Boots for the Gentleman (7 page)

Noticing the leather book on the floor, Querry bent down and opened it, hoping for a clue. Must rose from the crumbling pages. Nothing but gibberish was written within. Tiny, lowercase letters, with no space between and in no particular order filled every page from top to bottom. Shaking his head, Querry set it aside.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself that his reaction to the doll meant nothing more than that he was healthy and human and touching a naked man, a stunning, sensuous form that would tempt anyone with a heartbeat, Querry couldn’t banish the warmth that filled his chest and belly as he watched the doll’s long, white lashes flutter. Could he be dreaming? Whatever he’d been intended for, he belonged to Querry now, and Querry wouldn’t let him be ill-used. Reaching down, he ran a finger from the doll’s round shoulder to his elbow. As anyone might, the doll shifted slightly before falling still. Querry stroked the silver curls at the back of his head, then down his neck and between his shoulder blades, enjoying the texture of his skin, getting aroused again.

Maybe it was sick to feel this way, but Querry had been lonely too. He saw Reg less and less. Whores and men seeking easy thrills couldn’t fill the void left by his first love.
Reg
, Querry thought. He and this doll were a little bit alike: delicate and vulnerable, but with strength running through like a vein of gold. Both inspired a strong protective instinct in Querry. Querry remembered the last time he’d watched Reg sleep this way, so long ago, when the leaves were still just tightly curled buds on the trees. They’d met for a drink and come back here. Too vividly, Querry recalled shutting the door, just before throwing Reg against it and pinning him, driving his tongue hard into Reg’s mouth. He saw Reg’s hands pushing against his chest, and his own closing around Reg’s wrists and holding his arms at his sides. He could almost taste Reg’s sweat, feel the skin of Reg’s neck beneath his tongue, hear his halfhearted protests.

Querry’s hand went to his groin, and he gave his aching cock a squeeze through his pants. He looked at the doll’s idealized little feet, tucked up and almost hiding his balls and the dark line of his crack beneath. Querry unbuttoned his trousers and quietly let himself poke out. As his left fist squeezed hard at the base of his shaft, his right hand groped for an old rag on the table. Hand moving up his length, Querry felt a stir of guilt at the thought of pleasuring himself while the doll slept. But the tension in his body felt so unbearable, he brought his palm to his cock head and gave it a twist and a tug. He tugged again, churning himself with quick, short strokes, watching the doll’s rosebud lips and remembering their softness.

He thought about how he’d practically torn away Reg’s proper, gray suit and linen shirt, how Reg had almost tripped trying to get his feet out of his pants, and how Querry had caught him around the waist and thrown him, belly-down, on the rickety bed. A hard squeeze summoned the first droplets of come, and Querry used the heel of his hand to swirl it over himself and ease the friction. He picked up speed, desperate for release.

It was nearly there now. Querry drove his fist against himself hard and fast. His anus clenched and released as he watched the doll’s graceful neck, blanketed in ringlets the color of a stormy sky. Biting down on his lip, Querry lifted the oil-stained scrap of cloth and prepared to finish.

But then the doll’s eyes opened, and without the drowsiness of a human waking. His lids drew back like clouds parting to reveal a full, faerie-ringed moon, clear and alert. The shock dammed Querry’s orgasm, and he knew that of course he should stop. But he’d reached the point where he didn’t think it would be possible. Balls hurting, frustrated and embarrassed, he looked apologetically into the golden eyes, and the doll met his gaze without judgment. He didn’t know to feel awkward, and within a few seconds Querry, too, felt at ease and began to slowly stroke himself. In no time he found himself ready to reach for the rag. Eyes locked with the doll’s, Querry delivered the releasing jerk. He ground his teeth together and came with a single, stifled groan. Then he cleaned up and undressed, shooed the cats out of the bed, curled up behind the doll with his arm stretched protectively from his shoulder all the way to his ankle, and slept until late in the afternoon.

Chapter Four

“
W
HERE
are we going, Querry?” the doll asked. He wore the clothes the thief had acquired: a coal-colored newsboy’s cap, gray trousers, faded, cornflower shirt, and a checkered vest with a few patches on its satin back. Unfortunately, his springy curls poked from beneath the hat, almost touching his shoulders and eyebrows, and those few people who didn’t look twice at his beauty stole second glances at his strangeness.

“We’re going to see a friend of mine,” Querry answered. Upon waking, he’d felt a little shamed about what he’d done, touching himself in front of the doll, but the doll hadn’t mentioned it. It seemed unimportant now. “He works in that building, and he should be coming out soon. So, we’ll just sit on this bench and read the newspaper while we wait for him.”

They did so. Afternoon light gilded the royal and administrative buildings, and the pansies and primroses in their neat window boxes. Men in identical, dust-colored suits moved slowly from door to door, carrying books and papers. Now and then a carriage chugged by, spewing steam. Plenty of horse-drawn carriages clogged the streets at this time of day also. Two years ago, the University a few blocks up had begun to admit women, and a group of three such students walked past the men on their way back from class. They wore drab, simple dresses of olive and brown. One of them had even adopted the scandalous Colonial custom of wearing loose-fitting trousers beneath a too-short skirt. They spoke softly to each other, giggling and covering their mouths, stealing glances at Querry and the doll. The doll didn’t know not to smile and wave. This caused the students to redden and hurry away.

Querry lifted his section of paper up, shielding his face. Beside him, the doll sat with a leaf spread over his lap. He hoped Reg would be along soon; they were attracting too much attention. One gentleman in particular, a strawberry blond with blue eyes several shades lighter than Querry’s and clothing with a Continental flare, watched the pair intently from beneath a tree. Possibly his tastes ran similar to Querry’s own, and he observed them only out of appreciation. Any man interested in another man had to rely on subtle looks and signals to convey his intent, at least beyond Lickwhistle Circle. Possibly, though, this well-dressed fellow found them out of place and waited to alert the authorities. If a Royal Guard or city policeman ushered Querry back where he belonged, so be it, but it wouldn’t do for anyone to intuit the doll’s peculiar nature.

“Have you decided on a name for yourself?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Well, what about Jack?”

The doll curled his lip, as if tasting something sour, and shook his head.

“Patrick? George?”

“I don’t care for either of those,” the doll said. He was taking this matter very seriously.

Querry looked back at the paper. A large ad for a clothes-pressing machine took up most of the page. Also, a tailor in town would run a sale on ladies’ hats. Perusing the articles, Querry hadn’t yet seen mention of his exploits in the cellar of the doll maker’s house. “Percival?” he said idly. “Percy, that’s nice.”

But the paper on his thighs held all of the doll’s attention. He began to read aloud. “Early this morning, Lord Thimbleroy insisted upon an emergency assembly of the House. ‘Good sirs,’ he said, addressing his fellow nobles, ‘the time has come and then some that we must act to rid our fair and wholesome city of that nest of deceit and vice which has come to be referred to as Neroche.’

“He uses so many words,” the doll noted and then continued. “‘The inhabitants thereof, whom I might note should in no way be considered citizens, and should not be assumed to possess the rights insured to Her Majesty’s loyal subjects, are contributing quite rapidly to the dissolution of our virtuous women and the corruption and kidnap of our children. I call upon all of you now to ratify an act giving these inhabitants one month’s time to vacate these premises and remove any evidence of their presence. If they are unwilling to comply, I call upon each of you to, as our noble ancestors have done so many times in the past, take up arms to defend this kingdom!’

“Debate continued past the noon hour regarding the feasibility of Lord Thimbleroy’s proposal. Thimbleroy indicated some privately funded research that might be able to aid his worthy cause, while Duchess Lisine, who several years prior gained notoriety as the first woman to demand entrance to the house, but who remains a favorite of the queen mother, called for an alternative to violence, citing the Empire’s already thinly spread military resources. Debate is expected to continue. The Grande Chancellor did, however, gain a small victory when House members agreed to the measure of having Royal and city guards remove any person not able to provide proof of citizenship to the area known as Neroche.”

“I’m glad I’m not one of those guards,” Querry said.

“What’s this Neroche place?” the doll asked.

“It’s nowhere you’d want to go.”

“How long has it been there?”

“Nobody knows,” Querry said. “Nobody remembers it not being there, not that it’s ever in the same place. Some people will tell you it’s not there at all. Maps still show Hawthorne Street continuing right down to the riverbank. Lord Thimbleroy’s the worst sort of fool if he thinks he can do anything about it, either.”

“I don’t like this Lord Thimbleroy,” the doll said decisively. “Look at his silly, curled-up moustache! And here’s another article! ‘Decadent fey frolic captured by daguerreotype in churchyard near the palace’.”

Querry looked at the blurry image of gamboling sprites, faerie gentlemen, and girls in nightshirts. A long list of suspicious disappearances followed. Below it was an ad for a self-heating hair-curling iron.

“Frolic,” the doll said, as if the word contained layers of mystery and meaning. “Do you think I can be called Frolic?”

Laughing, Querry said, “Really?” Others would have certainly tried to dissuade the doll from this improper choice, but the thief could see no harm. “‘Frolic’ it is.”

The doll smiled, and his eyes returned to the paper. “What’s this laundry powder?”

“Well, you—” Querry began, but just then he saw Reg emerge from the great double doors of the Archives in a hound’s-tooth cape and bowler hat. He stood, tapped Frolic’s shoulder, and went to meet his friend at the foot of the steps. The man who’d been watching them followed their progress. He observed the trio a few moments before melting into the crowd.

At first, Reg looked at Frolic with terror. Eyes darting back and forth, he hissed, “Querry! What are you doing? You can’t bring a faerie out of Neroche; you’ll be arrested! Haven’t you heard the news?”

“This is Frolic,” Querry said. “He’s not a faerie. Frolic, Reginald Whitney.”

“Hello.”

“Querry, what—” Reg scowled, his intelligence insulted. Querry supposed Frolic did sound a little like a faerie name.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Querry asked.

“There’s a pub around the corner where lots of us who work here like to stop. Or there’s a little coffee shop where we go to play chess.”

“That won’t do,” Querry said. “We need somewhere we can’t possibly be heard.”

Querry and Frolic followed Reg down a corridor between the Archives and the building next to it, across a desolate round courtyard, then finally through an iron gate. Beyond it, a concrete bench sat beneath a birch tree. The backs of the buildings enclosed a little triangle of high grass. Querry brushed the yellow leaves aside and sat down. Frolic sat next to him, the sun through the branches striping his face, but Reg just stood with his arms crossed. Wondering where he should begin, Querry said, “I went to the doll maker’s house.”

Reg threw up his hands. “I knew it was you! Lord Thimbleroy came into the Archives in a rage yesterday, demanding to know if anyone else had asked about the house. Then he requested dozens of records, everything to do with the doll maker and his family. He insisted that I scour everything written the year the clock tower was built, and personally deliver every mention of it straight to him. I heard he has teams of men, carting away everything that was found in a cellar there: tons of metal scraps. He doesn’t seem satisfied, though.”

Querry spent the next quarter of an hour relaying his adventure to Reg in as much detail as he could remember. When he came to the part where he’d found Frolic, though, he stopped.

“So,” Reg said, “you broke in and saw some half-finished toys and clockworks. I don’t understand. And who is he?”

“Reg, don’t you get it? A
doll maker
—
”

“You can’t mean—He’s a clockwork?” Reg eyed Frolic suspiciously.

“It’s amazing, I know,” Querry said, fondness insinuating into his words. “But the only explanation is that Frolic is what Lord Thimbleroy has been looking for.”

“Me?” Frolic gasped.

“But what could the Grande Chancellor possibly want with a doll?” Reg said, tearing a sliver of his thumbnail away with his teeth. “I mean, his children are grown and married!”