Page 27 of The House of the Red Balconies

“I think you’ll like it,” she said, misinterpreting his silence. “There’s a couple in it, Tyreus and Nikostratos—their love story is beautifully told.”

Surely those were two men’s names? Hylas eyed the scroll with renewed interest. He had thought he wanted to borrow it just for Zo, but perhaps he would read it himself.

Mutari was smiling at him. “I thought you might like that,” she said, pulling the scroll out of the pile and offering it to him.

“I—I—why?” he stalled. “Why did you think I would like … that?”

She reached across the table and tossed the scroll so that it landed in his lap. “Sometimes I can just tell. Men like you and Loukianos are a great boon to women like me, you know.”

“W-we are?” He’d have thought it was the opposite.

“Oh, yes. One can’t do all one’s politicking in bed. It’s handy to have men to deal with who don’t expect it.”

After that, Hylas would have liked to rush home with the book to show Zo, but as it happened he had work to do at the government office and was occupied there the rest of the day. It was late afternoon by the time he was ready to leave, but it was with the satisfaction, rare these days, of having actually been able to do a good day’s work. He had hoped that Loukianos would come in so that he could ask about his salary, which, with the new rent he was going to have to pay, was becoming more urgent, but you couldn’t have everything.

On the walk home, he imagined offering the scroll of The Bronze Dolphin to Zo, telling him the story of how he’d come to borrow it, maybe hinting at the reason Mutari had suggested he would like it. At that, he laughed aloud in the street, thinking of the shade of red he would turn if he tried any such thing. It didn’t matter. Zo would like that aspect of the story himself, and it would be a pleasure just to watch him read.

Of course he would have to wait until the following morning, because Zo would be at work now. Today Hylas would go sit with him; he could afford one more stick of incense, and he wouldn’t stupidly leave as he had last week.

Later, he would talk to Zo about inviting the governor. He wouldn’t say that he was hoping Loukianos would fall for Zo, because he wanted that to be a surprise. But he also wanted Zo to know, when it happened, that it had been he, Hylas, who had planned it.

Everyone was still in the courtyard when Hylas arrived. It really was too cold for this now, and there were only a few guests. They had lit a brazier and were huddled around it, listening to Pani play her harp. Hylas hid The Bronze Dolphin under his cloak and was about to head for the incense burner when he saw one of the guests wave in his direction, looked, and registered who it was.

Timon, the armourer. He was sitting next to Zo, and when he lowered the hand he’d used to wave at Hylas, it came to rest on Zo’s thigh. Hylas saw Timon look down, as if he’d done that by accident, then up into Zo’s face, not moving his hand. Zo slid his fingers under Timon’s palm and flicked his hand away, as delicately as he might have done a fallen leaf, smiling into Timon’s eyes as he did. It was such a lovely thing, Hylas wanted to see it again. What was the word for that? Flirtatious. He’d never seen Zo so openly flirtatious before.

Well. Timon was a good choice for a patron, certainly. He was very rich, influential, and established on the island. Hylas didn’t like him, but that didn’t matter. Maybe Zo would like him. Maybe that didn’t matter either.

It would be a shame, though, because Hylas was pretty sure Zo would have liked Governor Loukianos.

Zo could see Mistress Aula radiating approval from across the cold courtyard, and he knew that someone must have told her who the man sitting next to him was. Or perhaps she’d just known him by sight; she went into town, after all.

Zo had vaguely heard of him, but had pretended he hadn’t when the man sat down beside him and introduced himself. Timon of Kos, the armourer: the soldiers mentioned him occasionally, not to say anything in particular about the man, just that they’d bought such-and-such blade at Timon’s shop, or were saving up for such-and-such spear or helmet or piece of equipment that Zo had never heard of, and Timon of Kos was holding it for them.

Obviously he did well for himself. He wore a big gold ring with a lapis lazuli seal—Zo did know about that sort of thing—and his tunic and mantle were the kind of flawless, almost glowing white that meant they were either brand new or had been expensively cleaned in the very recent past. He was balding, so he’d had his head completely shaved—faultlessly, his barber must have been expensive too—and wore a full, carefully groomed dark beard.

Zo let him talk about himself and his business, showing only a polite interest, which was what he calculated would work better with a man like this than fawning awe. It was a gamble, because the man gave little of his personality away at a first meeting, and most of what he had told Zo so far was as factual as what Zo had already learned from the soldiers. But the gambit seemed to be working. Timon did not budge from Zo’s side, barely stopped looking at him, and eventually Zo began to detect a subtle hunger in his gaze.

That wasn’t necessarily good. Sex was not what Zo sold, and though there had been times when it had suited his purposes to get a man into bed quickly, this wasn’t one of them. He needed Timon of Kos to stay hungry, and Timon seemed like he was probably the kind of man who wasn’t accustomed to doing that.

He wore a heavy scent—frankincense and cinnamon, if Zo was any judge, which he was—probably to cover the unpleasant smell of all the freshly laundered wool he had on. He was leaning in close to Zo now, and waved at someone. Zo followed the direction of the wave and saw to his astonishment that the person Timon was greeting was Hylas.

Why was he surprised? Hylas went out in the town, visited the other tea houses, must have known all sorts of people. He had been personally hired by the governor. He was the Aqueduct Man, the hero of Koilas. Of course someone like Timon of Kos might know him.

Just because Zo only ever saw him in the seclusion of their shared garden or the courtyard of the Red Balconies didn’t mean that was Hylas’s whole world, the way it was Zo’s.

He was so distracted by these thoughts that he almost didn’t notice Timon’s hand landing on his leg. He flicked it off instinctively while tossing Timon an encouraging smile.

Hylas lit his incense and returned, looking tentative, to take a seat at the brazier across from Zo and Timon.

“I might have known I would see you here, Hylas,” Timon said lazily. To Zo he added, “Hylas was the one who convinced me to come to the Red Balconies. Though he did not mention that this old ruin of a house was concealing a treasure such as yourself. But he may not have an eye for the finer things, as I do. Eh, Hylas?”

“Hm?” said Hylas, which was so exactly what Zo would have said if he’d wanted to avoid either agreeing or disagreeing with a guest that he wanted to laugh.

Or maybe to cry, because this man clearly wasn’t Hylas’s friend; he was a condescending acquaintance whom Hylas had taken pains to send Zo’s way, just as he had said he would. Zo had been joking when he’d asked Hylas to do it, and he’d thought Hylas had been joking when he said he would. But he’d really done it. Zo owed it to him to make the most of the opportunity.

So they sat around the brazier in the chilly courtyard, and Zo flirted carefully with Timon, watching the hunger in the armourer’s eyes building. He played Timon off against Hylas, daringly, by paying more attention to the aqueduct man for a bit, to see if that would engender a spark of jealousy in Timon—it did—and all the while Hylas watched Zo with naked admiration. As if he was simply enjoying Zo’s technique. It lifted Zo’s spirits in a way nothing else could have done, made him feel he could have gone on talking and pouring wine and laughing elegantly at Timon’s barely-passable witticisms all night without getting tired, provided Hylas was there to appreciate it. This man who knew how to build bridges and aqueducts and save towns from flooding—really useful things—somehow was impressed with the useless fluff that was Zo’s whole stock in trade, and it was the best feeling in the world.

Timon left in the early hours of the morning, after having several times, at intervals, remarked that he had an important meeting the next day and needed his sleep. He looked deeply unsatisfied, when he left, in the best possible way.