A Superior Slave (Ganymede Quartet Book 0.5) (12 page)

Martin felt his face grow hot. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration. But I
did
like one better than the others.”

“The handsome tall fellow,” Georgie said, “With the even-taller father. He had just the looks you like, didn’t he? But he seemed a little odd.”

“He’s shy,” Martin said, slightly defensive. “It might be nothing more than that.”

Noah laughed. “You don’t care, though, do you? You want him even if he is odd, that’s plain enough.”

Martin frowned. “I think Mr. Blackwell would be a good master,” he said, though this estimation of Henry’s merit was based entirely on his own attraction and not on anything Henry had said or done.

“Well, you can’t expect anything more than that,” Noah said with cruel cheer, and then he proceeded to brag. “Mr. Darling told me I’m the best-looking boy he’s ever seen. When he bent me over, he gave a little moan when he put his fingers inside, and I think he’ll have trouble keeping to just what’s allowed when he’s got me alone, which is
fine
with me!” Noah also preferred the affections of other boys. With a smug smile, he turned to Martin and asked, “Was your tall boy anything like that? Was he rough with you, or was he sweet?”

Martin turned his face away when he admitted that, “Mr. Blackwell didn’t touch me like that. He was very shy.”

Noah gave a derisive snort, and in Martin’s defense, Georgie said, “This Blackwell fellow really did like him, Noah, it was clear. He wouldn’t even look at anyone else. He was just…strange. But harmless, I think.”

Martin did not think Henry had seemed as peculiar as all that, but it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. It did not seem likely that he would be able to explain how Henry had made him feel, so he decided not to try.

“Boys! Boys, please take this opportunity to use the toilets!” Mr. Jacob walked through the room clapping for attention. “Boys! Twenty minutes!”

Martin didn’t need the toilet. He put down his empty mug and curled close to Georgie, and Noah did the same on Georgie’s other side. Martin laid his arm across Georgie’s waist expecting Noah to protest the intrusion into his space, but all Noah did was put his hand on Martin’s forearm and squeeze.

“We’ve had our differences, certainly,” Noah said, “but I’ll miss you anyway.”

“Me, too,” Martin admitted. “I hope your Mr. Darling bids high.”

Noah smiled at him. “Thank you. What was the name of yours?”

“Blackwell.”

“I hope Mr. Blackwell takes you. I don’t want you to be unhappy, you know.” He touched Martin’s cheek. “Say, do you want to give Georgie a nice goodbye present?”

“A present?” Georgie asked, very interested.

Martin thought he knew what Noah intended. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Noah leaned across Georgie’s lap, and Martin met him halfway, and they kissed, long and slow, while Georgie chortled with pleasure and rubbed their backs. Noah was a good kisser; Martin could understand why Georgie had favored him.

“I’ll take that picture with me all the rest of my life,” Georgie said happily when they finally parted, their lips wet and high color in their cheeks. “My beautiful ginger boys.” He kissed Noah and then Martin and adjusted himself in his tight breeches. “I wish you’d shown me that when I could have done something about it.”

“You’re lucky you got to see it at all,” Noah said, elbowing him in the ribs.

Mr. Elliott came around with their lot numbers, bold black on white cardstock with string to hang around their necks. Noah was #57, Georgie #59, and, as top boy, Martin would go last for Ganymede at #63.

Mr. Jacob clapped his hands for attention again. “Boys! Listen, please! We’ll be heading out to the holding area in a few minutes. Ganymede is up third this year behind Nereus and Apollo, so you won’t have too terribly long a wait.”

Boys all around the room cheered a little at this, and Mr. Jacob made calming motions with his hands until they were quiet again.

“I just wanted to tell you all one last time how proud we are of you. You all did a wonderful job at the viewing, and I’m confident you’ll exceed your reserves and go to masters who’ll value everything you have to offer. Please give yourselves a round of applause.”

Everyone clapped, hugging and patting the boys nearest by. They were proud of themselves, proud of each other. Even the lowliest of the Standard boys had worked very hard to get to this point.

“Once we leave this room,” Mr. Jacob continued, “we’ll want to keep emotional displays to a minimum, please, so if you need to say any last words to your friends, now is the time to do so.”

Poor Sandy (#58) let out an anguished cry and clung to Leo (#60), and boys all around the room made sounds of gentle dismay. Charlie (#61) came to find Martin, Stuart (#62) in tow, and kissed him and held him close while the room broke out in pandemonium around them.

“I want that boy for you,” Charlie whispered. “The tall one you liked so well. I saw how you were with him.”

“I
did
really like him,” Martin murmured, kissing his neck.

“I want someone to love you like I do,” Charlie told him. “I want a boy to care for you the way I would. I think that one just might.”

Martin was pleased by this. “Do you think he would? Georgie thought he was strange, you know.”

“It’s all right if he’s strange, isn’t it? Only a strange boy would really care for his slave.”

Martin was touched by Charlie’s thoughtfulness. Charlie had always been so good to him, so considerate. Martin had loved Richard better, and then Georgie, but Charlie had always been devoted to his happiness, and Martin realized with a pang that it was unlikely he’d know such a selfless love ever again.

Leo and Sandy came to huddle with them, and Stuart was drawn into the circle, and everyone was especially kind to Sandy, who was doing his best but was obviously despondent.

“He did meet a nice master,” Leo said, petting Sandy’s hair as Sandy sniffled. “A patient boy who’ll be kind to him. He’ll be all right if that boy takes him.”

“He won’t be
you,
though,” Sandy said stubbornly.

“We’ve talked about this…” Leo said, warning in his tone. “You’ll be brave for me, won’t you, sweetheart?” He bent his head and whispered in Sandy’s ear and Sandy listened, eyes closed, and gave a little shiver as Leo spoke.

Martin said his goodbyes to the rest of the boys, all through the ranks of Choice and Standard, all the way down to lowest-ranked Rex (#41), dim and gentle and so very pretty, with soft brown curls and a long white neck that smelled sweet as milk. So many lovely boys! How he would miss them!

Mr. Elliott checked his watch and said, “It’s time, then.”

They were led out to the holding area by means of a long, winding corridor that took them behind the stage and into the rear part of the main hall, separated from the bidders by just a wall of heavy curtains. The Houses each had a section of the floor, delimited by ropes and stanchions, and now was their first real opportunity to look at the competition, but few had the stomach for it at this late hour. They stood nervously shifting from foot to foot, or paced, or sat on the floor hugging their knees.

The Nereus boys were already being sold, ascending the stairs to the stage one at a time, passing to stand before a canvas backdrop, and posing silhouetted in the hot lights while the auctioneer solicited bids. The sales went quickly, much faster than Martin had expected. It seemed that they’d scarcely have time to draw breath before their fates would be decided; maybe it was better that way.

As the Nereus boys came down from the stage they first spoke briefly with a gentleman with a clipboard who stood at the base of the stairs, and were then met by their minders. They were dressed in their white shirts and flimsy shoes, and had their hair tied back and their wrists bound while their new masters completed the sale paperwork. The paperwork took much longer than the bidding, and soon there was a long line of sold slaves waiting nervously to go to their new masters.

The Apollo boys were up next and again were sold with unnerving rapidity.

When there were only four Apollo slaves remaining at the foot of the stage stairs, Mr. Jacob stood before them and clapped his hands softly. “Boys!” he said in a loud whisper. “Boys! On your feet please, and put yourselves in order. We’ll go line up after the last of the Apollo boys.”

Mr. Elliott made hurrying gestures as they all got to their feet and arranged themselves, Rex in front and Martin at the rear. Mr. Jacob led them from their roped-off pen to the end of the Apollo line and then he and Mr. Elliott fussed them into position, straightening their queue.

Here, close to the stage, they could hear the auctioneer’s loud, rapid-fire voice more clearly. There was a startling bang of the auctioneer’s gavel and he announced, “Sold! To paddle 57!”

When the slave came down from the stage, he asked the man with the clipboard, “Who’s 57, Sir? Who bought me?” with some urgency.

The gentleman flipped a page and ran his finger down a column. “Parker,” he said carefully. “You sold to Parker.”

The boy seemed relieved. “Oh, that’s all right, then!” He trotted over to join the line of sold boys.

The remaining Apollo boys sold, each finding out the name of his purchaser as he descended the stairs, and all of them seemed happy enough upon learning the identities of their new owners, which Martin decided to think of as a good omen.

The lots for House Ganymede were announced. Poor Rex was trembling as he ascended the stairs.

“We love you!” Mr. Jacob said in a loud whisper. “You’re a good boy, Rex!”

Rex was the least of them, very beautiful but almost simple-minded, and Martin worried that he wouldn’t meet his reserve and would have to go home in disgrace, but instead there was competitive bidding and he sold for nearly double the reserve price. Martin decided this was another good omen.

There was more competition for the Ganymede boys than there had been for the Nereus or Apollo offerings, so the bidding took a little longer, but the process was still dizzyingly fast. Every boy exceeded his reserve by a wide margin, which made Martin proud of his friends and proud of his House; it wasn’t just Mr. Jacob and Mr. Elliott making claims—Ganymede really was best.

The Standard boys all seemed happy when they learned the names of their new masters. The first sour note was sounded when Stevie, third of the Choice boys, was told he’d sold to some people called Bennett and struggled to hold back tears, obviously disappointed. Mr. Jacob put an arm around his shoulders and hustled him over to the line of sold slaves, speaking intently into his ear.

Bidding for Noah was heated, but he eventually sold to Mr. Darling and was clearly elated at the news. Sandy sold to a Mr. Fenton and did not look particularly happy about this, but Martin heard Leo say, “Good!” under his breath and knew this must be the especially kind boy Leo had hoped would take his friend.

Georgie was bought by some people called Hanover and seemed well-pleased. Leo went to a Mr. Carson and was plainly relieved. Charlie went to Mr. Atherton, the boy who had found Martin so uninteresting, and Charlie was obviously satisfied with this result.

Now it was only Stuart and Martin, and Stuart gave Martin’s hand a squeeze and climbed the stairs, leaving him all alone with Mr. Elliott. Martin’s heart began to pound so hard he could scarcely hear the auctioneer above the blood roaring in his ears. He wanted to be won by Mr. Blackwell so very badly, but he could just as easily go to Mr. Pettibone. Mr. Pettibone had said outright that he wanted Martin, and Mr. Blackwell had said nothing much at all.

Stuart sold in no time, descending the stairs and asking after paddle number 32.

“DeWitt,” said the man with the clipboard.

Stuart laughed, delighted. “Oh, the blond people! I liked them!”

“Up you go,” said Mr. Elliott, pushing Martin toward the staircase with a hand in the small of his back.

Martin climbed, his breath seeming very loud, his legs seeming very heavy. A gentleman employed by the hall was there to meet him at the top of the stairs, and he was led around the edge of a heavy canvas backdrop to stand in the blinding lights of the sales stage. The auctioneer stood at a podium at stage right. The hall attendant gave Martin a little push toward the center of the stage and he saw where he was meant to go, a white-painted X on the boards. Even with his glasses, Martin doubted he’d have been able to see anything in the glaring light. He was disoriented and frightened, but then he remembered who he was, top boy at Ganymede, and drew himself up tall. He threw his shoulders back and smiled and felt approval and interest return from the crowd.

He hoped that Mr. Blackwell was in the audience looking at him and wanting him. He hoped that Mr. Pettibone had found someone else he’d rather own.

The bidding was fast and furious, the number going higher and higher, and Martin thought he must be misunderstanding, but no, it was a huge sum being offered. The number was intimidating; the bidding parties must want him a great deal, and they must have great expectations. There were quite a few prospective masters who’d been interested, but Pettibone and Blackwell were the only ones Martin could remember in the moment, and when the gavel came down several long minutes later with paddle number 71 the winner for an astronomical amount, he was frozen, terrified, and needed a nudge from the attendant to get moving toward the stairs.

Descending the stairs, he begged, “Please, Sir, who is 71? Who’s my master?”

The man with the clipboard flipped over a page and squinted. “Hmm…it’s Block—no, sorry,
Black
well.”

Martin’s knees went weak and he swayed on the stair and clutched at the railing as his body was flooded with happy relief. Blackwell! Beautiful Henry was his master! His eyes welled with tears and he grinned like a fool, unable to maintain any semblance of dignity. Oh, they were going to have such a wonderful time! Martin would help Henry get over his shyness right away, and he’d show him everything he’d been taught, everything he’d been practicing in hopes of having a worthy master.

Mr. Jacob hurried to meet him with a broad smile as he stepped off the staircase. “Martin! Congratulations! You’ve set a record, my dear! We’re all
so
very proud of you.”