[h3][color=indianred]Observatory[/color][/h3]

Zosime lacked the frame of reference to understand that the brass-ball device was a model of the solar system - in Zosime's world, the universe was a series of spheres with the Earth another globe at its centre.  But... made of [i]aeres[/i]?  Air?  She shook her head.  Innocent had an unusual accent, not at all like her Roman tutors.  He must have meant the metal, brass.  She approached cautiously, and reached out her right hand to touch the one different globe, the one in the third orbit with the smaller sphere circling it.  Her finger had just made contact when the ship gave a significant lurch, and the Egyptian stumbled away, tripping over the fringe on her ankle-length chiton and falling to her hands and knees.  More of the little leaves and shoots snapped off under her hands, releasing a sweet scent that Zosime had never encountered before, but found pleasant.

"Potens Sekhmet, quid istum accidit?" [i]Mighty Sekhmet, what was that?[/i]  She rose unsteadily, more aware than ever of the rocking of the room and the ominous creaking of the floor and walls.  Across the room, Christopher appeared to be fighting with the bookshelf, and Zosime watched in interest as the rectangular objects on the shelves turned out to be many thin sheets of incredibly fine papyrus cosseted between layers of stiff leather.  She'd never seen anything like them.  Were they like scrolls, filled with knowledge?   What a strange way to store pages!

Her lurch across the room had placed her closer to the pillar.  She wanted to lean on it, but her dignity forced her to remain ramrod straight and upright.  "Fortasse, nolite itaque amittere obiecta?" [i]Maybe you shouldn't be throwing things?[/i] she directed at Christopher.

The scribe turned back to the pillar.  She could hear voices from below, and knew that meant there were other people around.  But at the moment, she had no idea if they were friend or foe, captor or fellow prisoner.  So she decided to deal with them, whoever they might be, later.

The pillar looked like it had been carved, once; she was very familiar with carvings, though she didn't work with stone herself.  It looked like the bark had grown over the carved surface like sea weeds over sunken statues.  She wondered if the carvings would be clearer if she could somehow remove the bark, but the bald woman had no tool with which to attempt such a feat.

Circling the pillar, she eventually came to the recessed hand-print.  Unable to resist her curiosity, Zosime raised her left hand, her dominant hand, the one that she had touched the leaves when he first awoke, and pressed it against the matching marking on the pillar.