“Ah,” said Calvus, “but one owes duty to more than the State, surely. There is one’s – ” He paused, his tongue groping for a word that was not there – “there are friends, that is; and there is humanity as a whole, don’t you agree?”
“Sir, I’m not a philosopher,” Navigatus said. His uncertainty as to the other man’s position made him more uncomfortable than he might have been in the presence of the Emperor himself. “The Bureau is to give you full support, and it will – if you’ll tell us what you require.”
Calvus nodded his head upward in agreement. The agent was watching him out of the corner of his eye, keeping his face turned toward the fountain. The pool curb of porous tufa was very old, like the statue itself. The fountain could have been original to the house. Perennius knew that only two years ago, the garden had been smoothly gravelled with no features but the battery of clerks who filled it. On drizzly days, tarpaulins overhead had permitted work if not comfort. By choosing the furnishings he had, Navigatus was trying to turn the garden into a time capsule. It was not merely an enclave of color and beauty on which the Director could rest his eyes: it was a way of returning to an age long before his birth, when the Empire could be embarrassed by foreign disaster but never threatened.
“I have made the Emperor aware of a conspiracy,” Calvus said, “and he has empowered me to put it down.”
The Director started to say something, but a flick of Perennius’ hand kept him from interrupting. The agent’s open attention had been focused by the word “conspiracy.” He wanted to hear the story in the informant’s own words, with as little as possible imported to it by cross-examination. There would be time for that later.
“There would be some advantages to using military force directly,” Calvus continued, “but I believe that would draw a response that itself would be a terrible risk. It seems better to deal with the matter through a few individuals.”
Perennius did not nod, but his mind flashed agreement. Slip in, bribe a bedroom attendant to suffocate the leader, and slip the hell out again while his lieutenants cut each others’ throats. Finesse had ended revolts that a battalion couldn’t have touched.
“The right man,” Calvus said with a gesture of his eyes toward Perennius, “can put me in a position to destroy this, this – ” and again the lips tried to form a word which did not exist in the language Calvus had been speaking flawlessly. “Unspeakable thing,” the tall man chose at last. He loaded the term with the first genuine emotion the agent had heard from him.
Calvus swallowed, then added, “The site is in Cilicia, not far from Tarsus.”
“Blazes!” Navigatus spat out.
Calvus looked surprised. That surprise might become anger when the disgust of the Director’s outburst sank in. The agent said, “Ah, sir, as my superior and I are well aware, Cilicia has always been a – difficult area, even in less, ah, troubled times.” Perennius sought eye contact with the taller man to give the impression of utter candor. As before, the black eyes jolted him. Out of sheer discipline, the agent stumbled onward, “At the – this particular time, the province is one of those under the con – ah …”
“The direction of the Autarch Odenathus, who has recently recovered it – most of it – from the Prefect Callistus,” Navigatus supplied helpfully. He had gotten his irritation under control during the breather Perennius had offered him. Now the Director continued smoothly, “Your dedication to his Majesty is beyond question, Lucius Calvus; but if I may suggest something from my, ah, peculiar perspective, a threat in Odenath’s back garden, so to speak, is not necessarily a threat to his Majesty at the moment. And an outbreak of banditry in Cilicia would be more conspicuous by its absence.” He smiled affably. There were crackpots less harmless, the Almighty Sun knew; and this one had at least the ear of the Emperor.
Calvus smiled. It was a gesture, not an expression. He continued to look toward Perennius rather than toward the Director who was seated on the other side of him. “Not bandits, your Respectability,” the tall man said. His quiet formality was as daunting as a more direct reference to the rescript. The formal relationship of the two Bureau personnel to Calvus was that they were under his