“What the heck is a hegemon anyway?” Sera asked when they reached the main street of Corinth, a bustle of markets and shops and people everywhere. It reminded Riq a bit of Baghdad except that the architecture was so different — all stone columns and frescoes. “Is it some kind of mythical beast? Lots of arms?”
Dak stopped and turned to look at her. “Lots of . . . what are you talking about? Hegemon is another word for king. Right now it’s Philip. He’s the hegemon of the League of Corinth. All the city-states of Greece and Macedonia send representatives here to work through their issues. You know, all that political stuff. It’s basically a republic, and it keeps them all from fighting one another all the time.”
“Most republics don’t have a king,” Riq countered. “Or a hegemon.”
Dak shrugged. “Well, it was a good start after years of civil war. I won’t bore you with any more details.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”
Riq had to restrain the look of horror that wanted to pop on his face. “Uh, I think you know the answer to that one. Maybe later.”
“Yeah. If you’re lucky. Some seriously fascinating stuff.”
“I bet.” Riq smiled when Dak turned around and started maneuvering his way through the crowds of Corinth. The kid was a weirdo, but had really become likable. Almost to Riq’s chagrin. It had been kind of fun when all they did was fight. He looked at Sera, who knowingly winked at him.
They turned off of the busier part of the street and entered a square with fountains and pigeons everywhere. Things were a little more relaxed here — people strolling about, lovers whispering into each other’s ears, friends eating lunch on stone benches. At the far end of the square, a huge statue of a man on a warhorse towered over the people. The man had a laurel crown on his head and a spear in his fist. Beyond the statue was a majestic building with fluted pillars — it was the tallest structure that Riq had seen so far.
“The hegemon,” Dak whispered reverently. “And the League of Corinth. This is amazing. If you would’ve told me when I was seven years old that I’d be standing here someday . . .”
Riq just shook his head. Sera rolled her eyes.
“Some reason you three are here?”
Riq spun around, startled at hearing plain English in such a place. A person stood there — he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman because he or she was swathed in a loose robe with a deep hood pulled so far forward it obscured the face. And the voice had been muffled.
“Wait,” Dak said, tapping Riq on the arm, “was that the translator kicking in?”
“No,” Riq answered, alarm bells ringing inside his mind. “That was perfect English, something that no one from here . . . from this time . . . would speak.”
“Who are you?” Sera asked, attempting, rather poorly, to throw some threat in her voice.
The person didn’t answer, just stared at them through the darkness within the folds of his or her hood.
“Who are you?” Sera repeated. This time she did a pretty good job of sounding tough.
Still, the person said nothing. Then, after a few seconds, the stranger lifted the hood and pulled it back, revealing a man with a bald head. Riq took in a quick breath — scars covered the man’s face, and one of his eyes was deeply bloodshot, as if every vessel had burst and never healed. The guy was about three doors down from death.
“I’d say I’m a Time Warden,” the stranger said, “but you three know that’s not true. There’s nobody fitting that description at this point in time, now is there?”
“But you could be from the future,” Dak said. “If we can do it —”
Sera whacked Dak on the arm, right before Riq did the same. The last thing they needed to do was reveal information to the menacing weirdo.
“Ow,” Dak responded sarcastically.
“For the last time,” Sera said, “who are you? And what do you want with us?”
“Who I am is none of your concern,” the man growled, as if he were an actor in a bad local theater. He pulled out a long, sharp, gleaming knife. “’Cause you’re all about to be dead, and I’d just as soon my name not spill from your lips when you meet the devil.”
INSTEAD OF a rush of fear, Dak only felt impatience. He’d gotten used to bad guys threatening them, and right that second the only thing in the world he wanted to do was find Aristotle. This bald buffoon standing in front of him threatened to delay that meeting, and Dak wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Sir,” he said, “I know you’re holding a knife and all, and we look pretty helpless — at least my companions do anyway — but I’m just going to give you one word of warning. We’ve been through a lot of junk, and we’re the last people on earth you want to mess with. So stand aside or pay the consequences. Your choice.”
Sera gave him a look, and Dak wasn’t quite sure what it meant. Something between amazement and embarrassment. He figured both applied at the moment. A crowd had gathered around them, and the bald man of scars lowered himself into a crouch, the tip of his blade pointed directly at Dak.
“Tough words for a little man,” the stranger said, once again in that growl that sounded about as authentic as Riq trying to explain the qualities of a particularly gourmet cheese. “Now just watch as I —”
Dak would never find out what the next word to come out of the man’s mouth was going to be. Before he could spit it out, Sera had punched the man in the face. Once, hard, a stroke quick as lightning with her fist all balled up like a coiled snake.
The man grunted, then stumbled back, flailing to catch his balance. He regained it a split second before running into the lip of the fountain — then fell backward and made an impressive splash in the churning waters. The people in the crowd around them burst into laughter and applause, just as two men in tunics and armor moved in to take the bald menace away.
Sera held up her hand, wincing with the pain of the punch. “Let’s go find that Aristotle guy,” she said.
Dak had never been prouder.
Riq couldn’t wipe the smile off of his own face, and he hoped he didn’t look too goofy as he and his friends quickly made their escape from the fountain encounter with the scary-looking man who seemed to come from nowhere. Sera had shown plenty of grit over the course of their adventures, but punching a man twice her size — that quickly and that fiercely — had taken the cake.