The Pillars of Hercules (26 page)

“Now we got uniforms,” said Lugorix.

“We need clean ones,” replied Matthias as he bent down beside the wounded soldier. “Where’s Aristotle?” he asked.

“I don’t know… what you’re talking about,” replied the man.

“The scientist,” said Matthias.

“The what?”

“The
sorcerer
,” said Lugorix.

“In the northwest tower,” muttered the soldier. “At least that’s where I think he is. No one’s seen him in days. Only the bodyguards of the viceroy are allowed in.”

“Looks like they’ll have to make an exception,” said Matthias as Lugorix ran the man through. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t see that they had much of a choice. Dressed in uniforms, they proceeded through the rest of that particular section of the basement and up some stairs into the main part of the fortress. Lugorix grimaced in his armor—the breastplate was a tight fit, since Greeks rarely came in his size. But their helmets were classic hoplite fare, their faces only partially visible beneath the cheek-plates and nose-guard. That suited the two men just fine as they walked down corridors and up more stairs. The fortress was quite a place—almost a city in its own right. And there was enough diversity of weapons so that no one paid attention to his axe. Making it all the easier for two interlopers to proceed with anonymity up stairs and ramps, climbing ever higher. Occasionally they encountered other guards. But no one challenged them.

Until they reached the northwest tower. The two men who stood in front of the barred entrance wore the purple sashes of the viceroy’s bodyguards.

“Move along,” said one impatiently.

“By all means,” said Matthias, whipping the edge of his sword across the guard’s throat. Lugorix was already hacking down the second man. Then Matthias lifted the bars of the door and opened it.

“We need to hurry,” he said. Lugorix pulled both bodies through the doorway. Matthias closed the door behind him, and then the two men raced up the spiral stairs within. This tower was several stories high; at the top was a ladder that led to the roof, as well as another barred door. Matthias pointed at the ladder—Lugorix nodded. He climbed up that ladder and peered through the opening.

The single soldier on the rooftop had his back to him, was leaning against the battlements. That made it easy: Lugorix put down the axe, drew a dagger, uncoiled himself onto the roof like a snake—and then lunged forward, stabbing the man from behind while grabbing his mouth to ensure he made no sound. Lugorix then released the body, let it drop to the roof. Peering over the edge of the battlements, he could much of the fortress sprawling out beneath him—the city itself beyond that, a vast grid of torchlight and lanterns.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” asked Matthias.

“Telling you to shut up,” said Lugorix. He pulled himself away from the view, climbed back down the ladder. Matthias stood there impatiently—then turned to the door, pulled back the bar and swung it open.

The room within was filled with parchments and scrolls. A young woman sat on the floor, intent on a collection of gears and shafts spread out all around her. Her lips had been painted as black as her hair and clothes, and her skin was a pale white at odds with the redness of her irises. She wore a silver ring in her nose, and her arms were covered with tattoos. She was, beyond doubt, the strangest woman Lugorix had ever seen.

And she was just getting started.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Matthias recovered quickly enough. “We’re looking for Aristotle,” he said.

“He’s dead.”

“You’re joking.”

“He was my father, asshole. Think I’d joke about that?”

“He was—your, um…”

“That’s right. Which, since you seem to be kind of slow, makes me his daughter.” She stood up. “The name’s Eurydice. How about you?”

Lugorix figured he’d better step in before Matthias fucked this up any further. “I’m Lugorix. This is Matthias. We were sent to rescue your father.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sent by who?”

“Her name’s Barsine. She’s a Persian noblewoman with a lot of money who—”

Eurydice cut him off impatiently. “I know that bitch.”

“You what?” Matthias again.

“My father corresponded with her. Might have known she was behind this. Well, you can go back and tell her she can find another plan to stop Alexander. My father died of fever two weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lugorix. He didn’t know what else to say. Eurydice just looked scornful.

“You’re
sorry? Not only is my father dead, but this prick of a viceroy—Cleon—is convinced that I can be useful to him anyway. His scientists keep asking me annoying questions, and they keep getting pissed when they don’t understand my answers. Which is frustrating as all hell. Not to mention that Cleon himself is a fucking pervert. Won’t stop staring at my—”

“Come with us,” said Lugorix.

“What?”

“Come with us,” he repeated. “If you stay here, you’ll be a prisoner of Athens for the rest of your life. Come with us, and you can listen to what Barsine has to say and then do whatever you want.”

“Besides, Barsine isn’t really a bitch,” said Matthias.

“Maybe she isn’t on her good days.” Eurydice shrugged. “She comes across a little snotty on paper though. Whatever. I suppose it’s better than cooling my heels here.” She started picking out some of the scrolls, tossing them into a satchel. Then she scooped up the gears and threw them in as well. After which she turned to the desk and began rummaging through it.

“We don’t have all night,” said Matthias.

“I don’t
need
all night,” snarled Eurydice. “Just another few minutes.”

“You won’t even get that,” said a voice. They all whirled as part of the wall slid away to reveal a hidden corridor. Several Athenian archers stood in that doorway, their bows trained on the three who stood within. A weaselly looking captain stood beside them, laughing.

“And here I was thinking it was going to be a slow night,” he said.

“Demetrius,” said Eurydice. “You bastard.”

“I won’t deny that,” said the captain.

“You’ve been spying on me the whole time I’ve been here.”

Demetrius smiled. “One peephole and one false door: I’m surprised it took a clever girl like you so long to figure that out.”

“Fuck
me,
” snarled Eurydice.

“You know how much I’d love to. Now are your would-be liberators going to drop their weapons or am I going to have my men use theirs?”

Lugorix had already calculated the distances and vectors. They’d been caught on the far side of the room. He knew he could down at least one of them by hurling Skullseeker but the rest would then take him and Matthias out with a burst of bolts. He bent down and put the axe on the floor. Letting go of it felt like cutting off his own limb. Matthas had already done the same with his sword.

“A wise choice,” said Demetrius. “Now let’s wake up Cleon. I love it when he’s in a bad mood.”

Cleon had the look of a man who was irritable even under the best of circumstances. And being woken up in the middle of the night clearly didn’t qualify. The Viceroy of Syracuse, the Exalted Ambassador of the People of Athens, and the Guardian of the Western Ocean had a host of other impressive titles, all of it in mockery of his actual appearance: he was short and old and fat, with rheumy eyes that nonetheless gleamed with animal cunning. He stood in his audience chamber, still clad in his sleeping gown, his bodyguards flanking him while he inspected the results of the abortive raid on the Ortygia. The weapons of the intruders had been stacked at his feet, and Lugorix and Matthias had been corralled off to one side, bows pointed at their backs while Demetrius the guard captain looked on, a self-satisfied smile plastered on his face. Eurydice stood in front of Cleon, her arms crossed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked her.

“I wasn’t,” she replied, her voice dripping with contempt. “These two showed up on my door and said let’s go—what was I supposed to do?”

“Not try to escape.”

“Well, that’s an interesting choice of words, Cleon. ‘Escape.’ And all this while you’ve been calling me a guest.”

“Save your word games for someone with the time to tolerate them.” Cleon stalked over to Matthis and Lugorix. “So… the Greek traitor and the Gaulish barbarian have come to Syracuse.”

That wasn’t quite what they’d been expecting him to say. “You know who we are?” asked Matthias.

“Scum,” said Cleon. “That’s what you are. But yes, I know what your game is. Working for a certain Persian witch. How much did she pay you to break into my palace?”

“Two talents,” said Matthias. Lugorix’s jaw dropped; it was all he could do not to punch his friend right there and then. Matthias caught his look and tried to backtrack. “Um…though it’s not like she actually
paid
us. She just promised us that once we’d—”

Cleon laughed. “It’s a scant fraction of what Aristotle’s work is worth.” He thought for a moment. “Does she know that the great man is dead?”

“No one
knows,” hissed Eurydice. “You’ve kept it secret rather than admit to the world that you no longer have—”

“Be quiet,” said Cleon. Then, to Matthias: “Does she know?”

Matthias shrugged. “She told us nothing about that,” he said.

“So you thought you’d leave here with his daughter instead?”

“Better than doing it empty-handed.”

“You should never have come at all.”

“How do you know who hired us anyway?” asked Lugorix.

Cleon looked up at the taller man, laughed scornfully. “So the barbarian knows how to speak Greek. Wonder of wonders—”

“You had spies in the house of Demosthenes,” said Lugorix. “Didn’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” asked Cleon.

“Most likely way for you to know so much about us,” said Lugorix. “Or you interrogated his surviving servants.”

“We took what steps we needed to. Demosthenes was a man who craved power. He couldn’t stand to be without it. So he conducted his very own foreign relations. And fell prey to the coils of this Persian witch. All of which is playing into Alexander’s hands.” Cleon gestured at one of the open windows. “He’s out there even now, you know. Coming west with an army so large it beggars description. And you two are his unwitting dupes.”

“Barsine
hates
Alexander,” said Matthias. She’s working day and night to bring him down.”

“She’s working
for
him, you moron.”

“Alexander conquered Persia! So why would Barsine—”

“Zeus almighty! Do you realize how many Persians are now working for Alexander? Do you realize who sits on the throne of Persia? Who serves in Persia’s armies? Troops who accept the new order, that’s who! Troops in the pay of Macedonia!”

“Barsine is different,” said Matthias.

“Barsine is the worst of all,” said Cleon.

“How can you say that?”

“Because she was fucking Alexander!”

Matthias lunged forward at Cleon, only to be restrained by the viceroy’s bodyguards. Cleon laughed. “My poor little lovestruck soldier. Alexander has so many ways of conquering his foe. And Barsine fell for the oldest one of all. He met her in Persepolis and seduced her in Babylon and she was loving every moment of it. And then he sent her out into the world to do his bidding and now you’re doing hers. Is this really coming as a surprise?”

“May you rot in Hades,” snarled Matthias.

“You’re the one who’s going to do that,” said Cleon. “For slaying the soldiers of Athens. For lifting your hand against her viceroy. For stealing her property—”

“Oh, so now I’m
property
?” said Eurydice.

“Now you’re going to
shut the fuck up,
” said Cleon. He turned to his bodyguards. “Take Eurydice back to her room and take this man”—he nodded toward Matthias—“to the cells until I can think of a punishment fit for the likes of him.”

“What about the Gaul?” asked one of the archers.

“A quick death,” said Cleon. “Execute him.”

The archer drew back his bow; Lugorix tensed himself to lunge one way or another. He knew he was done for, but he was damned if he was going to make this easy. If he could beat the first round of bolts, he might be able to get in among the archers and then people beside himself would die.

But all of a sudden people were dying all around him.

Afterward, Lugorix and Matthias would try to piece together what had happened—would argue over the precise sequence of events. They both agreed that something burning had shot through the window and detonated behind the bodyguards, knocking some onto the floor and setting some of them on fire. After that it got hard to see; Lugorix thought that was because everybody was still partially blinded by the light of the explosions, but Matthias swore that a strange mist was getting into everybody’s eyes—something that was really more like gas than smoke and that added to the confusion by dint of its peculiar smell. But Lugorix said that was really the stench of burning bodies—and there were certainly enough of those, as absolute pandemonium gripped the room.

Lugorix was intent on taking advantage of it. He stormed forward, grabbed an archer just as that man fired—the arrow sailed into the back of one of the man’s comrades even as Lugorix grabbed his victim’s neck and twisted. There was a snapping noise and Lugorix threw aside the grostesquely flopping body, ducked down onto the floor himself. Getting low seemed like the best way to live longer. He couldn’t see a thing, but arrows were flying everywhere—he could hear them whirring past him, could hear the thwack! noise as they smacked into flesh. Lugorix crawled forward over a couple of bodies—his hands grasped along the floor.

And closed around that oh-so-familiar axe.

“Skullseeker,” he muttered like he was talking to a lover. No longer would he skulk like a dog. He got to his feet and strode forward—straight into an Athenian. This close Lugorix had no problem seeing him—and cleaving him in two with a single sweep of the axe as he stormed past him and reached the wall. Turning alongside it, he made his way toward what he hoped was the door.