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

holding out the diploma. "If they're forgeries, then I've made a hell of a long trip for nothing."

The older guard took the tablet. The wax seal had been broken. He held the document at an angle to the
light to see the impression more clearly. The guard's helmet quivered as his high forehead wrinkled
beneath it.

"You know," said the younger man as his partner opened the tablet, "just having a pass won't get you
farther than the hall. Now, it happens that the receiving clerk is a friend of ours. You understand that
everything's open and above-board inside, what with so many, let's say hands, around. But if I were to
tip him the wink as I sent you through, then it might save you, hell, maybe a day warming a bench in - "

"Maximus," the older guard said. He looked from the diploma to his companion. Perennius was smiling
at the corner of his eye.

" - a bench in the hall," Maximus continued, his conspirator's smile seguing into a quick frown at the
partner who was interrupting his spiel.

"Maximus, shut the fuck up!" the older man snarled. He thrust the open tablet toward his companion.

What was written on the enclosure was simple and standard. It named Perennius, described him in detail
which included his four major scars, and directed him to report to Headquarters - not further identified -
with all dispatch. As such, the document served both for orders and for a pass. There was nothing in the
written portion to frighten anyone who knew as little about Aulus Perennius as either of the guards could
be expected to know.

The tablet had been sealed with the general Bureau signet, a seated woman holding a small sheaf of
wheat. It was a hold-over from the days a century before when the organization had officially been the
Bureau of Grain Supply. The seal within, at the close of the brusk orders, was a personal one. It
impressed in the wax a low relief of a man gripping the steering oar of a ship. Though the guards might
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never have seen the seal in use before, they knew it for that of Marcus Optatius Navigatus. Navigatus
was head of the Bureau, formally the equal of a provincial fiscal officer in authority and informally more
powerful than most governors . . . because he directed men like Aulus Perennius.

Maximus got the point. The helmsman signet smothered his snarl into an engaging grin as he turned from
his partner back to the agent. "Hey, just a joke, sir," he said. "There's just about no traffic through here
anyway, except the morning levee and from the courier's entrance." He gestured with a quick flick of his
head. It was more of a nervous mannerism than a direction toward whichever other entrance to the
building he meant. "No harm done, hey?"

"There could have been," said Perennius.

The older guard closed the tablet carefully and offered it back to the agent. "Thank you, sir. Now, if - "

Perennius ignored him. His eyes forced Maximus back a step. The agent's hard voice continued. "It still
could be, son, couldn't it? Look at me, damn you!"