Poul Anderson - The Dancer from Atlantis

“Tell me of yourself,” she urged presently. “You must be very important for the Ariadne to keep you.”

Lydra had commanded strict silence about his prediction of catastrophe. He had to admit that, for the time being, it made sense; public hysteria would help nothing. She’d wanted to suppress the entire story of his magical arrival in Egypt, but he pointed out that that was impossible. The word had spread through Athens and Diores’ sailors must have passed it around Atlantean taverns and bawdyhouses before returning home.

“I don’t know that I myself count for much,” Reid said to the girl. “But I’ve come a far and a weird way and am hoping the high priestess can counsel me.”

He gave her simply his public narrative, no hint about time travel but much about America. She listened wide-eyed. As he talked, he tried to recall Pamela’s face. But he couldn’t, really, for Erissa’s—young Erissa’s.

Lydra said: “You will remain here until I release you.”

“I tell you, the Minos must be warned,” Reid protested. “Will my word carry less weight with him than yours?” she retorted coldly. “I am still not satisfied you speak truth, exile.”

No, he thought, I don’t imagine any rational person is ever ready to believe in the end of his world.

They stood on the temple roof in a chilly dusk. The lagoon glimmered faintly metallic; land and city were swallowed by murk, in this age before outdoor lighting. But fire was in the sky, a sullen red flicker reflected off the smoke that rolled out of the volcano. Now and then sparks showered from its throat and there went an underground rumbling.

He gestured. “Does that not bear witness for me?’

“It has spoken before,” she answered. “Sometimes it spews forth stones and cinders and melted rock, and the voice of Asterion roars. But a procession to the heights, prayers, sacrifices cast in, have always quieted him. Would he destroy the sanctuary of his Mother, his Bride, and his Mourner?”

Reid threw her a glance. Beneath a cowl, her profile showed vague against darkling heaven; but he made out that she was staring at the mountain more intently than her calm tone suggested. “You can smooth the people’s unease,” he said, “till the last day. What about your own, though?”

“I am praying for guidance.”

“What harm in sending me to Knossos?”

“What good, thus far? Hear me, outlander. I reign over holy things, not over men. But this does not mean I’m ignorant of temporal affairs. I could hardly be that and serve Our Lady’s interests. So I understand, perhaps better than you if you are honest about your origin. I understand how grave a matter it would be to follow your advice.

“Cities emptied, left deserted ... for weeks? Think of moving that many people, feeding and sheltering them, keeping them from blind panic at the awful thing threatened, losing them by hundreds or thousands when sickness breaks out in their camps, as it surely will. And meanwhile the navy is far at sea, widely scattered for fear ships will be dashed together, therefore helpless. But boats would speedily carry news to the mainland. The risk that the Achaeans would revolt again, make alliance and fall on our coasts, is not small. And then, if your prophecy proved false—what anger throughout the realm, what mockery of temple and throne and the very gods—what rebellion, even, shaking the already cracked foundations of the state! No, that which you urge is not lightly to be undertaken.”

Reid grimaced. She spoke with reason. ‘That’s why plans have to be laid soon,” he begged. “What can I do to prove myself to you?”

“Have you a suggestion?”

“Well—” The idea had come to him already in Athens. He and Oleg had discussed it at length. “Yes. If you, my lady, can persuade the temporal governor—wh-wh-which you surely can—”

The mountain growled again.

Sarpedon, master of Atlantis’ one small shipyard, ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. “I’m doubtful,” he said. “We’re not set up here like at Knossos or Tiryns, you know. We mainly do repair and maintenance work. Don’t actually build anything larger than a boat.” He stared down at the papyrus Reid had spread on a table. A finger traced the drawing. “Still—but no Too much material needed.”

“The governor will, release timber, bronze, cordage, everything, from the royal warehouse,” Reid pressed him. “He only asks for your agreement on feasibility. And it is feasible. I’ve seen craft like this in action?’

That wasn’t true, unless you counted movies. (A world of moving, pictures, light at the flick of a switch, motors, skyscrapers, spacecraft, antibiotics, radio links, an hour’s hop through the air between Crete and Athens ... unreal, fantastic, a fading dream. Reality was this cluttered room, this man who wore a loincloth and worshiped a bull that was also the sun, the creak of wooden wheels and the clop-clop of unshod donkey hoofs from a street outside, a street in lost Atlantis; reality was the girl who held his arm and waited breathlessly for him to unfold his next marvel.) But he had read books; and, while he was not a marine designer, as an architect he was necessarily enough of an engineer for this work.

“Um-m. Um-m.” Sarpedon tugged his chin. “Fascinating notion, I must say.”

“I don’t understand what difference it will make,” Erissa ventured shyly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“At present,” Reid explained, “a ship is nothing but a means for getting from here to there.”

She blinked. Her lashes were longer and thicker, her eyes even more luminous, than they would be when she was forty and fading. “Oh, but ships are beautiful!” she said. “And sacred to Our Lady of the Deeps?’ The second sentence was dutiful; the first shone from her.

“Well, in war, then.” Reid sighed. “Consider. Except for slingstones, arrows, and javelins, you can’t have a real battle at sea before you’ve grappled fast to your enemy. And then it’s a matter of boarding, hand-to-hand combat, no different from a fight on land except that quarters are cramped and footing uncertain?’

He returned his glance to Sarpedon, reluctantly. “I admit that a vessel such as I propose will use more stuff than a regular galley,” he told the yardmaster. “In particular, it’ll tie up a great deal of bronze in its beak. However, the strength of Crete has always lain in keels rather than spears, right? Whatever makes a more effective navy will repay the Thalassocrat ten times over.

“Now.” He, tapped his drawing. “The ram alone is irresistible. You know how fragile hulls are. This prow is reinforced. Striking, it’ll send any opponent to the bottom. Soldiers aren’t needed, just sailors. Think of the saving in manpower. And because this vessel can destroy one after another in a full-dress naval engagement, fewer of its type are needed than galleys. So the size of the navy can be reduced. You get a large net saving in materials too.”

Erissa looked distressed. “But we have no enemies left,” she said.

The hell you don’t, Reid didn’t say. Instead: “Well, you mount guard against possible preparation for hostilities. And you maintain patrols to, suppress piracy. And those same patrols give aid to distressed vessels, which is good for commerce and so for your prosperity. And there are no few voyages to waters where the Minos does not rule and the natives might get greedy. True?

“Very well. This longer hull gives greater speed. And this strange-looking rudder and rig make it possible to sail against any but the foulest winds, crisscrossing them. Oarsmen tire and need rest oftener than airs drop to—a dead calm. What we have here is a ship that’s not only invincible but can out-travel anything you’ve ever imagined. Therefore, again, fewer are required for any given purpose. The savings can go into making the realm stronger and wealthier.