The Barbary Pirates

in Ethan Gage as well! Now, the sun is climbing. Are you ready? They haven’t spied us yet.”

“Ready for what?”

“Notice that the opposite end of the trebuchet has no counterweight. Nothing came readily to hand. Then I realized three adults represent a good five hundred pounds. So what you must do is climb up to grasp the very end of my makeshift catapult. When I cut the rope from this other end you will crash down, the bomb will fly up, and my experiment will be completed.”

“Crash down?”

“Think of it as fun.”

Sunlight was flooding the rooftops of Tripoli.

“What about Horus?” Astiza asked.

“I’ll hold him,” Fulton said. “I’m good with children.”

She looked from one of us to the other. “Absolutely not. Not one of you men has been good for him yet. And this is just the kind of stupid device boys would invent. You three climb up there and I’ll cut the rope. I’ve already had to leave my son with his father, and he’s had so much misadventure it will be a miracle if he doesn’t grow up as disturbed and incorrigible as Ethan.”

“I’m not incorrigible. Just improvisational.”

“I’m heavier anyway,” Fulton conceded. “It’s as you say, Gage: your wife is smarter than any of us. Here, let me cut the fuse to length.”

She glanced at me. “Did you call me your wife to your friends?”

I swallowed, and grinned. “Possibly.” Had I? I couldn’t remember.

“Without informing me?”

“Just as you neglected to tell me I was a father.”

She considered our mutual miscommunication, her expression inscrutable. My grin was growing anxious. I worried that I’d annoyed her—or the opposite, pleased her! Both seemed risky, even calamitous. It’s easier for women, I thought jealously. In our world they need a provider and protector. So a man provides, giving up a variety of quim for one, and gets…what? Love, help, constancy, and a sum greater than its parts: a family. He gets a son, and a lifetime of pride, worry, and responsibility. He gets the half of him that’s missing.

Not such a terrible bargain.

I swallowed, as afraid of Astiza as a janissary regiment.

So I turned to look at the mirror of Archimedes. It was dazzling, a beautiful golden sun in itself, a sight that must have terrified the Roman galleys by its brilliant sheen alone. I realized that if Lieutenant Sterett was returning for us as planned, the schooner Enterprise would already be in sight. The mirror would look like a glowing lighthouse. Would he dare come close?

“How will we ignite the fuse?” Pierre asked.

The inventor stopped. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He peered eastward. “Does anyone have a glass we can focus in the sun?”

“For the sake of Apollo, this is the nineteenth century,” I said. “We’re also in the shade. Pierre, prime the pan of your pistol. That will give flash enough to light the fuse.”

“Of course,” said Fulton. “Such a modern man you are, Ethan! All right, up we go! Gage, you’re biggest, out to the end. Yes, yes, we’ll hug each other, no time for squeamishness.” I clung like a monkey to the end of the beam. Pierre wrapped around me, and Fulton half dragged himself on top of both of us while looking backward. “Astiza, light the fuse and then use my cutlass to cut the rope.”

“You’re certain of your aim?”

“I’ve spent the night in calculations.”

“Then I’m ready.” She carefully cradled our snoozing Harry on one shoulder and picked up Pierre’s gun with her free hand.

“Hold the pan of the pistol next to the fuse and pull to let the hammer fall.”

There was a flash but no sizzle.

“It didn’t catch.”

“Try it again.”

The sun was climbing higher. Across at the fort, men were starting to yell and point at the spectacle we made, knotted at the end of a beam like an octopus. More figures appeared in long robes. Egyptian Rite! How would they react when they learned their intended queen was dead, her body mangled?

Astiza poured more powder on the pan of the pistol and pulled the trigger again. Another flash, and this time the fuse caught. The burning cord was very short, just enough for a quick flight through the air.

“Now, now, cut the rope holding the trebuchet arm! Hurry, before we blow up!”

She swung and the sword bounced, only chopping partway through.

“Saw it! There’s a hundred pounds of powder there!”

She began desperately slicing the strands. We tensed. Now more men at the fort were yelling and gun smoke blossomed. Bullets thudded into the stucco around us. The fuse let off a bright hiss and wink of sparks.

“Please!” Fulton shouted. “We make a perfect target!”

Finally the rope snapped, we plunged, and the other arm of the fulcrum jerked up. The bomb shot skyward, leaving a thin trail of smoke. Men began shouting warning, and running from the mirror. The mine plunged down, a lovely parabola…

And fell just short of the mirror’s parapet, landing on a lower ledge fifteen feet below.

We waited.

There was no explosion. We could see the bomb sitting impotently.

“Damn,” Fulton hissed. “The fuse went out!”

“Mon dieu,” Pierre groaned, picking himself up off the ground where we’d fallen. “Why do I get involved in the schemes of the donkey? I might also point out that you missed the mirror completely, Monsieur Inventor. Just what calculations did you make all night long?”

“If the beam were two feet longer…”

“Ethan, use your rifle!” Astiza said. “Maybe we can set it off with a bullet!”

“My piece was smashed in the dungeon. And Robert’s pistol won’t hit anything at that range, even if a bullet could by a miracle detonate the charge.”

“We’d better retreat,” Fulton said. “They’ll signal the other janissaries to trap us here.”

“Wait,” Astiza said. “Look! They’re turning the mirror.”

And indeed the Egyptian Rite’s robed warriors had run back to the contraption and were beginning to swing it toward the climbing sun and, coincidentally, toward us. Where before it had seemed to gleam, now it positively blazed, the petal-like arms beginning to twist and bend as they were hauled on tackle to help focus the power of the rays. They were going to aim Archimedes’ death ray at our little party.

“Retreat!” I had my family.

“No, this is our chance!” Astiza seized the sword and began hacking at the cords holding the beam to the trestle.

“What are you doing?” Fulton cried.

“We need to hammer that shield onto the beam and catch the heat ray when it comes this way,” she said. “If we hold the shield itself we’ll be burned, but we can use the beam as its handle. Ancient records in Memphis and Dendara suggest just such a countermeasure.”

“You want to reflect their beam back at them?”

“Yes, until they scatter. Then I want to aim it at your bomb.”

“Ah!” cried Pierre. “It is the pretty woman who is the sorcerer, not you, donkey!”

“Well, I’m the one who found her.” And I remembered just how much I was in love.

We fetched an iron nail and used the butt of Pierre’s pistol to pound it through the shield onto the beam, crouching below the parapet. I glanced over. Ropes, gears, and pulleys were sharpening the mirror’s focus. That would be necessary, I realized, to hit a moving target like an enemy ship. The Egyptian Rite savants had figured out the old design of Archimedes, and perhaps improved it.

“Stand! Let them aim at us!” said Astiza.

“And risk burning?”

“So we can burn them.”