Aurora Tapestry is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, or to places (except where demanded by historical accuracy) is purely coincidental.
The story reflects the prevailing mores, customs and traditions of the time (1976) and readers are urged not to equate today's stands with yesterday's. Different times, different customs.
As there are scenes of gay sex between consenting adults and/or teenage boys if you are not of legal age (18/21) or if you live in a state, municipality or province where reading, possessing or downloading erotic literature is forbidden by law, please move on.
My thanks as always to Peter, who edits my work and makes it much better than I ever could.
The first book of the Aurora Series is available through Amazon or Barnes & Noble. The publisher's web site has a section to review the book. Please don't be a stranger and if you like the book, let the publisher know.
My thanks to those who wrote regarding my health. I am keeping well, and as of last Tuesday, things were coming along as they should. I am getting older, fatter, sassier and grumpier!
Aurora Tapestry
Chapter 23
"Was the 'Prayer for Courage' for the benefit of our young gentlemen," asked Doc, nodding as the parade square emptied of cadets, "or for you?" asked Doc
As they climbed the steps leading to the Head Shed Father smiled weakly and replied, "A little of both, I should think."
Behind the two older officers Commander Hazelton, Andy, Kyle and Chef trailed at a respectful distance. As they mounted the steps to the Headquarters Building, Doc turned his head slightly and gazed briefly at the following officers. "They look pensive, and a little worried," he murmured.
"They have a great deal to think about," replied Father as he led the way across the quarterdeck and into his office.
As the officers settled themselves in front of his desk, Commander Stockdale stared out the window at the empty parade square. He watched as a small dust devil whirled erratically across the dusty square. "An omen?" he asked himself quietly.
Father did not believe in omens, or dreams, or portents or whatevers. He was a practical, realistic man in outlook. Unfortunately, from his perspective, his views at the moment did not happen to coincide with those of a certain Chief Steward of the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets. Young Phantom believed, and the lad was determined to set out on a crusade - alone if he had to, with companions if he could - and Father had not a clue what to do about it.
Moving slowly, deliberately, Commander Stockdale settled himself behind his desk, regarded each officer in turn, and then held open his hands. "Well?"
Commander Hazelton thought a moment and then spoke for Doctor Reynolds and himself. "Doc and I are knights. The Grand Master of the Order has sounded the clarion and we must answer. We must be true to our oath."
"I am not a knight," countered the Commanding Officer with a stern look. "I am a man who is responsible for the safety and well-being of his cadets."
"I understand your feelings," began Chef. He stirred in his chair and looked at the Commanding Officer. "I am a Knight, and my first loyalty is to the Order. I am also cognizant of the dangers that my lambs might face." Chef's face grew hard. "I must also, however, remind you that your responsibility ends on Thursday at ten of the clock when the majority of our cadets board the aircraft to go home." He turned to Andy and Kyle. "Which is when your responsibility begins."
Both Andy and Kyle had been detailed as Escorting Officers for the returning cadets. Andy squirmed uneasily. "Which responsibility ends when they debark at whatever airport their ticket takes them to!" He shook his head.
"And none of us can prevent them from turning right around and boarding a flight for Quebec City!" offered Kyle. "Each cadet becomes a free agent once he gets off the damned plane!"
"In other words, we are presented with fait accompli!" exclaimed Commander Stockdale with a shake of his head. He once again regarded Number One and Doc. "You will answer Michael Chan's call, then?"
Nodding, Doc replied simply, "We will be true to our vows, sir."
Sighing, Commander Stockdale looked at Andy and Kyle. "Neither of you is a knight. You do not have to be a part of this."
Andy smiled ruefully. "Sir, I was a member of the promotion boards. I heard those young men! I listened to Cory and Todd and I could not help thinking then, as I am thinking now, that with a company, no a platoon composed of such men I could storm the Gates of Hell, take it, and send the Devil packing!" His eyes widened as a look of awe came over his face. "Sir, I have seen the way the other cadets look at Phantom! They love him, they respect him, and they trust him! He has that indefinable something that makes men want to follow him. He will go to Ste Anne de Beaupré. He will find out what Sylvain discovered . . ."
"You know?" Father gasped.
"I know," replied Andy with a firm nod. "The boys were talking about Phantom's dream at breakfast. I also overheard Nicholas talking with Matt. The details are a touch hazy, but I get the impression that they are thinking, trying to decide if they want to be a part of Phantom's dream."
"At least there has been no rush to judgement," offered Number One. "The point is that the lads are thinking."
"As is Phantom," interjected Chef. He looked at Commander Stockdale and winked. "I am not one to rush to judgement, as Number One has put it. I have listened to young Phantom. I have made no commitments. I have not agreed to the Order helping him." He squared his shoulders. "And I will make certain that everything possible is done to ensure that they do not go in harm's way."
"You will be with them?" asked Father.
"I will," Chef replied. "There will be no Children's Crusade. Nothing will be left to chance, I assure you and . . ." He saw the querulous looks on Andy and Kyle's face and chuckled, wondering as he did so just what they taught in school these days.
Father saw the looks on the faces of the two junior officers and explained. "In 1212 a boy named Stephen, from the village of Cloyes, in France, claimed to have had a vision."
"Not another vision," growled Doc. "The place is infested with mystics and visionaries of all of sudden!" he finished tartly.
"Or suffering from an epidemic of dyspepsia," returned Chef.
Father could not help laughing. "Now Chef, you did bring it up, after all. I offer the Children's Crusade merely as an allegory, an analogy, of the mass hysteria I want to avoid." He stopped laughing and his old eyes bore into Chef. "As do you!"
"So I did," agreed Chef grudgingly. "There's to be no marching up Bay Street in Toronto with the drums beating." Chef sighed. "It is just that the lad is so . . . impressionable, so keen to be a part of this."
"Phantom is a level-headed, intelligent young man," Number One pointed out. "He's demonstrated that more than once. He is not about to lead the villagers in an assault on the castle, nor is he going to lead a mob of hysterics through the streets and byways as they hunt down the Golem of Prague!"
Andy raised his eyes to the deckhead. "Another 'allegory'?" he asked pointedly.
"Yes, yes, yes!" returned Number One testily. "The whole point I am trying to make is that I cannot think that there will be hysteria, mass or otherwise. The boys are too quiet, too subdued."
"Good." Father's voice was low. "We have all read and perhaps seen, examples of mass hysteria. Mobs are formed because of it. People rush to become a part of something they cannot understand, and no one can control! It happened in 1914, when the whole damned world seemed to run to the Colours! In Russia and Germany there were pogroms that began with a rumour, a hint of something horrible, and tens of thousands of Jews were killed or driven from their homes by frenzied mobs! We cannot have that, Chef!"
"You will not have it!" returned Chef forcefully. "Phantom is no Stephen of Cloyes and he will not lead the host he gathers to destruction!"
"Just who in the hell was this 'Stephen of Cloyes'?" demanded Kyle.
"As I have said, he was a youth," replied Father. "He claimed that one day he was walking through the wide valley of green meadows and willows of Freteval, which was the site of the defeat of Philip de France by Richard, Couer de Lion, in 1194."
"A site filled with the remnants of battle, a site where a boy could find rusted helmets, lances, broken swords and the bones of the dead," murmured Chef. "A place to dream of ghosts and glory."
Father nodded. "Yes. And a place where Stephen claimed a stranger came to him. The stranger claimed to have come from the Holy Land, He asked for food, which Stephen gave him, and in return the stranger gave him a letter, and told him to lead a crusade of children, a crusade that would succeed where mailed knights had failed. Stephen was convinced he was talking to Christ."
"And so?" asked Andy.
"Stephen went to Paris, preaching along the way - he was apparently quite erudite and compelling - and children flocked to him. The king of France received him and gave him a copy of the Sacred Oriflamme of France. Stephen raised the banner and more and more children joined him, convinced that he was a prophet and that they would free the Holy Land. The hysteria spread throughout France and into Germany, where another boy, Nicholas I believe he was called, preached a crusade.
"The children gathered in Vendome, and in June of 1212 they set out. They reached Marseilles and boarded seven ships, ships that had been provided by a merchant from Acre. This merchant, Hugh Ferreus, and his partner, William of Posqueres, were trusted. No one suspected that the two men had ulterior motives." Father shook his head sadly. "In a way, what happened in 1212 parallels what is happening today."
Chef took up the story. "Two days out from Marseilles a great storm struck the small fleet. Two of the ships were wrecked and the other five made landfall in a port in Africa. The two merchants promptly herded the children ashore and sold them into slavery. The same thing happened to the thousand or so who came from Germany. They arrived in Brindisi, broke, the majority of them ill. A certain Friso the Norwegian took charge of the pitiful remnants, and sold the girls into brothels and the boys into slavery."
"Noble causes which ended in squalor and terror!" declared Doc. "Which means we must do what we can to help Phantom!"
Chef held up his hand and rose ponderously to his feet. "Which is exactly what we shall do." He paused and then added, "When the lad tells us what he plans." Chef held up a stubby finger. "But not before. Let them all, Phantom; the Twins; the lads, think about what lies ahead. When they have decided, they will come to us. Then we will act."
Looking first at Commander Stockdale, then at Andy, then at Kyle, Chef said soberly, "There is one other thing that should be done. The choice to act will be yours. If any of you choose not to help, or feel it in your best interests to turn a blind eye, so be it. I shall not think the less of you." "We are aware of the choice," returned Commander Hazelton. "What else is there?" "I offer membership in the Sovereign and Noble Order of Saint John of the Cross of Acre."
"Can you do that?" asked Commander Hazelton, his face mirroring his doubt.
"I can, and I do," returned Chef. "I am the Proctor of the Order and I have been given the authority to offer knighthoods." Doc look startled. He had known that Chef was the Proctor, but kept his counsel, in keeping with the Rule. Number One, who had not known of Chef's high position, merely looked surprised. Chef, who reasoned that his position had to become known in any event, continued on. "Andy and Kyle have been spoken to by The Gunner." He looked at Number One and said, "You, sir, and Admiral Stephens have spoken to Commander Stockdale. They are not unaware of the Order, and what it stands for." Chef looked directly at the Commanding Officer. "Acceptasne nominationem?" he asked quietly.
Father hesitated for but a moment. Then he answered quietly, "Accepto." And then, because he was not at all sure that what he was about to do was the right thing, he added, "Misere mei Deus."
"We will have God's help, and the help of others," replied Chef kindly. He turned to Andy. "Ensign Berg . . . Acceptasne nominationem?"
"Accepto," replied Andy. "With all my heart."
"Sub-Lieutenant St. Vincent?"
Without thinking, Kyle reached out and clutched Andy's hand. "Accepto," he whispered. He looked into Andy's eyes, saw the love there, and repeated. "Accepto."
"It is done then," said Number One.
"Not quite," returned Doc. He grinned at the Commanding Officer, Andy and Kyle. "Now I must certify, in accordance with Article 24 of the Rule, that you are medically acceptable to the Order." He chuckled lasciviously. "There are no secrets between a Knight and the Surgeon in Ordinary of the Order."
"At least they don't have to worry about Matron lurking in the shadows," offered Chef with a grin.
"Perish the thought," returned Doc with a growl. He turned to Andy and Kyle. "A simple examination," he said. "Nothing at all to worry about."
Chef gently patted Kyle's shoulder. "A necessary examination. All candidate knights must be certified by the Surgeon." He looked around the room. "Even the man nominated to be the Custos Principum."
Father looked puzzled. "Guardian of Princes?" he asked.
Chef took a deep, long breath. "Phantom is a Prince of the Order, although he does not know it. A young man has been chosen to be his Guardian. He will be with Phantom at all times." He cocked his head and smiled knowingly at the Commanding Officer. "You did not think that I would let the lad go off on his crusade without someone to keep an eye in him, did you?" he asked.
"How could I have ever doubted you?" returned the Commanding Officer, his words tinged slightly with sarcasm. "Are we to know the name of this 'Custos Principum', or are we to be left in the dark?"
"His name will become known soon enough," replied Chef. "At the moment he is not quite a 'Custos', nor even a knight!"
Father's jaw dropped at this off-hand announcement. "But how in the name . . .?" he began in a demanding tone.
"It is to be done," said Chef. "Before the sun sets this evening the young man will be offered a knighthood. He will be offered the position of Custos Principum. It has been decided," Chef finished with finality that none in the office could argue.
"What if there is the impediment?" asked Doc, rising. He gestured at Andy and Kyle. "I will see you two in the surgery in half an hour. In the mean time, I must ask you all to leave."
The officers filed silently from the office and as Andy closed the door he heard the Commanding Officer ask, "Now then, this had better not have anything to do with my prostate!"
Daniel Bradley-Smith stared at the telephone and then began to dress. "Cromwell," he thought. Things must have come to a dangerous pass if the warning had been issued.
When he had finished dressing, Daniel glanced at his watch and nodded. There was time. And if there were not, he would make the time.
Leaving the Wardroom Annex. Daniel walked purposefully toward the mid-Victorian structure. He had been raised in the Anglican tradition, was extremely devout, and believed in the power of prayer. He had no idea what his role would be in the coming days; he knew only that he had been called to duty. He needed the strength, the courage, and this small building he was entering would afford him a respite, a measure of serenity.
The church, officially St. Paul's Naval and Garrison Church, unofficially the Bluejackets' Church, was empty. The early morning sun streamed through the stained glass windows, highlighting the soft hues of the wooden pews and the faded banners that hung down the length of the nave. The odours of incense and beeswax lingered from yesterday's masses.
Daniel settled himself into a pew near the altar and prayed for guidance and strength. He prayed that whatever happened he would bring honour to his Order, and to himself. He prayed that he would be true to the vow he had made three years ago, a vow that bade him conduct himself in all things in a chaste manner, a manner that would not bring dishonour, a vow that he would succour the ill and the destitute, and that he would defend all of his Brotherhood.
As he prayed, a peace that defied description and understanding came over Daniel and when he rose, made the Sign of the Cross, and left the chapel, he knew that he would not prove wanting, that he would be a true Knight of Saint John.
When he returned to his quarters, Daniel found a young, stocky, Lieutenant waiting impatiently in the lobby. On one of the battered old leather sofas were two garment bags, two cased swords, and a large leather briefcase.
"Surgeon-Lieutenant Daniel Bradley-Smith?" asked the Lieutenant as Daniel approached.
"Yes."
David Clayton introduced himself and then looked at the slim, bespectacled young man and nodded. The young doctor looked frail, perhaps a trifle fey, but there was a brightness in his eyes behind his rimless spectacles that bespoke determination. He smiled thinly as he said, "We will need to change."
Daniel looked down at his clothing. He had put on his best uniform. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he asked as he led the way to the elevator that would take them to his room.
"Nothing," replied David as the elevator doors closed.
Once inside Daniel's room, David opened the first garment bag and pulled out a blue uniform, which he handed to Daniel. "Our business is too important for CF green," he growled as he opened the second bag.
Daniel looked at the uniform jacket, taking in the double rows of four gilt buttons, the zigzag stripes sewn on the sleeves of the jacket, and the crimson cloth that separated the stripes. "This is the uniform of a Surgeon-Lieutenant in the Royal Navy Reserve," he pointed out.
David held out his jacket. "And this is the uniform of a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy Reserve," he countered, "Which I am, albeit honourary. Now strip!"
"I don't understand," said Daniel as he removed his green jacket and then dropped his trousers to the deck, and blushed, wondering what had ever possessed him to put on a pair of red boxers patterned with gold Medusas. "My commission is in the Canadian Armed Forces!"
David pointedly ignored Daniel's discomfort. "You are also an honourary Surgeon-Lieutenant in the Royal Navy Reserve," he replied as he stepped out of his trousers, revealing a pair of blue and white-striped boxer underpants. He pointed to his briefcase, which he had dropped on Daniel's bed. "The signal will be added to your PERS file when I get around to it."
"But . . ."
"Will you please just put on the damned uniform?" snarled David. He stood foursquare in front of Daniel and said, "The Grand Master has arranged for certain knights to be named honourary members of the RNR. He does not approve of unification or of the green suits."
"How in the hell did he manage that?" asked Daniel as he pulled on his trousers. "And does Ottawa know?"
"Bugger Ottawa," snapped David. He stepped into his trousers and zipped up. "Ottawa will know some time today. They'll go along with it because in actual fact honourary ranks are given all the time."
"Why do I have the feeling that you're not being completely honest with me?" retorted Daniel as he picked up his jacket.
"I am being honest with you," replied David as he buckled on his sword belt. "When the Queen visits Canada she is attended by Canadian Honourary AdeCs, and several Honourary Surgeons in Ordinary. They receive a nice certificate."
"That still does not explain . . ."
"Daniel, if I may call you by your Christian name, commissions in the Royal Navy, and the Royal Navy Reserve, are issued by the Lords Commissioner of the Admiralty. The Second Sea Lord is in charge of Commissions and Warrants. He has agreed to the Grand Master's request and will handle the Lords Commissioners."
"You make it sound simple," said Daniel doubtfully.
"It isn't," replied David. "Fortunately his deputy knows what buttons to push."
"Friends in high places?"
"The highest." Then David added, "Mind you, knowing Captain Edouard de Lotibiniere, I would venture that he knows more that a few friends in low places!" He walked to the door, opened it, and gestured. "Now come along. The car is waiting."
Colin Arnott had spent a restless night after arriving alongside the RTU jetty. The trip south from Comox had been uneventful in the extreme and aside from keeping the chart up to date and making sure that the helmsman was awake, he had had little to do. His paperwork was up to date and once the gate vessel had been berthed alongside he had finished his crew interviews.
As Colin had expected, once the ship had been made fast half the crew had disappeared. Those who lived in Esquimalt went ashore to meet family and friends. Three of the Reservists had debarked and gone to Nelles Block, there to await their transport to the airport, and home. Commander Edmunds had gone ashore to Headquarters, there to return his command, HMCS Porte de le Roi, to the not so tender and never loving care of the Reserve Training Unit. He returned to collect his gear and then left the small dockyard area, his duty done for the season.
With most of the crew gone, or ashore, Colin had spent a quiet evening on board. He had read, packed his gear in preparation for his own leave taking, walked over to the wardroom for dinner, and returned for an early night in.
He had slept little. Every time he lay down he began to remember his time with the emerald-eyed, jug-eared young man. Colin remembered how Phantom smelled, how he felt, heard again the soft, zephyr-like breathing of the boy as he slept and, strangely, could feel again the indescribable pleasure they had given each other.
It seemed that every half-hour or so Colin would leave his bunk, hold the shoulder boards that Phantom had insisted he have, and gently stroke the scabbard of the sword that Phantom had mischievously, and sneakily had delivered on board. Each time a warm and gentle smile crossed Colin's lips and he sat down on his bunk, wondering how he had managed to fall so much in love.
And he was, he admitted, in love. He felt bewitched, fuddled, and addle-pated all at the same time, so much so that his mind had seemed to drift off into the wind as he conned the small ship. Twice during the short voyage to Esquimalt he had found himself staring off at the far shore, thinking of Phantom and with a bulge in his pants.
Rising from his bunk, Colin had resisted the urge to masturbate - for some reason the idea of choking his chicken, which was hard and angrier than it had ever been, seemed demeaning and degrading to his lover. Instead he had visited the heads, had a drink, and returned to his cabin to think, which did no good at all. Eventually he had abandoned his pillow, pulled on a pair of gym shorts, and gone up on deck.
The quiet of the dockyard was calming, with nothing but the soft slapping of the swells against the wooden and metal hulls of the vessels moored along the jetty to break the silence of the night.
What Colin could not understand, really, was how what he had always been told was a 'normal' male could fall irrevocably in love with another man! Colin's sex life, before and during his college years, had been active, if not satisfying. In many ways he realized that what sex he had had was really just a release of semen. He had felt nothing for the girls he had fucked, or who had blown him, and they had felt nothing for him. Sex was sex and when it was over both parties would shower, sometimes have a cigarette, and then go home.
Sighing, Colin knew that what he felt for Phantom was much more than mere sex. His feelings for the younger man were overpowering, and all encompassing. When the crazy old chef had accosted him and all but assaulted him, Colin had agreed to become Phantom's protector. He had not hesitated, because he was in love with the youth. He had not hesitated because there was about Philip Andrew Thomas Lascelles, known as "Phantom", something in his green eyes and something in his bearing that Colin could not refuse to accept. Somehow, and Colin could not quite understand this, his destiny was entwined with Phantom's. Somehow a thread, blue, gold, what colour, had been added to the tapestry that was being woven around Phantom. Somehow the thread of Colin Arnott's life had been woven and entwined in the Tapestry. Colin could not understand the how or the why of it. He only knew the rightness of it, and he was finally content.
With little but general shipboard maintenance to do, the crew, except for the poor unfortunates detailed as Duty Watch, took advantage of the down time, and slept in. The cook, an old hand, had not bothered to make breakfast. The lads would come scuffling into the miniscule galley and he would cook to order. Those who slept late could rough it.
Colin snuggled under his covers, dreaming dreams of a green-eyed boy, his hand firmly down the front of his tighty-whiteys. The Duty Quartermaster hunkered at the head of the gangway reading a stroke book, and wondering if the Fishing Fleet still trolled the Fleet Club.
Below decks, in the main berthing area, the majority of the three-tiered bunks were stripped and empty. Here and there in the vast, cluttered space, a sleeping body snuffled, gruffled, or snorted. Next door, in the Chiefs Mess, five of the six bunks were empty. Only the Buffer slept there now. He was divorced, and preferred to live on board.
As the morning progressed the Dockyard started to come to life. A truck, a car, a sailor pushing a dolly of boxes moved down the jetty. The latest victims from the Fleet Diving Unit, all balls and wet suits, went stomping past, on their way to do whatever divers did of a morning. >From time to time the hoot of a tug, or the Duty Boat that plied its way from the Dockyard to Royal Roads and back, broke the still air. The Duty Quartermaster, engrossed in his pictures of naked women, did not hear the soft purr of an engine, or the bare scrunch of rubber tires on asphalt. He was just about to reach down to give the bulge that stretched along his left groin a little rub when he heard the thump of a footstep on the wooden gangway. He looked up and almost shit.
Standing at the foot of the gangway were two officers, dressed to kill. They wore blue uniforms and carried swords. One of them, a youthful, slim Lieutenant, was holding a doctor's black leather bag. The other, also a Lieutenant, was shorter and stockier than his companion, and held a leather briefcase.
Behind the officers the longest, blackest, shiniest Rolls-Royce limousine the Duty Quartermaster had ever seen idled quietly. Behind it were three more cars, and a van, out from which came three civilians; each smartly dressed in suits, white shorts, and ties.
As his erection wilted - thank God! - the Duty Quartermaster rose to his feet and saluted, somewhat sloppily. He had no idea who was coming to call, but they looked important. He held the salute as the two officers climbed the gangway.
"Permission to come aboard?" asked the stocky Lieutenant as he saluted the quarterdeck and the Duty Quartermaster.
"Uh, yeah, sure," stumbled the Duty Quartermaster. As he lowered his arm he noticed that the civilians had made no attempt to board, remaining at the foot of the gangway, waiting patiently.
From the inner breast pocket of his jacket David Clayton pulled out his Forces ID card and showed it to the Duty Quartermaster. "I am Lieutenant David Clayton," he began. He turned and indicated the other officer. "This is Surgeon-Lieutenant Bradley-Smith. Will you be kind enough to convey my compliments . . ." As he was senior to Colin, David sent 'compliments'. Colin, had their roles been reversed, would have sent his 'respects'. " . . . To Lieutenant Arnott."
"Lieutenant Arnott?" the Duty Quartermaster squeaked. "He's, um, he's still in bed!"
"Enjoying what is most likely a well-deserved rest," returned David easily. "However, if you would be kind enough to wake him and give him this." David reached out his hand and handed the Duty Quartermaster his card. "It is vital that we speak with him."
The Duty Quartermaster damned near broke his leg as he scrambled down the short set of stairs leading to Wardroom Flats and Lieutenant Arnott's cabin. He did not bother to knock and flung open the door, all but shouting excitedly as he shook the sleeping officer awake.
"Sir, sir, you have to wake up," the Duty Quartermaster said as he shook Colin's shoulder. The young seaman was so excited that he failed to notice where Colin's hand had been resting.
"What the . . .?" mumbled Colin groggily. He struggled out of his covers and glared at the Duty Quartermaster. "Norrister, if you're pissed again you're ass is grass!" Colin snarled as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.
"With all due respect sir, it doesn't seem to be my ass that's in question," returned Norrister with a grin. He thrust the visiting card at Colin. "There's two officers cooling their heels on the well deck, and Jesus, sir, they are dressed to the nines!"
"Officers?" asked Colin as he studied the cream-coloured, vellum visiting card. "Who the hell is 'Lieutenant David Clayton, RNR' when he's up and dressed?"
"I'm buggered if I know," returned Norrister, still grinning. "All I know is that there are two officers dressed in Kipper uniforms, and carrying swords, waiting to see you!" Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "And there's three civilians sculling on the jetty."
"Civilians?" Colin's mind raced. Civilians on the jetty usually meant trouble. Could it be that what had happened in Comox had followed him to Esquimalt? Could it be that someone had found out about . . . "Cops?" he asked tentatively and with not a little trepidation.
Leading Seaman Norrister shook his head firmly. Lieutenant Arnott was one of the finest officers he had ever served with and he was firmly convinced that the only "Cops" the officer would have contact with would be those he saw on television. He quickly reassured his Lieutenant. "Naw, they're too well dressed and they don't have flat feet. One's a tailor, I think."
"A tailor?" Now Colin was really confused.
Norrister nodded vigorously. "The van is from that fancy tailor's downtown, the ones who do all the officers' uniforms. You know the one, they have a shop in the Empress Hotel."
"Gieves?" asked Colin. This was in itself very surprising. The "Gieves Man" had not been a fixture on a Canadian Navy jetty in years, at least not since full-blown unification set in.
Gieves and Hawkes, No. 1 Savile Row had, since 1786, been the naval outfitters for the Royal Navy, numbering amongst its clients Horatio, Lord Nelson, the Duke of Wellington and, since 1809, every British Monarch. Later, when the Dominions formed their own Navies, Gieves was called upon to design and tailor the uniforms. It was a sorry Navy, indeed, that did not have a resident "Gieves Man", and a commission was truly over only when the ship tied alongside and the Gieves man strolled confidently up the gangway.
For over 200 years, Gieves (for some reason Mr. Hawkes was never mentioned) had supplied the navies of the world with uniforms of every class and distinction, swords, accoutrements and sea chests, providing useful snippets of information and "How To" books to Naval officers, instructing them on the proper uniforms needed to serve in Hong Kong, Aden, or the Consulate at Kathmandu!
The Gieves Man was such a fixture in the life of a proper Naval officer that he became almost a mythical Genie, a man who would, in very short order, find a solution to any problem, be it ever so dire or urgent. The Gieves Man always came through and never charged interest, as was evidenced one sunny Saturday afternoon when one of HM cruisers, her wartime cruise finally over, steamed into Pompey, flying the Paying Off Pennant and with a crew desperate to get ashore.
It being a Saturday, the Pay Office had not enough funds to pay off the Duty Watch, let alone a cruiser's complement. Sorry, but the lads would have to wait until Monday.
The lads, being the lads, and not having seen their wives, sweethearts, children and dogs for well on to three years (there had been a war on, after all), grumbled loudly. The Commanding Officer, being a perspicacious and enterprising officer, listened, and called for his Coxswain and his motorcar, driving to the shop of Messrs Gieves & Hawkes. Inside the shop the Gieves Man listened, nodded his head sympathetically and did not bat an eye when the Commanding Officer asked for a small advance on his account, say 27,000 pounds?
Not for nothing did Gieves hold three Royal Warrants. Would sir care to have the notes in large, or small, denominations?
On the following Monday, an armed guard of uniformed sailors, smiling broadly, their own pockets jingling, returned the loan.
Since unification the Gieves Man had been more conspicuous by his absence on Canadian Navy jetties than by his presence. The firm still maintained small bureaus in Halifax and Victoria, offering bespoke mess kits, boat cloaks, shirts and collars, and swords, and while they did provide a very limited selection of ready made uniforms and clothing (and had since 1926), this service was available only to very old, and very distinguished, clients. As for the green suit so beloved by the politicians in Ottawa, Gieves were not in the habit of making theatrical costumes, thank you, and perhaps sir might wish to be recommended to a civilian tailor. Henry Poole & Co. was well thought of, don't ye know.
Colin had heard of The Gieves Man, as had all naval officers. He had never visited the shop in the Empress Hotel, and had no hope of every visiting the place. A plain reefer coat and matching trousers would set him back 1,500 pounds, not including the cost of the gold lace. A mess kit would set him back 2,000 quid, plus the cost of the gold lace stripes down each leg.
"Two Naval officers? Kipper Naval officers?" asked Colin as he rolled from his bunk.
Norrister made a zigzag motion in the air with his finger. "Yeah, and their stripes are like that."
"They're RNR," advised Colin, recalling the initials appended to David Clayton's name on the visiting card as he looked around for something to wear. The cabin was a mess, with clothing half-packed in his kit bag, and the upper bunk, empty now that Neal Menzies had been sent ashore in disgrace, cluttered with books and errant charts.
"Well, they might be wearing Kipper uniforms, but the one I talked to sure isn't. He doesn't have an accent," returned Norrister. "I'm pretty sure that he's a Canadian and I also sure that I've seen him before when I was up at Headquarters."
Finding the gym shorts that he had tossed aside scant hours before, Colin reread the visiting card. "The name is familiar. He's a PIO. I'm sure of it."
"Well, whatever he is, he wants to see you. And he has a doctor with him. You sick?"
"A doctor?" Colin stared at the confused Leading Seaman. "Why in the hell would I need a doctor?"
Shrugging, Norrister opened the cabin door. "Beats me. All I know is that there's a doctor on board and they want to see you."
Running his fingers through his short-cropped, uncombed, blond hair, Colin said, "Wake up the Buffer. Take the 'visitors' to the CO's cabin. Tell them that I'll be up as soon as I change."
Norrister snickered. "Remember what your mother told you about clean undies and hospitals."
"Get out, Norrister!"
The Commanding Officer's cabin was small, but comfortably furnished with an oversize bunk, a settee, a comfortable armchair and a desk. Built into the bedside table was a small safe, and around the sink was a wooden cabinet, which ordinarily held Commander Edmunds toiletries and stash of booze. David Clayton and Daniel waited patiently for Colin to put in an appearance.
"You know what is required of you?" David asked Daniel.
"I know," replied Daniel with a slight nod of his head. "My only worry is that my Latin is a little rusty."
"Write the certificate in English. It will be translated and you can sign it later."
Daniel shrugged his compliance. He had no time to make a comment for the door to the cabin opened and he looked up to see a devastatingly handsome young Lieutenant standing there. Daniel felt a twitching that he had never felt before and wondered just what role this man would play in the scheme of things, and if he were . . .
Dismissing lascivious thoughts from his mind, Daniel rose along with David Clayton who, after the introductions, asked formally, "You are Colin Edward Lawrence Arnott, born the 6th of June, 1954, in Collingwood, Ontario?"
Colin, taken aback, managed to reply, "Yes, yes I am." He fumbled in the right pocket of his trousers. "I have my ID card."
David Clayton held up his hand. "That will not be necessary. I am satisfied that you are who you say you are. Please sit." He indicated the chair beside the Captain's desk. "I am required to ask you some questions."
Colin's eyes slid over to Daniel. "And the doctor?"
"His presence is necessary," replied David non-comittally. He reached into his briefcase and brought out several sheets of papers, papers that had been hand delivered to him only this morning. He looked at Colin. "Are you homosexual?"
Colin's face fell as his eyes darted from David to Daniel and back to David. "I . . . I never . . ."
"Please be truthful," said David quietly. "Whatever you say remains in this cabin. I ask because it will determine your status."
"My what?"
David realized that Colin knew nothing about the Order. "You have been chosen to be the Custos Principum, the Guard of Princes."
Guardian! Colin's eyes widened as he recalled the old cook's words, growled menacingly in the confines of the deserted Dog House, "When it is time a man will come to you and offer you a mantle. Take it, and place it over your shoulders."
Colin stared at David Clayton. Was this the man that Chef had spoken of? Was this the man who would offer him . . . Once again Chef's words echoed, "You will be given a great gift, a treasure held dear by many. You may hold this gift, you may cherish this treasure, but you may not keep it."
Sinking back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, Colin remembered Chef's questions, and his warning: "Do you accept the gift? Do you accept the keepership of a treasure so great that I must tell you that if you in any way make him unhappy, you will not have to fear me? I am a mere mortal. Harm Phantom and you invoke the wrath of gods!"
Involuntarily, Colin breathed the name, "Phantom."
Daniel, who was not privy to the secrets that seemed to fill this small cabin, looked querulously at David Clayton, who remained impassive. "Who is 'Phantom'," Daniel asked.
"Someone who is destined for greatness, and destined to be given into the care of this man," replied David as he nodded his head at Colin. "Soon you will have the honour to meet him. At the moment you have a job to do." Turning, David regarded Colin and then told him, "Ordinarily what is about to take place is supervised by the Proctor of the Sovereign and Noble Order of Saint John of the Cross of Acre, which is an order of Knights dedicated to aiding, in every way possible, gay men. In time you will be told the history of the Order, and its role. Now, however, I must ask you again. Are you gay?"
His eyes filling with tears, Colin looked at David. "Until last Saturday I would have said no. Until last Saturday I was a normal guy who . . . fucked girls. I thought that being gay was the worst thing that a man could be."
"And then?" asked Daniel, intrigued, and relieved that he was not alone in his inward struggle.
"And then I met . . . Phantom. And then I fell in love and suddenly I . . ." Colin looked at Daniel and the most wondrous smile came over his face. "Someone came into my life, someone wonderful made me realize what I was. I cannot tell you why, I only know that I love him and he loves me!"
Without warning, Colin stood up. He smiled wanly at Daniel. "On Saturday I was accosted by a crazy old man who told me that Phantom is someone well-beloved by forces that would cause me to feel a fear that none but God can put in a man."
"This . . . man . . . this 'Phantom', is that important?" asked Daniel with a slight gasp.
"He is," interjected David firmly. He looked at Colin and asked, "And your reaction was?"
Colin chuckled dryly. "Let's just say that I convinced him that I was not about to be intimidated. I must have been convincing, else why would you be here?"
David returned Colin's chuckle. "At least you have some bottom to you."
Laughing, Colin shook his head. "Chef said much the same thing. Of course, I had to reply that I also had balls that while small, were made of brass!"
David tried not to laugh and struggled to regain his composure. He cleared his throat loudly and returned to the business at hand. "Then I take it you will be professed?"
"I don't understand."
"The Order has two classes of Knights, Professed, meaning that the Knight is homosexual and not afraid to admit it to his brother Knights, and Ordinary, meaning that they are not homosexual."
"In that case, yes, I am homosexual," replied Colin, unafraid.
David nodded. "You were offered a gift, I believe."
"Yes."
"In a few moments I will ask you formally," said David. "Think carefully before you answer. The forces that Chef spoke of are offering you, Colin, great things. You are called to be a Guardian of Princes. What that means is that you will devote your life to the Prince, unreservedly, and give your life to him, and the Order. Much is asked, and much will be given."
Before answering, Colin heard Chef's words. "You really are in love with him, then?"
Colin's reply rang true through his mind. "I'd love him until Hell freezes over!" He turned to David Clayton. "I know what is expected of me. I accept the gift."
"When I return then," replied David. He gestured at Daniel. "Do what you must do, then," he said as he walked to the cabin door. "When you are satisfied, call me. I'll be right outside."
Nodding, Daniel looked at Colin. "I am a doctor assigned to the base hospital. I am required by Article 24 of the Rule of the Order to ask you to lower your trousers and underpants."
Surgeon-Lieutenant Daniel Dane Bradley-Smith, RNR maintained a professional mien as he deliberately took much longer time than he needed to write the short certificate the Order demanded of all its candidate knights. Inwardly he was smiling. He had no idea what the criteria were for appointment as Custodis Principum. Obviously size of the Guardian's genitals was not one of them.
Daniel had always tried to maintain professional indifference when examining recruits. After all, or so the saying went, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. Daniel had long since learned the fallacy of that particular old saw. In the course of his career he had seen penises long, penises short, and penises in between. He had seen pink penises, light brown penises, and black penises. Some were monsters - well, only one, six inches, soft, with a pronounced circumcised head, quite impressive if one were a size queen. Most were slim. Some were criss-crossed with veins, others smooth. Some were stubby. Statistically 80% of the penises attached to recruits born west of the Ontario/Quebec provincial border had been refitted, and boasted round, conical or flowing, crisply-lined glans. The same held true for recruits born in the English enclaves of Montreal and Quebec City. As for the others, well, French-Canadians hardly ever underwent a refit and so far as the Maritimes and Newfoundland were concerned it was a 60/40 chance that the recruit would boast original fittings.
Colin Arnott had fit the unofficial profile. He had been exquisitely circumcised and Daniel was tempted, out of professional curiosity, to ask Colin who had performed the surgery. Daniel was also impressed that Colin's penis and testicles formed a perfectly proportioned set, his three-inch penis crowned with a beautifully arching glans, hanging gracefully from a neat patch of light brown pubic hair over his low-hanging, smooth skinned testicles. All in all whoever this "Phantom" was, or the Prince, or whatever, was getting a beauty.
Behind him, Daniel could hear Colin adjusting his clothing as he pulled up his tighty whiteys and green trousers, and smoothed his green cotton short. "Is that it?" Colin asked.
Daniel sighed the makeshift certificate with a flourish and smiled his answer. "So far as I am concerned, yes."
Leaving the cabin, Daniel went in search of David Clayton, who was idling away the time with the Buffer. They were old shipmates and David was using the time playing catch up. He heard Daniel's footsteps on the metal stairs leading from the upper deck and turned. "Well?" he asked.
Glancing at the Buffer, who was not a member of the Order so far as Daniel knew, and being circumspect by nature, the young doctor nodded. "I left the paper on the desk," he answered enigmatically.
David turned to the Buffer, shook his hand, and then motioned for Daniel to return with him to the Commanding Officer's cabin. Before entering David turned and put his hand on Daniel's shoulder. "I know that you are wondering what is going on. In time you will know. Today you have done the Order a service and you will be asked to do more."
Daniel shrugged. "I took an oath, remember? And just so you know, I am a Professed Knight."
"I know," replied David almost casually. "And I am not. It makes no difference, really. I do what I do out of true love and affection, for a man I consider to be my brother, and because I took an oath as well. I took it long before I became a Knight. I swore that I would never again stand in a cemetery while a brother was lowered into the ground, knowing that had I spoken up, shown some balls, he would not be . . ."
"I know," murmured Daniel. "Last month I assisted at the post-mortem on a young man who had hanged himself. He made the mistake of falling in live with wrong man."
Nodding his understanding - he had heard of the suicide - David continued. "We are brothers, Daniel, and the road ahead is going to be rough."
"I've travelled the road, sir," replied Daniel. "I've seen what can happen. I've . . ."
David's face grew hard. "Joshua Raines will never again use naïve young men."
"Josh?" Daniel gasped as his jaw dropped in surprise. "You . . . you know about Josh?"
"He hurt you deeply. He will never hurt you, or anyone else, again."
"What . . .?"
"Daniel, it is best that you do not know. All I will tell you is that Mrs. Joshua Raines will never be a mother." He pushed open the door to the cabin and looked icily at Daniel. "Unless it involves artificial insemination."
Once inside the cabin, David settled himself at the small desk, examined the certificate, and then turned to regard Colin. "And now we begin," he said. "Please sit down, Colin."
Colin sat on the Commanding Officer's bunk and looked evenly at David. There was no fear in Colin's eyes and he seemed, almost peaceful. David cleared his throat and said quietly, "I am about to begin the process of inducting you into the Order. Before we begin, however, I must ask if you are willing to become a Knight. If you are in any way in doubt, then speak those doubts now. You must answer of your own free will."
Colin thought carefully. "You are asking a great deal. What if I don't want to become a 'knight'? I have my entire life ahead of me, a career, if not in the Navy, then certainly in my chosen discipline. How do I know that if I become a knight my membership won't become public?" He waved his arm in the general direction of the cabin door. "Out there, in the real world, gays are abominations. If my true nature were revealed I could be thrown in cells, dishonourably discharged and probably be spurned by my family. You ask a great deal, sir."
David nodded. "First, your membership will never be revealed to anyone outside of the Order, and unless you make it known, few of the other Knights will know. I understand your fears, but in 800 years no knight of the Order has ever been 'exposed' to public scrutiny." David reached out and placed his hand on Colin's knee. "What you must know is the Order has many friends and the whole purpose of the Order is to ensure the safety and well-being of those of the Brotherhood. Everything possible will be done to protect you."
Colin snorted. "I thought that I was the one being asked to do the protecting! That crazy old cook threatened me with the wrath of the gods!"
Daniel, who was still reeling from the information David had imparted about Josh, swallowed hard, and whispered, almost to himself, "Pray God you never know such wrath!"
David glared angrily at Daniel and returned to look benignly at Colin. "I know the difficulties, Colin. I am not of the Brotherhood, but I do know! I want to see a world where you, and those like you, can live and work in peace, without fear of bigots and zealots. A world where a man . . ." David emphasized the word " . . . can serve Queen and Country with honour and respect. And I think you want the same thing, else you would not have been asked to become the Custodis Principum, the Guardian of Princes."
Colin blushed deeply. "I want to do it, I really do. But, damn it, at what cost? At the end of the day will I echo Kipling and declare that 'If blood be the price of Admiralty, Lord God we ha' paid in full'?"
Sighing, David seemed to stare off into space. "I wish I could tell you that there will be no 'blood' paid. I can't. I only know that the games afoot, the code word calling Lieutenant Bradley-Smith and myself to duty has been sent and that you are to be appointed the Guardian. Beyond that I am just as much in the dark as you are."
Daniel, recalling David's remarks concerning Josh, spoke up. "A Bar of Justice has been called," he said quietly. "At the end of the day someone will pay for his sins with his life."
Colin started and stared, gaping at the young doctor. "You can't mean . . ."
"He can and does," offered David somewhat coldly. "Those who transgress against the Order, and its members, pay a heavy price for their transgressions. That, however, is not yet your concern, or mine, or the doctor's. All that is asked of you is that you become the Guardian of Princes. You will be expected to cherish him and protect him, with your life if necessary. You have already agreed to become the Guardian. However, in the interest of fairness you are now given the opportunity to reconsider that decision. If you decline, so be it. The Order will formally apologize for any inconvenience it may have caused you. The matter will be closed and never discussed again."
"In other words, you'll cut your losses and I'm out in the cold . . . forever!" retorted Colin angrily.
David was not impressed or intimidated by Colin's reaction. "You will be a free agent, to do as you please, with whomever you please. You will return to your former life and nothing will be done to assist or curtail you. What happens . . . happens. The Order will not interfere in any way."
"And my relationship with . . . Phantom?"
"Colin, your private life is your business. Phantom's private life is his business. The Order will not encourage any relationship, but by the same token it will not actively deter such a relationship. I will not deny that any relationship between you and Phantom will be discouraged but the Order will certainly appoint a new Guardian."
Colin buried his face in his hands. Then he looked up at David. "You cannot know how deeply in love I am with Phantom. You cannot know how I feel, what I want, what I need. Hell, just walking along a beach with him is enough to send me into heaven! Can you understand that?"
"I think I can," interjected Daniel. "You're in love but at the same time you're afraid. Please, Colin, the Order will always be there for you, and for Phantom. I can read between the lines just as well as the next man." He sat down beside Colin and put his arm around the younger man's shoulder. "Colin, I've been there. I know exactly how you feel, and what you fear. I've lived, am living in the shadows. Lieutenant Clayton can never understand how we feel because he is not gay. He can sympathise, but he can never understand." Daniel squeezed Colin affectionately. "Sooner or later we, and that includes you and every gay man and woman in the county, are going to have to make a stand. Our day is coming. I believe that and also believe that the Order will help us to make that stand, to help us raise our heads and say, 'Fine, I'm gay. I'm also just as good as the next man, probably better, and I am not going away!' We cannot let fear of what could happen influence our thinking, our determination. It's fish or cut bait time, Colin."
David, amazed at Daniel's declaration of bottom, gaped, recovered and asked, "Acceptasne nominationem?"
Nodding, and after giving Daniel a brief smile, "Yes. I accept." Daniel whispered urgently in Colin's ear. Colin shrugged and said to David, "Accepto."
"Without hesitation? Of your own free will?"
"Damn, I've said it. I will profess that I am gay, that I am homosexual, whatever term you wish to use!" snarled Colin sharply.
Chuckling, David replied. "Well, Chef did say that you had the lip on you of a Belfast tinker. I can well believe it!"
Daniel snickered. "And balls of brass!" He regarded Colin. "You've made the right choice, I think."
"I'm glad you do!" replied Colin. He liked this young doctor and his usual gentle character caused him to reach out his hand. "Thanks."
"Not necessary," said Daniel. His tone was light, almost deprecatingly so, for he was a properly raised young gentleman in all respects, who recognized a kindred spirit. He rose to his feet, took Colin's hand and shook it firmly. Then he looked at David Clayton. "What happens now?"
"Quite a bit, actually," replied David. He consulted his papers. "I will report to the Grand Master, who will issue a Special Remainder to the Rule - sort of like a codicil to a will - and a ceremony will be held. Basically you will be knight and receive your appointment as Custodis Principum."
"When will that happen?" asked Colin. "I'm due to fly home tomorrow, if the Movements Office hasn't screwed up. Chef told me that I was to go about my business and wait."
"Your waiting is over." David picked up one of the pieces of paper spread across the small desk. He frowned and then smiled. "My, but you are highly thought of."
"Pardon?" David looked at Daniel, a confused look on his face. Daniel shrugged and nodded toward David.
"As soon as I confirm your acceptance, which I will do as soon as I can find a telephone, your orders will be changed. Some time today you will be seconded to Naval Intelligence, in 'the interest of the Crown', and assigned to special duties with that Branch. Actually you will be sent to Comox to be with your charge."
"Phantom."
"Yes. You will serve at the pleasure of the Queen, which means nobody in Ottawa can touch you. Your job will be to take care of that little green-eyed, jug-eared monster, who has decided to go on a trip." David chuckled wryly. "You might want to pack a jockstrap and cup in your kit bag."
"I always do," returned Colin. He could not help smiling at David's appraisal of The Phantom. Lieutenant Clayton might be uninformed as to what their future held, or even what their present held, but he had certainly met Phantom at some point in time! "Do you have any idea what sort of a trip?"
Shrugging, David continued. "Not a clue . . . yet. I'll know more when I make my telephone call." He looked at Daniel. "You're to accompany Lieutenant Arnott. Pack your tin hat."
"What?" Daniel yelped. "But . . . but . . . what about the hospital, my duties . . . I'm . . ."
"You are wasted there," David said sharply. "And you are needed in Comox." He returned to Colin. "You are to be outfitted properly, as becomes the Custodis Principum, Hereditary Earl Marshall and Duke of Lausanne and Aquitaine."
"Who?" Colin and Daniel asked together.
"You," David replied, pointing at Colin. "You will be issued Letters Patent in due time. A Special License will also be issued making you a Professed Knight of Grace and Devotion. Very high honours indeed."
"Indeed," muttered Daniel, who was simply a Professed Knight.
David smiled. "Do well, and honours will follow, Doctor," he said casually. He indicated a formal looking document. "Sign this, please."
"What is it?" asked Daniel.
"A Writ of Sponsorship," explained David. "Colin needs three sponsors. Chef has signed, I have signed."
"And I'm the hat trick," responded Daniel. He signed the Writ and grinned at Colin. "Somehow I believe I will never regret sponsoring you."
"I promise you won't," replied Colin.
David began stuffing the various bits and pieces of paper back into his briefcase. "Now that's done, it's time for the Gieves Man."
Once again Colin looked at Daniel querulously. "What has he got to do with my being a Knight?" he asked.
"Nothing," replied David. "He is however the man who will begin your outfitting. The Grand Master prefers that his Knights be properly dressed and to that end you will be fitted for a proper uniform - several actually. Gieves will supply a ready made uniform for the time being, and measure you for your tailored duds."
"Who are the other two civilians? More 'Gieves Men'?" Daniel asked.
"Hardly. Gieves will supply the naval uniforms and equipment. The man from John Lobb will measure your feet for your new shoes and boots, and the man from Ashley's will provide shirts, collars, socks and underpants. Later, when there is time, Henry Poole will build you some new suits."
"God, it sounds as if you're providing me with a dowry!" exclaimed Colin, bemused at the Order's largesse.
"I suppose, in a way, we are. You represent the Order when you appear with the Prince. You can't go about looking as if you've just crawled out from under a bridge!"
"I didn't think I did," returned Colin, who had always dressed well, if economically.
"You will also need a sword," said David.
"I have one," replied Colin. Then he added, needlessly, "It was a gift." Colin looked questioningly at David. "Naval officers don't wear swords, though."
David feigned surprise. "Oh? Well, Royal Navy Reserve officers do."
"I'm not a RNR," returned Colin, wondering what was coming next.
"Didn't I mention it?" asked David blandly. "You are an Honourary Lieutenant in the RNR, courtesy of the Second Sea Lord, Sir John Stephens, VC, etc. You are also an Extra AdeC to him. He's sending along his aiguillettes for you to wear. On your left shoulder, remember. You can switch over if Her Majesty approves your appointment as an Honourary Equerry." He waved his hand dismissively, ignoring the startled look on Colin's face. "But then, that is down the road." He turned to Daniel. "And you haven't been forgotten, my lord Count."
"My lord what?" yelped Daniel.
"Didn't I mention it?" responded David, being deliberately obtuse.
"No, you didn't!" rumbled Daniel, most uncharacteristically.
"Well, you can hardly attend the Queen as a mere Honourary Surgeon, or function as Deputy to the Surgeon in Ordinary, as a mere commoner, can you?" A small smile played at the corners of David's lips. "You have been awarded Letters Patent as Count of Stolberg in Hesse. No 'Serene Highness' for you, but then, what the hell, you can't have everything. Now, where is that telephone?"
Michael Chan listened carefully, nodded, and silently returned the telephone receiver to its cradle. He glanced at Joe Hobbes, who was sitting in the chair in the corner. With the Major and Patrick Tsang away in Hong Kong, Joel busy on his new toy, and Gabe Izard mourning the sudden death of his brother and, Michael suspected, lover, Michael was relying more and more on the tall, dark, handsome Joe Hobbes. Not that Michael was complaining. Far from it for Joe was a calm, careful litigator and a meticulous investigator. His insight had proven invaluable and Michael had found himself not missing Laurence at all. He did wonder what Laurence was doing, sneaking about the dark forests with young Logan Hartsfield in tow. Michael had not heard a word from his youngest staff member.
There had been sightings by the Outside Security Force, and evidence of at least one camp, carefully overhauled and, to the layman's eye, carefully hidden. That the clandestine burrows had been identified was no reflection on Laurence's abilities. He had been away from his training for a long time, after all, and the OSF was composed of ex-SEALS, Green Berets, SAS and Royal Marine Commandos. Laurence's expedition was a learning experience both for himself and young Logan, who was to be Laurence's protégé. Michael smiled softly at the thought of the debriefing that would follow Laurence's playtime in the park. Michael did hope, however, that Laurence would see fit to come in from the cold soon. His expertise was needed.
Joe Hobbes was a fine young administrator, but he had not been in the Order long enough to absorb the need, and the experience, that the little nuances of ceremony brought to the Order. Michael doubted that there was time to teach the younger man. "Have the Rolls that we sent to Victoria continue on to Comox," Michael instructed. "I would also like Clayton and Bradley-Smith to accompany our new Guardian."
Joe nodded and made a note on the small yellow notepad on his lap. "You will also go?"
Michael nodded. "Yes. I think the occasion demands the presence of the Grand Master." He rose and indicated the door. "Accompany please."
They took the lift down to the sub-basement, the most secure area in the mansion where the security offices were, and, as Joe would shortly discover, the Order kept its most precious treasures. Neither man noticed that the armed security guard, who normally sat outside of the main control room, was missing.
Michael stopped in front of the door leading to the Gold and Silver Store. Here Michael's personal collection of gold and silver artefacts, which graced his dining table and occasionally the tables of the Order, were kept, each piece lovingly maintained by a member of the staff with the grandiloquent title of "Yeoman of the Gold and Silver Plate".
The door to the Gold Store had barely snickered shut when the door opposite, which held the crystal and china that was used upstairs, opened slowly. A head, the face hidden under a black balaclava, popped out, smiled evilly and then popped back in. Presently the door opened and two figures, one tall and slim, the other tall, but heavier built, and both clad in black coveralls, their features hidden under their black balaclavas, entered the long, silent hallway.