"The Knights of Aurora" is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2005 by John Ellison
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
WARNING: This story contains graphic depictions of sex between consenting adult males and/or teenage males. Please do not continue reading if you are offended by this genre of erotic literature, if you are underage or if this type of story is illegal where you live.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of violence, graphic and abusive language and graphic descriptions of male nudity. Discretion is advised.
I enjoy hearing from readers and try to answer all e-mails. If you have a comment or a question please contact me at paradegi@rogers.com
This is the last chapter of "The Knights of Aurora". An Epilogue will follow shortly. The story will continue, however, in my next novel, "Aurora Crusade". I hope to start working on this soon. That is not to say that I will be watching the grass grow, or the snow fall. I have decided to revisit my first attempt at writing, "A Sailor's Tale". I have three chapters in hand and will publish them shortly.
As mention in my last posting, a group has been established on Nifty for fans of the "Aurora" series. The group is still in the preliminary stage so anyone who wishes to join, please be patient. Good things are coming. Interested readers can access the group by accessing the following:
Group Name: Aurora_Roundtable Group Home Page: http://ca.groups.yahoo.com/group/Aurora_Roundtable Group email: Aurora_Roundtable@yahoogroups.ca
Please Note that in order to access the group you must join the group. There are no restrictions. Remember to always put the little "_" between Aurora and Roundtable.
The Knights of Aurora
Chapter 19
"Oh God, I can barely walk!" groaned Doctor Bradley-Smith as he cleaned his body. He had finally sent the young Hispanic away and was now showering in the small bathroom attached to the surgery.
"Dear God, the boy's stamina matched the size of his cock! What a Bull, yes a Bull with a capital 'B' Jesus was. And so accommodating!"
Smiling, Daniel turned off the water and began to towel dry. Jesus was such a lovely boy! Daniel made a mental note to have the Hispanic return for a follow-up examination when he returned from Quebec City. Jesus' thick pole was too much of a treasure to pass up!
"Now, if only he'd become interested in a little S&M, and water sports," thought Daniel as he reached for his silk boxers, "the kid would be perfect!"
Ignoring the wreckage of the surgery - Jesus was such an enthusiastic fuck that they'd knocked one leg of the table out of its socket - Daniel finished dressing, and hurried to his car, leaving behind Jesus' chart. He was late, he knew, and had missed not only the Investiture but also the reception following. Michael Chan might overlook his absence - there had been a lot of men to examine after all and Daniel could use the excuse that such things took time - but Michael would be unforgiving if Daniel did not show up for dinner.
Humming contentedly, Daniel drove back to the main house slowly, eying what seemed to be an increase in patrols. Yes, definitely an increase. He saw one of the men he had examined earlier - Bookman, he of the loosely circumcised dick, for Daniel never forgot a dick - dressed in black and carrying a Sig Sauer, with a man Daniel did not recognize, strolling along the side of the road. That made sense to Daniel, putting a newbie with a seasoned hand.
Leaving the car in the care of the footman on door duty to take care of, Daniel went immediately to his room. The house was quiet and he assumed that everybody was in their rooms, dressing for dinner.
In his room, Daniel saw that his bags were already packed and smiled. One the perks of visiting a well-run house were that one really had to do . . . nothing. One's bags were unpacked and the clothing placed in the bureau drawers or hung on cloth-bound hangers. Dirty laundry would be collected and washed, and ironed and folded. When one was due to leave one's bags were packed and he did not have to look to know that the clothing was layered in the suitcases between sheets of tissue paper.
He looked in his closet to see that his mess kit was hanging, waiting for him to wear it. He also saw that his travelling clothes - CF summer dress trousers and short-sleeved, light green shirt - were chosen for him. On the bed were laid out fresh boxers, T-shirt and socks, while on the dressing table were his studs and cufflinks, ready to be slipped into the stiffly starched dress shirt. He also saw a stiff piece of paper and picked it up.
Frowning, Daniel saw that it was the itinerary for their flight to Quebec City. Damn, he wished he could get out of that little expedition, but knowing that he couldn't, he read that the Travelling Yeoman's Staff, whoever they were, would pick up his bags sometime before 2230.
Daniel also saw on the dressing table the sheet of notepaper on which he had written his resignation. He had not signed it and thought that he would look it over to make certain that there were no errors, and sign it later. He also thought that it might be best to check in with Diem.
Diem answered on the first ring.
"The medical examinations are over," Daniel said bluntly.
"And?" Diem's tone was equally blunt.
"The new men have been integrated into the Security Force. Patrols have been increased since the arrival of the new men," said Daniel, making a face. He knew that he should at least be polite to Diem, but there were times when the man's arrogance was galling.
There was a long pause and then Diem asked, "That would make what . . . 100 men?"
"More or less," replied Daniel disinterestedly. "Give or take the men Michael sends on the plane with the kids, and I have no idea how many that will be. We leave here around 2330 for the airport. It's a charter so there will be no airport delays to speak of." He reached for the printed itinerary. "We should take off at around . . ."
Diem had no interest in the doctor's travel plans. "Is Chan going?" he interrupted harshly.
"No, not that I'm aware of. So far as I know it's the Naval officers, the kids, and the minders."
"If there is change we must know!" growled Diem, his tone suggesting very bad things would happen to the doctor if he did not report any change in Michael's plans.
"I'll know more after dinner. I'll call . . ."
"Call only if there is a change in plans," ordered Diem. "I must be away for a while. If I am not here, leave a message with whoever answers."
"All right. If there is a change I'll call. Failing a change, I'll check in tomorrow morning from the hotel in Quebec City."
"There is no need," responded Diem. "If Michael Chan is not with you then we have no interest in what is happening in Quebec City."
"As you wish," replied Daniel, childishly sticking his tongue out at the telephone receiver. "If you don't hear from me, Michael is still here, and I will call in any event when I return." He paused and said not quite menacingly, "I wish to discuss the matter we spoke of earlier."
"The matter has been brought to the General's attention. He will decide when you return." With that, Diem terminated the conversation.
Cursing at Diem's obnoxiousness, Daniel went into the bathroom to shave.
In the CCR, Frank Campbell flicked the switch then reached out to rewind the tape recorder. When he was finished he picked up the telephone and dialled Michael's extension.
"In fifteen minutes," instructed Michael.
Michael hung up the telephone and looked at Alistair. The boy's eyes never faltered as he stared back at his cousin. Behind Alistair, Pete Shepard sat quietly, waiting for Michael's decision.
Alistair had not wavered in his determination to speak with Michael. He knew that after tea there would be two hours in which to meet with his cousin and Michael had barely walked out of the dining room where tea had been served and Alistair approached. Followed by Pete Sheppard, Alistair had asked for permission to speak with Michael . . . privately.
Seeing Alistair looking pointedly at the Major, his meaning clear, Michael had first thought to ask for time. There were many things on his plate at the moment and he really had no time for what he assumed to be a schoolboy triviality. Still, Michael thought, Alistair was family, and his possible heir. If the matter were not too serious, they could solve Alistair's problem quickly.
Gesturing, Michael had walked into his office. Alistair and Pete Sheppard followed. As he moved to sit behind his desk Michael wondered why Pete was here, when whatever the matter Alistair wanted to discuss was supposed to be "private".
When Michael was settled, Alistair took a deep breath. "Serenity . . ." he began.
Michael, wishing to put his young cousin at ease, held up his hand. "Please, in this room I am your cousin," he admonished lightly.
Glancing first at Pete, Alistair nodded brusquely and raced ahead. "Cousin Michael, I wish to know what you plan for me." Michael said nothing, and his face remained blank. Alistair hurried on. "I am aware that you feel I am a possible heir."
"Possible," granted Michael heavily.
"If I am to be your heir," said Alistair, his voice calm, his manner unafraid, "then you should know something about me. Something you will disapprove of."
"And that is?" Michael's tone had not changed.
"Cousin Michael, I am in love. I know the nature of your business - that goes without saying. I also know the nature of your business partners in Hong Kong and Taiwan." Once again Alistair glanced at Pete. Then he looked at Michael again. "You have told me that in this room I am you cousin and I ask that you listen to me, as a cousin, and not as your heir."
Frowning slightly, Michael looked at Pete. "And what have you to do with a family matter?" he demanded, his tone rising.
Pete was not about to let Alistair handle this alone. "You might as well know, Michael, that we are in love. We slept together last night."
Michael forced himself to be calm. "You . . . what?"
"We slept in the same bed," explained Alistair quickly. "We did not do anything else!" His eyes flashed as if daring Michael to respond adversely. "We did not have sex!"
Sitting back, Michael asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
"Just this," began Alistair. "If I am to be your heir, I will do it. I know that I will not be as great as you are, and that I have a great deal to learn. At times you will be there to guide me, and I will do everything I can to make you proud of selecting me."
"But?" inquired Michael. He had an uneasy feeling about what was coming next.
"Michael, you have suppressed all feelings in your role as Serenity. You did this because it was business. You could not have a normal life because anyone outside of the business, outside of the family, could be an enemy, or used by your enemies." He looked darkly at his cousin. "I am not stupid. You are contracted to marry only because you are forced into it. Up to a point I will do the same." He leaned forward in his chair. "But I will not be your heir if Pete is not with me."
Michael's temper flared slightly as he looked at Pete. "And you? What do you have to say for yourself?" he demanded.
"Michael, I am your loyal servant. Everything you ask of me, I will do. Please, though, allow Alistair to have some happiness. We will be discreet. We will cause no scandal."
"And if I say no?" Michael's voice rose. "If I decide that you are unworthy to be my servant, as you put it, or you . . .?" He pointed at Alistair. "What if I decide not to make you my heir?"
"I will return home," responded Alistair, a small note of fear creeping into his voice. "I will continue in school and try to be a cousin to you." He stiffened slightly. "And as soon as I can I will leave the family."
"And I will leave your employ," said Pete firmly. "Hopefully I can find work." He shook his head. "Please understand, I, well, in a way, I love you. You gave me hope when everyone else gave me the backs of their hands. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that. But, Michael, I want to be with Alistair."
The room fell silent. Michael looked at the two men, not really seeing them. His mind drifted back to the office Uncle Henry had kept in the family house next door. Michael had been 16, and had just been told that if he wanted to be the heir, he must give up Joel. It was not personal - it was business. Uncle Henry had been adamant. Joel must go.
Abruptly, Michael stood up to stare out of the office window. He had not considered Alistair's sexuality - how could he? When he left Uncle Henry so many years before he had basically left the family. He had visited, yes, he had presided over the sealing ceremonies, yes, but he had not bothered to really come to know the young men of his house.
Michael thought of the pain, the loneliness that he had brought upon himself. He had given up his life to Uncle Henry's legacy. He had remained, in so many ways, a creature of the shadows, unafraid, yet unwilling to accept the truth about himself, or find a small measure of happiness. He could have had it with Patrick Tsang.
Patrick Tsang did not love him, Michael knew, but in time would have come to love him, if only Michael had offered the younger man the chance. For the first time Michael had felt a need, and suppressed it, and the more he thought of it, the more he knew that the unfairness of Uncle Henry's demands had warped him. His lifelong excuse that his personal life must never be called into question, must never be used against him or his family grated on him. Uncle Henry had asked him to subordinate all things to the business. Uncle Henry had asked him to give up the only person in his life had had ever loved. Uncle Henry had . . .
They had not argued. Uncle Henry, in his calm, dispassionate way had been trying to explain that Michael must, if he became the Heir, accept certain facts, certain restrictions, make certain sacrifices. He must also understand that no matter what he or Uncle Henry did, they would never truly be a part of mainstream, White Society.
"We have adapted, most of us!" Michael had argued back. "We attend English schools, and we speak English as our first language. With each generation we grow more westernized. Many of the second and third generation Chinese have accepted the Western religions." He shrugged expressively. "There are some of the whites who will never accept us, being the bigots they are. Most are more than happy to work with us and take our money."
Uncle Henry nodded. Michael was learning. "Our family is a part of mainstream Canadian life. This is true and it is the way I wish it. The more westernized we become the less they look on us as Chinks!" "There are still our cousins in China and Hong Kong," observed Michael pointedly.
"Who live their lives as westerners, not as traditional Chinese," countered Uncle Henry. "They dress like westerners, they communicate in English and they are smart enough to know where the money is."
Michael did not reply. He had heard much of Uncle Henry's words before. Which meant that the old man was up to something. Michael sat back in his chair and waited.
Uncle Henry sighed inwardly. His nephew was waiting for him to get to the heart of their little talk. It was most embarrassing, really. He hated discussing such unsavoury matters. Still, for Michael's sake, it must be done. He cleared his throat and looked at Michael. "When I said that we must conform to the mores and traditions of the society, the culture, in which we live, I should have added that we must honour their taboos as well, many of which are also a part of our own ancient culture."
Michael slowly sat erect. Uncle Henry knew! Someone, somehow, had whispered in Uncle Henry's ear.
Uncle Henry leaned forward and placed his hand on Michael's trembling knee. "I am an old man, and I have seen many things. I have many nephews and I know that at times adolescent boys form 'special attachments'." He smiled knowingly. "This is not necessarily a bad thing, Michael. In many ways these youthful attachments form the basis of firm friendships in later life." Ashen faced, Michael nodded slowly.
"Michael, when I was young there were very few Chinese women available. It was primarily a masculine society. Sometimes, out of necessity, men formed strong friendships with other men. We, all of us, knew that our culture forbade such attachments, but being men we ignored that which was forbidden. I did not participate in such attachments, but I knew of them and I turned a blind eye to them."
Michael gripped the arms of his chair. "I . . . please, Uncle Henry I can explain . . ." he began, his voice trembling with the very real fear he felt. Holding up his hand Uncle Henry silenced his nephew. "It is not my purpose to question your friendships. What I want you to understand is that a man is judged not only by his conduct, by his sense of duty and honour, but also by the friendships he has formed. You are too young to understand these things, but you must understand this: friends, no matter how close, must never know what you are thinking, must never be in a position to know what you are doing."
"Trust no one, no matter how close," muttered Michael.
"Trust no one," repeated Uncle Henry. He waved his arm, his gesture encompassing more than just the room they were sitting in. "I have no wife, Michael. I have many acquaintances, but I have no friends. I have wealth beyond counting, yet I am a poor man." His probing eyes bore into Michael's. "I make no excuses, offer no apologies for who I am, for what I do. It was a life I chose to live."
Michael swallowed heavily. "And you want me to live that life?"
Uncle Henry nodded. "You know what we do. If you are capable of living a life of loneliness, of giving every waking moment, every ounce of willpower, all the fibre of your being, yes. You will gain much honour, have great wealth, but you will be lonely."
"You are asking a great deal," replied Michael. He had always known that this moment would come. He had always feared the moment, and now he must give his answer. "I must give my answer here, now?" Michael asked, stalling for time, hoping for a reprieve.
"It must be now," replied Uncle Henry unhappily. "You are old enough to understand what is required of you, and old enough to make a decision." He saw the fear and trepidation on his nephew's face and add kindly, "You will not be punished if you say no, Michael."
Michael was sixteen. His whole future lay ahead of him. He was afraid of that future if he followed Uncle Henry's path. Yet, he had been groomed for that path, trusted beyond all others because Uncle Henry assumed he would follow that path. He alone, of all the cousins, had been chosen. He had not asked for that choice. He had never wanted, really, to be the chosen one. Yet here he was, and he could either follow his destiny, or refuse the offered hand, and suffer whatever the consequences might be. He was being offered two of the most powerful aphrodisiacs known to humankind: power and wealth.
Rising, Michael paced the small office, occasionally glancing at his Uncle, whose stoic, placid face betrayed no emotion. For a long time Michael paced, thinking. In many ways he would be an outcast, considered a thug and a criminal. That he had never injured anyone, never killed anyone, would be of no consequence. People would think what they wanted to think.
Uncle Henry had said that others judged a man by the friends he kept near to him as well as his conduct. Michael did not need any help in divining Uncle Henry's meaning about special attachments and friendships. Uncle Henry's gentle words meant only one thing: he knew about Joel, he knew about Michael's relationship with Joel, and was giving fair warning that Joel would never be a part of Michael's life if he chose to walk Uncle Henry's path.
Uncle Henry had long had patience drilled into his psyche. He was asking a great deal of his favourite nephew. It was well that Michael was not rushing to judgement. He was being offered much, and asked to give up a great deal. Such a decision could not be taken lightly.
Suddenly, Michael made up his mind. "I understand, Uncle, what you ask of me." He knelt before Uncle Henry and kissed his hand. "I will do what is asked of me, become what I must become."
Uncle Henry nodded. He was pleased at Michael's decision. Still, there was a note of uncertainty in the boy's voice. Uncle Henry knew what lay behind that uncertainty. He stood and pulled Michael to his feet. "Joel will not be harmed," he promised sincerely. He gently kissed Michael on each cheek. "But you must say goodbye to him."
Michael nodded glumly. "I know, and I will. Tonight."
Reseating himself Uncle Henry thought a moment. "It is always difficult to end a friendship, and more so when you have grown up with the object of that friendship. Still, it must be done."
Michael was overcome with emotion, his heart all but breaking. He had been in love with Joel ever since they had been young boys. He needed Joel in his life, and now he had just said that he would give Joel up. "You promise?" he asked through his tears. "No harm will come to Joel?"
"He will not be harmed. He will be allowed to live his life as he pleases." Uncle Henry scowled. "I fear he will not be a credit to the family."
"He is what he is, Uncle," temporized Michael. "He cannot be blamed for something he cannot help!"
"Perhaps," conceded Uncle Henry. "And I cannot dictate to him." He smiled weakly. "He is a most obstreperous young man and very independent. He does what he wishes to do." Uncle Henry glanced out of the corner of his eye. "As you well know."
Michael nodded and recalled the conversation he had overheard in the library. "I know," came his whispered reply.
"Then in the knowing you will find comfort when you say goodbye to him," said Uncle Henry blandly. He stood up and walked to the door. "I am going to the restaurant for a few hours. There is business to be done." He looked upward. "Joel is waiting for you in the small guest suite. No one will bother you."
Michael gave his uncle a dark look. "You arranged it all, then?" he asked waspishly.
"Of course. I knew that you would see reason."
"I will do what you ask. I will speak to Joel, and say goodbye. After tonight I am a man, uncle, and I expect that I will be treated as a man."
The harshness in Michael's voice gave Uncle Henry pause. The boy was a man! "And that means?"
Michael looked icily at his uncle. "I no longer wish to live with my parents. I will attend school, I will do whatever you wish, but I wish to have my own place. I am tired of being a Chinese son. I am tired of living in the middle of a Chinese village! I will be the son, the man, you want me to be, but I must do it in my own way."
"Your parents have been grumbling about their living arrangements. They wish to move back into the city. It will be arranged," replied Uncle Henry, secretly pleased at the steel in Michael's voice. "You may remain in the apartment, do whatever you like with it," he said as he opened the door.
"There is something else," growled Michael.
Uncle Henry turned. "And that is?"
"I realize that I must have guards. It is the way of our business and I accept them. However, I do not wish to be surrounded by Tsangs!" His eyes glared angrily. "I do not wish to have Joey Tsang hovering over my shoulder, frightening the friends I do have at school. I wish to choose my own minders."
A bit surprised, Uncle Henry nodded. "If you wish it. I shall make arrangements."
"No, I shall make arrangements," replied Michael firmly. "I know whom to contact." Once again he glared at his uncle. "And Joey Tsang?"
Uncle Henry shrugged. "Joey was unhappily derelict in his duties. He will not be 'hovering' around you anymore."
"Good."
Michael's calm acceptance of Joey's departure surprised Uncle Henry. He knew that the boy had hated the man, but still . . . "You are not interested in what Joey did? Or of his fate?"
"I know what he did," returned Michael. Joey had allowed himself to be seduced by Joel, and in the seduction given up any claim to trust. "Joey forgot about business, forgot about what he was supposed to be doing." Michael shrugged. "Perhaps a few years in that dismal ancestral village of his will teach him to pay attention to his duties."
"Joey is not in China," said Uncle Henry grimly.
"He isn't?"
Uncle Henry shook his head. "The Italians have a saying."
"The Italians have a lot of sayings! Don Giovanni is always quoting one or the other," replied Michael with a smile.
"Then perhaps he might have used this one: Joey Tsang sleeps with the fishes." Uncle Henry wheeled and left the room, leaving a stunned and terrified Michael staring after him.
They had made love. Michael could not just cut Joel out of his life, not without some form of explanation. They had made passionate, soul cleansing love, and then Michael had told him . . .
"I will not be coming to see you anymore," Michael had told Joel flatly. Joel thought, so, that explained the fierceness, the near desperation of their lovemaking. "Why? Uncle Henry busting your balls?" he asked flippantly.
Michael's face clouded. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked sadly.
"Know what?" Joel slid off the bed and searched around for his white briefs. Finding them draped over a chair he slipped them on. He had no idea what Michael was upset about, and in truth, cared little. He stared back at Michael, waiting.
Michael cleared his throat and then glared at his cousin. "You've got to stop, Joel. You have got to start remembering who you are! It's time that you thought about the consequences of your actions."
Joel sniffed. "What consequences? What actions?" he flopped down onto the bed and gave Michael a dirty look. "As to 'who I am', well I know who I am. I'm the son of the poor side of the house. I won't be asked to join the family business. I'm a Chiang, remember? We can't be trusted. We are tolerated, an inherited nuisance." He waved his hand angrily. "So don't think that you can come in here and fuck me, and then dictate to me! It ain't gonna work!"
Before Joel could react Michael had bounded across the room. His hand clutched Joel's throat and for the first time Joel saw the murderous anger that Michael was capable of. "You little fool," hissed Michael. "Don't you know what you're doing? Don't you understand the shame you bring to your house, to the family?" He shook Joel fiercely. "It is over, do you understand? No more boys!"
Joel wrenched Michael's hand away. "How . . . who . . .?" he growled, his fists clenched. "Just who the fuck do you think you are, telling me 'no more boys'? How dare you!" He rubbed his bruised neck and skittered to the head of the bed. "You came in here, you fucked me, and now you have the gall to tell me something like that?"
Michael felt immediate remorse. "I did not mean to hurt you. I should not have grabbed you like that. I apologize."
"Not accepted!" returned Joel, his eyes flashing. "I'm not some Tsang that grovels at Uncle Henry's feet, or quakes whenever the old bastard growls in their direction. You can stuff your apology and you can get out and leave me alone!" He quickly gathered the soiled sheet around his shoulders and glared at Michael. "Go on, get out!"
Michael shook his head and sat in the chair. He allowed his breathing to slow, gaining control of his emotions. When he was ready, he spoke softly. "I meant what I said. From now on, the boys at school are off limits." He cocked his head toward the door. "Patrick Tsang will not succumb to your wiles, and you are not to even try to seduce him."
"Why, you want him for yourself?" asked Joel cruelly.
Michael shook his head, ignoring the harsh, and hurtful question. "Patrick will not allow himself to be seduced. As for the others, the Bowes brothers, Chris Owen, the Australians, all the others you managed to drag into that little room you've sequestered, it is over."
Joel thought quickly. So, Michael, and Uncle Henry, knew of the boys at school. He wondered if they knew about the undergrads of UBC, or that he haunted the bathhouses down on Nelson or Davie Streets. Vancouver was filled with sleek, tasty dicks, not all of them resident in St. George's School. "I really don't care for your tone, Michael. Nor do I understand why, not ten minutes after getting your nut off, after fucking me, you suddenly decided to make me join a nunnery!"
"You are not asked to join anything. You are being asked to remember that your actions reflect on Uncle Henry . . ."
"And you!" snarled Joel.
"Yes, on me," replied Michael sadly. "And our family."
Joel sniffed loudly. "Michael, I'm a fag, a queer, a fairy! I suck dick, I get fucked in the ass!" Venom dripped from every word. "I like guys. I have no intention of embracing celibacy! I am what I am and if you, or Uncle Henry don't like it, well too fucking bad."
"Joel, Uncle Henry is not joking and he is deadly serious about this. You either start practising discretion, and leave your schoolmates alone, or . . ."
Joel all but leaped from the bed. He waved his fist at Michael. "Or what? You'll cut off my balls? Send me to China to live in some dismal hovel with the Tsangs?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Hey, you could put me in the same hut with Joey. Joey would like that, the fucking traitor!"
Michael's face was stony. "Joey is not in China," he said quietly.
"Oh? Then where is he?" Joel's anger had ebbed when he saw the look on Michael's face. Michael, or more than likely, Uncle Henry, had . . . Joel's eyes widened and his face grew as white as the sheet he had wrapped around his slim body. "You . . . Uncle Henry . . ."
Michael held up his hand. "What is done, is done," he said icily. The chasm that would distance him from his cousin opened. "Joey betrayed the trust placed in him. He has paid for his betrayal. That is all you need to know."
Stunned, Joel sat abruptly back down on the bed. For a long time he stared at his cousin, then spoke, his voice filled with the fear he felt. "Joey's dead," he whispered.
"What is done, is done," replied Michael emotionlessly, non-committally.
"You killed him!" Joel spat. He glared at his cousin through narrow, hate-filled eyes. "Joey didn't deserve that!" He cowered against the headboard and hurled an accusation: "And you'd do the same to me!"
Michael's face remained blank. "I will do whatever is necessary to defend the honour of the family." His eyes became slits. "Do not stand in my way, Joel, do not fight me on this matter." He rose and turned to leave. Then he looked at Joel, the fire in his eyes lessened. "I will always love you, my sweet cousin. But when I leave this room I begin a new life. You cannot be a part of it, ever. I will miss you more than you will ever know. You do not understand, but I do. There are times when we must make sacrifices."
"How noble of you," Joel sneered.
Shaking his head, Michael spoke again, his voice soft, his face calm. "Joel, it is the nature of our life, of our family, that we do things that are not usual to us, and which we would rather not do. Nobility has nothing to do with it." He sighed sadly. "We must conform and maintain the family honour. What we do in private must remain private. We must live a secret life if necessary." Joel all but burst into tears and bawled, "You'd kill me? After all we've meant to each other, after tonight?"
Sighing sadly, Michael looked at Joel. "You are to leave the boys at school alone. What you do with the cousins can be explained away, dismissed as something teenage boys do. There must be no more scandal, no more flagrant seductions."
"You didn't answer my question," snarled Joel. "If I don't 'conform', if I don't stop making the boys at school happy, will you kill me?"
Michael coughed. "I will never harm you," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I will see to it, however, that you spend the rest of your days away from the family, in an environment where your natural urges will have no outlet."
"And yours? What about your 'natural urges'?" Joel demanded. "You like dick just as much as I do."
"I am in love with you, and I have enjoyed being with you. You are the only boy I have ever been with," returned Michael. "When I leave here it will be the end of us. There will be no other boys, or men, in my life. I will do as Uncle Henry wishes." He shrugged. "You at least have the baths. There you are just another anonymous Chinaboy getting his rocks off."
Joel's mouth gaped. "You know about . . .?" he managed to gasp.
"In many ways Joey Tsang was a good and faithful servant. He saw everything and he reported what he saw. It is unfortunate that he allowed himself to give in to his baser urges."
"As you did!" Joel hurled the charge at his cousin. "As you did!"
"Yes, and as I would again, if such an option were open to me. When I leave this room tonight, I will have no options. You will have the baths, and the frat boys you manage to pick up."
Joel sensed a concession on Michael's part. "I don't have to be celibate?"
"No."
"You won't kill me?"
"No." Michael opened the door. Before entering the corridor he said firmly, and quietly. "You will not seduce Patrick Tsang. You will not service or seduce the boys at school. So long as there is no scandal, so long as there are no names, you may do what you wish." His voice hardened. "Be warned, Joel. Those are the terms, the rules. Break the terms, trash the rules, and you will regret it. I will regret having to do something if you do not moderate your life and practice discretion. I will regret it, but I will do it."
With that Michael motioned for Patrick Tsang, who was loitering outside, and closed the door.
How Joel had hated him! Michael could not help himself as he buried his face in his hands. He had given up everything for what? Power? Money? Face? He had threatened Joel with destruction! Uncle Henry had ordered the death of poor Cousin Joey and for what, for following his instincts?
If he refused Alistair's request, Michael knew he would lose an heir. If he refused Pete's request, he would lose a good man, not a servant, but a man. And if he refused their requests what a hypocrite he would be! He was Grand Master of an Order that was dedicated to the complete freedom of man! How could he fight for the rights of others if he denied his own family members the same rights? What would he do if Arden, sweet little Arden who had yet to learn discretion were to express his love openly, as carefree as the schoolboy he was? What would he do when someone expressed disdain and disgust for Michael's harbouring a . . . fag?
Would he sentence Arden, or Alistair, or Matthew, who was spending time with the Putnam boy, would he sentence them to a life of pain and misery and exile in some dismal village in China where they would be reviled and spat at? Would he call for Tsang Shen, and send them all on a voyage they would not return from?
Michael's mind reeled. He had secured the succession of the Order, as a good Grand Master should. He needed to secure the succession of the Family, ensure that the new Serenity would rule with logic and compassion. Rule with the thought in mind that nothing was personal, it was just business. Was Alistair the heir? Did he have the fortitude, the determination, and the balls to rule? Again Michael's lack of knowledge of his male cousins grated on him. He turned suddenly and looked at Alistair.
Alistair was not shaking, not quavering. His chin was set and his eyes were clear - not fiery - and filled with determination. There was no fear in the boy.
"When I was a boy, Uncle Henry made me his heir. I was told to make choices. Some I knew I would have to make and some I did not know about. Some I made willingly. One I have regretted from the first day." Michael walked carefully to stand in front of Pete.
"You are not, and never have been, my servant," Michael said, choosing his words. "You are a good man, and I know that you do love my cousin." He turned to Alistair.
"You are my heir," he said quietly. "I will ask much of you, and you will be required to do many things, some of which you will regret, some of which will rest uneasily on your conscience. You have much to learn."
Alistair rose slowly from his chair. "I will learn, Cousin, and I will never betray you, or the family. I was sealed to your service and I wish to serve you."
"And you do not wish to live a lie," finished Michael. "I know this, I understand this. Others will not understand."
"I know," came Alistair's whispered reply.
"You may find life difficult, made more difficult by your love," cautioned Michael.
"All life is difficult," replied Alistair. "But I must have a life. If I am not happy, not content, then the harmony of the Celestial Kingdom is disturbed."
Michael ignored the metaphor. "Show me your hands," he instructed Alistair.
When Alistair held out his hands, Michael took them in his and felt them, felt the fingers, the bones, and the knuckles. "Good strong hands," he said. "The hands of an Emperor." He looked into Alistair's eyes. "I will soon resolve a situation that presents a danger to my person and my family." His face grew strong as stone. "A viper has prepared a nest . . . IN MY HOME!" His hands squeezed Alistair's to the painful realization that his life was about to change drastically.
Michael noted that Alistair did not flinch. "Tomorrow, perhaps sooner, I will call upon you to perform a service." The pressure increased on Alistair's hands.
Michael's head turned slightly. "You will find him a weapon, and teach him how to use it," he instructed Pete, who nodded. Michael returned to looking at his cousin.
"You are aware that I am the Grand Master of an Order dedicated to helping homosexuals?"
Alistair nodded. He wanted to ask Michael if he was "professed", but did not dare.
"I, Michael, do solemnly swear, upon my Oath, and upon the symbols of my Faith, that I will bear true allegiance to my Brothers In Knighthood, that I will defend those of Our Brotherhood, and that I will in all things conduct myself in a chaste manner, so that no dishonour will I bring upon the Order. I swear to succour the ill and destitute. I avow to live my life according to the precepts of duty and honour." His eyes bore into Alistair's. "Do you understand that oath?"
"Yes," replied Alistair with a nod of his head.
"You are not yet my Brother in Knighthood, but you, and Pete, are of Our Brotherhood."
"Yes," whispered Alistair.
Pete nodded. "Yes."
"Then hear my decision." Michael's eyes softened. "Tonight you will become of member of my personal household. A suite will be prepared for you." He regarded Pete a moment. "In addition to his regular duties Captain Sheppard will be your personal protection officer. This is expected once it becomes known that you have been declared the Heir. He will accompany you whenever you leave the compound. Our friends, and our enemies, will become accustomed to seeing him."
Both Alistair and Pete nodded.
Looking at the younger man, Michael continued, "You will continue in school. You will not consummate your relationship with Captain Sheppard." Michael's tone did not invite protest. "This will allow you both to come to understand each other, to know each other, and to know if what you feel today is the same a year from now."
Again, Pete and Alistair nodded.
"You may see each other, and be together. You will at all times conduct yourselves, at least publicly, in a chaste and seemly manner. There must be no scandal, no hint of impropriety."
Pete spoke first. "I give you my word, Michael. We will not bring dishonour to you, or to your House."
"I swear, Serenity. I will do as you ask," added Alistair, although how he was going to remain a virgin for another year he did not know!
"Do not look so glum!" said Michael with a smile. "You may go out on the town, visit the restaurant, attended the theatre, see a film, do what other couples do."
"Except have sex," growled Alistair to himself.
"I know it will be difficult, but it is necessary. Your enemies will use your relationship against you, to turn trusted friends against you."
"I will do what you ask," said Alistair firmly.
"Good." Michael looked strange for a moment and then asked, "You are close to your brother?"
For a moment, Alistair wondered what Michael meant, and then he realized the meaning of Michael's words. "I will speak sternly to Arden, so that his behaviour does not bring dishonour on our House."
Michael shook his head. "Speak rather as a brother, to a brother. Speak with compassion, and understanding, and with the love you have for him."
"I will."
"Then it is settled." Michael returned to his desk. He was about to give Pete and Alistair leave to go and discuss their new lives. A discreet knock on the door interrupted him.
"That will be Frank Campbell and, I suspect, the Major," said Michael with inflection. He had a thought. "I wish both of you to stay."
Pete hurried to open the door and Frank entered. Behind him was the Major.
"Another telephone call," said the Major, giving the eye to Pete and Alistair.
Michael saw the look and said, "Alistair is to be the Heir. Captain Sheppard is to be his protection officer." The Major knew Michael well enough not to question his decision.
As Frank slipped the tape into the player that Michael kept on his desk, Michael looked at Alistair. "There is a traitor, to me, and to our family, and to the Order, who was sent to gather information for an enemy. The traitor is indiscreet and a fool." He gestured for Frank to play the tape. "Listen, and learn," he said to Alistair.
Dr. Bradley-Smith's whining voice filled the office. Pete scowled at the reference to his perimeter guards. Michael's face remained impassive. When the tape had run its course he looked at the Major. "The doctor will be unable to attend the dinner," he said. "Where are the Knights?"
"In their rooms," replied the Major, "changing for dinner, or resting."
"Then now is the time to remove the viper from his nest," growled Michael rising slowly. "There are Tsangs waiting?"
Pete nodded. "Yes. Marvin and Conrad."
Michael nodded. Both Marvin and Conrad Tsang, who were brothers, were large, well-muscled young men, and quite presentable - for Tsangs.
"They will attend me," he ordered. "You will inform the Maestro that his staff is to remain in the undercroft. Station a footman in the bedroom corridor. The young Knights are to remain in their rooms."
Moving quickly, Michael walked to the door. He took Alistair's arm and led him out. "It is time to begin your education."
While Colin showered, The Phantom took the opportunity to admire himself in the cheval mirror that stood in one corner of the bedroom. He turned to each side, admiring his reflection, nodding at the flow of the jacket, and then turned around, looking over his shoulder and snickering as he admired how well the uniform set of his butt. He knew that he was being vain, or Narcissistic, but then, what the hell, no one was looking and a guy did like to know what kind of an impression he made to the general public.
As he regarded his reflection, The Phantom's fingers seemed to constantly reach out to touch the jewelled collar around his neck. He had never really thought about his eyes before, although The Gunner had always referred to him, in moments of stress, as a "green-eyed little monster" but now he could see for the first time that his eyes were green - a rich, deep emerald green!
From the bathroom, Colin began to bellow out the opening lyrics to "The Ball of Kerrymuir", a dirty ditty if ever there was one. The Phantom smiled fondly, remembering the sailing trip, and the campfire, when they had all sat around, naked as the day that they had been born, singing dirty songs - the Twins had managed to remember and regale their fellows with a few choice dozen verses to "The North Atlantic Squadron".
Smiling at Colin's singing, The Phantom wondered if there would ever again be days such as today. Thinking, The Phantom wondered if there would ever be another weekend like the sailing trip. Sighing, The Phantom doubted it would ever happen again. The Commanding Officer, the Twins, and The Phantom himself, had more or less decided that something very special - The Phantom hesitated to use the word "miraculous" - had happened. Somehow that weekend, indeed, the whole summer, somehow what Father called "The Boys of Aurora", had been brought together.
"And somehow the Tapestry was formed," thought The Phantom. The unfinished Tapestry that he had seen only once. The brightly coloured panorama of death and battle that contained so many unformed faces. As he fingered the Collar, The Phantom wondered how many more faces would be woven into the Tapestry. So far the additions had been . . . Colin Arnott, Eion Reilly, Peter Race, Nate Schoenmann, Phil Thornton - who had, surprising all in attendance, professed - Michael Chan, and Laurence Howard.
He was not at all surprised at the last two. Michael and Laurence were a part of the Order, and the Order was more and more a part of The Phantom's soul. Michael had made him a Prince of the Order. A Prince! He could scarcely believe it! Michael had also said that one day he, The Phantom, a seventeen-year-old schoolboy, would one day be Grand Master.
Leaving the mirror, The Phantom poured a drink of Scotch and sat in the wing chair beside the fireplace, trying to make some sense of what had happened. Peter Race had told him not to question, only to accept!
Self-doubt began to creep into The Phantom's mind. Michael's chat in the woods had given him much to think about. The Phantom knew, much better than Michael, or Chef, or anyone else for that matter, his failings, his weaknesses. He had so much to learn, and so many looking to him for leadership! Damn, it was a hell of a position for a fellow to be in!
"Fuckin' aye," growled The Phantom aloud, reluctantly agreeing with his thoughts. Then his lips began to form a smile. The Gunner had once joked that The Phantom had "it", the strange, indefinable, charismatic "it", the spark, the flame, the fire that so few had.
The Phantom's smile grew wider. Harry and Mike Sunderland both spoke in mock horror of the "look". The look that compelled them to act. Harry had received the look in the drill hall, a look that told him to move his ass and take care of Little Big Man, who had been acting his usual obnoxious self. Of course, Harry always ended the telling by thanking God he had not reacted quite the way Mike had. Mike had received the look on the parade square, at PT, and had ended up not only mooning the entire Ship's Company, but had waved his dick and balls at the cadets in the bargain!
"The look," thought The Phantom with a shake of his head. "I don't really have that effect on people, do I?"
Before The Phantom could answer his question, there was a light tap on the door. "Come," he answered absently. He looked up to see Alex entering, carrying a large, wooden box under his arm. The Phantom immediately noticed that there was something different about the man. He looked at Alex and then realized what it was. Alex was smiling!
Before The Phantom could comment, Alex made a neck bow. "Sorry for intruding, but I've come for my Prince's flub dubs."
"Knock it off, Alex," returned The Phantom, and returning Alex's smile. "I still have to unzip when I have to pee!"
"Which means?" asked Alex as he reached out and waved his hand in an upward motion. "The Collar has to go back now. It's only worn at Investitures and never at dinner."
"Which means that underneath all this clothing is Philip Lascelles, a naked male!" replied The Phantom glibly. "Just like underneath all that finery . . ." He regarded Alex a moment, admiring the man's slim figure, and the well-cut dress suit, and noticed that Alex was already changed. "White tie suits you. Anyway, underneath all that finery is Alex Grinchsten, a naked male."
"Just plain folks, huh?" asked Alex. He reached out his hand again. He regarded The Phantom a moment. "Philip?" he asked as he placed the wooden box on the round table that dominated the centre of the room.
Rising, The Phantom sighed. "Yep, just plain Philip Andrew Thomas Lascelles, just a kid from a small town in the backwoods of Vancouver Island." He reached up to lift the Collar from his shoulders. "Help me with this, please?"
Nodding, Alex helped The Phantom remove the Collar from around his neck and then placed it carefully in the box. "Back to the Gold vault for this puppy," he said with a grin.
"Thank God," replied The Phantom. "For a moment there I was afraid I'd have to keep it, and Alex, my basement back home is already full of enough hidden treasures to give Blackbeard a heart attack!"
Laughing, Alex picked up the box, about to leave, when The Phantom stopped him. "Have a drink with me," he asked.
Glancing at the mantle clock, Alex replied, "You should try to get some sleep. You still have an hour or so before dinner and you've seen the travel itinerary. You're leaving in a few hours, and you have a long day ahead of you."
"I'm too keyed up to sleep," replied The Phantom. He refreshed his drink and poured a healthy measure for Alex. As he held out the glass of Scotch, The Phantom asked, "Please?"
Once they were settled in their seats, The Phantom regarded Alex a moment and then said, "I'm going to miss you, you know."
"Miss me?"
"Yes. I have sort of grown accustomed to your face," The Phantom replied, grinning at his weak joke. "Although I must admit that for some reason today you've been positively . . . bubbly!" "I am never bubbly, Phantom," replied Alex soberly. "Obviously Michael hasn't told you."
"Told me what?"
"I'm going with you. So is Logan Hartsfield and I think, Ned."
The Phantom's left eyebrow rose slightly. "Really?" he said in a low drawl.
Alex nodded. "Put it under the heading of better safe than sorry. You really don't know what you're going to find when you get to Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré you know."
"Other than a dead Sea Cadet, no, I don't," admitted The Phantom. Then he frowned slightly. "Now I am truly sorry."
"Why?" asked Alex. "It's part of my job. I would have been surprised it I hadn't been told to accompany you."
The Phantom's natural kindness rose to the fore. "But Alex, don't you want to, I mean, aren't you and . . ." He shut up abruptly. "Sorry, I should mind my own business."
For several moments Alex rolled the glass of Scotch in the palms of his hands, thinking. "Jake Guildenhall," he said finally.
The Phantom hesitated before answering. "Um, yes."
Alex lay back in his chair and looked upward at the ceiling. "I don't know what to do!" he breathed sadly. "Jake was, is, the man I want to be with for the rest of my life." He laughed ruefully. "And that is something I never thought I'd ever say!"
As Alex had never expanded, really, on what had happened in Vietnam, The Phantom was momentarily at loss. Then he asked, "He's the man you fell in love with, in Vietnam?"
"Oh, yeah," breathed Alex huskily.
"Alex, there is no law that say's you can't give in to your feelings and fall in love you, know," said The Phantom carefully. His eyes glanced toward the closed door leading to the bathroom. He could hear Colin bellowing away as he showered. "Hell and sheeit," he thought, "he sure makes a lot of noise!"
Alex noted The Phantom's glance. He smiled thinly as he said, "The last time I heard a noise like that a poppa water buffalo had got into the fields with a momma buffalo and ol' Papa San was wavin' his arms and yellin' to keep them apart, and ol' Mama San was screechin' at Papa San 'cause she didn't think he was doin' it right, and about a hundred kids were laughin' at both of them!"
The Phantom noticed that Alex had slipped into the idiom of his home place and youth. He stood, found the decanter of Scotch and refilled Alex's glass. When he returned to his seat, The Phantom asked, "Is he, um, has he, said anything to you?"
"About us?" asked Alex as he sipped his drink. The Phantom nodded and Alex continued. "He wants to meet with me later, to talk things over, he said."
"Then why don't you go?" The Phantom's voice was low, and very calm. "If you love him, and he loves you . . ." He paused and looked searchingly at Alex. "Or is it that he doesn't love you?"
"That's just it," Alex replied with a shake of his head. "Jake wants us to be together, like we were in Vietnam."
"Then what's the problem?" asked The Phantom. "If he loves you, and wants to be with you, well, hell and sheeit, Alex, go for it!"
Again Alex shook his head. "Easy for you to say." He looked into the smoky dregs of his drink. "There's a lot of things, though . . ."
"Such as?"
"Phantom, I'm afraid!" Alex declared with passion. "Where I come from, men don't live with men. It just doesn't happen!"
The Phantom sighed. He knew exactly how Alex felt. "Alex, I come from a small town. I know what people in small towns think about 'queers' and 'faggots'." He paused and look thoughtful a moment. "For some reason the phrase, 'Better Dead Than Queer' comes to mind."
Alex snorted. "Phantom, my daddy is a good man. He's always provided for his family, is a church-goin' man, and will give you the shirt off of his back if you're in need of it."
"But?"
"If I told him that I was planning on setting up house with Jake, he'd shoot me dead in the yard! Hell, if he knew right now that Jake and me had been together in 'Nam, he'd shoot me dead in the yard!"
"He thinks so little of you that he would do that?" asked The Phantom, frankly shocked. "Or is it that he hates too much?"
"In my daddy's world there are no queers, Phantom. He thinks that way, his daddy thought that way. All his friends think that way and my brothers think that way!"
The Phantom considered Alex's words. He also considered the life he had led before coming to HMCS Aurora. He had known fear, but he had also found acceptance. "Alex, you can't change what you are, or the way you feel." He looked at Alex. "Does Jake love you?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Do you love Jake?"
"More than you can believe!" said Alex almost breathlessly.
"Then what the hell are you doing here?" came Colin's voice.
Alex turned to see Colin, as naked as a babe, stroll out of the bathroom, towelling his blond hair dry. Alex had to admit that Colin was one good-looking man. And not too shabby when it came to his upper deck fittings.
Colin saw Alex's admiring look, ignored it, and carried on, "Why aren't you with him? You haven't seen him for years! Hell, Alex, I'm surprised you haven't dragged him off to your quarters and had your way with him!"
"Colin!" gasped The Phantom.
"Oh, come on, Phantom, they're in love! Why pussy foot around?"
"There stands the voice of warped reason," sniped The Phantom.
Ignoring his lover, Colin slipped on a fresh pair of tighty whiteys, adjusted himself and said, "Alex, if you're in love with him, then do something about it! Who gives a shit if your family won't approve? Or his! It's your life, damn it! Do you want to spend the rest of it alone, hiding from some damned prejudice." He waved his arm firmly. "When we get finished with whatever it is we're doing in Quebec City, Phantom is coming home to meet the folks!"
"He is?" asked Alex.
"I am?" asked The Phantom, aghast.
"You are, and don't give me that look!" instructed Colin. "Do you love me?"
"With my whole heart, with my soul," replied The Phantom, his eyes bright.
"And I love you! I love you so much that I am not going to hide away! We're a couple and we're in love and we're going to be together." He looked around and found what he was looking for, his Collar, which had tossed on the bed.
"Now listen to me, the pair of you," Colin growled. "I am not only the Defensor Princeps, I am the Champion of the Order! That means - if I'm right - that I have to defend everything the Order stands for! Michael gave me the honours for a reason! He does not hand out empty honours, things to be put on and put off as it pleases me! He is trying to rebuild something that was essentially dead and buried a hundred years ago! He is telling us to be proud of what we are, and proud of what we do as Knights." He glared at The Phantom. "I understand that someone in this room blew his cork on the lawn of the Legislature in Victoria one sunny morning and said the same thing."
"Well, yes, I did," admitted The Phantom. He frowned at Colin. "You've been talking to the Twins! Or Randy and Joey!"
"And Chef, and Tyler, and Val!" returned Colin. He glared at The Phantom. "You are the hope of the Order, Phantom! There are guys in this house, some we know about, some we don't, who will look to you, as the Prince of the Order, for leadership and guidance, just as they will look for that same leadership and guidance from me!" He turned to Alex. "And that goes for you as well, Grinchsten! You were made Phantom's protection officer because somebody saw that you had balls! Let 'em clang and for Christ's sake, make an honest man out of Guildenhall!"
Alex, unable to respond to Colin's outburst simply stood there, with his mouth open.
Colin walked to the closet and took out his blue mess kit. "What is the point of making us knights, of giving us honours, if we're going to hide in the closet? I walked down the streets of Comox with you Phantom. Okay, we couldn't hold hands - the time for that is not yet - but the day will come when it will be just two people in love, showing that love and as far as I'm concerned it's going start with my folks! They can either accept it, or go to hell - their choice! I am going to do it because I would be one sorry son of a bitchin' Defender of Princes or Champion of the Order if I didn't."
The Phantom's heart grew large with the love that filled it. Hell and sheeit! Colin was sure a man!
Alex, sensing that a special moment for The Phantom and Colin had come, quickly gathered up both Collars. "Um, I'm going to speak to Jake as soon as I return these to the Gold Store." He winked at The Phantom. "It's time I wasn't here!"
Before The Phantom, or Colin could object, Alex opened the bedroom door, and was surprised to find Jake standing in the corridor. Jake turned and quickly whispered in Alex's ear. Alex look surprised, and asked, "You're sure?"
"Yeah," replied Jake. "I'm to keep everybody inside for a while - until it's done." Then he smiled. "I almost forgot, I'm now the Travelling Yeoman. I get to gather up all the luggage and take care that everything is handled properly." I laughed. "I even have a staff!"
"You do?" asked Alex.
"Yeah! Rusty!" replied Jake as he turned to walk further down the corridor.
"What was that all about?" The Phantom asked as Alex began to close the door.
"It seems that Michael has decided that the doctor is not going to be attending the dinner," Alex replied as he slowly closed the door.
Across the corridor, Jérémie Cher, bug-eyed at what he had heard, closed the door. He had showered, dressed into his perfectly ironed, white uniform, and decided to go downstairs. He had heard that there were some very interesting books and plates in the library. Since Blake Putnam was not in there - he was in fact lying on the bed behind Jérémie Cher wearing some boxers he had borrowed from Harry, waiting for his kilt to be returned from being pressed - Jérémie Cher had decided to check them out. He had barely opened the door to his room when he heard Jake speaking to Alex.
Closing the door carefully, Jérémie Cher sat in the chair near the window.
"I thought you were going down to the library," observed Blake.
"Uh, I changed my mind," replied Jérémie Cher.
"Did I hear someone talking?" asked Blake.
"Uh, yeah, that new footman, Jake? He's now the Travelling Yeoman."
"What's that?" asked Blake.
"Sounds like a glorified baggage handler to me." Jérémie Cher looked around. "Where's the television?"
"In that big cabinet," replied Blake, indicating the wardrobe that stood between the windows.
Wondering what was going on, and it did not sound at all good for the doctor, whom he did not in any case like, Jérémie Cher opened the wardrobe. "Maybe there's a ball game on," he said.
After shaving, Daniel began dressing. He put on some fresh boxers, and a white T-shirt. He looked around for his boiled shirt and saw it hanging in the closet. He took it out and was about to reach for the gold studs that replaced buttons on the stiffly starched dress shirt when there was a knock on the door.
Daniel opened the door to find Michael Chan standing there. Beside Michael was Pete Sheppard and some young Chink - Michael's nephew or something, Daniel remembered. Behind Michael was Major Meinertzhagen and two of the largest Chinese men Daniel had seen in a long time.
Opening the door wide to allow Michael entry, Daniel felt a shiver of fear travel rapidly down his back. He stepped back. "Um, is something wrong?" he asked, his eyes widening.
Michael entered, followed by the other men. His eyes cool, his manner calm, Michael stared at the doctor for several seconds. "You are called to a Bar of Justice, Sir Knight," said Michael formally. "And you will answer to me for your treachery!"
For a moment, Daniel could not believe what he had just heard. "No!" he squeaked as he took a step back.
The two Chinese men moved around Michael and walked toward the doctor, who moved back.
"No, you can't," wailed Daniel. "I'm . . . I'm a knight! I'm an officer in the Canadian Armed Forces! You . . ."
Conrad Tsang reached out and took the doctor's right arm. Marvin Tsang clasped the other firmly. "Be a man!" snarled Marvin.
"I have rights!" screamed Daniel! "I have rights!"
"You gave up those rights the moment you entered Minh's brothel!" replied Michael.
Michael's voice was low, but so filled with malice that Daniel Dane Bradley-Smith voided his bladder.
"What was that?" asked Colin, rising from the bed where he was resting before dinner.
Alex reached inside his jacket but The Phantom motioned for him to stop. The Phantom's eyes had turned dark. His face was blank as he looked at Alex and said, "Michael Chan never forgets an injury, and never forgives an insult."
"A Bar of Justice?" asked Colin from the bed.
The Phantom shook his head. "This is personal."
Colin lay back on the bed. He had no great love for the doctor, nor did he have any respect for the man, not after what he had heard two of the footmen whispering about him.
"God have mercy on you, Doctor," thought Colin, "for Michael Chan most surely will not."
Michael Chan sat in his darkened office a large Scotch in his hand. He was looking out of the window at the moonlit garden. He slowly sipped his drink.
The dinner had gone well, with no delays, and with only three toasts and no speeches, they had finished early. This had allowed the Major to advance the flight schedule for Quebec City and the young knights had hurried upstairs to change into the clothing they would wear on the flight.
And now it was done. The young knights, the officers, and the three lady chaperones had boarded the bus and motorcars and were on their way to the airport.
Michael heard the door open and reflected off of the window he could see Alistair, who entered, closed the door, and sat quietly in the corner chair.
"Do you wish you were going with them?" asked Alistair presently.
"No. It is not my place. I have done what I could to protect them, but in any venture there is risk. You will learn that . . . in time."
Alistair rose and stood beside Michael's chair. "I hope that they will find what they are looking for," he said.
"They will find what they are destined to find, and do what they are destined to do," replied Michael softly.
Alistair nodded. He looked out of the window and saw the gardens darken as a cloud passed between the Earth and the Moon. "Our struggle is almost ended."
"And their Crusade has just begun," replied Michael. He lifted his glass in a silent toast to his knights and whispered, "Deus Vult!"
To Be Concluded