After glancing at Menedemos, Sostratos tossed his head. “No, sir. I think that's everything.” “Good enough, then.” Ptolemaios was all business. “Would you care for anything else to eat or drink? No? Do you need Alypetos to take you back down to the harbor? No? Very good, very good. A pleasure talking to you.” The two Rhodians found themselves on the street in front of Ptolemaios' residence in a matter of moments. “A talent of silver!” Menedemos said softly. “We'll earn it,” Sostratos answered. “We're running the gauntlet for him.” “We can do it.” Menedemos sounded confident—but then, he usually did. He went on, “What we need to do, though, is stop at Pixodaros' home on the way to the ship. We want to make sure we get the silk aboard before Ptolemaios' men finish their deliveries.” “Right,” Sostratos said. “And we'd better hurry, too, because I don't think they'll waste much time.” “I don't, either,” Menedemos said. As they headed toward the harbor, he went on, “Now, was it two streets up and three over from the seaside, or the other way round?” “Three up and two over,” Sostratos answered. “Why can't you remember something like that?” “I don't know, my dear,” Menedemos answered. “But I don't need to bother, not when I've got you around.” It was praise, of a sort— about as much as Sostratos ever got from his cousin. They went down toward the sea together. 5 As the Aphrodite made her way north and west, the rowers taking turns at the oars when the wind faltered, Menedemos waited for the trouble he was sure he would have. He'd guessed it would come before the end of their first day out of Kos, and his guess proved a good one. Not long after noon, Sostratos ascended to the poop deck. He peered off to starboard at the island of Kalymnos, then ahead toward the smaller, more distant island of Lebinthos, where they'd probably pass the night. He coughed a couple of times. “I know what you're going to say,” Menedemos told him. “The answer is no.” His cousin jerked in surprise. “How do you know what I'm going to ask you?” “Because, O best one, you're transparent as air,” Menedemos answered. “You're going to say something like, 'We could stop in Athens on the way up to Khalkis. It wouldn't take long, and we could get rid of the gryphon's skull.' Aren't you?” Sostratos turned red as a roof tile. “Well, what if I am?” he muttered. His voice gained strength: “It's true.”
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