A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (19 page)

“Surrender and I’ll be merciful,” Theo offered.

DeSade scoffed at this, his face twisted in a pained sneer.
“We agreed it would be a fight to the death,” he claimed. “If I die, I’m taking
you with me!”

He bent lower still and tugged up the hem of his trousers to
reveal a knife strapped to his ankle. He raised it in the air and there was
pandemonium, everyone shouting and pushing at the sight of the glinting blade.

Captain Valentine pushed into the square, gun drawn, but
Theo knew he’d be hesitant to fire at a moving target in such close quarters.
He would not depend on Valentine to save his life.

“DeSade!” Valentine shouted. “Drop the knife, you
dishonorable wretch, or I’ll shoot!”

DeSade did not heed the warning; perhaps he considered his
life forfeit already. With a last burst of strength, he ran at Theo, the knife
held high. “I’ll have your eye, Drake!”

All around, people were pushing and shoving, stumbling and
tripping, and there was little room to maneuver. Theo did his best to evade
DeSade, but a fleeing urchin, a dirty-faced boy, darted past, tangling with
Theo’s feet. Theo fell to the warehouse floor, hard on his back with the wind
knocked out of him, as the frightened boy scampered away. DeSade was on Theo in
an instant, arm raised for the killing blow.

“I’ll have your eye! I’ll kill you!” DeSade raved. He
brought the knife down, but Theo dodged it, twisting under DeSade’s weight. The
knife, with all DeSade’s strength behind it, sliced deep into the top of Theo’s
shoulder and gouged a groove in the grain of the warehouse floor.

DeSade raised the knife again, slashing and jabbing,
gibbering and cackling as Theo sought to push him away. “I’ll kill you! I’ll
take you down with me! I’ll—”

Bang! A shot rang out, and DeSade slumped forward on top of
Theo, motionless.

“Wait,” Henry said. “Wait, Martin, is DeSade
dead
?”
He couldn’t believe they’d actually kill DeSade off. What would Theo do
now
?

“I-I don’t know, Henry. I think he might be. It seems like
someone shot him.”

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?” Martin made George sound
terrified yet a little joyous. George shoved DeSade’s limp body off of Theo and
let it slump to the floor. He knelt at Theo’s side. “It’s over, Sir. DeSade is
finished.”

Theo groaned even though it hurt to do so. “What happened,
George?”

“It was Jeanette, Sir. She was wearing a pistol beneath
Dooley’s old jacket. You know, Sir, she told us she was a good shot!”

“I wondered why she was wearing a jacket in such warm
weather.” Theo coughed and then winced at the pain that radiated from his
injured shoulder. “But she’ll be punished now, won’t she? It’s a terrible
pity.”

“Valentine had also pulled his gun, Sir. DeSade was going to
be shot in any case. Maybe they’ll be lenient with her, Sir.”

“I can’t believe it!” Henry said, stunned and not happy.
“DeSade is dead. And it wasn’t even Theo or George who killed him!”

“It’s a shock,” Martin agreed. “Let me read you the rest.”

George and other men from the
Dauntless
helped Theo
to his feet. He was shaky and tired and bleeding from numerous cuts, and the
slice into the muscle of his shoulder was deep enough to warrant stitches. A
local lad went to fetch the surgeon while Boot and Leon made a chair of their
arms and carried Theo away from the warehouse, heading for the Fata Morgana
Inn. As they left, Turk and the Order slaves could be seen carrying DeSade’s
limp body away in silence, a trail of dripping blood in their wake.

Theo and the Dauntless crew were followed to the inn by
dozens of curious islanders, who lingered in the street long after Theo and
George had gone inside and up to their room.

The surgeon was confident that Theo would heal completely,
and stitched him up neatly in short order. After he left, Theo lounged in the
bath while George admired the surgeon’s work.

“He’s much better at stitchery than me, Sir. You’ll have a
pretty result, I think.” He busied himself tending to Theo’s many minor cuts.

“Do you think I would have prevailed?” Theo asked. “If
Jeanette had not intervened?”

George was supremely confident when he said, “Oh, certainly,
Sir. He was done in. He used the last of his strength to go after you with the
knife.”

“I had to win. I couldn’t lose you, George.” Theo reached
out with his bruised and scratched hand and touched George’s arm.

“It just seems ridiculous to me that they aren’t kissing,”
Henry complained. “Because it’s obvious to me that they would be kissing right
about now.”

“I agree with you, Henry. George is Theo’s whole reason for
living, after all. He said as much in front of
everyone
.”

Much was decided over the next few days. Captain Valentine
visited Theo on several occasions seeking his counsel and insight. Jeanette had
indeed broken one of the few “laws” the island had, but she’d shot as Valentine
himself had been taking aim, and she’d certainly had more reason to shoot
DeSade than did Valentine. Quite a number of people were prepared to be lenient
with little Mrs. Dooley.

“Hold a trial,” Theo suggested. “Let the people decide her
fate. I think they’ll make the right decision, don’t you?”

They stayed on the island while Theo healed. The crew of the
Dauntless
enjoyed their leave, and it became clear that most of the men
expected Captain Drake to establish a residence on the island, expected that
this would be a place they’d return to over and over again. Theo thought about
it. It had been a long time since he’d had a home other than his ship. He
broached the subject with George, who was enthusiastic. When he mentioned the
idea to Captain Valentine, his new friend was delighted.

“I hoped you might consider staying,” said Valentine.
“You’re the sort that men want to follow. When my term as sheriff is up,
Captain Smithers doesn’t want to take my place; she’s made that perfectly
clear. I think
you
would be the perfect man for the job.”

Theo was flattered and said he would consider it.

“Well, yes, I wondered,” Martin said. “When Captain
Valentine was talking about genuinely good men just after they met? I wondered
if Theo would somehow end up as sheriff, and it seems like he will.”

“I definitely didn’t see that coming,” Henry said, “though
it seems obvious now.”

Martin turned the page and frowned. “Oh,” he said. “Oh. Now
there’s an epilogue.”

“You mean an epilogue for the
chapter
?” Henry hadn’t
heard of such a thing before.

“No. I think…I think the story’s finished.” Martin looked
stricken, wide-eyed and pale.

“Well, read it! What does it say?”

It was a year later. Captain Drake was living with George
and the Dooleys in a fine stone house on the slope of the volcano. Jeanette had
been sentenced to death and then promptly pardoned, and now she cooked and
cleaned for Theo. William Dooley had no set tasks, but did whatever Theo asked
of him. George’s companion training proved eminently useful in the day-to-day
running of Theo’s household. Theo himself, of course, had been elected sheriff
of the island when Captain Valentine had returned to the sea, and he was
well-liked and respected in his role. It had been an eventful year. They had
seen three members of the
Dauntless’
crew get married to local women.
They had enjoyed their first Carnival season, complete with revelry in the
streets and colorful parades. And they had quietly marked the anniversary of
DeSade’s passing. The
Ruthless
, carryingTurk and the Order slaves, had
disappeared the evening of DeSade’s death and no sign of it had been seen
since. DeSade’s mansion stood empty; no one wanted to live in it.

On a cool evening, Theo and George sat on the veranda of
their house enjoying a drink and the last rays of the sun.

Theo asked, “Are you happy here, George? Do you miss the
sea?”

“I’m very happy here, Sir. And as for the sea—” George
gestured at the city laid out in front of them and the harbor beyond “—it’s
right there before me whenever I want it, Sir.”

“You were always so at home on the
Dauntless
,” Theo
mused. “You so loved adventure. Is this life too staid for you?”

“Being with you is the adventure, Sir. I don’t need a ship.”

“They should hold hands, or at least touch,” Henry
complained. “I know they aren’t going to kiss, but they have to do
something
.”
It was so
frustrating
!

Theo sipped the last of his drink. “I suppose this island is
an adventure in itself, isn’t it, George?” He stood and touched George’s
shoulder and George looked up at him, smiling. “I’m turning in. Coming, old
friend?”

George got to his feet. “I’m coming. And as for adventure,
let’s see what tomorrow holds, Sir.” They went inside and shut the door as the
sun went down. Lights came on in the windows to Theo’s bed chamber. The action
dribbled to a close. Martin frowned at the page.

“And then it says, ‘An exciting new story starts next month!
A Wild West tale about the boys of the Pony Express!’ And that’s it for
Drake’s
Progress
. It’s over.” Martin’s voice had a slight quaver and he looked as
though he might cry.

“That’s it?” Henry felt slightly offended. He’d invested
four years in this story and his heroes were just going to…go off to bed, like
tired old men? And they hadn’t even killed DeSade themselves! Some
girl
did it!

Martin tossed
Pals
down on the bed and crawled up to
lie beside Henry. He put his arms around Henry and buried his face in his neck.
“I don’t know how to feel about this, Henry.”

“Neither do I. It
is
a happy ending, I guess,
though.” He rubbed Martin’s back and thought about it some more. “Really, it is
a happy ending,” he decided, feeling a little more cheerful. “They’re rid of
their enemy, they’re appreciated for what they do, they’re living how they want
to live—presumably—in a place where they’re not going to be judged harshly…”
The more he thought about it, the more it sounded exactly like what he wanted
for Martin and himself. “They’re together, which is the most important thing.”

Martin shrugged, conceding the point. “Maybe I’m just upset
because I didn’t want it to end.”

“Me, neither.” Henry kissed Martin’s forehead. “I guess it
did run a long time, though. And I suppose other people might not have liked it
as much as we did.”

Martin was still fretful. “It doesn’t make sense to me that
DeSade would pull the knife. He would have known doing so would get him
killed.”

Henry frowned. “It doesn’t make much sense to me, either, I
guess. But like he said, if he thought he was going to die, he wanted to take
Theo with him.”

“Maybe they just wanted the series to end. Maybe there was
no better reason than that.” Martin sat up and worked the buttons of Henry’s
trousers. “I’m sure I’ll feel better if we have sex. That always makes me feel
better. Will you help me, please?”

They had frenetic sex, full of misfires but ultimately
satisfactory enough, not unlike the ending of Theo and George’s story. Martin
let Henry cuddle him a little longer than usual before getting up from the bed
to get his basin.

Martin dressed and went down for his dinner and left Henry
sprawled naked across the bed to ponder the way things had ultimately played
out on the Île Inconnue. While he thought he would always wish Theo had killed
DeSade, he did like that Theo had found a home that seemed ideal, perfectly
suited to the relationship he had with George—the relationship there on the
page for anyone to read, as well as the one Henry and Martin both imagined. He
would be lucky to find such a situation here, in the real world, for Martin and
himself.

On Tuesday, Abigail DeWitt renewed her attack.

“Well, hello, Mr. Blackwell,” she said as he entered the
ballroom. She gave him a very coy look and Henry’s spirits sank. He was quite
worried she was going to make this difficult for him again. “I’m so pleased to
see you.”

“Hello, Miss DeWitt. How are you today?”

“I’m lovely,” she said, smiling and showing her dimple.
“Thank you so much for asking.”

As his sister began her flirtation, Albert came to take his
position in the set, joined shortly thereafter by Cecile Langford.

Speaking to Abigail, Cecile said, “Miss DeWitt, you will
think me very stupid, but I didn’t realize until this week that you and my
partner—” here she nodded toward Albert “—are twins. I didn’t keep all the
names straight when we were introduced, and I thought you were simply two
unrelated people with an uncanny resemblance!”

“We do look alike, I think,” Abigail admitted, “But I am
much
more mature.” She laughed and Cecile laughed with her. “Do you have any
siblings, Miss Langford?” The girls began to discuss their many relations, and
as Lettie Stokes and Lacey Dormand joined the set, they also began talking
about their families.

Albert shuffled sideways and came to stand beside Henry.
“She’s been after me to have you over, Henry, but I don’t think I’d be doing
you any favors.”

“Er…well, I appreciate you looking out for me,” Henry told
him. “Like I said before, I’ve got to concentrate on school. Your sister’s a
very pretty girl, but I’m not in any position to be courting a girl anyway.”

“Sure,” Albert agreed. “You’re not old enough, for one
thing, which I’ve told her, and our father has told her, but she doesn’t want
to listen.” After a moment’s pause, Albert added, “She’s a bit baffled, I
think, because you’re not chasing her. She’s used to being chased.”

“I’m not going to
chase
her,” Henry pointed out,
“since I don’t want to
catch
her.”

Albert snorted with amusement and took his position next to
Cecile as Mr. Gill entered the ballroom, clapping his hands for attention.

“Boys! Girls! Places, please!”

At a nod from her husband, Mrs. Gill began to play the music
for the quadrille and Henry faced Abigail with determination and took her hand.
He was happy to be a good dance partner, but she would just have to be
disappointed about the rest.

Henry and Abigail received praise for their performance, and
Henry was very pleased with himself—Abigail, too, of course—and dared a glance
at the door to the boys’ cloakroom, where Martin stood leaning against the
jamb, giving him a very private smile.

Most of the Algonquin boys were going to the ice cream
parlor after class, but Henry begged off, claiming a stomach ache. He might
have gone, but he’d overheard Abigail and Cecile making plans to attend with
their slaves. If there were going to be girls, there’d also be flirting, and
Abigail would probably even contrive to sit near him. If he wasn’t going to be
able to sit down with Martin and steal bites of his ice cream, he didn’t want
to bother.

Thursday was their last lesson before the ball.

“You were missed on Tuesday, Mr. Blackwell,” Abigail told
him. “Helena and I looked for you at the ice cream parlor, but Albert tells me
you weren’t well.”

Henry blushed, embarrassed to have to defend his lie. “My
lunch disagreed with me,” he told her. “I went straight home.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Mr. Blackwell. Perhaps
you’ll be up to socializing after class today?”

Henry did not have to answer her, thankfully, because Mr. Gill
was ordering them to take their places.

Mr. Gill was especially exacting this afternoon, exhorting
them to be their most perfect selves.  Between runs through the steps, Mr. Gill
conferred with Mrs. Gill at the piano and the students were allowed to chat.

“I so look forward to Saturday,” Abigail told him, giving
his arm a little hug and leaning on him for a moment. Henry stiffened at the
contact and Abigail laughed her pealing laugh. “You’re funny, Mr. Blackwell. So
very proper!” She smiled up at him, slightly mocking, yet admiring him all the
same. “You’ll be by promptly at eight, yes? Will it be just us, or are we going
with one of your friends?”

“Just us,” Henry told her. He was glad that he and Louis
hadn’t decided to go to the ball together. Not only would it have necessitated
renting a carriage big enough for eight, but it would have been painfully
awkward to be sitting across from Louis with the girl Louis considered
rightfully his own.

“Oh, that’s so much nicer,” Abigail reassured him. “So much
more adult, I think.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I’m excited for you
to see me in my dress, Mr. Blackwell. I think it suits me very well.”

“I’m sure it does,” Henry said politely.

“I can’t wait to see you in formal clothes also. You and
your handsome slave both. My Helena is looking forward to it, too.”

Henry frowned, disliking this idea she had of pairing off
their slaves. Martin might be Helena’s escort for the evening out of necessity,
but there was certainly no match.

Mr. Gill came back to the center of the room, clapping his
hands to get their attention. “Places, please. We’ll run through again.”

At the end of the dance, Mr. Gill conceded that they would
not embarrass themselves on Saturday and wished them well, and the lessons were
concluded. He would see them a last time at the ball, to make sure they found
their proper places and to remind them of what they were meant to do.

“Until Saturday,” Henry said, bending over Abigail’s hand.

Abigail, clearly very excited, smiled, showing her dimple,
and gave him a little curtsey. “Until Saturday!”

Henry lingered in the cloakroom until after Albert had left,
hoping the twins would have gone on together in the DeWitt carriage. Louis
cooperated with Peter sullenly, lifting his feet laboriously, as if they were
encased in cement, so that his boots could be put on. He let them fall to the
floor just as heavily, one and then the other.

“I suppose
you’re
unhappy for these lessons to be
over,” he said to Henry.

“Not at all,” Henry said, surprised. “Why would I be?”

“When else have you received such praise from a teacher?”
Louis asked snottily.

“Why do you have to keep picking on Henry about this?” asked
Freddie, who was standing on Henry’s other side. “So Henry’s a good dancer—so
what?”

“Besides,” Henry said, feeling quite wounded, “you know that
Mr. McLachlan likes me, too.”

“Oh, the
math
teacher,” Louis said, disgusted, as if
math counted for nothing.

“I’m done apologizing for being Abigail’s partner,” Henry
warned him, putting on the hat that Martin held ready for him. “I’m going home.
You can come or not.”

Louis crammed his hat on his head and followed Henry out the
door. They waited for the omnibus in silence. Freddie attempted to engage them
in conversation but neither boy was interested in talk. Peter, Martin and Tom
conversed in hushed tones behind them. The omnibus pulled up in front of them
and they boarded in silence and sat in silence, Henry letting Freddie take the
seat beside Louis. Standing in the aisle, Martin put his hand on the top of
Henry’s seat and rubbed his knuckles against the back of Henry’s shoulder such
that the contact looked casual, accidental, but Henry took great comfort from
it.

They got off at the stop near the Blackwell house and still
neither Henry nor Louis said anything as they trudged along the sidewalk.

“Henry…”

“What?” Henry snapped curtly. He did not want to hear more
abuse.

“I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I’m being such an ass. I’m
trying not to be, I really am.”

Henry sighed. “You know I don’t even want her, Louis.”

“That actually makes it worse, Henry, that she means nothing
to you.”

“Well, what’s going to make it better between us? Because I
don’t see that there’s anything I can do short of being rude and ruining a
girl’s ball, and with no guarantee it would improve your case anyway.”

“No, you’re right, Henry. There’s nothing for you to do.”

They stopped at the Blackwell gate. “Did you want to come
in?” Henry asked, his tone not particularly inviting.

Louis shook his head. “No. I have things to do. But we’re
friends, yes?”

“We’re friends,” Henry agreed. “I’ll see you Saturday
night.”

“G’bye, Henry.” Louis walked off with a backwards wave, his
narrow shoulders slumped.

On the front steps, Henry asked, “Do
you
think
there’s anything I can do? Something that will make Louis feel better, but not
upset Abigail?”

Martin rang the bell and appeared to give this some thought.
“I don’t know, Sir. I don’t see what you
could
do—it’s all in Mr.
Briggs’ head, after all.”

Paul opened the door. “Good afternoon, Sir. Martin.”

Henry gave him a nod as he entered, and Martin said, “Hello,
Paul.” They left their hats with him and headed upstairs.

“I don’t know what you could do, Sir,” Martin reiterated.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, Sir, Mr. Briggs is being very unreasonable.
Miss DeWitt has made it perfectly clear she has no interest in his attentions.
Honestly, Sir, even if you
were
interested in her, Mr. Briggs would
still have no grounds for complaint.”

“I don’t like that he’s blaming me for something I haven’t
done.
I
didn’t decide she should like me.”

They went into Henry’s room and locked the door. Henry put
his school bag down on his desk and shed his jacket onto an armchair. Martin
picked the jacket up and took it to the wardrobe to hang while Henry crossed to
the bed and flopped down on his back across its width, his boots hanging over
the edge.

“Do you want me to take your boots off?”

“Yes, please.”

Martin bent over Henry’s boots, his tail sliding forward
over his shoulder. “How did you get this knot, Henry?” He frowned, picking at
the laces, holding Henry’s booted foot steady between his slim thighs.

Martin took such good care of him. Henry felt full of
effusive warmth. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows and watched
Martin work.

“You’re right. Louis
is
being unreasonable,” Henry
decided.

“Jealousy makes people behave irrationally, though,” Martin
pointed out. He bit his lip and was quiet a moment as he removed Henry’s second
boot from his foot. “You,” he began slowly, as if reconsidering his words even
as he spoke them, “can be irrational when it comes to me.” He perched on the
edge of the bed by Henry’s shins.

“Irrational?” Henry bristled at the idea that his behavior
was in any way open to such judgment.

“Your worries about Tom, for instance, aren’t based on
anything either Tom or I have done, after all.”

“But the way he looks at you—”

“It’s just looking. He’s a very loving friend, but he…well,
he doesn’t know anything else for certain, but he knows I love you. He knows
I’m devoted to you, and he respects that.”

“Does he really?” Henry did not feel as certain of this as
Martin apparently did. “Has he ever made a pass at you?”

Martin frowned, and Henry could tell that he wanted to be
able to say something other than the truth, which was, “Well, yes, but it was
so many months ago, and I don’t think he was terribly serious. Tom is quite
used to being pursued, and I don't think he enjoys the chase very much.”

“He chased Jerry, you said.”

“You see how
that
worked out for him.” Martin gave a
rueful laugh.

“Would you ever have sex with him?”

“Sorry, Henry?”

“Would you want to, if I’d let you?”

Slowly, Martin said, “If you wanted me to, I would do it,
certainly.”

“No, Martin. Would
you
want it, for
yourself
?”

Martin looked very unhappy. “If I was back at Ganymede, and
Tom was a boy in my cohort, I would have had sex with him very willingly.” He
offered this grudgingly, and looked as if he expected to be punished in some
way for saying it.

“Huh.” Henry had expected this information to be upsetting,
and it didn’t exactly make him
happy
, but somehow it was a relief to
know that of course Martin would want to fuck his very attractive friend if
circumstances allowed. He certainly believed that Martin was telling the truth;
anything less than such an admission would have seemed like a lie for Henry’s
benefit.

“I don’t really want to have sex with him, though, because I
want to have sex with
you
.”

“What if Tom is really good at sex?”

Martin scoffed. “I’m sure he
is
. He’s had plenty of
practice. The others say he’s good.”

“Who was it who’s supposed to be best? Allen?”

“Yes, everyone says Allen is the best.”