Page 19 of The House of the Red Balconies

“I understand,” said Hylas. “What do you recommend we do?”

“Let me speak to Phileidion,” she said. “The quartermaster at the fort, my patron. I’ll explain to him what you need. The first thing is to get the survey done. After that … I’ll see what I can do.”

Hylas hoped that didn’t mean she was going to have to seduce someone. He wondered if there was any way to tell her so and concluded there probably wasn’t.

Mornings at the Red Balconies were spent doing chores. The house was short on servants, so there was work for everyone. That morning, because it was still cold, they had opened up the winter sitting room, and Menthe and Pani had brought their spinning to the divan under the sunlit windows. Zo had a basket of wool to card, and Leta, Theano’s baby, was crawling on the floor, exploring the pattern of the rug and trying to snack on the tassels of the cushions.

A long, drawn-out wail came from somewhere near the front of the house. Menthe, Pani, and Zo exchanged startled glances, frozen with their work in their hands. For a moment, Zo expected the cry to be followed by the ritual wails of a Zashian house in mourning—it had been that kind of sound. But of course they were not in Zash. He could hear someone shouting furiously, and a lower voice replying. The baby giggled obliviously.

“Is that Mistress Aula?” asked Menthe.

“It sounds like her,” Zo agreed.

They all exchanged glances again, then looked back down at their work, no one making a move to rise. The mistress’s bad tempers were a danger to everyone; she had a tendency to lash out indiscriminately, and they had all learned the hard way to avoid her when she was in a rage about something.

Of course you couldn’t avoid any situation for very long in a house the size of the Red Balconies. Only a few minutes had passed by the time Theano opened the door of the winter sitting room and slipped inside.

“I thought you’d all be hiding in here,” she said drily. “Even Zo. Hello, Zo. But not Chrestos—where’s he?”

“I’m not sure,” said Zo. “Out with Captain Themistokles?”

“Mm. When in doubt.” Theano scooped up Leta on her way across the room, and sat down under the window, where she bounced the baby absently.

“What’s going on out there?” Menthe demanded. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“I thought you might like a few more peaceful moments of not knowing, but … ” Theano shrugged. The baby had begun to make grabbing gestures toward her breasts, and she unpinned one shoulder of her gown. “The landlord has died.”

“Is that all?” said Pani.

“We’ve been expecting that for months,” said Menthe.

“Poor old man,” Pani added.

So it had been a death, after all; Zo hadn’t been imagining things when he thought of mourning wails. He didn’t think there had been much real affection between Mistress Aula and the landlord. But you never knew.

“Sometimes you don’t know how you’ll react until it actually happens,” he said, unconvincingly even to himself. “Perhaps she is truly sad.”

Menthe and Pani gave him pitying, aren’t-you-sweet looks.

“She’s angry,” Theano said, looking down at the baby sucking quietly in her arms. “‘Angry’ isn’t even the word. She’s livid. He’s left the Red Balconies to her.”

“Holy God,” Zo breathed.

“Orante’s balls,” said Pani.

CHAPTER 7

“It was nice to see you at our gathering last night,” Zo said, as he and Hylas sat at breakfast in the garden the following morning.

“I’m glad I stayed home again,” said Hylas. Gathering courage, he added, “I loved listening to you sing.”

Zo looked slightly surprised, one of the fleeting expressions that never crossed his face when he was entertaining. “Thank you. I’d sing more often, but … I’ve been told my voice doesn’t suit the tea house repertoire.”

“Oh,” said Hylas hopelessly. That was a level of analysis that was beyond him. He’d thought he was doing quite well to identify that Zo’s voice reminded him of red wine: dark and rich.

“They’re mostly songs written by women, about loving men.” Zo had obviously been able to tell that he was confused. “And I have too deep a voice. I’ve been told it sounds ‘lewd.’”

“That sounds … ” Hylas cast about for a polite word. “Hypocritical?”