“It’s why my guards have been so vigilant,” Aristotle continued. “So vicious. I ordered them to be so. I wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of the League and our plans for this great nation and the world.” His eyes found Sera’s. “Can you show me the device? Your words do ring true, but it would be foolish for me not to have the proof of it.”
Sera was digging through her satchel before he’d even finished his last sentence. Dak found he couldn’t wait for the philosopher to hold a piece of the future, right there in his hands.
The Ring was dented but shiny, and it glowed with an inner light. Dak knew there could be no doubt such a thing came from a distant future. Aristotle held the device, turning it over and over, studying it with a look of pure wonder.
“Oh, that my master was still here with us,” the philosopher said. “If Plato could have seen this, he and I would have spent a year and a day talking over it. I miss the man. I miss him like my own father.” He finally — almost reluctantly — gave it back to Sera. “Tell me more of what you know about Alexander’s death. If the only thing you’ve come here to ask of me today is to prevent my student from being murdered . . . Well, you could have saved your breath about all the rest. I would do anything for that boy. Though he’s a man now, I suppose. A man grown, and a great one at that.”
A rush of excitement had started to fill Dak’s bones. They were on the cusp now — the cusp of finishing what they’d started for the Hystorians. It was right here for the taking. With Aristotle’s help, stopping the assassin should be relatively easy. If nothing else, the philosopher could just tell his former student to stay hidden in the wings, to avoid seeing his father for a while.
They could do this. They could really do this! Prevent the Cataclysm. One look at Sera and the light in her eyes showed she was thinking the same thing.
Riq spoke up. “Like Dak said, it’s supposed to happen in about three weeks. The assassin, Pausanius, plans to kill King Philip with poison, right there in his big ol’ tent where he and his army are camped, preparing for their huge assault on Asia Minor. The oopsie part is that Alexander will be there, on a surprise visit, and Pausanius will end up killing them both.”
“Now, wait a moment,” Aristotle said, leaning forward with a look of worry on his face. “Two concerns. One, Pausanius seems an unlikely man for the job. He’s been a loyal bodyguard for Philip for years. He must be manipulated by someone else. And I would wager every minute I ever spent with Plato that Attalas is the man behind the murder. He’s been ambitious from day one for his grandson, Karanos, to become the hegemon some day. And it would do him no good unless he killed both Philip and Alexander.”
“Which is exactly what happens,” Riq rebutted.
“Yes, but you said that Pausanius didn’t know — doesn’t know I should say — that Alexander will be there. If this is about installing Karanos as king, I highly doubt the conspirators would plan the attack unless they knew for sure that both father and son would fall together. I can promise you that they would never have another opportunity after one murder or the other done alone.”
Dak was itching — almost literally — to take over from there, but with some spark of kindness dredged up from the bottom of his depths, he let Riq have the fun.
“That’s the key, sir,” Riq said. “According to our history books, everyone agrees with you and thinks that Attalas is behind the murder, but it’s a cover-up. The true mastermind is Olympias.”
“The boy’s mother?” Aristotle asked in a rage, almost as if he’d been accused himself.
Riq nodded, and so did Dak when the philosopher looked at him for confirmation of the shocking news.
“She was even more ambitious than Attalas,” Sera added. “She wanted Alexander to be king, and she wanted it immediately. She didn’t want to wait for Philip to die or be killed. The plan obviously backfires.”
Dak felt like he had to throw something out there. “As for Pausanius, it’s true he is the king’s bodyguard, but a lot of people will do anything for the right money. Or for power. We’ve learned that the hard way.”
Aristotle scratched his beard. “My heart can scarcely bear it. I love Olympias as well. She is a sweet, sweet woman, who thinks the world of her son.”
“Sounds like a Shakespeare play,” Dak mused. “Mother arranges for her son to be king, but her schemes end up killing him.”
“Shakespeare?” Aristotle repeated.
“Never mind.”
Sera rubbed her hands together. “So . . . you probably have a lot of influence with Alexander still. Right? All we need to do is make sure you keep him away from his father and away from Pausanius.”
“Yeah,” Dak said. “Easy-peasy.” He wasn’t sure that translated too well because the philosopher’s eyes wrinkled up in confusion.
But then the man let out a huge breath and leaned back in his stool once again. “So be it. As I’ve said, I’ll do anything to prevent this murder. I didn’t spend all those years teaching Alexander just to have him poisoned by a traitor’s hand. I’ll have my people contact him first thing in —”
The door to the balcony burst open, slamming against the wall and rebounding to knock a man almost clear off his feet. He had black hair and a studious face, which was now lit with something close to terror. His skin was milky pale. Recovering his composure — only slightly — he more gently pushed the door all the way open, then stared at Aristotle expectantly. The philosopher had stood up, and Dak saw a bit of worry bleeding through the man’s normally graceful demeanor.
“Python,” Aristotle said. “The last time you so interrupted me upon a balcony, it was for great news. Something tells me the winds blow a different and darker direction today.”
The newcomer looked even graver than when he’d first burst in. “Teacher, I’m afraid I have horrible, horrible tidings.” He gave a wary look at the three young strangers sitting in the balcony chairs.
“Don’t worry about them,” Aristotle urged. “Just spit it out, now. What’s happened?”
Python’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Your former student Alexander. Alexander the Third. Son of our great hegemon —”
“Yes, I know who he is!” the philosopher snapped. “Is he in danger?”