Chapter 3

Small slants of light pushed through the scented air, painting thin swirls of smoke like uncurling locks of hair. The air was too dry, too warm, and too heavy with burning scents.

“There’s something I want from you, Malios,” said Zoandros. His hair, freshly oiled from the bath, would stink of the smoke for days.

Malios sat across from him, shoulders so curled they rested on his knees. His skin was pale, and purple stained the sockets of his eyes. A slave had set braziers nearby, trying to warm the man up. Scented charcoal made the air press close. “I want you to take over your father’s business.”

“I’m no carpenter. I’m here to sell you information, then I leave.”

“But he’s more than just a usual carpenter, isn’t he?”

“No,” said Malios.

“He’s the first choice for Salamis’s great and good to finish their homes.”

The sky outside was the same sea grey as it had been the last two days, since the afternoon they had met at the unfinished tavern. The small windows at the top of the room let the smoke drift out, but also let slender snakes of the cold air creep in with its smell of damp and misery. The charcoal took away most, but not all, of the winter.

Manu sat in one corner, pulling withered grapes off their stems. Occasionally, he would cough in the thick air, spitting out a pip or sniffing noisily through his dry nose. He watched Malios with unabashed curiosity.

“He’s been commissioned by your king and one of his generals to build the interiors of their houses. He gave us all the details last night.”

Malios glared at him, bloodshot eyes picking out the details of the spymaster. Zoandros felt the man’s eyes on his expensive purple himation, the intricately woven gilt hems.

Does he think judging my fashion will change his luck? I miss the days of being naive. They were so much more positive.

“I’m only here to make sure you don’t hurt Chara,” said Malios. “She was used by the king and discarded by you.”

Wood spat then sizzled in the brazier as a slave laid it on top of the charcoal, still wet.

We all expected more time before the weather changed, and we all needed more time to prepare.

“She’ll get what she deserves, Malios,” said Zoandros. His throat was getting irritated by the new smoke. He saw Malios swallow, and heard the noise.

“Where is she? Is she with that animal you sent to collect us?”

“Well, I’m not hugely comfortable in the rain so I sent my best man.And I haven’t been sleeping well.” He rubbed his eyes, then glanced at Malios again. “I don’t think you should call him that name in earshot though. He’ll snap your neck with one hand. Honestly, I’ve seen him do it. It’s not nice to watch.”

A silence fell in the room, and Zoandros considered his sandals, listening to Malios shuffle on the seat. A wind swooped and swerved into the vents, blowing flat notes, then rustling the trees outside.

“I’d like you to take over your father’s business from next month when the work starts in the Salamis palace.”

“No.”

“Your father is going to be busy here,” continued Zoandros. “He’s been offered a very favourable piece of work over the winter, which he’s accepted, and he’s being introduced to the king in the next couple of days. If he produces well, then there’s a temple being commissioned by the royal cousin early next year as well. Your family could win that. Your father is very excited by the prospects that Amathus offers. It was almost his idea to have you manage the simpler commissions in Salamis.”

He listened when he heard his father was happy, even if he is a miserable bastard himself. I’ve netted the fish. Now I need to bring him ashore.

“No.”

“Name your conditions for doing what I ask.”

“Don’t hurt Chara,” began Malios. There was an edge of anger in his voice. “Don’t hurt my father, and don’t trick him anymore than you have.”

“The first two are achievable and accepted.”

“Give me a stipend.”

“Done.” Zoandros leaned his head to one side. Malios shuffled again, then looked at the floor, then the wall. “What is it you’re not telling me, Malios?”

The man blew out a long sigh and closed his eyes. “I cannot run my father’s business. I don’t know how. The workers and suppliers will ruin me. The clients won’t pay for the crap work I do.”

None of us are our fathers, so don’t expect pity from me. But it is welcome to see humility from someone from Salamis. Unsettling, but welcome.

“I know. I will send someone I trust to help you. Very capable, both in business and keeping people in line.”

Malios stared at him. Zoandros stared back more calmly. He gestured to a slave, who brought them both warm wine, and Malios broke his gaze to accept the cup.

“I don’t trust you, spymaster. I won’t trust them. You haven’t kept your promises so far.”

Zoandros snapped out a laugh. It carried and disappeared into the strands of smoke.

“I have kept my promises, Malios. All of them. Just because you couldn’t keep up doesn’t mean I am wrong. Your father’s fate is completely in your hands.”

Malios looked down at the cup. The angry energy left his cheeks and his forehead, the skin going soft and still. He took a tiny sip which stained his pale lip burgundy.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you everything. But let me see that Chara is still alive first.”

“Fine.”

Chara entered with a shriek, then scampered across the floor and flung her arms around Zoandros.

“Gods, shit holes! Shit holes! All of them!” she declared, then clapped her hands, using just her fingertips. She squeezed the spymaster again, clamping his arms to his ribs, and laughed. “I’m back!”

“You’re back!” cried Manu joyously, extending his arms in invitation. Chara smiled, grimaced and then turned away.

“Get caught in the rain?” asked Zoandros.

“No,” she said. “That hero over there-” she levelled a polished fingernail at a sullen giant “- saved my life, my hair and my clothes. My sandals are ruined though.”

“I’ll buy you some more,” muttered Zoandros.

“Of course you will!”

“Uh?”

The giant was blinking, watching the girl. Poor Periklis, who dwarfed the guards by the door, whose hands were as big as the braziers. His small eyes didn’t examine the room. They simply rested, unblinking, on whomever he was talking to or thinking about.

Of the three visitors, Poor Periklis was the only one not to have changed into dry clothes. His tunic was wet against his massive shoulders and it had the lightest wisps of steam lifting from the side nearer a brazier.

“Thank you, Periklis,” said the spymaster to the giant.

Poor Periklis was staring at Chara. “She was quiet,” he said. “I- uh-”

“I understand,” said Zoandros. “Thank you again.” He gestured for the man to stand against the wall. The giant moved, his sandals scraping the metal on their soles against the stone in the silence. Malios watched the man, his fingers tight on his cup, knuckles white.

“I kept quiet for as long as possible with them two,” gushed Chara. “So boring. So so boring.”

Zoandros turned to Malios.

“She’s unhurt, intact and in good spirits,” he said. “As promised.”

Malios has sat down with a thump, breathing heavily through his slack mouth. His head wobbled slightly on his neck, eyes wide and his face had turned corpse white.

“Yes, she’s one of mine, Malios,” said Zoandros. “So is your gossip and anything else you thought you knew. What you wanted to sell was mine already, but I won’t forget your ambition to blackmail me.” Malios’s eyes slid from Chara to the spymaster. “So let me tell you how you’re going to get into my favour again. I need eyes and ears in the palace and important bedrooms in Salamis. And you’re the man who will get them there. I will keep my promise to your father, and I’ll make a new promise, Malios, not to tell Philokypros that you agreed to work for me.”

Malios hadn’t moved, other than a gentle lift of his jaw.

“Are you listening, boy?” enquired Zoandros. When there was no response, Manu stood, stepped forward and cuffed Malios across the back of his head.

“I am. He’ll kill me,” muttered Malios.

“Who? Periklis?” asked Zoandros.

“King Philokypros.”

“No, he won’t. He won’t know. Anyway, you won’t be doing the work, my people will. You just need to hire them for the build and they’ll find their own way afterwards. Step by step.”

“He’ll kill me,” Malios repeated slowly. He turned his attention to the spymaster, and Zoandros could see the image of anchors and floating grey hair in the man’s eyes. “They disappear,” he whispered, as if to himself.

“You’re going to have to get used to acting normal when you go back,” said Zoandros. “You chose to get involved in this, remember?”

The man from Salamis said nothing, his eyes sliding back to the smoke which wound around itself in the dull light of the corner.

There was a gentle cough behind the spymaster.

“You promised me as well, Zo-mou,” said Chara, and pushed him playfully in the shoulder.

“Yes, I remember. I’ll introduce you to King Kinyras as soon as I can.”

She clapped her hands and jumped on the spot.

Exactly his type. Young, noisy and apparently clueless. But smarter than most of us.

Chara turned at last to Malios, gave him a well-practised sad smile, then walked over and hugged him as he sat. She pulled a melodramatic grimace over his shoulder at Zoandros.

“C’mon you,” she said, trying to move him to standing. “We’ve got some talking to do. You’re going to have to forgive and forget if we’re going to be moving to Salamis.”

“You?” asked Malios, looking up slowly.

“Her,” said Zoandros. “You have everything you want, Malios.”

Zoandros gestured to Poor Periklis, who offered no resistance as the giant lifted him like a sack of grain. He watched the three of them leave, the giant, the broken man, and the agent.

“Kinyras is going to kill you,” stated Manu as he stood. “She’s a monster.”

“No, he won’t. She’ll be leaving for Salamis before he gets bored of her. Or more likely her of him. Besides, it might put him in a better mood for a while.”

“How’s she going to get there in this rain?”

Zoandros looked up at the windows, from where the muted clatter of the downpour emanated.

“When she’s friends with Kinyras, she can borrow his canopied wagon. She knows what to do.”

“Ever ahead, Zo-mou,” said Manu, copying Chara’s high voice for the affectionate form of his name.

“Always ahead, Manu-mou,” said Zoandros.