to the ring he had fixed securely to the ship's keel. He gestured for Marcus to follow him and made his way to the place where the other, thinner end of the rope emerged from its long and convoluted passage. He could feel the crowd watching him; closer at hand, the engineer Kallippos was staring at him, face tight with the same indefinable expression it had worn when they last parted. He tried to ignore them all, and took off his cloak; the sweat evaporated from his bare arms and damp tunic with a sudden delicious coolness. He handed the heavy folds of the yellow wool to Marcus.
'Is this going to work?' whispered Marcus nervously.
Archimedes looked at the anxiety on his face, and for the first time felt a quiver of doubt. He looked at the ship, at the spider-web of rope between it and himself, mentally reviewing his mechanical advantage. It was sound, it should work. It should- but what if a pulley jammed? What if a rope thread jammed a wheel, or a tooth on one broke? Things did break. Had he made enough allowance for the weight of the rope itself?
Everyone was watching him. Oh, Apollo, if he failed, with everyone watching him…
'It's going to work,' he told Marcus, with all the resolution he could muster. It should. There was a stool he'd sat on while he was working the system out; he went over and pulled it out from the shade of the ship shed, into the bright sun where everyone could see it, and sat down. 'Just coil the rope up when I hand it to you,' he ordered Marcus, and took hold of the rope.
Sitting down was bravado, really; it would have been easier standing up. He had allowed for an effort of one talent, but as he started pulling he suspected that he had not made enough allowance for the weight of the rope itself. Still, he might have to dig his heels in, but he could do it. Hand over hand, he slowly but steadily drew the rope; back and forth the rope wove through the pulleys, reducing the load again and again by the distance it traveled until it was commensurate with his effort.
The ship shuddered on the slipway, then began to glide forward. It did not jerk or pitch, but moved so smoothly that at first the watching crowd just murmured, uncertain whether it really was moving at all. Then, unsteadily at first, from a few throats, but growing, came a roar of delighted wonder. Beside him, Archimedes heard Marcus laughing. Seven tons of ship and thirty men were drawn up by a single pair of hands and the power of one mind.
Archimedes drew the ship up as far as the ship shed, then dropped the rope and stood up. The crowd was still cheering. He turned toward them: a sea of faces, with a purple patch before them that was the king. His arms were trembling from the strain of pulling, and he felt suddenly dizzy. Nobody had ever cheered for him before. He had expected to feel triumph, but he was suddenly afraid. Under this acclaim he felt exposed, freakish. It was not really such an exceptional thing. The principles had always been there, unchangeable as stars. He had simply applied them. 'O Apollo!' he whispered, as though he were genuinely begging the god for help.
Marcus caught his shoulder. 'Wave to them!' he whispered, and Archimedes waved: the cheers redoubled. He shook his head angrily.
'Sir,' said Marcus, 'your cloak.'
Archimedes shook his head again and began walking back toward the king without it.
As he drew closer, he noticed first his sister's face. Philyra's cloak had fallen off her head and one arm, her hair was tousled, and she was radiant. Then, next to her, he saw Delia, still applauding, her eyes glowing with pride. His irrational dread suddenly lifted, and he grinned back at both of them. Philyra gathered up her skirts and ran over to him, laughing. 'Medion!' she exclaimed, flinging her arms around him. 'It was unbelievable!'
He put an arm around her, but said nothing, and kept walking until he was facing the king.
Hieron's face too had lit with sheer delight, and as soon as Archimedes was within reach, he seized one surprised hand in both his own and shook it. 'You really could move the earth, couldn't you?' he asked, grinning.
'With another world to stand on,' replied Archimedes, 'anyone could.'
The king laughed, still shaking the hand. Then his eyes flicked to the system of pulleys and he let go. 'Can I try it?' he asked.
Archimedes blinked and looked back at the ship, from which the guardsmen were now leaping. 'It will have to be pushed down the slipway the hard way,' he said apologetically. 'And I'll have to, uh, move some of the wheels.'
Hieron at once turned to the guardsmen: 'Dionysios!' he shouted. 'Get some volunteers and push it back down again! I'm going to pull it up this time!'
'I want to!' shouted little Gelon, running to his father.
'You can help me,' conceded the king, scooping the boy up. 'Come on, Archimechanic, you can tell us where to pull.'
The ship was moved up and down the slipway so many times that eventually the foreman of the shipyard came up and begged the king not to wear out the keel of a perfectly good vessel. The king moved it; Dionysios moved it; people fought their way through the crowd to take turns hauling on the rope. Archimedes explained the principle of the pulley so many times he lost count. It wasn't until some time had passed that he realized that he had not seen Kallippos since he first took hold of the rope. He glanced around, looking for the engineerand noticed Chrestos, just arrived flushed and out of breath at the edge of the crowd. Archimedes stared in consternation, then thrust his way through the startled mob to where the slave was standing.
'What's happened?' he demanded. 'Did my mother send you?'
The boy was so out of breath from running that he couldn't speak, but he nodded.
'This is your slave?' asked Hieron quietly.
Archimedes stared at him blankly: he had not noticed the king following him. Then he nodded. 'I asked my mother to send him,' he said, 'if my father…'
'She says…' panted Chrestos, 'come… as fast as you can.'
The world went cold, even in the hot sun. Time seemed to slow down.
'You may borrow my horse,' said the king.
Archimedes met the king's eyes, and felt a spasm of wild gratitude at the way his situation had been understood without explanation. 'I can't ride,' he choked out through a tight throat. 'I'll run. Lord, my sister…' He wasn't even sure exactly where she was; she'd been beside him, but he realized now that she'd gone off some time before with Marcus and Agatha. Probably she was sitting down in the shade somewhere, but where? She could not run, not in that thick cloak and long tunic, but she should come home now too, if their father was… She should not be abandoned on the docks.
'I will see to it that your sister gets home as quickly as possible,' Hieron said evenly.
'Thank you!' exclaimed Archimedes passionately. He turned and began pushing his way through the crowd that had trailed eddylike after the king. As soon as he had a space of clear cobbles before him, he broke into a run.
Philyra was sitting inside one of the ship sheds on a coil of rope, disconsolately eating the picnic she'd expected to share with her brother. Outside the noise of the crowd bubbled on, festive but with a wildness to it. She felt as though her life had suddenly become dislocated from everything it had been before. She told herself firmly that it was good, it was wonderful that Archimedes was really going to succeed in his new career, that there was no reason for the apprehension that had tightened her stomach and taken away her appetite for the food. But her first exhiliration and pride were irrevocably gone. Things were going to be different now, and she was realizing that she'd liked them as they were.
A soldier came into the ship shed, then stopped abruptly. Philyra grabbed the hot cloak she'd taken off when she sat down, relieved at the way Marcus at once jumped up and stood between her and the soldier.
'Is this lady the daughter of Phidias the Astronomer?' asked the soldier, speaking correctly to Marcus rather than addressing an unmarried girl directly.
Marcus nodded warily.
'Please come with me,' said the soldier.
Philyra hurriedly draped the cloak around herself while the slaves heaped the food back into the basket, and they followed the soldier out onto the sunlit quay.
The ship was being eased back into the water and the crowd was beginning to disperse. The soldier led them over to a crimson-cloaked officer and saluted. 'This is the lady, sir!' he said, and Philyra modestly held a corner of her cloak up before her face. The officer was the one who'd come to the house once, the captain of the Ortygia
