Commandment by Daryl Chestney

Lakif had absolutely no idea what the word referred to. “Do all of you work here?”
    Both erupted into a chorus of astonished giggling at the absurdity of the question.
    “Silly boy,” Demetrius corrected her. “It’s Monday. Who works on Monday?”
    Lakif thought of the frazzled businessmen in the square outside. “Don’t many?”
    “Only the man in the moon, boy!” Demetrius slapped Lakif’s knee affectionately.
    “So true!” Lysander added. He was all smiles, as if he had uncovered a buried treasure in the Acaanan. From their tangential responses, Lakif readily gathered that they weren’t at work.
    “Try the Patina de Piris, boy,” Lysander gestured toward a platter of pear slices covered with a gravy sauce. It looked appetizing, but she declined. To sample the delicacy would have indebted her to the scholars in an unattractive way.
    “No, thank you.” Lakif tried speaking in her most natural, feminine voice, but suddenly feared that would only encourage the duo. “You come here on your holiday?”
    “Holiday? Yes, this is a day of gay merriment.” One chuckled, although Lakif couldn’t be sure from which it issued.
    “The warmth of your homes doesn’t appeal to you?”
    “There are many flames here to warm the body, boy,” the elder cooed. The double entendre was clear enough. Lakif was becoming concerned with the repeated use of the word
boy
. Even if she were a male, she would be too old to deserve that title.
    “The tabernacle is warmed by the flames of discourse, lad,” Lysander chimed in with a fortunately benign answer. Both loomed up close against the Acaanan from either side. Lakif felt like each had four arms and eight eyes.
    “Perhaps you’re right. My socks are drenched.” Lakif promptly squeezed out from the encroaching cliffs of their shoulders. Socks seemed a safe article to discard and offered her a golden opportunity to extricate herself from the two trolls. The ruse worked. Pulling off her socks, she laid them under the brazier.
    “What do you talk about?” Lakif suspected that the congregation was merely a pretext to revel in homoerotic activities.
    “We don’t talk, boy,” Demetrius clarified, his tone now a shade coarser. His partner puffed his cheeks in frustration. As Lysander seemed the more innocuous of the two, Lakif resumed a seat on the other side of him.
    “We debate,” Lysander continued his cohort’s thought. “Well-reasoned debate is the cherished bedrock of all scholarly advancement.” Lakif wondered if Lysander was spitting out a memorized mantra. Clearly, the Tabernacle was a place of vast academics.
    The waiter returned bearing a porcelain ewer. Both men fawned over him, complimenting him on his efficiency and praising his delicate, developing muscles. Lakif’s stomach twitched at the show.
    While the predators doted on the adolescent waiter, Lakif took full advantage of the perverse interlude to take in other features of the Tabernacle. As noted, all present wore an identical lily-white toga. But she noticed that the congregation varied in one aspect. Each wore a colored ribbon around the waist like a belt. Four colors were represented among the academicians. Her new-found admirers both wore lavender ribbons. This color was donned by the majority. The other colors were lime, rose, and turquoise. These latter colors were more or less equally represented among the attendants. Lakif imagined that the pastel belts represented a type of hierarchy among the scholars, although how such a division could be established bewildered her. If there was a ranking among the fraternity, it did not preclude them from mingling with colleagues of a different stratum. All colors blended equally together without any apparent restrictions.
    Her attention was drawn to the Tabernacle’s rear. There, a section was partially closed off by statues. A group of men sat cross-legged on cushions beyond, forming a circle. One of the cushions was vacant. Its occupant stood in