Within the cavernous palace garage, Rhita stood at the center of the circle of members of the queen’s expedition. Clavicle in both hands, she closed her eyes and focused on the spinning globe. Continents raced beneath her disembodied eyes, their features etched in bright relief. There were many things about the display she did not understand. Certain features flashed as if they might be of interest; others were crosshatched or dotted. Some land masses or ocean areas were outlined in red or yellow. Yet the clavicle did not reveal the meaning of these functions; it simply rotated the globe to the Kanopic mouth of the Nilos, then twisted and rolled the globe again to the position of the gate, marked by a cross. Her point of view “fell” to the surface of the globe, and she crossed bright, feverishly colored landscapes to a grassland that burned with green fire. There was the gate, marked only by an unlikely cross with wide-splayed armtips.

She opened her eyes.

“It’s still there,” she said. Oresias stood beside her. She hesitantly took his hand and placed it on hers where it gripped the clavicle bar. “Close your eyes,” she said. He did, and she felt the projection move through her, into him. He stiffened as he had the first time they had shared the images, then forced himself to relax. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes.

“I confirm that,” he said. “We know our goal.”

Kleopatra sat in a portable throne on a stone platform above the circle. All turned toward the queen. She stood and held her hand out over them. “The blood of the keepers of Alexandros the Uniter, the Conqueror, flows in my veins.” Her lips twisted in that peculiar smile Rhita had seen several times. “However diluted by Persians and Nordic folk. To some, this seems like a royal whim, the shadowy wish of a weak queen. But can you feel this day’s importance? What you find, what you learn and bring back with you, could mean rebirth for the Oikoumenē, and a century of order and prosperity, rather than decline and strife. We might look for a talisman, for the penis of Aser or the lost magic of Neit; we might be fools. What we seek instead is real, and I only regret I cannot share your danger.” Her tone was convincing; none, Rhita saw, doubted the words of their Imperial Hypsēlotēs.

“Go with the gods and the spirts of your loved dead. Apollo shines upon you all. I love you as my children. I envy you.”

Sour, long-faced Jamal Atta’s eyes filled with tears. Oresias saluted the queen with a hand held high, fingers splayed—Alexandros’s sign of friendship and cooperation. “We will return, my Queen,” he called out.

“We will return,” the members called out in unison.

Kleopatra nodded and kneeled before them.