Ambrosia Page 2

  “I do know,” she said with a playful wink. “Proceed.”

  He cackled happily as he hobbled past her.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Kotter,” she said simply as Pops skipped past her.

  “Whoa. Wait right there,” Acantha said curtly, stretching out a well-manicured hand to stop a stack of chocolate boxes attempting to scuttle past her. Gently she pushed down on the boxes, revealing Storgen’s face beneath a mane of blonde hair. He responded to her frown with a debonair smile and a click of his tongue.

  “Aren’t you the guy who wears the fox costume in front of that pita place on 5th street?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  “I am honored that you remember me,” he responded brightly.

  “Look,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I told you ‘no’ already yesterday, what are you doing back here?”

  “First of all, what I wear is not a costume, it’s a uniform,” he said brightly. “I provide a valuable public service.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Indubitably. The good people of Ápinso have a right to know about the all-you-can-eat gyros on Sun’s Day.”

  Storgen fidgeted inside his tunic and pulled out a few rumpled coupons as he turned to the crowd behind him. “Get a free meat pie with every purchase.”

  “Go die in a fire!” one of the men shouted.

  From somewhere in the crowd, a sandal was thrown, striking Storgen in the head.

  “Thank you for your patronage, sir,” Storgen replied with a sweet smile.

  Acantha rubbed her eyes. “This is just sad.”

  Storgen turned back to her, undaunted. “Did you know that the fox is the sacred animal of Ambera?”

  Acantha’s eyes flickered to the hanging banners with fox heraldry, the fox reliefs carved into the stone columns, and the fox crest on the clasp of her toga. “Um, yeah, I know that.”

  “Well, think about it. I am a professional fox. What could be more appropriate? You should be begging me to participate in the harvest festival. Consider me a special guest.”

  “There’s no such thing as a professional fox.”

  “Of course there is. I am paid to be a fox, therefore I am a professional.”

  “So, if I paid you to leave, would that make you professionally rejected?”

  Storgen thought for a moment. “Are you offering to pay me?”

  “No.”

  With a snap of her fingers, a pair of armored guards stepped up. The first tried to lay hold of him, but Storgen slipped free.

  “Look, you’ve got priestesses here from all over the empire,” Storgen said impatiently.

  The second guard reached out to grasp at him, but Storgen caught his wrist while balancing the stack of boxes with his other hand.

  “I just need to know if any of them have lavender hair.”

  The guard fought and struggled, unable to free himself from the iron grip. When he yanked hard, Storgen released him, and he fell backwards onto his rump.

  The High Priestess stared at him, slack-jawed. “You want one with lavender hair? You don’t get to make requests about which priestess you lay with.”

  “No, I don’t want to sleep with them.”

  “Then why are you here? Are you a eunuch, or something?”

  “What? No, I’m not a eunuch. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “Get that human garbage outta’ line,” one of the men shouted.

  “You rotten little plebe,” the first guard hissed, pulling his arm back for a swing.

  Storgen tossed the stack of boxes into the air, dropping down as the punch sailed through the space where his head had been only a heartbeat before. Spinning on one foot, he swept the guard’s legs out from underneath him with a strong kick. The guard came down with a thump just as Storgen spun back up, the stack of chocolates landing neatly in his hands.

  “Here, I brought these as an offering. They’re really good, I didn’t even eat any of them. All I want to know is if any of your…”

  Bands of crackling electricity appeared around Storgen’s wrists and ankles, holding him in place. The head guard walked up, tapping the sigils on his gauntlet to make the bands tighten.

  Storgen tried his best to move, grunting a little as the first two guards picked themselves up in shame.

  “Magic, eh? Isn’t that cheating?”

  “Escort him off the grounds, please.”

  The head guard tapped his gauntlet, and Storgen was lifted aloft like a puppet by its strings.

  “Please, just tell me. Do any of them have lavender hair? I’ll let you use my employee discount!”

  Acantha shook he head in disgust. “The nerve of some people,” she grumbled. “This is a sacred rite of worship, a holy consecration, not a brothel.”

  A sour murmur rolled through the crowd. Attempting to brighten the atmosphere, many of the younger priestesses began dancing for the men.

  The High Priestess pinched the bridge of her nose as her chisel scratched away. “We won’t just lie with anyone. Even we have minimum standards.”

  She raised her hand and the next to ascend was a pair of adult conjoined twins. Acantha took a moment to look them over, then began flipping through her copper plates.

  “Is something wrong, High Priestess?” the one on the left asked furtively.

  “I just need to double check the scriptures for something,” she said to herself, tracing her finger over the plate. “I’m not sure if you would count as one person or two.”

  “We’ll count as whatever you want us to,” the one on the right affirmed.

  “Okay, you’re in my group,” she said, her mood brightening.

  The twins high fived each other.

  “That guy might be onto something, though,” the one on the left said. “You should hold a festival where everyone dresses up in animal costume.”

  “That would be awesome,” the one on the right agreed.

  “We’ll discuss it inside,” she cooed, patting them on the shoulder.

  As the twins proceeded into the temple, Storgen was escorted away.

  “As you can see,” Storgen explained as he was pulled along. “Twelve boxes with twelve chocolates each makes 144, surely you can appreciate the symmetry of such an offering.”

  “I know how to do math,” the head guard grunted in offense. “Geeze. Why do people always assume I can’t do simple multiplication?”

  “I know exactly how you feel,” Storgen reassured as they reached the street. “Judging someone based on their profession is an offense to the Fates. There is a lot more to you than just your job.”

  The head guard paused for a moment, looking him over. “Yes there is,” he admitted. “Not two days ago I was reading the Tragedy of Boean.”

  “A fine play,” Storgen added.

  “Priestess Ophira walks by and sees me reading it and do you know what she said?”

  “What did she say?”

  “She told me not to steal things from the lost and found.”

  “She didn’t!”

  “She did! In her mind it wasn’t even a possibility that I might have the entire saga at home and I bring them to work sometimes.”

  “The second one is the best; after that the quality really goes down.”

  For a moment the man stood there in silence, a smile growing larger across his face.

  “The name is Piers,” the head guard said, tapping his gauntlet.

  The bands vanished and Storgen dropped to the ground. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  Piers offered his hand, and Storgen shook it warmly. “Piers, you know the priestesses, any chance you could talk to them? Help them see past my job. All I want to know is if any of the priestesses have lavender hair.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  Piers shrugged. “You’re a weird one, but all right.”

  The head guard turned back towards the temple. The music had struck up again, and as the priestesses took turns passionately kissing th
e men in line, the festive mood returned, leaving Storgen by himself in the shadow of a building.

  A few minutes later, one of the younger priestesses came bounding down the steps towards him. Storgen dusted himself off as best he could as she approached.

  “Sorry about that,” she said shyly.

  “Hey, it’s no big deal,” he said, faking indifference.

  “We forgot to grab these,” she explained, snatching up the boxes of chocolate out of his hands, then hurrying back up the steps and into the temple.

  Storgen watched her as she returned into the light and music.

  “Enjoy them,” he bade, half raising his hand.

  Interlocking his fingers behind his head, Storgen turned around and walked down the street.

  Sleek and stylish chariots traveled up and down the cobblestone streets, their clockwork horses ferrying citizens between lavish theaters, chic boutiques, and to the forums for morning votes. Residents made due with cramped freight cars, the crimson smoke of their alchemical engines fouling up the air as the passengers choked and coughed on their way to the factories.

  Great gears and pistons whirred beneath the streets, occasionally made visible by glass partitions and howling vents. The people here moved without looking at each other, their hearts wound as tight as the springs and cogs around them.

  Storgen cut through the park, enjoying the tickling sensation of the grass between his toes. The flowers were particularly lovely in this part of the empire. White clusters of lilies combined with a light dusting of cherry blossom petals made the world seem fresh and new, like the cool purity of winter combined with the warm health of spring all at the same time.

  A sparkling water fountain sat in the center of the park, the statue of the Goddess Dyanna carved in glittering opal, the water falling down her shoulders and around her like robes of sparkling purity. Storgen had ducked his head into the fall and helped himself to a few healthy gulps of water, when he found something brushing against his foot.

  Wiping his mouth, he glanced down and found a stray kitten, mewing for food.

  “Well, hey, little one. Why aren’t you at the festival?”

  The kitten looked at him oddly, then mewed again.

  “They wouldn’t let you in either, huh? Let’s see what I got, shall we?”

  Storgen crossed his legs and sat down next to the kitten. Digging around in his pockets, he pulled out a dry and crusted pita sandwich. Picking off the moldy bits, he broke it in half and gave it to the kitten, who hopped up on his lap and devoured the morsel happily.

  “You know, kids these days just don’t learn how to appreciate life. Personally, I find that the mustard really develops a pleasant old mellow flavor after a few days.” He leaned back and took a bite and soaked in the sun. “Like a fine wine, it improves with age.”

  The kitten hacked up a particularly dry bit.

  “Everyone’s a critic.”

  Taking a glance around to make sure he was alone, Storgen carefully reached into his tunic and pulled out a meticulously folded piece of parchment. Delicately, slowly, he unfolded each crease, taking care to brush off a fallen crumb before it could stain. With his deep focused eyes, he soaked it in, pouring over every detail. This was his treasure, and he knew every inch of it, down to the imperfections in the paper.

  It was faded and worn, a detailed map of the entire Erotan Empire. Dozens of islands had already been crossed out, each town and city blotted over in a pattern working its way steadily west towards the edges of the empire. Dipping his quill in some ink, he carefully scratched off Ambera’s temple on Ápinso.

  “Not much left to search here. The railway district will be closed off till morning, so I guess we’ll start there tomorrow, then it’s off to Eptá Astéron Island.”

  A shadow fell across the map, causing him to look up.

  “May I help you, mysterious shadow person?”

  Above him stood a stoic hoplite in black armor, his long black hair held at the nape of his neck with a silver clasp. The kitten hopped down and ran off in fright when it saw him.

  “Prove your value,” the hoplite demanded.

  Storgen thought for a moment. “I think, therefore I am.”

  “You know what I mean, can I see your familia talisman?”

  “I don’t know, can you? It’s pretty bright out today, so it might be difficult.”

  The man tightened the grip on his spear. “This park is for citizens only, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Storgen chuckled and took another bite of his sandwich. “Are you a citizen?”

  The hoplite stood there, unsure of how to answer.

  “No,” he said at last. “But I will be after ten more years of service.”

  “An auxilia, eh? Well, hey, good for you, you keep chasing that carrot,” Storgen said, slapping his hands on his knees as he stood up. “Assuming it really is a carrot and not just a fluffy carrot-shaped piece of cloud.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Oh, nothing, I think it’s great that they dangle citizenship in front of you guys. I’ve seen the posters, ‘the empire needs you, just fifteen years and you can earn full citizenship for you, your wife, and your children,’ then they miraculously retire you when you still have a year to go.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “That only happens very rarely.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, you’ll be one of the lucky ones, right? In a decade you’ll be citizen…what’s your name?”

  “Markus.”

  “Right, you’ll be Citizen Markus. However, until that blessed day arrives, resident Markus, you technically shouldn’t be here either then, right? I tell you what, if you leave right now and say you’re sorry, I won’t call the authorities.”

  “Very funny,” Markus said humorlessly. With a twist of the shaft his weapon hummed to life, internal gears spinning as a glassy green fire coated the spear tip. “I am allowed to enter any zone so long as it is in the course of dispensing my duties.”

  “Dispensing, eh? Like a vending machine of justice.”

  “Enough. What’s your name?”

  Storgen scratched the scar on his cheek as he looked the man over, then shrugged. “XVII.”

  “You name can’t be a number.”

  “Why not?”

  “Stop screwing around with me.”

  “You know what? I like you. What the heck, you caught me in a good mood. I’ll let you off with a warning this time.”

  Storgen turned to walk away, but found an armored hand on his shoulder.

  “I asked to see your talisman,” Markus repeated, his grip growing tighter.

  Storgen chuckled darkly and turned back towards him. “You sure you want to do this, Markus?”

  The hoplite scoffed. “You don’t have any armor, you don’t have any weapons. You don’t…”

  Without warning, Storgen smashed his forehead into the man’s face. The hoplite crumpled to the ground, his humming spear clattering at Storgen’s feet before growing silent.

  “…and you aren’t wearing a helmet,” Storgen remarked as he walked away, wiping a trickle of blood from his brow. “You might want to look into that.”

  As he walked off, the kitten returned, lifting its leg to tinkle on the fallen hoplite, then scampered up alongside Storgen.

  “Don’t get used to this,” Storgen warned, breaking off another piece of sandwich and tossing it to the tiny animal.

  The kitten mewed happily.

  The entire city was arranged like a great gear system, trains and freight cars moving about like pullies, tall monuments jutting up like bolts and rivets, alleyways and apartments like the teeth of great cogs. Everything revolved around the central hub, the diamond district, where the local gods lived with their servants and champions. Golden gates three layers deep separated it from the shantytown to the west and the market district to the east. Great fans pointed outwards in all directions around the perimeter of the diamond district, forcing away the oily smell of the
city and pulling in fresh air from above. Up in the sky, broken pillars and shattered celestial buildings peeked out amid the clouds. Broken sword hilts and smashed chariots nestled into the cloudy remains of the heavens.

  “Read your destiny?” asked a tiny sphinx huddling beneath an overpass.

  Storgen stooped down, the kitten resting happily atop his head. “Sorry, not all that interested in wannabe’s.”

  “Wannabe? How dare you. I’ll have you know that I am Xuetzalquatatl the Swift.”

  “Who?”

  “Xuetzalquatatl.”

  “Yeah, I’m not saying that.”

  “I used to be a personal messenger to the gods. I delivered The Crown of Wisdom, The Scepter of Courage, and the Necklace of Beauty to Nisi herself after they were crafted by the ailuros.”

  “Yeah, yeah, what’s your price, Swifty?”

  The sphinx narrowed her eyes. “My fare is fair, I will read your future for half of every drachma you possess.”

  Storgen shrugged. “All right.”

  “What, really?”

  “Sure.”

  Storgen sat down before her expectantly. “Tell me the name of the woman I am destined to be with.”

  “Payment first.”

  Storgen tossed over his coin bag. “All right, go on then.”

  Xuetzalquatatl shook the bag and frowned. “There’s nothing in here.”

  “And half of it is yours.”

  The sphinx threw the bag back. “Salt-sucker.”

  “If you were a real sphinx wouldn’t you have known I was broke?”

  “I am a real sphinx!”

  “Okay, then prove it. Tell me the name of the woman I am destined to be with.”

  “Fine, I will.” Xuetzalquatatl closed her eyes, her body shifting like blowing sands.

  When she opened her eyes again, she looked concerned. “You are not destined to be with any woman alive.”

  Storgen stood up and stretched. “Well, that’s not a very cheery thing to say.”

  “You get what you pay for.”

  Storgen cut through the train depot to save time. As he hopped from the platform onto a freight car, the sigils flickered and died, the glowing channels went dark, and the car slumped down inertly onto the tracks. Disaffected passengers groaned and moaned, pulling the call chords though no signal came out. As soon as Storgen hopped out the other side, the car whirred back to life and floated up again, eliciting grunts of skin flint approval from the passengers.