Demosthenes. Lugorix was about to ask what representation and geography meant, but the old man explained what really mattered: “This depicts the empire of Athens.”
Lugorix stared, beginning to see. The blue represented water—the Mediterranean Sea, hemmed in by the brown and green and yellow land of Europe, Asia and Africa. Demosthenes drew his hand from Athens up into the mountains of northern Greece, and from there to—
“Pella,” he said. “The Macedonian capital. Which now controls all this”—he swept his hand to the right—“past the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, and on toward Bactria and Sogdiana and a myriad other provinces.”
“And then closer to home,” said Matthias, “there’s Egypt.”
“Egypt. Yes.” Demosthenes gestured at chairs, sofas and cushions around the room. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“We’ve been a little too comfortable these past few days,” said Matthias edgily. As he said this, Lugorix settled himself into a couch—but the couch slid backward and knocked into an elaborate contraption of levers and pulleys nestled in a corner. It hit the wall, making a strange whirring noise. A wooden bird emerged and began whistling—then fell off its perch altogether and struck the floor. The whistling ceased.
“Nice one,” said Matthias.
Lugorix turned an abashed face toward Demosthenes. “Your pardon,” he said.
“Not to worry,” said Demosthenes. “It’s just a clock. But do please sit down before you break anything else.”
They did. Barsine sat cross-legged on Demosthenes’ desk—which struck Lugorix as somewhat unladylike. But Demosthenes remained standing. The born orator, thought Lugorix as the old man cleared his throat.
“Where’s Damitra?” said Matthias suddenly.
Demosthenes looked annoyed. Barsine just shrugged. “She’s meditating.”
“About what?”
“The future.”
“Naturally.”
“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” asked Demosthenes.
“Sure,” said Matthias. “You were telling us why you’d locked us up.”
Demosthenes shrugged. “We needed to keep you here while we awaited more information and resources.”
“Horseshit,” said Matthias. “You were still deciding what to do with us.”
“Were we now?” Demosthenes didn’t seem offended. “Maybe that’s so. It’s like that clock your friend just broke: there’s a lot of moving parts. And the situation outside is very volatile.”
“You said they shut down the Assembly,” said Lugorix.
“They did,” said Demosthenes. “The archons closed it.”
“Who are the archons?”
“The generals of Athens. They made the announcement in the wake of Alexander’s taking of Egypt.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” said Matthias.
“Think about it,” said Barsine, her tone implying that was the last thing Matthias was capable of doing. “It’s the worst disaster to ever befall Athenian arms. Particularly since a tenth of the navy got destroyed too, and the navy’s thought to be invincible. When the news reached Athens, there was panic in the streets. The lending markets collapsed and the banks shut. Merchants went bankrupt. Several of the archons in charge were thrown out. And those that took over shut down the Assembly for fear of what the people would do next.”
“Like listen to Mack peace overtures?” asked Matthias.
“Like open the gates of the city and bend over,” said Barsine, which Lugorix thought was very unladylike indeed. “This is the problem with democracies. The mob is fickle. They want one thing one day, and something else the next. Works only as long as they’re not being threatened by a dire menace. How Athens ever won their war against Sparta is beyond me.”
“Well, we did,” said Demosthenes, a certain edge to his voice. Lugorix wondered just how much arguing he and Barsine had been doing these last few days.
“They threw you out,” she said. “The best man, and they threw you out of power.”
“Oh,” said
Lugorix stared, beginning to see. The blue represented water—the Mediterranean Sea, hemmed in by the brown and green and yellow land of Europe, Asia and Africa. Demosthenes drew his hand from Athens up into the mountains of northern Greece, and from there to—
“Pella,” he said. “The Macedonian capital. Which now controls all this”—he swept his hand to the right—“past the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, and on toward Bactria and Sogdiana and a myriad other provinces.”
“And then closer to home,” said Matthias, “there’s Egypt.”
“Egypt. Yes.” Demosthenes gestured at chairs, sofas and cushions around the room. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“We’ve been a little too comfortable these past few days,” said Matthias edgily. As he said this, Lugorix settled himself into a couch—but the couch slid backward and knocked into an elaborate contraption of levers and pulleys nestled in a corner. It hit the wall, making a strange whirring noise. A wooden bird emerged and began whistling—then fell off its perch altogether and struck the floor. The whistling ceased.
“Nice one,” said Matthias.
Lugorix turned an abashed face toward Demosthenes. “Your pardon,” he said.
“Not to worry,” said Demosthenes. “It’s just a clock. But do please sit down before you break anything else.”
They did. Barsine sat cross-legged on Demosthenes’ desk—which struck Lugorix as somewhat unladylike. But Demosthenes remained standing. The born orator, thought Lugorix as the old man cleared his throat.
“Where’s Damitra?” said Matthias suddenly.
Demosthenes looked annoyed. Barsine just shrugged. “She’s meditating.”
“About what?”
“The future.”
“Naturally.”
“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” asked Demosthenes.
“Sure,” said Matthias. “You were telling us why you’d locked us up.”
Demosthenes shrugged. “We needed to keep you here while we awaited more information and resources.”
“Horseshit,” said Matthias. “You were still deciding what to do with us.”
“Were we now?” Demosthenes didn’t seem offended. “Maybe that’s so. It’s like that clock your friend just broke: there’s a lot of moving parts. And the situation outside is very volatile.”
“You said they shut down the Assembly,” said Lugorix.
“They did,” said Demosthenes. “The archons closed it.”
“Who are the archons?”
“The generals of Athens. They made the announcement in the wake of Alexander’s taking of Egypt.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” said Matthias.
“Think about it,” said Barsine, her tone implying that was the last thing Matthias was capable of doing. “It’s the worst disaster to ever befall Athenian arms. Particularly since a tenth of the navy got destroyed too, and the navy’s thought to be invincible. When the news reached Athens, there was panic in the streets. The lending markets collapsed and the banks shut. Merchants went bankrupt. Several of the archons in charge were thrown out. And those that took over shut down the Assembly for fear of what the people would do next.”
“Like listen to Mack peace overtures?” asked Matthias.
“Like open the gates of the city and bend over,” said Barsine, which Lugorix thought was very unladylike indeed. “This is the problem with democracies. The mob is fickle. They want one thing one day, and something else the next. Works only as long as they’re not being threatened by a dire menace. How Athens ever won their war against Sparta is beyond me.”
“Well, we did,” said Demosthenes, a certain edge to his voice. Lugorix wondered just how much arguing he and Barsine had been doing these last few days.
“They threw you out,” she said. “The best man, and they threw you out of power.”
“Oh,” said
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