Page 36 of The House of the Red Balconies

“It’s a dump,” said Pantaleon, loudly.

Everyone looked at him, though not with expressions which suggested they wanted to hear what he had to say next. That never seemed to bother him.

“They’ve only got a handful of girls,” he went on, “and they’re the worst shrews you can imagine. Bossy, standoffish, hardly even pretty—I don’t know what any of them are doing as companions, they’d be better off as fishwives, I tell you.”

“Now that you mention it,” someone else muttered, “I did hear … ”

And then it clicked in Hylas’s mind. The name Pantaleon. That was where he’d heard it before.

“You used to live there, didn’t you?” he cried, louder than necessary.

“What?” said Mutari, leaning forward with a look of interest, instantly drawing all eyes in the room back to Pantaleon and Hylas.

“You were their tenant,” Hylas pursued. “You rented a room from them. They still talk about you.”

Pantaleon huffed. “I doubt that. They were glad enough to get rid of me. Absolute harpies.”

“No, they do talk about you—they do talk about him,” Hylas addressed Mutari and by extension the rest of the room, “because he made off with their furniture when he left.”

“He didn’t!” Mutari exclaimed. “You didn’t, did you?”

Pantaleon opened and shut his mouth like a fish. “Well, they were charging me too much rent. And they failed to give proper notice. My uncle is a jurist. I know my rights.”

“I’m a jurist myself,” said another guest. “Your rights as a tenant don’t entitle you to take your landlord’s furnishings, unless both parties have appeared in court and a judgement … ”

“What else did he do?” the quartermaster asked. “Something tells me that’s not the extent of the gossip.”

“I don’t want to repeat slander,” Hylas said demurely, looking at Pantaleon.

Pantaleon stuck his chin out. “Too right! What else do they claim I did?”

“Kept trying to use their bath? But I don’t—I mean, I can’t really believe you’d do that.”

“They’re a bunch of frigid prudes! It was one time. Well, two times if you count—but it’s a brazen lie to say I kept trying.”

Mutari’s guests that evening were mostly older men, friends of the quartermaster, and very gentlemanly. There was a lot of harrumphing, several people talked sententiously about the respect due to companions, and someone referred to the Red Balconies as a “venerable institution.” All in all, Hylas felt it was a good evening’s work.

Pantaleon slunk away after that, which made Hylas feel he should stay, although he had been thinking of making it an early night. So he lounged in Mutari’s comfortable sitting room, drinking her wine and listening to her guests discuss politics and trade and the weather in Pheme, which everyone agreed was not as good as the weather on Tykanos. Before he knew it, the night was well worn, and even some of the regular guests were beginning to get up and head home.

Hylas made his own farewells, to Mutari and the quartermaster and a couple of guests she had introduced him to, and went looking for the governor. It was slightly strange that he hadn’t seen Loukianos since their arrival. Usually, if they ended up in different parts of the house, Loukianos would come to check on Hylas at some point in the evening. But perhaps he didn’t feel he needed to do that anymore, now that Hylas was more comfortable in the tea houses. Hylas smiled at the thought. Still, he didn’t think the governor would have gone home without telling him.

And indeed he hadn’t. Hylas found him, after wandering through the house, sitting in a corner of one half-deserted room, next to a very young female companion.

“Loukianos, I’m about to head out,” Hylas called from halfway across the room.

The governor looked up. His eyes looked unfocussed, his features slack. He was dead drunk. Hylas had never seen him like this.

“Oh, sir, are you his friend?” asked the young companion, starting up from the cushion beside Loukianos. “Hylas?”

Hylas came across the room to Loukianos’s corner. “Yes, I’m Hylas. Does he—is he all right? Loukianos? Are you all right?”

“He wouldn’t let me hire him a chair until you returned,” the girl said miserably. “But now perhaps … ”

“It’s been two years,” Loukianos mumbled. “Two years to the day.” He looked up at Hylas. “Two years since Hippolytos died.”

“Do you know who that was?” the young companion asked. “He’s mentioned him several times.”

“He was your lover, wasn’t he?” said Hylas.