A Superior Slave (Ganymede Quartet Book 0.5) (2 page)

But, of course, he would have no say in it whatsoever. It would all depend upon a master’s preferences.

Martin considered his own coloring, his own attractiveness. He understood that he, like all companions, was of exceptional appearance; plain boys became butlers and footmen. He was quite pale, with reddish hair that was neither brown nor blond; he was quite vain about his strawberry hair. He had high cheekbones, full lips, a strong jaw. His eyes were an unusual shade of gold-tinged green and were said to be one of his best features. However, he did wear glasses, and that evidence of imperfection might be enough to dissuade a prospective master. He was tall, possibly too tall to appeal to some, and lean and fit. He was muscular and strong, but sleek rather than bulky. Ganymede had endeavored to mold Martin into the most optimal version of himself, and now it was dependent upon a master’s taste whether or not he would be chosen.

Georgie put down his fork. “So, Martin. Did you say all your goodbyes?”

Martin paused with his coffee cup before his lips. “Well, I said them to all the other sixteens, but I still have some younger boys I want to try to see before we leave.”

“Who’s that one you especially like? The runty little eleven?”

Martin smiled. “That’s Frankie. I won’t leave without seeing Frankie.”

“You certainly get along with kids,” Georgie remarked. “When you were making wishes at the bonfire last night, I hope you wished for a master with a little brother.”

Martin had, in fact, wished for this, though he hadn’t been picky about whether it would be a brother or sister. He just wanted a surrogate sibling, and he wanted a master who would allow him to be friendly with the younger child. He was going to miss the little Ganymede boys.

“The little guys are really going to miss you,” Charlie remarked, tilting in his chair to bump Martin with his shoulder. “You and Philip and Mitch. Hopefully some of the fifteens will take up the slack and play with the poor little buggers.”

Martin had always liked the sociability of life on the farm and had taken advantage of the opportunities to know boys of all ages and interests. He liked being around the little ones because they were funny and sweet and saw things in surprising ways. While he’d never have children of his own, he hoped his master might eventually have a family, and that he would be allowed to share in the childcare to some degree. He did understand that it wasn’t considered fitting for men to participate in child-rearing out in the wider world; however, here at Ganymede, where nearly everyone was male, it was definitely considered men’s work.

Noah finished his plate and pushed it away from him. He slid his chair closer to Georgie’s and leaned his head on Georgie’s shoulder, and Georgie let him do it, though with a roll of his eyes and a slightly put-upon expression. Noah narrowed his eyes at Martin and snuggled closer to Georgie’s side. Martin tried not to let Noah’s possessive behavior annoy him. After all, Georgie had made sure he and Martin had had time alone during the party last night, and they’d shared sex that had felt a little meaningful; it had been a proper enough goodbye. Clingy Noah would have to give Georgie up for good soon enough; Martin wouldn’t add to the day’s stresses by challenging Noah’s claim.

As they ate and talked, boys continued to wander into the mess hall, filling up plates and sitting down to a last breakfast with their friends. When nearly all of the boys were in the room, eating and sipping coffee, their group’s minders, Mr. Jacob and Mr. Elliott, stood at the head of the room and asked for a moment of everyone’s attention.

“Congratulations, boys,” Mr. Jacob said. “Just one more day!”

There was scattered cheering, a current of excitement.

“I trust you all had a satisfactory farewell party?” he asked, and waited a moment for their approving laughter, their quick applause.

“Everything you’ve worked so hard for will be yours tomorrow. We’re so proud of you, you know.” Mr. Jacob did look proud, and very fond. He was the nicer of the two, softer and kinder. He had been trained as a companion himself, but a skin condition that resulted in scars and pits all over his handsome face had prevented him from becoming a full-fledged, salable companion. Now nearing 30, he had been training and chaperoning young companions for a dozen years.

It was said that Mr. Elliott had been an angelic child when he was chosen to train, but he’d grown into an ungainly man. He was tall and gawky, his ears stuck out like handles, his chin was weak, and his nose was outsized. He was stricter and more businesslike than Mr. Jacob. “Do any of you have any questions about what’s happening today or tomorrow?” Mr. Elliott asked. “We have time for questions now, and we might not later. Remember, as soon as we leave the farm, you’re representing Ganymede. You’ll represent Ganymede for the rest of your lives, and you’re expected to do us proud.”

Across the room, Jerome put his hand in the air, and Mr. Elliott said, “Yes, Jerome?”

“I think we all want to be good representatives for the House, Mr. E, but we hear things about the boys at other Houses,” Jerome began. “We hear that they flirt, and make offers, and…how are we supposed to compete with that?”

Both Mr. Jacob and Mr. Elliott shook their heads at the idea of Ganymede needing to
compete
.

“Ganymede is the oldest House,” Mr. Elliott said. “The oldest and best, and our reputation is unparalleled. We’re known for excellent service,
including
sex. We don’t need to seduce prospective masters in the
auction hall
to prove our worth.” Mr. Elliott shuddered with distaste at this, the idea of vulgar boys being inappropriate. “Each of you has a stellar pedigree. You’ll all find quality masters because you’re all quality boys. It’s not necessary for you to offer to suck some prospective master’s cock to get attention.
Everyone
knows you’re the best slaves on offer, including those boys offered at other Houses. Most importantly, the
fathers
of these young masters know you’re the best, and the fathers are the ones placing the bids.” Mr. Elliott sounded supremely confident in what he was saying, and Mr. Jacob was nodding along, in full agreement.

Mr. Jacob attempted to reassure them, as well. “Each of you was chosen carefully for this role, and you’ve been trained to the highest possible standard. You’re handsome, talented and clever, every one of you. You’ll have no trouble finding excellent homes without resorting to
groveling
. You’re from
Ganymede
, after all.”

“Any other questions?” Mr. Elliott cocked his head and surveyed the room. The boys all looked at one another, but no one raised his hand. Mr. Elliott shrugged. “All right then. We’ll meet up in the common room and leave for the train at 10 o’clock,” Mr. Elliott said. “You’ll need to finish up your business here for good and for all before then. If you need to say goodbyes to the younger boys, try not to distract them from their work for too long. And be sure you’re clean to get on the train—no coming straight from anyone’s bed!”

“Has anyone seen Rex? Or Mitch?” Mr. Jacob asked, peering out over the tables. “I haven’t seen Ben, either. Has anyone seen them this morning?”

“They’re somewhere,” Mr. Elliott reassured him, unconcerned. “I’ll just make a pass through the bedrooms. Wake up any late-risers.” With that, he turned and left the dining hall, presumably in search of stray boys.

Martin glanced at the clock, stood up, and pushed in his chair.

“Where are you going?” Charlie asked.

“I’m going to see if I can find Frankie.”

Charlie gave him a wry smile. “You’re a good brother.”

Martin gave Georgie’s arm a squeeze and bent to kiss the part in Charlie’s hair as he left the dining hall. The sun seemed especially bright, hazy colored dots floating in his vision, and he blinked owlishly as he made his way to the horse barn to see if Frankie’s cohort were having their riding lesson.

The little boys—they were no longer elevens anymore, Martin realized with a sentimental pang, but as of last night were twelves—were taking their turns to ride. Ganymede had a great number of horses, but there were even more boys, and everyone had to share. That was how Martin had first met Frankie—the younger boy had been grooming the horse they both rode, a temperamental black mare named Bonnie. At the time, Frankie had been just an eight, and Martin a thirteen in his first year of companion training, and Martin had initially taken an interest in the little fellow because he found Frankie’s frequent fits of exasperation with their shared horse amusing. Over time they’d become genuine friends, their relation one of brotherly affection with a healthy dose of hero worship from Frankie’s side.

It was dim and cool under the barn’s roof, with a nice cross-breeze through the big open side doors. The little boys were sitting up very straight on their horses’ backs as they made a circuit of the ring under the riding master’s critical eye. Martin scanned the faces of the waiting boys but did not see Frankie. Glancing into the ring, he first saw Bonnie, and then Frankie’s pale, heart-shaped face, his dark brows angled together in a vee of surly concentration. Frankie and Bonnie still didn’t get on terribly well.

Some others of the waiting boys were excited to see Martin, full of questions about his future that he was unable to answer.

“What kind of master will you have?”

“What’s the city like?”

“Will the slaves at your new house be nice?”

But they had other questions that he could answer readily.

“Will you miss us? Will you miss the farm?”

“I’ll definitely miss you,” Martin told them. “And Ganymede is my home, isn’t it? I know I’ll be going to a nice place, but I’m sad to leave this one.”

There was some commotion while the riders, Frankie included, dismounted and handed their steeds off to the waiting boys. Martin lost sight of him in the crowd for a few moments, as Frankie was shorter than most of the others. Frankie had an elfin delicacy that he did not appreciate, as he wanted to be a manly specimen and was impatient to grow up. As Frankie exited the ring, he saw Martin right away and his solemn little face was enlivened by a wide, pleased smile.

“You came! I was afraid you’d leave without seeing me!”

“I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye to you.” Martin bent to give Frankie a quick hug, to press his cheek against the younger boy’s hair. “Do you have a minute to talk, do you think?”

Frankie darted a glance at the riding master and thought a moment. “There’s this group and then the next one before it’s my turn again. I think there should be enough time, don’t you?”

Martin led him out of the crowd, stopping in a shady spot just inside the barn where there was a hay bale they could perch on. Frankie hopped up to sit, legs swinging and heels kicking against the bale.

“I’m so happy you came,” Frankie offered shyly. “The others said you wouldn’t have time.”

“I’m making time,” Martin said. “You’re important to me, Frankie. You know we probably won’t ever see each other again, but I want to be sure you understand that it isn’t because I don’t love you.”

“Next year when I get my training assignment, I’ll be a companion, too,” Frankie said confidently, “and when I grow up and get a master in the city, I’ll find you and we’ll be friends again.”

“That might happen,” Martin allowed, taking Frankie’s hand. “But for now, I just want you to know how much I care about you, all right? Whatever assignment you get next year, I know you’ll work hard and do a good job.”

“I don’t want to be anything other than a companion,” Frankie insisted. “The rest of the jobs are stupid.”

“Don’t be like that. There’s nothing wrong with being a butler or a footman or anything else.”

“I want to be like
you
.”

“Then you’ll work hard at whatever job you’re given. That’s what I do.”

Frankie was silent a moment, then said, “I wish you didn’t have to leave.” He picked at a patch on the knee of his trousers and then bumped Martin’s leg with that knee.

Martin thought about what he might say. “It’s my time, though, Frankie. I’m excited to begin the next stage of my life. But I
will
miss you so much. I promise I won’t forget you, all right?”

Frankie bit his lip and lowered his head, hiding his face. His voice wavered as he said, “I won’t forget you, either, Martin,” and then he turned and buried his face against Martin’s shirtfront. Martin put an arm around his narrow shoulders and let him cry. His throat grew tight as he realized he might never know what would happen to Frankie, whether he would make companion or not. They wouldn’t be allowed to write—it was forbidden for slaves in training to exchange letters with anyone outside the farm, even their former Ganymede comrades.

Martin bent his head and kissed Frankie’s soft, flyaway hair, and Frankie made a loud, hiccupping sob and clung tighter to Martin’s shirt.

“Promise me you’ll be a good boy and work hard, and then I’ll know for sure you’ll be successful, all right?”

“When I grow up and have a master of my own, I’ll
find
you,” Frankie said again stubbornly.

“I’d be very happy to meet you again someday,” Martin assured him. “I’d be proud to know you when you’re grown.”

Frankie let out a long, shuddering sigh and let go of Martin’s shirt. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and gave a loud sniff.

“Here—” Martin dug his handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and offered it to Frankie.

“I’m okay,” Frankie insisted, rejecting the offered cloth with a shake of his head. “I have my own. I just didn’t feel like getting it out.”

Martin snorted and gave Frankie a nudge. “If you want to be a companion, you’ll have to start using a handkerchief instead of your sleeve, you know.”

Frankie nudged back and snickered.

The boys in the ring relinquished their horses to the next in line.

“It’ll be my turn again soon,” Frankie noted. After a few moments pause, he said, “Do you think Bonnie will miss you?”

Martin laughed. “I doubt it. I think Bonnie really just wants to be left alone to eat grass with no boys around at all.”