“Is that him?” Esther asked, interrupting Simon’s monologue about philosophers and pointing at the man.
Simon squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I don’t think there are any surviving portraits of Andronicus of Rhodes.”
Walter gave a shrug. “Meh. He looks like a philosopher to me. We may as well go and say hello.”
He waltzed off in the direction of the man. Simon and Esther exchanged a glance and a shrug, then followed after their confident, unfazed friend.
But as they drew closer, Esther suddenly realized where she’d seen the old man’s face before. It was in the history rooms of the School for Seers! The school had lots of busts on display of famous scientists, mathematicians, philosophers, politicians, and the like. This face—though now lined with wrinkles—belonged to Posidonius, the Stoic philosopher whose teachings had been mainly lost in time.
Esther flailed out an arm, gripping hold of Simon by the wrist. “I think I know who that is.”
Simon was nodding, clearly having put two and two together at the exact same moment as Esther had.
“Posidonius!” they both cried in unison.
The man looked up sharply from his work. He took in the sight of Walter standing before him, who, despite his toga and sandals, still looked very different with his dark skin amongst all the bronzed Greeks. Then his gaze flicked to Esther and Simon, roving from their feet to their heads. He looked just as surprised at the sight of pale Simon in his cobbled together outfit.
He frowned, clearly confused by the three young children standing before him who somehow knew his name and had exclaimed it with such enthusiasm.
He began to speak. But Esther had no idea what he was saying since he was speaking in ancient Greek. She turned to Simon.
“Can you translate?” she asked.
Simon shifted from one foot to the other, his cheeks starting to go a little pink. “Well, no. I mean, we learned how to read the language, not speak it.”
Walter laughed. “So much for a fine education.”
“Actually, no one knows how to properly pronounce the ancient languages,” Simon contested.
“Hush,” Esther said to them both. “Stop squabbling. We need to work out a way to communicate with Posidonius. He must be the reason we’re in Rhodes.”
“So who is he?” Walter asked.
“Posidonius,” Esther repeated. She searched her mind for everything she could recall of the philosopher. “He studied physics, and astrology, and how the tides are controlled by the moon. Ooh, and he died in 51 BC at the age of eighty-three.”
She looked at the old man again. He looked to be roughly that age now. That must be where they’d landed: Rhodes, 51 BC, during Posidonius’s last days alive.
“And you think he’ll help us?” Walter asked. “That he’ll help us find the Scepter of Fire?”
“I don’t know,” Esther confessed. “But that’s usually how Professor Amethyst’s missions work. He sends us somewhere to find a seer to help in the quest.”
She thought of Oliver and their mission together back in the time of Newton. She missed him desperately. But now was not the time to get sidetracked by emotions.
She turned back to Posidonius and tried again. “Seers,” she said, pointing at the three of them, hoping the term translated universally across all languages. “Seeeeeers.”
Simon shook his head. “That’s not working.”
“Scepter!” Walter said, miming a long baton. Then he wiggled his fingers like a campfire. “Of Fire.”
Posidonius’s frown just grew stronger. In fact, he looked rather irritated by the intrusion of the children. With a heavy sigh, he stood and swirled off away from them.
As she watched him go, Esther felt helpless. Why would Professor Amethyst have sent them to Rhodes, approximately in the year 51 BC, if not to speak to Posidonius? What other person might they be here to speak to?
“Look!” Walter cried. “Old Posidonius left something behind!”
He reached forward and grabbed a stack of papers that had been resting against the crate. They were definitely Posidonius’s. He must have forgotten he’d placed them there.
Esther was just about to run after him and hand them back, when she paused. Maybe whatever Posidonius had been sketching would provide some kind of clue.
She held up the first page. It was a rather detailed sketch of a building. There was a word written beneath it.
“Simon, do you know what that says?” she asked.
The boy leaned closer and squinted. “Ah, yes. That word means school.” Esther watched as his eyes quickly scanned the rest of the writing. “It appears that Posidonius is setting up a school on one of the surrounding island archipelagos.” Then he began to chuckle. “According to his notes, his Stoic philosophy is not welcome here.”
“Show-off,” Walter mumbled.
Esther turned to the next page in the stack. This time, the picture Posidonius had drawn was a map. Each island had been labeled.
Simon began to read them aloud. “Kos. Patmos…”
Esther recognized them all. But then one name Simon uttered made her pause.
“Cousteau?” she said, repeating what he’d just said. “There is no island called Cousteau.”
“You’re right,” Simon said. “It must have been renamed.”
But Esther’s mind was going into overdrive. “Why does that name sound familiar to me?” she said, tapping her chin contemplatively.
Simon continued. “Well, whatever it means, it appears to be the same island upon which Posidonius has drawn a large X for the location of his school.”