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“My dear Henry,” Zhou Mi says, eyebrows raised and a quiver of amusement in his tone, “you really should bathe.”
Henry grins and scrubs a hand through his hair. It’s lank and kind of greasy in some places while at the ends it’s stiff with sea-salt. “I bathed eight days ago.”
Zhou Mi looks pained. “In the sea, I presume.”
“Of course. This is the first landfall I’ve made in weeks. The winds aren’t kind at this time of year; more often than not we get turned around, and if there’s one thing merchants don’t like, it’s when their goods don’t arrive on time, so as soon as we reach port, I’m off the ship and calling on my respected clients to assure them that yes, we’re here, their goods are here, let’s settle up.” Henry finishes this speech and huffs a sigh. “Then I might think about other things. Like bathing. But I’d put eating before bathing.”
A smile threatens Zhou Mi’s composure. “We concluded our business over lunch. You’ve rested awhile, and that means you can now make your way to the bathhouse.”
Henry scowls. Zhou Mi is a trusted friend as well as a valued client, so if he’s saying that Henry needs to bathe, then Henry needs to bathe. Especially if he hopes to win more clients this evening at a dinner Zhou Mi is hosting. The costly spices and fine wines Henry imported on Zhou Mi’s behalf will be served to guests tonight, and Henry knows he should appear clean and presentable and ready to impress—for Zhou Mi’s sake if not for his own.
“Oh, all right,” he grumbles. “I’ll bathe. Where’s the best place to go these days?”
“The one opposite the Temple of the Huntress,” Zhou Mi says. “I heard there’s a delicious new attendant, though I have yet to lay eyes on him so I cannot possibly give a recommendation beyond hearsay. Ryeowook is his name.”
Henry rolls his eyes. “Can’t say I’m in the mood for that sort of entertainment.”
Zhou Mi adopts a shocked expression. “After however many weeks at sea? Oh, my friend, but of course you need that sort of entertainment!”
Henry is still chuckling when he leaves Zhou Mi’s house. It’s not far to the Temple of the Huntress and he’s not in a hurry, so he dawdles on his way, wandering through the covered market nearby and stopping to ask questions about various goods for sale. He’s pleased to find that his is the first ship to come in carrying eastern spices; the merchants he deals with will be able to sell at a premium.
At length he reaches the bathhouse, an elegant building with a series of domed roofs. Its facade mimics the portico of the Temple of the Huntress, but those who pass between the fluted pillars are in search of worldly pleasures, not divine guidance.
Right now, Henry would settle for a hair-wash and a nice long soak in the warm pool. He’s almost tempted to forego the full-body soap-down and massage, no matter how pretty the bath attendant, but then he decides to indulge himself.
At the reception desk, he asks for Ryeowook, adding, “Zhou Mi recommended him,” which isn’t strictly true, but Zhou Mi is an influential man in the city and Henry believes in name-dropping to get results. It works this time, and he’s shown to a private cubicle where he can get changed and leave his clothes.
Moments later he emerges dressed only in a thin, short cloth of checked fabric that reaches to mid-thigh. Henry makes sure it’s tucked securely at the waist and saunters past the warm pool and the cold plunge pool into the hot room.
Heat smothers him, scented steam dragging over his skin. Within a heartbeat he’s glistening with sweat and the cloth around his waist feels like a damp rag clinging to his thighs and ass. Henry blinks to clear his vision and takes a seat around the outside wall of the circular room.
In the centre is a huge round marble block, heated from below by a furnace that also distributes heat through a hypocaust system to warm the whole floor. Several men sit or lie on the block, chatting to one another or being washed or oiled down by their attendants. Henry recognises a couple of the men by sight and nods a greeting.
“My lord?” A quiet, soft voice beside him pulls Henry from his thoughts. He looks up with a ready smile, then stops and stares at the vision in front of him.
At first glance slender and elfin, a second glance reveals hidden strength in arms and chest and thighs. The bath attendant has chestnut hair hanging damp and curling in the heat, cheekbones as sharp as the edge of an obsidian blade, a full mouth, and eyes that a drunken poet would wax lyrical over. Oh yes, Henry is glad he gave in to impulse.
“Ryeowook?” he asks, just in case this beauty is someone else.
The beauty smiles just a little. “That’s me. This way, my lord.”
Henry gets to his feet. “I’m not actually a lord.”
Another of those smiles. “I know.”
Feeling rather foolish, Henry says, “I guess you call every customer ‘my lord’.”
“Not all of them.” Ryeowook leads him over to the marble block and indicates that Henry should lie down. “Some of them give me their names.”
“Would you like that?” Henry looks up at the round pieces of coloured glass puncturing the domed roof. Steam drifts upwards, eddying like ghosts. “Would you like to know my name?”
Ryeowook takes a square of soap scented with sandalwood and drops it into a cotton bag dipped in warm water. He rubs the soap briskly through the cloth, creating a froth of bubbles. “I know who you are. Your name is Henry, and you have a ship. You’re a merchant.”
“Right to the first two, but wrong on the last count.” Henry grins as Ryeowook upends the bag and covers him with soap bubbles. “I import and export goods for merchants, but I’m not a merchant myself.”
The men sharing the marble block get up and leave, taking their attendants with them. Now they’re alone, Henry feels a little self-conscious. He was counting on the presence of others to dampen his ardour. Even though he’d paid the extra to ensure a happy ending to his massage, he likes to keep his desire in check. His enthusiasm has landed him in troublesome situations before now, and in this case he’d prefer to get to know Ryeowook before they progress to the soapy hand job part of the bathhouse experience.
“So,” he says, too loudly, and gives an inward cringe as his voice echoes up into the dome. Trying again, he says, “How did you know my name?”
Ryeowook seems to be struggling not to smile. A proper smile this time, not one of those enigmatic looks that must drive his clients wild. “I overheard some men talking about you as I came in.”
A stir of unease makes Henry lift his head. “What men?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them here before.” Ryeowook reaches through the soap bubbles and puts his hands on Henry’s chest, starting a slow, tantalising, circular rub. “They were standing by the plunge pool, but they’d only just got changed into their bathing cloths, so they shouldn’t have been going to the plunge pool.”
“Unless they were barbarians,” Henry suggests, unable to stop a moan of pleasure as Ryeowook smoothes a slippery caress over his pecs.
Ryeowook sniffs. “Even barbarians know how to bathe correctly.”
Henry grins at him. “Are you talking about me? Because—”
His flirtation comes to an abrupt halt as the doors to the hot room are heaved open. Two men stride in, faces set with grim expressions. They’re wearing bathing cloths around their waists and they’re both carrying long, curved blades that glint in the uneven light of the bathhouse.
Ryeowook gasps.
Henry jerks upright, soap bubbles sliding down his body and dripping onto the floor as he pushes himself off the marble block and shoves Ryeowook behind him. “I guess those are the men you overheard.”
“Yes.” Ryeowook flinches as the knifemen stalk towards them. “Oh, goddess. What do they want with you?”
“I have no idea.” Henry glances around. “Is there another way out of here?”
“Yes,” Ryeowook says again, and now he sounds determined. He curls a hand around Henry’s wrist. “Follow me.”