"David Drake - Birds Of Prey" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

"I'll inform the Director that you're here, Legate," the doorman said in a distant voice. "No doubt he'll be
amused by your priorities."

"Wish to blazes his priorities amused me, buddy," the agent flung over his shoulder as he stamped
upward. He had replaced his orders in the wallet. Now he was taking out another, similar tablet.




CHAPTER TWO

When the building was a residence, its upper floor had been divided into small cubicles - slave quarters,
storage, and ladder-served additions to the shops and rental housing on the exterior of the lower floor.
The open peristyle court and the garden provided light wells for the rooms to the rear. The entrance hall,
though double height, was roofed except for the vent which served as a skylight and fed the pool beneath
it. The area at the top of the stairs was lighted and ventilated only by the outside windows.

Most of the partition walls had been knocked down during conversion. The windows were opened out
from their frames like vertical louvers to catch what breeze wandered through the maze of higher
buildings and surrounding hills. Even so, the atmosphere within was warm and stuffy. Perennius unpinned
his cloak and gripped it with his left hand. Even in the street, he had worn the garment mostly to keep his
weapons from being too obtrusive. The sword and dagger were legal for him but he preferred to avoid
the hassle of explanations.

A unit of forty or so clerks occupied the area to the left of the staircase. They sat on low stools in front
of desks which were boards slanted from pedestals with holes for ink pots. There was an aisle between
the desks and the enclosed main hall. Perennius followed the aisle in accordance with the doorkeeper's
instructions. The room was alive with noise. Most of the clerks read aloud the reports which they copied
or epitomized. Baskets of scrolls and tablets sat on the floor beside each desk. The din seemed to bother
neither the men who were working nor those who were talking with others at neighboring desks. Some of
the clerks worked and chatted simultaneously. Their fingers and pens followed lines of manuscript while
their tongues discussed the chariot races of the day before.

A supervisor almost walked into Perennius at the corner. "Yes sir?" the man said, startled into Greek.

"I need Claudius Zopyrion," the agent replied. He flashed the document in his hand so that the other man
could see the name of the addressee. Battle in closed ranks had made Perennius as facile at separating
information from noise as any of the gobbling clerks around him.

The supervisor gestured down the aisle in the direction from which he had come. Perennius edged
around the corner so that he could follow the pointing finger. A dozen cubicles remained along the
outside wall, though the partitions of most of the rooms which had faced the light wells had been removed
to seat more clerks. "Third office on the left," the supervisor said.

"Thanks," replied the agent. "And who's his boss? Zopyrion's?"

"Gnaeus Calgurrio," the other man said. He had begun to frown, but he did not ask the agent's business.
"Head of Finance. First office."

Perennius smiled his gratitude and walked off in the indicated direction. He could feel the bureaucrat's