The silhouette of the Pharos lighthouse floats on the water in the distance, its peak is like the eye of a god, always monitoring its subjects. I can see why it’s considered one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.
I’m standing on a hillside with my back to the library. Below me, the sun-bleached clay buildings dot the landscape with the cobblestone streets crosshatched between them in a surprisingly organized fashion. It all looks so real, because it is, yet I can’t help thinking of it as long-dead ruins.
“Can I get a location check on cameras?” I say into my Comm.
A cool breeze reaches me, and the scent is filled with life: saltwater, dirt, and wood-burning fires. All smells I can only get artificial versions of in my own time.
“Martha here, I’m near the temple at a bathhouse where the big guy and Cleo are having a… meeting of sorts. When the order goes out, I think he’ll run up the hill to see the ships burning. It’ll be the perfect shot if I can get it.”
“You get me a shot of Caesar silhouetted in the sunset and the smoke rising from the water, and I’ll tattoo your name on my tit. Make a helpful suggestion to them if you must,” I say.
A throat clears over the Comm, and I know immediately that it’s a warning about the timeline from Filip. I ignore it. If I’d had my way, he wouldn’t have joined us on this mission.
Network executives think that good Real History just happens. They don’t understand that it sometimes needs to be made.
“Emir?” I ask.
“Down at the dock with the Roman militia,” he says.
The shore is too far away for me to make out any faces along the docks. Caesar’s empty ships, however, bob with the tide, unaware of the events about to unfold. “They’re a bit drunk and haven’t noticed I’m not a soldier.”
“Get plenty of B-roll of them drinking. If they’re that drunk, they won’t notice you’re not blinking. Martha, on the other hand, you be careful. You may have to ruin some shots and force yourself to blink. Cleopatra’s a keen one.”
“Just don’t say anything to them,” Filip barks.
The three of us seem to agree on ignoring him.
I can’t help but smile at the way things are lining up. Caesar is having sex, and his men are getting drunk, while Ptolemy approaches. Couldn’t have written a better story if I tried.
I adjust my own contact lens camera to zoom out over the water, pushing the magnification as far as it will go. Past the behemoth of a lighthouse and out until the dividing line between the ocean and the sky starts to blur. But then, rising like the sun, come the dark shadows of Ptolemy’s ships over the horizon.
The pieces are set.
“Ehem,” comes the annoyed voice of Filip over the Comm, “Lucia? You haven’t asked where I am.”
I force myself not to growl.
“You aren’t a camera. You have no purpose being here. I don’t need to know where you are.”
“Oh, but Lucia, I’m doing oversight,” he says with a few excess clicks of the tongue. “Besides, I think you’d like to know where I am.”
I roll my eyes and press my tongue up against my back molars rather than grind my teeth. Just one more day, and I’ll be successful enough never to have to work with Filip again. I can do this.
“Where are you, Filip?” His name comes out of my mouth like a dagger, but Filip just snickers into the Comm.
“Why, I’m in the library, because the only thing going down in flames today is your career.”
My contact lenses nearly shutter as they zoom back to a normal focal length. I whip my head around so quickly I nearly fall over, only to find Filip’s thinning dome of blonde hair and evil grin smiling back at me from a ground-floor window of the library. He gives a little wave as I steady myself.
“Unless, of course, you can somehow salvage the most expensive time jump in network history to be an episode about how Caesar didn’t burn down the Library of Alexandria. A retrospective about how the Library was never, in fact, burned. I’m sure audiences will love that,” he sneered.
From out in the distance, just the faintest echo of a commotion reaches my ears.
“The ships have been spotted,” Emir says into the Comm. “Here we go!”
I say nothing to Filip but turn back towards the stage I’ve set below me.
We’ve spent weeks in this ancient landscape: spending time in the sun without worrying about UV exposure, sleeping under the stars because there is no chance of overnight radiation clouds suffocating us, and eating more fresh vegetables than I’ve ever had in my life. It hasn’t all been relaxation, though. I’ve spent this time carefully planning and coaxing all the elements into place. I’m ready for this.
A suggestion to a merchant to move his flammable linens closer to the ships on the shore. A change in the Library’s records to get spare scrolls stored along the water. The quiet firing of a gardener who was meant to clear away the brush and weeds lining the pathways to the Library itself.
It was my gamble to bet that the fires from Caesar’s burning ships did reach far enough to be the same fires that burnt the legendary library down. There’s never been a definitive consensus from historians either way. Murky history is where I shine.
Subtle nudges to help move history along at a proper pace won’t be enough to create an alternate timeline; they’ll just make for better television.
“Yep, there’s someone in a panic at the bath house entrance. Oh! I’m going to position myself near a doorway of the bedroom. Maybe I can get a glimpse of Caesar’s shlong,” Martha says with a giggle.
“Both tits for that! They’ll read Martha, Martha!” I yell with a laugh.
“Getting a little over-confident, aren’t we?” Filip muses over the Comm. I cut off Filip’s Comm mic from Martha and Emir. He’ll be able to hear them, but they don’t need his incessant commentary distracting them. He won’t be able to tell.
I sit down on the hillside and pull out a palm-sized monitor hidden in a pocket on my dress. Filip’s glare is lingering on my back like an itch that can’t be scratched. I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement.
On the monitor, Emir is shown in a close-up of two soldiers slapping each other, presumably to sober up.
“Pull out a bit, Emir. See if you can frame them between the two -“
“Ah, the empty ships at the dock? I’m on it!” he says. The sound of shuffling rustles over the Comm as Emir runs backwards. Slowly, the shape of the mammoth ships docked along the shore fills the screen. Their size alone should be enough to intimidate any foe in this age—that is, of course, if they had enough men to power them.
“See if you can get to higher ground and get a nice shot of the incoming armada.”
I switch over to the feed of Martha’s camera just in time to see Cleopatra burst from the bedroom, Caesar following on her heels.
“I can talk to my brother,” she says to him, looking back over her shoulder. The Comm translates the Greek. Martha is at a pristine angle so that the sunlight from the doorless entry caresses Cleopatra like a golden robe. Caesar, standing her opposite, is swathed in darkness. A perfect dichotomy.
“How many men?” Caesar asks the soldier standing just behind Cleopatra. As I was working on my last project, Caesar Under Siege, I’m surprised by the airy and almost aristocratic tone in his voice. I expected a blustering boom that would swoon the masses. The reality was a slightly nasally drawl that felt better suited to complaining about an undercooked steak at a restaurant than commanding an army of thousands.
“If all of the ships are only half full, they’ll still outnumber us ten to one,” the soldier says with a grim sigh.
“And our own ships?” Caesar asks. Martha is still looking at the soldier.
“Martha, get in close on Caesar. Don’t leave him. I think this is going to be the moment.”
Her gaze immediately shifts and, like a statue come to life, Caesar’s infamous features appear on my screen. The last time I saw that face up close I was watching the light leave his eyes as he bled out on the senate floor. What a risk that project had been—but it paid off.
Today’s events will not only connect the two stories, making it the most popular Real History show ever, but also secure my legacy.
My contributions to society will be deemed worthy enough to avoid the inevitable execution that follows a long stint of unemployment. And, most importantly, I’ll never have to work alongside Filip again.
“We don’t have enough men here to properly man three, let alone the entire fleet,” the soldier says off-screen. Martha is holding tight to Caesar’s face. A whirlwind of thoughts seems to be passing through him. As a director of Real History, I may not get to tell my characters what to say, but there are moments when I can feel with the certainty of the heart beating in my chest what’s about to unfold. This is one of those moments.
Caesar’s face suddenly hardens, much like the marble effigies that will succeed him for thousands of years to come.
“Burn the ships,” he says at almost a whisper.
“But sir, our ships?” the soldier asks.
“Yes! Burn them all. I’d rather have them at the bottom of the sea than in his hands. We’ll block his path in and buy ourselves time. Maybe catch fire to a few of his.”
“Now, Martha. Get the reaction.”
Martha’s gaze shifts to a stunned Cleopatra and soldier. A silence hangs on the air. It’s fleeting and thin.
“Martha, back to Caesar!” I shout.
Martha whips her gaze back just in time to see Caesar shout, “I said now!” in a frothing rage. The soldier runs out of the room.
I shove the tiny monitor back up my dress sleeve.
“Keep up the good work, both of you. Martha, hang with Caesar. Emir, get the soldiers’ reactions to the orders and the first ship being lit, if you can,” I say with a sigh of relief.
That was a perfectly dramatic setup. Now we just have to wait for the burning. The destruction of knowledge as collateral for power: it’s almost poetic.
There’s a noticeable absence of a tiny little itch on my back. I turn around to find Filip no longer glaring at me. He’s ducked his head back inside the library.
I make my way through the grass over to the window and poke my head inside. Filip is sitting at a marble table surrounded by massive stacks of paper; a small monitor is in his palm. His eyes narrow when they land on me.
“If this is a success, it’s only good for the network,” I say to him.
His body jolts with the echo of a laugh. “You’re gambling with the fate of thousands. Channel Z2Z went bankrupt just last month. Maybe a few hundred found other work. Thousands added to the unemployment list.”
“Is that your concern? Or is it the fact you’ll end up on the list if we succeed today? I know you tried to pull me out of time early on Under Siege. The bosses must not have been happy with you almost sabotaging the most successful Real History episode of all time.”
“Well, who the hell does a story on Caesar’s downfall and focuses on Mark Antony instead of Brutus! You got lucky guessing Shakespeare’s timeline of him finding out about the plot only moments before was correct, and you and I both know it.”
My lips threaten to curl upwards at the edges, but I force them to remain in place. It wasn’t luck, it was a nudge. An echoed whisper that traveled a bit too far. That dramatic moment of Mark Antony running to save his mentor made every test audience cry. It’s not easy to stand out in a world like ours anymore, but make the masses actually feel something, and you’ll become a legend.
“When this is another raving success, I’ll be sure to remind everyone how long you spent trying to stop it from happening.”
###
An hour later, the fire has blossomed. From my perch on the hillside, I can see Caesar’s ships lining the bay. They rock gently on the waves, ignorant of the army of flames marching towards them. Just beyond the long finger of land that stretches out from the bay, Ptolemy’s ships are growing ever closer. No magnification needed.
I’m sitting in the grass again. My back is to Filip, but I can feel him watching the scene unfold from the window. His sense of dread and whispered curses travel farther than he thinks.
The seeds I’ve sown deliver a ripe crop. The merchant’s cart is the first to go up, sending flaming fabrics into the sky like the puffs of a dandelion. The library storehouse is next. Emir is quick to catch a glimpse of it; otherwise, I would have missed it entirely. The flames gobble the building whole.
The sounds of screaming, yelling, and chaos emerge as people rush to put out the flames. There’s a conveyor line of folks passing buckets of water from the shore, but they land like a spray of mist on a volcano.
“Lucia,” Martha whispers over the Comm. I switch over to her camera on the monitor and have to stop myself from dropping it. There, on the screen, is a silhouette of Caesar, Cleopatra by his side, looking out to the water in the distance. Just at the edge of the screen, tendrils of smoke are rising from the shore like the fingers of a skeleton. The shot isn’t perfect. There’s unnecessary shrubbery blocking a clearer view of the shore. But it is impactful as all hell.
“Well, shit. Better find a tattoo artist,” I say.
Martha lets out a slight giggle but quickly catches herself. I hold my breath. Cleopatra glances back at her.
“Blink,” I whisper.
Martha does just that. I wince, knowing how painful it can be with the camera lens contacts on. The screen momentarily goes dark. The camera has to recalibrate. We can’t get found out now, not when I’m so close.
“Martha, walk away if she speaks to you,” Filip says.
I smile. I never reconnected Filip’s Comm to Martha and Emir. She can’t hear him.
“Just breathe, Martha,” I say to the dark screen.
“Don’t wait! You’ll create an alternate!” Filip yells.
I roll my eyes. It would take a lot more than a single conversation to create an alternate timeline. History wants to happen a particular way. The first time-travelers proved that when we couldn’t reverse course on the planet’s fate, only create worse ones.
“Who are you?” Cleopatra’s satin voice echoes in the Comm. The screen is still blank. The monitor shakes in my palm while my other hand rips the scattered blades of dried grass from the ground.
“Do. Not. Answer,” Filip barks.
I can hear Martha’s quivering breaths.
The screen comes back to reveal Cleopatra’s icy glare.
“That’s it. We are leaving!” Filip cries.
“Not yet!” I say.
“Cleo, is there anywhere else your brother could land?” Caesar asks in his low-toned drawl. Cleopatra shifts her gaze back to Caesar and then turns back to the smoke on the shore.
I let out a long breath and push the monitor back up my sleeve. In front of me, the fire has now reached the brush-filled path. It’s thinner than the raging blaze on the shore, but it’s still moving forward.
“Your crew is out of control, Lucia. I am getting us out of here, now,” Filip says from the window.
“Don’t you dare.” I shut off my Comm so Emir and Martha can’t hear me either and jump to my feet.
“Your camera woman just spoke to Cleopatra. Cleopatra! Our future may not be great, but it’s a hell of a lot better than some of the other options.”
“You want us to fail.”
Filip sucks on his teeth. “It looks like you’re going to fail, regardless,” he says as he nods toward the shore.
The line of flames worming its way up the shore has suddenly reversed course. It’s less than fifty feet from the library.
“What? But how?” I say. Filip starts to laugh.
“You know, I hear human bartenders are back in vogue on Montreal beach. Maybe I can put in a good word for you to stay off the list,” he says, but I barely hear him. A distant hum is building in my ears like a kettle about to boil. It was all planned perfectly. Why would it stop now?
A stray gust of wind blows the grass blades from my hand. I peer around the corner of the library. An angry wall of dark clouds is charging towards the shore. A storm is coming to wash my fire away.
“I was so close,” I whisper. The humming grows ever louder, but the peaks of Filip’s laughter start to poke through.
My eyes fall to his malicious grin, and the kettle whistles in my ears.
“You’re fired,” he says with a face full of delight.
My hand reaches for a small box in my dress pocket. My backup plan. It has to be done.
I gaze back at Filip, and perhaps it’s my own smile that makes his fade. I can’t hear if he says anything; nothing but the whistle fills my ears.
“No, you,” I say as I strike the match and toss it into the library.
For a moment, I’m worried he’ll be able to crawl out the window and escape. But his thick white robes are the first things to catch. Filip screams as the fire races across the room. I smile and back away, admiring my work as little hints of smoke start to escape other windows on the ground floor.
“Emir,” I say, switching my Comm back on, “get up here. The library’s burning.”
