Mystery and Mayhem and St Marks

Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's

A Sequel

by

Joel

Seq 17:

Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned: Mark Henry Foster The story-teller: Newly graduated. Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams His well-proportioned boyfriend. Trainee Solicitor Francis Michael Foster Alias Toad/Gobbo Mark's younger brother Adam Benjamin Carr Mark's cousin: History don Ivo Richie Carr Ditto, as his twin: safely married diplomat Sophia Carr Their mother in Dorset George Carr Their father: A farmer Victoria ['Tory] Carr Ivo's wife Lady Mary Machin 'Tory's mother Mr James Marriott Head of Legation Andrei zu Glottenberh Rothenian Army Officer [Special Services] Lucasz Voynovich Rothenian Army Officer [Signals Division] Professor zum Adamszberh Rector, Rodolfer University Dr Schreiber Music Faculty staff: Rodolfer U. Frau Schreiber His wife Yniold Schreiber Their son: 17 Father Artur [Dr Wendel] Archbishop's Secretary Dr Claude Valentin Organist: St Vitalis Cathedral Strelzen Fraser (Fido) Doggett Plant hunter and 'Yogger Stag' Brett Baldry Ditto Ignasz Zendener The hotel manager in Strelzen David Vinodosj Taxi driver: Probably secret police Tomas; Igor; Hotel receptionists Herr Kusterin Intendant of the Opera House

Later that afternoon:

I hadn't heard Pig Latin since about the Second Year at school. We kids thought ourselves very clever as we assumed the beaks were daft and didn't understand. It wasn't until Geoff Scholes said loudly in History "Iway etbay Igger'sjay otgay artsway onway ishay umbay!" and a well-aimed piece of chalk got him square on the forehead, that we were disabused of that notion. Mr Jefferson's "Ymay oybay, Iway asway otnay ornbay esterdayyay. One hundred lines for the cheek, minus one hundred lines for the memory!" Jigger's stock went up a thousandfold and we quickly stopped using it.

So, with the injunction to 'Shut up! Bugged! Get out!" I did as I was told and it wasn't until we had exited the hotel, with Tris telling Ignasz we were meeting a friend, that I dared open my mouth. No use. He hurried me along towards the park and it wasn't until we got there I realised what had happened. Tris had his mobile out and speed-dialled. From what he said next I guessed it was the number the Adjutant had given us.

"Mickey Mouse here," he said, then paused. He looked at me and grinned. Then someone must have answered. "Hello, I think our room at the hotel has been bugged. Ignasz said a telephone engineer called because of faults on the line. We have come outside to the park and did not say anything." He paused again listening carefully. "Young man with a sports bag? Yes, we will wait." Another pause. "Yes, in the park, first seat opposite the statue of Milan Steppitch."

I looked around. There was a seat and a statue. I walked the short distance to it. I beckoned Tris. "Here. Now tell me."

We sat and he said he'd had a feeling the television seller and the telephone engineer were connected in some way. Why two electronic problems in two days? I said I had also noticed the open laptop case on the floor and was puzzled. I was still carrying my bag with his laptop in it so that hadn't been bugged. "I think it's the phone," he said, "I noticed it was set quite straight on the shelf just now, but since we've been here it has been at an angle. I'm certain I was followed yesterday and Tomas confirmed that with our little playacting last night. Whoever it is was still hovering but he realised Tomas had spotted him."

I said I hoped whoever was coming would hurry up as we had to get ready for the dinner at the Rector's. No problem. I saw a car stop and a young man got out in sweatshirt, jeans and trainers and hurried into the park. Yes, he was carrying a sports bag. And... We both knew who it was. He smiled when he saw us. "I have left my taxi over there." He sat between us and Tris told him his suspicions. "We are not surprised," he said. 'We' I thought? "We shall find out. Call me David when we go in. I think Mr Zeldener will not worry if you tell me some Maths. I will not understand but it will cover."

We went back to the hotel. Ignasc was talking to Tomas with much waving of arms and more or less ignored us. Before we got into our room David warned us not to speak but to wait in the study room until he came to fetch us. We didn't have to wait long but we heard him go out and then return. He came to the study laughing. "You were correct. There was a bug placed in the phone. It is now in the phone next door. I think there are two men in there as well."

We said there were and Tris said they were very good friends and waggled his eyebrows. David took the hint and grinned. Tris asked him how he got into their room as he didn't have a key. He laughed "I have to get in places more difficult than a hotel room."

"And when you drive a taxi you should try to keep the gun hidden," said Tris, "I guessed this morning as I noticed the bulge."

Ouch, the bugger hadn't let on to me but I'd noticed Tris's look.

"Very good," David said, "Perhaps we should offer you a job. You have good eyes and good thinking." He laughed. "I shall say good afternoon but I will be back at half past seven. My taxi."

He then came over and hugged both of us. Ping. My gaydar was off the scale!

"My boss says we make the best in our job," he said, "See you later!"

Tris and I said 'alligator' together and as he closed the door behind him clutched each other and hugged and wondered what the hell was going on.

Silence was no longer golden so as we showered (no sex), and laid out clothes in the nude (no sex), and dressed and admired each other, we chatted on about our day. What a day so far what was to come?

We calmed down a bit and I phoned James. Again, just the answer machine. I gave the shortest summary possible just saying all was OK. I then texted Frankie to say how his balls had been admired. Five minutes later and he said mine weren't too bad either, but he thought Tris's better. Cheek! And all that in txt-speak. A couple of minutes later he texted again. 'got gr8 m8s waz et kaz wrk at cmbs mit pug'. Text speak plus French and German! Who were Waz and Kaz though. Oh, he'd been up to town to meet the Arab lads. I remembered Charles had mentioned Wasim. So he'd ingratiated himself and counted them as pals now. Yes, I already knew he was going to work for Mr Coombs and so Pugsy was there, too. Building up more muscles carrying bricks, or digging holes, no doubt. Oooh, Pugsy's image always caused a twitch. Down Fido! And what about Fido and Brett in the next room tonight. The bug would pick up all their conversation and, if they continued as the previous two nights, sounds of exuberant sexual couplings. My oh my! What would the listeners think of upright English boys? Very upright English boys, no doubt.

I shared a few of my thoughts with Tris but he was more interested in writing postcards and sticking on stamps. He said he thought the post boxes were yellow but hadn't seen many. I said ask Tomas.

Tomas was still busy reading. Tris had a book with him. It was another Sherlock Holmes book 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes'.

"I found this in a shop," he said, "Would you like it?"

Tomas beamed with pleasure. "For me. So many thankyous," he said.

A favour. "Would you post these, please?" asked Tris.

Tomas took the half dozen or so cards and smiled. "In the morning I do. I sleep. I have room here." He pointed to a door behind the desk. "Then go home." He turned and opened the door and switched on the light. It looked small and cramped. "Look." He was obviously proud of his secondary home. We went behind the desk and looked. It was small and cramped and there was a smell. 'Old socks, sweat and semen' as someone had remarked about a fellow student's quarters at St Mark's. Well at seventeen, or even nineteen, what did one expect!

Our carriage drew up as Tris graciously held the hotel door open for me to descend the two steps arrayed in my best Matteoli jacket, shirt and trousers. Tris spoilt it rather as he matched me, except in a darker combination. David made it better, though. As the taxi halted he peered at us and kissed two fingers in a sign of approbation. As he got out of the cab I noted he was the same size as Tris. Some of Tris's best garb would find a new owner!

He took the same route as this morning. The zum Adamszberhs lived in the old quarter. He drove through a gateway with a wrought iron arch over it. He stopped at a flight of steps leading up to an imposing old door set in the middle of a double-fronted small mansion. The front door opened as we got out of the car. The Professor came down the steps to greet us but first he nodded at David and smiled. David gave him a bow of the head, which I had quickly learned was the general response to a friendly greeting.

"Thank you, David," the Professor said in English, then added something in rapid Rothenian. David gave another courtly bow of the head and got back in the cab. As we went up the steps the Professor explained. "David is my nephew. He has a very good career. I think Jerzy may join him once his studies are over." There was no explanation why he should ferry us about so easily.

Yes, Jerzy had said his uncle was in the police so his cousin was also, or in some sort of undercover work.

We were not the first to arrive. After being introduced to Frau zum Adamszberh and her daughter, Caroline, we entered the drawing room and there was Dr Valentin - with his left arm in a sling - and a very smartly dressed lady, Madame Valentin, as she was introduced as I had guessed Dr Valentin was French. Oh. His arm was in a sling as he had slipped when 'descending from the 'balcon'' as he put it with a Gallic wave of his right hand. "I knew it was the Monsignor who made those steps slippy. He liked jokes and that one went wrong. He acted as my assistant one day and when I came back from taking my Communion he had pulled two stops I didn't want so when I played on the Echo before Abbot Gregor's blessing he was trumpeted loudly and was very cross!"

"Claude, you did put pepper under his croissant when he came to breakfast that day."

"Only because..." He stopped and laughed. "The Monsignor was a great man and everybody loved him."

I said I'd thought it strange to see so many people smiling going to a funeral.

Madame also smiled. "The Monsignor made everyone happy and had instructed no one should be sad at his funeral."

At that moment other people started to arrive and a young man in black waistcoat and trousers quickly distributed flutes of a delicious sparkling fruit wine. We were introduced to Mrs Marriott who said she'd been to see 'Tory that afternoon and she was sure it wouldn't be long. Father Artur came in with the final pair. These were the Schreibers, Yniold's parents. They were both quite short, but bubbly, with Dr Schreiber sporting the most handsome beard.

"You have met our son," Frau Schreiber said as she shook my hand. I didn't say that Tris had seen a lot more of him than me. "I hope he did not intrude but he is so curious, you say, or is it inquisitive?" I said probably both and we hoped to meet him again. I certainly did - even to just check on the cute little cock!

Dr Schreiber wanted to know about my Grandfather. I had brought one of the scores, 'La Boheme', with me and everyone gathered round when I fetched it from the hallway. On the inside cover were the dates of the five performances he had conducted in each of the years 1935 and 1936. Other dates were there as well for the Opera House in Palermo.

"Maestro Matteoli," Dr Schreiber said quite reverentially, "I have looked at the old reviews and he was acclaimed. And you are his Grandson!"

Just in case there was any hint I was too young I pointed out he hadn't married my Grandmother until he was sixty and he was in his early forties when he conducted at the Strelzen Opera House.

"My Mother would like to present this score and another, Verdi's 'Othello', to the Opera House in his memory." Wow, if that didn't get us entry nothing else would - except buying tickets, mercenary toads!

Dr Schreiber clapped his hands. "I will speak to the Intendant in the morning. He will be so pleased. We have little in our archives, a few old programmes, those reviews." He shook his head. "But the rest. Taken, destroyed, damaged beyond repair. But these are a great gift."

After a bit more general chit chat, during which I learned that the house had only been returned to the family five years previously and that was why things were a bit shabby, dinner was announced and we all trooped into the spacious dining room.

Tris was well away. Madame Valentin and Frau Schreiber on either side of him were chatting to him and, 'yes', he had seen 'Les Miserables' and the 'Lion King' recently in London and I heard him also give a run down of a couple of ballet and opera performances his Father had taken him to at Sadler's Wells. I had Mrs Marriott and Caroline zum Adamszberh on right and left but I also had to field questions from Drs Valentin and Schreiber.

Caroline was younger than me and was delightful. She was very much like Dina, I thought, quiet to begin with but thoughtful and very clever. Her English was good and I found she had just finished her First Year at the Rodolfer and was reading Philosophy. She said there were a couple of English boys in the Maths Faculty but she thought they had gone home. I got the feeling she rather fancied English boys. She said Father Artur had suggested she read History, but she preferred Philosophy, though she was attending his lectures on Thomas Aquinas which were 'verry difficult'. He heard her say that and gave her a non-scholarly thumb's-up.

I had a bit of questioning from the two musical doctors, mainly about musical life in Cambridge. Dr Valentin then dropped a bomb-shell. Because of his injury he would be unable to give the recital scheduled for Wednesday evening next. His two assistants would have deputised for him but Georg was already committed to his own recital at the Cathedral in Glottenburg. That name seemed familiar. Anton was nervous of playing a whole programme, would I consider helping out with the Maurice Greene piece and, here he paused for effect, the whole of Rheinberger's Sonata Number Four? I was both dumbfounded and elated at the same time if the two emotions could be mixed! I played the third movement of the Rheinberger, the Chromatic Fugue, often in my practice mode in Chapel. To play the whole piece on the wonderful Strelzen Cathedral organ was something to aspire to. The rest of the table had fallen silent. They had heard the request. I nodded.

"I must practice, though," I said, "It's those pedals." Actually though, the pedal part of the Rheinberger wasn't too ornate and I had memorised quite a lot of it anyway so could concentrate on where my feet should be a bit more. "And if you will register for me."

I think there was an audible sigh of relief around the table.

"Monday evening at six and then dinner with us." He looked at his wife who nodded. "No good tomorrow, three weddings and then confessions which must not be disturbed, or Sunday as they mumble at all hours!" He shook a fist at Father Artur who laughed. "We will arrange something after Monday as well."

I looked across the table at Tris. He smiled and nodded. He looked so pleased I'd agreed. I then remembered 'Glottenberg'. That was the name of the hunky young officer who drove for Ivo!

I remembered little about the dinner after that. I know the food was delicious and I savoured the wines as well as the conversation. I was rather on Cloud Nine. I knew I had to do well and I would!

Mr Marriott was pleased, too. "I'll have the recital announced at the Anglican Church on Sunday. You'll have quite a few of our congregation there, I'm sure."

All in all it was a most pleasant evening but I would have only a hazy memory of it. Even when David's taxi took us back to the hotel I was mentally going through the Rheinberger and only desisted when Tris said he was fed up with me kicking his feet as I automatically tried out a couple of phrases on imaginary pedals!

He didn't complain in bed though when I made him twitch and kick in pleasure as I brought him to a truly stupendous climax molto lento et appassionato.

That was nothing to the cries of ecstasy, triple forte, which came clearly from next door. We surmised it was Brett being 'porked' by Fraser in the first instance and what Brett then did to Fraser was accompanied by rhythmic squeals and grunts which wouldn't have disgraced any little piggy! Whoever listened clandestinely to that lot would have trouble not beating off in sympathy!!

But... Who was listening? Not just us, sated now not only by food but glorious sex. We supposed David or the Adjutant would be tracking somehow.

Saturday

Saturday was another clear and sunny day. We decided to visit the Art Gallery and use the tickets for the opening of the special exhibition that day at ten a.m. I'd read about Mapplethorpe and that he'd died quite young from AIDS. I'd also seen a couple of reproductions of his photographs. I didn't expect to see such a wide-ranging collection from flowers to portraits, then nudes and, finally, some very explicit sexual depictions. The place was buzzing. I think the viewers were almost equal to the viewed! There were the beautiful people, both male and female, flamboyantly or soberly dressed, parading up and down, to be looked at rather than being just lookers. There were quite a few who came in leather - much more outre than our friends at the Club - and several whose outfits were well in the region of S & M with one male in a complete rubber suit and gimp mask. Tattoos abounded, from black swirls and geometric patterns, on arms, legs and upper bodies of younger males generally, to complete coloured depictions of dragons, snakes, animals and scenes on the thirties and older. One man, tattooed in shades of green and yellow mainly, looked quite lizard-like. I swear he'd had his tongue forked too as he licked his lips after taking a sip of wine.

We, in smart Matteoli rigs of tops and under knee shorts, were fashionable, to say the least. In fact, three older gentlemen brought us glasses of extremely nice wine as excuses to chat and we were sure would have whisked us away for unknown frolics if we had been so minded. But, no one seemed hassled, the gents moved on to other fry swimming in the pool of such eroticism as soon as they realised we were a pair and had no need of other excitements. We were definitely filmed for television and the reporter told us after, off-camera, that she'd made the point we represented the British Legation. She then took notes about us and what we thought of the place. A photographer was also prowling around snapping all and sundry and the camera was pointed in our direction a couple of times. I just hoped Ivo had told Mr Marriott that he'd given us the tickets!

We chatted to several of the younger men, mainly students, and found that some earned money towards their accommodation fees by modelling. One said there was extra money for being in the nude. So Jerzy and his pal were not exaggerating. Tris was singled out by at least three who passed him cards for the studios while I was talking to a young lady, who I realised in the end was an artfully made-up male late teenager. No, he didn't want the operation were his parting words, and said with the most ravishing smile. One clearly gay lad also gave Tris a signed card which he translated as being valid for entry to Liberation. Oh, the local main gay club we'd seen on our walk! "Be careful," he warned, "It's getting a reputation. If you go there watch what you drink!" Yep, I'd seen reports of young ladies being date-raped after imbibing spiked drinks. Did young men experience the same thing?

I suppose we were there almost two hours and came out in a haze of alcohol and sensuality. We didn't have the will to look at the Old Masters or Impressionists or any of the other artistic creations in the main galleries. Tris was looking at the studio cards. "While you're playing around with that big organ I might see if they would like to view an equally nice organ of a different sort."

I said that was not happening, his organ belonged to me, I didn't want Tom, Dick and Harry ogling it. He just laughed and said we would have an early lunch, go back to the hotel to change into something casual and then he'd take me up to the Spa. Bloody hell. To be ogled at, no doubt.

The Art Gallery had a very convenient small restaurant so we had a salad and another glass of the local wine. The Spa seemed a good idea. A bit of sun and a sleep.

There was a different lad on duty at the hotel. We introduced ourselves and he said his name was Igor. He was quite a chatterbox and wanted to speak English like everyone else. He handed me two letters and as I read them he told Tris his life story. I half listened as he explained that his father had stayed on after the other Russians had left but had died in a factory accident three years ago and he had two older brothers who were in the Rothenian Army but he wanted to be a dentist and had never been to Russia as he and his brothers were born here. The tale didn't interfere too much with my reading as the first letter was a note from Ivo. As usual, short and sweet.

'Hi big organ boy 1 and big organ boy 2: take your pick.

Sunday lunch chez nous 12.30

don't be late Frau Schreiber is the cook

I&'T'.

Good! But the second was equally acceptable. This one contained two tickets for tonight's performance at the Opera House of Donizetti's 'L'Elisir d'Amore'. Tickets for seats in the Intendant's box, with an invitation to drinks before, at seven thirty for the performance at eight, and a supper in the interval between the two acts. Please to get the hotel to confirm.

That meant the gift of the two scores had been signalled to him by Dr Schreiber so we'd better take them with us tonight.

As I held the letter I looked over at Igor who was now standing behind the reception desk. My, another male beauty, black-haired, a wide face with perfect teeth, all accentuated by the powerful chest outlined in the tee-shirt he was wearing and the prominent biceps which swelled the short sleeves. My gaze was caught by the wording on the shirt. In bold blue letters across his chest it read 'If you like Hard Rock hoot!'. Diagonally up from the bottom in red there was 'LIFE SUCKS' with the 'C' enmeshed with the 'R' of Rock. He seemed blissfully unaware of the implications. Or was he? Were we surrounded by young Rothenians who were either gay or bi? Or was it a free-wheeling response to years of repression and subjugation?

Tris had also seen the shirt. "Is that from the shop off Rodolferplaz?" he asked.

Igor smiled and nodded. "Good shop," he said, "Plenty good."

I interrupted before Tris could invite him to trade tops, or whatever. "Please, Igor, would you phone this number and say we will accept with pleasure." He nodded as he jotted down the number and I repeated 'accept with pleasure'. I handed the two letters to Tris who just laughed.

"Definitely both!"

Further discussion was halted as Brett and Fraser came down the stairs looking a bit worse for wear. No, not drunk, just bleary eyed. "Slept in this morning," Fraser explained.

"Then he woke up!" rejoined Brett. There was no need to clarify that. What happened next must have been to mutual satisfaction.

"Is that the fucking time?" said Fraser looking at the clock behind the desk. No, I wouldn't say the obvious! "Got to get some lunch, I'm starving, and we promised to meet the lads up at the Spa."

"They go back tomorrow," added Brett, "We're staying to visit the Botanic Garden on Monday then we'll go searching for that gingko supplier. We'll fly back Friday ready for the wedding."

Neither of us said we were going to the Spa nor that we intended visiting the Botanic Garden sometime, too.

We left them talking to Igor as we went up to our room and the last thing we heard was Fraser going 'Parp Parp', hooting like Mr Toad.

"I think young Prince Igor will be seduced before long," said Tris as he closed the door, "I think he'll be burrowed in!"

Oh, what a weak pun! If only I had Toad's sneer gene. I just gave him a valiant two- fingers. "And what caught your eye in the tee-shirt shop?" The best I'd seen in Cambridge was the swaggering eighteen-stone rugger-bugger who had 'Dip Me in Chocolate and Throw Me to the Lesbians' displayed on his forty-eight inch chest.

He laughed. "Someone there has quite a sense of humour. 'Twinkies are best sucked slowly' and I thought I might buy you 'Practising Taxidermist I stuff for free' but I gave up on most of the others as they were in a variety of languages except some of the pictures were rather explicit. Oh, there was one with just the number sixty-nine on the front. Another favourite, eh?"

"Thank you for those kind thoughts," I said, "Perhaps Unc might do a line, I'm sure Frankie would approve."

Tris laughed. "I remember him and Laurent and the ones they bought. There was one for him there. Big letters, 'My Swim Team' and six wriggly sperm underneath. I might get it for him."

"Don't encourage him, he's bad enough as it is." We both laughed. He'd wear it, no doubt, with the leather jock strap as accompaniment. Mum would not be amused!

Changed into well-worn shorts and tees of a sedate sort we made our way down. Igor was alone. He gave us a great grin. "I have phoned. They said thank you." The grin widened. "Your friends invite me out tonight," he said with glee. Oh, seduction had already started.

The weather was still perfect. The tree-lined Lindenstrasse gave certain shade but the temperature was quite high. A swim and a sleep was something to look forward to. Our free tokens were valid and we were directed to the cloakroom where we left everything, except our sandals, in lockers and were issued with a small handbag for keys, money, sunglasses and suncream, plus two large colourful towels. Odd, I'd never been in such a throng of semi-naked, and then naked youths and men but I didn't feel at all embarrassed. We were then instructed to go through a shower and the next room we entered was a huge hot-spring bath. Quite a sulphur smell but, putting our possessions in cages which the attendants then locked, we plunged into the steaming water. My, it was quite hot but stimulating to muscles and we swam up and down avoiding the gaggles of other bathers who all seemed to know each other and were conversing in the impenetrable Rothenian language.

After we'd had a good swim we climbed out, wrapped towels round ourselves and, retrieving our handbags and sandals, strolled out onto the huge paved patio with its umbrellas and inviting-looking open-air cafes. We sat and looked around and when the young waiter, nude but for an apron, came up, ordered a coffee each. After that I was ready for sun and a snooze so we wandered fairly aimlessly until we found a less crowded area, spread our towels and lay down.

I must have gone to sleep almost immediately and was awakened by the sound of a voice quite close to me. The voice was familiar. Of course, it was Yniold. And, as he stood chatting to Tris who had sat up, I could see that Tris was quite correct. A very cute young cock dangled about three feet away from me.

"It's OK," I heard Tris say, "Sleeping Beauty awakes..."

"...And did not need a kiss," said Yniold.

How my autonomic system didn't respond with the biggest erection I could manage I did not know. Just in case I rolled onto my side, so if it did happen I could be on my stomach in seconds. Yniold clothed was a gem of young perfection. Unclothed he had that lithe grace depicted in ancient statues and esteemed in art through the ages. There was no young adolescent roundness but a slimness which accentuated his flawless features.

"May I join you?" he asked. We both nodded. He spread a towel and sat cross-legged. "I hope I do not intrude." Intrude? I could gaze on him indefinitely. I could see Tris was also having a certain difficulty in managing the intense attention he was focussing on the lad. It was almost as if Yniold was exerting some sort of magnetic control over the pair of us. It wasn't that we were exactly sexually starved but this young man was stimulating the juices, as it were. I just hoped that his friend Pyotor realised how lucky he was. If this was Yniold. I wondered what Pyotor was like? I needn't have worried.

"I am very happy today," he said, "Many things. My friend Pyotor and his team have won again." He delved into his bag and brought out a couple of pieces of paper. "He sent me these." He handed one piece to Tris and one to me. There were two very clear colour prints of a basketball team and of a head and shoulders of a lad. Gosh, he was so like Tris. Yes, Pyotor was a handsome lad. I passed my sheet to Tris and received his in return. The team again but also a full length this time of Pyotor, shirtless but in long red basketball shorts, also so reminiscent of my Tris. "He will be back for Wednesday and if it is good we shall come here."

He took the pages back. "You will be at the Opera tonight? My father is so pleased. Isolde has given me a ticket. She has a free ticket as she is in the orchestra. I will see you sitting in the box."

Tris was in big brother mode. No little brother for him but Yniold would do! "I think we would all like an ice-cream," he announced. I started to get up. "No I'll go and get them. What flavour, Yniold?"

No hesitation. "Den Jahdovij, please: that is 'strawberry' I think."

Tris looked at me, his more than cute cock hovering in my line of sight. "Same, strawberry, please," I said. He strode off and we both watched as others also looked at him as well.

"He is very nice I think you say. Mrs Carr said it is a strange word. In German I would say gut aussehend." He lent forward. "You love him?" he asked very quietly but it wasn't said inquisitively.

"I love him very much," I said equally quietly, "And he loves me."

"I know he does. He looks at you. I do not know words...." A tear fell from his right eye, then one from his left. "I love Pyotor but I have not said. I want. But if..." He picked up the corner of the towel and dabbed his eyes. "I hope he is shy...."

Agony Uncle Mark was being called on again, but this was like Logan and Curt. Uncle Mark this time, however, was rather lost for words. How does one counsel a lad from another country? A different culture. Albeit one which seemed to accept different lifestyles more readily than some.

"Perhaps he is really shy. Has he said anything to you which might be a clue, a hint?"

He looked thoughtful. "My birthday three months ago. He gave me a present and he hugged me. And he kissed me." He shook his head. "Not like a greeting kiss. Then he got red as his Mutti came in the room."

"And since?"

"When we are together he looks at me." He looked ready to let more tears fall. "I want to hug him," he said disconsolately.

"When you meet him Wednesday will you be alone?" He nodded. "Then greet him with a hug to congratulate him and then say how much you have missed him. Just keep hugging him even if he tries to get away. If he does get away I will buy you two ice-creams when I see you." Yniold was trying to work that out. "And if he doesn't I will buy you both an ice-cream or a pastry or even a whole tea. I guess he loves you, too, and he will tell you while you hug." I pointed at the bag where Yniold had put the photos. "That photo of him smiling was for you!"

He had worked it out. The smile was dazzling. "I will and we will have tea I am sure!"

Tris came trundling up with three large cones. "Had to queue up," he explained. He realised we were laughing together. "And what have you two been up to."

We all sat cross-legged then and over the licking and demolishing of our cones I told Yniold's story. Tris was in forthright mode. "Go for it, lad! If he doesn't respond we'll have those shorts off him and I'll smack his backside."

Yniold was in agreement. "And I will have those two ice-creams and watch while you smack him!"

Well, over the next hour we all got nicely toasted. Yniold was sporting a good all-over tan already so Tris's and my white middle sections were getting slightly red even with the sun tan lotion smeared on. We were then distracted by roars and claps of approval from somewhere over to our right. It was a game of touch rugby and, even with no clothes on, Yogger's build and voice were unmistakable. We stood up and gathered our things and strolled over to watch.

Yogger was rallying his troops and as he ran around and jumped to catch the ball I could see clearly that Janie wouldn't be disappointed as what he had would support a sizable wallet stuffed with euros! The original nine Stags were being augmented steadily by other youngsters joining in. As we got nearer I saw the tenth, Brett, standing beside a heap of towels and other belongings.

"Hi," he said as we joined him, "Yogger pinched the ball from that American lad there. Trust him to get things going."

Yes, the ball wasn't a conventional rugby ball but a brown, more ovoid, American football. That made no difference to the passing skills of the English players who were thoroughly enjoying their nude frolic. Frolic it was as the game progressed. Yogger was in full charge and directed any newcomers either to tie a handkerchief round a wrist or to leave it bare so they knew which side they were on. Both Tris and Yniold joined the throng clamouring to be included. The game went on, fast and furious, no tackles, just a touch and the ball had to be passed. In the end there must have been thirty or so nude and sweating figures scurrying, all eager to have a go at running with the ball.

Certainly Yniold was no slouch. He was bare-armed like Tris and they ran passing the ball between them, dodging the outstretched hands of their pursuers. Their run over, the ball passed to others, until in the end Yogger clapped his hands and shouted for a two-minute break. The panting mass stopped and most clung to fellow players to get their breath back. Bottles of water were passed round and everyone shared. I noted that the exertion didn't stop quite a few stiffening prongs, but no one stared or pointed! Two minutes were up and the melee continued. Brett was heaving with laughter.

"He said he'd get a sweat on the buggers to clear it all out but most haven't touched a drop since Wednesday. I don't think they want to go back and we've had to keep shtoom about our plans. Final dinner tonight and that's that. Most have run out of money so it'll be dicks in drawers tonight but there's a free entry tonight at that gay place."

"They might get an offer or two there," I said and having viewed the toned bods of the sweating horticulturalists I guessed there would be many.

"I hope none of them try to dick anyone. They all know about AIDS though and Yogger's sure to keep an eye on them."

"As long as they don't get bitten I guess a blow job would be OK," I said showing off a bit of lore I'd culled from the Net. I knew that the 'back room' at the Club had its 'artistes' as Davy had told us one night early on. As a nurse he said he'd been called on numerous times to adjudicate on cuts and grazes and never advised 'popping the sausage' anywhere if there was a sign of damage, but he knew a couple of the regulars in the room still went ahead to 'taste the morsel' as they considered that quite safe!

"Fucking hell, don't tell them that, they'll all be after one of those. Bobby Hodgson boasts his girlfriend gives him them regular as she's saving herself. I don't believe the lying bugger as I know he and his pal Watty trades 'em. I was in the bog at the Nursery and heard them arguing whose turn it was." He pointed carefully at a tall young man with a short cock but dangling balls. "That's Bobby and that skinny merchant behind him with the ring through his tit is Watty. I think he's..." That was left in the air. No, Watty would not be kicked out of bed. He had a very tanned defined torso and his lengthy cock flapped rather because of the loose rosebud of foreskin at it's end.

"Don't fancy him?" I asked.

"Got Fraser and I love the silly arse."

A further good half hour of intensive exercise in the heat had produced a thirsty mob. I was dragged off to buy large glasses of fruit juice for the three of us by Tris and Yniold. Both were sweating buckets and the aroma of hot boy would have set things off if Yniold hadn't pointed to a little extra cooling off of heated parts by a group of middle to late teens who had been active participants but were now standing apart from the main crowd. Each had a glass of the tasty juice, which came in various flavours and colours, and each were taking it in turns to dip their wicks, as it were, and were giggling and commenting loudly. Unfortunately in Rothenian, but Yniold was on the ball. "I know them, they are at the Gymno with me and they are daring each other to taste the juice they have on their.... I know, cock, is that right?"

Tris said 'Yes' just as one of the lads saw Yniold with us and held and waved a dripping cock and shouted out something which made Yniold blush. Yniold didn't move but Tris strode over and with a quick movement the lad was on his knees with one of the other's prick dangling by his nose. Tris stood back and to cheers the lad licked his pal's dick and held up two fists in triumph. Tris patted him on the back and rejoined us. That started it. It was 'Ring a Ring o'Roses', 'Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush' or whatever, as the group slurped drops of juice. Tris pushed Yniold forward while the mouthy lad was still on his knees and as soon as Yniold's dripping cock was presented he gamely licked it with a large pink tongue and said something which made Yniold smile. The whole new game only stopped because all in turn developed the most amazing show of erections which drew further shouts of approbation and cheers. I looked down at Yniold who had returned to be with us.. He was quite in sympathy with his pals. A healthy, slim, six inches of boymeat was up and running. Yes, running. A colourless drop of fluid was apparent in the slit. It was all I could do not to engulf that gorgeousness in my mouth and savour the no doubt sweetness of that drop and any remains of the sweet juice it had been dipped in.

He put out an arm and hugged Tris to him. "Thank you," he said, "They would have teased me because I am with you. That boy called out that he would fuck me after you had made my hole big. He said he was sorry They would not dare say things now." He grinned at me and held out his other hand. "I think some will fuck now."

I took his hand and squeezed it. "You are a naughty boy."

The smile and look said it all, but he underlined it. "I want to be a naughty boy!"

Oh, Yniold. To be tempted so. I looked at Tris. He was in the same predicament - the only word to describe the dilemma. Behind Yniold's back he slowly shook his head. Yniold's virginity was safe for Pyotor to take. If Pyotor could resist that loveliness, if he turned out to be completely macho, he would not realise what he was missing. But, I knew, or hoped I knew, that Yniold's love would conquer.

"Only with Pyotor," I managed to croak out.

"Yes," he said and squeezed my hand back.

Yogger's own merry band had retreated to the shade of trees and were laughing and chatting with Brett and Fraser carrying over trays of more glasses of fruit juice.. I don't think they'd witnessed the lads and their caper or Yogger might have orchestrated that as well. The thought of him having his meaty dong licked by the mouthy boy had a slight effect on my own. It was either that thought or the hand squeeze.

We were lying in the sun again with Yniold sitting up finishing off his glass of juice when he whispered. "That man. He is here. He looks around." He grabbed his bag and took out a small digital camera and quickly took a couple of photos. "He has not seen and he goes to them."

I sat up slightly and saw a back view of a burly man peering over towards Yogger's Stags.

"Could you print those for tonight?" Tris asked.

"I can. I have a good ink-jet printer. You saw photos of Pyotor."

Tris didn't elaborate any further but just looked at me and nodded. It must be the same man he'd spotted.

Anyway by five we felt quite cooked and had a quick dip again in the pool. We were just going through to collect our clothes when we heard Yogger's lot calling out and there were almighty splashes as they belly-flopped into the steaming water.

"Thank you," said Yniold, as we parted, shaking hands, outside the hotel, "I must hurry and I will see you tonight."

Both Igor and Tomas were sitting behind the desk and I heard Tomas reading in English. It must have been something from the Sherlock Holmes book.

Igor looked up. "That is good book and he reads good. I must lend it."

Oh, Tris was in didactic mood. The lads were instructed in the correct usage of 'lend' and of 'borrow'.

Igor smiled. "You should teach. Better than Herr Mischler. I lend him to you to teach him."

Tomas was not to be outdone. "Und I borrow Fraulein Stempel. She is sehr sexy!"

Igor gave him the American single finger in response. I suppose their English was improving. Tomas then remembered something. He pointed to the pigeon-holes behind the desk. "I forget. A letter. Mr Foster and Mr Price-Villi-ams." He handed me the letter and looked at Tris. "You have two names." Tris then explained that many English people had two names together, usually when two families joined through marriage. Also, he should be careful as the English 'W' was not pronounced like the German, or Rothenian one. He wrote down several 'W' words and got the lads to read them. I just wondered if Tris should give up Law and teach. He was good. The note was good, too. Very short and sweet.

'Taxi. 19.05. D'

I managed to drag him away and we showered, carefully, as our backsides especially were rather red, and dressed in best. We had both packed suits 'just in case' and we did look a handsome pair as we went downstairs at nineteen hundred hours. Tomas was alone. He appraised us and nodded. We passed his scrutiny. Tomas had more to tell.

"That boy," he said and we knew he meant Igor, "He boasts he has dinner with the others and their friends and go to that place." We knew he meant the gay club. "They will have trouble if they are not careful. Many naughty persons are there."

I said he shouldn't worry as I was sure the main friend would not allow trouble.

"Igor is a good boy. He looks after his mother but he does not think. Uncle worries about him as his father was a good man. He does things to earn money, I am sure. He has more money than me."

I wondered 'what things? I didn't think he thieved, or dealt drugs. I supposed rent-boys came in all shapes and sizes but I'd had no personal experience of that particular profession except meeting a lad at the club who, as a newcomer from London, had been warned off plying his trade when on or near the premises. A model, perhaps?

No time to discuss Igor. Tris signalled it was time to go. Tomas saw the wrapped books we were carrying.

"You want good bag?" he asked. He fished under the desk and brought out a plastic carrier bag with handles. "Very strong. Not break."

I thanked him and we placed the two books carefully in the bag and I carried them out to the waiting taxi. David was fending off a very large, very irate lady who was waving her umbrella at him. "Please to tell her I am booked," he said rather plaintively, "She wants me to take her and the dog to the lazarhet veterinariske, we say. It is tiermedizinischhaus in German. Let me think. That is dog house. No, no! hospital for dogs and animals."

By the woman's feet was a tiny, furry, very fat ball with little legs. It was yapping for all it's worth, adding it's own frenzy to the woman's rant.

"Is it near the Opera?" I asked.

"In the same street, Konigstrasse," David said.

"We have time," I said and, to the lady as I opened the back door of the cab, "Madame, with us."

She calmed immediately. "Tak, tak," she said as she shuffled her vast arse into the back seat and grabbed the now silent dog off the pavement. I had to go the other side of the cab to get in and Tris, valiantly, got in beside David. I leaned over and more or less apologised to him and said it was beginning to rain and it was a good turn to help her out.

I sat back and just missed squashing the creature which she dragged back onto her lap after she pulled the door to.

"You not Russian boys? American, no?"

I said we were English.

"Ya, I thought. You are good to lady. That man there," she gestured towards the park we were just passing, "I ask him to get taxi. They stop for man not woman. He say he busy. He not busy. He stand. Look. I think he is fat criminal."

"Perhaps he wanted a tram." The trams to and from the Spa and the centre of the city stopped by the park entrance. I glanced across but the man had gone.

"No I do not think." She said no more as the dog began to whine. She said something to it in Rothenian and stroked it's little head. "My Mischka no shit five days," she said. Both Tris and David gave audible snorts. I just hoped the thing would be able to contain itself until we reached the multi-syllabled dog's whatsit.

Luckily it wasn't too far down when we turned into Konigstrasse. I got out my side and went round and opened her door. She held the dog up and I took it as she heaved herself out. It was beginning to drizzle quite heavily and I was getting wet. I looked down at the dog. It gazed at me with what appeared a doleful expression and whined again and it's little face contorted. I put it on the pavement and waited until madame was out. "You are kind boy," she said and gestured with the half open umbrella at David who had got out of the driver's seat and was standing by the car. "Not him. He probable konechnik Russiske drovnij!" she said quite venomously.

As I got in the side vacated by her there was a clear fart from ground level. Tris had opened his window and was grinning. David had an imperturbable look on his face but as he drove off he heaved with laughter. "She thinks I'm a little Russian arsehole," he said and laughed even more.

Tris was laughing, too. "You should have seen what came out of that little Rothenian arsehole. Must be a yard of poop. No wonder the poor thing was so fat. Five days!!"

Two grinning boys were decanted by a third, older, lad, all desperately trying to maintain proper decorum, at the front of the imposing Opera House. David could hardly speak as we thanked him. "I will be here to take you back," he said and relapsed into giggles as Tris said 'Danke, men drovnij..." He didn't finish as an imposing doorman, in top hat and dark green tail coat came up. He spoke to David, now composed, in Rothenian. He touched the brim of his hat as he turned to face us. "Come, plizz," he said and we followed, gazed on by other early arrivals and what must have been the returns queue.

We were taken up the steps to the entrance and then to the most ornate lift decorated in what I'd heard described once as 'belle epoque' style, all mirrors and art deco carvings and quite OTT. It had obviously been put in long after the original elegant building was put up. A short walk along a wide corridor and we reached the back entrance of the Intendant's box. The doorman knocked and opened it and we were greeted by Dr Schreiber who was obviously waiting for us. Inside we were introduced to a much older man, tall and thin and looking very much like a photo of Gustav Mahler I had seen, even to the small glasses he was wearing. He was the Intendant, Herr Kusterin, and he welcomed us with very firm handshakes and ushered us into a large space behind the two rows of seats.

Already here were Frau Schreiber and a very solemn Yniold, with Ivo and a man in full white tie and tails, each with a glass of wine. After shaking hands with Frau Schreiber we met the guest conductor for the evening, the man in tails. He was Italian and very voluble. As he said how delighted he was to meet us, especially the Grandson of Signor Matteoli, others were arriving. We received glasses, too, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the Rector, his wife and Caroline, with the Marriotts and Father Artur come in, followed by a cameraman and a young lady with a microphone. More greetings and as the cameraman raised his camera three others came in. A very smartly-dressed middle-aged, rather over-weight man, a woman and, again, someone we knew, this time in uniform, Captain-Lieutenant Andrei zu Glottenberh. This group was introduced to us by Herr Kusterin as the Minister of the Interior with wife and aide-de-camp. All the time in the background was the young lady's commentary in Rothenian as she, I assumed, was describing the scene.

After all this kerfuffle Tris nodded down at the bag I was holding. Yes, the reason for the evening out. I walked over and put the bag on the nearest table and drew out the two scores in their carefully wrapped paper covers. There was a respectful silence as I took the wrappers off. I gave 'La Boheme' to Tris and picked up 'Othello'. Then, followed closely by Tris and the cameraman I went over to the Intendant. The young lady held the microphone low down.

"Sir, my family would like to present these scores in memory of my Grandfather, Signor Matteoli, who conducted here many years ago. I am very honoured to be able to be here and to offer them to you."

It was quite theatrical. The Intendant took the first score, held it up and kissed it, then handed it to a rather bemused looking Minister. He did the same to the second which Tris gave him. The Minister passed the first to Andrei who then got the second as well and stood hands laden. Dr Schreiber saw his predicament and took the bag across and between them they re- wrapped them and placed them in the bag which the Doctor handed to the Intendant. There was a slight ripple of laughter and then applause from the group. Ivo was just behind us.

"Where did you get that bag?" he asked sotto voce as he and Father Artur beside him clapped as the others did. The pair were grinning madly and I saw Yniold across the room blushing and trying hard not to bust a gut. "You're only advertising the biggest gay sex-shop in the city!" I looked and all I could see was a single address '69 Herrengasse', nothing else. Oh, Gawd! 'Number Sixty-Nine Man Street'. What else. "Having seen your face on the six o'clock news with a Mappleforth dick behind your left ear and this will be on the ten o'clock I can tell you your reputation will be sky-high." Ivo was poked in the arm by Father Artur.

"Behave yourself, the Minister is saying something." But he was trying hard not to burst into laughter.

While all this was happening the Minister had started speaking in Rothenian direct to camera. The rest of us then stood attentively while he spoke at length and kept smiling and pointing his finger as he made emphatic statements. The usual politician's flannel, I thought. Finally, he turned to me and thanked me in English, ending with a wink. I hoped that didn't get on camera! My turn again. The young lady, in perfect English, asked me about Grandfather. I said he was originally from Italy, but his daughter, Angelica, was my mother and all my own family were musicians. "You play the organ?" she asked. I just wondered if there would be a double entendre after the bag. Luckily, no. "And you will playing in the Cathedral on Wednesday?"she continued. I quickly said I was and I was playing with the assistant, I didn't know his full name, as Dr Valentin was injured. I added I was really here on invitation by the Rodolfer as I was also studying Mathematics. I gestured towards the Rector, the camera swept across and the Rector acknowledged this with a bow. The young lady said a few words straight to camera and it was over. "Thank you," she said and gave me a kiss, and then turned and kissed Tris. She, the cameraman and the conductor made their exits, the conductor looking in a very happy mood.

The Intendant directed us to seats in the front row where I was between the Minister and his wife. Before we settled in our seats I noticed Yniold give Tris an envelope before he, too, gave a little bow and disappeared. I had never seen the 'The Elixir of Love' before but had read a description so I knew it was a love story with quite a helping of comedy. Very kindly, someone had provided synopses in English for us and I was soon lost in the tuneful spectacle. At the interval we had an extensive buffet of smoked fish, vol au vents filled with different mixtures, unusual 'bonnes-bouches' and more of the characteristic fruit wine. Bliss. All this and music, too.

All too soon the evening ended and goodbyes were said. I said to Ivo to give my love to 'Tory and it was a pity she couldn't attend. He smiled and said he had been under orders to attend, not only because the Minister was going to be there. Anyway, see you tomorrow.

So, it was in a quite elated mood we left after a handshake from the Intendant on the steps. David was waiting and smiled as we got in the cab. "You must be very important." He nodded his head at two black vans marked 'Polizei' parked across the road. "Not really, the Minister was here and he's not too popular at the moment."

Luckily it had stopped raining but the streets were still wet and were relatively empty of traffic and people. The journey back was quite rapid and there was a hoot of laughter as we passed the 'dog's hospital'. At the hotel David came into the lobby with us and scanned the room. Tomas was on duty. He waved the copy of 'Sherlock Holmes' and returned to reading. Tris took the envelope Yniold had given him from his inside pocket and extracted a folded piece of paper. "The man," was all he said as David unfolded it and looked at the photo printed there. His eyes opened wide. He said something like 'Oh Scheisse!!'. He folded the paper and thrust it in his pocket. "I must go! Good night!" and rushed off.

To be continued: