The Pillars of Hercules by David Constantine Page B

could be so large. Each one of the buildings looked like it would dwarf his entire village.
    “And that’s only the Piraeus,” said Matthias.
    “Pir-a-what?”
    “The harbor-city.”
    The Xerxes was maneuvering among the smaller boats of the harbor now: an armada of fishing skiffs, pleasure yachts and transports. Off in the deeper harbor were vast grain freighters—one of them attended by a huge contraption that reared from the water like some mechanical beast. Crewmembers turned winches to send a long clanking arm swinging out over the docks, then lowered its far end onto the deck of the ship where other workers began to manhandle the containers positioned atop it.
    “What the hell is that?” said Lugorix.
    “They call it a crane,” replied Matthias. “It’s loading that freighter.”
    “Why do they need such a device?”
    “I guess they don’t. But it helps save time.”
    “But how much time did they spend building that thing?” asked Lugorix. He sensed he was missing the point, but now they were rounding a promontory that blocked the strange machine from sight. Torches hung from many of the ships around them, for it was getting increasingly hard to see amidst the looming dusk. The wind blowing from the shore carried the smell of cooking fires. Lugorix suspected that Barsine had timed their arrival precisely. Had they reached Athens during the daytime, everyone would have been able to see them. Had they shown up in the dead of the night, they might have triggered a false alarm on the part of the Athenian defenses. As it was, they were probably being witnessed by only a few of the ships at anchor, but they’d still been recognized by those who manned the sea-gate. Lugorix had the sense that it wasn’t even one of the main entrances—he could see great glowing arches of lights off to the east that perhaps served that function. Those arches grew ever fainter as the boat headed into the far recesses of the harbor.
    “Up ahead,” said Matthias, pointing.
    Lugorix followed the direction of his arm. They were coming in toward one of the docks. It was somewhat ramshackle—it almost looked abandoned, but there were figures standing on it, holding lanterns. Damitra—or maybe it was Barsine—maneuvered the boat alongside, and the men on the dock threw down ropes. Lugorix and Matthias got busy securing them when another man leapt down onto the boat.
    “Who’s the captain here?” he asked in a nasally voice. His hair was carefully coiffed, his robes were of the finest silk and he was drenched in perfume. The dolphin medallion of an Athenian harbor-master hung about his neck, and he looked at Lugorix and Matthias as though they were the scum of the earth.
    “The captain’s me,” said Barsine as she climbed up onto the deck. “Who are you?”
    The man was obviously taken aback. Greeks weren’t like Gauls, Lugorix realized. They didn’t permit their women much power outside of the house. So to have a mere teenager commanding a boat that could rival the most advanced prototypes the Athenian navy could field—no wonder the man was looking like the whole thing was some kind of strange joke.
    “I’m Callias,” he said. “Harbor-master for this section of the docks. Your papers, please.”
    “Papers?”
    “Yes, papers. To secure a berth in Athens. You do have them, don’t you?”
    “There must be some misunderstanding,” said Barsine. “We were told that we didn’t need them.” As she said this, a couple more of the men on the dock stepped down onto the boat. Lugorix belatedly realized that they were armed, with swords under their cloaks. They flanked Callias, who stood there with a puzzled-verging-on-annoyed expression on his face.
    “If you lack papers, then you lack authorization to be in this harbor.”
    “And yet here we are,” said Barsine. “How do you think we did that?”
    “Clearly you’ve infiltrated our defenses,” replied Callias.
    “Clearly you’re a fool,” said Barsine.