Athene was risking literally everything to gain knowledge of Chaos. That was bad enough. But the other reason her message had made me so incandescently furious was the way she used the threat to Sokrates to force me to rescue Pico. She could have trusted me. I’d have rescued Pico anyway. I hated being used and blackmailed, and even more I hated being blackmailed into doing what I would have done anyway because it was the right thing to do, and what I wanted to do. Even now I had calmed down, I was so furious with her that I considered writing a satire about all the most embarrassing things she had ever done, like the time she got into a snit about Paris not choosing her as the most beautiful, or the time she turned Arachne into a spider when she lost a weaving contest, or when she threw away the syrinx after inventing it because puffing out her cheeks made her look ridiculous.

I followed Pico to his cell, a small brick room which contained a low bed, a devotional painting of St. Benedict retreiving a rake from a pond (some ages have a really low bar for miracles), and a small chest, which, since it was Pico’s, contained nothing but books. There he retrieved the paper Athene had given him from where it was neatly folded inside his copy of the Republic. He drew it out reverently and handed it to me. I opened it, glanced at it, and then at him. “Can you read this?”

“No. It’s encoded to keep Athene’s message safe,” he said.

Well, fortunately Arete has the ability to understand anything, because this meant nothing to me. “Let’s get Sokrates and then collect the other piece.” I looked at him expectantly.

He shut his eyes and recited. “45 degrees, 45′ 45 North, 50 degrees 50′ 50 West, 15.10, 15th October, 151,151,151 ante urbe condita.”

I was genuinely startled. “What? Where’s that? Somewhere in the Jurassic? In the middle of the Atlantic—no, that’s long enough ago that the continents aren’t even in the same places! What’s there?”

“A jungle, she told me. She didn’t take me with her. I was in time for the Last Debate.”

“So was I—but you mean she didn’t change him back? He’s still a gadfly?”

“I think so. She gave me an extremely precise time and place.”

“She’d have to, for a fly! Why didn’t she change him back?” I was aghast.

“I think she didn’t want to face him. There aren’t many people who can make Athene feel ashamed.”

“Has spending more time with her stopped you thinking she’s perfect?” I asked.

Pico smiled. “No. She’s perfect. But I do understand her better. She’s the perfect Athene, and that includes a certain amount of pride and vanity and temper.”

“But surely—you know I’m not perfect!”