Page 25 of Sword Dance

“I thought perhaps you wanted my help,” said Damiskos frankly.

Varazda’s brows rose archly.

“You’re in a vulnerable position,” Damiskos persisted, then hoped that didn’t sound bullying.

“It’s kind of you to be concerned, First Spear. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you can handle yourself. I just … With your patron away … And as you said, these men may be dangerous. If there’s anything I can do … ”

“Thank you. I will keep it in mind.”

“Good. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. I do … I am … Thank you for taking me into your confidence. If there’s anything I can do.” He’d already said that. Idiot.

Varazda uncrossed his legs and stood, the movement liquidly graceful.

“One thing more,” he said as he reached for the door handle. “About last night.”

Damiskos got awkwardly to his feet. “Oh, you mean the, um … No, no explanation necessary. I quite understand. You and Aristokles being here on confidential business, obviously you don’t want Eurydemos or his students to think you’re up to anything underhanded, conspiring with any of the other guests or whatnot. No, I—I understood that.”

“Yes. But what I was going to say was: We needn’t keep up the pretence.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t think … I mean, if you’re sure.”

Varazda reverted to his mannered court Zashian: “I mean the pretence of a continued liaison between ourselves. It will do to let it be thought that I am simply promiscuous.” After a moment he added, very precisely, “That is also a pretence.”

“Yes,” said Damiskos, and couldn’t suppress a smile. “I’d figured that.”

He was surprised to see Varazda’s cheeks colour slightly. He realized how his remark might be taken.

“I didn’t mean just because of the, um … ” He made an unfortunate gesture.

“Out,” said Varazda, holding open the door.

* * *

The more Damiskos thought about what he had just learned, the more disgusted he was with Aristokles. Maybe the man knew what he was doing with his mission—appearances to the contrary—but why had he thought it necessary to bring his very Zashian freedman into a nest of suspected Zashian-haters? Aristokles and Varazda obviously had a close and friendly relationship, even if they weren’t lovers. Look at all the details Varazda knew about his patron’s mission; it was obvious they talked almost as equals and that Aristokles had few secrets from Varazda. All the more reason to take better care of him, Damiskos thought. Advise him to tone down the jewellery and the makeup, at least—those were bound to attract the anger of the philosopher’s students with their mania for manliness.

Though it would have been a shame. All that finery did suit him.

When Damiskos came into the house, Niko hurried up to tell him that the mistress was back and discussing with Aradne at that very moment the question of what had happened to Aristokles Phoskos.

It came as rather a strange shock to recall that when he had last been looking for Nione it was with the intention of telling her a vague story about Aristokles acting suspiciously and Gelon menacing Varazda for unknown reasons. He knew so much more about it now, and he couldn’t talk to her because he was committed to keeping Varazda’s secret, and he didn’t yet know what story Varazda was going to give to account for Aristokles’s disappearance.

If it was true that Eurydemos’s students had murdered men in Boukos and stolen valuable documents, did Nione know about it? Damiskos did not want to believe that possible. But she had invited these people into her house, was apparently seriously considering letting them move into her house permanently. Did she had any idea what they were really up to?

No. No, surely not. She was tolerant to a fault, but she must draw the line somewhere, and Damiskos felt sure she would not be embracing the students if she knew them to be criminals and fanatics.

* * *

Someone had proposed a game of Reds and Whites for that afternoon, and everyone else seemed enthusiastic. Damiskos thought joining the game would be the best way of keeping an eye on the other guests.

It was deathly dull. No one was much of a player except Kleitos, who had won a cup in the Pan-Pseuchaian games as a boy and took every opportunity to mention it. He and his wife obviously played together at home, and she would have been quite good too if she hadn’t been so busy trying to make sure to let him win.

Nione seemed distracted and not herself. Damiskos might have been imagining it, but he thought he could see evidence that she had been crying. Several times in the course of the set she was called away by members of her staff and returned looking even more harried and unhappy.

Helenos was exactly the sort of Reds and Whites player that Damiskos would have expected him to be: carelessly unskilled but not bothered by it, just a little aloof from the whole thing. Eurydemos was the same, only he also seemed to feel it was beneath him to remember the rules, and kept having to pause to hitch up his mantle.

Gelon was missing from the party, the only one absent besides Aristokles.