The Fortune Teller Read online

  She still couldn’t figure out how to tell Bren what had happened.

  The truth was, her life had been unraveling ever since she had found Marcel’s note and the manuscript.

  Message to VS—

  Potential problem.

  No longer overseeing the collection.

  Reply from VS—

  Unexpected.

  Message to VS—

  Assigned to Beijing.

  Reply from VS—

  Continue surveillance.

  I’ll handle Beijing.

  I could see why Poseidon was the patron of Antioch. Elaborate mechanical fountains performed dances everywhere I turned. The city stole my breath with its magnificence. Mosaics decorated the buildings and the marble glinted like rainbows in the sunlight. Known as a mecca for the legal minds of the East and a doorway to Asia, the city was steeped in wealth and luxury.

  I walked the main street, a two-mile stretch bustling with traders and artists. A covered colonnade extended on both sides, offering shade, and a broad carriage road created a thoroughfare in the center.

  Cheers from the Hippodrome reverberated in the distance. Much like the infamous Circus Maximus in Rome, the chariot races at the Hippodrome drew over eighty thousand spectators a day. I could also hear the sounds of flutes and tambourines signaling some kind of wild merriment nearby, and I began to understand why they said Roman soldiers stationed in Antioch refused to leave.

  For hours I wandered through the maze of the market, stopping to buy provisions as I made my way to the center of the city. There was only one place I could think to go, and I wanted to make it before I lost the day’s light. My father had known many a scholar from Antioch who had traveled to our library. I hoped to find someone at theirs who knew him.

  Because I had grown up a librarian’s daughter, I knew that all libraries had a book depository. These rooms were prized but frequently forgotten—vaults where countless codices and manuscripts were stored before being cataloged or translated. Antioch’s would be the perfect place to hide.

  The depository was always located in the back of a library and unlocked during the day. With the ease born from a lifetime of sneaking through alcoves, I skirted past questioning eyes until I found the door. I ducked inside and let my eyes adjust to the dark. Then I moved several stacks of crates, creating a hidden corner that would be my bed for the night.

  I dug through my satchel and pulled out the food from the market. I feasted on flatbread with peppered çökelek cheese and a kebab dusted with pistachio and lemon sumac. Nothing had ever tasted so delicious.

  I drank it down with salgam. The woman selling the purple refreshment told me it was made from pickled-carrot water flavored with half-fermented turnips. My lips felt the sting of the turnips, but the drink tasted delightful and my body was restored.

  Thoroughly satiated, I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off, because when I awoke, the door was closed.

  I tried to ease my growing panic. Surely someone would return tomorrow morning to unlock it. They always did at our library. After they came, I would wait for the right moment and sneak out. Then I would find a scholar who knew my father and ask for his assistance. I would need help if I was going to rent a room. So long as I lived modestly, the coins in my cloak would last while I searched for Ariston.

  My eyes grew heavy as I looked at the shadows of the scrolls and manuscripts, towering above me like mountains. I felt like a scroll that had been lost and deposited among the rest.

  That night I had strange, vivid dreams of lying on the floor of a cave. When I awoke the next morning the dream felt important, but I didn’t know why. The sound of the lock turning jarred me awake.

  Suddenly the door opened and one of the hyperetae, the assistants responsible for registering the books, came in to make a morning deposit. I huddled deeper in the corner, not daring to move.

  The sands of time in the hourglass seemed to stop as I listened to him stack manuscripts. Had a hyperetae ever moved slower?

  Finally, the man finished and left. I waited a while longer to be sure, then sat up and gathered my things. I drew my cloak tightly around me to hide my travel-worn gown. I could not risk changing into the fresh clothes I had in my bag. Instead, I combed my hair into a Greek knot, making a thick bun at the bottom of my neck, and strategically decorated it with golden adornments. I removed my favorite wesekh collar from my jewelry pouch. The gold and lapis shimmered where my cloak opened at my neck. Then I doused myself with my mother’s most expensive perfume made from spikenard, a prized root from the Himalayas. The aroma conjured a certain sense of status, and there would be no mistaking its spicy musk. Now I looked more like a librarian’s daughter than a homeless waif.

  After carefully sneaking from my hiding place, I toured the reading rooms. The spikenard successfully masked my odor from a week at sea. I set my face in a regal look and acted so entitled that no one questioned me.

  Behind my facade, I studied each scholar, searching for a familiar face. After strolling for hours, I finally gave up. I bought more food at the market and returned to the book depository.

  I did this for three days.

  Like a scampering mouse, I grew more and more desperate. I had no home, no family. I had simply left one library for another—and what existed beyond these walls terrified me.

  When I awoke on the fourth day, I clearly remembered my dream from the night before. I did not question its meaning. Instead, I packed my belongings and left the depository for good.

  And there, in the last alcove, I found Illias sitting just as he had been in my dream.

  * * *

  Illias was one of the head librarians in Antioch. He looked frailer than when I had seen him last. His back was now curved and stooped with age, and his hands shook as his fingers guided his eyes to the next line of text. He had stayed at our home for several months on his last trip to Alexandria eight years ago. I could only hope he remembered me.

  I approached him discreetly and hovered next to his stool. “Excuse me, sir?” He looked up and squinted at me. “I don’t know if you remember me, I’m—”

  “Come closer, girl. Speak up!”

  I leaned in until I was practically on top of him. “I’m Ionna Callas, Phileas’ daughter from Alexandria—”

  “Ionna? Dear girl!” His face lit up. “I didn’t recognize you.” He stood in excitement. “What North Wind blew you to Antioch? Where’s Phileas?”

  He looked behind me, expecting to find my father. For a moment I had trouble speaking. He saw my distress and his smile vanished. “Oh dear. Oh dear.” He led me to his stool and helped me sit.

  Sequestered in the private alcove, I told him the whole story. He had heard about Caesar’s fire, but he did not know my father had died. He listened without a word, though his eyes grew bright.

  When I finished, he patted my hand. “You will come live with us. My wife, Aella, will be overjoyed to have a girl in the house again.” His generous offer surprised me, but I did not demur. I was too overcome with relief.

  Illias gathered his scrolls and led me outside, where his servant waited with a donkey-led carriage. A wreath of dangling ribbons decorated the donkey’s hair like a strange rainbow on display.

  I stared at the spectacle, unable to hide my astonishment.

  “My wife’s doing,” Illias explained with a defeated wave of his hand as we climbed onto the seats.

  The carriage traveled south along the colonnade and then on to Daphne five miles south of the city. We passed exquisite fountains, public parks, and sculptures all along the road.

  “I’m getting too old to walk to town, but I refuse to give up the trips and stay at home. To do so would be a fate worse than Hades,” he said with an amused smile. “Aella wanted a grand carriage—a huge expense. I said no so she punishes me by decorating the donkey’s hair.” He looked over at me. “Wait until she gets ahold of you.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Your daughters are no
longer there?” I remembered that he had three girls not much older than me.

  “Lucky birds flew the nest, all married and with their husbands. Aella needs someone to shower with attention. You’ll do fine.” He sounded so pleased; my apprehension grew.

  The carriage left the main road and entered an enchanted-looking forest with leaves as green as emeralds. Never had I seen such a grove. Illias explained how every tree in Daphne was considered sacred and it was unlawful to cut them down. Apollo had pursued the nymph Daphne through this countryside, and now the forest bore her name. In the legend, Daphne had turned into a beautiful laurel tree, and those evergreens stretched as far as my eyes could see.

  I caught my first glimpse of the Temple of Apollo towering in the distance above the tree line and I gasped.

  “The Jewel of Antioch,” Illias said proudly. “Many a ruler has traveled here to consult the Oracle, though not as much anymore. Now people come to the bazaar at the temple to buy charms and blessings from the vendors … and other entertainments.” He glanced at me. “It’s not safe for a woman to go alone.”

  “What are those tents?” I pointed to the outskirts of the market where rows of tents had been erected.

  “Those are the dream chambers,” he said.

  “Like Saqqâra!” I exclaimed, growing excited.

  In Egypt we had Saqqâra, the City of Dreams, at the necropolis in Memphis, a place where seekers could sleep in chambers and dream the answers to their questions. Dream interpreters could be hired to sit with the patrons and explain the signs.

  “Perhaps I could go to the chambers too?” I asked hopefully. The power of dreams had begun to preoccupy me. I wondered if I needed to practice the art of dreaming to understand Wadjet’s message.

  Illias raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at me. I could tell he was wondering why I wanted to undergo such an experience.

  “I read Hippocrates’ treatise on dreaming,” I said, trying to explain my interest.

  He laughed, clearly tickled. “Ah, you are Phileas’ daughter!”

  It was true. I had read Hippocrates along with many other teachings on the ancient practices of Asklepian dream questing. Dreams were considered messages from the heavens, divine wisdom imparted to guide our lives. To try to understand the world of dreams was a serious endeavor. After I was settled, I decided, perhaps I should undertake my own journey.

  The road soon turned along a sloping hill and descended into a lush valley. I could hear a trickling stream nearby.

  “Here we are.” Illias pointed past two statues of Apollo and Daphne sitting on either side of a tiled pathway. The elaborate statues were colorfully painted and seemed better suited for a festival parade. “A bit audacious, these two,” Illias said as we passed them, “but Aella could not be dissuaded.”

  We traveled down a path studded with flowers that ended at an enchanting villa in the center of an orchard. The house had a sculptured fountain of Aphrodite in repose with two swans spouting water over her head.

  I heard high-pitched, girlish singing coming from inside the house.

  Illias smiled with a tolerance born either from years of weariness or love. “Come out, o’ goddess,” he announced. “We have a visitor.”

  The door opened and out flitted one of the loveliest creatures I had ever seen.

  Her hair was a dazzling golden-white and the long tresses had been teased into a cascade of curls and braids and laced with flowers and jewels. I had never seen such an intricate hairstyle. She circled around me like a dancing muse.

  “A girl! You brought a girl!” Aella squealed and hugged us both. I wasn’t sure how to respond, suddenly feeling like a new pet.

  I assumed Aella must have married Illias very young, for she looked at least twenty years his junior. But soon I found out that was not the case. Aella had an obsession with beauty regimens and retained her glowing youthfulness by applying unusual concoctions and elixirs, which had their origins in distant places: some came from Egypt, others from Rome and China. She had a special cosmetae, a servant whose only job was to attend to her hair, makeup, and perfumes, and she devoted her entire morning to bathing and dressing. She loved to soak in milk with rose petals because she had heard Cleopatra did the same. When I told her I knew the queen, she adopted me as a fourth daughter then and there.

  “You poor little dove. To survive the perils of the fire and the journey at sea alone.” She forced me to recline on a chaise and hastened a servant to bring me a hot cup of kaynar, a sweet cinnamon drink sprinkled with crushed walnuts. I sipped the delicious brew and felt its warmth spread throughout my body. Sitting there, I couldn’t help thinking that my mother had guided my dream last night to help me find them.

  * * *

  By the week’s end, Aella had pulled girlish secrets from my heart as only a woman could. I confessed that Ariston had proposed, but I had rejected him because of my family. She hung on to every word as she clutched a facial cloth in her hand.

  “We will find this Ariston Betesh. Do not worry, my dove.”

  In the days that followed, Aella and her cosmetae subjected me to countless ministrations, while assuring me that a servant was searching for Ariston.

  Lemon and vinegar treatments soon brightened my hair to copper gold. For my facial treatments, the cosmetae frequently referred to an enormous scroll, a manual written by an influential woman in Antioch detailing the most powerful mixtures to halt wrinkles, sunspots, and other unfortunate blemishes. The facial masks she applied smelled like rotting onions and often consisted of things like ground horns, marrow, eggs, and animal urine. Poor Illias would walk around the house muttering, “The smell, the smell!” I vowed that when I left Aella’s care I would never put another foul-smelling paste on my body again.

  After finishing my beauty treatments, I usually pleaded exhaustion and escaped to my room. I would take out Ariston’s translation of the scroll and cast the Oracle’s symbols. What I kept seeing in their patterns made my heart grow lighter. I would find Ariston before the next moon.

  * * *

  The house servant returned two days later with news that Ariston had been found. Aella jumped from her chaise with a singsong squeal, and the cosmetae went scurrying off to prepare one of her robes. They chose a Grecian-style gown for me with ornamental clasps made from mother-of-pearl, and the gold border along the fabric’s edges glittered when I moved. Aella informed Illias that he would have to forfeit his trip to the library that day because I needed his carriage. He mumbled under his breath but did not refuse us. Aella and her cosmetae stood by the gate to see me off.

  “Do not worry, my dove. He’ll say yes!” Aella exclaimed as she waved her facial cloth in the air.

  She was not speaking of a marriage proposal but of the dinner invitation I was to extend. To dine at the house of an Antioch librarian was a great honor, and Aella instructed me to have Ariston and his family come at the week’s end.

  The carriage traveled north through the market, past the palace where Seleucid kings once ruled, before Antioch was annexed by Rome. I marveled at its seven high doors of iron-plated gold and the enormous columns of mottled red-and-white marble. The basilicas and Hall of Records towered with equal grandeur nearby. I thought Antioch might just be the most beautiful city in the world.

  Ariston lived near the oldest quarter of Antioch, and his family’s home also served as a clinic and medical school. A stone wall sequestered the enormous grounds and decorative gates opened to the courtyard. The property must have been in the family for generations.

  When I entered the courtyard, a young student hurried to greet me. He acted as if I were a dignitary. He assumed I was there to see Ariston’s father, no doubt because of Aella’s dress and the eccentric carriage. I blushed and tried to keep hold of my courage.

  “No, his son, Ariston. Could you please tell him he has a visitor?”

  The young man assessed me with keen eyes. I turned away to admire the fountain, beginning to feel like I looked as foolish a
s the donkey.

  The boy left but soon returned with disappointing news. “I’m afraid Ariston isn’t here. Do you wish to leave a message?”

  My face fell. What could I say? I was there to accept a marriage proposal he was sure to have forgotten? Tears filled my eyes and I shook my head.

  I berated myself as I rode away. Why hadn’t I left my name along with Aella’s invitation to dine? Now Ariston would never know I was in Antioch unless I borrowed Illias’ carriage and called again.

  I was debating whether to turn around and go back when I saw a band of young men walking toward us. They were laughing and in the midst of a debate.

  My breath caught when I spotted Ariston. How much he had changed in the year we had been apart. He still had that same mane of hair, but he seemed stronger, more virile, as if he had fully become a man.

  His friends noticed me, the overly decorated maiden, as I was about to pass.

  One called out, “Aphrodite is upon us! Oh, hail!”

  In a moment of panic, I leaned forward and opened the sun parasol on the side of the carriage. Just before the umbrella opened, Ariston’s eyes met mine. Confusion flickered across his face. My heart hammered in my chest as the carriage continued on.

  Had he recognized me? What was I doing? I had come so far to find him and now I was hiding behind a parasol, all because I could not bear the possibility of his rejection—that a year might have been too long.

  I closed the parasol as we made our way south. I could hear the Fates laughing at my faint heart—to see a future and not have the courage to embrace it. The jostling of the carriage seemed to echo their mirth as the road became rougher under the wheels. Then I realized why. I was going the wrong way.

  “Driver, stop!” I leaned forward. “We must turn around.”

  Aella’s servant looked back at me. “But we’re almost to Daphne’s Gate.”

  “I need to go back, please,” I begged before what little courage I had deserted me. The driver did not seem willing.

  “Ionna Callas!” a voice behind us called out. “Daughter of Phileas!”