All of Gold

Nebukhadran liked plans that made his emotions look strategic.

Danel discovered that during the council in which the image was first named.

The king had summoned fewer men than usual. Arioch. Ashpenaz. Two treasury officials. The master of works. Nathrek. Danel, now included in such rooms by office if not by age.

The chamber was not the full throne room but a lower council hall off the western approach, where war, taxes, and punishments could be discussed without ceremonial inconvenience. Even here the hidden pressure of the palace moved under the stone like an old animal unwilling to sleep.

Nebukhadran stood over an unrolled site-map rather than taking the raised chair.

"The provinces have heard enough about my dream," he said without preamble. "I will not have them hearing confusion with it."

No one answered immediately because kings often preferred an attentive silence before advice.

Nathrek provided the first sentence.

"Then the empire should be taught one shape, my lord."

Danel felt the line arrive before he understood its full destination.

Nebukhadran looked at the Chief Magician.

"Explain."

Nathrek inclined his head toward the map.

"A public work. A dedication on the eastern plain where all provincial ranks may attend. Something large enough that no man leaves uncertain what the center of the empire is."

The master of works, already prepared, slid forward a secondary tablet showing measurements.

Danel looked down.

Height. Base width. Transport routes for plated sections.

Gold overlay.

The king's hand flattened against the map.

"You propose a figure."

"I propose visibility," Nathrek said. "The dream has made men talk. Let the empire answer not with talk but with form."

Ashpenaz's face remained perfectly neutral. Arioch's did not move at all.

Danel kept his eyes on the measurements.

The proportions were not those of the dream-image exactly. Too singular. Too resolved.

Nebukhadran looked toward him.

"You are silent, Judean."

"You have other men for speed, my lord. I am trying to be exact."

That pleased the king enough to let him continue.

"Then be exact."

Danel raised his eyes.

"A king does not become more secure because metal is made taller."

The treasury official nearest the map inhaled through his teeth as though Danel had just walked barefoot across an accounting principle.

Nebukhadran's expression sharpened, but not yet toward wrath.

"You object."

"I advise caution."

Nathrek entered smoothly before the warning could harden into defiance.

"The governor speaks from admirable sobriety, my lord. But sobriety and symbolism need not quarrel. Heaven has already named you head of gold. A work of gold need only declare outwardly what the gods have already confirmed inwardly."

There it was.

Not contradiction. Misuse.

Danel felt the shape of it immediately. Take the one honorable part of the interpretation. Isolate it from the rest. Build a public answer large enough that frightened men could live inside the flattery and forget the stone.

Nebukhadran's gaze drifted back to the measurements.

"Head of gold," he said softly.

No one in the room moved.

It was never safe to speak into a king's self-narration until he had finished choosing which version of himself would emerge from it.

"And the dedication?" the king asked.

Nathrek said, "A gathering of officials from every rank. Satraps, prefects, governors, counselors, treasurers, judges, magistrates, and all provincial authorities. Let them see. Let them stand in order. Let the empire remember itself aloud."

Remember itself aloud.

Danel hated the sentence on contact.

Because it was true in the wrong way.

Babylon remembered itself through public arrangements of bodies. Through repeated gestures. Through making reverence look administrative until conscience lost the nerve to distinguish them.

"On the plain of Dura," the master of works said. "The ground is stable there. The road access is good. Visibility from the approach is excellent."

Arioch's voice entered for the first time.

"Security will be expensive."

"Then be expensive," Nebukhadran said.

The decision had happened.

Not fully spoken yet, but already real.

Danel felt the old familiar helplessness of watching a room choose the answer it had been preparing itself to desire before the discussion began.

"My lord," he said, one final time, "public works teach more than they intend."

Nebukhadran looked at him, impatient now.

"Everything teaches. That is why kings choose the lesson."

He struck the edge of the map with two fingers.

"Build it."

The meeting broke around the command.

Scribes moved. Treasury men bowed. The master of works reached for his tablets like a priest reclaiming liturgy.

Only Nathrek remained momentarily still.

He did not look triumphant. That would have been vulgar.

He looked what he always looked at his most dangerous: patient enough not to need expression.

Danel met his eyes across the table.

For a breath the room seemed to thin around the two of them.

No speech passed.

None was needed.

Yesterday Nathrek had been forced to stand still while truth named the room. Today he had answered by giving the king a shape large enough to kneel toward.

When Danel left the council hall, the sounds from the eastern work yards had already intensified.

Babylon had chosen architecture.