THOOM.

  The ceiling tile hit Cassandra's cake. She kept eating around it.

  "Another week of this," the Master Mason was saying, "and the eastern wall..."

  THOOM.

  More ceiling. Less cake.

  Their own catapult fired back. Distant splash.

  They were short, as usual.

  Priam leaned forward. "Daughter. Divine wisdom. Please."

  She watched the bronze dust settle on her honey. The temple bells hadn't stopped ringing since dawn. Every impact, another ring. Bronze singing about its own death.

  Her divine education surfaced uninvited. Hephaestus in his workshop, drunk, packing a temple bell with sulfur and...

  "Oh," she said.

  The court turned.

  "We can shoot back. Better."

  "With what? They have Odysseus."

  She drew on the table with her honeyed finger. "Bronze tube. Closed end. Open end. Pack it with angry dust. Seal with a stone."

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  "Angry dust."

  "Saltpeter from the tannery district. Sulfur. Charcoal." She kept drawing. "Fire it. Everything in front dies."

  The Master Tanner coughed. "Those crystals come from pig shit."

  "Perfect. We're already full of it."

  THOOM.

  The doors slammed open. Menelaus entered, dragging Paris by the throat. Helen followed, flour in her hair, fury in her walk.

  "Found them," Menelaus announced. "Servant quarters. Making...bread."

  He threw Paris at Priam's feet. The prince landed wrong, caught himself on his hands. Stayed there, looking up at Menelaus through his hair.

  "Your son was teaching servants the escape routes."

  "Good," Priam said tiredly. "Someone should remember us."

  Menelaus's sword came out. Helen stepped between them.

  "Touch him and I disappear." She was ready.

  The blade stopped. Seven years of marriage were heavy things.

  "You choose him?"

  "I'm done choosing." She brushed flour from her rough wool dress.

  Paris was still on his hands and knees, watching Menelaus's sword hand. The tendons. The scars. His mouth was slightly open.

  "Get up," Helen said.

  He didn't move.

  THOOM.

  A column started to crack. No one looked except Cassandra, who'd gone back to drawing.

  "The pig shit crystals," she said into the silence. "Mix them right, we can blow holes in anything."

  "Now?" Priam gestured at his son still kneeling, his enemy's blade still out, his daughter-in-law dressed as a servant. "We're having several moments."

  "The walls won't hold." She stood. "We need thunder tubes."

  "Thunder tubes," Menelaus repeated. "Of course. Why not."

  Helen pulled Paris to his feet. He was burning with fever where she touched him.

  "Show me the tannery district," the Master of Arms said.

  "I know where," Paris said quickly.

  Everyone looked at him.

  THOOM.

  Plaster rained down. The column's crack widened.

  "Gather what we need," Priam commanded. "If Troy falls, it falls thundering."

  THOOM. The column cracked further.

  Priam surveyed his throne room. The burning part was beginning to sag.

  "This is fine," he said.