“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.
“I won't make the claim,” Jeremy said. Lucio Claudio looked smug. Jeremy added, “I am going to remind you there's a war on, though. If King Kuzmickas and the Lietuvans lay siege to Polisso, I don't know if I can get the official report in on time. Flying cannonballs make it hard to write.” He didn't want Lucio Claudio thinking himself the only one who could be sarcastic.
“I suggest you get to work on the report now, then.” Lucio Claudio sounded just like a teacher when a student complained about too much work. “The sooner you start, the sooner you'll finish.”
Thanks a lot, Jeremy thought. He almost said that out loud. Just in time, he swallowed it instead. He already had enough problems here. Why make things worse by offending Lucio Claudio? Sitting there eating honey cakes and sipping wine with him made the next half hour the most uncomfortable time Jeremy had ever spent. It wasn't a year before the local finally left. It only seemed that way.
Amanda looked up from the official request to her brother. She said, “Well, I know the best thing we can hope for.”
“What? The Lietuvans blow up Polisso?” he asked.
“No. Mom and Dad get back before we have to give the prefect the report.”
“Oh.” Jeremy thought about that. He nodded, but not as if his heart was in it. “We can hope, yeah, but I just don't know. Something's got really messed up in the home timeline. If it hadn't, we wouldn't have been stuck here by ourselves so long already.”
It wasn't that he was wrong. He was right. He was, in fact, much too right. Amanda had done her best not to think about why no one had sent them any messages, why no transposition chamber had shown up in the subbasement-or, for that matter, in the cave a few kilometers away.
If the Lietuvans besieged Polisso, that cave wouldn't do the Crosstime Traffic people much good. They'd be on the outside looking in. Could they get through a whole army? Maybe, but Amanda didn't see how.
She had to look at staying here not just for a summer with her folks, but forever. Forever. She couldn't imagine a scarier word. Only one thing kept her from breaking down and crying in something as close to panic as made no difference. She didn't want Jeremy laughing at her for going to pieces like a girl.
It never occurred to her to wonder how close Jeremy was to going to pieces himself.
“Sooner or later, they're bound to come after us,” he said. Was he talking to convince her, or to convince himself? “They can't just leave us here.” If he'd stopped there, it would have been a pretty good pep talk. But he went on, “I wish I knew what happened at the other end.”
“Maybe…” Amanda let her voice trail away.
“Maybe what?” Jeremy asked.
Amanda said the worst thing she could think of: “Maybe somebody… found Crosstime Traffic.”
People from the home timeline had only been traveling to the alternates for about fifty years. They hadn't discovered all of them. The math said they probably couldn't discover all of them. They hadn't even scratched the surface of the infinite swarm of alternates that were out there. They sure hadn't discovered anyone else who could go from one timeline to another.
But just because they hadn't discovered anyone like that didn't mean there wasn't anyone. In a timeline that had branched off from theirs long, long ago, other people might have figured out how to go crosstime five hundred years ago, or five thousand. They might have their own trading zone-or their own crosstime empire. And if they did, and if they noticed newcomers… they might not be friendly. They might not be friendly at all. That could be very bad news indeed.
“Nice, cheerful thought, all right,” Jeremy said. “But I don't believe it. Why now? Why not before?”
“I don't know,” Amanda said. “But why not now? If you've got a good reason, I'd love to hear it.”