Calliope would have admitted to having her doubts about the Brass Lamp. Ibrahim’s suggestion for what constituted a nice place, might have been closer to a camel stable than a luxurious rooming house, his vision being limited by his upbringing. Fortunately this was not the case. The Brass Lamp was a marble shod building set back from the street by an elaborate garden of fragrant date palms and large tamarind trees interspaced with smaller shrubs and flowers. Colorful birds flitted from place to place, twittering as they went. A fence of stone pillars and bronze kept the public back, as did two large hermes, local statues with elephantine heads and colossal phalluses, overlain with charms to keep out scrying and other hostile magics. A pair of heavily muscled men, completely hairless with oiled muscles that looked like they could crack stone and certainly cold crack necks stood on guard.  They wore nothing save loin clothes and stern expressions. At first it seemed they might not admit the two apparent vagabonds until Neil produced several gold coins from their horde and jingled the rest meaningfully. The two conferred in their own language, not the one the spell had wormed from Ibrahim’s mind, and then called back to the house. A few moments later a figure emerged dressed in gold accented white with a blood red sash. It was so androgynous that Calliope couldn’t assign a sex to it until it spoke.

“I am Rashim,” he said in a voice that suggested he might have been a eunuch, “I apologize for the delay, there are so many refugees in the city we cannot be too careful.”

 

“Will you be requiring a room patrons, or are you simply hoping to avail yourselves of the baths?” he asked tactfully, though it was clear that a bath was high on his priority list.

“We will take a room, a nice once,” Calliope told him, “and a bath sounds divine.”

 

 

As it happened Calliope found it was her sensibilities that were somewhat paraocial. The Brass Lamp had two wings, one for men and one for women, that were set aside for bathing. The baths consisted of large heated pool, thirty feet across at the widest points with steaming hot water pumped in from below. They were ingeniously engineered so that while the water at the center was almost painfully hot, it grew cooler as one moved to the edges. Beautiful mosaics of sporting nymphs and mermaids were picked out in bright tile, along with hunting scenes and what might have been some kind of religious art. Small submerged benches with palms around the lips provided private nooks in which to bathe and a wall surrounded the whole edifice to ward off prying eyes. Though it was open to the sky, Calliope suspected that it could be covered with canvas if threatened by the infrequent rains. It all smelled of green plants and clean water, with only the merest hint of soap and perfume. Several other women were bathing and chatted quite freely as they splashed. By both temperament and culture they gave her a wide berth.

 

Feeling much refreshed after a long hour in the water Calliope emerged and wrapped herself in a soft towel to find Rashim waiting for her, an identical obsequious smile on his face.

“I have taken the honor of preparing some clothing for you while your own is washed,” he told her. Calliope’s eyes cut to her pack where the spell book bulged in a side pouch. Protective spells or not she could feel it there, as yet undisturbed.

“I noted that you are a practitioner,” the eunuch said tactfully. 

 

“Be comforted that none shall harm you or interfere with your possessions here. We are bonded by the Seven Princes to provide such service,” he told her. Calliope had no idea what the Seven Princes might be but nodded as though she understood before turning her attention to the clothing provided.

“Shall I have the servants dress you? I note that you are a foreigner and our garb might seem strange to you,” he said smoothly.

“Very well,” Calliope told him.

Half an hour later she was escorted into their palatial room. Wrapped from ankle to head in silk. Each layer of silk was of a purple so deep it was almost black and fringed with a slightly different pattern in cloth of gold, pinned in several places by bejeweled fasteners set with amethyst and other semi precious stones. She wore a veil and hood with a net of gold across her face hung with small moonstones that glittered in the light.

 

“This seems a little extravagant for what we are paying,” Calliope suggested as she examined herself in the mirror.

“The cost is significant,” Rashim disagreed, “but in truth to host a practitioner is both a duty and an honor, it will add luster to our house. We would not displease the Seven Princes for the sake of a few baubles.”