“This can’t be,” he said, his steady, regal voice cracking for the first time. “I taught the boy, practically raised him through the better part — the most important part — of his youth. He’s . . . destined to do great, great things. Change the world. I know it, in my heart, without any doubt. This . . . this can’t be.”
Dak had expected the philosopher to be troubled, but the reaction went far beyond his wildest expectations. Aristotle looked like a man who’d just been told his son had been killed. Which, evidently, was for all intents and purposes what had happened. The man was visibly traumatized.
But then he composed himself, the stately leader and teacher regaining his footing. He stood tall, brushed at his robes, then sat back down again, ramrod straight, looking as if he’d never been bothered at all. Dak’s admiration grew.
“Your words ring true,” Aristotle said, “and if this truly did . . . or does . . . happen, then my reaction is exactly as your Hystorians have taught you. Such a thing would devastate me, indeed, and I’d do anything to reverse that course.” He paused. “We’ve had trouble lately. Strangers appearing, wreaking havoc. Strangers who are nothing like Greeks or Macedonians at all.”
Dak and his friends exchanged looks. The dude at the fountain. Tilda was up to something, no doubt.
“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 —”