“So you went to Bologna and stole the book?” Sokrates asked.
“I didn’t steal it! I had it copied. And I paid for him to make two copies and only collected one, so I doubled the chance of it surviving—though it may be that it was destroyed in the sack because the copyist had it and not the library.” Ikaros sighed. “Time. Freedom of action. It’s not an abstract problem.”
“No, it’s of vital importance,” Sokrates agreed. “How much can be changed and how much is fixed?”
“Necessity prevents the gods from being in the same place twice, and it prevents a lot of change. Change is easiest where nobody is paying attention, no gods and nobody recording anything. It gets harder the more attention there is. And it gets harder the more significant it is.”
“Who determines the significance?” Sokrates asked.
“Necessity,” Ikaros said, shrugging.
We came to the end of Hilfa’s street, where it crossed the road down to the harbor and up to the Old City. “We’re going this way now,” Marsilia said, gesturing uphill to where the bulk of the walls loomed. “Sleep well, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow on the boat, Jason, Hilfa. I hope to see you again soon, Sokrates.”
“Come to Thessaly tomorrow and we can talk more,” Ikaros said
“Joy to you,” Sokrates said, and Hilfa and I echoed him. Standing on the corner we were in the full blast of the wind. But Thetis hesitated.
“I’m sorry I was so emotional,” she said. “I know it’s un-Platonic giving way like that. But it was a shock, and today has been rough. I’m not a philosopher, after all, and—”
“Not a philosopher!” Sokrates said, drawing himself up. “What nonsense. You were asking some of the best questions. It’s one of the silliest things about this ridiculous system, I’ve always said so, classifying people so young, trying to fix them unchangeably in place as if everyone is one thing and one thing only, Golds over here, Irons over there.”
“But I love my work,” Thetis objected. “And I’d be terrible at running the city!”
“Don’t you love wisdom too? Who said you had to be a philosopher full-time?” Sokrates demanded.
“Plato,” we all said, almost in time, like a stuttering chorus.
Sokrates shook his head and laughed.
“I surrendered to emotion too, I rocked more than once,” Hilfa said to Thetis, consolingly.
“It’s natural you were upset, Thee. I was upset when I first heard,” Marsilia said. “And when I found out who Jathery really was, I threw up.”
“I did the same,” Ikaros said.
“You’re shivering with cold. Would you all like to come and eat soup?” Hilfa asked.
“No, I’m absolutely exhausted,” Marsilia said. “I want to sleep.”
“Come on, then,” Thetis said. “Time for bed.”
We all wished each other joy of the night for one last time, then the sisters put their arms around each other. It made me smile to see them supporting each other that way as they walked up the hill with Ikaros.
“Are you coming, Jason?” Hilfa asked.
I was tired too, but the Temple of Amphitrite was close, round the corner, down on the harbor. It was always open and always offering soup. It was supposed to be for people whose boats had come in late and who needed it, at times when the eating halls were closed. The thought of hot soup was enticing, and I knew they wouldn’t mind giving it to us now. Amphitrite is the goddess of the plenty of the ocean. “I’ll come,” I said.
We started walking towards the water and the temple.
“This is a cold world,” Sokrates said, clutching his kiton round himself as a gust caught it.
“It can be warm in summer, but everyone who remembers Greece is always saying how much warmer it was there,” I said. “My friend Dion is always saying so. I’m used to it here.”
“Is this winter?” Sokrates asked, as we came out onto the exposed quayside and the wind tried to blow the flesh off our bones.
“This is autumn,” I said. The light from the temple shone out warm and friendly ahead.
“This is as cold as it might ever be in Greece on the coldest winter night,” Sokrates said.
“You need proper clothes. I can help you get some tomorrow if you like.” He was barefoot, which really wouldn’t do for Plato, he’d get frostbite once it really was winter. My friend Prodikos, who had lived in my sleeping house when we were ephebes, was a cobbler.
“Your clothes seem very practical,” he said.
Inside the temple was warm. I paused by the statue and murmured a prayer to Amphitrite for good catches and safety for everyone out on the water. Hilfa and Sokrates stood behind in polite silence. Then we went around to the side room, where a mother and daughter I knew slightly from the boats were drinking soup, and a pod of Saeli kelp-gatherers were eating oatmeal. A sleepy girl came and asked what we wanted. “Two soups and an oatmeal, and it’s so wonderful that you do this.”
“Well, you keep us all fed, it’s the least we can do to see that you get fed when you need it,” she said. “I thought I saw the Phaenarete come in earlier?”
“Yes, we made it in immediately before sunset, but between then and now I’ve been rushing about and haven’t had a minute,” I said, as she handed us big red Samian bowls for our soup, with a flatter oatmeal bowl for Hilfa.
“It’s been a funny day, Pytheas dying and all the fuss with the human ship,” she said. “Everyone has been talking about it. It would happen on the day it was my turn to serve.”
“So does everyone know now that Pytheas is Apollo?” Sokrates asked, as we filled our bowls together from the big soup urn. “I mean, do you all know that now?”
“Yes, we’ve all known that since the Relocation. And his children are gods with powers. It would have been hard to hide.” I wasn’t sure how they had managed to hide it before. Surely people must have guessed? We sat down at one of the long tables, near the vent that blew warm air into the room.
I picked up my soup and sipped it. It was a dark fish broth with onions and turnips and barley. I hadn’t realized I was so hungry until I’d swallowed half of it. Sokrates started asking Hilfa questions about the Saeli, and he explained patiently in response how they generally lived in pods of five, had three genders, nineteen settled planets including their original home and not including Plato, and how they’d been in contact with the Amarathi for a hundred and Plato for twenty years, and other humans only today. I ate without adding anything to the conversation.
“And you like being here, and working on Jason’s boat?” Sokrates asked Hilfa.
“Yes, I like that. I pursue excellence. I am happy to discharge my function. And now I know what I am. And that I belong to Plato,” Hilfa said, with the flicker of expression I thought was his real smile.
“Do you want to stay here?”
“Yes, to stay here and take oath and study the fish,” Hilfa said, giving me an odd sideways look across the table, an expression I had not seen before. His markings were standing out clearly, so I knew he was all right.
“The fish is tasty,” Sokrates said. “Where did they come from?”
“They’re native to this planet,” I said. “There aren’t any land animals or plants except what we brought with us, but the sea is full of life—there’s plenty of fish, and different kinds of edible seaweed.”
“So people can’t go off into the wilderness and survive?” Sokrates asked.
“Not for any longer than the food you’re carrying lasts,” I said. “People do go exploring. We put together expeditions from time to time.”