A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (5 page)

Father continued, his tone businesslike. “It’s quite usual, Henry. When you’re 18, he’ll become your property, of course, and we’ll have papers drawn up in your name. At that time, I’m going to recommend that he be sold before age 20, repurposed between 20 and 45, emancipated between 45 and 55, and retired into the family’s care or emancipated at any point thereafter .” Again, he paused for a response, but Henry did not have anything to say. “It’s absolutely standard practice, Henry. Nothing to get upset about.”

Henry opened his mouth but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t ever want someone else to own him. I hate that idea.”

“You’re being sentimental,” Father said dismissively. “He’d be better off going to someone who could use him.”

“It’s true, Sir,” Timothy said. “I went two years between masters and it was a very unhappy time for me. A slave likes to be of use.”

It was apparent that Henry’s input was not actually wanted or required, that including Henry in any decision was mere lip service.

“This is the best way,” Father said confidently, drawing on his cigar. “But if you have a feasible counter-proposal, I’ll be glad to hear it.”

Henry did not have any counter-proposal. Clearly, Father would not allow him to emancipate Martin, nor would he agree to keep Martin on if Henry died young. Father didn’t need Henry’s permission to make decisions, of course, and he wasn’t really asking for it. He was merely trying to allow Henry to feel a little important. Henry didn’t feel important, though; he felt patronized and hurt.

“No,” Henry said in a grudging mumble, looking down at his boots. “I don’t have any other ideas.” He felt very upset and feared he would cry in front of his father, which right then seemed like the worst thing that could ever happen to him.

“This really is the best plan, Sir,” Timothy told him quite earnestly, his voice very kind. “Please take my word for it, it’s a bad situation for a slave if these matters haven’t been settled before a master dies.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence in the room. Henry’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“Well, then,” Father said. “You’re dismissed, Henry. Goodnight, son.”

“Goodnight, Father. Timothy.” Henry stood up on shaky legs and at last could look at Martin, who was pale and frightened, his eyes wide and wet, mouth downturned. They left Father’s office and hurried in silence down the hall and then up the stairs.

With the door locked behind them, Martin threw his arms around Henry and clung, his breath coming in little sobs.

Henry held just as tightly to Martin. “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing Martin’s back. “It’ll be okay, Martin.”

“Don’t die, Sir. Please don’t die. I won’t be able to bear it if you die.” Martin’s teeth were chattering, his hands cold and shaking.

“I won’t die,” Henry said. “I don’t do dangerous things, Martin, and I’m not sickly. I’m not going to die anytime soon.”

“I want to be with you always, Henry,” Martin insisted, his tone pleading.

Henry smoothed Martin’s hair back from his forehead, soothing gestures. “You’re so scared, Martin. Why are you so scared?”

“It might be bad luck to say, Sir…” Martin clearly did want to say something, though.

“Just say it, Martin. Please.”

“Can we sit down, Sir?”

“Of course.” They crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, Henry holding Martin’s cold hands.

Martin swallowed hard. “Do you remember, when you were sick, Sir? I was so afraid you might die! I was convinced you’d die if I wasn’t watching over you, which is why I insisted on sleeping in your bed. I thought I could keep you safe.”

Henry was touched by this anew. “But why did you think I’d die?”

“People die of fevers all the time, Sir. People I’ve known have died. People I cared about.”

“Really? At Ganymede?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“A friend?”

“Yes, Sir. The
best
friend I had.”

Henry couldn’t help but be a little jealous of this dead boy who still had a claim on some portion of Martin’s affections. “Tell me about him,” he said.

Martin seemed hesitant to talk, as if he was unsure of the wisdom of sharing these memories. “All right, Sir.” He took a deep breath, then let it out with a shudder. “His name was Richard. He was three months older, and he was a musician, too, a cellist. He was very talented, very intelligent. I looked up to him, I really did, and then we became good friends after we were both selected to become companions. He was so special to me, Sir.”

Martin was quiet a few moments, pensive, and then began again. “When we were 14, Richard got sick, and the House takes illness very seriously, of course, Sir. There are quarantines, very strict, because it would be so easy for a sickness to take out entire portions of the stock, and that can’t be allowed to happen.”

Martin was quiet briefly again, looking at his hands in his lap. “Richard got sick, as I said, Sir, and he went to the infirmary, and of course I wasn’t allowed to see him there, but then he got pneumonia and died just a few days later, and he was cremated, so I never saw him again at all.” Tears slipped from beneath Martin’s glasses and dripped down from the point of his chin to make dark splotches on his fawn trousers. “So maybe you can understand, Sir, why it would frighten me for you to be sick, and for us to be apart.”

Henry put his arm around Martin and drew him close, wanting more than anything to give him comfort. “I’m really sorry about your friend, Martin. I’m so sorry you didn’t get to see him again.”

Martin leaned on Henry and sniffed wetly. “I was allowed to scatter his ashes at least, Sir, so there was that, but I so wish I’d been able to talk to him one last time. I wish I’d been able to say a proper goodbye.”

Henry kissed the side of Martin’s face, tasting his tears. “Do you remember what you did say to him, the last thing?”

Martin smiled sadly. “I told him he’d feel better soon, Sir, and I kissed his forehead and went to my fencing lesson, and when I came back he’d been taken to the infirmary.”

“At least you didn’t have a fight,” Henry said, hoping this would seem comforting. “You were kind and concerned. I’m sure he knew how much you cared about him.”

“I loved him very much, Sir,” Martin admitted. “I thought I’d never have such a good friend again, but then I hadn’t met you.” He turned to smile tremulously and put his arms around Henry’s neck.

“Do you really feel that way?” Henry asked, wanting so very much for it to be the case. “You don’t need to pretend to like me more than you do, you know. I don’t want that.”

“Promise me you won’t die, Sir. Promise me you won’t die and leave me all alone.” He pulled Henry closer and gave a shaky sigh, clinging tightly.

“I promise.” Henry rubbed Martin’s back soothingly and said, “I promise I won’t die,” and wanted it to be a promise he could make.

As Martin calmed, his tremors easing and his sobs reduced to hitching breaths, Henry wondered at his distress. Was he really so genuinely happy with Henry, or was it just fear of change that had him upset at the prospect of Henry’s death?

“If I did die,” he suggested slowly, “you’d find a good master, though, wouldn’t you?”

“Sir?”

“You’d find a new master right away,” Henry said with confidence. “You’re handsome and talented and you’re a really good slave. You have so many skills. Lots of masters would want you.”

Martin lifted his head from Henry’s shoulder and looked at him through narrowed eyes, lips pressed thin. “But I don’t
want
another master, Sir. I would be
devastated
if I lost you.”

But why?
Henry wondered. He didn’t understand Martin’s devotion. Henry had a handsome face, true, and he did everything he could to make sex especially good for Martin, but there were probably loads of other masters who’d do the same if given the chance.

Martin was obviously annoyed. “If
I
died, Henry, would you just replace me with another companion and go on about your business?”

What a horrible thought! Aghast, Henry reared back from Martin’s embrace. “What? No, of course not!” He would be laid low. He would be destroyed.

“If
you
died, Sir, I’d scarcely have time to grieve before I’d go to another boy, and I’d have to show him a smile every day, but all the while I’d be missing you. I’d be comparing him to you and missing you so much.”

Henry loved that Martin had such strong feelings. He gathered him close again and kissed the side of his face.

“If you died,” Henry said slowly, thinking it through, “maybe I wouldn’t get a new companion after all.”

“But you’d have to, Henry.”

“Billy could dress me again,” Henry decided. “Maybe I could wait until…” He had an idea, ill-formed. “Until Ganymede had a slave in a similar situation available, one whose master died. A slave like that would understand my feelings, wouldn’t he?” The idea appealed to Henry’s romantic nature. He pictured this sad, faceless slave petting his hair while he cried over dead Martin, the pair of them like tragic young widowers.

Martin tightened his arms around Henry’s back and sighed against his neck. “I don’t know that your father would allow you to wait, Sir. He’s a very practical man.”

Martin was right. “Well, let’s neither of us die, then,” Henry said. “I said I won’t. You promise, too.”

“I promise, Sir. I like my life. I want to live it.”

Henry recognized that he, too, liked his life. Before Martin, he had simply lived it without considering whether or not he was enjoying it, but now, with Martin, he was happier than he’d ever dared hope.

“Me, too,” he said. “I want to live it.”

Henry woke Thursday with the newest
Pals
still in its mailing envelope unread. Last evening, following their discussion of mortality, Martin had been very desirous of physical intimacy, eager and loving, and Henry hadn’t wanted to discourage that by insisting upon a reading. They’d had sex again and made further foolhardy, ardent promises never to die, and afterward Martin fell asleep quickly but was clingy and restless even as he slept.

As Martin dressed him for school, Henry asked, “Do you know much about Timothy’s first master?”

“No, Sir. I know a little more about how he came to be with your father.” Martin stepped behind Henry to button his braces at the small of his back.

“So tell me, then.”

“They were both in their twenties, Sir, I know that much. Mr. Tim had been waiting a long time to find a new master and was quite despairing. It’s not fair, Sir, but when a slave returns to his House for any reason, he’s viewed as a failure by those who are still waiting to be sold. It’s hard for me to imagine anyone thinking of Mr. Tim as a failure, though!”

“I’d like to know more,” Henry admitted. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but I’d like to know.”

Martin flicked a glance up from Henry’s necktie and smiled. “If you’d like, Sir, I’ll ask Mr. Tim if he’ll talk to you about it sometime soon. I’m sure he’d be glad to tell you whatever you want to know.”

The school day passed uneventfully, and gradually Henry’s curious thoughts about Timothy’s first master were overtaken by thoughts of the new
Drake’s Progress
waiting for them at home. Henry turned down an invitation to join his friends at a downtown arcade, claiming homework, not quite willing for his friends to know how eager he was for his story.

At home, Henry shrugged off his jacket and let Martin remove his boots before he flopped down on the bed. Martin insisted on picking up Henry’s jacket and putting it away, as well as dealing with his own school jacket, before he would sit down and pick up
Pals
. Housekeeping out of the way, he climbed up on the bed and sat cross-legged and upright, magazine in hand, prepared to read aloud.

Last month, the adventurers had conquered a kraken and sailed the
Dauntless
into an unnamed port with a few new crew members on board, including a young seaman called Dooley. There had been an ominous development, as well: the appearance of a black ship on the horizon.

“I’m telling you, it’s going to be Dr. DeSade.” Henry felt a deep satisfaction at the prospect.

“I believe you, Sir.”

The
Dauntless
had been at sea so long that Henry had forgotten where in the world they were supposed to be, and the description of the port town was of little help, the place seeming quite European, yet with coconut palms and parrots. George took young Dooley and made his way along the docks hearing the gossip. Theo, meanwhile, was purchasing supplies, including great stores of gunpowder and ammunition, though it was nearly a given that these would not come into play in the inevitable fight with DeSade. Somehow, neither Dr. DeSade nor Captain Theo ever fired a shot in the other’s direction. There were no gunfights between them, no bullet wounds. Their battles were all up close and personal. Henry interrupted the reading to relate this to Martin, who took in the information with interest.

Back on the
Dauntless
, George looked through his telescope at the black ship, which had drawn closer to the mouth of the harbor, and confirmed that the ship was DeSade’s
Ruthless
, flying a flag with a single bloody-red eye. Henry wasn’t sure whether this eye was meant to represent the one he had lost or the one that remained, with which he relentlessly searched for Theo.