory of the City,” Jerry said softly, and heard the echoes take it up. “Of the City, of the City, of the City…”

How then could he resist? “Agathos Daimon!” he cried aloud. “Agathos Daimon!”

The walls whispered it back a thousand times, Spirit of the City.

“I think we can get down here,” Hussein said, shining his light. About three feet down the wall there was a catwalk a foot wide, holes in the stone showing where a handrail had once been supported, though whatever wood or metal it had been was long gone. “We could go around to one of the other entrances. I expect that’s what the children did in my father’s day.”

Willi shook his head. “Jerry, I don’t like to say it…”

“I’m fine,” Jerry said. “Just give me a hand getting down.” If he sat on the edge, he could put his foot and his cane down on the ledge.

“You are insane,” Willi said. “You will fall into a Ptolemaic cistern.”

“I won’t,” Jerry said, leaning on Hussein’s arm to get down. “I’ll be very careful.” They inched their way around, Hussein ahead of him and Willi behind, Jerry very aware of how Willi hovered, as though he could possibly catch Jerry if he fell.

Even with care it was not easy, and Jerry felt cold sweat standing on his brow before they reached the first of the other entrances. Hussein climbed nimbly up three feet into the entrance. This was the tricky part — getting up rather than down, without falling backwards. And yet if they went back he’d have to climb up the way he’d gotten down. It was as easy to go forward as back.

They hauled him up by the arms, which was undignified, and Jerry sprawled for a moment on the stones, feeling their shape beneath his cheek. Rounded edges. Ptolemaic rather than Roman.

Willi shone the light at the ceiling, at the walls ahead. “Where are we?” he asked.

Jerry got to his feet heavily, stooping a little. This sewer wasn’t quite as wide. “Ptolemaic sewer,” he said, trying to get his bearings. “I think we’ve come a few points off east. If I were guessing.”

“Which way would the Soma be?” Hussein asked.

Jerry closed his eyes, trying to see the shape of the map he’d studied so often, to match it to the stones beneath his feet and over his head. “North and east,” he said. “Toward the line of the old Bruscheum wall. This…” He trailed his hand along the wall. “This should be beneath the Roman marketplace just north of the Canopic Way, beneath the old Stoa of Eugertes.”

Hussein nodded, but Willi frowned. “Where are you getting this? That wasn’t on the Strabo map.”

And yet it was on the map in his head, the one he knew in his dreams. East along the Canopic Way, past the shopping district that Ptolemy Eugertes had built, going toward the wall that separated the Royal Quarter from the rest of the city, the wall that had been the city’s first curtain wall back when Ptolemy Soter had raised Alexandria from lines drawn in grain, from streets laid out with stakes and string.

“It’s this way,” Jerry said, pointing along the tunnel. “Though we need to turn north if we can. The Soma is north of the Canopic Way and east of the marketplace. Let’s see if we can find a tunnel running north.”

“We probably can,” Hussein said cheerfully, taking the lead.

Agathos Daimon
, Jerry said in his mind,
Agathos Daimon, lead us true
. Behind he heard a whisper, as if a mighty snake stirred in the darkness, coils shifting on stone.

January 4, 1936

A
lma woke to strong light and a riot of birdsong, and the fainter sounds of human voices on a distant street.  Thin white curtains were blowing in the cool breeze that streamed in through the open window. She sat up, looking around for Lewis, and saw him emerging from the in-suite bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

She shook her head. This was the Lake Tana Hotel, where Iskinder had brought them after they’d landed, leaving behind the plane and the docks with the promise that everything would be well looked after. She had been tired enough by then to agree, worn out by the flight and the landing and the sheer relief that everything had gone well, and the rest of their arrival was a blur. She reached for her watch, and stared at it for an instant before she realized it had stopped

“It’s half past ten,” Lewis said.

“Thanks.” Alma set her watch and wound it, reality rushing back in. They’d need to unload the machine guns and ammunition, then refuel for the trip back up the Nile.  If the weather hadn’t changed, they’d have a headwind, too. “Do you know what we’re supposed to do next?”

“I just woke up myself.” Lewis gave her a quick grin. “Breakfast first?”

Alma’s stomach rumbled at the mere idea. “Yes.”

The bath was old-fashioned, but entirely serviceable. She bathed and dressed as quickly as she could, but it was still nearly eleven by the time they found their way down the central stairs and into the dining room.  To Alma’s relief, Iskinder was there before them, his civilian clothes exchanged for a neat military uniform. A colonel, she thought, or the Ethiopian equivalent. Another man was with him, shorter and slighter but just as neatly dressed, and they both rose to their feet at her approach.

“Good morning, Alma,” Iskinder said. “Lewis. This is Colonel Tedesse Zere, who’s come to collect our cargo. Tedesse, these are Alma and Lewis Segura.”

“A pleasure, Colonel.” Alma offered her hand, and Tedesse took it, bowing slightly.

“May I congratulate you on a remarkable piece of flying? It’s not easy to land here in the dark.”

“Thank you.” Alma let herself be handed to a seat, and hoped food would arrive shortly. The dining room was empty except for their table, and she wondered how many European guests were staying at the hotel given the political situation. A white-jacketed waiter appeared with a coffee pot and she nodded for him to fill her cup.

“It’s European service here,” Iskinder said, and accepted a refill, but Tedesse looked pained and shook his head.

There was no menu, and the waiter hovered instead at her elbow. “Eggs and toast, miss? Pancakes? Oatmeal?”

“Eggs,” she said. Lewis chose pancakes, and the waiter backed away. The coffee was very black, and smelled of cinnamon; there was no milk, so she added extra sugar.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lewis sniff it and give an appreciative smile.

“I suppose we should consider waking Mitch,” Iskinder began, and then his eyes slid past her to the door. “Ah. There he is.”

“Good morning,” Mitch said. Tiny, trailing behind him, managed to mumble something, his eyes wide, and took his place gingerly, as though something might explode. Iskinder made the introductions; the waiter brought more coffee and took their orders, and Tedesse rested his elbows on the table.

“Good.  Perhaps we can begin?”

“Absolutely,” Alma said. The cinnamon coffee was growing on her, even without milk, and she took a deep swallow. “How can we help you off-load our cargo? And is it you we talk to about refueling?”

“Yes to the latter,” Tedesse said. “And there is plenty to spare. As to the former — I have a proposition for you all. In our current situation, the weapons are needed most on our northern front, which means we need to get them to Gondar.” He seemed to see Alma’s blank look and smiled. “Gondar is north of the lake’s northern edge, perhaps thirty miles as the crow flies. There are no large settlements on the lake edge there, but not far inland there is a decent road north, and I can arrange for my men to erect a temporary dock on the shore.”

“In other words, you want us to take the Cat on a short hop across the lake and offload our cargo there,” Alma said.

“Just so.” Tedesse steepled his fingers. “It will cut off days of travel around the lake.”

Alma glanced at Iskinder, who nodded. “And we need the guns now more than ever. The emperor has been on the offensive; we have had some small victories, but we need desperately to follow them up.”

Alma considered the question. Lake Tana was perhaps fifty miles from north to south, less than an hour’s flight. Even if they didn’t leave until early afternoon, they’d have plenty of time to fly up in daylight, unload, and fly back to Bahir Dar before dark. At worst, they could spend the night on the Cat — not the most comfortable option, but certainly no hardship. She looked at Lewis and then Mitch, who shrugged.

“Reckon Colonel Tedesse is right about not taking the guns around the lake.”

“I’d say so.”  Alma looked back at Tedesse.  “All right. We can do that. And then we’ll return to Alexandria tomorrow.”

“With full fuel tanks and the thanks of a grateful nation,” Tedesse said.

“I suppose,” Lewis said, “we ought to offer von Rosen a ride, too.”

Alma sighed, but nodded.

“Send a note to his room,” Mitch suggested. “Tell him to be at the dock by — whenever — or he can find his own way north.”

“The Count von Rosen has been very helpful to us,” Tedesse said, a little stiffly, and Alma resigned herself to the Swede’s presence.

Iskinder took them back to the docks as soon as they’d eaten, to find the Cat riding easily alongside the longest of the piers. A fuel truck was waiting, and Alma was relieved to find that the crew leader spoke a little English. He knew his job, too, even if he kept glancing curiously at Mitch, and they got the tanks full in record time. A taxi drew up at the end of the pier, disgorging von Rosen and a tall man in a good suit who helped him carry a chest down the dock to the plane. There was a large red cross on the lid, and Alma gave it a wary glance.

“What’s that weigh?”

“About fifty pounds.” Von Rosen gave her what was probably intended to be an ingratiating smile. “I am hoping you can take that much more.”

Fifty pounds wasn’t much, even carrying Tedesse and his aide.  “Is your friend coming, too?”

The stranger swept off his hat. “I hope so, Mrs. Segura. Dr. Dawit Biniam. I am also with the Red Cross.”

A full fuel load, three more passengers, none of whom weighed more than a hundred fifty pounds soaking wet, plus a fifty-pound box of medical supplies. Even doubling that, they were well within the Cat’s capacity.  “As long as Colonel Tedesse agrees, I’ve got no problem.”

“And I am happy to have them,” Tedesse said. “I am grateful, Mrs. Segura.”

“About this pier on the other side,” Alma said.

“I have radioed my men, and they have begun putting it in place. It should be ready by the time we arrive.”

“Then we’re ready when you are.” She looked over her shoulder, at the waterfront that looked like every other waterfront she’d ever seen.  Even the metal roofs weren’t that different, and the old Ford truck idling outside the warehouse door was identical to one she’d owned herself. Only the people were different, dark-skinned, the men dressed in unfamiliar tunics of bright cotton over plain pants, the few women in long, loose dresses with heavy embroidery down the fronts or along the hem. It was weirdly disconcerting, and she shook herself back to the moment.