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ET E R N I, TY · 91
control. She did not have the power to defy the Boul~ completely and take
charge of the military; yet she was held responsible by many groups if the
Bouli military policy was a failure. Rumors of plots were thick in the air;
she almost wished they would come true.
The day did not improve when her Mouseion spy reported on how
Rhita Bereniki Vaskayza was being treated.
Her Imperial Hysilotis had long since learned to take every possible advantage
of a situation. She had suspected for over a decade that the
Mouseion's interests were drawing apart from her own, but not so far apart
that they would be openly defiant. The Akademeia Hypateia on
Rhodos was a thorn in the bibliophylax's side; Kleopatra had thought she could
provoke an interesting response, then, by allowing Patrikia's granddaughter to
come to the Mouseion. And if this young woman brought better news than
Patrikia had . . . So be it.
Either way, she was useful.
But what the spy told his queen was infuriating.
She listened to the spy's testimony while seated on a campstool in her private
study. Her scar whitened as her jaw muscles tightened. She had not believed
that the bibliophylax Kallimakhos would be so willing to flout her authority.
Kallimakhos had sent Rhita's chosen didaskalos, a young physics and
engineering professor named Demetrios, away on extended sabbatical, against
his own expressed wishes. (Demetrios, the spy said, was a fine mathematician
as well as a promising inventor, and had looked forward to working with the
daughter of the Soph Patrikia.) Kallimakhos had then rudely treated Rhita,
ignoring her privileged visitor's status, forcing her to live separately from
the Kelt bodyguard who might very well be necessary for her safety . . .
Rhita Vaskayza, the spy said with some professional admiration, was bearing up
well under these disgraces. "Is she a royal favorite?" the spy asked.
"Do you need to know?" Kleopatra asked coldly.
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"No, my Queen. If she is a favorite, however, you have chosen an interesting
woman to favor."
Kleopatra ignored the familiarity. "It's time to play the chosen piece,"
she said. With a deftly pointed finger, she ordered the spy from the room.
A secretary appeared in the doorway. "Bring Rhita Berenik~ Vaskayza to me,
tomorrow morning. Treat her exceptionally well." She hummed and stared at the
ceiling, thinking what else she could do. Something for her simple
satisfaction, without derailing any larger plans. "Send the tax auditors to
the Mouseion. I want every administrator and didaskalos on
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the premisesBunderstand that, only those who are immediately present
--audited for tithe performance and royal taxes. With the sole exception of
Kallimakhos. Tell him I wish to meet with him within the week. And see to it
that any royalties and benefits transferred from palace funds to the Mouseion
are delayed for.three weeks."
"Yes, my Queen." The secretary touched clasped hands to chin and angled back
through the door.
Kleopatra closed her eyes and stilled her dull anger with a slow breathy moan.
She found herself wishing more and more for something apocalyptic, to cut
cleanly through the political morass that was her life now. Neither supremely
powerful, nor weak enough to be ignored, she had to ply her power like a
sailor with a ragged boat on Lake Mareotis.
"Bring me something distracting and wonderful, Rhita Vaskayza," she murmured.
"Something worthy of your grandmother."
The residence hall echoed with women's voices speaking Hellenic, Ar-
amaic, Aithiopian, and Hebrew. Today was the beginning to classes, yet
Rhita had no didaskalos, no assignments, and hence, no classes beyond the
basics accorded to all Mouseion students: orientation, language--of which she
had no needmand Mouseion history. By the second hour of morningmbeginning
after sunrise---the hall was nearly empty, and she sat in a dark mood in her
cramped room, wondering about the wisdom of coming to Alexandreia at all.
She heard two pairs of heavy footsteps outside her door and felt a moment of
anxiety. There was a rap on the doorframe, and a male voice inquired, "Rhita
Berenik~ Vaskayza?"
"Yes," she said, standing to face whoever might come in.
"I'm here with your bodyguard," the man said in polished common
Hellenic. "Her Imperial Hyps~lot~s requests your presence by the sixth hour of
this day."
Rhita opened the door and saw Lugotorix standing behind a tall, bulky
Aigyptian in royal livery. The Kelt nodded at Rhita and she blinked.
"Now?"
"Now," the Aigyptian confirmed.
Lugotorix helped her gather the cases containing Patrikia's Objects.
She felt faintly ridiculous, having tried the Mouseion at all; but that had
been her father's strategy, at her mother's suggestion, years back. Best not
to approach her Imperial Hyps~lot~s directly, her mother had advised.
Especially after the fiasco of the disappearing gate& ,:
A much larger motorized wagon waited for her on the cobble road curving past
the main archway of the residence hall. Three other Aigyp-
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tians, also in royal livery, carefully loaded her cases into the back. The
Kelt took a seat beside the driver, and the guards stood on running boards.
With a wind-horn roaring, she was driven from the grounds of the Mouseion,
west to the palace.
Leaving the main gate, she looked back and realized, with an intuitive
shudder, that her brief sojourn in the Mouseion was at an end.
SEVENTEEN
Thistledown
Once, before the age of thirty, life had been bordered by walls of reasonable
proportions; Garry Lanier had not had to face a constant barrage of explosive
re-evaluations of reality and where he fit in. Since the arrival of the Stone,
he had had to come to grips with mind-stretching truths so often, he had once
thought nothing would amaze him any more.
He lay in the bunk prepared for him by Svard, Korzenowski's assistant.
In the dark, on his back, half-covered by a sheet, he sighed and knew that he
was not so jaded after all. The Russian's story had flabbergasted him.
Mirsky had returned, after traveling beyond the end of time and becoming at
least a minor deity.
He was an avatar, a reincarnated symbol of forces outside even Korzenowski's
comprehension.
"Jesus," Lanier said almost automatically. The name had lost considerable
power in the .past few decades. After all, the miracles at the foundation of
Christianity were almost all duplicated weekly in the Terrestrial
Hexamon. Technology had superseded religion.
But what was Mirsky, that his reappearance should supersede even the abilities
of the Hexamon? Had wonders gone full circle, back to the realm of religion
again?
What Mirsky had shown them . . The combination of simplified visuals and words
and incomprehensible sounds projected into their minds . . His innards still
curled at the memory of the experience.
What would Karen have thought, from her less Western perspective?
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Born in China of parents defected from England, her capacity for wonders might
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