Doctors ran toward the wounded drivers and guards. They might do a little good. They had long-handled probes for digging out bullets. They could sew up sword-cuts and set broken bones. But all they had to fight pain while they worked was opium, which wasn't nearly enough. And all they had to fight infection was wine.
Injured men screamed louder when the doctors splashed it on their wounds. Jeremy would have screamed, too. Rubbing alcohol stung like the devil when you put it on a little scrape. Splashing something full of alcohol on a gaping cut… Just the idea made him shudder.
Wine wasn't that good a disinfectant-better than nothing, but not great. And there was more filth in this world than in the home timeline-far more. Some of those wounds would fester. When they did, there was nothing to do but drain them and hope for the best. A lot of the time, that wouldn't be enough, either. Some men would die of fever. No one in this alternate could do a thing about it.
About half an hour after the wagons came into Polisso, someone knocked on the front door. Jeremy opened it. Waiting in the street was a lean, dark man in a tunic of good wool but without too much embroidered ornament. After a second or two, Jeremy recognized him. “Good day, sir,” he said politely. “You're Lucio Claudio, aren't you?”
“Called Fusco. Yes, that is correct.” Lucio Claudio nodded. He had the air of somebody who liked to dot every i and cross every t. “I have the honor to act as man of affairs for Gaio Fulvio, called Magno.”
“Yes, I know. Won't you come in?” Jeremy stepped inside. “We can sit in the courtyard, if you like. Would you care for some wine and honey cakes?”
“Thank you. That would be pleasant.” By the frown ironed onto Lucio Claudio's face, he had trouble finding anything pleasant. But he was being polite, too.
Jeremy sat him down on a bench in the courtyard. He- politely-admired the flowers. Jeremy went into the kitchen to get wine and cakes for the two of them. While he was there, Amanda came in and hissed, “What's he want?“
“Don't know yet,” Jeremy answered. “He hasn't said.”
His sister looked daggers in the direction of Lucio Claudio. “He's a snoop.”
“Well, who here isn't?” Jeremy said. “He's Gaio Fulvio's man, too, and Gaio Fulvio is a big wheel in this town. People say he's got Sesto Capurnio in his back pocket. I wouldn't be surprised. I can't just ignore his man of affairs.“
“Don't trust him,” Amanda said fiercely.
“I don't intend to.” Jeremy picked up the tray. “No matter what you think, I'm not dumb.”
“Don't be, that's all.” Amanda scowled at him.
He carried the refreshments out to Lucio Claudio. Gaio Fulvio's man of affairs praised the cakes-once more, politely. He spilled out a small libation for the gods and muttered a prayer before he drank any wine. He waited for Jeremy to do the same. Jeremy did, but in place of the prayer said only, “To the spirit of the Emperor.”
“You are a Christian?” the local asked, frowning.
“Yes, we're Imperial Christians,” Jeremy answered.
“It is permitted,” Lucio Claudio admitted. His face said it wouldn't be if he had anything to do with the way things worked. He took another sip of wine, then gave a grudging nod. “Not bad.”
“Glad you like it,” Jeremy said, even if the man of affairs hadn't gone that far. “I hope your principal is pleased with his hour-reckoner?”
“He is.” Again, Lucio Claudio sounded as if he was admitting something he would rather not have. “He is,” he repeated, “though he does still wonder how you few merchants are the only ones who sell such marvelous devices.”
“Hour-reckoners are not the only things we sell, you know,” Jeremy said proudly. “We have fine razors, too, and mirrors of wonderful quality, and knives with sharp blades and many attached tools.”
Amanda had told him to be careful. He'd said he would, but he hadn't. He'd started bragging instead. And that turned out not to be such a good idea just then. He couldn't even blame the wine. He'd had only a sip.
Lucio Claudio smiled. It was the sort of smile an evil banker in a bad movie might have given when he foreclosed on a widow's mortgage. “Yes, I do know about these things,” he said. “So does Sesto Capurnio.”
Uh-oh, Jeremy thought, too late. He did his best to cover up: “I'm sure he hasn't got any complaints about quality or value.”
“No.” Lucio Claudio didn't like admitting that, either. But the shark's-teeth smile didn't slip from his face. “Because of the many, ah, unusual matters pertaining to your family, he now requests and requires an official report on your activities.”
What Jeremy thought this time wasn't, Uh-oh. It was, Damn! An official report meant imperial bureaucrats were going to take a long, close look at the traders from Crosstime Traffic. That was the last thing he wanted. Well, no. He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to be cut off from the home timeline. He had that. Now he had this, too. Talk about adding insult to injury…
Maybe he could stall if he couldn't get out of it. He said, “Regulations state that an official report must be requested in writing.”
“So they do. And why am I not surprised that you know those regulations very well?” Lucio Claudio had a nasty sarcastic streak. He also looked to be enjoying himself. From his belt pouch he pulled a rolled-up sheet of papyrus sealed with a ribbon and a big, blobby red wax seal. He aimed it at Jeremy as if it were a pistol. “Here.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said, meaning anything but. He broke the seal and unrolled the papyrus. It was what the local had said it was. In the most complicated classical Latin at his command, Sesto Capurnio-or more likely his secretary- ordered an official report on the deeds and practices of the Soltero family. Jeremy looked at when the report was due, as if it were one for school.
Three weeks. He sighed. It could have been worse. They could have wanted it day after tomorrow. If they were really suspicious, they would have wanted it day after tomorrow. Of course, if they were really suspicious, they would have torn the house apart for answers.
But answers they wanted, even if they were willing-for now-to ask instead of tear. The more Jeremy looked at the written request, the less happy he got. The bureaucrats of Agrippan Rome took pride in their attention to detail. They'd outdone themselves here. They wanted to know how every item Crosstime Traffic traders sold was made. If that information wasn't available, they wanted to know where the traders got each one. They wanted to know how much the traders paid for each. They wanted to find out about profit margins. They were curious about why the traders always wanted grain, not cash.
“This is a mistake.” Jeremy pointed to that question. “We take silver. Ask Livia Plurabella if you don't believe me.”
“Let me see.” Lucio Claudio examined the paragraph. He scratched his chin. “Do you claim the error makes the official request invalid?”
“I could,” Jeremy said. Gaio Fulvio's man had to know as much, too. Any mistake on an official document invalidated it. That could be true even in the home timeline. Here, it was as much an article of faith as the cult of the Emperor.
“If you do, I will return with a revised request,” Lucio
Claudio said. “I do not know when I will return. I do know the date on which we want your official report will not change- unless it moves up.”
The Romans also wanted to know where Jeremy and Amanda's folks had gone. He'd already explained that to Sesto Capurnio. If they were still asking, the city prefect didn't much like what he'd heard. At least he wasn't sending men to dig up the basement and see if Mom and Dad's bodies were there. That was something-a very small something.