Envoy Extraordinary

She made the tormentum look like a toy. Projecting from her on either side were the biggest wheels in the world and each wheel bore a dozen paddles. A great bar of iron that Phanocles had had twisted into a wicked shape writhed its way across the deck between them. Four metal hands held this bar, two pushing, two pulling back. Behind the hands were iron forearms and upper arms that slid back into sleeves of brass. Mamillius knew what Phanocles called the sleeves. They were the pistons; and because there was no other way of making them with the ludicrous, accuracy he-demanded they had been drawn off two alabaster pillars that had been intended for a temple of the Graces.

Reminded by the Graces of Euphrosyne, Mamillius turned aft. Between the pistons was the most daunting thing of all: Talos, the man of brass. He was headless, a flashing sphere half-sunk in the

deck, his four arms reached forward and gripped the wicked crank. Between him and the crank fitting in the space that the arms left between them was a brass funnel, tall as a mast, scandalous parody of the Holy Phallus.

There were few men about. A slave was doing something highly technical to one of the steering paddles and someone was shovelling coal in the hold. The coal grit lay everywhere on her deck and sides and paddles. Only Talos was clean, waist deep in the deck, breathing steam, heat, and glistening with oil. Once Amphitrite had been a corn-barge that labourers had hauled up the river to Rome, an ungainly box, smelling of chaff and old wood, comfortable and harmless. But now she was possessed. Talos sat in her, the insect pointed over the harbour wall and hell roared.

Phanocles poked his head out of the hold. He squinted at Mamillius through his sweat, shook his beard and wiped his face with a piece of waste.

"We are almost ready."

"You know the Emperor is coming?"

Phanocles nodded. Mamillius grimaced at the coal dust.

"Haven't you made any preparations for him?"

"He said there was to be no ceremony."

"But Amphitrite is filthily dirty!"

Phanocles peered down at the deck.

"This coal costs a fortune."

Mamillius stepped aboard gingerly.

"The hottest corner in hell."

The heat hit him from the boiler and sweat streamed down his face. Phanocles looked round at Talos for a moment then handed Mamillius the piece of waste. He conceded the point.

"I suppose it is hotter than usual."

Mamillius waved away the waste and wiped his streaming face on the corner of his elegant cloak. Now that he was cheek by jowl with Talos he could see more of his construction. just above deck level at the after-end of the sphere was a projection surrounded with springs. Phanocles, following his gaze, reached out and flicked the brass with his fingers so that it tinged and gave out a puff of steam. He looked moodily at the projection.

"See that? I call it a safety valve. I gave exact instructions--"

But the craftsman had added a winged Boreas who touched the brass with an accidental toe and rounded his cheeks to eject a fair wind. Mamillius smiled with constraint.

"Very pretty."

The springs strained, steam shot out and Mamillius leapt back. Phanocles rubbed his hands.

"Now we are ready."

He came sweatily close to Mamillius.

"I have had her out in the centre of the harbour and once out in the bay. She works as certainly and easily as the stars."

Mamillius, averting his face, found himself regarding his own distorted face in Talos' shining side. It faded away from the mouth and pointed nose. No matter how he moved it followed him with the incurious but remorseless stare of a fish. The heat from the boiler and the smoking funnel was like a blow.

"I want to get out of this--"

He made his way under the contorted cranks and paused in the bows. The air was a little cooler here so that he took off his straw hat and fanned himself with it. Phanocles walked forward too and they leaned their backs against the bulwarks. Slaves were working on the fo'castle of the trireme only a few feet above them.

"This is an evil ship."

Phanocles finished wiping his hands and dropped the waste over the side. They turned to watch it drift. Phanocles pointed upward with his thumb.

"She is not evil. Only useful. Would you sooner do that?"

Mamillius glanced up at the slaves. They were clustered round the metal crab and he could see most of it though the claws were hidden by the trireme's deck.

"I don't understand you."

"Presently they will centre the yard-arm and swing the crab upall ten tons of it. Steam would do it for them without fuss or exertion."

"I do not have to swing the crab up. I am not a slave."