Aleksey's Kingdom (12 page)

“Ah. Like you…. But then if they liked me and wanted to have me, they would ignore me, avoid me, be angry with me all the time, argue with me, censure me, and then when I tried to kiss them, they would turn on me and batter me to the ground.”

“Do not forget the attempt to force you—you always like reminding me about that.”

“Yes. Thank you. And then attempt to force me, whilst muttering and cursing about stirring a man and teasing him, and thus being battered and forced upon the ground would be turned to my fault. I do like that bit, thank you. Do not stop, I said. So you have nothing to worry about; I would not be won over by their behavior.”

“What about me?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if they were men like us—like you—then they would come into our cabin half-dressed, rubbing their hands across their hard bellies as if merely yawning or stretching. They would find every excuse to come at just the right time to watch me dressing or shaving, eating my body with their eyes—”

“Oh, I did n—”

“They would invite me on long, perilous journeys to war and then engineer it so we shared a tent and lay next to each other every night so that in the mornings I could watch them rise and strip entirely naked, bending over just so to wash—”

“Nikolai! I did not!”

“Maybe I imagined that part.”

“Go on—what else did I—would they do?”

I rolled him over so he was facing me and eased back inside, lying still for a while, just filling him. Did I not say I could only do one thing at a time?

“They would try to seduce me and tease me and also lie to me that they were vir—”

“I was! Well, in the part you like best I was.”

“They would invite me to bathe with them in a vast tub big enough—”

“Oh God’s teeth, Niko. Do not remind me of that. That is the one thing I
do
miss and wish we had here.”

We were silent for a moment, giving respect to the memory of bathing in hot water, and then both let out wistful sighs at exactly the same time, which made us laugh.

“I thought I would not be a virgin after that bath.”

“Well, you should have been a little more amenable, then.”

“Oh, I intend to be for our fellow colonists.”

“In our sodomy colony?”

“Well, I will not call it that, for that is not very catchy. I was thinking of Alekston, or, and this is really good,
Kingston
.”

“I think it has been done. How about Cockston? Arseville?”

“Too French. Names are important and set the right tone. Maybe I shall have to insist upon German being spoken in our colony so
you
are the one reaching for words and not I.”

“I will be surrounded by sodomites. I will be reaching for other things.” I leant down and kissed him, brushing my lips gently over his to start with and then increasing the pressure, forcing his mouth open so his tongue met mine. I usually reserved such a kiss for persuading him to open other things for me, but it worked to shut him up too. As I moved my tongue inside his mouth, I moved once more inside his body so I felt his sigh of contentment ease into me. It was exceedingly pleasurable. We had almost been there, at the peak, but had held it off to just a low, aching throb. Now it was revived and very powerful within our bodies. I rode him hard then, unable to keep my mouth to his for the force of my thrusting. I could feel sweat dripping from my forehead to land upon him as he arched and bucked beneath me, and then I knew he had arrived, for I felt the tautness inside and heard his disbelieving cry of delight at the power of his relief. I took a long time pulsing into him in waves of pleasure that hollowed me out and left me limp and malleable as a doll made of rags.

It could not have been a worse moment, therefore, for us to hear the fearful screaming coming from the camp.

We left the horses with Faelan watching them and ran the distance, not easy over the rough terrain in the dark, and not easy when you have been as a wrung out, limp thing, shuddering with pleasure.

When we reached the encampment, the scene was horrific, and we both skidded to a halt, retching from the smell of burning flesh—me more than retching, as this was an odor I could not now tolerate after my experiences in the dungeons of Hesse-Davia.

The tent the young soldier had so gratefully taken from me was aflame. The screaming was coming from inside, and half-dressed members of the party were variously trying to beat the flames down with coats and blankets or run to the river and try to bring water to douse them in pitifully small containers.

Suddenly the piercing cries carried a higher pitch. I saw Mary Wright through the fire and wavering heat, standing in a nightgown, her hair loosed and flowing like another flame upon her back. Her terror seemed almost more than that of the poor men in the tent, and then I saw the boy, tiny, too close to the conflagration, seemingly too shocked to turn and save himself. With a mother’s courage, she braved the heat and flame to reach her son.

I could not then be sure what occurred. Perhaps she realized the boy could easily save himself by stepping away, for she ignored him and fell to her knees, crying, “No! Save him! He must be saved.” When she saw Aleksey and me emerging from the darkness, however, she ducked her head and crawled back, seeking blindly for the child.

I tried to approach to release the tent flaps, but even before I was beaten back by the heat, I could see they were tied very securely—from the outside.

I pulled out a knife from my boot and approached the side this time. The canvas was burning furiously, but I managed to make a long slit in the fabric. I caught the sleeve of my shirt alight and felt Aleksey pulling me back, beating the flame out with his coat. No one came through the flap. The screaming had stopped now, but there was still moaning and a weak voice. We shouted for him to crawl out, that there was now a means of escape, but nothing, and then the tent collapsed upon itself with a last gasp of flame and flying embers, and there was no more sound from within.

I looked around at the haggard faces blackened with soot and here or there streaked with tears of heat or grief, and then I found a pair of eyes fixed on mine with unnatural intensity. He was in his mother’s arms, looking over her shoulder as she faced the stream, watching her husband uselessly filling another pan with water. The boy’s nose was bleeding. It appeared as if he had been hit, but he must have fallen as he finally ran from his perilous position by the flames. He was sucking his thumb, pulling it in and out, in and out between his puffy pink lips. Then, glistening and wet, he offered it to me. I do not know what he was thinking by doing this, but it seemed to cut to the very heart of something, some knowledge he should not have. And it was only then that it hit me. I turned once more to the ruin of the tent, where, now that the soldiers had dragged the burnt canvas away, two blackened figures were visible within, and realized this had been intended to be our tent.

Aleksey and I, and perhaps more importantly Faelan, had been meant to be sleeping inside that tent. Who had known of the last-minute exchange?

I turned back to the child. He waggled his wet thumb at me, then slowly slid it once more into his mouth.

Aleksey was pulling me toward the river. I went numbly and allowed him to minister to the wound. I had taught him to treat his burns with water, so he was only repaying the favor. I should have checked to see if any of the other would-be rescuers needed assistance, but I was still numb. I started to shiver, and Aleksey looked at me with a worried and surprised expression.

“Does it hurt that badly? It is not deep, truly. I think your shirt is ruined, though.”

It seemed a good opportunity to put my plan to him, given I could begin by telling him what I had seen and thought. He paled. I could discern this quite distinctly, although I only had moonlight to see him by. He looked back at the still glowing pile that had once been our tent. “No, you must be mistaken. Major Parkinson said they had probably taken a lamp in with them and that they were likely playing cards—both of which are against orders. It was just a carelessly placed flame, Niko….” I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

I then pressed home my advantage. “I want you to take Faelan and Freedom back to the cabin, Aleksey. This night. I cannot watch everyone. That could have been us in there. I did not even think of such a thing. I only left it so we could keep Faelan out of sight for a while. If you leave now, you could catch us back up within four days.” If I kept rambling for long enough, he might agree.

Oddly, he did not reject the idea as quickly as I thought he would, but reject it he did. He stared at the dying embers, watched the blackened forms within being removed, then turned to me. “You know that Faelan is the most important thing in the world to me, don’t you, Niko?” I nodded. I did know this. “Well, you are more so, and I am not leaving you on your own.”

I gave him a look. This is what came of being so uncharacteristically emotional the other night. He probably saw himself as my protector or some such nonsense. But I knew better than to dispute with him. He would not go if he did not want to. We had been through all this kind of arguing long ago when he was a general and a prince and I merely one of his officers.

He still thought himself in charge of me sometimes.

I
T
WAS
an oddly moving and somber little burial the next day. Major Parkinson went up in my estimation. He clearly knew the two soldiers well and had something to say of each of them that made their deaths seem very poignant. He stood there in a uniform he had obviously tried to brush and clean as well as he could, and in the early-morning light recited passages from the Bible that he said the boys would have liked. The reverend had not apparently been asked to speak, which was something of a relief for all of us.

Aleksey and I had spent a pretty miserable rest of the night, if truth be told. My arm was hurting, as anyone who has ever been burnt will understand. It was bitterly cold up on our little hill, so neither of us had really slept much at all. Tiredness and pain, therefore, only added to the sense of unreality that morning as we piled some river stones as best we could over the bodies—this was a burial in name only, as the ground was frozen hard and we had nothing to dig with—and said our words.

The child was nowhere to be seen and neither was his mother, two absences I was grateful for.

After the funeral we sat around the breakfast table, making some plans and looking at the major’s maps. They weren’t very accurate, but they showed the coastline, the colony, the falls, and the approximate distance between these. We were on our third day. It was possible that we could reach the extent of our land in another three, and then it was one day to the falls.

We were about to pack up when Aleksey brought up the thing no one had wanted to address: why were the tent fastenings tied on the outside?

It was uncomfortable.

No one wanted to state the obvious, that the two men had been murdered, possibly because they had suffered the misfortune to sleep that night in our tent. The theory seemed to be that it had been a prank gone horribly wrong—that all that had been intended was the men would not be able to leave their quarters to relieve themselves, or when their turn for sentry came, they would have to call for assistance. The fact that it was supposed to be our shelter was somehow lost in this general speculation of a more innocent yet still tragic occurrence. Aleksey wasn’t satisfied, but I could see he just wanted to push on now, possibly so I would not raise once more the suggestion of him turning back with Faelan (who I was sure had been more a target of the foul creature than Aleksey or me), and also because he could see I was in pain, and riding would at least give me something else to think about.

We rode out in front as we had the previous days.

The good weather had broken now, and low cloud had come across the forest, making the day darken and seem colder than it had. Dampness hung in the air, and I could taste its promise of snow. I shivered inside my coat, tried not to think about my burn, and cursed the young man who had persuaded me to come on this journey. As he was riding alongside me, our thighs touching and his hand occasionally straying to pat my leg absentmindedly as if I were Faelan with a sore paw, these curses were mild for me.

Unexpectedly, two things happened that day that changed my mood entirely. The creature of the night had an accident, and a particular friend of mine from the Mik’mac appeared out of the forest’s gloom. I was in an excellent mood after both these occurrences—for a short time.

Fortunately neither Faelan, Aleksey, nor I were anywhere near the demon when it fell and apparently broke its poor little leg, or I think we’d have come under more suspicion than the tied fastenings of the tent did. He had been running in the woods with his bow and arrow (and where is a grizzly bear when you need one?) and fallen into a burrow that had opened up beneath one leg. His speed had apparently caused this limb to snap. Aleksey, being the sort of man he was, immediately reminded everyone that I was a doctor. Fortunately, as I’d been cursing him all morning anyway, I had some practice in what I then did more roundly (although still silently) as I approached the cart where the boy had been placed.

The irony of the situation did not escape either of us, I think, as I examined my patient. I will say this for the creature—he was stoic. He seemed more curious than anything. I felt around his leg and ankle, torn between various temptations. After a very thorough examination, I moved away from the cart and approached the father to explain that it was imperative I immobilize the leg—that given a few weeks’ rest, the boy’s young bones would be good as new. He nodded, not really understanding any of this but glad to have someone doing something.

The boy, however, refused to have me treat his leg further. He didn’t cry or scream. He informed me in a cold, flat little voice that I was not to touch him again. He even added that he did not like my kind of touching. I didn’t really care one way or the other, but I did murmur that he was clearly wise beyond his years, for now he would always have a good living—as the crippled freak in the marketplace begging for coins… that his one leg would always be half the length of his other, and he would waddle around with his head jiggling… that boys would make him their sport, and wasn’t it good, therefore, that he understood such cruelty so well and that he would not mind this treatment for the rest of his life.