A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (30 page)

“But I’m
nice
to Martin,” Henry pointed out. “I’m not
torturing
him. There’d be nothing to interfere with.”

“It’s too bad,” Louis said with seeming sincerity, “but it’s best to put it out of mind. You can’t do anything about it, and worrying isn’t going to do either you or Sam any good. Just be extra-nice to Martin, or something.” He paused and then gave a short laugh. “You do that anyway, though, don’t you?”

“What?” Flustered, Henry tried to hurriedly hide his red face from his friend.

“Be extra-nice. Both of you do it, actually. Peter’s always telling me how good Martin has it, and he says the same things about Simon.”

Charles reddened, too. “I’m not
extra
-nice. I do like him, though, after all.”

David appeared at Henry’s elbow. “Hey. What’re you talking about? Why the red faces?”

“I was just saying how much these two spoil their slaves,” Louis said, nodding at Henry and Charles.

“Simon is
not
spoiled,” Charles said, almost angrily. “He’s a good slave, and he’s rewarded accordingly.”

“Martin isn’t spoiled, either,” Henry asserted, though he was less certain that this was true, at least by the standards of his classmates. All the Blackwell slaves had it a little better than slaves in other houses, it seemed, but Henry was providing additional perquisites that not even any other Blackwell slave was getting—all the kissing and cocksucking and ass-licking that went on between Martin and himself.

While Louis continued to play the gambling games, Henry looked around the room to see where his friends were and, more importantly, where Martin might be. He spotted Martin with Tom, Dick and Peter bending over the Mutoscopes. Nearby, Alex yammered at Ralph and Simon, gesticulating at Martin’s group with a wild gleam in his eye. Simon was frowning, and Ralph seemed skeptical. Henry didn’t like the look of this.

“I’m going to go check on something,” Henry told his friends. “I’ll just be over there.”

“Fine by me,” Louis said, not looking up.

Henry rounded the end of the row of games and walked past Alex and the others, making a point of glaring at Alex as he passed. Alex glowered back at him, which Henry thought very impertinent.

“Martin.”

Martin’s head came up, immediately attentive. “Sir?”

“Will you be ready to go soon?”

“Oh!” Martin was surprised, but recovered quickly. “Of course, Sir. Whenever you are.”

“Say your goodbyes, then, all right?”

“Of course, Sir.” Martin turned and put his hand on Tom’s arm, and Tom seemed very disappointed that Martin was leaving.

Henry said his goodbyes, also, citing homework and the approach of Martin’s dinner hour, and his friends accepted these reasons well enough. He and Martin passed through the doors onto the sidewalk and headed for the omnibus stop.

“Sir? Is everything all right, Sir?”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, everything’s fine. I just saw that Alex was about to start trouble and I didn’t want to stick around for it. Besides, I want to be alone with you.”

Martin’s cheeks pinked at this statement. “Oh, and I with you, also, Sir!” He touched Henry’s arm, fleeting contact, and Henry wished that they could walk close together, arm-in-arm, like a young man might do with a young lady.

While they stood at the omnibus stop, shivering in the wind, Martin asked, “What was Alex doing, anyway, Sir?”

“Talking crazy and pointing at you,” Henry told him. “I overheard Tom telling you that Alex was disparaging you before we got on the omnibus today. I didn’t want to chance things turning ugly.”

Martin frowned. “I’m not afraid of him, Sir.”

“I didn’t say you were. I just don’t want him to even have the chance to say anything bad about you. Or
me
, either.”

“That’s kind, Sir, but you can’t always protect me, you know. After all,
I’m
supposed to protect
you
.”

Henry did not like the idea of anyone hurting Martin, either physically or through insults, and he definitely didn’t like the idea of Martin taking damage meant for Henry. “We can protect each other,” he decided.

Martin leaned close and said, “You’re very good to me, Sir,” and gave him a very meaningful look, full of seductive promise, which boded well for the rest of their afternoon.

They both stood in the aisle on the crowded omnibus, Henry surreptitiously smelling the vetiver emanating from Martin’s hair. At home, Paul let them in and took their coats, and they went upstairs and made each other feel as good as they knew how.

Martin got up from the bed, dressed, and went down for his dinner, and Henry slept while he was gone, dreaming that Martin volunteered to go up on stage, and he tore rabbits in two until their world was upholstered in a quivering blanket of white fur, and Henry floated up to join him, doing impossible things and getting away with it.

As November drew to a close, Henry overheard his friends talking about the Thanksgiving plans they had with their families and recognized that he had none, that his parents might well not be celebrating, or at least not celebrating together. Father would no doubt be going to a restaurant, as all fashionable people did. Mother would likely keep to herself, perhaps with an extra dose of laudanum to mark the holiday. Henry would not be invited to join in either case.

Anticipating this, as well, Martin suggested they confer with Timothy and that perhaps Henry could arrange to take a meal with Cora. Henry liked how Martin was always thinking of Cora, thinking of her in his stead. He felt like he couldn’t neglect her too long without Martin realizing it and taking pains to correct the situation.

“What did you do at Ganymede for Thanksgiving, anyway? Was there a big celebration?”

Martin was putting away Henry’s clean, starched collars and cuffs. “Did you know that Mr. Tim is suggesting we buy your new shirts with attached collar and cuffs?”

“No, I didn’t. Why?”

“Well, the detachable are really designed for people who can’t do laundry every day, and we certainly can.”

“Oh. Well, that’s all right with me, I suppose. But what about Thanksgiving?”

“I think it was just normal, really, Henry. We had a big dinner and we were told to think about things we were thankful for.”

“What did you have for dinner, then?”

“All manner of meats and vegetables. Cranberry relish. Pumpkin pie. We’d have a huge spread and we’d all eat until we felt sick.”

“What were you thankful for?”

Martin smiled to himself. “My training. I knew it would take me somewhere good.” He thought another moment and added, “My friends, as well, and the rest of the boys. We were each other’s family, you see.”

Henry understood it was sad that Martin was separated from his family forever more, but it was hard for him to feel too worked up about it, ambivalent as he was about his own family. “Is there anything special you want for Thanksgiving? Any particular food?”

“Well, pumpkin pie, I suppose. That would make me happiest of anything.”

“I’d like you to eat with me,” Henry told him, “if my parents aren’t going to be around, which I’m sure they aren’t.”

Martin looked pleasantly surprised. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

On Tuesday, Henry accosted Timothy in the hall outside Father’s office and asked him about Father’s holiday plans.

“Yes, Sir, it does happen that your father has an engagement elsewhere on Thanksgiving evening,” Timothy said, seeming slightly ashamed to tell him so. “There will be accommodations made for you here, of course.” Then Timothy added. “Did you have any requests, Sir? I’ll make sure they’re taken under consideration.”

“I want to eat with Cora,” Henry said decisively. “If Mother isn’t coming down, I want Martin to take his meal with us. And I’d like turkey and pumpkin pie.”

Timothy smiled. “That all sounds very possible, Sir. I’ll speak to your father.”

After talking to Timothy, they went upstairs and found a new
Pals
on Henry’s desk. They had been planning on a ride, but it was threatening rain, and Henry was eager to have the story read.

“You’re so excited,” Martin said, amused, untying Henry’s boots.

“I can’t help being excited,” Henry said. “I love how you do the voices. And I need to know what happens with that stupid Dooley!”

Martin climbed up on the bed and sat cross-legged facing Henry, magazine open in his lap. “Well, let’s get started then.”

Theo and George had returned to the
Dauntless
for reinforcements. They enlisted Boot, Leon and Elmer, all long-time members of Theo’s crew, all devoted to his cause, all sworn enemies of Dr. DeSade. Back on shore, they crept quietly onto the pier where DeSade’s men had tied their dinghy and capsized it to prevent their escape.

“Waste of a perfectly good boat,” Henry remarked.

Martin looked at him over the top of his glasses, an eyebrow cocked. “Hush, Henry, I’m reading.”

Dooley was being held in an open area at the center of a maze of crates and barrels. The rescuers crept through the narrow corridors following the sounds of Dooley’s captors’ voices. When at last they reached the center of the labyrinth, they crouched behind some gunpowder kegs and listened. Dooley was bound and gagged, tied to a chair. He could be seen quite plainly, as there was a lamp hanging high above, illuminating a world map marked liberally with red ink that was spread on a table before the five captors in their dark, hooded robes.

They were members, it seemed, of something called the Order of the Red Eye. In case readers had any doubts, George turned to Theo and whispered, “It’s DeSade, Sir!”

The Order seemed to be an international ring of rogues and fiends headed by DeSade and dedicated to spreading a cloak of infamy and terror over the entire world. This gathering was a meeting between the local members and two henchmen from DeSade’s ship. They planned to row Dooley out to the
Ruthless
to present him to DeSade as a special treat, knowing how pleased DeSade would be to have a member of Captain Drake’s crew to torture and, having discussed their plan, they began to implement it. Dooley, gag still in place and arms bound behind his back, was untied from the chair and jerked to his feet. Dooley struggled with his captors and was cuffed for his trouble before being dragged out of the circle of lamplight.

“Now!” Martin said in his Theo voice, raising his fist in the air and rising up a little off of the bed.

The rescuers took the Order men by surprise, coming at them with fists and knives and axes.

“See?” Henry said. “No guns. They don’t even have their cutlasses.”

“It
is
a little convenient, isn’t it?”

Dooley hid behind some powder kegs. The others fought manfully, knocking into crates and each other, kicking and punching and jabbing. George took a deep wound to his left upper arm and Theo came to defend him with a bellow of rage. The knife-wielding fiend made a jab at Theo, who stabbed him in the throat, and the villain died in a bubbling gout of blood.

“Are you all right?” Theo demanded. “The rest of you, go after them!” He tore his shirt into strips and wrapped George’s arm tightly as the other three ran out of the warehouse after the surviving villains.

George winced and cradled his left arm with the right. George said, “I’ve been better, Sir.” He promptly bled through his bandage and went limp.

There was a sound, a loud bang, as if someone had shot off a gun outside. Elmer came running back into the circle of lamplight. “They’ve shot off a flare and warned DeSade, Captain!”

Boot came in behind him. “They’ve escaped, Captain!”

“George is dying!” Theo said urgently. “We have to find a doctor!”

Theo picked up George’s limp body and carried him close to his chest back through the maze of crates, Elmer and the untied Dooley moving ahead of him and Boot and Leon behind, prepared to meet any foe with aggression.

The local constabulary was waiting for them on the pier in front of the warehouse, drawn to the scene by the signal flare. “What’s going on here, then?”

“This man is dying,” Theo informed them. “A handsome reward for the man who takes us to a doctor. I’ll answer any questions you have once he is seen to.”

Although George was bleeding dramatically and profusely, blood coursing down his arm and dripping steadily from his fingertips, he was saved from bleeding to death by the quick and calm attentions of the local physician. Shirtless Theo hovered nearby while the doctor was putting in stitches, his bare torso covered in brown smears of dried blood. George remained unconscious, breathing shallowly, under Theo’s watchful eye.

The doctor had good news. He told them that George wouldn’t be able to use his arm for some time, but he’d heal up fine with rest.

“Thank you, sir,” Theo said with great sincerity. “You have done me a great service.” Now he turned to the constables. “I believe you have some questions for me.”

The constables demanded an explanation for the body of the dead Order member. Theo told them that he had killed the man in self-defense and his crew corroborated his story. The constables seemed willing to accept this information at face value.

Henry was doubtful. “I think they’d have more questions. I mean, he just
killed
a man.”