“It is Russell Square,” Hera said quietly, causing me to sit up in surprise. “We’re almost to our destination.”
We parked a few minutes later and walked under cloudy skies down a street toward a building hidden partially behind a wall. Grey, weathered columns marked a massive facade, and as we climbed the stairs I turned to Breandan and whispered, “Where are we?”
He shrugged, a look of complete obliviousness plastered to his face. “Never been here before myself. I wouldn’t know.”
“It’s the British Museum,” Hera said, not able to disguise her irritation. “Don’t you live here?” she asked Breandan pointedly.
“I’ve only been here for a few years,” Breandan replied. “It’s not like I’m some tourist who has all day to sit around scratching myself while pondering the great sculptors of ancient Carpathia.” He thumped his chest. “I work for a living!”
I shot a look at him sideways. “You pick pockets on the tube a couple hours a day.”
He gave me a look of great personal affront as we climbed the steps to the entrance. “Also downtown, sometimes.” His pale cheeks flushed slightly crimson. “You know, just … to be clear for the record.”
There were only minor crowds as we entered the building. It was a little darker. Not dim, but the light was plainly reduced. The smell of the place was clean and reminded me of shopping malls but with a hint of age to the whole thing, as though this was a place that had been around longer and carried great importance. “This way,” Hera said, leading us forward into a well lit room beyond the entry.
As we walked through the doors into an open courtyard, my eyes widened. Above us was a dome that covered a massive room. Had it been outside, it would have easily been large enough to be a stadium. In the middle rested a circular structure all on its own, with a spiral staircase wrapped around it on either side. Small restaurants and shops were scattered around the courtyard, and I felt a craving for a strong cup of coffee. I walked on, though, following Hera’s lead, and marveling at the impressive white space of the courtyard around me. It was surprisingly brightly lit, especially for such a cloudy day.
Hera took us to the left, and I caught a glimpse of Reed at the rear of our procession, his eyes darting around, looking for any threats. Part of me wondered who would even be able to find us here, but after only a moment’s thought, I remembered I had been found by enemies in odder moments and with less reason to believe they’d be looking for me.
We passed fine stone carvings and art from ancient Egypt, and my head swiveled as I walked by a display. I halted to read it—a sculpture of Bastet excavated from Bubastis. I rejoined the procession as Breandan gave me a look that indicated he was wondering what I was thinking. “Nothing,” I replied to his nonverbal question.
I had seen a memory from Zack that detailed the moments before Omega destroyed the Directorate headquarters. Bastet had been there, and she and Winter had plainly been familiar with each other. When he had greeted her, he had mentioned that it had been “a long time since Bubastis.” I had wondered about it at the time but had been more focused on other things that happened in the course of the memory. It was a skill I had, bouncing around from detail to detail without getting mired in anything but what I needed to focus on now. In some ways it was helpful. In other ways it wasn’t. At the moment it was helping me distract myself from the possibility that I was pregnant with the child of my dead lover.
We made our way through a corridor filled on both sides with Persian carvings that were brilliantly done. I didn’t have much experience with sculpture, but it looked like the work of years to create something so detailed. I caught Hera looking as well, and she flashed a reserved smile when she realized I had seen her. “These artisans did impressive things. Now you could craft something smoother and more perfect in sand in a matter of hours.”
“You’re talking about sandcastle sculptures?” I asked, my eyes tracing over the lines of the work as we continued to walk.
“Yes. It still impresses me what they can accomplish,” she said.
“But those don’t stand the test of time,” I said. “I doubt any of them will be in a museum in a few thousand years.”
“That’s not the point,” Hera said. “The point is that with technology and knowledge, man has advanced to a level where it’s not only possible to surpass many of the things the gods used to do, but it’s trivialized much of the making of art. Rather than a chisel and a piece of marble, a power tool can make a sculpture like these,” she indicated with a wave of her hand to encompass the Greek gallery we were entering as she said it, “in hours or days. It used to take considerably longer.” She smiled ruefully. “Just like killing men, really. It used to take battles or pillages to kill thousands or tens of thousands.” She snapped her fingers. “Now you can do it in an instant.” Her smiled faded. “It used to take a Hades or an Ares to do such a thing.”