At first, the realization disconcerted her. She was swept with uneasiness. The past weeks in Constantinople had left her with a heightened sense of secrecy and security.
Within seconds, however, uneasiness was pushed aside by another emotion. There could be only one reason that John had brought other men into his work.
So it was hope, not anxiety, which quickened her last steps into the workshop.
What she encountered, entering, melded both sentiments in an instant.
A loud, crashing noise caused her to flinch.
Fortunately. The flinch gave her the momentum to duck.
Fortunately. The unknown missile whizzing by missed her head by a comfortable margin.
Unlike the ricochet, which struck her squarely on the rump.
The ricochet had little force behind it, however. It was surprise, more than pain, which tumbled her squawking to the floor.
“In the name of Christ, Antonina!” bellowed John of Rhodes. “Can’t you read a simple sign?”
The naval officer arose from behind an upended table and stalked toward her. It was obvious, from its neat and tidy placement, that the table had been upended deliberately.
John reached down a hand and hauled Antonina to her feet. Then, not relinquishing his grip on her wrist, he dragged her back through the doorway she had just entered.
Outside, he spun her around. “Right there!” he roared. “Where everyone can see it!”
He pointed triumphantly above the door.
“In plain and simple Greek! It says—”
Silence. Antonina rubbed her rump, scowling.
“Yes, John? It says what?”
Silence. Then:
“Eusebius—come here!”
A moment later, an apprehensive young man appeared in the doorway. He was short, thick, swarthy—rather evil-looking, in fact. Not at all the image of the innocent cherub he was desperately trying to project.
John pointed accusingly at the empty space above him.
“Where’s the sign I told you to hang there?” he demanded.
Eusebius looked sheepish. “Forgot,” he mumbled.
John took a deep breath, blew it out, and began stumping about in the courtyard. His hands were firmly planted on his hips, arms akimbo.
Antonina knew the signs. She was in no mood for one of the naval officer’s tirades.
“Never mind, John!” she exclaimed. “There’s no harm done, other than to my dignity.”
“That’s not the point!” snarled John. “This stuff is dangerous enough without some—fool boy!—forgetting—again!—to take simple precautions like hanging—”
“What dangerous stuff?” demanded Antonina, smiling brightly. “Oh—that sounds exciting!”
John broke off his stumping. He waved his arms.
“We’ve got it, Antonina!” he cried excitedly. “We’ve got it! Gunpowder! Come on—I’ll show you!”
He charged back inside. Eusebius, moving out of the way, gave Antonina a thankful glance.
For the second time, Antonina entered the workshop.
Bang! Whizzzzz! Thump. Clatterclatterclatter.
She scrambled back outside, ducking.
Behind her, John’s bellow:
“Eusebius—you idiot! Didn’t I tell you to put out the slowmatch?”
“Forgot,” came the mutter.
“Outside of having the memory of an olive, he’s really been a great help,” said John later. He took a thoughtful sip of wine. “Chemistry isn’t really my strong point. Eusebius has a knack for it like nobody I’ve ever seen.”
“Better hire someone to keep track of what he’s supposed to remember, then,” said Antonina, smiling.
John set his cup down on the table firmly. Planted his hands on the table, firmly. Squared his shoulders, firmly.
“We can’t afford it, Antonina,” he said. Firmly. “There’s no point dancing about the matter.” Scowl. “Procopius has been rubbing his hands with glee for a week, now. Ever since he got here ahead of you and went over the books.” Fierce scowl. “He can’t wait to tell you, the swine. I’ve gone through the money. All of it. Not a solidus left. Not one.” Very fierce scowl. “And Sittas—fat cheapskate!—won’t cough up anything more. He denounced me for a spendthrift the last time I asked.”
Antonina’s smile didn’t fade.
“How many times have you hit him up?”
Sullenly: “Eight. Well—seven. Successfully.”
“Congratulations!” she laughed. “That’s a record. No one else has ever squeezed money out of him more than twice in a row, so far as I know.”
John’s smile was very thin.
“It’s not really a joke, Antonina. We can’t go any further without money, and I don’t know where it’s going to come from. I can’t get anything from Cassian, either. The Bishop’s got his own problems. Patriarch Ephraim’s been on a rampage lately, howling about church funds being misspent. His deacons have been crawling all over Anthony like fleas on a dog. They even counted his personal silverware.”