Birds Of Prey

for a long voyage? If you had the men and stores turned over to you, whatever you said you needed and could be found in the port.”

For the space of six measured strides, the only sound in the drydock was that of the agent’s boots on the planking. When Niger spoke, it was with caution and none of the bitter wise-cracking of his earlier remarks. “Not less than three days,” he said. “Maybe as much as seven. She’ll have to be caulked and repitched. . . . For that matter, we’ll have to survey all six and see which is most likely to hold the water out. Mast and spar, fighting towers, oars . . .”

The tribune’s musing aloud paused when Perennius fell below his line of sight past the poop deck. When the agent had climbed the ladder, their eyes met again. Niger looked troubled. “I’d appreciate it if you’d start the list of men and materials required,” Perennius said to the younger man. “Figure out where you could get them if you had a blanket authorization. In an hour or two, that’s just what you’ll have.”

Niger dipped his oiled beard in assent. “Yes, sir,” he said. The animation, the sharpness of tone, was gone as he contemplated the situation. “Sir …” he went on diffidently. “I’ll see to it that she’s put in order to the extent possible. But she’ll still be an over-age, under-maintained disaster waiting to happen. If she’s really being fitted out for a long voyage … I don’t envy the men aboard her.”

“Don’t envy anybody, my friend,” said Aulus Perennius. He braced his left hand on the stern rail, then swung himself back to the platform with a clash and sparkling of boot studs and concrete. By the blazing Sun, he could still eat men half his age for breakfast, he thought in a surge of pride springing from the exertion. He grinned at the surprised tribune like a wolf confronting a lamb. “No,” he repeated, “don’t envy anybody.”

The single, unsprung axle of the carriage found a harmonic with the courses of paving stones. The sympathetic vibration escalated what had been a burr into a series of hammering jolts. Perennius, at the reins, had been lost in thought before the jouncing lifted him back to present realities. He clucked to the pair of mules, urging them into the extra half-stride per second that broke the rhythm.

The agent looked over at his companion. Calvus had braced himself firmly with one hand on the seat and the other locked on the frame holding the carriage top. They had taken the vehicle from Rome to Ostia because Calvus had said he had never ridden a horse. Perennius had the feeling that the tall man had never ridden a carriage, either, now that he had watched him in one. Calvus seemed to have no subconscious awareness of where the next bump would come from and how he should shift to receive it. He was using his surprising strength to keep from being literally bounced out of the vehicle, but the battering that earned him must have been equivalent to all-in wrestling with a champion. Calvus never complained, though.

“How did you get that imperial rescript?” Perennius asked without preliminaries.

“The way I told you,” the other man said. “I can’t force a decision, but I can influence one. Like the wheels just now.”

“Eh?” The agent glanced back from the road, but only for an instant. They were overtaking an official carriage. Common sense and the quartet of tough-looking outriders enjoined caution.

“Normally the vibrations of the wheels cancel themselves,” Calvus explained. “There for a moment, the bumps and the period of oscillation of the carriage were perfectly in tune. Instead of a constant tingle, each bounce was higher and higher – until you changed the rate at which we encountered the bumps.”

He paused. The agent continued to watch the road as they swept by the larger vehicle. Nothing in Perennius’ face betrayed emotion. He was gathering information. From past experience with Calvus, it would make sense eventually.

The bald man went on, “I can advance an idea. Nothing complex, nothing like – what the ability was meant for. Pure communication with my siblings. But ‘Help this man’ or ‘Believe this’ … or simply, ‘Run!’ A little prod-