there, that will flush it out.” “Mm—all right,” the guard said, and, to Sostratos' vast relief, tossed aside another twig. “Lift up your feet, one after the other, so I can make sure you haven't got anything stuck under your arches.” As Sostratos obeyed, he said, “How likely am I to have an emerald glued to the bottom of my foot, especially when I had no idea coming here that I would be searched?” “I don't know how likely you are to have one there, friend,” the bodyguard answered. “That's why I'm looking: to find out.” Finally, for good measure, he used a very fine-toothed comb, one suitable for getting rid of lice and nits, on Sostratos' hair and beard. Since his hair was wavy and his beard curly, and since he hadn't combed them out too well himself, that hurt as much as anything else he'd been through. “Are you satisfied now?” he asked when the guard tossed the comb aside. “Pretty much so,” the man replied. “Either you haven't got any or you're a sneakier bastard than most.” After that less than ringing endorsement, he and his comrades let Sostratos put his tunic on again. He'd just slid it down over his head when the other group of guards led Menedemos past the doorway and toward the andron. His cousin, he was not at all sorry to see, looked at least as put upon as he felt himself—but his hair was well combed now. The men who'd searched Sostratos took him back to the andron, too. “Well?” Ptolemaios barked. “No emeralds, sir,” chorused the men who'd searched Menedemos, and the ones who'd searched Sostratos dipped their heads. A guard asked Ptolemaios, “Shall we take their ship apart, too, the way this fellow told us we could?” Ptolemaios thought that over, but not for long. Then he tossed his head. “No, no point to that. Too many places to hide such small things; you'd only find 'em by luck.” He glowered at the two Rhodians. “I'm not convinced you're telling me the truth, not by a long shot. But I can't prove you're not, so I'm going to let you go: you did serve me well before.” “Thank you, sir,” Sostratos said before Menedemos could come out with anything that might land them in more trouble. “I suppose you're welcome,” the ruler of Egypt replied. “I suppose.” He jerked a thumb toward the front door. “Meanwhile, why don't you go somewhere else and not give me any reason to call you here again?” “Yes, sir,” Sostratos said. “Thank you again, sir.” He hurried out of the andron, Menedemos in his wake. Only after they were out in the street did he pause to let out a sigh of relief. “Many goodbyes to that Dionysios,” Menedemos said. “Yes, he tried to cover us in dung, didn't he?” Sostratos agreed. “I say we head for home first thing tomorrow morning.” “Oh?” Menedemos asked. “Why's that?”
