Semele waited until the door closed and then turned back to Mikhail. “Is this a roundabout way of firing me?”
Mikhail let out a surprised laugh. “No, I give you my word. I know this seems out of the ordinary. But sometimes I have to make decisions for the good of the company. The Beijing account is more important. You’re needed there.”
Semele refrained from questioning him further. She sipped her coffee instead and tried to make sense of what was happening. She didn’t see how an account in Beijing could be more important than Bossard. And Mikhail didn’t even know about the manuscript yet. She needed to broach the subject.
“There’s one piece in the collection that I think is going to be significant.”
He cut her off. “Turn your notes over to Fritz by this afternoon and he’ll sort out everything. Why don’t you take the rest of the week off?”
Mikhail was already walking toward the door. Semele stood in a daze and followed him.
“Recharge, get rested,” he said. “We’ll discuss Beijing first thing Monday morning.”
Semele looked from him to the open door, not ready to walk through it yet. “Seriously? You’re giving me the rest of the week off.”
His eyes softened at her bewildered look. “You’ve earned it.”
Her mind was in a tailspin. Yes, she had earned it. But she didn’t want to go anywhere next week.
This was all so unlike Mikhail. Normal Mikhail would want to go over each piece of the Bossard collection with her immediately. He would follow her down to the tenth floor and get so caught up that he would cancel his afternoon appointments so they could keep talking. Normal Mikhail would never want her to take time off, and he would never reassign a collection.
“Give Fritz your files and I’ll see you Monday,” he said, holding the door open for her to go.
Semele left, knowing her face betrayed her hurt and confusion. She couldn’t help thinking this turn of events was because of the manuscript. Ever since she had found it, she’d been on edge. Her gut told her someone knew she was reading the memoir, and clearly Mikhail didn’t want her to discuss it.
“Semele,” he called her back.
She turned around and saw the concern on his face.
“There will be other collections,” he said gently. “Let this one go.”
She nodded, not sure if she could.
Could I have saved my family if I had only foreseen the fire?
The question haunted me until I read Wadjet’s scroll. She explained how the future had a course, yet our lives remained fluid like water, leaving us with a choice in all things. Life’s greatest mystery was how these conflicting truths existed in harmony. It was the reason why intuition existed at all.
Perhaps pain was a teacher. After the fire, I began to cast the Oracle’s symbols to divine the future. I no longer questioned what they were telling me, and my intuition grew stronger.
I began to prepare for the journey they foretold. I had to believe that from the ashes of this tragedy, a new life was waiting for me.
The director of the library handled my father’s and brothers’ funerals and negotiated with the embalmers. I waited for seventy days for their bodies to be returned. All who knew them judged their lives as virtuous, and I was assured their place in the afterlife was secure.
My father’s wealth paid for each sarcophagus, and I buried them in our family tomb. I sewed what remained of his fortune inside my cloak. With luck I would have ample funds for my travels to Antioch, as well as means for several years if I lived frugally.
When I heard The Grebes, the largest Roman merchant ship ever to enter our harbors, had docked, I wasted no time.
My father had known the ship’s captain. He once saved the man’s personal books from being confiscated by the library and instead kept the transcribed copies for the library’s collection—something my father was prone to do when he could. He did not agree with the Ptolemies’ edict and believed one of life’s greatest tragedies was for a man to have to part with his books. I hoped the captain would remember my father’s kindness and grant me voyage.
“Of course I remember, girl!” the thick, barrel-chested man bellowed. “Now why are you bothering me?”
Amid the shouts and orders as the ship readied to sail, I spun my tale—that my husband waited for me in Antioch—and added that I was with child, for good measure. The captain looked at my slim frame and frowned but did not question my story.
“Pay your way and stay out of my way, and we’ll have you in Antioch by the week’s end. Now get on. We’ll be leaving shortly.”
“But I need to get my things.”
“Hurry up then. I won’t wait.”
I could tell he would leave me if I wasn’t back in time. I ran home calling on the speed of Hermes.
With no time to consider, I stuffed my bag with every valuable I could seize. First I emptied my mother’s jewelry box. Then I packed her comb, hand mirror, and perfumes, along with my father’s favorite reed pen, a huge stack of parchment, and my brothers’ sistrums—percussive instruments used in the festivals. They had no value or use, but I had to take something from each of them. Then I bundled the pottery jar holding the Oracle’s symbols in a swath of silk, along with Ariston’s translation. I laced the gold key on a cord around my neck and tucked it inside my gown. The metal felt cold against my skin.
The library key was now my talisman. Wadjet had chosen me to safeguard her symbols and help them survive. Now all that remained was my set of painted replicas and a translation of her words from a fledgling physician. In my eyes I had already failed.
I ran all the way back to port and boarded The Grebes only moments before she pushed off.
The captain saw me dash down the plank and laughed. “I’ve never seen a woman with child run so fast.”
I blushed and hastened to place a hand upon my stomach. The old man chuckled and turned back to his business.
Once on deck, I stood in awe. The ship was massive, bigger than it appeared from the docks. The hull stretched 130 feet long, and the vessel had three masts instead of one to accommodate the tonnage of its cargo. There was a complex system of ropes and knots rigging the square sails; it looked like one of the magical contraptions Ariston’s uncle had crafted.
I walked down the middle of the deck, trying to keep out of the way. One of the ship hands nodded gruffly and motioned “Passengers over there.”
A handful of men clustered in a corner: three scribes, a merchant, two priests, and a Nubian warrior with a goat. I nodded to the motley group with confidence, as if young women traveled alone all the time. Then I took a seat on the bench. The Nubian’s goat came over and nuzzled me.
The warrior surprised me by addressing me. “She smells the spice in your perfume.” He spoke softly.