voice.
“For the moment. But this bracing sea breeze will soon revive me.”
I could remain silent no longer. “Teacher,” I began, and was about to say more—
What was he doing in the Pharos? Why was he dressed as one of the workers?
I turned my back on Antipater and hurried inside the tower. Above me, heading up the stairs, I saw Nikanor. I followed him.
With every step, the air grew warmer. As I took the final flight of steps, I felt a blast of hot air, as from an oven. The walls themselves grew hot. I ascended to a circular gallery with a stone railing, and saw below me, in a great bowl of blackened granite, the white-hot flame that was never allowed to go out. I recoiled from the rising heat, hardly able to breathe. If this was the fire at its lowest, what was it like at night, when it burned even hotter and brighter?
The workers handling the fuel and tending the coals were covered with sweat and wore only loincloths; their discarded green tunics were hung on pegs around the gallery. I looked up and saw the circular system of mirrors attached to the domed ceiling. Except for the fallen Colossus, I had never seen pieces of bronze so large. Their reflective surfaces were turned away from me, but the very edges, plated with silver, were almost too bright to look at. I seemed to have entered another world where all was fire, stone, and metal—the fiery workshop of Hephaestus.
Anubion and Isidorus stood across from me, at the far side of the gallery, their images blurred by waves of hot air. Nikanor had just joined them; they started back, surprised by his sudden appearance. As yet, none of them had seen me.
I perceived a way to hide myself. I grabbed the nearest green tunic from its peg, stepped back into the stairwell, and pulled the tunic over my own. A scrap of green cloth came with tunic; I tied it around my head, wearing it as I had seen the workers do. When I emerged again on the landing, no one took any notice of me. I appeared to be just another of the antlike workers who tended the Pharos.
Anubion was shouting at Nikanor. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”
I could have told him that: with such lax security at the wharf, and so many discarded uniforms lying about, it hardly required the skills of a master spy for Nikanor to impersonate a worker and board the ferry.
Nikanor ignored the questions and shouted back at him. “I told you there were traitors among us—and now I’ve seen you consorting with the worst of them, treating the old Sidonian like an honored guest, giving him and his Roman pupil a tour of the lighthouse!”
“Say not another word, Nikanor. Leave the Pharos at once. I’ll meet you at the ferry landing and we’ll discuss this matter there.”
“Who are you to give me orders, Anubion? You, a latecomer to the cause, a filthy half-Egyptian, half-Greek mongrel? As far as I know, you’re a traitor as well—a double agent—a spy for the Romans. Last night I looked at the Pharos, and I sensed that you were looking back at me. I couldn’t move! The beam transfixed me, as a needle pins a fly! Who knows what terrible powers you wield from the Pharos? You read men’s minds, control their thoughts, paralyze their bodies!”
Despite the blasting heat, Anubion grew pale. “He’s mad, Isidorus. Completely mad!”
Isidorus stared at Nikanor with wide eyes. His hairless, ebony head was dripping with sweat.
Nikanor drew back. “I see it now—you’re all traitors. All against me! You lured me here against my will. You tricked me into coming to the Pharos. You mean for me to die here.”
Isidorus swallowed hard. “Nikanor, stop this talk. We’ll go outside—breathe some cool air—discuss the matter sensibly—”
But the time for talking was past. Nikanor made his move. He pushed Isidorus aside as if he were made of straw.
A man like Anubion was not used to defending himself against physical attack. The struggle was brief, and horrible to witness.
The stone railing of the gallery came almost to my waist, high enough to prevent anyone from falling accidentally into the open furnace. But the railing proved to be no obstacle to an enraged madman determined to throw another man into the flames. I watched Anubion fly screeching through the air. He caught fire even before he landed, his tall hat and green robes bursting into flame. His screams were terrible. I watched for an instant, unable to look away, then shielded my face as Anubion exploded.
The sudden fireball sent the workers into a panic. When I uncovered my eyes I saw that some had been badly burned. Others, their loincloths ablaze, were scrambling for blankets to smother the flames.
That was the end of Anubion. The master of the lighthouse had become one with the beacon.
I blinked and looked about, then drew back just as Isidorus rushed past me, quickly followed by Nikanor. Neither of them took any notice of me.
I stood for a long moment, stunned, then hurried down the steps after them.
I emerged on the lower landing, coughing and gasping for breath, eagerly drawing the cool sea breeze into my scalded lungs. The panoramic view of Alexandria and the sea, so enthralling before, was now disorienting and bizarre. I staggered from a sudden attack of vertigo, and watched an unearthly scene play out before me.
Antipater was still on the landing. Isidorus had joined him. They stood with their backs against the parapet and the sea, expressions of shock on their faces.
Nikanor was nearby. At his feet lay a blazing torch. In both hands he held what appeared to be a heavy clay vessel. While I watched, he slung the contents toward Antipater and Isidorus, dousing them with a clear liquid. From the overpowering smell, I realized it was the substance called naphtha.
Nikanor threw the vessel aside and picked up the torch.
