The agent took a deep breath. “Look,” he said to Maximus in a calm, even friendly, tone, “if you wear your body armor, you’ll live longer. Whether or not that’s a benefit to the Empire sort of depends on whether you have sense enough to take good advice.”
Maximus nodded stiffly, but there was no belief in his eyes – only fear of the result of giving the wrong answer to a test that he did not begin to understand.
Perennius sighed. He looked at the older guard, the one with the mail shirt and the scar snaking up his right arm to where the sleeve of his tunic hid it. The infantryman smiled back at the agent, The expression was forced but perhaps it was the more notable for that. “Quintus Sestius Cotyla,” he volunteered. “Third Centurion of the Fourth Battalion, Palatine Foot.”
“Tell him about it,” Perennius said with a nod toward the younger guard. “When the shit comes down, habits’ll either save you or get your ass killed. For a soldier, walking around on duty without armor is a damned bad habit. But blazes, I’ve got work to do, I guess.”
Sestius nodded. He rapped sharply on the door with a swagger stick. “Pass one,” he called through the triangular communication grate.
“The tribune doesn’t object so long as our brightwork’s polished,” said Maximus unexpectedly. He held a rigid brace with his eyes on the opposite building instead of on the man he was addressing.
The door groaned and began to swing inward. Perennius looked at the guard without anger. “Your tribune,” he said “may not have seen as many feet of intestine spilled as I have, sonny. But, like I say, it’s a problem that’ll cure itself sooner or later.” He stepped between the men into the short passageway that led to the shabby elegance of the entrance hall.
The interior of the building was very dark by contrast to the sunlit street. Perennius nodded to the functionary who had opened the door, but he did not notice that the fellow had raised a hand for attention. “A moment, sir,” the man said in a sharp voice as Perennius almost walked into the bar separating the passage from the hall proper.
The hall was a pool of light which spilled through the large roof vent twenty feet above. The agent’s eyes adapted well enough to see by the scattered reflection that the man who spoke was too well dressed to be simply a slave used as a doorkeeper. There was a shimmer of silk woven into the linen of his tunic. “Your pass, sir,” he said with his hand out. Beside him stirred the heavy-set man with a cudgel, the civilian equivalent of the two uniformed men outside. Since the last time Perennius had been here, the Bureau had added its own credentials check to duplicate that of the army. Clerks seated at desks filling the hall glanced up at the diversion.
Perennius fingered out his diploma again and handed it to the doorman. “First,” he said, “I need to see a fellow named Zopyrion, Claudius Zopyrion, in one of the finance sections.”
The doorman ignored what the agent was saying. He closed the document with a snap and a smile. “Very good, Legate Perennius,” he said in a bright voice. “The Director has requested that you be passed through to him at once. His office is – ”
“I know where the Director’s office is,” Perennius said quietly. He could feel muscles knotting together, but he managed not to let his fists clench as they wanted to do. Rome always did this to him; it wasn’t fair. “First I need to see – ”
“You can take care of your travel vouchers later, I’m sure, Legate,” the functionary interrupted. His smile was a caricature, now, warping itself into a sneer. “The Director says – ”
“Read my lips!” the agent hissed. His voice did not carry to the assembled clerks, but the bruiser in the passage straightened abruptly. “I said, I’ll see Navigatus when I’ve finished my business with Zopyrion. Now, if you want to tell me where to find the bastard, fine. Otherwise – ” and his eyes measured the bruiser with cool detachment before flicking back to the doorman – “I guess I’ll go look for myself.” Unconquered Sun, Father of Life! He should never have come back.