Atlantis Endgame Part 7

For much of the time the Baldies did nothing, standing in silence, watching, as people streamed by. But occasionally, more often when the crowds moving between the city and the harbor were thickest, one of their number would step forward and stop a group of people. As they watched, the alien stopped a pair of young men.

The men looked up at the Baldy, their body language, even flattened by the distance, eloquent of fear and respect. The Baldy spoke, gestured; the men nodded and replied, then hurried away at a dismissive motion by the alien. The other Baldies paid no attention to the exchange, instead watching intently the people all around.

"They're looking for us."

"Or, if not us, anomalies among the people walking about?"

"They must know we won't expose ourselves in any way that the locals would notice," Ashe murmured, as around them, people exclaimed in worry about the poor catch and fishermen in approaching boats tried to gather crowds to them by calling out what was in their nets.

"How will we eat if the fish all die?" a woman exclaimed in Ancient Greek.

"No, they're probably not so much interested in the answers they get from people as in their reactions and those of the people around them," Ashe murmured. "We're not really clear on the capabilities and limitations of their suits, but I wouldn't be surprised if they could detect our subliminal awareness of who they are, the way we focus on them in a way different from the locals, who just think they're priests from some strange country."

Linnea nodded. That would certainly be true of an entrepot like Kalliste, where people were used to strangers and wont to a.s.sume that any out-of-the-ordinary behavior could be ascribed to foreignness.

The women around them, waiting for the fishermen to unload their nets on the sand and spread out the fish, paid the two of them no attention.

"I think we are being punished," an older woman said.

"For what?" exclaimed the first. "I am a good wife; my husband is a good artisan; my children sing to the G.o.ds."

"But I think we'd have to be a lot closer," Ashe continued. "The Baldies cannot really control minds, or send messages, unless you wear their fabric, which has some sort of communication built in," Ashe murmured. "But they can certainly influence people, probably the more so when they're grouped together, as now. I'm sure there're some advanced statistics that guide the way they search. After all, time is on their side, no matter what they intend."

"It is the G.o.ds who fight one another," a third woman said, pointing up at the mountain.

"If they cast fiery stones at one another, it is we who are struck," said the first woman in a sour voice.

The older woman laughed. "It is always thus, in war."

Linnea sighed, cramping her fingers together in her robe. "What do we do?"

"Watch, wait, and keep a respectful distance."

ASHE AND LINNEA spent most of the afternoon on or near the last set of stairs before the beach, watching. The Baldies remained where they were, somewhat down the road on the seaside, waiting with inhuman patience for the trace of an anachronistic mind.

Ashe watched them. Though he'd had many encounters with them over the years, this was the first sustained observation he had ever been able to make.

Linnea was quiet, obviously watching the volcano, the city, listening to the people, as Ashe walked and watched by turns. Late afternoon, after another of those long tremors, they followed a small boy herding baby goats up onto the rocky low hills adjacent to Akrotiri. The recent rains had brought up tufts of tough, brown-edged gra.s.ses through the ash and pumice drifts. The goats did not appear to like this gra.s.s and kept frolicking with one another as they sought green farther along.

Thus they pa.s.sed up beyond the waiting Baldies, below on the sh.o.r.eline, and then to the other side.

At last, as the oncoming clouds began to block the sinking sun, Linnea said, "They must think we are stupid."

Ashe shrugged. "Stupid? Ignorant is more like it. Remember, they know we have interfered with them, but they believe it is by accident. And they do not know where or when the humans who have opposed them come from. So as yet they have not interfered with us in our own time; we have managed to keep the time-lines safe."

Linnea frowned. Beyond her shoulder, over the edge of the headland, the sun was a crimson ball of fire underlighting the sky with spectacular, faintly sinister color. "So they think we're like the monkey with the typewriter, then?"

"I think so. We've worked hard to keep it that way. And to keep our encounters here in the past, where we originally found them."

"How strange, that beings who appear to be from the far future would be consistently discovered mucking about in the past."

"A mystery I've almost given up solving. It's enough to fend them off, to keep them from destroying us by tampering with the past," Ashe said. "Although, of course, that might be enough reason. Sort of flattering, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe we're too strong, up in the future, and the only way they can attack us is in the past. But that begs the question: why attack us in the first place?"

Linnea shaded her eyes against the slanting ruddy glow of sunset, peering out through the forest of prows and masts of the incoming boats. "Do you suppose we'll ever know?"

Ashe shrugged.

Linnea sighed. "It was fortunate that Stav and Kosta went out hunting vents."

"I don't think the Baldies can find our boat, as long as they don't see anything to cause them to attack and investigate more closely," Ashe said.

Did he sound as doubtful as he felt?

"Our lab rats at home shielded the equipment fairly well in that boat; I doubt there's enough EM escaping to bring down alarms."

"Not over what must be emitting from there," Linnea said, looking up at the volcano.

"True-"

Ashe's words died when he saw the Baldies go tense and alert, their faces raised. Though no apparent signal was received, as one they set out at a fast pace, uphill, directly north.

Ashe thought of the attack on their camp, then looked at small Linnea, who had not had the time to get any sort of defense training. "Go on to your room and watch. Brief the others when they turn up," he said tersely. "I'm going to try to find the Baldies' base."

She did not argue. "Good luck."

LINNEA HURRIED BACK toward the city gates by the lurid red light still glowing in the west. She still had plenty of lapis lazuli, but she did not want to waste one on a smelly, scarcely functional torch.

She was not the only person running to beat the oncoming darkness. Akrotiri at night glowed with dim but welcoming golden light, tiny pinp.r.i.c.ks from uncounted lamps. She pa.s.sed through the gates and ran the short way across the first market area toward her house.

By the light of the lamps many were still lingering over business; the day's heat was now just a stuffy sort of warmth and far more bearable. Linnea paused to trade for some grapes, more because she delighted in speaking with the people than for any other reason, and then bought a big bucket of water.

The bucket pulled at her shoulder joints, making her feel hotter than ever, and some sploshed out until she got the right rhythm for walking with it. Never again, she vowed, would she take for granted the infinite blessing of running water.

Of course some of the buildings had their own running water, even now, despite the quake destruction. She could hear and even smell it, a faintly sulfuric odor coming from an underground hot spring, but she had none in her little room.

And so she withdrew to it, and by the light of a swinging lamp coming weakly through the window opposite, she gave in to-oh, don't just call it temptation. The smell, the itchiness, of her underclothes had become so repulsive that washing them was now the first priority of her life.

She undressed under her robe, keeping well into the shadows of her room, though no one glanced in as people walked by. All the windows were open, and on the still, warm night air she could hear voices. She purified the water first, then drank. After that she washed her face and hands, and then her body as well as she could without completely undressing. And then she scrubbed her underthings. Since she had no soap, she scrubbed and rescrubbed until her hands felt red and tender, and the cloth smelled just like damp cloth. But where to put them?

She took the bucket out and splashed it into the gutter that ran downhill along the outer edge of the street. The bucket was to be returned in the morning. Until then, it was hers.

She draped the underclothes over the bucket, set it in the corner, and then lay down on the woven straw pallet that Eveleen had bought for them the night before. The dampness of her robe cooled her enough so that the very faint breeze felt pleasant.

Cooking smells wafted in, and the sounds of voices, so few now each was distinct: low laughter from across the way, a fretful child, a couple having an argument, all the more fierce for being whispered.

In the distance, far away, some voices began singing a song, the melody strange and yet curiously familiar, too. It pulled at the heart: a lament?

Linnea drifted into sleep.

When she woke, it was to the awareness of movement, of breathing. She looked up in dismay and amazement. Four women had crowded into her room, one of them being the bucket's owner.

One, a young woman in the tight jacket and flounced skirt of the prosperous, held up her camisole and underwear-the good cotton, machine-st.i.tched underwear, and the fine cotton-silk camisole-and shook it at Linnea. She then made a demand in a language that was only vaguely familiar.

CHAPTER 10.

LINNEA STARED UP at the women, her brain at first refusing to work. Was she dreaming? No, her neck was gritty, her mouth dry, and she realized she knew this language; the woman had spoken in Egyptian.

And now the women all looked at her with expressions ranging from curious to wary.

Wary.

What was it Gordon had said? There is no record of a woman speaking a foreign tongue, surprising people with things that never have been. There is no record of a woman speaking a foreign tongue, surprising people with things that never have been.

The woman frowned a little, then said again in her rough, stilted Egyptian, "Where got you these?"

Linnea thought rapidly, but another of the women forestalled her, saying in better Egyptian, "Why do you not trade this? You and the young one brought that old cloth from Kemt to trade, but our young girls make better." She turned her chin over her shoulder, making a spitting motion.

Curiosity was swiftly turning into hostility. 7 am the stranger here, am the stranger here, Linnea thought, and she cleared her throat. "I wish we had such cloth to sell," she said. "Oh, how I have searched." Linnea thought, and she cleared her throat. "I wish we had such cloth to sell," she said. "Oh, how I have searched."

The women listened, the one's hostility easing slightly.

"You tell us, then, that this is the only such things you have?"

"Yes," Linnea responded. "They were brought back for me by my man, from the Land of the Dragon, far, far in the direction of the morning sun."

"Ah," said the older women, all nodding.

"I have heard of that place," said the one with the jacket. "Some of the sailors have spoken of it. And the fine things that come from there, rare and precious. Precious enough for only the great families to trade precious artifacts of gold or very fine pearls."

Linnea, following instinct, said, "It is really for younger women, these fine things. You may have them, if you like."

The one with the jacket gaped in surprise and then pleasure. The youngest one gasped, running her fingers with reverence along the seams. "How tiny the threads are, how even. They must have looms the size of a cricket!"

"It is far too great a gift," said the older woman, and the one with the jacket flushed. "What can we offer you as a trade?"

In other words, why are you really here?

Linnea licked her lips, and because instinct had gotten her this far, she said tentatively, "I have come with my family to trade, but I myself have . . . questions . . . for your oracle. I know the priestesses where I live, and they said that I should consult over the seas," she added randomly.

The three older women nodded again, one with pursed lips. The youngest was still marveling over the machine st.i.tching, holding the cloth only an inch or two from her eyes. Her big golden hoop earrings swung against her cheeks as she studied the seams.

"Ah yes, our oracle is renowned for her communion with the G.o.ddess; this we know. But we have troubled times, you can see," the oldest said, pointing toward the sky.

"I could ask about that, too," Linnea ventured, greatly daring.

"We do ask. Many ask each day, but there has been no answer."

"Perhaps it is for the far-sailing Kemtiu to break the silence?" asked the one with the jacket.

"Perhaps," agreed the oldest. And she made a gesture of decision. "I shall send you to the priestesses. My sister's girl is with them. Her name is Ela. Tell her that Theti sent you. She will gain you entrance on the mountain."

"That is a fair trade, is it not?" asked the one with the jacket.

There was no mistaking her anxious look. Linnea nodded. "I think it very fair."

The one with the jacket then plucked the garments from the younger woman, and vanished with a triumphant smile and a flounce of triply layered skirts.

Linnea was left to find her way to the communal toilets, under which ran a stream. She went straight out, bought some fresh flatbread and cheese, and then started up the mountain to find Ela, and the oracle.

AT THE SAME time, Ross and Eveleen woke up, surrounded by complete darkness.

Ross fought the instinct to panic and forced himself to lie still, to mentally review.

He remembered reaching the summit. Remembered the great vent and Eveleen taking pictures of the inner waters, before stashing her camera back in her clothing. He remembered turning around, and there was the Fur Face.

It used some kind of translator to gabble some idiocy about not damaging them while holding a weapon pointed their way.

So they'd gone within, into the heat and dangerous fumes. A smoothed pa.s.sage then, made by very high-tech means, after which they were motioned into this chamber and the door shut, cutting off all light.

Eveleen had not reacted at all, other than to hold his hand. He'd squeezed her hand in warning, and she'd squeezed back: I know what to do. I know what to do.

What to do? Locking people up in a room to wait was a standard scare tactic, meant to soften up prisoners, make them really sweat about their fate. Darkness made it worse. What's more: if there were two, they were only left together in hopes that someone, unseen, would get to overhear talk.

So they'd stayed silent, after a time stretching out on the stone floor and catching up on their rest.

Now Ross was awake, and from the sound of her changed breathing, Eveleen was as well. He groped about and found her hand. He spelled into her palm, See or hear anything? See or hear anything?

Not a thing. It feels like morning.

I think so, too. I'll bet we'll see action soon.

He didn't want to speculate what kind.