The Book of the Seven Delights (27 page)

In the plaza, the old priestesses were standing like gophers caught out of their holes, staring in dismay at various tunnel entrances. The sounds weren't anything like the rumblings and shifting of earth they had grown accustomed to hearing. They were sharp, sporadic, and sounded alarmingly man-made. The acrid, biting smell that wafted out into the plaza was quickly followed by several men in dirt-covered uniforms, bearing rifles and forcing a battered Haffe ahead of them at gunpoint.

The old women were startled at first, but they had some experience with invaders of one kind or another. One look at the men's scarred and pitiless faces and they knew they were in for trouble. Hathor put down the scroll she was rewinding and backed away along the nearest loggia, escaping the ranting of a thick, flat-faced man demanding their submission. She darted into the commons as quickly as her arthritic limbs would allow.

Gaston. Abigail glimpsed him from the doorway of the common hall and shrank back inside the door as Hathor burst inside and scurried past her toward the corridor beyond. She caught sight of Smith standing at the base of the plaza steps and was barely able to stop herself from calling out to warn him. He headed for the fountain and crouched behind it, stealing glimpses of Gaston. She watched helplessly as the sergeant and his cutthroats rounded up the old priestesses and demanded to know who was in charge…

demanded their valuables and the whereabouts of "
l'homme Smeeth
."

None of the old women spoke French. For several harrowing minutes, Gaston went from woman to woman, shouting Smith's name into each face and driving home his demand with an occasional raised fist or bullying shove.

Idera rushed into the plaza and planted herself before Gaston with a fearless mien and an erect bearing.

She insisted they leave, but Gaston didn't understand until she pointed toward the tunnel they had arrived through and uttered commands so regal that they transcended mere language. With a snarl, he swung a meaty fist and sent her sprawling back onto the pavement.

"Bastard!" Smith launched himself from behind the fountain and into Gaston's side, knocking him off his feet and crashing to the ground with him.

Smith managed to get in a few savage punches before Gaston's men pulled him off and dealt him the same. Abigail groaned and flinched with every blow he received. She felt for the gun at the back of her waist before realizing it was in one of her bags, at their camp… somewhere in the desert. There was no time to look for another weapon; she would just have to count on the element of surprise to give Smith some advantage—

"Wait." Someone grabbed her arm and she looked back to find it was old Hathor. "That matters not, out there. You must come with me to prepare."

"Prepare what?" Abigail tried to shake her off and turn back to the scene unfolding in the courtyard.

Smith was moving, crawling to Idera's side, pulling her into his arms and cradling her under the barrel of Gaston's pistol. The other old priestesses had each targeted one of the invaders and now advanced on him. In a heartbeat, the old girls were stroking and rubbing up against Gaston's men in a startling parody of seduction. The men, horrified by the old women's advances, lost track of Gaston's orders in their own desire to get away. They brushed and shook the women from them, growing increasingly frantic when the priestesses tried to renew their attentions.

Beside Abigail, Hathor shook her head in dismay at her sisters' failure.

"It always used to work," she muttered. "Come.
Now
. We must hurry."

"Seize the old whores," Gaston roared, "and lock them up!"

The men grabbed the old priestesses and dragged them screeching and clawing toward a nearby doorway. Gaston turned on Smith, giving him a savage kick that would have caught him square in the gut if he hadn't released Idera in time and curled away.

"Where is the treasure you came for?" he shouted.

Smith rolled back, holding his side.

"Look around you." He was gritting his teeth. "These scrolls are the only treasure here. That's what we came for. These books."

"Liar," Gaston snarled, then strode over to stare down at some of the open scrolls. "You didn't come here for paper!" He gave several of the scrolls savage kicks. The sound of papyrus and parchment ripping seared Abigail's heart. "Where is the treasure?" He kicked Smith savagely again. And again.

"No! Stop!" Idera threw herself over Smith with her hands stretched out to ward off further punishment.

"Tell him I'll show him the treasure!"

"But, there is none," he protested in her language.

"Not true, Engle-lander." She caught his gaze and in that brief glance convinced him to trust her. "There is something I have not yet shown you."

Gaston watched the tension between Smith and Idera, and when Smith translated, he snarled at one of his men to bind "Smeeth" and bring him along.

Soon the old priestesses were locked into a chamber just off the plaza, and Idera and Smith were being dragged by Gaston's men through the corridors toward the scriptoria. Idera stopped before the door to the flooded chamber.

She made a show of selecting the right key to open the door and the soldiers raised their torches and knocked her aside in their rush to enter. The water shocked them and they turned back, shouting the place was flooded. Gaston turned on the old priestess, brandishing his fist and spitting oaths.

"Tell him there is another door," she told Smith, without quailing. "But to get to it, his men must remove a beam that has fallen in front of it."

She lifted her garments and waded into the water… leading them to a niche at the far end of the chamber. In front of the alcove were several beams that seemed to have fallen from some of the wooden bracing that had been used to shore up the ceiling over time. One of the beams was still blocking the way to a small metal-bound door set into the stone wall. Gaston studied the situation and the old woman, clearly suspicious, then leveled his cocked gun on Idera.

"You—Schuller—" he ordered, "go find some axes."

Shortly, as Gaston inspected the door his men had to open, Idera caught Smith's gaze in hers and covertly directed it to the main door behind them.

"This way." Hathor led Abigail through a series of narrow passages carved out of rock. The more she talked, the slower she had to walk; she had only so much breath available. "We have planned for this day."

"What day?" Abigail glanced over her shoulder. "I have to go back and—"

"You should be about your task, Librarian," the old girl admonished. "Your man will survive."

Abigail reddened.
Her man
.

"Gaston wants to kill him."

"That brute?" She gave a snort. "He wants gold more."

They arrived at the temple and Hathor led her to the back of the altar, and despite her obvious desire to hurry, the old woman took her time locating a small iron circle with a star-shaped hole in the center. She then produced a straight-shanked, star-shaped key and inserted it. Something in the lock gave with a
clunk
and Hathor slid back a panel of the marble base. As she turned a geared handle, the image of Athena began to pivot to the side, separating from her seat. Abigail had to help the old priestess lift the hinged lid of the altar and together they stood panting softly, staring at a chamber containing fired clay jars bearing seals… amphora.

"Here, Librarian, are the most valuable of our texts… dedicated to Athena—our legacy to the world. If no others survive, you must see that these are kept safe."

The tenor of resignation—or forboding—in Hathor's words put Abigail even more on edge. She helped the old woman remove the amphora from the chest. The long, thin jars with handles on either side of the necks were heavier than they looked. When all seven lay on the floor beside the altar, Hathor produced three lengths of stout rope from inside her garments and tried to get down on her knees to thread them through the handles. Abigail watched a moment, then took the ropes herself and sank to her knees to link the jars in pairs as Hathor directed.

When she looked up, Hathor was holding a jewel-crusted collar she had just pulled from the chest. It was a wide flexible circle made of the same golden "scales" that formed the ceremonial breastplate Abigail wore under her clothes.

"This was worn by the chief priest, the foremost
Protector
," Hathor said, softening visibly, clearly revisiting a memory. Then she stood on her toes and pulled out a short golden staff with a bale at the end and a matching crook—symbols of Egyptian royalty used in Ptolemy's Alexandria.

"These things are priceless." Abigail fell back on her rear and stared in awe at the things the old woman was handing her.

"So they are," Hathor said with a sad smile, producing more. There were golden lamps and altar furnishings, bale ends for scrolls, golden plates and chalices, golden wrist cuffs, and great chains with jeweled medallions. "These are symbols of our culture and our mission to safeguard knowledge." Last, came a small bag of gemstones and a pair of large leather bags that were still supple enough to hold the treasures securely.

The old woman gripped the side of the altar and endured the pain of sinking to her knees beside Abigail.

She placed her hands over Abigail's, holding her tightly, willing her to hear and understand.

"You must take these with you, too. They will help you tell our story."

Abigail couldn't swallow. These were final words. Hathor did not expect her life or the life of her community to continue much longer. She thought of the scrolls stacked in the common hall and spread on the plaza steps—then made herself quit thinking of them. Nodding, she began to place the treasures into the leather bags, moving faster, feeling a growing urgency.

There was an ominous boom and crash that exploded into a roar. Everything around them shook like it had when the tunnel collapsed… except that this vibration was many times stronger.

Abigail thought of the cracks in the stucco and stonework of the dome over the plaza. There was hardly a place in the city that was structurally immune if the dome roof decided to…

Smith!

She ran through the temple to the front columns and peered out at the plaza. Dust and sand were drifting down from the stonework overhead, filling the air with an ominous haze. A single Legionnaire stood watch in the plaza, fingering his rifle and staring uneasily at the stonework overhead. But Abigail's attention snagged on the scrolls piled and unrolled on the steps nearby and then flew to the door of the building where the old priestesses were being held.

She had just decided to go for the door and free Calla,

Elysia, and the others, when Hathor swayed past her, headed down the steps in open sight.

"Hathor, wait—let me—" Abigail shouted softly, trying to call her back.

By the time the preoccupied Legionnaire spotted her, she was more than halfway to the door leading to her sisters' prison. The guard challenged her, but she gave a dismissive wave and kept going. Clearly, without Gaston's direction the Legionnaire didn't know whether to shoot her or not. Conflicted, he finally raised his gun—just as another, larger crash rocked the entire complex, causing everything to shake violently. He staggered and flailed, trying to keep his feet, forgetting the old woman as the first stone fell from the dome.

Halfway up the man-made part of the expanse, a narrow trickle of sand funneled through the opening left by the fallen stone. The moving sand forced a second block free, then a third. Suddenly sand was pouring in a steady stream into the far side of the plaza. The Legionnaire panicked and ran for the tunnel that had brought them into the complex. Hathor reached the door and opened the latch, but instead of calling her sisters out, she entered, leaving the door standing open.

The stone pillars of the temple portico around Abigail swayed violently enough to dislodge pieces from the capitals above. Massive stones came crashing down around her and she bolted down the steps to the main plaza… just as Idera, Smith, and Haffe emerged from one of the streets leading to the scriptoria.

The three were battered and scraped, and holding on to each other for support, but the minute they spotted her Smith waved her back.

"Go back!" His voice was barely audible above the continuing roar and rumble of stone falling and structures failing. She defied his order to run to them and insert herself under Idera's arm, taking much of her weight from him.

"Into the temple!" Idera cried weakly.

Moments later, they limped through the debris on the front colonnade and into the safer space inside the temple.

The ground gave one last powerful shudder and then abruptly ceased trembling. There was an unnatural feeling to the sudden stillness. In the distance rocks could still be heard falling and rolling.

"What happened to Gaston?" Abigail asked, looking to Smith.

He shook his head grimly and said only: "Later."

Idera grabbed Abigail's arm as they hurried through the sanctuary.

"Hathor—did she show you the books? Did you prepare them?"

"She did." Abigail helped the priestess to the rear of the altar. When Idera saw the amphora laid out on the floor, linked by ropes, she sagged against Abigail to gather her strength. "Thank the goddess. You must take them and go—now—before the dome fails completely."

"Not before I get some of the other books." Abigail started to move toward the plaza. "I know exactly where several important—"

"There is no time to argue " Idera pulled her back and draped a pair of the amphora over her shoulder so that one hung in front, the other in back. "Carry them thus. I'll show you the tunnel that is strongest.

You will have to move quickly."

"No—I can't leave the books—"

"Go now," Idera said with pain in her voice, "or you may not leave at all."

"What are those?" Smith had shouldered a pair of the amphora, then spotted the leather bags. Lifting one, he found it remarkably heavy. "What's in here?" Before anyone could respond, he stuck fingers into the top of the sack and encountered cool, sleek metal. "What the—" He yanked open the cords and gave a low whistle. He looked up at Haffe, who burst into a joyful laugh and reached for one of the sacks, lifting it onto his free shoulder.