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He considered this for a moment. “In fact, there is quite a remarkable device on display in one of the buildings in the Imperial District: an orrery, which can predict the movement of the wandering stars and eclipses of the sun and moon. It was invented by ancient scholars and brought here many years ago from the great university at Arcadium. Sadly, the knowledge of how to make such a thing has been lost and will not easily be regained, as the Imperator has declared such studies heresy.”

“Heresy?”

“It doesn’t fit with the new theology.” Cassius sighed. “I can see from your expression that you think as I do: why would any god want to limit our understanding of the world around us? But it’s no use arguing the point. I should know; I was dismissed from the Imperator’s service for pointing out the logical fallacy.”

“And as for the machine, can it really predict the future?”

“In a manner of speaking. It can predict things that are governed by mathematical laws. Once you must contend with the chaos of man, nothing can make an accurate prediction.”

I looked around, taking in the cliff, the harbor, the vivid blue sky. “It’s true. I could never have predicted that I would find myself here. I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m glad you’re here. This house is too empty much of the time.”

“Sebastianus doesn’t spend much time here?” I asked hesitantly.

“Not much time. And what time he does spend here is spent alone.”

“You’ve known him for a long time.”

“Long enough to know that there is a soft heart beneath that exterior.” Cassius searched through the box for a particular quill. “He’s in a difficult position, caught between his aunt and uncle and his conscience.”

“In what way?

“It’s not really my place to say. He does his best to serve them. However—”

There was a shout from the harbor below and a commotion on the dock. Cassius glanced up, then continued rummaging in the box. “Both he and I worry that in their zeal to strengthen and reform the Empire, many important things will be lost forever.”

I considered this for a moment, watching him sharpen the quill. “Like what?”

“The wisdom of the past.”

I thought about Sebastianus, growing up under the eye of his powerful uncle. “I heard a story about Sebastianus that made me wonder what kind of man he was.”

“What kind of story?”

I hesitated. “I heard that he killed a fellow soldier.”

He shook his head. “I suspect there’s more to that tale than what you’ve heard, but it’s up to His Grace as to whether he wishes to share his private business. All right—I think we’re ready.” He dipped the quill in a bottle of ink and scratched letters onto a piece of parchment, saying them out loud as he wrote each one.

“So, it’s true?”

The pen scratching stopped. “You’ll have to ask him. Here, now. This is the alphabet in Kish. Copy these onto a fresh sheet.” He pushed the parchment across the little table.

I read over what he had written. “Several of these are familiar.”

“Yes. The common alphabet derives from this ancient one.”

I inked a quill and began to copy the letters onto my empty page.

“You mentioned your mother a few moments ago,” he asked while I was writing. “Do you know anything of your parents?”

“No. I wish I could have known my mother. I’m not sure if she’s still living, but I think often of finding her. There, I have finished.” I gave the sheet back to him.

He looked it over carefully and then handed it back to me. “Good. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“I don’t. Perhaps she is somewhere in this very city. Part of my hope in coming here is to learn where a woman like her might go.”

He smiled weakly. “It will be hard to find one woman in a city of this size. You were raised by a nursemaid, then?”