“He’s not in pain,” she said. “I promise we’ll keep him comfortable. You’re lucky you have Joshua here—he can do anything I can, I promise.”
Later that evening, Joshua knocked quietly on Lamont’s door. “Yeah, come in,” Lamont snarled from his bed. The slave entered and knelt next to the bed, remaining silent. He was naked, as Lamont had mostly kept him when they were alone in the house. Lamont looked down at the slave. “Well?” he asked impatiently.
“Sir, I apologize for my abrupt behavior this afternoon,” Joshua began. His beautiful blue eyes stared pleadingly into Lamont’s. “I felt it was necessary at the time, however it is inappropriate to treat you in such a way, and I will accept any punishment you wish.”
Lamont felt another wave of anger wash over him. Abruptly, he reached down and grabbed Joshua by the hair, hauling the slave up on the bed. He briefly glanced at the still noticeable bruises on the slave’s shoulders and ass as the man landed next to him.
“Answer me truthfully, Joshua,” Lamont demanded, his hands tightening in the slave’s hair. The slave didn’t flinch. “Was it absolutely necessary to make me leave the room this afternoon?”
“Sir, in my best medical opinion, it was.” After a moment, Lamont released Joshua.
“Does Roberto know that I—what I’ve been doing to you these past few days?”
“Sir, Master Roberto has not made any mention of my physical condition,” Joshua answered. “To be honest, sir, I don’t believe Master Roberto has noticed anything since he returned.”
“Joshua, I haven’t finished with you.”
“I understand, sir.”
“But I want you to make Roberto your first priority.”
“Of course, sir.”
“How—how is he?”
“Sir, Master Roberto is resting as comfortably as possible.”
“No, don’t give me that shit. How is he? Don’t pretty it up for me.” Lamont backhanded the slave with a blow that thrust him off the bed. He watched Joshua gather himself into a kneeling position on the floor. “Well?”
“Sir, I’m terribly sorry. He may not live through the weekend.”
With a moan, Lamont turned away from the slave and pulled a pillow across his chest, clutching it to him. He rocked silently, tears streaming down his face. “I knew it,” he choked. “I knew he’d leave me, even after he promised. Oh god, what will I do?” He buried his face in the pillow.
“Sir, I must return to my duties at Master Roberto’s side,” Joshua whispered. Lamont nodded, letting Joshua leave the room without further comment.
* * * *
It was Saturday when Roberto passed away. The household had all been present, having been alerted by Joshua. Martha worked silently to remove the tubes and needles from Roberto’s body, tears streaming down her cheeks. Pedro was weeping, pulling a rosary through his fingers until Joshua led him gently from the room, leaving Lamont alone with his lover. It was nearly two hours later when Lamont emerged from the room, his eyes red but no longer crying.
It was Joshua who took charge. For the next several days, he assisted Lamont with funeral arrangements, gave Pedro assignments regarding guest accommodations and menus. Lamont was thankful for the slave’s competence, and decided to give himself the time he needed to recover.
* * * *
Several weeks later, seated at Roberto’s desk, Lamont called Pedro to the library. Lamont looked at the slave as if for the first time. Pedro was still slightly overweight, but his hair seemed grayer, his body bowed more than Lamont remembered. But then, Lamont reminded himself, he rarely ever truly paid attention to Pedro, ignoring him except to order special meals or to get some special arrangements for the table. But today Pedro seemed very calm, his chiseled features at peace, his movements not betraying the age Lamont suspected him to be. It was strange to realize that he had never before thought of this man as attractive.
“Sit down, Pedro,” he said, waving the slave to a chair. “I wanted to let you know of Roberto’s personal wishes regarding your contract here, and allow you to make some choices.” The slave remained inscrutably silent. Lamont noticed that he still had the rosary wrapped through his fingers.
“Pedro, Roberto told me you were his slave since you were both children,” Lamont began. “His will gives you the option to be freed, with appropriate financial compensation for your lifetime of service, or to return to the Ocotlan estates.
“You also have the option to remain with me, but I would like to encourage you to take one of the other options,” Lamont continued. “To be honest, Pedro, you were always Roberto’s, not mine. It doesn’t feel right to me to have you stay.”
“Gracías, señor,” Pedro replied. “Si me lo da, hay nomás uno favor que quiero en esta vida. En mi corazón quiero ir a Ocotlan, si lo bendiga y Dios tambien.”
“Ocotlan it is,” said Lamont. “I’ll make arrangements with Roberto’s family to get you home.” Pedro rose from his chair when Lamont stood. For the first and last time, the two men embraced each other. As Pedro left, Lamont asked him to send Joshua to the room. Within moments, the blond slave was in the doorway.
“Joshua, come in and sit down.” The slave did as he was told, sitting across from Lamont as the black man pulled a piece of paper from the pile next to him.
“Joshua, this is your contract,” Lamont said. “According to this, in the event of Roberto’s death, you belong entirely to me for the remainder of your contract.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Because you’re my first Marketplace slave, I’m required to meet with a Marketplace representative within six weeks following Roberto’s death to ascertain that I am treating you properly. As your trainer is not available, she is sending Parker as her representative. He’s arriving tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lamont began to pace the room. “Joshua, I don’t dare put this contract at risk. I’m too new to the Marketplace to have this go wrong—I may never own another slave if I fuck up on you. And frankly, well, I don’t want you here. You’re good at your duties, don’t get me wrong. I just—I can’t bear to have you here. Not with Roberto gone.”
“I’m not stupid,” Lamont continued, looking everywhere but at Joshua. “I know you weren’t responsible for this horrible, despicable disease. But having you in the house with Roberto sick—Joshua, your health was a constant reminder of my lover’s illness. I, I couldn’t bear seeing you so healthy when he was dying.”
Joshua leaned forward, speaking carefully. “Sir, your anger was an expected reaction to your lover’s illness, and I welcomed the opportunity to serve you.”
Lamont ignored the slave. “I can’t get rid of you without risking my position in the Marketplace, and I probably can’t trade you without the same result,” Lamont muttered. “If you stay, I’ll probably end up killing you unless I get too sick. Hah,” Lamont laughed despairingly. “What irony to have the angel of death at my bedside as well. What possible choices does this leave me with?” He stared accusingly at Joshua.
“Sir, perhaps Mr. Parker will have some suggestions,” the slave offered hesitantly.
“Parker?” Lamont exclaimed. “What the hell would he know about it? What I need to do is, is—” he stopped suddenly, and fell into his chair again, and put his head into his hands. “I need to talk to Roberto,” he whispered. “Roberto always knows what to do.” His body began to shake. “Oh, Roberto, Roberto,” Lamont moaned, “I need you. I can’t do this myself.” His voice began to choke. “Please, please help me.”
Silently, in response, the slave moved to the side of his new master.
“The next speaker is Mr. Geoffrey Negel, from California, America,” said William Longet, the Swiss parliamentarian who ran all the formal meetings. “Please consider time limits. Rebutting statements may be made after the speaker is finished. Mr. Negel, you have the floor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Longet.” Geoff rose to address his peers. He was dressed in a lightweight, ivory-colored suit, with a shirt the color of a clear afternoon sky open at his throat. The folds of the clothing fell handsomely on him, and when he gestured, his heavy gold watch glittered under the harsh fluorescent lighting.
“Fellow trainers and spotters, thank you for your attention today. And thank you for your participation in Academy politics. It may be beneath some of our membership to actually engage in what creates this world we live in, but everyone here knows how important it is to have a participatory system of organization. You are all to be congratulated on your attention to what our hosts would call giri, or duty.” He directed a neat bow to Noguchi Shigeo, who gently nodded back.
“Participation is what I want to address today,” Geoff continued. “I am against this proposal. I don’t think anyone here could deny that the scope of what we do could not be managed without the cooperation of a massive number of people. We’re no longer a British-European organization with offices in four countries. In fact, with the first international sale scheduled in St. Petersburg since 1904,”—this was slightly interrupted by cheers from the small knot of trainers from various cities in the former Soviet Union—“we are now in more nations, trading our treasured clients across more borders than ever before. We are a truly cosmopolitan organization, withstanding wars, national divisions, political uprisings and downfalls, even the winds of cultural change. There is a need for us, my friends, a deep, abiding human need, and it is truly miraculous that we have persevered to come together here in this beautiful corner of the world to teach and learn together.”
“Is he ever going to come to some sort of point?” growled Walther, fiddling with a silver pen.
Chris Parker nodded. “This is called ‘softening them up.’” he murmured.
“Ah. Perhaps he hopes to lull us to sleep, and call for the vote?” The big German leaned back in his seat, folded his arms comfortably and let his head dip down, insultingly plain to anyone in his line of sight. That included Michael, who was standing along a side wall with an assortment of other junior trainers and a few slaves. He was amazed at how much his stomach fluttered when Geoff rose to speak. How handsome the Californian looked, how self assured and pleased with himself! It hurt to look at him.
“It almost seems impossible for us to have lasted as long as we have,” Geoff was saying. “After all, look at how much could divide us—religion, skin color, gender, political beliefs, national and regional alliances, philosophies—all the things which have sent us to war against each other over the years. Yet ultimately, we have refused to let this happen—through years when the entire globe was torn apart in strife, still the network of independent trainers met and spoke and taught and learned from each other.”
“That is a lie,” Walther said, without opening his eyes. “There are eighteen nations right now that we do not do business with, and there are many trainers not with us today because they are—constrained within their own homelands!”
“Then correct him when he is through,” Ninon suggested, her voice a light whisper.
“I will,” he muttered.
“So when you look at our history, I think you will join me in being a little surprised at the dissension that has arisen over something as ultimately petty as training styles.” Geoff gazed across the room, sweeping his body to cover everyone. If he noticed Walther noticeably dozing, he didn’t react to it.
“Yes—that is what this resolution boils down to. Different training styles. And frankly, my fellow trainers, different training styles is what I come to the Academy to learn!”
There was some scattered laughter, and a few multi-lingual words of encouragement. Geoff smiled briefly.
“At one time, there was a need for a certain unity in style. After all, we had to invent a structure for voluntary slavery in a world that still traded human beings like animals. We redefined it, helped people to achieve an identity that was safe and controlled. We needed uniform standards so that we could be assured that no one entered our clientèle unwillingly, that there were ways to remove clients from abusive situations, that our owners could be monitored and judged suitable. And fellow trainers, we have those systems in place! Look at how well we manage our insular little world here; and we do it without subscribing to any code but the same basic, ethical guidelines laid down for us by our forebears.”
“In the old days of the Marketplace, we needed rigid codes of behavior and styles of training because we were a small group united by a belief in a way of life we knew would not be acceptable to the larger world. Of course there were initiations, ranks, status struggles, old houses versus new houses, there might have been secret handshakes as far as I know.” He grinned and demonstrated, waving one hand around and wiggling his fingers. More trainers smiled, a few laughed, but several began to sit up with wariness evident in their eyes.
“But let’s face the facts, my friends—our older ways were tribal ways. Honorable ways, with success in their wake, but no longer suitable for a large, international venture such as ours. I am not saying that they are wrong; I want to be really clear about that! If that’s what works for you, that’s great. There are many of you here whose words I’ve studied for years, whose work I respect with all my heart. You find your students and clients and you teach them your way, and we can see the results on the auction blocks, as it should be. But there is no one way that will serve us all, just as there isn’t one slave who can serve any owner.
“This is a wondrous world we now live in. Clients find their ways to us by methods we never imagined. Underground clubs gave way to newspapers and magazines—people found ways to connect over the phone, for crying out loud, and now, who knows where this Internet revolution might take us? There are now hundreds of established organizations that teach people safe ways to experience a form of slavery—”