His companion gave him a sharp dig in the ribs.
"Oh," the Myrmidon said. "Sure. Well. Instructions not to be repeated. Right?"
"Right," Forrester said.
Instructions? From the Pontifex Maximus? Secret instructions?
Forrester's mind spun dizzily. This was no arrest. This was something very special and unique. He tried once more to imagine what it was going to be, and gave it up in wonder.
The Myrmidon produced another card from his pouch. There was nothing on it but the golden Thunderbolt of the All-Father—but that was quite enough.
Forrester accepted the card dumbly.
"You will report to the Tower of Zeus at eighteen hundred hours exactly," the Myrmidon said. "Got that?"
"You mean today?" Forrester said, and cursed himself for sounding stupid. But the Myrmidon appeared not to have noticed.
"Today, sure," he said. "Eighteen hundred. Just present this card."