The Gryphon's Skull полностью

“Who's there?” Sostratos asked. His eye went to the little knife he carried, now lying on the floor. It was a tool much more than a weapon. He heard Menedemos asking the same question with the same undertone of worry. After Kaunos, who could be sure staying in a proxenos' house was safe?

“It's me, Kleiteles,” came the answer. “You gentlemen need to get dressed right away and come out.”

“Why?” Sostratos asked in some irritation. He looked back at Thestylis, who lay naked and waiting on the bed. Not getting the chance to dip his wick after he'd made up his mind that he was going to annoyed him.

But Kleiteles answered, “Because one of Ptolemaios' servants is standing here beside me. Ptolemaios wants to speak to you as fast as you can get to him.”

Ice ran through Sostratos. Zeus! Has he found out about the emeralds? How could be have found out about the emeralds? But what else would he want to talk about? He had no idea. But he realized he was going to have to find out. Astonishment widened Thestylis' eyes.

As Sostratos put on his chiton, Menedemos spoke from the other room: “Ptolemaios wants to talk to us?” His cousin sounded un-wontedly subdued. Nothing like being discovered, or worrying that you've been discovered, to put the fear of the gods in you, Sostratos thought. The fear, if not of the gods, then of a power greater than his own, was certainly in him.

“That's right,” Kleiteles answered along with another man: presumably, Ptolemaios' servant. Sostratos touched the hilt of that little knife. Much good it would do him against one of the great marshals of the Hellenic world.

“I'll see you again,” Sostratos told Thestylis, and hoped he meant it. He opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard. The fellow standing beside Kleiteles reminded him of Euxenides of Phaselis without looking like him: he was solidly made, erect, alert. He looks like a soldier—that's what it is, Sostratos thought.

“Hail,” the stranger said. “I'm Alypetos son of Leon.” Sostratos gave his own name. Menedemos came out. Alypetos went through introductions again, then gestured toward Kleiteles' doorway. “Come with me, best ones.”

“Can you tell us why Ptolemaios wants to see us?” Sostratos asked as they went out onto the street.

“I can make some guesses,” Alypetos answered, “but I might be wrong, and it's not my place to gab, anyhow.”

Something else occurred to Sostratos: “We've just made a bargain with Pixodaros the silk merchant. He'll probably bring his cloth to the Aphrodite this morning, expecting to pick up dye and perfume in exchange for it. Can you send someone to his house, asking him to wait till we're back to look things over for ourselves?”

“I'll take care of it,” Alypetos promised. He didn't sound as if Ptolemaios intended to do anything dreadful to Sostratos and Menedemos. That left Sostratos slightly reassured, but only slightly. He wouldn't, would he? If he did, we might try to run away.

Kos was waking up. Women with water jars gathered at a fountain, some of them pausing to chat before they took the water back to their homes. A farmer in from the countryside with a big basket of onions trudged toward the market square. A stonecutter pounded away with mallet and chisel at a memorial stone. A little naked boy, pecker flapping as he ran, chased a mouse till it slipped into a crack in a wall and got away. The child burst into tears.

Like any house in a polis, the one where Ptolemaios was staying presented only a blank, whitewashed wall and a doorway to the world. Unlike any house Sostratos had seen, though, this one had a couple of hoplites in full panoply—crested helm, bronze corselet, greaves, shield, spear, sword on the hip—standing sentry in front of it.

“Hail,” Alypetos said to them. “These are the Rhodians Ptolemaios wants to see.”

“Hail,” the sentries said together. Then one of them added something that sounded as if it ought to be Greek but made next to no sense to Sostratos. They're Macedonians, he realized. Well, no surprise that Ptolemaios would use his countrymen for bodyguards. Unless you were used to it, the dialect Macedonians spoke among themselves might almost have been another language.

Alypetos had no trouble following it. “He says to bring you right on in,” he told Sostratos and Menedemos.