“Exactly. 912 is the worst example, but you see it all over. It can’t be sustainable. The Events are supposed to be rock solid, protecting Basic Time from damage. But who’s to say that’s a constant, when… well, see for yourself.”
One last shove and the white door swung open. Cressida went ahead, with Ruthven trailing behind.
He’d been here before. Not here, exactly, because 48 BCE was already an Event when Ruthven first qualified as a traveller. He and Aesop had, however, visited this specific palace during the early reign of Ptolemy XII, father of the most famous of the Cleopatras.
Trips to Egypt were highly sought after. Aesop was so chuffed to finally score one. “Taste everything,” she commanded as she and Ruthven took their places at the banquet table (so low in the pecking order that they barely ranked above foreign scribes and mathematicians). “If the locals wish to worship me, instruct them to add their names to my dance card.”
They weren’t supposed to be there, in the palace or at that dinner. But that was Aesop for you — easy and charming. Somehow when she was around, Ruthven had been easy and charming too.
It was the same palace. Its red granite pillars and sturdy walls stood upon the island of Antirhodos, in the harbour of Alexandria.
It would sink underwater in around five centuries after a terrible earthquake, along with a temple of Isis, two sphinxes, and the unfinished palace of Mark Antony.1
Ruthven remembered the vivid red and gold decor, the marble statues, the sumptuous silks and shining statues (and the food, oh the food — he could practically taste the deep, melting flavours on his tongue).2
What he did not recall was the introduction of the telephone.
Cleopatra, Pharaoh of Egypt, sat cross-legged on a futon. Her strong-featured face was familiar enough from coins and statues, but also from the footage Ruthven had watched of Monterey and Lovelace’s disastrous Alexandria campaign. A great deal of that footage was transformed over the years into hilarious memes, music vids and other forms of mixed media, making Cleopatra a favourite historical celebrity among Chronos College students.3
She wore a long white silk gown, tied by ribbons under her breasts, and draped in a beaded belt. She also wore silver sandals poking out from underneath the gown. Her face, made up with the traditional kohl and bright colours, wasn’t what anyone would call beautiful if it wasn’t the face of a queen, but would stand out as ‘interesting’ at any given dinner party.
Cleopatra was speaking into the receiver of a classic bright green rotary-dial telephone, the curly cord tangled around her limbs and disappearing around behind a basalt statue of Osiris.
Ruthven stared at it for a moment, wondering where (and how) it was plugged in.
“Hang on, she’s here,” Cleopatra was saying into the phone. “Yes, bring the parcel. See you later, alligator.” She hung up, letting the phone drop carelessly to the floor. “Cress! You made it back.”
“Cleo!” replied Cressida with rather less enthusiasm. “You kidnapped my cat.”
The Pharaoh of Egypt shrugged a graceful shoulder. “A little kidnap between friends, who’s to mind?”
Ruthven gave Cressida a slightly betrayed look. “You said Boswell was safe.”
“Depends on your definition of safe,” she said with a shrug. “He was kidnapped by two guards wearing the mark of the Pharaoh painted on their tasers. I knew they wouldn’t do too much damage.”
“Ancient Egyptian guards have tasers now?” Ruthven was distracted enough by that revelation to not worry about the possible diplomatic impact of referring to Egyptians as ‘ancient’ while they were still current.
“Also skateboards,” Cressida said with a sigh. “Whatever experiments the Anachronauts have been running in these Events… somehow there are always skateboards.”
Cleopatra cleared her throat. “I’m no friend of the Anachronauts, Cressida. You know that. If any of those worms show their faces around me, there will be executions all around. But I can’t say I hate all of their gifts.”
The double doors opened, and several bare-chested guards entered wearing white linen garments around their hips and — yes, Ruthven could see them clearly now he knew what to look for — holstered tasers alongside the curved swords that hung from their jewelled belts.
They were carrying a rolled up carpet.
“You didn’t,” Cressida said in a low, threatening voice.
“Never neglect a stylish entrance,” said Cleopatra, standing up as the carpet was presented before her. “Elizabeth Taylor, eat your heart out.”
Now she was this close to them, Ruthven realised that the Pharaoh’s sandals were made of a jelly-like plastic, featuring silver glitter. She had bright Hello Kitty decals stuck to her toenails.
The guards lined themselves up symmetrically and unrolled the carpet. As the last layer flattened out, it revealed a marmalade tabby clinging by his claws to the carpet. Boswell looked more pissed off than Ruthven had ever seen him, even when marking exams.
“Hi Boz,” said Cressida, her voice soft. “Rescued your new partner. He seems fine. Not as cool as me, obviously.”
Boswell’s eyes flared as he slowly unhooked his claws from the carpet. He locked eyes on Cressida. “Ruthven,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “Step away from that person.”
It was rather nice to be called by his real name. “Professor, what’s going on?” Ruthven asked.
“Professor?” Cressida laughed hollowly. “So it’s true. Don’t tell me academia swallowed you whole, Boz. You were always such a rebel.”
Boswell approached in a slow stalk. “You, young lady, are not Cressida Church. What happened to her?”
Cressida’s face hardened. She removed the felt Viking helmet with its two horns. “You tell me, Boswell,” she replied in an icy tone of voice. “You’re the one who lost her.”
1 It was Cleopatra’s idea to build Mark Antony his own palace. A Pharaoh can’t be expected to share her palace with her boyfriend. It’s important in a relationship for all parties to have their own space.
2 It was a matter of great confusion to historians that the Egyptians, who had a massive fishing industry, ate a largely vegetarian diet. Why did they catch so many fish they did not eat? Surely they didn’t all get sacrificed to the gods… The answer, as Ruthven and Aesop discovered first-hand in the court of Ptolemy XII, was a population of extremely happy cats. Ruthven cherished the memory of Aesop with her small mouth wrapped around a fried perch almost as large as she was: the personification (or cattification) of pure joy.
3 Monterey could often be heard lamenting that he never got to meet Cleopatra despite the many (one might say far too many) hops he and Lovelace had completed in order to save the contents of that library. Lovelace met Cleopatra three times during those same trips. It was amazing that their partnership survived his overwhelming jealousy.
Twenty-Nine
Kettlewick, 912
“I’m calling it now,” complained Cressida. “912 is the worst year of all time.”
“That’s quite the statement,” said Boswell. “Can you back it up with citations?”
