Page 10 of The House of the Red Balconies

“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.