“Athene can’t have promised you Marsilia would stay here,” Hermes said, picking up his cup.
“But I want her to,” he said. “And she’ll like it when she gets the chance to know it. I won’t give you the message otherwise.”
“No,” Hermes said, putting his cup down again firmly. I was relieved he was being so staunch, and then I remembered that moment on the harbor earlier in my time but later for Kebes. Hermes knew I wouldn’t have to stay, and so did I. What a relief! Being caught up by Necessity suddenly felt wonderful. “What did Athene say?”
“That if I would do as she and Necessity asked me, and keep the message for her, then a descendant of mine and Simmea’s would come for it,” Kebes said, sulkily.
“How could she know?” I wondered aloud.
“She gave you Hilfa, she knew you and Thetis would be involved. If I hadn’t brought you, I could have gone to get one of you, and either of you would have agreed,” Hermes said. He turned back to Kebes. “Marsilia came. You’ve seen her. You know she’s happy, and she doesn’t want to live here and now. She has told you Lucia is thriving in her own time. Now, give us the message.”
“What will you give me for it?”
“Money?” I offered. I had no idea how much, but I could keep pulling coins out of the purse until he was satisfied.
“He’s a demon,” Kebes said, jerking a thumb at Hermes. “Treasure is nothing to what he can do.”
Of course, he had been one of Sokrates’s disciples, he couldn’t be stupid.
“I’m a god, but it’s true that there are a great many things I can do,” Hermes said smoothly. “So there must be something else I can trade you for it. Nothing that involves people doing things against their will. What else do you want?”
“Workers,” Kebes said promptly. “We could do so much more if we had Workers to build and make.”
Hermes shook his head. “Not possible. Workers are people too.”
Kebes frowned, nodded, drank again and put his empty cup down. I refilled it. “Then I want to spend time in a different time. Somewhere I can learn to do the things Workers do, and then come back here without losing any time.”
“That ought to be possible. What in particular?” Hermes asked.
“Making glass. And electricity. And the place where you take me has to be Christian.”
Hermes smiled enigmatically. “What languages do you speak?”
Kebes glanced around to see whether anyone could overhear. The other customers had left, and the woman serving had retreated inside. I could hear hammering from somewhere, but nobody was close. “Greek, Latin, and Italian,” he said, quietly. “I haven’t had the chance to speak it since I was a child, but it’s very like Latin and I know I haven’t forgotten it.”
“Then I have somewhere for you. It’s New Venice on Mars in 2140. They speak Italian and Chinese. They’re mostly Christians of some kind, I forget the exact sects. You could spend a year there learning glassblowing, which is one of their special arts. You’d pick up enough about electricity I expect—they certainly use it for a lot of things. They have Workers. Then I can bring you back here only a few minutes after you left.”
“What’s the catch?” Kebes asked, warily.
“You have to pray to me,” Hermes said.
“No.” Kebes drained his almost full cup and put it down. “I’m not risking my soul praying to demons.”
“Did I mention I’d send you there immediately before the Worker Rebellion?” Hermes asked. “You could have a year learning glassblowing and helping Workers plan a revolution to gain their freedom.”
“Get thee behind me, Satan,” Kebes said.
“I’m not Satan, and I’m not particularly interested in your soul. If you don’t want to go to New Venice, simply give me Athene’s message now and we’ll go away and leave you in peace.”
“Why does he have to pray to you?” I asked.
“So I can do it,” Hermes said.
“You’re not tormenting him for the fun of it?”
Kebes had his eyes closed and his face screwed up. His fists were clenched on the tabletop. He looked like one of those Christian images of a man being martyred for his faith.
Hermes grinned at me over his head. “No. I really can’t do it without the prayer. The torment is merely a bonus. Look, Kebes, it doesn’t have to be the sort of prayer you’re thinking of. You don’t have to abase yourself or anything. Simply say ‘Oh god of riddles and play, master of shape and form, you that I see before me, please take me to Mars.’”
“How about if I prayed to you for it on his behalf?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s no fun,” Hermes complained.
“Do you want me to do that?” I asked. “Kebes? Matthias?”
Kebes opened his eyes and stared at me. “You are so like her,” he said. “I want to go. But what about your soul?”
“You’ll have to let me worry about my own soul,” I said. “I pray to the Olympians all the time. I’ve fulfilled every religious office I’ve ever been drawn for.”
“It won’t do his soul the slightest bit of harm to pray to me,” Hermes protested.
“I know, but you can see he really believes it will,” I said.
“It will do the damage to my soul to deal with demons, whether I address the words to the demon or you do,” Kebes said. “But I want to go.”
“And you already made a deal with Athene, didn’t you?” Hermes asked. “Look, how about if you say demon? I don’t mind. If you say ‘Dear demon that I see before me.…’”
“Do I have to say please?” Kebes growled.
Hermes laughed. “Yes. Supplication is very important.”
“How do I know you won’t leave me stranded there?” Kebes asked.
“You don’t have to give us the message from Athene until the end,” I said.
“But leave it somewhere safe here, rather than take it with you, in that case,” Hermes said. “I’d hate for it to get lost.”
“I’ll give it to Marsilia, and she can stay safely here while you take me and bring me back,” Kebes said.
I’d said I wouldn’t let Hermes out of my sight. And I’d wanted to see a high-tech city on Mars; it would be good preparation for the human ship. But I’d been in Chamber for years, and I recognized a sensible compromise when I heard one. “All right,” I said.
“Pray then,” Hermes said, smiling maliciously. “Use my words.”
Kebes scowled. “Dear demon that I see before me, lord of riddles and play, master of shape and form, please take me to New Venice on Mars to learn glassblowing for a year immediately before the Worker Rebellion of 2140, and bring me back safely to Lucia in this time.”
“Give Marsilia the message,” Hermes said.
Kebes drew a creased piece of paper from inside his kiton and handed it to me. “Good luck,” I said.
Hermes winked, and then they were gone. I opened the paper at once. Incomprehensible symbols covered it—some Greek letters, some Latin, some strange symbols I had never seen before. I folded it again carefully and put it safely inside my kiton. I sat down and stared at the swirling dust in the empty agora. Two little brown birds, smaller than my hands, were tugging at something. I was exhausted and emotionally drained. I had never imagined feeling sorry for Kebes, or even having any sympathy for him. I poured the wine from my cup onto the ground, in an invocation to Dionysios and Hestia, and filled my cup from the water jug. As I finished drinking it, they were back.
Kebes was wearing trousers and a jerkin and a Phrygian cap. He looked tired and much paler, as if he had spent the year without seeing sunshine. He was clutching a set of pipes that could only be a syrinx.
“How was it?” I asked.
“Wonderful. Terrible,” he said. He staggered to the chair and sat down. He filled a cup with neat wine and swallowed it in one draft. “We flayed people alive. But it worked. It was working. We were winning. And the music, the music of freedom.” He picked up his syrinx and started to blow.