Knights of Aurora

The Knights of Aurora is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead is entirely coincidental in nature, and the story as it unfolds is not meant to accurately reflect the opinions or conduct of persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas described.

The Aurora series are works of homoerotic fiction and contain scenes of sexual activity between consenting teenage boys and men. If reading or possessing such material is prohibited by local, state, or provincial law, or if you are not of legal age (18 or 21) to read or possess such material, I will not tell any reader not to follow his or her interests and instincts. I am required to warn potential readers of the content of my works. Consider yourselves warned.

The series is set in 1976 Canada. As such the social mores, traditions and practices might be offensive to the new age reader. I cannot and will not change the past to pander to modern fancy or foible. If you are looking for a fable filled with modern fetishes, you are asked to move on. The road is long and filled with stories.

I also strongly urge readers that the series is set in a time and place before AIDS. "Safe sex" in 1976 meant using a rubber so you didn't get your girlfriend preggers. Safe sex has a much deeper meaning now, and I urge everyone to practice it always.

The Aurora Series is copyrighted by the author and may not be downloaded or posted on any site, except for personal enjoyment, without the author's written permission.

Thanks to all who wrote regarding the "Lost Trails" note. Unfortunately, no one has seen or heard of the stories I mentioned beyond what has already been posted in Nifty or elsewhere. I shall keep on looking, however.

I apologise to Jay who wrote asking about the number of chapters there will be in "Knights". I have a problem with Outlook Express and all I had was his name, and not his e-mail address! Anyway, Jay, I can't tell you how many chapters there will be. I have a general idea in my mind of what the story will be like. I then sit down at my computer and pound away. It could be ten chapters or it could be thirty chapters. It depends on what I dream up as I go along.

A special thanks to Peter, whose expertise has helped make this chapter better.

The Knights of Aurora

Chapter 9

The Phantom and Alex stepped through the gates in the long brick wall and saw that they had entered a world just as ordered and beautiful as the one they had left. In the near distance stood the Orangerie, a large white building in the classical style, which housed a large swimming pool. Between the arcaded, double Corinthian columns the huge, arched windows, which reached from the flagstone terrace to the roofline, were open, giving the building the appearance of an open-air pavilion.

Around the building, and stretching to the low brick wall fronting the Maidan, were formal gardens filled with flowers and shrubs. Aside for some ducks waddling importantly across the lawns and the small group of men gathered on the flagstones in front of the Orangerie, the place seemed deserted. It also, The Phantom remarked, looked as if it were a page out of one of the classier home and garden magazines.

Alex chuckled. "Well, given the number of people who live here, I am a little surprised." Then he added, "But I think Michael told them to make themselves scarce."

The Phantom gave Alex a dark look. "Why?" he asked. "Is he afraid we'll contaminate them?"

Alex's face tightened. "Not that I know of," he said presently. "I've never seen any of his family, and he only visits once or twice a year at most." He squared his shoulders. "You have to understand that the Order is not Michael's only interest . . ."

The Phantom stared relentlessly at Alex. "I know what Michael Chan does, Alex."

"Then you know that he cannot put his family in harm's way. He stays away to protect them." He held out his hand and placed his hand on The Phantom's forearm. "There is a very real danger."

Using his other hand, The Phantom lightly touched Alex's restraining hand, nodded and said slowly, "I know.

"Sir, you should also know that while Michael Chan plays by the rules, others do not," responded Alex. "There are ruthless men who will kill anyone, at any time, to get to Michael Chan."

At first The Phantom was tempted to dismiss Alex's words as histrionics. He knew enough about Michael's businesses to know that there was danger. But . . . Seeing the hard look on Alex's face, The Phantom asked, "You're serious, aren't you?"

"As a heart attack," responded Alex. He waved his arm slowly, the gesture encompassing the group on the terrace and the grounds. "Looks calm and peaceful, doesn't it?" he asked.

The scene did look calm and peaceful. Mark, Tony, Tyler and Val were sitting with Ned Hadfield, who had changed from his suit into shorts and the most hideous Hawaiian shirt that The Phantom had ever seen. Laurence was talking shop with Andy, while nearby Kyle sprawled in a lounge chair, fast asleep. Nearby Two Strokes and Thumper were pestering their minders, Dino Antonelli and Rob Jones. Both men were ex-SEALS and the two cadets wanted to hear some war stories. At the far end of the Orangerie, nearest the wall, Brian sat talking quietly with Logan. From inside the wide, tall, Orangerie came the whoops and catcalls of boys swimming and enjoying themselves.

"Everything seems normal," observed The Phantom.

"Look again," replied Alex. He nodded to where Drew Larsen, Ray's minder seemed to be lounging carelessly. At his feet was a brown athletic bag. Further along Walt Galloway stood with arms folded, seemingly taking in the scenery. The Phantom's keen eyes did not fail to notice that an identical bag to Drew's was at Dave's feet.

Looking around, The Phantom saw Pat Ives and Dave Edge, the Twins' minders, walking along the gravel drive that led to the wrought iron gates of the estate. He also saw, in the deep shadows of the Orangerie, in silhouette, the outlines of Neil Prentice, Joe Kent and Adam Sheridan.

Seeing the awed look on The Phantom's face, Alex said quietly. "Each protection officer is armed with a handgun - I use a Browning. Those bags you see have an Ingram inside, with plenty of ammunition."

"Hell and sheeit," whispered The Phantom. "You're carrying?"

Alex nodded. "In a fanny holster." He reached around and lifted the back of his shirt to show The Phantom the handle of his weapon. "It's very uncomfortable," Alex complained, "and the fore sight scratches your ass!" He gave The Phantom a winning smile. "I also have to wear boxers."

"What's wrong with boxers?" The Phantom asked, Alex's nonchalant attitude surprising him.

"Nothing, except I'm a briefs man," returned Alex. "Nothing like a pair of tighty whiteys to give a man that sense of security . . ."

The Phantom's laughter floated across the lawns as he exclaimed, "Tighty whiteys! The Twins will love that!"

Alex's face clouded. "I'm glad you're taking this seriously," he said.

"Oh, I am," replied The Phantom. "But Alex, you have to admit that it is funny! One minute you're being deadly serious and showing me your fanny . . . holster and the next your complaining about your undies!"

Alex ducked his head and chuckled. "Okay, I get the point." Then he was serious again. "But, sir, please, don't . . ."

The Phantom held up his hand. "Alex, first of all, I want you to call me what the guys call me, please?" Alex nodded and The Phantom continued. "I do realize the importance of what you, and the other men are doing." He sighed expressively. "But I don't have to like it." Then he looked pointedly at Alex. "Colin is my, 'Guardian'. Is he going to be armed?"

"I don't know," replied Alex honestly. "I expect he will be."

Before he realized what he was saying, The Phantom blurted out, "Well he better not bring it to bed! I am not sharing my bed with a . . ."

Alex laughed so hard he got stomach cramps. As he wiped the tears of laughter from his face he gave The Phantom a searching look, but said nothing. The Phantom saw the look. He was very embarrassed, but then he thought that Alex was going to be more or less a part of Colin's and his lives for the foreseeable future and would sooner or later find out the true nature of their relationship. Alex wasn't stupid, after all.

Grinning sheepishly, The Phantom sniggered. "Yeah, Alex, it's true."

Alex shrugged. "Your business," he said presently. He did not mean to, but his words came out in a slightly disapproving tone.

The Phantom bristled. "Yes, it is," he said with cold formality. Then he added, "And don't knock it unless you've tried it!"

Alex's jaw dropped. "Hey, um . . . sir . . . Phantom, I didn't mean anything! I swear to God, I didn't mean anything!"

The Phantom realized that Alex meant every word he said. "I know you didn't. Sometimes I get too sensitive about how I feel. It's really nobody's business, but a lot of people seem to have nothing better to do than to stick their noses in other people's business!" He reached out and placed a hand on Alex's shoulder. "I apologise, Alex."

"You don't need to," responded Alex. A slow smile formed on his face. "I'm beginning to understand why Michael thinks so highly of you and why he plans on naming you the Prince of the Order." Before The Phantom could reply, Alex looked crestfallen. "Shit! I wasn't supposed to tell!"

"Tell what?" asked The Phantom. "Does this have anything to do with Patrick calling me an 'Imperial Highness'?"

Alex scuffed the grass with the toe of his shoe, acting like a six-year-old caught peeing in the bushes. "Tomorrow night, before the dinner, there's to be some kind of a ceremony." He looked at The Phantom and whispered, "I have to wear white tie, whatever the hell that is! And all my medals!"

"I am sure you will look very handsome, Alex," replied The Phantom with a snicker.

Folding his arms across his chest, Alex stared at The Phantom. "Thanks a lot!"

"You're welcome," returned The Phantom. "How many medals do you have?"

"Enough," said Alex. "And I don't have any of them here. I left them back home, with the cows."

"You gave your medals to the cows?"

Alex's started and his eyes flared. "Of course not!" he exclaimed. "My dad has them, in a case. It's hanging on the wall in his den." Then he added sourly, "Not that most of 'em mean anything. They handed 'em out with the rations."

The Phantom chuckled. "My dad says the same thing." Then he added, "But I think that if you were awarded a medal, you deserved it. Maybe Michael can, you know, arrange for them to be sent up."

Alex snorted. "Naw, it's okay. My dad likes to show off to his buddies." Then Alex's face clouded slightly. "There is one, though, that I would like to have kept."

"It must be important," said The Phantom.

Alex looked embarrassed. He didn't like to brag. "Well, it's, um, it's the Medal of Honor."

The Phantom's eyes grew wide. "The Congressional Medal of Honor?" he squeaked.

"Yeah." Then Alex added, "I prefer the proper form, 'Medal of Honor'. It makes me feel that I received something from my brothers, and not a bunch of scheming politicians."

"Oh, Alex, how very proud I am to have you as my minder!" exclaimed The Phantom. He gave Alex an impulsive hug. "Hell and sheeit, I never met a Medal of Honor hero!" He smiled and smiled, his green eyes flashing. "Wait until I tell Colin! What did you do?"

Much to The Phantom's surprise, Alex's face darkened. "I . . . don't like to talk about it."

The Phantom had been to enough Remembrance Day Services to know that the true soldiers and sailors never talked about what they had done and always insisted that the real heroes were the boys who hadn't come home. The Phantom reached out and held Alex close, his warmth giving the older man the courage he needed.

"It . . . happened at Khe Sanh," Alex whispered.

"Where you got the Medal?" asked The Phantom as he drew away from Alex.

"No . . . uh, yeah, I earned the Medal for what I did there, but something else happened."

Taking Alex's arm, The Phantom led him a little away from the gathering outside the Orangerie. They settled against the red brick wall. Alex clasped his hands and then hugged his knees. He was looking toward the Orangerie, but not seeing it, or the swimmers, or the minders.

"I was 18," began Alex. "Fresh out of Parris Island and they sent me to Khe Sanh! My first tour and I end up in the middle of the Tet Offensive!" He looked at The Phantom and a tear began to course its way down his cheek. "I wasn't drafted! I enlisted because I believed in what the government, what America, was doing.

"We were young and dumb! We believed. We didn't ask questions, we just went, like the Spartans." A long, caustic laugh escaped Alex's lips. "Spartans! In 1966 a grunt named Rudy Jaramillo - he was with the 2nd of the 12th US Cavalry - wrote: 'Oh, Stranger, Go tell America that here we lie, obedient to her orders!'" Alex's eyes grew darker. "I believed, I was a patriotic American, I was obedient to America's orders and the bastards used that patriotism and lied to me!"

The Phantom could do nothing but nod his agreement. He had heard the same anger, and felt the same sense of betrayal many times before when talking to The Gunner, when he heard the stories Chef told. He said nothing, for Alex needed to talk.

"We were sent to Khe Sanh. The brass said it was to draw the gooks into a final, definitive battle." He laughed a harsh, disparaging laugh and shook his head. "We'd draw them in and that would end the war. They said the VC couldn't put big guns in the hills. They lied. They said the VC and the NVA was a broken reed, just waiting to be knocked off. Lie after lie after lie!"

Alex smashed his fist into the smooth, manicured grass. "We were there from January to June and for 76 fucking, miserable, days of those six months we were under siege! We had hardly set up when the guns and mortars started. Day after day after day. They got the ammo dump, they knocked out the airfield we'd built." He shuddered involuntarily. "There were rats - the biggest goddam rats you ever saw. We all but had to bunker up just to go to bed! Nothing we did got rid of 'em. I killed one once, and a hundred of the fuckers showed up for the funeral! We lived in bunkers filled with mud and human shit! We were shit! Cannon fodder for some fucked up general's dreams of glory!"

The whole story of the war in Vietnam had yet to be told, and The Phantom could only sympathise. The media stories were biased against the war, as they always were, and The Phantom distrusted the talking heads and roving journalists . . . his thoughts dripped with venom at the word . . . that reported the war. He was now hearing what he knew to be the truth.

"The politicians in Washington wouldn't let the military do what needed to be done," Alex went on. "So we died, and to no purpose."

"You're still alive, Alex," replied The Phantom softly.

"Yeah, I am," growled Alex as he wiped away his tears. "But no thanks to the generals. They were nothing but a bunch of REMFs, sitting in Saigon in their air-conditioned offices and going home every night to their villas." He all but spat, "Fucking bastards!" He looked deeply at The Phantom. "We were on our own. We had to look out for each other, to take care of each other and we did." Then he sniggered and shook his head. "Only not the way I thought we would."

The Phantom's eyes grew slightly wider. "Did you, um . . ." He willed himself not to ask the question.

Alex knew what The Phantom was hesitant to ask. He would answer, but in his own way. "We got off the plane and walked right into Hell! We didn't have a clue about what we were getting into and then . . . well, no matter. Anyway, after we all realized that we were on our own, guys, the grunts, the ones in the boonies, they got . . . close. I got close, and I sometimes think that frightened me more than the gooks!"

The Phantom knew enough about the military's policy toward gays to know that Alex had ample reason to be frightened.

"I don't know to this day how it happened, or why," Alex was saying. "It just did. I shouldn't have been surprised because, well, guys were together all around me." He laughed. "They didn't advertise it, but damn, all I had to do was to look for the little things, to know."

"The little things?" asked The Phantom.

With his eyes sparkling, Alex turned and nodded at The Phantom. "The little things. Things like, two guys, who share a hooch, are out piling sand bags, or maybe piling rat boxes. One will stop and just look at the other guy and his eyes will soften and a little smile will come on his face. Sometimes they'd be walking together and one would just sort of touch the other - not on the ass, or anything like that, just a little touch, on the arm, the shoulder. Sometimes it was the way they looked at each other when we were sitting around shooting the shit." He smiled kindly. "Sort of the way you look at Lieutenant Arnott - Colin."

"It's shows?" asked The Phantom, his slight colouring giving a hint of his embarrassment. He had thought that Colin and he had been so very careful.

"You don't really know that you're doing it," explained Alex. "But you do and sometimes people notice. It's a look in your eyes, or his, a little gesture, like I said, the little things."

"I thought you'd figure us out, just not this soon," countered The Phantom.

Laughing and shaking his head, Alex replied, "Hey, I should know because I ended up doing the same thing."

"You did?"

"I did. Like I said, I was 18 and shit-scared. So was he. Charlie was in the hills and you couldn't run from bunker to bunker without some sniper taking a shot at you. The 120s and mortars were coming in all the time, especially at night. It was - you got so scared that you just had to reach out and hold somebody, and he had to hold you. At first it was just us, you know, trying to comfort each other, to help each other just get through the fucking night! We were living in muck, it rained all the time and we were wet and cold and tired and hungry. We needed each other!"

Alex was smiling now. "It just happened. We were holding each other and the hooch, the bunker was shaking from the shelling and he kissed me. He was crying, so afraid of dying and he needed me." Alex's pale blue eyes gazed at The Phantom. "I hope you're never that scared."

The Phantom smiled slowly. He remembered the night of the big storm, the night when he and Randy and Joey had truly bonded. The night he had become an "Honourary Big Brother." But he said nothing.

Seeing The Phantom's wistful smile, Alex asked, "Was it something I said?"

"Was just thinking," replied The Phantom. "I've never been that scared, but once, there was a bloody great storm and . . ." He stopped. Now was not the time for spinning a dip. "I'll tell you about it later." He regarded Alex a moment and then said, " Wasn't part of your fear really over the fact that you were . . . in love?"

Alex's eyes flared briefly and then returned to their normal, soft, glow. The Phantom had been honest with him, and Alex could be no less. "Understand, Phantom, until Khe Sanh, I'd never fooled around with another guy, never even considered fooling around with another guy." He laughed and pumped his right and slowly up and down. "That's all the sex I'd ever had!" Then his face grew soft. "But, yeah, I fell in love, if worrying every time he went out on the line, rigid with fear that he wouldn't come back, if that was being in love, then I was in love. If feeling warm and wanted just sitting beside him was being in love, then I was in love. I used to wake up sometimes and just lie there and listen to him breathing, just feeling his body next to mine . . ."

"Tony and Val, who are Italian, would say that you were hit by the thunderbolt."

"So I was told," said Alex.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. One of the guys in the squad, he was Italian, from Queens, and he came up to me one day in the showers and slapped my ass and called me one lucky bastard 'cause he'd figured a paisan had more of chance of getting hit by a mortar round than the thunderbolt!"

"He was okay with it?"

Alex nodded. "Most guys, like I said, were too scared to give a shit. All they wanted was to do their time and get back to the real world. They all needed something, somebody to hold on to, and, like I said, I wasn't the only one." He glowered and ripped out a blade of grass. "Still, there were some, the cocksuckers, who couldn't, or wouldn't, understand." He looked at The Phantom. "NIS makes house calls, did you know that?"

"NIS?"

"The Naval Investigative Service. There we were, in the middle of a fuckin' siege, with Charlie throwing everything at us, and two mopes from NIS showed up. Somebody had reported our Corpsman for being a little iffy, if you know what I mean."

The Phantom's green eyes darkened. "All it takes is a word," he murmured. "What did you guys do?"

"The Sarge looked at the agents and handed each of them a rifle and a flak jacket. He said that if they were really lucky they might last longer than a Second Louie, which some joker at HQ had figured out to be about seven minutes. That's when I cocked my weapon."

Alex started laughing. "Jesus, Phantom, I never saw two guys dodge mortar rounds like they did! They spent all their time holed up in the AirOps bunker until they squeezed onto a slick and got the fuck out of there."

The Phantom joined in Alex's laughter and then, remembering the night on Texada Island when he had lain, swaddled in his blankets, listening as Andy Berg had bared his soul to The Gunner, remembering Andy's pain as he told, for the last time, what had happened between him and his Marty, asked as gently as he could, "Did your . . . friend . . . did something happen to him?"

"No," replied Alex with a shake of his head. "The Army launched 'Operation Pegasus. The 1st Air Cavalry Division, with the 1st Marines, the 13th Marine Artillery and the RVN 3rd Airborne attacked up Route 9 and we - the 26th Marines, attacked south. The siege was broken and we both got on a truck and headed down to Danang and a flight home. I had leave coming, and my time in-country was up, so I went back to the cows and he went back to his wife and kid."

"I'm sorry."

Alex shrugged. "It wasn't to be. He wanted me to come and visit, but I couldn't do it." He stood and brushed the seat of shorts. "We had something I never thought possible, but it was over. In a way, I guess, I was too afraid to go on with him. I didn't want to wreck his marriage, and I didn't want to be 'marked'. I thought that going home to the cows was the coward's way out, but the only way out - for both of us." He looked obliquely at The Phantom. "I lasted about three weeks. I wanted him, and he wanted me and I damned near went to him."

"But you didn't".

"No. We needed time to forget, and he needed time to come to terms with civilian life, with his wife, and his kid. When I reported back from leave I volunteered for a second tour in Vietnam. It wasn't easy, but I did it."

Rising, The Phantom placed his hand on Alex's shoulder. "You did the harder right," he said kindly. "You couldn't break up a family. Nobody will ever fault you for doing that." He began to slowly walk toward the house. "No one is asking you to be something you are not," The Phantom continued. He glanced obliquely at Alex. "And you're not the only one who fell in love with another guy . . ." He spoke with heavy emphasis, " . . .Only one guy."

Alex scratched his head. "Well, come to think of it, I never wanted to have sex with any other guy. Not before and not since."

The Phantom nodded. As a minder, Alex would see things, as would the other minders. He decided to clear the air about the others. "Alex, you see those boys standing outside the pool house?"

Alex looked and asked, "You mean the two red heads, the two with dark hair, and the lug with them?"

The Phantom chuckled. "Simply put, but yes."

"What about them?"

"Well, the skinny red head, the one in the yellow and back shorts - which are special, by the way, because they have a built-in pouch to hold your parts - is Randy Lowndes. The tall, skinny black-haired kid in the red and blue shorts is Joey Pelham. Randy and he are closer than brothers." He looked meaningfully at Alex. "If you know what I mean."

Shading his eyes, Alex nodded slowly. "I take your meaning."

"The 'lug' is Phil Thornton. He used to be a real dickhead."

Alex cocked an eyebrow. "Used to be? What happened?"

If it could be said that a seventeen-year-old teenager giggled, then The Phantom giggled. "Randy and Joey!"

Stopping in his tracks, Alex looked at Phil, then at Randy, then at Joey. "You're kidding!" he exclaimed.

"Well, I . . . um . . . I'm not sure of the details. I've heard some giggling and whispering between Randy and Joey and what I think happened is that Phil managed to talk one of the Fishing Fleet to come alongside in the bushes at the barbecue and . . ."

"Stop!" ordered Alex imperiously. He looked darkly at The Phantom. "I'm not one of you, remember? Fishing Fleet . . . barbecue . . . bushes?"

"Sorry, sometimes I get carried away," replied The Phantom sheepishly. Alex nodded his acceptance of The Phantom's unnecessary apology and The Phantom continued. "Okay, backing water at a rate of knots. Back in Aurora there aren't enough classrooms so the ship hired out the local high school - Highland High School, which I go to, not that it has anything to do with what happened to Phil - and the guys would eat lunch in the school cafeteria. The girls who serve there we call the Fishing Fleet because they're always fishing for cadets."

Pretending to be shocked, Alex rolled his eyes. "We had a 'Fishing Fleet' too, in Danang, outside of every base camp. They were fishing for piasters or better yet, good old Yankee dollars. The girls were very giving, so much so that the VD rate was something like one in four grunts going home with the gift that keeps on giving!"

Laughing, The Phantom said, "Well, most of the girls in Comox wouldn't give a guy anything but the time of day, but some did and, at the barbecue . . ." He saw Alex's eyes grow a little fiery and hurried on. "At the end of the Training Year there is a parade, the Passing Out Parade. Awards are handed out and medals . . ." In keeping with his retrospective and unassuming nature, The Phantom did not tell Alex that he had been awarded a huge piece of silver and two medals. " . . . And afterward there's a barbecue for all the cadets and guests, read the Fishing Fleet."

"Sounds to me like the Senior Prom," responded Alex glibly.

"In a way, it is," replied The Phantom, "only nobody wears a tux! There's dancing, and lots of food, and if Chef is in a good mood he smuggles some beer onto the beach and everybody has a good time." This time there was no pretence. The Phantom giggled. "Last year, Roger Home went down the beach with one of the girls and came back 'Two Strokes'."

With widening eyes, Alex drawled, "Two . . . strokes . . .?"

"Don't look at me, Alex, I didn't tell everybody in town the next day!"

"I didn't expect you would," replied Alex. "But I'm not surprised that once the other guys heard what happened they'd just have to tease him."

"Oh, they did more than just pull his pisser," said The Phantom. "They started calling poor Roger 'Two Strokes' and he's been that ever since!"

Alex held up both hands. "Now, don't tell me, this Phil, Phil Thornton, he did the dirty and is now 'Stud' or 'Horse Balls' or 'Super Dick'," he said.

"Ah, no," replied The Phantom with a shake of his head. He smiled widely. "There's no 'Stud', or 'Super Dick', unless you count Harry who owns the Pride of the Fleet. And Peter Race told me that the boys in his school back home called him 'Horse Balls' but I've never seen them so I can't comment."

"So what do you guys call Phil?" asked Alex, slightly exasperated.

"No Strokes!" proclaimed The Phantom with a huge belly laugh.

Alex's jaw dropped. "Wha . . .?"

Nodding vigorously, The Phantom continued gleefully. "Well, apparently Phil managed to talk one of the girls into taking a walk with him. One thing led to another and then, at the moment of truth, poor Phil let down the side - he shot off just as he was bout to get into her!"

A small light seemed to come on in Alex's brain. "Ah, the poor guy!" he exclaimed. Then he sobered and added, "That happens, sometimes, when it's a guy's first time."

"Anyway, she went off, pulling up her panties - if she was wearing any - and shorts, hooting and complaining about Sea Cadets not being able to cut the mustard, leaving poor Phil lying there."

The light grew brighter. "Enter Randy and Joey?" Alex asked.

"They're very good boys," responded The Phantom defensively. "Just a little too . . . inquisitive . . . for their own good."

Alex saw the look on The Phantom's face and nudged his new friend with his elbow. "Were they inquisitive with you, too?" He smiled, not quite lasciviously, but his smile finished his question.

"No, well, yeah, in a way," replied The Phantom, his face colouring. "There was this huge storm, almost a typhoon, and it was raining like a sonofabitch and I couldn't go home, so I bedded down in the Mess Hall lounge. It was thundering and lightning to beat the band, but I was dry, and warm and I was just dropping off when the door slammed open and in came Randy and Joey."

"The storm scared them," finished Alex. "You should see what a prairie storm does to the cows!"

"I'll pass," responded The Phantom dryly. "At least the cows don't crawl into your bed!"

"If one of them did I'd be out of it in a flash," responded Alex flatly. Then he asked. "So, there you were in bed with two scared kids, who were inquisitive?"

"Alex, you have a dirty mind," returned The Phantom archly. "And yes, I had two scared kids in my bed and they didn't get inquisitive." He ducked his head. "At least not then."

"We'll go there later. So, the kids were scared . . ."

"Randy more than Joey," said The Phantom sadly. "He lives on a farm and two years ago or more there was a tornado. We don't have them often, but when we do they're powerful. From what Joey told me Randy's mother managed to get him, and his brothers, into the storm shelter. She was just about to get in when a piece of the barn hit her and the wind carried her away."

"She died?"

"Yes. They found her a few days later. Randy has been terrified of storms ever since."

"Poor kid," said Alex, shaking his head. "We've been lucky back home, no tornados."

"So you see, I can sympathise with you, Alex, when you tell me about how frightened you were back in Khe Sanh. If Randy was any example, I hope I'm never that scared."

"You get over it, in time," replied Alex. "At least you think you do. Sometimes, when there's a thunderstorm, I have . . . nightmares."

"Randy does too. And he likes to be held close. He needs that touch of another human to make him feel safe."

"Which you did."

"Yes. That's the night I became his, and Joey's honourable big brother, and I've been paying for it ever since! Every time they get up to some deviltry they come to me for protection!"

"And you love it!" returned Alex with a grin.

Once again The Phantom smiled sheepishly. "Well, yes, I do."

"Does 'deviltry' include being inquisitive with you and Phil Thornton?" asked Alex with a chuckle.

"They weren't inquisitive with me," protested The Phantom. "At least not in the way you're thinking!"

"Well, what did they do?" asked Alex.

"They checked me out when I was sleeping!"

"They what?"

"Well, they admitted that after the storm died down and things got quiet they didn't have anything better to do, like feed the mouse . . ."

"What? What mouse?" demanded Alex loudly. "Where in the hell does a mouse come into this?"

Sniggering, The Phantom continued. "There was a mouse. He or she lived in the Dry Stores. Randy and Joey used to feed it whenever Chef's back was turned. The mouse wasn't around so they decided to check out my mouse!"

Alex broke into a fit of laughter. "Your . . . m . . . mouse!" he managed to choke out.

"It sounds better than calling it my dick, or my cock, or my pecker!" returned The Phantom primly.

More gales of laughter shook Alex. "Pecker! I haven't heard that since I went skinny dipping with my buddies back on the farm!"

"All of whom you no doubt checked out," sniffed The Phantom.

"Of course," replied Alex equably. Then he added, "And so did you. Everybody does it."

"Yeah," admitted The Phantom with a smile. "I guess I can't complain, though, because Randy and Joey waited until I was asleep and then they got inquisitive. They pulled down the front of my boxers and felt me a bit." He looked thunderous. "When they told me about it later they had the nerve to complain that I didn't get hard!"

"And they did the same thing to poor Phil?"

The Phantom shrugged. "They did something. As I said, the details are scarce, but this I do know. Something happened and Phil Thornton fell in love with Randy and Joey." He regarded Alex a moment. "When you were in Vietnam you never expected to fall in love with another man."

"I never expected to fall in love, period!" replied Alex firmly.

"But you did. Up until then you'd never fooled around with one of your buddies, never thought of having sex with another man, and probably would have been angrier than hell if someone had suggested that you would."

Alex nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I would have. But I did."

"As did Phil Thornton," said The Phantom. "Until he became involved with Randy and Joey he may have played around a bit, I don't know, but he was always yapping about girls, and what he wanted to do with them."

"Typical jock," growled Alex, who had not been a jock. "They talk a good fuck but all they ever get is what Mrs. Fist and her daughters give them!"

The Phantom, who had a jock brother, nodded his quiet agreement. Brendan was hung like a horse, and while he was always bragging about the quiff he'd managed to score, The Phantom had noticed that there never seemed to be any independent confirmation and that Brendan seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time spanking the monkey. "Well, jock or not, Phil has changed. As I said, don't know the details, but he's fallen deeply in love with Randy and Joey. He's like a mother hen. He keeps them from getting into too much trouble and from doing anything too outrageous . . ."

"Now I know whose little hands were up my shorts when we were playing soccer," complained Alex. But he was smiling. "Not that they found much!"

The Phantom laughed. "I'm sure they'll keep your secret, secret," he said. "But what I am trying to say to you is that Phil Thornton is in love with Randy and Joey only. He didn't fool around before they found him in the brambles, and if something happens he won't fool around after they've left. I wanted to warn you because they'll probably want to sleep in the same bed together."

"Sergeant Mosser will like that!" sniffed Alex, referring to Randy and Joey's minder. But he smiled as he said, "I'll give him a heads up." He looked searchingly at The Phantom and asked, "Phil is a professed knight?"

"Yes. He thinks that as he is totally in love with those two brats, and as he is having sex with them, it was the only thing he could be. He swore the truth, as he saw it."

"Which I have to do," said Alex.

"All you have to do is tell the truth," responded The Phantom. He waved toward the group sitting outside the pool house. "When you become a knight, they become your brothers. You can lie to yourself, but never to your brothers."

"Yeah, so I gathered," returned Alex sourly. "So I gathered."

As Alex and The Phantom reached the terrace and settled into chairs near the pool house, Colin emerged, towelling his muscular, smooth body. He saw The Phantom and flashed a brilliant, radiant smile. The Phantom greeted his love and briefly touched his hand against Colin's chest. Alex saw the love in The Phantom's green eyes, and the returning look of adoration in Colin's clear blue eyes.

As he watched Colin and The Phantom, Alex studied the younger man's guardian and lover. Colin Arnott was, Alex decided, a damned handsome young man. At six foot one, Colin had a smooth, well-sculpted chest set with two, round, aureoles around his nipples. His stomach was flat, his legs sculpted and firm and, except for the hair on his head, under his arms and on his legs, which glistened in the sunlight, and shone like the finest of spun gold, Colin was hairless. There was a wispy, blond treasure trail barely visible as it spread across his stomach from his navel and disappeared under the band of his dark blue swim shorts.

What struck Alex more, however, were Colin's fine features, his rosy cheeks, the peaches and cream complexion that the sun could never tan and mar. Colin was a finely proportioned man, although Alex could not fail to notice from the outline in the front of Colin's shorts, he would never win best in show.

But then, Alex reasoned, The Phantom did not love this man - and Alex was certain that they were in love - for the size of what hung between his legs. Colin was a special man, and The Phantom recognized this. The love between them was deeper, and more passionate, than mere sex. The Phantom, Alex decided, was a very lucky man.

Towelling the fine blond hair on his head, Colin sank into the wooden deck chair beside Alex and smiled. "So, are congratulations in order, then?" he asked.

Ducking his head, Alex shrugged. "I suppose so. Phantom thinks it a great honour. I do, too."

"But?" asked Colin, raising an eyebrow.

"I want to become a knight," replied Alex. "I want to stay with you, and Phantom." He saw the quizzical look on Colin's face and explained. "I've never known the closeness I feel when I'm with him, and you." He looked strangely confused. "Something deep inside me keeps telling me that my life is entwined with his. I felt it when he walked into the airport."

Colin lay back and slowly rubbed his chest. "Alex, it's not something I can explain. I wish I could. All I can say is that it has something to do with what he calls 'The Tapestry'. If he believes that you are a part of it, then you are, so you are under his spell." He grinned affectionately. "Which isn't so bad, you know."

"I didn't mean it would be," said Alex. His eyes scanned the flagstones, and peered into the pool house. "Are all of them a part of this 'Tapestry'?" he asked slowly.

Colin shrugged. "Now there you have me. All of the cadets, and Nathan Schoenmann, are. Kyle, Andy, Commander Stockman, the same. I am a part of it. You are now a part of it. Beyond that, only The Phantom knows."

"Do you believe it?" asked Alex seriously. "I mean do you really believe it?"

Colin's face smoothed and his eyes brightened. "Yes. Like you, I knew it the minute I laid eyes on The Phantom." He smiled at Alex. "I was so sure that I knew I even put up with that fat old poop's nonsense!"

"Chef?" asked Alex. He grimaced slightly. "He certainly asks some very personal questions!" he said stiffly.

Colin's eyes widened. He knew what Alex was talking about. "He asked you?"

Alex nodded firmly. "He sure did!" Then he laughed. "I have admit that I never expected to be asked if I 'conformed in all respects to Article 26 of the Rule of the Order'! Hell, I didn't know what Article 26 was, and here he was asking me!"

"At least he didn't want to know the name of the doctor who circumcised you!"

"He didn't ask you that!" said Alex with a shocked gasp.

"Well, no, not really. But he was on his high horse and going on about how I had been chosen and I got lippy with him - I'm prone to that and Chef says I have the lip on me of Belfast tinker! Anyway, he pissed me off, so I told him, in detail!" He grinned impishly. "Only time I ever saw him at a loss for words!" he scrutinized Alex's face. "Did he go into his Leprechaun routine?"

Alex thought a moment. "Oh, you mean . . . well, he said I had the look on me of the Canon of Black Friars, whatever that is. I guess he means I look grumpy. I can't help that. It's the way I always look."

"You don't look grumpy, just overly serious," Colin assured Alex. He reached out and gave Alex's arm a reassuring pat. "Chef has decided that you're to be a knight. And Phantom has decided that you are a part of the Tapestry. You're stuck, Alex."

"Which is not so bad," Alex replied, matching Colin's smile. "Pete Sheppard won't like it though. We're short handed as it is and . . ." Alex's trained eyes, which had drifted over to a side door of the main house, caught some unexpected movement. He paused, and said, "Hello, what's this?"

Colin followed Alex's gaze. From the side door of the main house two figures had emerged. One was tall, a little short of five feet and a half. The other was a head or so shorter than the other. Both boys - and they were boys by their slim bodies and short haircuts - were clad in skin tight, black, Speedo trunks. They were also Chinese.

As the two boys drew closer Colin and Alex heard what appeared to be an argument in progress.

"Amah said we stay inside and study!" the shorter boy said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice associated with boys who had not reached puberty.

"Amah is a silly old woman who has nothing better to do than frighten little boys with ridiculous tales of Feng Shui and dragons under their beds!" returned the taller boy in a soft baritone.

"I am not a little boy!" snapped the shorter lad. "I'm 11 and I'm as big as you," he declared loudly. "I just don't have any hair around my winky like you do!" This he followed with a "So There, jerk!" look directed at the taller boy.

Colin leaned over and murmured to Alex, "Them's fightin' words!"

Alex ducked his head, trying to stifle his snickering. "Sure are!"

When they saw the group on the flagstone terrace looking at them, the Chinese boys stopped. The taller boy stared at Colin and Alex and the others. His face, his eyes, showed no fear, just a simple curiosity. The shorter boy sidled behind the taller, apparently frightened.

Before Colin could say anything The Phantom emerged from the shadows of the Orangerie. He saw the two boys and, smiling, instinctively held out his right hand. Then he remembered his wound, and quickly withdrew it. "Hi, I'm Philip Lascelles," he said, offering his left hand. "Sorry about that, but I have a cut. Have you come for a swim?" He had assumed, rightly, that the boys lived in the big house, and also that they might be - rightly - slightly ticked off at having their swimming pool usurped by strangers.

Somewhat surprised at the white boy's effusive greeting, the taller boy hesitated before reaching out to shake The Phantom's hand. "I am Alistair, Alistair Chan," he said formally as he shook The Phantom's hand. He nodded toward the shorter boy. "And this is Arden. He is my brother." He darted a glance toward the swimming pool where a riot of some kind seemed to have broken out. "We had thought of having a swim but . . ."

The din increased and The Phantom could hear the bellowing laughter. Over the noise came Nicholas's laughing voice. "Hey, Peter, Isaiah 34:23, first four!"

The Phantom knew that Nicholas, who as Yeoman of Signals had taken down the unfortunate signal Colin had sent, the signal that continued the honourable tradition of using Bible verses to convey a message. The Phantom also knew that Nicholas had been intrigued by the contents of the message, which in Biblical terms, including drinking from the wine of his pomegranate, declared Colin's love. Not being a student of the Bible, The Phantom had no idea what Nicholas was saying, though.

Alistair Chan did. He was studying for his confirmation and Bible study was mandatory. At first he looked stunned, then he looked shocked, and then he laughed.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded Arden. "What did he say?"

"Yes, what did he say?" asked The Phantom with small smile. If he knew Nicholas, whatever the verse said had to be good.

Alistair looked embarrassed. "Um, Isaiah 34, Verse 23, reads, 'Thy tacklings are loosed', at least in part and . . ."

At that moment Peter Race, naked, burst from the Orangerie, with an equally naked Jérémie Cher, howling imprecations and threats, chasing him. Seeing the naked young men thundering around the bulk of the Orangerie, Colin looked towards Heaven and asked, "Do we want to know what is going on?" From the other side of the open pool area came more shrieks and threats as Peter hurtled into the pool and all but swamped Joey and Randy, who were, for once, minding their own business. Jérémie Cher followed Peter, cannonballing into the crystal waters, swamping Randy and all but drowning Joey.

The Brats, being Brats, could not let the affront to their dignity go by. They also could not let such a golden opportunity slip away.

There followed several outraged bellows and both Peter and Jérémie Cher seemed to leap from the waters, scattering the other swimmers. The older boys glared, nodded to each other, and lunged at Joey and Randy, who had already begun swimming frantically toward the far end of the pool.

"You little bastards," howled Peter.

"Perverted little bastards!" added Jérémie Cher as he swam after the Brats. "When I get my hands on you . . ."

The rest of Jérémie Cher's threat went unuttered. At the deep end of the pool a hulking shadow loomed. An irate, hulking shadow.

Cory and Todd, who had, with a wisdom far beyond their years, moved to a neutral corner well away from the fray, rolled their eyes.

"Oh, shit . . ." began Todd.

" . . . It's Chef!" finished Cory.

Chef glared first at Randy, then Joey, and then lowered his thunderous brows at Peter and Jérémie Cher. "What is that you are doing, then?" he demanded loudly. "Faith, and I could hear you, squalling like the Bogside cats on the rooftops! Come away, the whole of you!"

"But Chef," squeaked Peter. "I'm naked!"

"Me too," whined Jérémie Cher. "Everybody will see . . ."

"Everybody has already seen your pitiful offerings," countered Chef. "Out, out, out! And explain yourselves, acting like Shankhill urchins begging scraps in the gutters! Sure and you are supposed to be young gentlemen! Out and explain yourselves!"

Arden, who had stepped from the shelter and protection of Alistair asked, his eyes wide, "Who is that?"

"That," said The Phantom with a shake of his head, "is Chef!" He wondered if Chef had packed his soup ladle, the big one, or his cleaver.

With great reluctance Peter and Jérémie Cher swam to the side of the pool and pulled themselves onto the decking. The other cadets scattered. Joey and Randy had swum to the shallow end and were trying to sneak away as unobtrusably as possible. Chef caught them.

"Oh no, ye spalpeens!" Chef bellowed. "Up to your tricks, so you are!" He rounded on Phil Thornton. "And are you not their keeper?"

"But Chef," protested Phil, "I can't keep my eye on them all the time! Besides, they were only swimming and Peter and Jérémie bombed them!"

On the terrace Colin sniggered. "This ought to be good," he said to The Phantom.

"I better go and see what the hell happened," returned The Phantom.

The Phantom did not have to go and see anything. Chef, waving his arms in outrage, pushed the four protesting cadets into the sunlight. He saw Alistair and Arden staring at him, and then at the cadets. He had no idea who the Chinese boys were, but was too much on a roll of outrage to stop.

"Look at the whole of you," he bellowed. "Stand up straight for the cadets you are! Look at you, Peter Race, as naked as the day you were born! And you, Jérémie Larouche, you are as bad, so you are!" He glowered in mock anger at the thoroughly embarrassed, blushing, naked cadets. "Did I not tell you that you are the gentlemen cadets of Aurora? Did I not say it?"

Jérémie and Peter nodded.

"And did I not also tell you that you are guests and to behave as such?" Jérémie and Peter nodded.

"And look at you! Waving your shortcomings all over the place! Is it Companions of the Order you are or barbarians?"

Alex, who could barely control his laughter, clutched the arm of his chair. The Phantom looked away, his green eyes dancing with silent laughter. Colin dared not open his mouth for fear of loosing the laughter swelling his chest.

"And you!" bellowed Chef. He scowled at Randy and Joey. "What did I tell you about . . .?"

Before either Randy or Joey could reply Alex blurted out, not being able to contain himself any longer, "Perhaps they were just being inquisitive, Chef."

Chef opened his mouth. Chef closed his mouth, glared evilly at Alex and growled low, "And I had such high hopes for you, young Alex Grinchsten! I see that it did not take you long to fall into the clutches of low company!" he finished with a sad shake of his head.

The Phantom, who wondered, briefly who were "low company", giggled. Chef glared at him and said nothing. He looked again at Peter and Jérémie. "Well," he demanded, "I am waiting!"

Arden, who had resumed hiding behind his brother as Chef bellowed, popped his head around Alistair's slim form again. "Their tacklings are loosed," he said with a giggle. Then, much to everyone's surprise, he added, "They are not sealed!"

The Phantom looked at Colin for an explanation. Colin had none.

Chef glared at the young Chinese boy. Then he looked at Jérémie and Peter. "Aye, and from the look of them 'they could not well strengthen their mast, they could not spread the sail.'"

Alistair's almond shaped eyes widened. He was very impressed.

The Phantom was also impressed. Colin, who had no idea that Chef was a man of many parts, noticed The Phantom's proud smile. "He knows the Bible?" asked Colin, his tone suggesting that Chef's literary endeavours never went beyond the contents of a cookbook or The Police Gazette.

"Chef is very well read," said The Phantom smugly. "He is quite the Renaissance Man!"

"Balls," muttered Colin.

Chef ignored Colin with a mutter about lippy tinkers and looked sternly at Peter. "Well?" he asked.

Peter squirmed. Standing around with everybody looking at your upper deck fittings was not something he enjoyed doing, especially when one of the "everybodies" was The Phantom. "I just wanted to play some water polo," he said weakly. "Honest."

Chef looked doubtful. "And then how, might I ask, do you explain where your drawers got to?" he asked, his smile misleading.

Peter shuffled a bit, "Well, um, you see, I was sort of bugging Harry and he . . ."

"Harry!" roared Chef. "I might have known!" His eyes searched the crowd gathered in the doorways of the pool house. "Where are you then, you great galumph, you sad excuse for a Knight! Come out, and be a man!"

Harry, who had been skulking around the corner, stuck out his head. "Yes, Chef?" he bleated.

"Come out, and don't be hiding like the Virgin of Derry!"

"Not anymore!" came Cory's chortling insult.

Chef's choler rose. He would deal with young Cory later. He looked deceptively calm as he spoke next to Jérémie. "And what happened to you?" he asked, his voice a whisper filled with danger. "Harry as well, was it?"

Jérémie, who had no desire to antagonize Harry, which could be dangerous to health and limbs and sundry hanging body parts, tried to play down the whole affair. "No, Chef, I, um I sorta stuck my nose in and Peter pulled down my trunks."

Chef grunted, thought about remarking that it was not Peter's nose that was drawing the attention of the two Chinese boys, but asked instead, "And where, then, are your swimming costumes?" He looked at Peter, and then at Jérémie. Both shrugged. Chef sighed and bellowed, "Harry!" which caused Peter and Jérémie to jump.

Harry, trying to look innocent, carefully walked out onto the flagstones. He had thus far managed to avoid Chef and his moods, and the old man's wooden spoon. He had no tearing great desire to meet the spoon anytime soon. "Yes, Chef?" he asked meekly.

"Do you know where these poor lambs' pants are?" Chef asked with deceptive sweetness.

Harry shuffled his bare feet and hung his head. "Well, they sort of ended up in the rose bush behind the pool house," he mumbled contritely.

Chef's eyebrows rose sharply. "And did they 'sort of' grow little feet and take refuge from the mayhem and massacre?"

Harry scrunched up his face, trying to fathom some explanation in Chef's remarks. The 'mayhem' Harry could understand. He was trying to figure out who had been massacred when Chef's growl broke his reverie.

"Well, what are you waiting for then? Standing about like the Monolith of Mount Taboor is not fetching their costumes, is it?"

"Um, no," replied Harry. He turned and hurried into the pool house.

Alistair was wondering how he had managed to find himself in the middle of this crowd of lunatics when he was conscious of Arden's impatient jerk on his arm. "What do you want?" he snapped.

"Amah said that we weren't to come to the pool because the Serenity had invited many great lords to use it," replied Arden, his eyes never leaving Jérémie and Peter. "How can they be great lords? They haven't been sealed and he looks like Cousin Tommy!"

Peter and Jérémie, much embarrassed, quickly covered their crotches. Both wondered who "Cousin Tommy" was, and which of them resembled him, and what in the hell "not sealed" meant.

"Be quiet," hissed Alistair. "You are embarrassing the Serenity's guests." He leaned closer and said quietly. "And you learned in Health class that not all whites are sealed. Cousin Tommy is Hong Kong, and they do not seal."

Alex, who had been listening with increased interest, sniggered. If 'sealing' meant what he thought it meant, then Peter and Jérémie were indeed in the outer darkness. He had seen enough to note that Peter, who had the largest clangers Alex had ever seen, was more fore with skin than anyone he had ever seen. The other lad, Jérémie, however, had been blessed in all departments, his sheathed penis hanging a good four, very thick inches and ending bluntly, with no definition at all, unlike Peter, whose sloping glans was clearly outlined under the long, pale, covering of skin that ended in a tight-looking, wrinkled tassel.

"I don't know which one looks like this Cousin Tommy," Alex muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Colin, "but I sure wouldn't like to see that one . . ." He nodded at Jérémie Cher's fundamentals, " . . . angry!"

Colin shuddered theatrically. "And I bet he could spread a full set of sail on his mast when it is!"

The Phantom gave them a disgusted look. He turned to Alistair. "We are guests of Michael Chan," he said, sidling over to effectively use his body to shield Peter and Jérémie.

Alistair regarded The Phantom, his obsidian eyes probing. He saw a tall, slim, green-eyed young man with darkish blond hair. He also saw something else, something he could not explain. The green eyes, staring back at him, seemed to see something that Alistair could not understand.

The Phantom saw a young man, with a smooth, high-cheeked face. Alistair's almond-shaped eyes were framed with long, black, silky lashes. His hair, straight and as black as night, was cut short - high and tight as the saying went. Alistair was a handsome, almost pretty boy, his face and body exemplary of the androgynous appearance all Chinese boys of his age seemed to have, when their prepubescent hormones were slowly giving way to the muscularity and masculinity of young manhood. The black Speedo that Alistair wore, the tight suit setting off his honey-coloured skin, hid little, and revealed that Alistair was indeed a fine, healthy male.

As his eyes returned to stare at Alistair, The Phantom saw something else, something that had nothing to do with the Order, or the Tapestry. Alistair was destined for something else, although he did not know it.

"You are related to Michael, I take it?" The Phantom asked slowly, probing, seeking confirmation of his thoughts.

Nodding, Alistair replied. "We are cousins, second cousins, actually. We are of his blood."

Arden's head started bobbing. "Our Poppy is the Serenity's cousin. Amah says that makes us Mandarins!" He giggled. Then he looked suspiciously at Peter and Jérémie who were thankfully pulling on their swimsuits. Alistair's hand on his shoulder told Arden to keep silent.

Alistair remained silent as well. His eyes continued to dart about, taking in all the young men and boys. They were, he thought, very important to the Serenity. Cousin Michael had given firm instructions that these guests were to be treated with great respect, that nothing was to be denied them.

While Arden had declared himself a Mandarin, it was apparent to Alistair that the young whites, the ferengis, were much more. They were of Imperial Rank, and the green-eyed Tai Pan was of the Imperial Family. What significance this was to him, and his family, Alistair did not know and, if past performance were any indication, he would never know, for the Serenity never spoke of his interests.

Sensing Alistair's doubts and concerns, The Phantom decided that it was time he learned more. "I am curious, and I mean no disrespect, but . . ." He turned to watch Peter and Jérémie return to the pool. "Why is it important?"

Alistair's face remained impassive. "We, Arden, my other male cousins, are sealed to the service of the Serenity." He carefully avoided using Michael's proper name. "He may call on us for a service, and because we have been sealed to him, we must give it."

"But you should see the presents!" Arden piped up. "Our newest cousin, Georgie, he got lots of stuff!"

Alistair gave his brother's shoulder a slight squeeze. "Arden exaggerates," he said.

"Ouch! And I don't!" returned Arden, making a face. He then, to everyone's surprise, fetched his brother's shin a hefty kick with the side of his foot. "Georgie got tons when he was sealed! So did you!" He made another face to his brother and then smiled impishly at The Phantom. "Uncle Lenny was ever so pleased."

"Uncle Lenny?" asked The Phantom.

"My father's brother," supplied Alistair. "George, or Georgie, as he is called, is Uncle Lenny's newest son."

"How many does he have?" asked Colin, frankly intrigued.

Alistair's eyes shifted to the handsome young man. "Uncle Lenny has four. Uncle Teddy has three," he said emotionlessly. "My father has two, Arden, of course, and myself."

"There are a lot of us," interjected Arden.

"All cousins?" asked The Phantom.

Alistair nodded. "All cousins," he repeated. He waved his hand back toward the house. "It is traditional that the family lives together."

"It's also crowded and noisy!" exclaimed Arden. "No wonder the Serenity moved out and never comes to visit." He regarded The Phantom, who saw the boy's eyes dancing with impish mischief. "Half the time I can't turn around to scratch my ass without giving somebody a rub on his winky!"

The iron mask of Alistair's impassivity shattered. His eyes widened and his jaw fell. "Arden!"

The Phantom doubled over with laughter. Colin and Alex, as adults, turned their head away to hide their grins. Chef, who could be as prim as a Mother Superior when he wanted to be, fortunately a rare occurrence, had to go into the pool house.

"Well, it's true, Alistair," insisted Arden. "There are so many of us!" He turned to The Phantom. "There are twenty-six of us! And they're always coming in and taking my stuff!"

The Phantom tried to maintain a sober mien. "All boys?"

"All boys!" Arden shrugged. "It's like being in school! We go to St. George's School, you know, and it's just for boys!"

"No girls?" asked Alex.

"There are four," responded Alistair. "Girls don't count," he added with Oriental finality.

The laughter had attracted spectators. Randy and Joey, together with Calvin and Simon, came onto the terrace. They stood to one side scratching and shuffling their feet. Harry drifted out with Matt, followed by the Twins.

At the sight of Cory and Todd, both Chinese boys' eyes widened. Seeing the startled looks, The Phantom asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"You know Mister Arundel?" asked Alistair.

"You know the new Prefect of my house?" asked Arden, his voice displaying his awe. "Wow!"

The Phantom stared at the two Chinese boys. "Mr. Arundel?" he asked. "Prefect?"

"Now they've lost me!" complained Alex. "We've gone from sealing to cousins and now we're at 'prefects'!"

Alistair smiled. "At our school, each house has a prefect, a head boy. We, Arden and I, are day scholars, but we still belong to a house. It is a great honour to be named Prefect of a house. It is an even greater honour to be named Head Prefect, Head Boy." He looked long at Todd. The shadows that darkened his eyes told The Phantom that Alistair would dearly have loved to reach the exalted heights of "Head Boy". Knowing the school he attended, The Phantom also doubted that Alistair would ever reach those heights.

Both Alistair and Arden nodded vigorously. "Mr. Todd Arundel is to be Head Prefect of the school."

"And Mr. Cory Arundel is to be Prefect of Leveson House too!" exclaimed Arden. "It is a great honour!"

At the mention of "Prefect" and "school" both Todd and Cory started. They looked at one another and then at the Chinese boys, moving closer. They said nothing, clearly surprised at what they had heard.

The Phantom was about to ask if Alistair and Arden would like to formally meet the Twins when Harry intervened. Harry was not all that impressed with what he thought was public school snobbery - he still sniggered when he remembered Todd telling him about wearing an embroidered, yellow waistcoat!

"Well, they still have to unzip to pee!" Harry bellowed. He walked forward and said, "Hi, I'm Harry!"

Arden was the first to react. "I'm Arden. Gosh . . ." he breathed as he looked Harry up and down. " . . . You sure are big!"

Harry deliberately looked Arden up and down. "And you sure are skinny!"

For a brief moment, as he stared at the large, stunning boy in standing before him, Arden's eyes glazed over and a strange tingling began in the head of his winky, the same kind of feeling he had at bath time, when Amah scrubbed him, all over, the tingling that made his winky stand up straight and the more Amah scrubbed the more he felt like taking a huge pee and then caused him to go rigid with delight. Once that happened he would all but collapse, panting, while Amah dressed him in his pyjamas and put him to bed. Arden did not know that what his Amah did caused him to sleep through the night, and that countless generations of amahs had been ensuring themselves a good night's sleep by doing exactly the same thing to countless generations of Chinese boys.

If Harry was aware of the effect he was having on the younger boy, he gave no sign. The Phantom, who was carefully watching, was aware, but he said nothing. He knew Harry and was not worried. The Phantom had seen the look before, the look of awe that came on a Sea Puppy's face when he first encountered his "Sea Daddy". Smiling inwardly, The Phantom turned to see Colin's eyebrow cocked. Colin had seen the look. The Phantom nodded slowly. Arden had become one of Harry's puppies. Arden would be safe and never have to worry about Harry.

"So, come for a swim?" Harry asked Arden, who nodded slowly, and then glanced quickly over his shoulder. Harry looked toward the house and could have sworn he saw two or three little black-haired heads peeking through the net curtains. "But not alone?"

Arden looked apprehensively at his brother and then nodded again.

"Well, bring 'em on," instructed Harry with a wide grin.

"You mean it?" squeaked Arden.

"Sure do," returned Harry.

Grinning, Arden turned, stuck the little fingers of each hand into his mouth and . . . blew! Almost immediately the door to the house opened and a dozen or more boys, all black-haired, all clad in black Speedos, thundered across the turf toward the Orangerie. Harry, startled at first, recovered quickly, and held up his hand. The crowd of boys stopped abruptly, and stood, staring.

Ignoring Chef's muttering about the "Yellow Horde" inundating the earth, Harry called for reinforcements. In short, confusing order, introductions were made. Arden was given over to the care of Randy, Joey, Calvin and Simon. The other boys, once they lost their initial shyness, laughed and giggled as each cadet seemed to take them into the pool and very soon the air echoed with the shouts of swimming boys.

Harry grinned at The Phantom and jabbed his thumb against his chest. "Once a Sea Daddy, always a Sea Daddy!" He turned abruptly and walked into the Orangerie.

The mask of impassivity had returned. The Phantom reached out and gently held Alistair's arm. "Arden is quite safe, you know. Harry loves kids and he would never hurt any one of them. The others, the cadets, they also like to make new friends."

The Phantom's voice was low and gentle. Much against his upbringing, Alistair allowed the warmth he felt toward this strange young man to show. His eyes slid toward the Orangerie, and then back to The Phantom. "In school, the white boys do not approve of us being there," Alistair whispered.

The Phantom sensed two presences. The Twins had not gone swimming. Cory felt his heart go out to this cold-eyed boy. "We go there, and we approve," Cory said softly.

"And I am very proud and happy that you are one of the St. George's boys," said Todd. "Which house?"

By asking "Which House" Todd was asking Alistair to establish his credentials. There was a very real, very rigid caste system in the school, and the house one belonged to, whether a boarder or a day scholar, further established a boy's importance in the system.

Alistair's gaze never wavered. "Leveson House," he said simply.

Although the oldest house, and named for the Twins' grandmother, who had bequeathed the old family mansion to the school, membership in Leveson House bestowed minor nobility, high enough in the hierarchy, but short in the scheme of things.

"Why not Arundel House?" asked Todd, although he knew the answer. Arundel House, endowed by his family, was where the brightest and best went. Boys assigned to this house were Royalty. Unfortunately, the school's much publicized policy of equality for all its students did not quite extend to the houses. The Housemaster of Arundel House was a notorious Sinophobe, and the Head Prefect, who ruled the school from his rooms in Arundel House, echoed the Master's prejudices.

Alistair did not wish to cause offence. He was hesitant of telling the truth, but he knew the Twins' had a reputation in the school for rigid fairness. And honesty. Alistair also knew of the other reputation the Twins laboured under. He had heard the rumours. But never had he heard that the Twins lied. Alistair took a deep breath. "I am Chinese," he said flatly, knowing that was all the answer he had to give.

Todd regarded Alistair a moment and then said, "I am a day scholar at Arundel house." He avoided the subject of Head Boy. Rumours about the appointments abounded at this time of the year. "Did you know that?"

"And me," said Cory. "And our Papa and uncle are on the Board of Governors." He gave his brother an enquiring look but said nothing more. He did not put too much credence in what Arden had said. Prefects were never appointed from the ranks of the day scholars.

Alistair shrugged. From his perspective the Twins, their Papa and their uncle could be the Grand Panjandrums of Bali. They might have influence, but not even the Arundels could change the fact that Alistair, and Arden, were Chinese. He bowed his head. "I am aware, of course." He smiled thinly. "May I offer my congratulations?"

Todd was still not convinced. "Alistair, while I would dearly love to be the Head Boy, I really don't pay too much attention to . . ."

"But you are the Head Boy!" declared Alistair with a glower that told Todd that Alistair did not care to have his word doubted. "And Mister Cory is to be Prefect of Leveson House!"

From the corner of his eye, Todd saw Tyler gesturing, an embarrassed look on his face. At first he ignored the Master-at-Arms but when Tyler gestured more firmly, Todd excused himself and walked over to where Tyler stood. "Tyler, I am in the middle of a conversation!" he said sharply.

"Well, you had better listen to what I have to tell you, because I think the kid is right," replied Tyler. He leaned down and began to whisper furiously in Todd's ear.

Todd listened, drew back, and yelped, "You did what?"

Cory, wondering what was so important, sauntered over to stand beside his brother. "What's going on?" he asked.

Todd looked at Cory, and then at Tyler. "Tell him," Todd said quietly.

Not at all ashamed of what he had done, Tyler confided that he had used the telephone number that The Gunner had given him and called, explained that Todd and Cory were being discriminated against, and asked what was the Order going to do about it?

"You're kidding! The Order isn't that powerful!" scoffed Cory.

"Apparently it is," responded Todd. He looked at Tyler. "You did that, for us, even though you knew what . . ."

Tyler scowled. "What we all are!" he said. "And yes, Harry and I did it. You told Harry, Harry told me, and I called the Order. I spoke to Major Meinertzhagen, I know that now, and he assured us that you and Cory would not be disappointed." He regarded each Twin in turn. "Brothers look after brothers, yes?"

Smiling broadly, Todd impulsively hugged Tyler, who pushed him away. "Hey, it was nothing and I'm spoken for!" Tyler said, wiggling away. He saw Cory about to make his move and shook his head. "You don't owe me, okay?"

"But Tyler, you did something wonderful for me," returned Cory. "A hug is hardly . . ."

Sniffing, and containing his laughter, Tyler shook his head. "You're both welcome and while I appreciate the expressions of gratitude, experience has shown that one of your hugs, Cory, very often turns into a grope!"

Cory was about to protest, and then shrugged, deflated. "That was the old Cory," he protested mildly.

"Yeah? While that gleam in your eye tells me that the new Cory is just as tempted as the old Cory to get his claws on my magnificent body!" retorted Tyler. He looked pointedly at Alistaire. "I think you owe that young man an apology."

Todd followed Tyler's look and nodded. "And perhaps a little more," he said.

When he returned to where Alistair was standing, Todd nodded. "It appears that my name has been put forward for Head Boy," he said. "I'm sorry that I doubted you. Please accept my apology."

Alistair shrugged, but did not reply.

"And mine," said Cory, sticking out his hand.

After shaking the Twins' hands, Alistair smiled broadly - a rarity, for he had been taught never to show emotion to strangers. "Actually, you have Arden to thank," he confessed.

"Arden?" asked Todd. "And you said that we were Head Boy and Prefect!"

"I am only repeating what Arden learned, and told me," explained Alistair. "Amah took him to the school tailor shop - he needed some new kit - and while he was in the change room the Headmaster came in, gave the tailor the list of names and said that he, the tailor was to make up the robes and new jackets for the new boys."

"Arden saw the list?" asked Cory, thinking that he had found a kindred spirit who was almost as inquisitive as he was.

Alistair shook his head and continued. "The headmaster was reading out the list of names - apparently there were some last minute changes and he was not all that pleased - when Amah decided she did not like the way that Arden's new trousers looked, and started yelling at the tailor. The Head took off and left the paper on the table. Arden lost his trousers and while the tailor was making the adjustments Amah wanted he sneaked a look at the list. Your name was on it as Head Boy, and Mister Cory's as Prefect of Arundel." He shrugged. "I assumed that you had been informed."

Both Todd and Cory shook their heads. Then Cory snapped his fingers. "I'll bet Papa knows!" he exclaimed. Then he frowned. "But why hasn't he told us?"

"He hasn't seen us!" replied Todd. "And knowing him, he wanted to accompany the news with a 'Queen and Country' lecture, you know, we were being given a great deal of responsibility, and how he expected us to remember our position and to understand the great honour we were about to be given, and so on, and so on and so on!"

"I hate it when he does that," responded Cory sourly. "He sounds like he's opening Parliament!" Then he added, "It looks like were going to move, then."

Todd shrugged. "If it means being Head Boy, I can handle it. You?"

"Can do," agreed Cory. "We'll have separate rooms, but what the hell, if we are to be what Alistair says, we have to be boarders. So we become boarders!" He sniggered. "Papa will gladly pay the higher fees and . . ." He frowned. "More grist for his lecture!"

"I'm not worried," replied Todd. "He'll be right chuffed about it." Ignoring Cory's doubtful look, for their Papa was, in their opinion, a skinflint, Todd turned to Alistair. If Cory and he were to rise to the heights, then he would use his influence. He looked at Alistair and asked quietly, "Would you like to join Arundel House?"

Alistair shrugged. His wishes would not matter a damn. Todd Arundel being a member of Arundel House was an accident of birth. Their connections and family ties meant nothing so far as Alistair was concerned. They were schoolboys who had had everything handed to them on a silver platter. Alistair had lived with prejudice and bigotry all his life and had learned to accept that which the white world was prepared to give him. He did not like it, but he was forced to accept it. He was Chinese, and all the influence in the world would never change that.

"As much as I would like it," began Alistair, "I very much fear that the school authorities would not be receptive to my joining the premier house."

"Bugger the school authorities," Todd thought. He looked at The Phantom, who nodded. The Order would help. Todd regarded Alistair a moment and then said, "If you wish it," Todd said, "it shall be arranged," not knowing that he was continuing an Arundel service to the Chans, begun long before he was born.

Alistair looked quizzical. "You can do that?" he asked.

Cory nodded his head and grinned at Todd. Their mother was next door drinking tea, and she would be appealed to. Their Papa was a telephone call away. Alistair, and Arden were as good as members of the club! "Fuckin' aye, my new friend, fuckin' aye!" Cory chortled. "Fuckin' aye!"

The Phantom looked closely at Alistair. "The Twins will see that you are taken care of. When you know us better you will understand us, and know that we are knights, and never say that we will do something that we cannot do."

"My new friend." The words conveyed something more than mere friendship. Alistair bowed his head slightly. "I would be honoured to be a member of your house," he said quietly.

"Good! Now come on, Alistair. Let's go for a swim," exclaimed Todd. He took Alistair by the arm and, with Cory following, entered the Orangerie.

Chef knew the look. He gave The Phantom a wicked look, and stated, "It's up to something you are, and don't be denying it!"

Colin and Alex looked at one another, and then at The Phantom, who smiled enigmatically. "Now Chef, why would you say that?" he asked as he sat carefully on the arm of Colin's chair.

"Because I know you!" declared Chef. "The look comes into your eyes, and your lips form a sneaky smile and I know!"

The old man raised his arms heavenward, the implication being that he could use a little help from on high. "Preserve me! The last time I saw that look you talked me into putting forward Nathan, and Peter and Jérémie's names!"

"Also Calvin, and Simon and Eion," supplied The Phantom. "But I am not, this time."

Chef stared. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"None of you see it," sighed The Phantom. He placed his arm across the back of Colin's chair and his hand rested on top of Colin's shoulder. Unconsciously he began to gently rub his fingers across the smooth, warm skin of his lover's shoulder. Shaking his head, The Phantom explained. "Alistair! Look at him! His face, the same high cheek bones, the same shape of his face, his eyes!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Michael's eyes have been surgically altered. Alistair's eyes are almond-shaped, typically Chinese," said Alex. He looked at The Phantom carefully. "But you see something else, yes?"

"I do," replied The Phantom enthusiastically. "It is not the shape of Alistair's eyes that I am talking about. It is the way he looks at me! It is the stoicism, the calmness hiding the fire and passion."

Chef groaned loudly. "Is he to be a part of the Tapestry?"

"I don't know," replied The Phantom with a shrug. "He could be, but I don't see it."

"Then what do you see?" demanded Chef impatiently.

The Phantom's eyes narrowed and a strange look came over his face. "I see him as a part of our Tapestry, but not of it. He could be, no, I think he is, destined to be the Heir to the Serenity."

Colin gasped. "Phantom, you have no idea of what you are talking about! You've just met the kid! How can you say that . . ." He threw up his hands. "Phantom, I am willing to believe that when it comes to the Tapestry your intuition, your faith, guides you and so far you've not put a foot wrong. But . . ."

"Perhaps I am wrong," agreed The Phantom sincerely. "But mark my words, in Alistair Chan lies the spirit and essence of Michael Chan."

Surprisingly, Chef reached out and spoke softly. "Phantom darlin', I agree with Colin. You cannot know the nature of Michael's true businesses."

"And I am not suggesting that I do!" retorted The Phantom. "The nature of Michael's business empire, which I do know about, a little, is not what I am talking about. I am not interested in his private business, damn it! All I am saying is that in Alistair Chan I see Michael Chan! I am not saying that Alistair will take Michael's place when the time comes. I am saying that he could! "

Rubbing his chin reflectively, Chef said, "Phantom, I suggest to you that Michael Chan would not appreciate you interfering in his business. He has gone to great lengths to divorce his business from the Order. You are a part of the Order. You are not a part of his business, and you never will be!"

The Phantom was unfazed by Chef's arguments. He looked at Chef and said, "I have no desire to become a part of Michael's business. But, what nobody around here seems capable of understanding is that the business Michael heads is family. He inherited his position from his uncle?" He looked questioningly at Chef, who nodded. "It follows," continued The Phantom, "that Michael will choose his successor from within the family. He has to, and while he might have children, sons, there is no guarantee that any of them would want to succeed him."

Chef, who had not been present when the tape of Bradley-Smith's treachery had been played, nodded. "Well, he is to be married, and no denying it. And yes, no doubt he will sire children." Chef looked sourly around. "And if this place is any indication, it would appear that the Chans are extraordinarily prolific, so sons, yes."

The Phantom held up his hand. "But, suppose he only has daughters? Knowing Michael I am sure that he has thought about that."

"Well, yes, knowing him he has," replied Chef grudgingly.

"Or perhaps he wants to eventually devote all of his attention to the Order? He is very passionate in that respect," said The Phantom. "Or what if he dies suddenly? It happens, you know."

Colin reached up and gently took The Phantom's hand. "Phantom, while I understand what you are trying to do, I must also point out that you are interfering in Michael's business. Chef is right."

The Phantom did not react adversely, as Colin feared he would do. "I don't intend to interfere," he said smoothly. "That would be unforgivable arrogance on my part. I am merely going to open a door."

Chef almost choked. "What? What did you say?"

"Chef, Michael must make his own choices. I realize that. I also realize that perhaps Alistair is not the next 'Serenity'. But what if he is, and Michael doesn't know it?"

"That is Michael's problem!" thundered Chef.

"Well it won't hurt to at least have him meet his cousins," responded The Phantom. "Who knows, he might actually find them interesting."

"Oh, and how may I ask do you plan on arranging this meeting?" asked Chef disdainfully. "Perhaps a formal dinner dance? A garden party, with the Guards Band?"

Ignoring Chef's sarcasm, The Phantom replied, "Nope." He nodded toward the Orangerie where the shrieks and laughter of swimming boys filled the air. "We basically took over this place without giving a thought to the people who lived here. Michael might have thought he was doing the right thing, but let's face it, it was rude."

"Your sense of propriety is commendable," returned Chef, "but I must delicately remind you that Michael Chan owns this place. He is also the Serenity to the people who live here. His word is law!"

"That doesn't make it right," responded The Phantom, his green eyes flashing.

Chef knew better to argue with The Phantom when the lad's eyes starting flashing and sparking. "And what is it you intend to do, then?"

"Easy. Invite them to dinner with us tonight." He nodded again at the Orangerie. "The guys and the cousins are getting along great. It would be a nice gesture to ask the cousins to eat with us."

"And when did you plan on opening the door?" asked Alex. "Or did you plan on hiring a bus and just showing up?"

The Phantom shrugged. "Hardly. When we get back, I suppose."

"Speaking of which," said Colin rising. "The swim was nice, but my suit is wet and irritating my butt!"

"Nothin' worse than an irritated butt," observed Alex dryly. He winked at The Phantom, who was giggling and blushing. "Especially when you're on your honeymoon."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" demanded Colin, who was blushing as redly as The Phantom. He glared first at The Phantom, then at Alex, and then back to The Phantom. Realizing that The Phantom had explained their relationship to Alex, Colin accepted the situation with good grace. He laughed and said, "Well, I suppose I am." Then he winked at Alex and looked pointedly at The Phantom. "Mind you, honeymoons are grossly exaggerated!"

As Alex burst out laughing, and The Phantom blushed even more furiously, Chef raised his eyes to heaven, and said a silent prayer. The rest of the day gave promise of being very interesting!