“Just some old writing,” said Dirt. He looked up at Antelmu and tried to put on a half-smile.
“Oh,” said Antelmu. He snuck around Servant and picked up a sheet of paper from a desk. He didn’t seem to notice Dirt’s distress, which was fine with Dirt.
“Be careful with that, it’s fragile,” said Dirt. “Someone else might want to read it someday.”
“I know what that is,” said Antelmu, looking more closely at the ancient paper. Dirt was glad he’d picked up something other than an Avitus letter. “It’s when you make these little marks, and they stand for words.”
“I know, I can read them,” said Dirt. “These are all in my language.”
“What does this one say?” asked Antelmu, handing the paper over. He moved it too fast and the air pressure tore it in halves, which fell from his fingers. One landed on the floor, the other the desk.
“Really, please be careful with this. I want someone to copy it all to new paper someday so we can preserve it,” said Dirt. He felt sour inside, mostly from his lingering guilt.
“Okay, I will. So what’s it say?”
“This one says,” said Dirt, squinting because the ink was cheap and fading. “Oh, it’s a shopping list. There must have been a town around here once. It says, duos panes, quattuor utres vini, caseum, oleum, garum, legumina, tria aromata, porcus, atramentum. In your language, that’s two breads, four bottles of wine, cheese, oil, garum… I guess you don’t have a word for garum, do you? Vegetables, the three spices, pig, and ink.”
“What’s garum?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t know what three spices they meant, either. Or what pig is.”
“Why would you write these things down?” asked Antelmu, pushing the two halves of the paper back together on the desk’s surface.
“A shopping list?”
“Yeah.”
Dirt looked crossly at the boy, but he was sincere. He wasn’t teasing; he genuinely didn’t know what a shopping list was for. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask too many more questions, because Dirt was rapidly approaching the limits of his knowledge on the subject. He answered, “Towns have places called markets, and you send your servants there to buy the things you need for the day. This is the stuff they were supposed to get.”
“Oh. Weird. Only for one day?”
“I suppose. How did your tribe do it?”
“We store all our own goods. Each family does, I mean. And if we need to trade, we just go find someone to trade with. There’s, well, I guess there’s also the common store, and everyone puts shares in, and you get a piece of bone that, well, so, it’s like this,” said Antelmu. He held his hands up and stuck the tips of his pointer fingers together. “You take a bone, and you scratch it, and break it, and the Elder keeps half, and you keep half. Then when you want to get your shares out, you give back the bone to prove you had some in there.”
“How big is a share?”
“It’s a lot. Enough to last around a month, usually. But if we store it together, then we can pack it in and preserve it better, and the rodents don’t eat as much.”
“Please come downstairs,” said Servant, repeating what he’d just said a moment before. “The Master does not permit anyone in his personal quarters, except by invitation.”
-Grab something and come read it to me,- said Socks. -Some of those scrolls on the second floor looked like stories and I want to hear a story.-
Antelmu looked at Dirt, communicating that he’d heard it too. “You can write down a story?” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Dirt swallowed a bit more of his lingering guilt and gently put the Avitus letter back where he’d found it. Before leaving the study to check the lower floors for something to read, he spotted an ornate scroll on a little brass display. It had gold and pearl scroll rod caps. The title read ITER, which meant The Journey.
He recognized the name, at least on an instinctual level. He didn’t know what it contained, but it made sense that it would be expensive. This was decoration, he presumed. That didn’t mean it wasn’t still readable. He flipped the clasp open and unrolled a few lines, and sure enough, the text was drawn with an exacting hand in good black ink.
“Please come downstairs,” said Servant, repeating what he’d just said a moment before. “The Master does not permit anyone in his personal quarters, except by invitation.”
“We’re coming. Come on, Antelmu. I’ll read this one. I’ll translate it for you,” said Dirt.
“Please put that back, or I am afraid the Master will report you for theft,” said Servant, stepping closer. Dirt noticed the homunculus’ glass eyes didn’t move. How did it see?
“I’m just borrowing it. I’m Caeso’s friend.”
“What is your name?” asked Servant.
“Avitus Numitorius Urbanus,” said Dirt.
“I recognize your name. How may I help you, Master Urbanus?”
Dirt grinned. “Just let me borrow this. I’ll bring it back after I read it.”
“As you wish, Master Urbanus. The Master is resting, and will greet you after nightfall. Can I offer you refreshment? I apologize, but I cannot offer any food. Our deliveries have been delayed,” said Servant, returning to his previous obsequious mannerisms.
“Is the Master’s name Caeso? Caesius Sornatius Vala?” asked Dirt.
“Master’s name is Caesius Sornatius Vala,” said Servant. “I was crafted by Caesius Sornatius Vala, with consultation from Avitus Numitorius Urbanus and the Collegium Magorum. More patterned after myself will soon be available for purchase by the discerning Patron.”
“Just checking. And he’ll come out after nightfall?”
“The Master is resting, and will greet you after nightfall,” said Servant.
“I doubt that, but we’ll see. Thanks, I’ll put this back when I’m done,” said Dirt. He snuck around the decaying homunculus, careful not to brush against him, and headed out of the cluttered study and back down the stairs. Through the living quarters, down through the library, then down through the display room.
Socks was standing right by the exit to sniff Dirt as he came out, since he had picked up a lot of interesting dust in the meantime, and Antelmu after that.
The sun was bright overhead, and they had most of the day left. The cold was hardly noticeable because the air was perfectly still today, not a hint of wind. Dirt summoned a few warming embers anyway, since there was no point getting cold if he didn’t have to, and sat down near the door of the Turris. Socks rolled to his side and stretched, taking up all the rest of the room, so Antelmu sat right next to Dirt.
He unrolled the first twenty lines of the scroll and read silently first. It was a poem, he discovered, and he knew it like the inside of his eyelids. Well, not quite that well; but each line he read, he instantly remembered, as if memorized. Indeed, he read the first thirty lines before his memory even slowed down.
It was like having a conversation with an old friend, someone he hadn’t seen in ages but had suddenly graced the arch of his Villa. The rhythm of the poem’s speech became a military march in his mind and the grand events it evoked swirled back into his memory.
He read another thirty lines, then twenty more, before Antelmu poked him and said, “Weren’t you going to read this for us?”
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“Oh, sorry. I’ll translate it. But first, listen to this! Listen to how beautiful it is,” said Dirt. He recited the first ten lines, stressing the six steps in each line as the words flowed from his lips like water over stones.
Then, with a sigh, he started over, translating. He couldn’t go line by line; he had to go sentence by sentence, since all the words in Antelmu’s language had to be said in a different order. In his language, the poem started with “weapons,” but in Antelmu’s, it started with “I sing.” To complicate matters, some of the sentences were long, with words all over the place in a way that sounded good, but made translating difficult.
Despite the difficulty, both Socks and Antelmu were captivated before long. The story told of a man named Felix, which was amusing, since the name meant “successful,” and it started with him losing a war.
Felix fled the destruction of his city with a few other soldiers, who remained his companions to the end. Domina Noctis, the queen of the gods, had it out for him and sent a long string of obstacles and curses his way. Storms, monsters, sickness, and so on.
After the first hour of reading, Dirt knew he was stuck. Antelmu and Socks weren’t exactly staring at him; Antelmu was picking apart stalks of dead grass, and Socks was doing something with pebbles that Dirt couldn’t quite make out. It looked like he might be trying to turn them spherical, but it was hard to tell. Regardless, neither of them was bored. They were listening. And when Dirt stopped for a moment to drink some water, they both shot him concerned looks.
Servant, in the meantime, had closed the door and started filling the windows back in with the rocks that Dirt had pulled down. The slow, steady clack-clack-clack sound accompanied his recitation for at least a third of the scroll.
There was still plenty more to go. Felix’s story didn’t end when he made it to his destination. He wanted to start a new nation but his cities kept failing. The first one was destroyed by fire sent from the heavens, the second by a flood, the third by an earthquake. The fourth was invaded by a local king who didn’t want to share, but Felix slew the king and the city stayed up. He named it Antiqus, despite it being new, and many centuries later, it became the capital of the Dawn Empire. And many centuries after that, the Sunset Empire.
Once he heard it, Dirt recognized the name, and a few other things slid into place. His language had a name, but it was “the Ancient Tongue”, exactly what the Duke had called it. His people were called “the Ancients”, and both were named after the city. He’d never quite put that all together before, in part because the Duke had translated the name instead of calling it lingua antiqua.
The last third of the scroll was family drama, not all of which Dirt could translate properly, since it relied on relationships and ideas that Antelmu’s language had no words for. He managed well enough, he hoped, and all of Felix’s treacherous relatives died one by one, as well as his greedy eldest son. The story ended when Caelpater, ruler of the gods, announced that Felix had overcome more than any mortal should be required to, and his posterity would be protected from then on.
Dirt had been speaking so long that once he stopped, his throat hurt and his voice was breathy and quiet and completely worn out, but he didn’t regret doing it. It felt as much like being old Avitus as taking a warm bath had.
All that translating had taken a lot of mental effort, too, and Dirt found himself completely worn out. The sun was only a fist’s width above the far horizon, and night came early these days; but all the same, Dirt was done doing anything for the day. He was ready to continue sitting around. Well, after stretching his legs.
He stood and walked down the long walkway that led off the rocky outcropping. Antelmu followed, yawning. The other boy’s mind bubbled with questions, but he was tired as well and couldn’t find the right place to start asking.
-I left my harness by the door so you can get your things if you want them. After all that sitting, I want to run. I will be back shortly after nightfall.-
“Have fun,” replied Dirt. “We’ll be here.”
Socks left with such sudden energy that his paws slid on the stone walkway at least twice before they found purchase and carried him away.
Dirt stretched again, raising his hands above his head and groaning contentedly. Until Antelmu suddenly poked both his ribs to tickle him, causing him to collapse and bark out a laugh. But that aggravated Dirt’s tired throat, which made him cough, and they dropped the game there, before Dirt got his revenge.
He stood and brushed the yellow sand from his coat and said, “I’m gonna go put this back. I don’t think I want to sleep in there, though, not with Servant wandering around and a dead body in the basement.”
Antelmu said, “I guess I’ll take my bow and see if there’s anything to hunt. I keep seeing birds down in those trees. Maybe we’ll have fresh meat tonight.”
“Okay. I’ll catch up.”
“Do it quietly.”
“I know.”
Dirt picked up the scroll, rolled it back neatly to the beginning, and stuck the clasp to hold it shut. Then he clanged on the door with the knocker.
Antelmu was halfway off the rocky precipice before Servant reached the door. “Coming, coming,” said the homunculus.
The door opened much easier this time, although still not effortlessly. “Pardon my appearance. The water is out and I cannot bathe. Welcome, Master Urbanus.”
“Thank you, Servant. I’m just here to put this back,” said Dirt, holding out the scroll.
“Please, come inside. The Master is resting and will greet you after nightfall. Can I offer you refreshment? I apologize, but I cannot offer any food. Our deliveries have been delayed,” said Servant. He had done some maintenance to himself, it appeared. The loose skin on the lower half of his face was held in place by a cloth now, somewhat like a veil. The flapping strands of flesh dangling from his arms and legs were also tied to his bones with lengths of string. It didn’t look any better, or less corpse-like, but it was at least less likely to snag on something.
“No, thank you. I’ll just put this back, and maybe go see the roof,” said Dirt.
“As you wish,” said Servant. The homunculus stayed perfectly still until Dirt came inside, after which he shut the door. He retreated to a small nook in a corner, where Dirt presumed he spent centuries just standing, waiting for something to happen.
It was dark again inside, so Dirt summoned a few lights. Now that he looked for them, he saw lanterns along the walls and atop some of the display stands, enough of them to brighten the room considerably once lit. That made him curious, so he checked one for fuel and found it empty. Which just made him more curious—why had the lanterns under Ocriculum still had oil, but not these? Maybe Servant used it all up, lighting the room at predetermined hours until it was gone. The deliveries had been delayed, after all.
The room seemed even more like a tomb than before. Having the windows rocked up was the finishing touch, but the things in here hadn’t been disturbed for millenia. Most likely, anyway. Perhaps every few centuries, some daring traveler came by and knocked on the door. Would they even go in, once they saw the doorman? Not likely. Dirt suspected that if anyone got in here very often, everything shiny would already be gone. Just look at how Antelmu and Biandina had looted that palace.
Back on the top floor, the study, Dirt put the scroll back on its decorative little display stand and made sure it was perfect. He picked it back up and polished his fingerprints off the gold and set it back down again just as carefully.
How long was it going to sit here? One of the most important pieces of literature his people ever produced, and now it was little more than forgotten grave goods. The Duke might like to see it, and some of the King’s scholars, if Dirt ever met those. But other than that? It was possible it would sit here for another thousand years, after all the humans were dead and gone, then another thousand, and another thousand, until some other race of beings crept in to claim the land. Perhaps just wolves, rotating their curious heads to look at all the little pieces after they knocked the Turris Solis down for fun.
Dirt poked around the study for a bit longer, pointedly avoiding the rest of the Avitus letters. He could read those another time, if he dared. What else would they remind him of, and what were the chances the knowledge would make him happier instead of worse? What if they mentioned a mate he once had, and children, and then he had to spend the rest of his life missing people who’d been gone three thousand years? The short memory of his father was precious, but Dirt wasn’t ready for too much more yet.
“Master will see you now,” said Servant, from the doorway down to the next floor.
“What?” asked Dirt, confused.
“Master will see you now. Please follow me to the sitting room and Master will join you shortly,” said Servant, giving a polite bow and gesturing down the stairs.
Dirt looked out with his mental sight, but saw nothing. Not the homunculus, of course, but nothing else either. A faint smudge that might be Antelmu, and some birds that were probably nesting in the roof, but that was it.
Servant stood perfectly still until Dirt gave in and followed. Dirt wondered if the sitting room was in the living quarters, but it wasn’t. They kept going down, through the library, through the display room on the main floor, and into the basement. At the bottom of the staircase was another door, heavy and ornate, but this one was already open.
Socks had said there were two floors underground, and that looked right. The door opened to a lavishly decorated waiting room, colder, and with a faint musty odor. One window in the far wall had been filled in like all the others, and lamps circled the room, but had no oil. The furniture was all red and gold, with every table and chair leg carved and every flat surface embellished. There was even a mosaic showing fishermen on a boat casting a net into rough water. Boats. That was new.
“Please sit wherever you like,” said Servant.
Dirt wondered how long he’d be expected to go along with this farce, but what could it hurt, at least until Socks or Antelmu came back? He sat on a chair, slowly, to make sure it wouldn’t turn to dust and collapse under him. It didn’t.
Servant glided down the stairs, his hard feet making little clacking sounds on the stone. It was all stone down here, too, not wood.
Dirt waited. He heard Servant say, “Master, your friend Avitus is waiting in the sitting room.”
Dirt froze, listening as hard as he could, even though he was certain there’d be no reply.
But there was. A man’s quiet voice said, “I doubt that, you wretched thing.”
Dirt’s heart leaped into his throat. His brain flashed white from terror.
“I apologize for causing dismay, Master. I seek only to serve,” said Servant.
“You look abominable. What year is it?” asked the man. His voice was smooth and rich, musical, but something about it made Dirt’s clear little arm hairs all stand up and try to run away.
“It is the year 3822, Master,” said Servant.
“Are you sure? You didn’t lose track?”
The homunculus didn’t reply.
Dirt eyed the stairs up and thought of fleeing. Would he have enough time before that thing came up?
“Well, whoever it is, he smells fresh, and that is lovely. I am getting thirsty.” The tower echoed with a series of booms as all the doors slammed shut.