Daughter of Wine

Leo

I don't want to come out of the wall. 

I have three more braces to attach, and nobody else is skinny enough to fit in the crawlspace. 

Wedged between the layers of the hull with the plumbing and wiring, I can be alone with my thoughts. When I get frustrated or upset, which happens about every five seconds, I can hit stuff with my mallet, and the other crew members figure I'm working, not throwing a tantrum. 

It's been about sixteen hours since Calli vanished. I have to hope we're going to find her in Olympia. That would feel pretty victorious to me. But I'm still panicked and angry and scared. What if she's gone forever? What if Hazel is wrong and she's dead? 

I hit more stuff with my mallet. I feel a little caveman-like, but it does make me feel a little better. 

One problem with my sanctuary: I only fit up to my waist. My butt and legs are still on view to the general public, which makes it hard for me to hide.

"Leo!" Piper's voice comes from somewhere behind me. "We need you."

The Celestial bronze O-ring slips out of my pliers and slides into the depths of the crawlspace. 

I sigh. "Talk to the pants, Piper! 'Cause the hands are busy!"

"I am not talking to the pants. Meeting in the mess hall. We're almost to Olympia."

"Yeah, fine. I'll be there in a sec."

"What are you doing, anyway? You've been poking around inside the hull for days."

I sweep my flashlight across the Celestial bronze plates and pistons I've been installing slowly but surely. "Routine maintenance."

Silence. Piper is a little too good at knowing when I'm lying. "Leo-"

"Hey, whiile you're out there, do me a favor. I got this itch right below my-"

"Fine, I'm leaving!"

I allow myself a couple more minutes to fasten the brace. My work isn't done. Not by a long shot. But I'm making progress. 

Of course, I laid the groundwork for my secret project when I first built the Argo II, but I haven't told anyone about it, not even Calli. I've barely been honest with myself about what I'm doing. 

A small, tiny part of me is glad Calli isn't here. She's small enough to fit in here with me. She'd see what I'm doing and question me about it. I'm not ready to explain. 

Nothing lasts forever, my dad told me. Not even the best machines. 

Yeah, okay, maybe that's true. But Hephaestus also said: Everything can be reused. I intend to test that theory. 

It's a dangerous risk. If I fail, it'll crush me. Not just emotionally. It would physically crush me. Another reason I don't need Calli knowing about it. 

I suddenly feel very claustrophobic. 

I wriggle out of the crawlspace and go back into my cabin. 

Well... technically it's my cabin, but I don't sleep here. The mattress is littered with wires, nails, and the guts of several disassembled bronze machines. My three massive rolling tool cabinets, Chico, Harpo, and Groucho, take up most of the room. Dozens of power tools hang on the walls. The worktable is piled with photocopied blueprints from On Spheres, the forgotten Archimedes text that I liberated in Rome. 

Even if I wanted to sleep in my cabin, it would be too cramped and dangerous. I prefer to bed down in the engine room, where the constant hum of machinery helps me fall asleep.