Lycon, his face blank and his voice emotionless, said, “We’ve been looking in a lot of wrong places, then, I guess. We’ve got a network of informants throughout every farm and hamlet between Rome and the coast, fifteen miles to either side of the Tiber. We’ve caught or killed maybe a dozen packs of feral dogs, so I wouldn’t say the effort was wasted—but it didn’t bring us any closer to the damned thing we were looking for.”
“Because you weren’t looking in Rome,” N’Sumu said. This time he suited the correct gesture, a lift of his chin and eyebrows, to the words. “Because you were looking for a wild animal, Lycon, when in reality the creature is very cunning—and practically as human as you are.”
N’Sumu was smiling when the waiters arrived with the order. There were five of them: one with a mixing bowl and three cups, one with two jugs of wine, and one with a larger jug of water—dark with the moisture that sweated through its unglazed surface to evaporate and cool the remaining contents. The last pair of waiters carried a freestanding stove of bronze by the handles on either side. They walked gingerly with their burden, because live coals had already been shoveled into the firepot.
The stove was of hollow construction. When the men carrying the piece set it down by the arbor, one of them lifted the lid from the container, which was cast integrally with the firepot. A servant with a wine jug tipped it to fill the stove container. The wine gurgled as it rushed through the passages cast into the walls of the firepot. The thin bronze popped and hissed as the fluid cooled metal which the charcoal had already expanded. The other wine bearer poured from his jug into a cup, while the man with the water filled a second cup for N’Sumu with a flourish.
“We can serve ourselves, boys,” said Vonones. He did not offer to pay. That he would do discreetly at ten-day intervals, feeling that the show of credit was more impressive than an open display of silver would have been in a business setting. The waiters—one was the cook, Hieron; the owner must be alone in the front—bowed and backed away obsequiously.
The wine in Lycon’s cup merged and blended in the swirls it cut through the previously poured water. Slowly the richer color smoothed itself to blanket the buff glaze of the cup’s interior. “Where would you look for a lizard-ape, then?” he asked. “And no more jokes about looking for it in Rome.”
The Egyptian hunched forward. “A grain of sand would hide on a beach, would it not? A wisp of straw in a hayfield. Where would something human hide, beastcatcher?”
“Well, now, we don’t want to overestimate the lizard-ape’s cunning,” Vonones scoffed, wondering if they were meant to laugh. He held his cup beneath the spout of the mulling stove and opened the cock. Steaming wine gushed from a bronze faucet cast in the form of a lion’s jaws. “The lizard-ape, it isn’t human, not at all. It couldn’t just walk around in the midst of Rome—no more than could an escaped lion, or any other large and dangerous beast.”
“I remind you that it isn’t like any other beast known to you,” said N’Sumu with his dreadful smile. “The sauropithecus is right here. In Rome.” He touched the faucet of the mulling stove, opening it just enough in curiosity to jet a thin line of Caecuban onto the brick paving.
“If you know that,” said Lycon sarcastically, “then you can tell us how you know.” He sipped his diluted wine and savored the bite of resin and alcohol, as he stared at the strange Egyptian.
N’Sumu paused with his fingers still on the lion’s head. He met Lycon’s eyes. “Simple logic, my friend. We know that it was on the barge. Now where could it have gone from there?”
As N’Sumu talked, he lifted the lid of the container portion of the hollow stove and peered inside. “It did not jump to the bank of the river between here and Ostia. Either bank. It would have been easy to track if it had done that.”