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-
ding of the recipient's mind at a level of which he isn't aware, so it becomes his thought. And it keeps returning, a little stronger each time, until he acts on it. Nothing that he might not have done anyway, of course, but there are so many actions that are within the capacity of an imperial usher, for instance, that it isn't hard to find one that prepares for the next stage of action. And at last, the Emperor comes to believe something which is in fact true but which he would probably not have acted on if approached in any other fashion."
The rumble of their iron wheels on the road made Perennius' bowels quiver and his head nod toward the sleep it had not gotten the night before. Everything was going smoothly now. He had conceived his plan and put it into operation. The agent's mind was ready to relax, now, until the next of the inevitable disasters lurched into its path to be dealt with. "Calvus," the Illyrian said.
"Yes, Aulus Perennius," the other replied.
"Don't screw with my mind. I know myself pretty well. If I ever find myself acting . . . some way I don't, I'll come after you. It ... This world doesn't always seem to have a lot for me in it, but that's always been my own."
"Would you file the edge of a good sword?" asked the tall man.
Perennius had been avoiding Calvus' eyes. Now he glanced back at the tall man. "Hell no," he said.
"Neither would I, Aulus Perennius," Calvus said.
They were nearing the formal boundaries of the city. Both sides of the road were lined with tombs and funerary steles. In recent years, many of those who could afford it were being buried whole instead of being cremated as their ancestors had been. Instead of a single stone plate with a prayer for their spirits and a base on which a wine and food offering could be left by relatives, they wanted to be embalmed to await resurrection. Fools and their mystery religions, their Isis and Attis and Christos. But when there was increasingly little hope or security in the world, how could anyone blame people who looked for hope elsewhere?
Perennius muttered a curse. Easily. If the damned cowards would buckle down and do something about the present, they wouldn't need to despair about it. Miniature pyramids, polished granite sarcophagi with peaks on the corners in Syrian style . . . Those were the fancy ones. For the poor, there were boxes of tufa, so strait that even short men must have their legs folded at the knees or separated by a bone saw.
The agent's face stayed blank, but his hands were gripping the reins so tightly that the skin striped white and red over his knuckles. Calvus watched him closely. With the care of a scout trying to disarm a deadfall, the tall man said, "I couldn't have affected the gang which waylaid us last night, even if I hadn't been immobilizing the Guardian's weapon. There were too many of them, too hopped-up, and it was too sudden. But I did encourage the group behind us to run, after you killed the Guardian."
"What?" Perennius said. Curiosity dissolved from his mind the anger directed at his whole world. The agent's muscles relaxed to the normal tautness of a man driving a pair of spirited mules. "What were you doing to the thunderbolt thing? That is what you mean?"
The bald man nodded. "For the weapon to work, two small metal parts had to touch each other inside it. While I could, I kept them from touching by keeping a layer of - " he risked a gesture with his left hand - "part of the air between them. Until I was hit on the head, that is." He smiled.
Perennius had the impression that the smile was real, not a gesture trotted out for a suitable occasion. That lightened the agent's mood as much as did the interesting problem which the statement posed. The stable from which they had rented the carriage was in sight. Wheeled vehicles were unlawful in the city during daylight, and only goods wagons were permitted on the streets even after dark. They would walk to Headquarters. Perennius had a dislike for sedan chairs, a fear of being closely surrounded by four strong men who had every reason to dislike him as a burden. No doubt chairmen who really did hate the folk who hired them soon enough found another line of work, but the feeling persisted.
"Then you can make things move without touching them," Perennius asked in a neutral voice. Calvus' abili-
ties interested him, but he was able to discuss them without concern except for when they involved meddling in his own head.
"Nerve impulses, very easily." the bald man said with what was only the semblance of agreement. He buffed his thumb against the two fingers as if there were something in between. "Tiny bits of the air, not so easily . . . but that too. If you mean move a sword or a key, no. No more than you could lift those mules and throw them." He nodded toward the team. The mules, familiar by years of experience with the route, had left the road without command and were turning into the stable to be unharnessed. Calvus held onto the frame with both hands again as the wheels rang over the curb. "It's important that you know my limitations, you see."
"Whoa," called Perennius to the mules. They had already stopped, and he drew back on their reins needlessly. The ostler was walking toward them, turning a sharp eye on the condition of his animals. Habit, habit. The agent jumped down to the stable yard and walked around the back of the vehicle to help Calvus dismount. "Just remember," Perennius said as he reached a hand up to his awkward companion, "I have limitations too. I'm only human."
"Actually, Aulus Perennius," said the tall man as he stepped down, "you aren't even that, not entirely . . . not at least as we would define the term, my people." He released the callused, muscular hand that had just braced him. "That's what makes you so valuable, you see," Calvus concluded with a smile.