Athena's Son by Jeryl Schoenbeck Page A

barley begins to color, the harvesting will begin. The gods harvest too, and look for the worthy to reap.”
    The older man began weeping, and the young man consoling him had to hold him up. The crowd let out a sigh of despair, interpreting what reaping the grains could mean. The girl let out another, louder, sound, instantly quieting the crowd, and she continued, “But I see a young boy leaving his bed. He will be the harvester and not the harvest.”
    The older man stepped up and kneeled in front of the girl. “Do you mean he lives? The gods will spare my son?” He was nearly inconsolable.
    The performer then went over and helped the man to his feet. “You heard what she said. It is important to listen carefully. Who is next?”
    The older man, smiling broadly, turned to the crowd. “She said he will live! My son will join me in the fields!” The two men went back through the crowd, with people slapping him on the shoulder. As the crowd dispersed, the performer began calling out for the next person to have their fortune told, while the young girl, oblivious to the commotion, sat staring forward.
    Callimachus pulled Archimedes out of the sun and into the shade of a nearby stall. “What do you make of her abilities, Archimedes? Is she a conduit to the gods? Did the man get his money’s worth?”
    Archimedes looked in the direction of the departing older man and then scrutinized the haunted girl, sitting as lifeless as the statues in the school’s park. “She is only an actress, trained to tell people what they want to hear.”
    “ Correct,” Callimachus said. “No sensible person would pay a young girl to talk when they gladly do it without any prompting. However, there is a spark of interest in a girl who speaks in riddles and makes unnatural noises. She goes into a trance and makes the man wait for an answer, which is no answer at all. The crowd is entertained, he hears what he wants and the woman is paid for her storytelling.”
    Farrokh had said nearly the same thing about making money by telling buyers what they want to hear. Can’t people just keep their money and make their own sensible decisions? The marketplace apparently sold hope along with goats and trinkets.
    “ Are there any shops that sell tools or chemicals?” Archimedes asked.
    “ Up the street is a unique shop,” Callimachus said. “However, I’ve never purchased anything there as I don’t have any interest in mechanics. My specialty is books.”
    The shop was tucked back into the wall, with only a weathered green awning in front to show it was open. Archimedes passed the old tools laying on the ground and walked up to a man’s fat face poking through the window.
    “ I’m interested in seeing any unusual or new items you have related to mechanics or alchemy,” Archimedes said.
    Fat face didn’t reply, he only disappeared into the shadows of the shop and returned with several dark bottles. He opened the first one and Archimedes was buffeted with a horrendous egg smell.
    “ Ugh, sulfur, I already have it,” Archimedes said. “Cap it, quick.”
    Next he opened a bottle only a little less offensive than the sulfur. “What is that?” Archimedes wrinkled his nose.
    “ Lion urine,” fat face said. “It cures any illness and makes you strong. Only 10 drachmas.”
    “ You pee in a jar and expect me to buy it?” Archimedes said. “Don’t insult me.”
    “ Humph,” big face was the one who seemed offended. He brought out a bowl with a black hunk of goo in it. It had a glossy sheen and smelled like oil. “Here is an exceptional substance. It comes all the way from ancient Mesopotamia. They call it moom, where the word mummy comes from because it is used in mummification.”
    “ I’ve heard of it,” Archimedes said. “It was also used as a mortar for the walls of Babylon.”
    “ Not only that,” the big face said, “when heated it is wedged into the cracks of ships to make them watertight. And if it is heated sufficiently,