Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

Maxian nodded, smiling wryly. "Surely…" he said, ducking his head. "I am so tired. There must be a way…"

Galen stood, surreptitiously loosening the clasp on his belt dagger, just in case. He walked around the table and mussed Maxian's hair again. The youngest Prince stood, and they embraced, Maxian leaning his head, weary, on his brother's shoulder for just a moment. Then he stood away, his eyes clear. "Go to the Summer House," Galen said with a contemplative look on his face. "At Cumae. No one is staying there now. It is out of the way, and quiet. Go there and take your ease for a little while. Take a good cook with you! Rest, far from the city. Then come speak to me again, and we will contrive a plan together."

Maxian smiled and gathered up his cloak. "Thank you, brother. I will. Rest and time to think are like gold to me… a princely gift."

Galen smiled back, though when Maxian turned to the door, his eyes were hard and cold. He, at least, had seen the naked fear in the face of the Duchess, even if no one else had. His brother, curse the Fates, was dangerous. Very dangerous. Though his heart broke to think of it, sometimes an emperor could not bear the weight of an errant brother. Galen walked with Maxian through the halls of the palace, then bade him good night in the lighted courtyard on the northern side of the hill.

The young man vanished into the darkness of the city, and the Emperor watched him go in silence.

– |"This tempts fate and the gods," Alexandros muttered as-once more-he and Gaius Julius loitered in darkness. This time they were garbed in dark clothing; tunics, long capes with hoods. Gaius Julius had smeared lampblack on their faces and hands, taking great amusement in smearing the black ash in Alexandros' golden curls. "It is bad luck to disturb the spirits of a bibliotheca."

In the darkness, Gaius Julius' teeth appeared in a grin, pale and white against the black of his face.

"That is the joy of this, my young friend. By tradition, the contents of this place are yours, so console yourself with the thought that you are retrieving stolen property. Rome stole it from you, looting your legacy, so now you steal it back from them!"

Another shadow moved in the gloom that surrounded the door. The homunculus had been feeling around the locks, searching with cold, patient fingers for a point of leverage. The thing's head turned, and Alexandros felt an atavistic thrill of dread, seeing the gleam of the pale reptilian eyes in the darkness.

"Here," the thing said in its grave voice. Gaius Julius moved to the entrance of the vestibule, looking out on the dark, deserted alley. The buildings of the Forum towered around them, rising up in the thin sliver of moonlight, white and pale. The vestibule itself backed onto the huge wall that divided the graceful colonnades and temples of the Forum from the close-packed noisome slums of Subura just to the north. The fire wall was a hundred feet high and nearly a mile long, a great heap of brick plated with cheap travertine facing on the Forum side. Here, hidden down at its base behind the massive square edifice of the Temple of Pax, was a stolid rectangular building. Gaius, Alexandros, and Khiron were at its rear door, which was a heavy construction of oak and iron bands.

"Quietly, quietly," Gaius Julius whispered, and there was a rattling sound. A tiny point of light appeared, the yellow glow of a tallow lamp in a hood. The old Roman played it over the locks and stout facing of the door. Khiron's arm, mottled and gray, showing a vague, disturbing impression of translucency and muscles and tendons just under the surface, was poised above the larger lock. "Time we have; sound we cannot afford. The aediles do, occasionally, patrol these streets."

Alexandros felt a cold chill of apprehension wash over him, and almost laughed. This was but a door, a stout one, nothing like facing a man in armor and a fine oval shield in battle. Still, his hand brushed the hilt of his sword-a straight-bladed thrusting weapon he had purchased in one of the stalls in the market along the river. The old Roman with pale eyes had laughed at such a thing-The blade is too long, he had scoffed. Alexandros ignored him, remembering a fierce battle in driving rain, his body steaming with humidity, and his own life nearly ending on the point of such a weapon as he struggled to rise from thick red mud. The youth shook his head and banished the memory. That was far in the past.

"Now," Gaius Julius hissed, satisfied that the street was clear.

Khiron tensed its arm, and an iron-tipped forefinger dug into the ancient black oak over the lock. There was a squeal as wood twisted aside, but Khiron grimaced, muscles bunching in its arm, and gripped the mechanism of the lock with its other hand. The squeal rose sharply in volume, causing Alexandros to wince and cover his ears. The old Roman hopped from foot to foot in dismay. The homunculus ignored him, and there was a grinding screech as the lock mechanism was torn from the door. It groaned and there was a sharp snapping sound as Khiron wrenched the last of it out of the oaken panel. "Here," it said in a gravelly voice, handing the ruin of the lock to Gaius, "the door is open." The homunculus reached into the gaping hole gouged out of the door, ignoring the spikes of twisted nails and bolts, and there was a grinding sound as the locking bar was pushed back.

"That was the very soul of quiet," Gaius muttered as he pushed the door open, raising the lantern. The room within was dark, and a dusty smell of age flooded out. Alexandros wrinkled up his nose, but peered in nonetheless. In the pale light of the hooded lantern, he saw the dim outlines of row after row of tall shelves, each pierced with thousands of pigeonholes. In each, the dusty outlines of scrolls and books could be seen.

"Ahhh…" Gaius breathed, stepping into the room. "A true bounty-and this only the extras at the back of the building. Come quickly, we have to cross over the main floor and go up a flight of stairs to reach our goal. Khiron, with me. Alexandros, get the wagon."

Alexandros grimaced, and pride warred in him for a moment with a relief at not violating the sacred precincts of the library. Stop this, he commanded himself, Gaius knows where the books are, and Khiron can carry a vast burden. The slight still rankled, though, but he had resigned himself to waiting, to being patient, at least for a little while. It had been a long time since he had stood watch. In the darkness, under the domed roof of the vestibule, he smiled to himself, knowing that by the power of this Prince of the Romans, he had cheated his old bargain with the gods.

Old age I traded for fame, he mused, standing the darkness, alert and wary. Yet here I am again, young, and-now, perhaps-eternal. He almost laughed, but then remembered his duty and remained silent, watching the night.

– |Anastasia rubbed her eyes, which were burning with fatigue. Sighing, she laid aside the reports from her man in Aquileia. The return of the Emperor to the capital had not eased her burden, for now he had to be brought up to speed on the thousand and one details of what had happened in the Western Empire in his absence. The Duchess looked out the window, seeing dawn rising over the mountains in the east. The city was still sleeping, but she had yet to taste the comfort of her bed. Betia, at least, was curled up under a blanket on the couch by the window, sound asleep. Anastasia smiled and rose stiffly, feeling the night chill in her bones. She pulled a woven linen stole from the back of her chair and draped it around her shoulders. Around her, the house was quiet and still, without even the rattle of the cooks in the kitchen.

Soon, she thought, all will rise and the house will come alive with music and noise and the chatter of my servants. She closed the door to the study quietly, letting Betia sleep. The floor of the hallway was cold on her bare feet, but she did not have the energy to put on her sandals. She went downstairs, moving like a pale ghost through the dark house, passing the rooms where Jusuf and the other Khazars were sleeping-the rattle of their snoring bringing a smile to her face. At the door of the children's room she paused, opening the door and looking in. They were all piled together on one bed, a softly snoring heap of arms and legs and tousled dark hair.