Making Preparations
People pointed and stared at him that night as he walked through the artisan's quarter of the capital. Many knew who he was, but even those that did not were transfixed by his regal bearing and the resplendent uniform of his attendants, two full centurions. It was not often that the vizier waded amongst the everyday folk of the city, and whispers and murmurings broke out as he passed each doorway. It had been many years since he ventured this way, still longer since he had made a night visit, and back then he was a figure off little note, a simple Magian soldier, the personal attendant to the crown prince, not a remarkable personage in his own right. He ignored the mutterings of his subjects, moving smartly towards his destination without pause. A few times people tried to entreat him, either inviting him in for some warmed wine and hot cider, or asking for his intervention in some legal dispute, for he was the penultimate legal authority of the empire, his rulings could only be overturned by the emperor, which they all knew had never happened yet. None took notice of the battered leather satchel held by one of the centurions, a non-descript valise made of goat leather, slung around his shoulder and resting on his left hip, rubbing against the dull metal of his bronze armor.
"You will wait here," he said curtly to the soldiers, though not without a tinge of politeness. "Allow no one to enter."
The right hands of each centurion hand came to his hip, and the older one gave over the satchel while their eyes scanned the street, taking in the movements of the people about, illuminated, such as it were, by small cooking fires scattered hither and yon. Each took up post on opposite sides of the arched doorway. The house/workshop they were now guarding was an anomaly for this section of the capital, made of stone and mortar, not the more inexpensive wood like most others on this block. Steam and smoke drifted up from the rear of the house, byproducts of the forge in the rear yard. A small boy, perhaps eight years old, perhaps younger, approached them from down the street and stopped in front of them, coming no closer than about ten cubits or so. He looked upon the pair with eyes full of fascination and awe. Since they did not address him he stepped no closer, a trace of fear ascending his spine.
Upon entering the house the vizier saw his host, Achnai the smith. He mixed not with workers and artisans much lately, but remembered dealings with this man in the past, in his former life, that of a soldier and a young courtier. Achnai, he knew, was superbly skilled at metalworking, and an honest man to boot. These were not the reasons he was chosen for this important task. The most important cause which drew the vizier to this place was the fact that Achnai was a foreigner, a descendent of the Israelites who were deported from their homeland, Judea, during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, and brought in exile to Babel. Though some of their number had returned to their motherland after Emperor Cyrus had issued a decree allowing it, many had remained. It was a good thing for the empire, too, for many of these Jews were skilled at useful trades, and their contribution to the empire was disproportionately high in comparison to their numbers.
Recently over a shared cask of wine the vizier and Mecumman, the tax minister, had discussed the benefits of keeping these outsiders among their midst, and his companion had astounded him with tables of figures showing the amount of taxes paid by these people. By means of a double tax on Jews the empire was currently flush with gold and silver, money needed to support the armies of Devaryesh in their campaigns. This money was even being used to finance the construction of the new royal salt works at Pumbedita, a project dear to the heart of the emperor.
At the sound of his entrance the smith leapt to his feet. "Prime Minister, peace-be-to you!" he cried, "To what do I owe this great honor?"
"Peace-be-to-you, my old acquaintance. It has been a very long time since I have been here, Achnai." The vizier allowed his eyes to wander, scanning the interior of the workspace, and added warmly, "I see much has not changed in the shop since I last visited."
"Please, Minister, please, have a seat if you would. My furnishings are more humble than I am sure you are used to, but--"
"Gladly," the visitor replied, and with a stately gesture indicated to Achnai that he too could sit. Achnai pulled two wooden chairs up to the hearth which dominated the room, and than went to the cupboard for a flagon of wine and two earthenware mugs, placing the cups on the table, and the wine near to the fire so it would warm.
"You are alone?"
"Yes, Vizier. My wife is across town. My eldest daughter had a child last night, and my wife is still with her. Except for my apprentice, Shemaryahu, who is still in the shop, cleaning the tools, we are alone."
They chatted for awhile, waiting for the wine to become ready to drink. A chilling breeze came through the doorway, for there was no door, but rather a rug covering the entrance. Ko'un-Zir sized up his host one last time before deciding whether to entrust him with this important task. He had chosen this Hebrew because no Baal worshipper would take the assignment. These Jews paid no heed or fear to the cult of the empire, and so would be without qualms against destroying one of its sacred relics. Shemaryahu came shuffling into the room and placed some dishes on the table between then the two men, silently retreating at his master's nod of approval.
Ko'un-Zir took a honeyed almond from the nearest bowl and placed it over his tongue. He liked these Jewish treats, a proclivity he kept secret from his fellow courtiers. The confectioners of his own people never made these nuts as well as the Jewish ones, skipping the brief brining the Jews gave their almonds before sweetening. Achnai poured the wine, and they got down to business.
"I have a commission for you," the vizier stated plainly.
"Yes?" the Hebrew smith answered, hoping that his guest didn't pick up the raw excitement in his voice. A royal commission! With the money he earned on this job he would be able to make a dowry for his last unmarried daughter; the very thought of it began to consume him.
"Two commissions, actually."
Achnai was ready to faint, but he composed himself.
The first commission was simple. The Prime Minister wanted a necklace made for his wife, a filigreed piece, similar to one he had seen in a market stall in Tyre. He brought a drawing on parchment, and Achnai perused it, named a reasonable price, six talents of silver over the cost of the gold, and they quickly agreed on a delivery date.
Ko'un-Zir and the smith drank to the agreement, but instead of continuing he became pensive, not relating the details of the second commission right away. He reached for the wine and poured another cup for himself, and then gestured to his host to ask if he needed a refill.
"Thank you sir, but I would rather pour my own," Achnai said apologetically to the second most powerful man in the empire, if not the world. This stirred up a memory in the vizier, and he realized that his host was following the Jewish custom which forbade them to drink wine which had been poured by a gentile. He was not upset, though he could understand Achnai's consternation; Ko'un-Zir felt ill, and it was showing on his face. Being in the presence of the Orb did that to him, but after tonight that danger would cease forevermore. He reached down under the table and pulled up the satchel, opening it and removing the silver sphere from within. Power radiated from it, though only the vizier, Vessel of the First Seed, felt its waves.
"I want you to melt this down," he said, almost grunting in discomfort as he spoke to the artisan. "I want you to melt this down, and then mix the slag with other metals, other silver ingots you have in your shop. The metal of this orb is exceedingly pure, and it must be mixed with less pure metals."
Achnai thought to ask why, but held his tongue. If the vizier wanted this done, his will be done.
"I will return in ten days. You will have by then melted down this orb, mixed it with baser metals, and created a replica of the orb for me. Oh, and don't forget the rings we discussed earlier." He reached to his waist and pulled a large pouch from his waistband, placing it on the table. "One hundred talents of silver," he stated, bemused by the widening of Achnai's eyes. Within thirty seconds he was gone, giving last instructions to the centurion who was taking up temporary post on the street in front of the Hebrew's home/workshop. As his distance from the Orbis Tertius increased he began to feel better, his powers returning.
* * *
The summer was in full swing. Alan worked at the local paper five days a week, rotating among departments every week or so. It was fun; he liked the people there, and the work was interesting. Both Kate and Pauline were working with non-profit groups which had
received generous grants from the Van Devanter Foundation, a charitable organization (similar to the Ford Foundation, but on a rather less grand scale) funded by the family fortune, and chaired by their dad.
Pauline's job was in town; she was a camp counselor for a day camp for the children of illegal immigrant workers. There had been in the last few years some accidents involving some of these children. With no child care options, and without even the six hour respite school provided to their parents, immigrant children were often brought to work sites, not the best place for them. The local authorities, with a generous grant from the Van Devanter foundation, had established a day camp, two day camps, actually, for these kids. Pauline was assistant activities director for the girl's camp, and also group leader for the nine-year olds.
Kate worked in the city, driving in every day in her car; she was a staffer at a shelter for teen runaway girls. She had never done anything like this before, but just a little bored by the day camp work of previous summers she asked her dad to assign her something tougher, and though James was hesitant, he agreed in the end. Kate worked longer hours, often leaving for New York not long past 6am, and sometimes not returning before dark, though she only worked at the center four days a week.
