Chapter 4

"I finally met the aqueduct man,"Chrestos reported proudly when Zo opened his door.

Zo leaned on the doorframe and adjusted his grip on his crutch. "Congratulations? I hope that isn't what you've been hammering on my door to tell me."

"No, of course not. I met him just now, while I was waiting forever for you to answer your door. Mistress wants us all dressed in our best in the courtyard by sunset. There's some sort of dignitary coming."

"Fine," said Zo, nodding curtly. "I'll be there."

"Obviously you'll have to leave the stick behind. Why've you got it now, anyway? We all thought you were getting better."

This rankled Zo more than all the rest. Chrestos had known him for a year—the others longer.

"I get better and then I get worse again, Chrestos," he growled. "That's the way it works. I hope Mistress knows if she wants me not to use my crutch, she'd better send Ahmos to carry me."

"I'll tell him," said Chrestos.

Zo shrugged. "If you feel like it. See you at sunset."

And he closed the door.

His bed felt very far away, but it was also the only destination in the room that interested him. He resisted the urge to sink down and sit on the floor; that, he knew from experience, would only create a new and harder task of getting up.

A few months ago, during a period when he'd been feeling better than usual, the tide of pain and fatigue temporarily gone far out, he'd had the idea to put a bunch of pegs on the wall and hang his clothes and jewellery so that he could see everything without having to dig through chests or boxes. He'd bought another chair to add to his collection—he had three others, one by his bed, one at his desk, and one out in his garden—so that he could sit down to dress.

It made the room look odd, which would become a problem if he ever acquired a patron whom he wanted to entertain privately. But for now that possibility seemed pretty remote, and the way he'd arranged his room let him carry on with his life in reasonable comfort.

It was funny how taken everyone was with the aqueduct man. Zo was apparently the last of the companions to have a conversation with him. And yet he must have been one of the first to meet him, the day that he arrived, and his room was next door to the aqueduct man's, sharing access to the back courtyard.

Zo picked out a robe and sat in his chair to dress, then moved to his desk where he sat to put on his makeup, and finally sat in the chair by his bed to look out at his garden, waiting for sunset. As the light failed, his neighbour lit a lamp, and Zo could see the shadow of the aqueduct man moving about in his bedroom, then coming to stand by the courtyard door, probably looking out like Zo was doing. Zo's own room was dark; the aqueduct man would not have known he was there. The wind moved in the trees on the clifftop above them, and the scent of rosemary filled the air.

The sun went down, and Ahmos came to get Zo.

"Chrestos sent me," he said. "Always happy to help."

"I know," said Zo, trying to be gracious about it. Some nights it was easier than others.

He brought his flute, just in case, and sure enough, Mistress Aula said she wanted him to play for the dignitary and his party. So at least he didn't have to send somebody back for it. But having to be out in the front of the house without his crutch, on a day when he truly couldn't walk without it, put him in a foul mood.

The dignitary turned out to be one of those tedious foreigners who didn't understand how the tea houses of Tykanos worked. Usually they would think either that they were at a private party and didn't have to pay, or that they were in a brothel. This one did both. He had been brought by the purser from the fort, and at first seemed to think the Red Balconies was the purser's house. When he realized his mistake, he laughed uproariously—the purser was less amused—said, "Oh, companions, eh?" with a leer, and began doing a child's counting-off rhyme between Menthe and Pani.

"Both my lovely girls will be happy to entertain you," Mistress Aula purred. The dignitary's eyes bulged, and she added quickly, "here in our charming gathering. And perhaps later, if you desire a tête-à-tête with one of them, you may speak to me."

Menthe and Pani were indentured to the house, so if Mistress asked a favour, they wouldn't have much choice, and the dignitary might yet get what he wanted. But he looked confused, and Theano, who was mistress of ceremonies for the evening, caught Zo's eye and wiggled her fingers in a "play your flute" gesture. He picked up his instrument and put it to his lips.

That was when he noticed that the aqueduct man had joined them. He was leaning over awkwardly to talk to Taris, offering her something. Money, Zo realized. He was asking her, "Where do I pay?" She pointed toward the attendant guarding the incense burner, then got up to walk over with him, as if she thought he might lose his way.

As Zo played, he watched them return to their seats, the aqueduct man folding himself down onto a cushion beside Taris, his expression tense. He was a tall, rangy man, perhaps twenty years older than Zo, with a lean, strong-boned face. In daylight there was a weathered look to him, his skin freckled by the sun, his short, loosely curly hair a faded red. His eyes were a blue so light that they looked faded too. In the lamplit courtyard, he looked colourless, out of place.

When Zo played for an audience at the tea house, it always interested him to watch for the people who were really listening, who ignored their companions in favour of focussing on his music. His playing was worth listening to; he knew that. When he had spotted the people who were paying attention—if there were any—he liked to play for them, ignoring everyone else.

That evening, the guest of honour listened for a few moments before turning away—actually physically turning away—to flirt with Menthe and Pani at the same time, while Mistress Aula tried to adjudicate. The purser who had brought him was chatting with the third member of their party, another military type, and Taris and Theano each had guests of their own to entertain. Chrestos, bored with no one to talk to, looked like he had fallen asleep. The only one really listening to Zo was the aqueduct man.

Their eyes met, because he was not just listening, he was watching Zo's performance as if it was the only reason to be there, a politeness not usually extended to performers in the tea houses. His mouth quirked into a brief smile as he saw Zo looking at him, and Zo wondered what kind of smile to call it. Not a flirtatious smile, not even simply an appreciative smile. An encouraging smile, as if to assure Zo that he was enjoying the performance. How strangely charming.

"Sorry to abandon you like that," said Taris, shifting over to sit next to Hylas again.

"What? No, I …"

He could not ask her to go on ignoring him so that he could listen to the music. But he did not understand how everyone else could be talking instead of paying attention to the performance. It was such lovely music. Hylas didn't know much about music, but he knew when something moved him, and Zo's flute-playing seemed to go straight into his heart and curl up there.

But Taris seemed to notice, without being told, that he was enraptured by the music, and she did not pursue the conversation until Zo was finished playing.

"I'm so glad you decided to join us tonight," she said then. "We've all been wondering whether you ever would."

"Oh, I—I—" They'd all been wondering? That meant they had been talking about him together, which was terrifying. "I happened to be free tonight …"

"And how do we compare to the other houses?" She gave him what he thought was a rather mischievous smile. Ah, it was because she was letting him know that she knew that he'd been to the other houses.

"How—how did you know I've been to the other houses?" he asked, feeling pleased that he had been able to enter into the spirit of her joke.

Taris laughed. "Where else could you have been? You always come in late, and I don't think you're out until all hours working at the government office. I know they close up early."

"You are very p-perceptive. It is true. I do go to the other houses. But … that is only because Governor Loukianos seems to like me to come with him. Perhaps he feels he has a host's duty, because he brought me to the island."

"You wouldn't have gone otherwise?" Taris gave him an arch look. "When the tea houses are Tykanos's pride and joy?"

"Well, I … I hate to make the companions put up with me."

"Why, what do you do?"

"Nothing, nothing." He was aghast before realizing that he was being teased again. "Er. I sit there stupidly."

She shrugged. "There's no shame in that, if it's what you feel like doing. We're here to provide entertainment, not the other way around. But it seems to me you're not enjoying yourself at the other houses, and that's why you wouldn't go, if the governor weren't dragging you with him."

Hylas laughed. "Yes, you're quite right. I—I didn't mean to blame the companions, that's all. It's my fault for not being able to appreciate what they offer. Not their fault, not in the least."

Taris looked like she wanted to argue, perhaps out of professional pride—no, we ought to be able to make you enjoy yourself, if we're good at our job—and honestly, Hylas could understand that. He'd have had the same impulse if they had been talking about, say, the construction of a bridge. Perhaps that wasn't an exact analogy.

"Well, but you haven't answered my first question," she said. "How do we compare to the other houses?"

He didn't want to insult her or the Red Balconies, but he also didn't want to lie.

"It feels … more homey here," he said. "Though perhaps that is because I live here."

She smiled a little wryly. "Perhaps."

"The music exceeds anything I have heard elsewhere," he offered, and it was quite true.

"Zo's awfully good, isn't he? But his health is poor, unfortunately, and he doesn't always have the strength to play."

"Oh," said Hylas, and didn't know what else to say. It was devastating to think that the performance he'd enjoyed so much might have taken a toll on the performer. But also, for reasons he couldn't quite untangle, the prospect of talking about Zo made him nervous.

The other male companion, Chrestos, came up then and draped himself across a couple of pillows on Hylas's opposite side.

"Don't monopolize the aqueduct man, Taris," he drawled. "After all, I'm the one who talked him into coming tonight."

"What, really? Is that true?"

"N-no, well, I guess he did give me the idea." Hylas felt his cheeks heating.

"You see," said Chrestos triumphantly.

"Well, whatever it was, I'm glad of it," said Taris. "Refill his cup, will you, Chrestos, like a good boy?"

Chrestos rolled his eyes and huffed, but he obeyed, which meant getting up from his languid pose to fetch a new pitcher of wine.

"Chrestos is usually busy with his patron, Captain Themistokles," Taris remarked when he was gone.

"Oh," said Hylas, again not sure how to respond.

Was he supposed to know the name Themistokles, or … No, he was being tactfully reminded that Chrestos was taken, had an exclusive patron, which was what the companions called their lovers. He hoped that was not because he'd been inappropriately friendly with Chrestos, given anyone the wrong idea …

"Ah, we're going to hear some more music," said Taris, pointing to where one of the other companions, a dark-haired woman whose name Hylas thought was Theano, was tuning a lyre. "You'll like to listen to this."

Hylas smiled gratefully. Chrestos returned to fill his cup with wine and lounge on the cushions again, and someone passed around a plate of delicate sesame cakes. No one tried to talk to Hylas while Theano played. He drank his wine and ate his cake and listened to the clear notes of the lyre and her rich voice singing songs from Pheme.

He glanced around for Zo, wondering whether he had retired after his own performance, but he was still there, sitting with a couple of newly arrived guests, deep in conversation.

The aqueduct man had arrived early, and he left early, retiring to his room after saying goodnight to Taris and Chrestos, as a new wave of late-night guests arrived in the courtyard. Zo envied him.

It was another hour before he was able to make his own escape, and then only because the guests he was sitting with insisted that he looked tired. He was tired, and his body ached all over. He had to wait for Ahmos to carry him back to his room, but because he was in ill spirits, and tired, and both of those things caused him to make poor decisions, he insisted on being set down at his door rather than carried inside.

Of course this meant that he stumbled making his way through his room in the dark and nearly knocked over the lamp stand. He caught the stand and righted it, but he heard the lamp smash on the floor.

He stood holding onto the cold metal shaft of the lamp stand, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark enough to see the pieces of the clay lamp and the puddle of oil on the floor. He could just pick his way around them and get to his bed. Perhaps he should do that. But the idea of waking tomorrow morning to see that mess on the floor made him want to cry.

He thought longingly of the time when he used to be able to summon a servant to deal with a situation like this—when he wouldn't even have needed to summon anyone, because someone would have been there already, because he would never have been blundering about in a dark room by himself. Now he was actually beginning to cry, tears trickling helplessly out of his eyes.

He drew a deep breath and told himself to be calm. What could he do in this moment? The nearest light was all the way back in the courtyard. He could go back to the door and look out and see if Ahmos was still within hailing distance. Or … there it was, beyond the garden door, the glow of lamplight from his neighbour's room.

He went to his desk and peered into his hand mirror in the dark to make sure the tears hadn't tracked his eye makeup down his face in a shocking way. As far as he could tell, they hadn't. He took a taper from the drawer where he kept them, patted his way along the wall until he found his crutch, and went out into the garden.

The lattice door to Hylas's room had been slid half open. Zo made a fist and knocked on the lattice, making an unassertive, rattling sound, but loud enough in the quiet at the back of the house. Hylas was sitting on his bed, crossed-legged, and he started at the sound.

"Come in?" he said uncertainly.

He got down from the bed, and when Zo stepped into the open doorway, he was standing, with the look of a man half-prepared for attack, tall and rather daunting in the lamplight.

"Hello," he said. "Ah, you've got a cane! Or more of a … crutch sort of thing. I am so glad. I—I mean, because that means you can get around by yourself."

"Yes," said Zo, "barely."

"It's just that I'd never … I wasn't sure … Is there anything …"

"May I get a light?" Zo held up the taper indicatively. "It's dark in my room, and I … dropped something."

"Of course!"

Hylas sprang toward the lamp on its stand beside his bed, the twin of the one in Zo's own room. Apparently Pantaleon hadn't made off with that when he took the rest of the furniture. The aqueduct man unhooked the lamp from its chain and brought it over to the door. Zo put his taper to the flame and waited for it to catch.

"Thank you," he said. "Did you enjoy this evening's entertainment?"

Hylas looked up from the lamp flame, and their eyes met. "I enjoyed your playing, very much."

Zo smiled. "Thank you for listening so attentively."

The taper had caught and burned brightly. Zo withdrew it from the lamp flame.

"It was my pleasure," said Hylas.

Zo carried the burning taper back to his room, lit a candle on his desk, and cleaned up the broken lamp on the floor. By the time he shed his outer clothes, blew out the candle, and crawled into bed, the light from next door had gone out too, so presumably the aqueduct man had also gone to bed.