Synesius asked.
"Probably not. This man – the creator of the chairs – was born in a future, far in the future, from where we are now," Jonah said. "At some point, he traveled back to Alexandria, and either became part of that world – my original world – as Heron, or replaced a Heron who already lived and worked there. If the latter, it is not clear to me how many of the inventions attributed to Heron were the product of the man from the future, or of the original Heron – though the man from the future obviously would be the more likely master inventor."
Synesius nodded slowly. "I think I understand. So . . . this Heron is not devoted to our cause – to saving Hypatia, to rescuing the texts in the Library – I can see in your expressions that something troubles you about Heron."
"It is unclear to me exactly to what or whom Heron is devoted," Jonah said.
"From what you told me," Max spoke very slowly, "Heron is not only not our friend. He may be our enemy."
"The last time I saw him," Jonah added, "he had Sierra as his prisoner in this era, in the land across the great ocean."
"You did nothing to free her?" Synesius asked, with a bit of anger.
"Heron freed her–" Jonah said.
"Then–" Synesius interrupted.
"Otherwise I would have indeed released her from Heron," Jonah said, reciprocating with a little anger of his own.
Synesius nodded, graciously. "Of course. I did not mean to imply–"
"You need not explain," Jonah said. "We face a daunting task, the three of us. Ire is our inevitable companion."
Synesius nodded, then touched his stomach. "The food was very agreeable, but I fear this has been a long journey, and my constitution . . . are there facilities–"
"Of course," Jonah said, and summoned a waiter. He instructed the waiter to show Synesius to the lavatory for men. Synesius got the essence of the conversation, stood, and followed the waiter.
"Still," Max spoke to Jonah, after Synesius was beyond hearing, "he bears much anger – this does not concern you?" Max spoke in stilted English, which he for some reason assumed would be the most easily comprehended by Jonah.
"No," Jonah replied. "It does not. A good dose of anger may even be necessary for our survival."
Max smiled, crookedly.
"You brought up the matter of Heron very well," Jonah said.
"And your assessment of Synesius's response?"
"I watched his face very carefully," Jonah replied. "Synesius certainly knew something about Heron's connection to this – it is not clear to me how much."
"And Augustine? What do you think he knows?"
Jonah considered. "Augustine knows about time travel – I told him about it and proved it to him, more than once. Augustine had me prove it to Synesius, as you know. I never mentioned Heron to Augustine, but if Synesius knows about Heron, the only way he could have received such information was from Augustine or Hypatia–"
"Or directly from Heron," Max said.
Jonah nodded. "At this point, impossible to say."
* * *
Synesius sat on his bed and looked up at the ceiling of his room. He felt sure that, if Jonah had thought it at all feasible, he would have sent Synesius back in the chair to the hovel in 413 AD. But even Jonah had to recognize Synesius's exhaustion. He had traveled nearly 2000 years in an instant. But it was the preceding voyage across water that had drained his strength. He had awoken this morning on a boat, a half-day's distance from Londinium.
Could he be sure that he actually had traveled into the future, and this far? He could be sure of nothing. But if this dwelling and its people and its smells, its sounds and its colors, were something from his own time, far away in distance but not in time, his world had been very good at keeping it a deeply sealed secret. And, short of his being in some trance now, the depth of which he had never heard of, the initiation of which he could not recall at all, he could not fathom what else other than this time travel could have had him in a crumbling,
"Probably not. This man – the creator of the chairs – was born in a future, far in the future, from where we are now," Jonah said. "At some point, he traveled back to Alexandria, and either became part of that world – my original world – as Heron, or replaced a Heron who already lived and worked there. If the latter, it is not clear to me how many of the inventions attributed to Heron were the product of the man from the future, or of the original Heron – though the man from the future obviously would be the more likely master inventor."
Synesius nodded slowly. "I think I understand. So . . . this Heron is not devoted to our cause – to saving Hypatia, to rescuing the texts in the Library – I can see in your expressions that something troubles you about Heron."
"It is unclear to me exactly to what or whom Heron is devoted," Jonah said.
"From what you told me," Max spoke very slowly, "Heron is not only not our friend. He may be our enemy."
"The last time I saw him," Jonah added, "he had Sierra as his prisoner in this era, in the land across the great ocean."
"You did nothing to free her?" Synesius asked, with a bit of anger.
"Heron freed her–" Jonah said.
"Then–" Synesius interrupted.
"Otherwise I would have indeed released her from Heron," Jonah said, reciprocating with a little anger of his own.
Synesius nodded, graciously. "Of course. I did not mean to imply–"
"You need not explain," Jonah said. "We face a daunting task, the three of us. Ire is our inevitable companion."
Synesius nodded, then touched his stomach. "The food was very agreeable, but I fear this has been a long journey, and my constitution . . . are there facilities–"
"Of course," Jonah said, and summoned a waiter. He instructed the waiter to show Synesius to the lavatory for men. Synesius got the essence of the conversation, stood, and followed the waiter.
"Still," Max spoke to Jonah, after Synesius was beyond hearing, "he bears much anger – this does not concern you?" Max spoke in stilted English, which he for some reason assumed would be the most easily comprehended by Jonah.
"No," Jonah replied. "It does not. A good dose of anger may even be necessary for our survival."
Max smiled, crookedly.
"You brought up the matter of Heron very well," Jonah said.
"And your assessment of Synesius's response?"
"I watched his face very carefully," Jonah replied. "Synesius certainly knew something about Heron's connection to this – it is not clear to me how much."
"And Augustine? What do you think he knows?"
Jonah considered. "Augustine knows about time travel – I told him about it and proved it to him, more than once. Augustine had me prove it to Synesius, as you know. I never mentioned Heron to Augustine, but if Synesius knows about Heron, the only way he could have received such information was from Augustine or Hypatia–"
"Or directly from Heron," Max said.
Jonah nodded. "At this point, impossible to say."
* * *
Synesius sat on his bed and looked up at the ceiling of his room. He felt sure that, if Jonah had thought it at all feasible, he would have sent Synesius back in the chair to the hovel in 413 AD. But even Jonah had to recognize Synesius's exhaustion. He had traveled nearly 2000 years in an instant. But it was the preceding voyage across water that had drained his strength. He had awoken this morning on a boat, a half-day's distance from Londinium.
Could he be sure that he actually had traveled into the future, and this far? He could be sure of nothing. But if this dwelling and its people and its smells, its sounds and its colors, were something from his own time, far away in distance but not in time, his world had been very good at keeping it a deeply sealed secret. And, short of his being in some trance now, the depth of which he had never heard of, the initiation of which he could not recall at all, he could not fathom what else other than this time travel could have had him in a crumbling,
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