Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: ZEROING IN

Previously: Ruslan, attempting to discover who poisoned Prince Abdullah, establishes a persona of a malcontent slave named Marat', encouraging the common slaves in the kitchen to rebel. A few slaves seem to send him positive signals. However, Ruslan also catches the attention of a trusty, Günter, who reprimands him for his scandalous talk. After Ruslan explains to Günter that he was ordered by his master' to pretend to be rebellious, Günter points him in the direction of a kitchen slave named Mehmet who has a grudge to bear against the Royal Family. Matti mentions a local slave who had made an unusual request to take one of Abdullah's robes for cleaning, and Ruslan wonders if this is also Mehmet.

Although his practicum is over, Ruslan must still pose as a slave, which exposes him to the risk of being used by the Prince Regent's brothers Khalid and Mustafa. The brothers are plotting to have Matti, whom they do not trust, sentenced to the dome at his trial in January – they believe the key to achieving this is to replace Matti with Alex, whom the Prince Regent would like to acquire.

RUSLAN: THURSDAY, 8 DECEMBER, EARLY AFTERNOON – ROYAL KITCHENS

After Prince Abdullah had completed his lunch, I returned his tray to the kitchens. As I did so, I saw the local slave beckon to me, surreptitiously. I went to him. He pulled my head close to his and whispered into my ear.

• Can you meet me in the gym at 10:45 tonight?

The gym? There was a gym? I'd ask Günter. Or Declan, if he was speaking to me by then.

I nodded. He planted a quick kiss on my cheek, which I recognized as a cover for the reason he had called me over.

• Ah, none of that. (Günter's scolding voice) Keep your romances to the slave quarters, Mehmet.

Thank you, Günter, for confirming his identity.

On my way back to Prince Abdullah's suite, I heard another voice:

• Boy!

Mustafa. (Damn!) I dropped to the floor and presented my ass like a good little slave. He ordered me into his quarters, where his brother Khalid was nursing a cup of coffee, a short Black slave standing obediently in the corner. Probably a Little Big Man capture who may know Alexei and Matti. Alas, I could never question him.

• (in Arabic) Look what I found, brother. Shall we take him for another ride?

Khalid grinned and shucked his robe, under which he wore nothing. My practicum was over, but there was no way I could avoid this. They ordered me into Mustafa's Fuck Room, and I soon found Khalid's hand smacking my ass.

• (Mustafa, in Arabic) Not so fast, brother. I found him, I get first crack. (in English, to me) Knees, boy.

I dutifully knelt and opened my mouth, knowing what was to come. His generous (but not huge) organ soon filled my mouth, and his pubic hair tickled my upper lip.

• Slobber it well, boy. This is all the lube you get.

While I coated his cock with as much of my saliva as I could muster, Khalid pressed a switch in the wall. A compartment opened in the ceiling and down dropped a sling.

• Get on it.

With me in the sling, and Mustafa's member reaming my back channel, Khalid spoke in Arabic:

• Shall we continue our discussion, brother, or are you too distracted by the pleasures of ravaging this boy's newly-inaugurated hole?

• I can multitask.

• So the problem is getting Dmitri's boy here in time for 4387's trial. And as we said yesterday, inviting Dmitri here as a judge wouldn't be enough enticement.

• Agreed. So what would get Dmitri here?

• The Chinese.

• The Chinese?

• The Chinese have made offers. We let Dmitri know that.

• Yes, but we don't want their offers. Little Big Man stock have been superior, if you overlook bobbles like that "South Carolina" boy they stuck Rashid with.

• Whom we should have domed instead of just snipping off his nuts. Anyway, WE know we're not interested in the Chinese offer. But Dmitri doesn't know that.

• So we invite him down here for trials, offering him a judgeship, but get him worried about losing the contract.

• And insist he bring his slave as a condition for negotiation. He may be willing to give him up if he thinks it will save Little Big Man. He can't afford to lose us as a client.

• Are you sure? Abdul might be able to market all of Dmitri's stock – he gets a good turnout at those auctions.

• We pay better than the auction prices. And next year he's opening a European front – can Abdul sell both groups AND match our prices? No. Dmitri needs us.

• Sounds like a plan, brother. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to dial this up a notch and give this slave a taste of real manhood.

• Ha. For a taste of real manhood, he needs MY cock up his ass.

Well, I got both. But it was worth it. I now had truly important information for Dmitri.

THURSDAY, 8 DECEMBER, LATE EVENING – OUTSIDE THE TRUSTY SLEEPING QUARTERS

Günter had evidently spoken to Declan during the day. The Irish trusty greeted me with a hug when I reported to the sleeping quarters at 10:30, and apologized for having the bed stripped the previous night. He said he was glad I wasn't truly an insurrectionist but just obeying orders from the prince.

• We'll sleep together tonight, but no sex. His Majesty approved it just the once, I'm afraid.

• That's all right, Declan. I've had my fill of cock today. I just want your body next to mine.

He told me where the slave gym was, surprised that no one had shown me. At this hour, the gym had only one occupant. It was the one I wanted.

• Your name is Mehmet.

• I guess you heard Günter call me that. Günter – that's the trusty who supervises my area.

• I'm Marat.

• Russian?

• Yeah. (pretending I didn't know) Are you from here or one of the neighboring countries?

• Here. But enough small talk. What I want to know is – are you with us?

• That depends. Who is `us' and what does it mean to be with you?

• There's four of us. Me, DeMarcus, Brett and Koji.

I was willing to bet that these were the three slaves I had seen huddled together at breakfast – the Asian was Koji, the white was Brett, and DeMarcus was probably "South Carolina".

• Is DeMarcus a eunuch?

• (wary) How did you know that?

• I put two and two together. I'm a smart cookie, Mehmet. I saw those three looking at me this morning in the same way you did – interested. I'd seen the eunuch before, in the garden. But you haven't answered my question.

• You haven't answered mine. Are you with us?

• If you can get me what I want.

• What is it you want?

• I would have thought that was obvious. I want out of here.

• And you're risking the dome to do so?

• Who's going to put me on the dome? I'm not stupid enough to repeat what I say down here in front of the Prince Regent. And who's going to tell him? No one. Slaves are not exactly allowed to walk up to them and say, "Hey, know what your new trusty is saying?"

• No, but some prince could ask, `Has anyone been saying this or that?'

• And then you'd lie.

• Yes, and we did lie – about – well, never mind.

• About poisoning Abdull-boy.

• . . .

• Relax, Mehmet, I'm not going to rat on you.

• I'm not saying we did it.

• But you did. Why?

He studied my face carefully. `Can I trust him?' was written all over his.

• You can trust me. I promise.

And I promise to break my promise. You absolutely cannot trust me.

Mehmet repeated the story that Günter had told me, about his father being arrested and the rest of his family deported.

• I wanted the Prince Regent to feel the pain that I felt. My father in prison, my mother, my brother, my sister who knows where, and I wound up here, fucked every single day of my life. Unlike a lot of these guys, I'm not gay or even secretly gay, and I HATE being fucked.

• I'll second that.

• I didn't want to kill His Fucking Majesty. But I wanted him to feel pain. If he lost his son – his heir – then he would know a small measure of the pain that I felt. I lost my entire family. I just wanted him to lose one person important to him. Just one. But I wanted it to hurt.

It was an understandable sentiment. But the sad fact was, he was a slave, and slaves had no rights. Life was not fair to slaves; they couldn't expect things like justice for the wrongs done to them. They just had to adjust – and Mehmet had not adjusted.

• But Abdull-boy survived.

• We got the dose wrong. DeMarcus got the rat poison from the garden supplies. Koji put it into the food, Brett made sure it got delivered to Abdullah's boy. I coordinated it. But we didn't put enough in the babaganoush. And now they've got Abdullah's precious little slave tasting everything, so we can't try a second time. He's the principal suspect, so if we poisoned him now he'd be exonerated and they'd look back to us.

A charitable point of view. He didn't care about Matti's life, just to exploit him as a useful scapegoat.

• Actually, you'd be killing me, since I'm the taster now, not little Doormatti. So you asked before if I was with you. Three questions: How can I help? What kind of risks would I be taking? What's in it for me?

• Let me answer the last question first. What's in it for you – freedom, if everything goes to plan.

• That sounds like ridiculous over-optimism. How could you set me free?

• I could set everyone free. I could blow this place up. Not literally, but I could expose His Fucking Majesty and the people would overthrow him.

• Uh, good luck with that.

• No, I could do it.

• How?

• I could write a story. My father taught me enough about how the newspaper gets created that I know how to plaster it all over page one without the editor even knowing about it. I just have to get out of here in order to do it.

• Yeah, well, with you being naked and all the security around here, that seems a pretty tall order.

• That's where you come in.

• What the fuck could I do? I don't know anything about the security system.

• You don't have to. You have access to Prince Abdullah. You just have to get me one of his robes.

Like you wanted Matti to do – and he refused. No wonder you're pissed at him and don't care if he lives or dies.

• I look a lot like Abdullah, in case you haven't noticed.

• (Hmmm, I hadn't, actually, but he did.)

• Put me in his robe with a keffiyeh on my head and I could pass for him. People wouldn't look twice at me and think `that's a slave'. They've never seen a slave with clothes on, it wouldn't even enter their brains that I wasn't a royal. If they know Abdullah's robes, they'd think I was Abdullah; I look enough like him to pull it off. And then I can walk right out of here, blow the whistle on the slavery that the rest of the country doesn't know about, and all of you would go free.

• And just how am I supposed to get you one of his robes?

• Find a time when he's not there – or when he's fucking his boy, so he's distracted. Then take one of his robes. Anyone asks you, you've been ordered to have it cleaned. There's a utility closet on the third floor that's hardly ever used. You can leave it there. I'll find time to sneak up and slip it on, and then I'm home free.

• And if you're caught?

• I'm a dead man.

• So am I, if I'm caught.

• That's the risk you're taking. But isn't it a risk worth taking?

• I don't want to die.

• Are you alive now? I heard this slogan for one of the states in America, I forget which one: "Live Free or Die". You say you don't want to die – well, who does? But how old are you?

• Twenty-seven.

• Twenty-seven. You have thirteen years max and then you're dead. Thirteen years – do you want to live those thirteen years getting fucked in the ass every single day? When there's a chance you can live a normal life until you're old?

• Let me think about it.

• You can have twenty-four hours.

• Or else?

• Or else I report you to Günter. And tell him this was all your suggestion because you noticed how much I looked like Abdullah.

• You think he'll believe you?

• You think he'll risk NOT believing me? You think your life will be easier if I tell him this? He has no idea that I'm disloyal.

• (Oh yes he does.) Look, I'm totally in support of your goals, I'm just not so sure of your methods and the risks you're taking. I won't betray you, but I'm not sure I want to be part of it.

• Oh, you're part of it already. Don't you understand that?

Actually, I do.

FRIDAY, 9 DECEMBER, MORNING – SLAVE QUARTERS/PRINCE ABDULLAH'S/PRINCE REGENT'S

Last night I slept with Declan for the last time. It was bittersweet; we couldn't have sex. I lay next to his sweet-smelling body knowing that this was the last time I'd be feeling his skin next to mine. He lay there with no inkling that we wouldn't be doing this for days to come. I wished I could tell him.

I also wished I could find a way to rescue him from an appointment with the Hall of Pride in three years. A slave this good should be rewarded with retirement' on Slave Island when he reached the age of forty, as Dmitri had done with Slava. But the sad truth was that the great majority of slaves, even good ones, were, in IAMSO's language, dispatched' on their fortieth birthday.

I had to remember that Declan was happy here, and would be honored to have his body parts mounted in the Hall of Pride. He reminded me that he had a choice of execution methods – hanging or beheading, after a single, celebratory farewell rape by his master. Other slaves had a less pleasant and more prolonged final experience, especially the rebellious among them.

I thanked Günter for putting me in touch with Mehmet, without revealing the information I had garnished from him. So far as Günter was concerned, my `investigation' was continuing.

In fact, my investigation had mostly ended last night. I knew who the culprits were, but also knew that telling the Prince Regent their names was insufficient. What would he do if I told him one of those responsible was Brett'? I imagined they could correlate a boy's original name with his number, but was there only one Brett'?

At breakfast, I made a point of approaching Mehmet's three co-conspirators, staying only long enough to say, "Tell Mehmet I'm in, I'm with you guys." However, my real aim was to read their tattoos and mentally record their slave numbers.

Matti was with Prince Abdullah when I brought up their breakfasts and, at a moment when the slave's eyes were averted, I gave Abdullah a wink and a thumbs up. He raised his eyebrows – does that mean . . . ? I nodded and smiled.

He waited until we had finished eating and then sent Matti back to the kitchen with the trays, so we could be alone while I laid out the details. Abdullah texted the news to his father, and five minutes later we were in the Prince Regent's suite. Declan was clearly surprised to see me there, but, naturally, said nothing.

The Prince Regent surprised me with his first sentence:

• I've received a decent offer for you, more than I paid, so I've decided to sell you. (to Abdullah) Son, you won't need a bodyguard anymore. Our investigations have identified those responsible for poisoning you. You should continue to have a taster though, just as a precaution. Your boy can do it – and if he dies, well, he's just a slave.

This, I realized, was all for show. My assignment finished, there was no need for me to stay here a moment longer; I could return to St. Petersburg. Abdullah feigned surprise at the news, the two live-in slaves showed no reaction, but my eyes were on Declan. His face fell when the Prince Regent announced my impending "sale", and I thought I saw water forming in the corner of his eye.

Damn, I wished I could take him with me. Dmitri had just hired a new gardener to replace the treasonous Grigory – maybe he'd be willing to let the new guy go and take Declan for that role. I had to laugh at myself for even formulating such a ridiculous plan. The gardener couldn't be a slave – if nothing else, he'd need to wear shoes – absolutely taboo for a slave. And the fucking arrangements would be complicated – no, it was preposterous. Declan will stay here, living out his last three years happily serving the Prince Regent until it's his time to go.

The Prince Regent then dismissed all the slaves.

• Spill it.

• There are four slaves involved. The ringleader is a local boy named Mehmet, slave number 4368. Besides coordinating the poisoning, he also approached Abdullah's boy – and then me – in a crazy scheme to obtain one of Abdullah's robes and disguise himself as your son, hoping to walk out of here. The other three are 4309, 4276, and 4383.

• Abdullah, go to the computer and check the records. Find out if there are any prior disciplinary actions. Have any of these boys been malcontents we should have domed long ago? 4383 – That's a recent number. One of this year's Little Big Man crop?

• Indeed. You might remember the boy.

• I don't pay attention to numbers. Or names.

• You will remember him, though. He was initially assigned to your brother Rashid.

• South Carolina?

• South Carolina.

• Rashid is a fool. My other brothers and I wanted to dome it immediately, but Rashid insisted we give it a second chance. It takes ten votes on the jury to dome a slave, and since Rashid, as the slave's master, gets three votes, he vetoed the decision. We gelded the boy, of course, but that obviously didn't deter him.

Abdullah returned, reporting that none of the suspects had any incidents resulting in more-than-ordinary discipline.

• This ringleader, Mehmet. You say he's local.

• Yes, Your Majesty. You appropriated him when his father was arrested for sedition. A newspaper reporter who wrote an article suggesting that you didn't actually live in the official palace.

• Which I don't. But that's none of the people's business. I remember the case.

• He said he had lost his entire family and he wanted you to lose your son, so you'd know the same kind of pain.

• (snickering) These slaves. They think they're entitled to feelings. What a clown. So far as I know, his family is still alive – we sold his mother and younger siblings somewhere, probably a factory in China. His father is in our central prison. Abdullah, find out if the man is still alive. If he is, have him brought here. It's time he saw how his son has turned out.

• So it would seem that my mission is over, Your Majesty. Can I have my clothes back now?

• (rueful smile) Do you think I have them? You left your clothes on that plane, Ruslan. And as we're carrying on this pretense of selling you to another owner, we'll have to march you back out there naked. I can't let anyone know that there was a slave in their midst who wasn't really a slave.

• So can you arrange for transport?

• I have already done so. Unfortunately, the plane was in Addis Ababa on other business. It will be here this afternoon. You'll have to remain naked until then, I'm afraid.

• Can you at least keep me away from your brothers?

• (smile) Their appetite for my slaves borders on the insatiable – ask my boys here if you think it's just you. I will protect you from them, but unfortunately, I must require you to submit one more time. As a prospective member of IAMSO, you are aware that a slave who is being sold must be given one last fuck, in public.

• Oh, shit, I forgot about that.

• But I'll be kind. I'll give you the smallest dick in my family – my son Jamal. He needs the experience, anyway.

• (Sigh.) Very well. Thank you, Your Majesty, for at least that consideration.

FRIDAY, 9 DECEMBER, 12:45 P.M. – ROTUNDA

It was nearly time for the changing of the dome. The next group would go up at 1:00, to the relief of those currently overseeing the rotunda – literally.

Still in my role as `Marat', I was hustled into the rotunda roughly, along with the four conspirators. They looked at me accusingly, as if I was responsible for their being there. Well, I was, but they couldn't have known how. In any case, they knew that the jig was up and their gamble had lost. And that nothing good could be happening next.

We were accompanied by a dozen of the palace's best-built trusties – every bit my equal in height and musculature. They could easily overpower Mehmet and the three small slaves, should the need arise.

Minutes later, the royal entourage appeared: the P.R., his brothers and sons, an uncle or three, and their attendant slaves, including Matti and Declan. The suspects dropped to the floor and displayed, as if this show of obedience was going to influence their fate. Still playing my role, I displayed along with them.

We were ordered up and faced the Prince Regent – and the music. The others were directed onto mats; I was kept separate.

• 4309, 4368, 4276, and 4383, you are guilty of sedition and the attempted murder of my son Abdullah, and have been sentenced to life on the dome. Those of you with balls will surrender them; you will be painted white and you will spend four out of every twenty hours suspended over this rotunda until such time as your servitude shall end, at which time you will be put to death via Dispatch Protocol 4, after which your head will be placed in the Hall of Shame, to be reviled by every decent and obedient slave in this palace. You are a disgrace to the honorable institution of slavery and deserve every moment of torment which you will endure. Spread your legs.

The trusties attached what looked like cock rings around the testicles of Mehmet, Brett, and Koji as South Carolina looked on helplessly. He knew what they would experience, having suffered it himself previously.

• You will feel your balls being slowly severed, while at the same time the wound will be cauterized so that there will be minimal bleeding. It will be every bit as painful as if an actual knife were slowly sawing them off your body.

I remembered Dmitri's descriptions of the P.R.'s castrations on the boat – while those had been incorporated into a guillotine, it was clearly the same mechanism in portable form.

The three men began to grimace in pain as they felt their man-sacs being gradually severed. Meanwhile, other trusties were shearing their heads of hair (their bodies already having been shaved smooth). And then their bodies were covered in white paint, to resemble the marble figures to which they would soon be affixed.

Five minutes later, the first set of balls – Koji's – dropped quietly to the floor, soon followed by Brett's and Mehmet's. All four slaves – including South Carolina – were now perfectly white, hairless eunuchs.

During this, the slaves stationed on the dome slowly descended down the guiding tracks that led to the floor of the rotunda, where they were unbound from the marble statues that had caressed them for the last four hours and lifted off the prodigious phalluses onto which they had been anally impaled. As I would have expected, they walked gingerly, awkwardly, taking some time to regain their balance – even after months of this, I couldn't imagine it was something that was ever comfortable.

Mehmet, Brett, Koji, and South Carolina were then seized by two trusties apiece and thrust onto the marble statues. Koji in particular called out in pain as the oversized penis ripped up his hole. Mehmet was breathing hard, trying to maintain his dignity but failing as his arms and legs were strapped into place. His face was contorted in agony as he was processing that he was going to be feeling this immense phallus up his backside for the next four hours, and that he was about to be sent rocketing nearly eight stories up, and suspended over the hard floor below.

• Before we send you up, we have a special treat for 4368. I think you might know this gentleman.

The Prince Regent nodded to a trusty in the corner and he disappeared, bringing back another trusty and a naked man in his forties, who was forced down on his knees on one of the mats – the very mat, in fact, onto which the testicles of his son had dropped minutes before.

Mehmet's jaw dropped open.

• Father!

The older man did not look back.

• Father, you're still alive!

"Not for long!" called out Khalid, who suddenly had a sword in his hands. He swung it swiftly toward the crouching man's neck, and I closed my eyes. Mehmet screamed in protest: "Nooooo!"

I heard a thud. Malik laughed and emitted a whoop of approval. Creepy little kid.

I opened my eyes and looked away.

• (P.R.) You brought this upon him, and upon yourself. He would still be alive if not for your treacherous actions.

• (Mehmet) You are animals! Animals!

• (Mustafa) On the contrary. We treated him quite civilly. We allowed him to die quickly, retaining his full manhood, and without being fucked first. That is a sign of respect – in this country, executions are normally preceded by the rape and castration of the condemned. One of my uncles wanted him to die with your balls in his mouth, but he was spared even that.

• (Khalid) The kindest thing we did was spare him from seeing how his son will die.

• (P.R.) Don't worry – you'll have your dome time first. Now, as for slave 4397 –

• (South Carolina) The traitor! He ratted on us! He's the one deserves the dome.

• (P.R.) There are only four spots on the dome, unfortunately. But 4397 IS guilty of treasonous talk. I could have him whipped a thousand lashes, spread out over several days. But I have decided instead, to sell him, as I have received a lucrative offer, and he will be good riddance.

They then watched as I knelt on a mat, spreading my legs so that my hole could be lubed up for Jamal to rape me for what I certainly hoped was the very last time in my life. To his, and his family's embarrassment, Jamal was soft and had to manipulate himself to erection, an effort which took longer than anyone wanted.

Finally, he was ready and inserted himself into me. As he had shown on Tuesday, Jamal was an inexpert and awkward fucker, coming altogether too quickly. When he withdrew, he was red-faced and sheepish.

Moments later the four criminal slaves were propelled toward the heavens, their muted screams so far above the rotunda that they were barely heard. Protest at this point was pointless; they were several stories above us, strapped to a statue with a hard penis firmly up their respective rectums. There was absolutely nothing they could do about it – now, or for the rest of their pathetic lives.

FRIDAY, 9 DECEMBER, 4:30 P.M. – SOMEWHERE OVER THE MIDDLE EAST

It felt good to wear clothes again. And surprisingly odd. I had been naked for nearly four days straight. Of course, I have no modesty about being nude in front of others, such as at our Saturday night parties. But that was by choice. To be forcibly nude for nearly a hundred hours – well, it gave me an appreciation of what slaves go through.

But not exactly empathy. It did not make me feel akin with them, or sorry for them. They are slaves, it is their lot. But the more that you understand the mindset of a slave, the better you can control him. And slaves exist to be controlled. Dmitri has taught me that. The Prince Regent as well.

As for the four boys who would spend twenty percent of their remaining lives high in the air with a marble phallus probing their guts? No pity. They had earned their fate, after all.

The best thing about the end of my mission was not having to pretend to be something I wasn't. I didn't have to hide my understanding of Arabic. And I didn't have to lie to Abdullah or Matti. Or Declan. . . .

• You seem deep in thought there, pal.

• Yeah, sorry. It's been quite an experience.

• Tell me about it.

I did. My inquisitor was Bill Tompkins, the American subcontractor who had accompanied me on the plane to the Prince Regent's country, and who had had custody of my clothes for the last five days. Bill was initially curious about the details of my practicum – what it felt like to be on the receiving end of things, something he had never experienced. I offered him the opportunity, right then and there on the plane, to be on the receiving end of things. Although he was far from my type, he had a mouth and an ass and, after five days of inactivity, Ruslan Jr. was craving exercise.

But Bill declined my offer; I would have to wait until St. Petersburg – and tomorrow night's party – to plunge my dagger into another male backside.

He became fascinated, though, when I outlined my spy-work, and how I was able to uncover the slaves who had attempted to poison Prince Abdullah.

• So did you watch them get their comeuppance?

• If you mean did I watch them get mounted onto the dome, yes, I did.

• And the ones they replaced, did you stay for the execution?

I hadn't. The Prince Regent trotted out the twenty slaves who had been assigned to Dome Duty before the new four went up, and announced that the four who had been on dome duty the longest would be terminated, one by one, over the next few days – unless there were any volunteers.

To my surprise, a hand went up.

• I've ruddy had it with that dome. I don't care what you fucking do to me, anything's got to be better than up there.

It was an Australian accent.

• (P.R.) Slave 4394 –

• (Slave) Derek. My name's fucking Derek, all right, mate? I'm not some fucking number, I'm Derek, I'm from Adelaide, and I was a VOLUNTEER slave, thank you, until my bloody master sold me to you lot – with the help of some Russian asshole and a corrupt judge.

• (Khalid) I can see why your former master was anxious to get rid of you. Since you're so anxious to end your slavery, I think we'll take you first. And because of your insolence, we'll use Dispatch Protocol 3 – it was to have been 2, but you've just earned an upgrade. We'll begin your execution today.

• (Derek) Begin?

That was the last word that emerged from Derek's mouth before it was sealed shut. It was at this point that they hustled me out of the room and took me to the limousine that would spirit me to the airport.

• So you didn't witness the execution. Grade 3, you said?

• Yes.

• I witnessed a Grade 4 once. Want to hear about it?

I was curious and said yes. Afterwards, I wished I hadn't.

[Author's Note: Are YOU curious? In my initial draft, I continued this conversation, but deleted it since the content is pretty nasty. I think that decision was in everyone's best interests – yours, mine, and Nifty's. However, if you want to feed your sadistic side, I can send it to you privately. But, like Ruslan, you might regret it.]

SUNDAY, 18 DECEMBER, 1 A.M. (EIGHT NIGHTS LATER) – LOUNGE, YURI'S HOME

[Author's Note: Timewise, this conversation follows the one between Ruslan and Nurbek at the end of Chapter 52, after the party at which Rhody accepted the `Ultra" punishment to spare Alex.]

• So, Nurbek, what do you think those two are doing, now that we left them alone?

• I think they're fucking.

• Who's fucking whom?

• I think Rodion is fucking your Alexei. And after what he went through for that boy, I think he earned the right to be the top.

• Agreed. But they might just be talking.

• There's a closed-circuit camera down there that feeds to Yuri's room. He won't mind if we go in there and watch. Want to?

• Nah, I'd be disappointed if it turns out they weren't touching each other. Grab me another Baltika, Nurbek?

• Done. But you were going to tell me about your plan. How you and I could wind up with Alexei and Rodi, instead of the slaves we'll take home from Little Big Man Europe.

• I'm not sure it will work. It needs a lot of pieces to fall into place, and I'll have to get the cooperation of Prince Abdullah. But he owes me a favor - a big favor – and he just might be independent enough to do something bold. But we'll have to be patient. If I'm correct – and can talk Dmitri into it – he may be headed back to the palace in January. But that's only step one.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN - HAPPY NEW YEAR]