Contrary to Calliope’s expectations the eastern wing of the palace wasn’t part of the main building. Instead long covered walkways ran through palm gardens, weaving up a small hill to where a number of large villas reached towards the darkening sky. Already a sickle shaped moon was rising into the blue black of early evening. Below the lights of the city and the harbour winked and glimmered, though from this height it looked less lively than the energetic chaos Calliope had seen from the back of the elephant.

Their villa was a large two story building with three sides wrapped around a central court of immaculately laid hexagonal stones. A handsome fountain of worked bronze depicted three stylized desert women with water jars on their slender shoulders. Water bubbled from the mouths of the water jars kept under pressure, probably, by magic. The villa was lit with magical lumin crystals which hung from carefully worked wire made to resemble ivy vines. Servants, clearly alerted by runners from the main palace, stood in a pair of long lines. One of the lines appeared to be oiled eunuchs, dressed in silk pantaloons and vests of red silk, the other line was comprised of willow beautiful Arad women. Calliope wasn’t sure if they were member of the Sultan’s harem or if he merely employed particularly beautiful servants. As they entered the court both lines threw themselves flat in obeisance groveling before their guests.

“Well I guess the Sultan is taking us seriously,” Markus observed eyeing the women. Calliope snickered, though the groveling made her lip curl a little. It wasn’t something that came naturally to those not from Arad Lind.

“What do you suppose the crew is doing?” Calliope asked as Markus escorted her through the main door and into a large central room. Inside stood a long table piled high with food of every kind. There was roasted pheasant and joints of beef as well as dates, melons, currants, candied apricots, cheeses, cherries and a dozen other things less identifiable. Large carafes of silver held sweet smelling wine or perhaps ale. Calliope found she was suddenly ravenous.

“Getting rip roaring drunk I shouldn’t wonder,” Markus chuckled. 

“I gave the boys their wages and if any of them have a crown to their name when they come back aboard then they are no sailor.” Markus took a seat and threw a boot up onto the table.

“Why did you give them that line about Umberlee?” Markus asked as Calliope took a seat across from him. She took a pitcher of wine and poured it into a goblet of chased silver. Calliope took a long drink and smirked her familiar smirk.

“Perhaps it is true,” she replied doing her best to look mysterious.