A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (18 page)

“Does it make you feel any better to know that my days with
you have been the happiest of my life?”

“What about your time with Richard?” Henry asked, and it
probably wasn’t a smart question, but he wanted Martin to answer it anyway. It
was stupid to be envious of a dead boy, but Richard had been able to show
everyone that he loved Martin and, because he was a slave, no one had thought
anything of it, and surely that had felt better than hiding all the time.

“Oh, Henry.” Martin sighed, seeming disappointed. “It hurts
me to make comparisons. You know that you’re my life.”

“He could touch you in public,” Henry said. “He could kiss
you and no one would care.”

“Actually, we were discouraged from making displays of
affection outside our bedrooms or classrooms. If we’d done that sort of
touching at other times, we’d have been scolded.”

Oh. Well. Based on the slave party he’d witnessed, Henry had
imagined a lot more public romancing at the Houses. Except for the group sex,
maybe it wasn’t so far off from Henry’s own experience with Martin after all.

“I should get dressed. I’ll need to go down for my dinner.”

“Stay a minute longer,” Henry begged. He pulled Martin to
lie on top of him and they both wriggled and shifted to find a comfortable
position. Martin’s hair fell over Henry’s face like a veil, strands sticking to
his lips. “One of us still needs to get fatter,” Henry remarked, feeling the
sharpness of Martin’s hipbones against his own.

“It still needs to be you, Henry. I would be letting down
myself and my entire House if I got fat.” Martin rolled off of Henry and sat
up, giving Henry’s hand a conciliatory squeeze.

“You don’t have to get
fat
,” Henry pointed out. “Five
pounds, Martin.”

“You do it, Henry. Eat extra cake.” Martin stood up and
moved about the bed picking up their school clothes. Martin put Henry’s clothes
in the wardrobe while Henry watched, then carried his own uniform into his
room. He emerged dressed in his usual black jacket, black waistcoat and fawn
trousers, and he looked very handsome, as always, but Henry wished again that
Martin would let him dress him in more stylish clothes.

“I’ll be back soon.” He bent to kiss Henry goodbye, and
Henry tried to kiss him with enough ardor that he might linger, but without
achieving his goal.

Martin left, shutting the door firmly behind him, and Henry
sighed loudly, vaguely frustrated. He got up and put on his dressing gown and
got back on the bed with his school books; he might as well do homework. He did
the math quickly and with pleasure, and began the reading for Mr. Granger’s
class, but at some point, bored and confused by the convoluted history of the
Holy Roman Empire, he fell asleep.

He dreamed that Martin looked exactly as he did when Henry
was awake, but it was understood that he was fat now, and in trouble with his
House because of it. When Martin returned and woke him to dress, Henry felt
insulted on his behalf, and when Martin admitted to having eaten extra cake at
his meal because of their earlier conversation, Henry felt proud of him,
defiant and full up with love.

Monday was rainy and grey, and Henry was feeling anxious
anew about Abigail DeWitt and the physical closeness that was necessary between
them during lessons, and which would only be intensified at the actual ball on
Saturday. While they all congregated in the library to stay out of the weather,
Albert teased him very good-naturedly about his sister’s determination, and
Henry had to make the effort to respond with equal goodwill, though he was full
of dread about their dance lesson on the morrow, and felt quite persecuted by
Abigail’s misplaced affections. The teasing also upset Louis, as well, which
Henry felt helpless to do anything about.

As they descended the stairs with their slaves after the
break, Martin tried to cheer him up. “Cook baked more of those peanut cookies
you liked, Sir. She made extra for you, Sir, so there will be plenty left when
we get home.”

“That was kind of her.” It seemed childish to be made so
happy by the promise of cookies, but he was happy nonetheless.

It had stopped raining by the end of the school day, but the
sky was deeply overcast and threatening. The omnibus was crowded and most of
the boys had to stand in the aisle with their slaves. Henry’s feet were damp
and cold and his nose was full of the smell of wet wool; he would be grateful
to be home, indoors and warm.

Randolph took their coats and offered Henry a large brown
envelope. “Your magazine, I believe, Sir.”

Pals
! Theo and George and the final confrontation
with DeSade! He took the envelope with eager hands. “Martin, will you get us
some of those cookies you mentioned earlier? And thank Cook for me.”

Martin smiled. “Of course, Sir. Shall I meet you upstairs?”

Henry went up with his schoolbag and his magazine, tearing
open the envelope as he climbed the stair. He flipped through the pages and
found where this month’s installment of
Drake’s Progress
began. He resisted
the urge to begin reading; it would be so much better when Martin read it.

While waiting for Martin, Henry shed his school jacket onto
an armchair and removed his boots before swinging his feet up onto the bed. He
glanced through the other stories in
Pals
but nothing caught his
interest; all he cared about was
Drake’s Progress
.

Henry heard the muffled thud of the elevator coming to a
halt, then the metallic jangle of the grille opening. Shortly thereafter,
Martin entered with a tray holding a plate of cookies and glasses of milk. He
set his tray down on the floor just inside the door so he could shut it behind
him.

“Finally!”

Martin laughed. “You’re so impatient.” He brought the tray
to the bed. “Take the milk, please.”

Henry took both glasses of milk and set them on the
nightstand, and Martin set the tray with its plate of cookies down on the bed
near Henry’s hip.

“Hurry,” Henry urged, talking around a mouthful of cookie.
“I’ve been
dying
up here waiting.”

Martin slipped off his boots and got up on the bed at
Henry’s side, the tray between them. “Give me the magazine, then.” He held out
his hand.

“It’s open to the right page,” Henry told him. “It’s ready.
I’m
ready.”

Martin began to eat a cookie, and Henry suspected he was
doing it with exaggerated slowness, exaggerated care. “Let me just get my
bearings. Would you mind handing me my milk?”

Sighing frustration, Henry did as he was asked and Martin
drank and then cleared his throat.

“Are you stalling?” Henry asked impatiently. “Are you trying
to torment me?”

Martin laughed again. “Of course not. I’m ready now if you
are.”

“I’m
more than ready
,” Henry insisted. “
Please
,
Martin, read the story.”

The action began where it had left off, with George and Theo
asleep in a nice big bed at the Fata Morgana Inn, resting up for Theo’s fight
with DeSade. George, who had not participated in the drinking contest, arose
from bed late in the morning and went in search of Captain Valentine, leaving
Theo asleep. The innkeeper directed him to the Fiddler’s Green, where Captain
Valentine was known to take his lunch.

Captain Valentine had heard tell of the early-morning
drinking contest and the subsequent bare-knuckle challenge and agreed to
oversee the match. He suggested they might hold the fight in a warehouse on the
dock that had been used for such matches in the past and George agreed to this.

Valentine was concerned. “You do understand, George, how
badly this could go for you and your master.”

“Yes, Sir,” George said. “But I also understand that it
might go very well. I have faith in Captain Drake.”

George returned to the inn and waited for Theo to wake. When
Theo did so, feeling somewhat worse for wear, he and George went down to the
dining room for dinner. Afterward, they went to visit the crew on the
Dauntless
to explain what could happen on the morrow
.
Should Theo lose the
fight, first mate George would be forfeit, so control of the ship would fall to
Boot, the bosun. Although Boot was well-liked, the implications were sobering
to all assembled. However, if Theo won, they should be prepared to transport
prisoners a long distance, and Theo wanted all in readiness for this
possibility. The men of the
Dauntless
gave a rousing cheer for their
Captain, and Theo and George returned to the inn in good spirits.

“This is going to be another night when they’ll have the
best possible sex,” Henry said with confidence, imagining Theo kissing his way
down George’s brown chest to his pale groin, imagining George’s fingers
twisting in Theo’s bronze curls, George begging for Theo’s mouth on his cock.

“It’ll also be another night when they’ll take a bath,”
Martin said. “Win or lose, it’s the last real bath they’ll have in awhile.”

In the morning, they ate a hearty breakfast at the inn along
with Boot and the young Dooleys. Jeanette was still wearing her husband’s
jacket despite the warm weather, and Theo imagined it made the vulnerable girl
feel protected.

They made their way to the warehouse. A sizeable crowd had
gathered. People had set out chairs, crates, and even stepladders around the perimeter
of the echoing space so that they might get a good view of the action. Captains
Valentine and Smithers were there, sidearms very much in evidence. Someone had
chalked a generous square in the center of the floor and this was the space
designated for the encounter.

Captain Valentine explained the rules to Theo and George. It
was to be a fistfight, no weapons allowed. No assistance would be allowed from
any quarter. The fight would end when the fighters ended it, whether by
forfeit, unconsciousness or death. The fighters could also choose to declare
the fight a draw, though no one anticipated this would happen. Captain
Valentine would only intervene in the event a rule was broken.

“No one will come to your rescue,” Valentine warned. “I like
you, Captain Drake, but I won’t save your life.”

After talking to Captain Valentine, Theo and George
retreated to a corner of the room with a few of the
Dauntless’
men and
George helped Theo prepare, stripping him to the waist and oiling his torso and
arms so that DeSade’s fists might slide off his skin. Henry imagined this was
the same bottle of oil they used to slick Theo’s cock and gave a little sigh.
Martin gave him a curious glance and Henry blushed, pleasantly ashamed.

DeSade came in with Turk and a contingent of his mindless
minions. The crowd parted for them, more out of distaste than respect, and it
was plain that DeSade was not well-liked. After the previous morning’s events,
word had gotten around, and now Theo was favored to win, if only because people
liked him better. A steady stream of strangers approached to wish Captain Drake
well, and Theo felt confident that, should he lose, these people would allow
his crew and ship to leave the harbor unmolested.

George put his hands on Theo’s shoulders and looked him in
the eye. “Whatever happens, Sir, I’ve been proud to call you master.”

Martin put a great deal of emotion into Theo’s reply. “And I
have been proud to call you friend. You have meant more to me than I can convey
in mere words.” They embraced then, and Theo clapped George on the back.

Even though he was certain nothing would happen, and this
fight would somehow end in a draw—after all, Captain Valentine had even brought
the possibility of such a thing up—Henry felt rather emotional about this
possible goodbye. He wanted them to kiss, and he knew his wanting was
unreasonable, but he wanted it all the same. Sometimes Henry forgot that his
imaginings about Theo and George weren’t actually part of the official
narrative, and it was always disappointing to snap back to a reality where men
in a story weren’t ever going to be allowed to kiss.

Now Theo was in his corner, DeSade across from him. George
and Theo exchanged a last long look that provided Theo welcome reassurance.
Crewmembers from the
Dauntless
were at Theo’s back, shouting
encouragement. The island’s people were also cheering him on, crowding as close
as they dared, still placing bets. DeSade appeared to have little popular
support, if any. While that was heartening, it ultimately meant nothing. If DeSade
was stronger, he would beat Theo, and George’s life would be worse than lost.

Captain Valentine strode to the center of the square. “Are
you gentlemen ready?”

Theo gave a curt nod.

“More than ready,” DeSade said, sounding prideful and
vicious.

“Let the fight begin!” Valentine stepped quickly out of the
way.

Theo landed the first punch, a right hook to DeSade’s jaw
that sent him reeling. However, DeSade came back with force, hitting Theo
solidly in the abdomen and reminding him of just what a formidable fighter he
could be. There was a long description of the fight, the punches thrown and the
wrestling holds used, but Henry did not listen closely, impatient to get to the
outcome of the match. Both fighters were growing tired. DeSade spit on the
warehouse floor and his saliva was pink. He and Theo eyed each other warily,
keeping their distance and catching their breath.

“This only ends with one of us dead,” DeSade said, breathing
hard. “I can’t settle for anything less, Drake, and I don’t believe you can,
either.”

“How are they going to get out of this fight-to-the-death
thing, anyway?” Henry wondered aloud. “They can’t kill Theo because he’s the
hero, and they can’t kill DeSade because then what is Theo supposed to do?”

Martin frowned at the interruption. “Hush, Henry, I think
we’re getting to that.”

Theo recovered sufficiently that he made another run at
DeSade, taking him down to the floor. DeSade fought back and they rolled across
the square together, coming up hard against the onlookers’ legs and knocking
them over like ninepins. DeSade got lucky and wound up on top of Theo in the
confusion, straddling his chest and pinning his arms. He put his hands around
Theo’s neck and squeezed. Theo struggled mightily and freed one arm, then
fought to pull DeSade’s powerful hands from his neck. As his vision began to
darken, Theo caught a glimpse of George on the sidelines, pale beneath his tan,
his expression anguished. He couldn’t lose. He couldn’t let anything happen to
George. He put his fatigue out of mind, forgot about the pain in his throat,
and thought only of loyal, brave George. He left off trying to pry DeSade’s
fingers free, but instead clawed at his face and gouged at his remaining eye.

DeSade reared back with a howl, letting go of Theo’s throat,
and Theo was able to buck him off and scramble out of reach. He got to his feet
and stood panting, rubbing the sore flesh of his neck, and gave DeSade an
unfriendly smile, showing his teeth.

“You won’t kill me today,” Theo promised, “because I have
something you don’t have.”

“What’s that?” DeSade sneered.

“Someone to live for.” And with that, Theo launched himself
at DeSade anew.

“Oh, my god,” Henry said, dumbfounded. “Oh, my god, Martin!
How does him saying that even make any sense unless they’re actually supposed
to be in love?”

“I don’t know! Let me keep reading.”

With renewed resolve, Theo stalked DeSade around the square,
throwing confident punches and landing most of them. DeSade was now on the
defensive, simply trying to stay out of Theo’s way. An uppercut sent DeSade
sprawling and Theo lunged after him. He hit him in the face, in the jaw, and
DeSade fell back against the spectators, who were packed in so tightly they
couldn’t get out of the way. All Theo needed was to knock DeSade unconscious
and George would be safe. He didn’t intend to kill DeSade if it could be
avoided—he wanted to see the fiend brought to justice.

DeSade ducked a punch and scrambled across the square. He
stood bent over, hands braced on thighs, watching Theo warily. He was
exhausted, panting like an animal, bleeding from his nose and mouth. His
remaining eye was swollen nearly shut. “You
can’t
win!” DeSade insisted,
disbelieving and enraged at the possibility. He was quite furious. “It can’t
end this way!”