Date: Wed, 2 May 2018 18:48:07 +0000 From: Nicholas Nicholby Subject: Boys Guild Chapter 3, Gay, SciFi/Fantasy, Adult Youth, Prolific Authors This story is a work of fiction. It never happened, it never will. The characters and locations are all make believe and any resemblance to any place or person, living or dead, is simply in the mind of the reader and totally unintentional. Situations and sexual activities of the characters are fantasy, don't try dragon riding at home. The story is also the first in a series of stories about Kind Draviad's Realm. Please let me know if you enjoy by email to nicholas6996 (at) hot mail dot com Copyright 2018 by Nicholas Nicholby, all rights reserved. Not to be distributed or duplicated without express written permission of the author. The author hereby grants the Nifty Archive a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancellable license to use, modify or alter and edit copy for clarity or style, reproduce, display, make compilations of and distribute the work. The Boys Guild Clipper, the Cutpurse's stick, came running into the Boys Guild just after dark. He dove into the shelf he shared with Jaxx, the Shipschandler's boy, and buried his noggin in the crook of Jaxx's neck at the same time he buried his hand down the inside of Jaxx's braies. Not surprisingly his downward reaching fingers were as quickly greeted by upward reaching lance as Jaxx's body urged his brain to quickly catch up to the lad's raging hormones. Clipper giggled, "Seems there is no need today to find the Archivist and beg a story. I think your lance is stiffer than the boards used for the covers of his many books." "Mayhaps," Jaxx whispered back to keep from disturbing others who might already have been sleeping. "Of course 'tis Fireday Night and the Chandler and the Archivist have a standing assignation to taste new ale and test new authors every Fireday Postnoon. He brought some man Nicholas around and had him declaim some of his prose. Right stiffening stuff it was too. The Chandler speared me as we sat at table but would not twiddle and I've been trying not to seed just thinking of your tongue and bottom." Jaxx pushed Clipper down his slender body as Clipper pushed the braies down and soon the boy was tonguing lance, lance was wetting tongue, and Jaxx was holding ears that were not his own in only the strictest sense of the phrase. A few up and down directions from the hands and then they lifted the head all the way off lance and up where tongues could duel. A few more tongue lashings of each others teeth and Clipper sat back capturing Jaxx's waving lance directly where it could do the most good. "Hissssss," Clipper squeezed out of his lungs as he squeezed in with his hole. "Remind me to give you copper next Moonsday night that you may give it to the Archivist on Fireday. His stories make your lance harder than a ship's mast and that is fair worth encouraging I think." Some yawing and pitching followed by some skittering and heaving had the six degrees of freedom exhausted for the boys and Jaxx was blasting thick white boy grease to lube his axle in Clipper's housing and bushings. As the fog or precious red orechasm lifted both boys pledged to send the Archivist a copper and knew they could do so via King's Post or the more modern avigation address http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html "I hope others might send a copper too, surely the Archivist has expenses and `twu'd be a pity to have free stories disappear." Chapter 3 - Broadside Black and Blue Kingsday finally made its way through the fog of night. Tomas was up even earlier in his excitement and had the wood carried and the water replenished and everything everywhere dusted and swept. Then he realized it still wasn't cock's crow and he curled up with his blanket under the proofing table. The stomping of the Master's boots and the smell of a hot fresh loaf brought Tomas from his sleep and he stretched and twisted and twirled just like a cat. The Master laughed to see the boy emerge from his fog and pointed to the steaming meat bun that the baker was trying in cooperation with the butcher. As far as the Master Printer was concerned it was a tremendous idea, but then he didn't mind spending two whole pennies on his breakfast. It was unknown if others would feel the same way. As the boy wolfed down the delicacy the Master opened the cash drawer and took out the handwritten sheet the King's man had given him for guidance. "Well Tomas, we are doing a broadside today," the Master said. Seeing the boy's confused look he continued, "Yes, something we have not done. I have heard that it is used in the far off city of Cantong, but it is not something most want from us here. The King however wants to give it a try. And who are we to argue with the King? Right?" the Master laughed. Tomas nodded his agreement that what the King wanted he would try to do. "Alright then, it will be one large sheet printed one side only. I think it will be sent to the Town Criers and they may post it like they do the Royal Proclamations. The King's man said they planned to put it in inns and market squares and other places where it would be seen by many. Are you ready to try your hand at the composing?" the Master asked. "Composing? Me?" Tomas was flabbergasted at the thought. "It is just the backwards part of the hellbox sort. I think you can handle it," the Master dismissively waved away Tomas objection. "We will start with three composing sticks, that way you can see a little of how we will lay it all up when we impose it. So get three sticks out and open the heads drawer," the Master directed. "Right now, size three: His Majesty. Yes, that's all," the Master watched the boy pull the middle sized head and lay the type into the stick. "No, it is a j, not a g. That's okay, I'll help you with the spelling, I didn't think of that," the Master ruffled Tomas' hair. "Now size one: King Draviad the Second." "Hmmm, no wait, let's use the numbers so," the Master stopped Tomas before he had the words complete and had him pull the largest 2 and then smaller `nd' which he inserted above a string of slugs laid sideways. "Yes, I like that, now the ridiculous part. Size six: Lord of Malfox, Right Hand of Ashton, Keeper of the Harbor Secrets, Bringer of the Flame of Golden Orechasm and Shining Truth, no, no, no, That is all good for the TownCrier to scream out, but it is just clutter on the printed page. I'll send to the calligrapher and have him give us an old one in the sized letters the King's man wants and maybe he'll see it is beside the point and does not communicate what the broadside is all about. Set that stick aside and grab another," the Master was thinking as he worked the layout in his mind. Tomas managed to break in, "Does bedding the King really make a Golden Orechasm? I thought Silver was the most precious?" "Well don't be repeating that bit, might be a bit of hyperbole I stuck in there," he nudged Tomas' shoulder and winked and then directed them back to the task. "Okay size three again: Declares A" "Good, now new stick, size two: Minstrel Competition. New stick again, more size two: Wizardry Demonstrations we'll insert a size three AND or maybe a fancy ampersand, but we don't need a stick right now. Okay, bring those over to the imposing stone and let's see how they look locked up in a chase." Tomas carefully tied each group of letters and carried each stick over to the imposing stone. The Master had dug around among the stack of press chases and found the one he wanted, it was huge. At least double the size of the one used for the Tailor Guild's newssheet which was the largest thing Tomas remembered them printing. "Yes, folio size, that should put the calligraphers to shame, hmmm, maybe we need some ornaments and a border. Let's see what the imposer has hiding down in these drawers." The Master pulled open the bottom drawer of the cabinet and seeing the style of things he wanted he pulled the drawer out and onto the type rack about the stone. Tomas was watching with fascinated eyes, he wasn't usually allowed around the imposer, seems there was a bias against the Printer's Devil association with Titivillus and the introduction of small errors supposedly occurred more often around the Devil. "Grab some furniture, let's create a clear border at the top and then we'll use this ornament in the corners." It was going on early postnoon when the Master called a halt from the back and forth. They had been almost bouncing from the composing table to the imposing stone but now had most of the type laid in although nothing was yet locked up. Stretching his own back because he had been hunched over the imposing stone longer than he was now used too the Master let out a yawn and a little belch and looked at Tomas. "Okay Devil, let's off to the inn for a tankard and a pie. I think we have worked a lot. Grab a press blanket and a soiled sheet. Put the sheet clean side down and then the blanket and hopefully Titivillus will leave us alone this Kingsday postnoon. Tomas did as bidden and then followed the Master out the back door and around to where the favorite tavern of the printers opened to the courtyard. The Innkeeper greeted the Master with an inquiry about working on a Kingsday and the Master waved it off with an allusion to everything needing cleaning sometime or another. While the Innkeeper laughed in agreement Tomas thought the man didn't actually have a clue what cleaning meant as the floor and tables in this inn were usually the stickiest of all the inns around. The pie was good though and the cup of small beer tasted bitter, but delicious. Tomas started to ask, "If there is a competition..." The Master cut him off with a finger to his lips and, "Yes, a competition among our apprentices for least spelling errors would take a lot of study. We'll speak of it when we get back, now finish your pie, there is still the great press bed to be made." Tomas giggled to think about making the press bed, it was solid metal after all. He looked an I'm sorry at the Master for blurting out the competition question, but the Master was smiling so he just concentrated on finishing his pie. He didn't know when he'd had so much food. It almost made him feel his stomach might burst. Back in the print shop Tomas told the Master he was sorry, but he wouldn't have mentioned the King or what kind of competition. The Master just patted his shoulder and said, "Best to say nothing at all in public, strange ears have a way of creating stranger stories. But what was your question then?" "Well a competition announced like this will bring lots of people trying to win and since it is Minstrels and there is a Wizardry Demonstration that will bring even more people who want to watch. The town will be packed with people. The contestants won't have much money, they will be apprentices and country minstrels I would think but they will come first and if the inns are all full of them who have to have cheap rooms how will the richer watchers find lodging? Or will the Innkeepers throw out the contestants just as the contest begins because they can make more money from the watchers?" Tomas stated his concern and question all together. "You have an interesting head boy, you see things that might and may happen and are thinking about how to make them be right. So what do you think could be done to make everybody happy, it will be a giant festival after all and you are right folk from all over will attend. Heck more than folk, other beings I am sure will enter and want to watch," the Master turned the problem back to Tomas. "Other beings too?" Tomas had not seen many other beings, a black-a-moor or two at the harbor and once he thought an air spirit but with them it was very hard to tell what was a being and what was just a gust of wind. "Hmmm, I was thinking that maybe the King could solve the contestants problem. If he charged an entrance fee of say thrup'ny and then assigned the contestants to one of the Guards or Soldiers barracks and mess hall, they could get cheap food and lodging, he could make a little money to pay for the food and the Inns would be ready for the richer folk. Maybe he could have special seats under a canopy and charge the rich people to sit where they would have a great view too. If he tries to charge an entrance fee into the town then the farmers and workers that need to get things to and from the shops and docks would all be penalized and they wouldn't be happy. Maybe they wouldn't come in and then the town would run out of food and ale right when it had the most people to feed." Tomas had kind of started to spin out of control on the what ifs and the Master stopped him, "Whoa, don't go too far. Your barracks idea and the canopy might be just the kind of thing to make the King's man happy. When he comes to see the proof tomorrow I'll mention you have an idea and you can explain it to him. Now don't be scared, just tell him like you told me, but stop at the special seats and canopy. Someone else will have to think about the King's overall finances, they are above the likes of you or me." "Yes Master Printer," Tomas agreed. The remainder of the imposing was quickly finished with the ornaments and borders added, a place for a facsimile King's signature and Aldus Manutius' ipsum lorem text for the contestants rules since the King's man had left none of those details. Tomas stripped off his new shirt and prepared the leather balls to ink the type. He soon had a sheen of sweat as the hard work of inking such a huge chase tasked his muscles. The Master watched and directed more or less ink over the plate. He watched too the lithe form of Tomas contort to move the leather ball of treated sheepskin in concentric circles. It made his lance rise to see the boy in most of his glory stretching and flexing the beauty of his body. Risen lance or no, the proofing of the print had to come first and finally the Master was satisfied with the inking and the paper was applied. With this gigantic chase the regular rollers on the proofing press would not reach the outer line of ornaments so both the Master and Tomas set at the paper with clean leather barens. Again the size of the plate caused considerable huffing and puffing by both of them, yet finally the Master felt the print was probably sufficiently flat and even to pull the paper off. Each taking the top corner on their side of the table the Master guided Tomas in pulling slowly yet accurately and they had the print free and flipped printed side up on the proofing table to review. The Master was ecstatic, there were no weak print areas and the only small error was in the ipsum lorem text which would be replaced anyway. Declaring the proof a success the Master set Tomas to scouring the plate with waste paper to clear the ink so that it wouldn't dry and they could keep their eyes and ears open. The completed proof was hung to dry with a clean sheet suspended closely to hide the text from prying eyes. They moved the chase to a trolley and rolled it over and beside the Master's big desk where he piled some loose prints and other stuff on it. It too was now away from prying eyes. Clapping Tomas on the back the Master considered seeing if the boy would bed again but then remembered the trouble last time when he couldn't perform at home afterwards and decided married bliss was the preferable option this Kingsday. He did take Tomas back to the Inn where another small beer satisfied the boy while a tankard of ale assuaged the Master at the loss of such a willing and talented hole for the day. It was late in the day when Tomas skipped to the Boys' Guild tables and joined the bantering of the boys who had not needed to accomplish much more all day than waste the hours in boyish idleness. That night he crawled into his shelf without the benefit of Zekial's company. It wasn't long and one of the youngest boys had crawled in with him complaining that his head had hurt all day. Tomas soothed him with a gentle rubbing of the boy's tiny lance and twiddling of the loose living stones and advised him not to try so much ale next time. The boy giggled that it was worth it since Tomas was making him see the blue and yellow of wonderful orechasm. Tomas giggled too and bent down and swept up lance and stones together inside his hot warm moist mouth. The giggling boy was soon mewling and thrashing about as Tomas' tongue attacked the tiny pole and drove the tyke to exploding orange orechasm and oblivion. The day was barely started in the print shop when the windows were darkened by the King's Guard and the King's man stood before the Master requesting to see the proof. The Master called an early break and sent everyone from the shop except for Tomas. Once all had gladly headed out to the tables the Master reached under his desk and pulled the dried proof out from where he had hidden it and spread it on the proofing table. Carefully explaining the size and the layout the Master also pulled out a calligraphic presentation of the King's titles as the man had thought they should be included. The Master was relieved to see that the King's man immediately understood inclusion of the titles caused a cluttering of the text and a diminution of both the King's name and the meat of the announcement. The King's man made a note in a small book that the titles would still be called by the Town Criers, but he agreed that for this printing they should be omitted. The King's man listened to Tomas' proposal concerning use of the barracks and the canopied area at the competition site. He made another note in his book because he thought they both were excellent suggestions, he admitted it had not yet been discussed what the effects on the town might be. The barracks would be a great way of handling the contestants and it would even cause many to be off kilter a bit to have to stay and eat with rivals. Seeing how people handled themselves in such situations was always good the King's man thought. After all, being an entertainer in the King's presence should always keep one off kilter just a tad or the entertainment could become stale and dead quickly. He also hadn't thought about including a statement of the rules but realized they needed to be there, succinct and clear cut so each person who wanted to try for the prize knew exactly how to go about it. He would return at the end of the week on Windday with the information, the decision on the pricing of the entry fee, a facsimile signature and anything else he might think of until then. He rolled the proof up and the Master wrapped it in coarse paper. They talked a little bit about the quantity to be printed and the Master agreed to have a price proposal on Windday in return. The penultimate proof would be ready next Moonsday and all that would be left then before the final printing was the determination of the dates. The Master called the journeymen and apprentices all back inside and bid them continue with their work. He and Tomas were taking the rest of the day off. Tomas once again stuffed himself on meat pie and small beer while the Master finished his lunch and several tankards of ale. Tomas had to help the Master stagger home. He confirmed his abhorrence of girls and women in particular as he heard the shrieking and caterwauling that greeted the Master inside his house. Tomas hoped he'd see Zekial this Moonsday, he wanted to tell him how successful the project had been so far. The Harvest Moon was passing and it was almost the Moon of Falling Leaves. Outside the Boys' Guild Hall the air was chillier in the mornings and the evenings came quicker than they had been. Soon a few more boys would start sleeping in the Hall, it was becoming too cold for those who slept under porches or on the balconies or roofs. Tomas stretched again and wondered where Zekial had been these past days. Queensday was the last time Zekial had visited. Tomas wasn't short of bed company, the youngest boys always tried to find a reason to crawl in to his shelf. Tomas was both kind and caring and a boy could expect a cuddle at worst and soft yellow or even orange orechasm at best from Tomas' bed. Neither feeling was one to turn down. With some Tomas could plant his lance inside them and both boys could flop around a bit and achieve some measure of pleasure, but since Tomas' living stones were not yet wet the ultimate joy was still denied in the youngsters mating. Tomas missed Zekial. On Windday the King's man had come with the last of the information and Tomas looked forward to working with the Master again on Kingsday to get the final type set and locked down. He hoped there would be a chance again at meat pie. He wasn't disappointed. Pulling the final proof had proved difficult and Tomas was more streaked than usual with long lines of printer's ink up both legs and down his arms. The tiny type that the King's man wanted to use for the rules was difficult to ink evenly and the Master had been required to futz with scraps of paper as make-ready to get several of the pieces of type even with the rest. After showing Tomas how to use small pieces of soiled paper to test just that area they finally got the impressions the way the Master wanted it. Tomas was surprised at how much the broadsheet looked like a parchment document. It had taken them well over 9 hours to get everything set, but with a scant few hours more they could have 200 copies ready for the King. The Master said the calligraphers would have taken another 9 hours for just the first one and then well over a day for each additional copy. Tomas thought that if he were the King he would be very pleased with both the product and the cost from the printer's shop. The King's man approved and ordered 300 copies. Tomas saw as he counted out two gold and six silver as the first ha'payment. Tomas had not ever seen so much money at the same time and the Master let him hold one gold in each hand for a few minutes. Tomas was amazed at how hot the money was and how for so small it weighed more than three silvers all together. He knew he'd never have a gold, so holding two made his lance poke straight up in his breeches. The Master saw the waving lance peek out of the tatters in the breeches and decided Tomas would get more than his silver as payment for his work. Once the type was dusted and the proofing table cleaned the Master sat at his desk and cuddled Tomas between his knees. Opening the cash drawer again he took two of the silvers and three coppers and placed them up on the table, "Tomas, this is your payment for the extra work. Your ideas for the King will make him some money too and that is where the extra coppers come. Keep having ideas, remember that once upon a time everything we do was done by the scribes and then someone had the idea for type and then the press and then the chase, etc., etc. Now, would you like to celebrate?" the Master's hand went into Tomas' breeches and there was no doubt how he thought they should begin to celebrate. Tomas nodded his head vigorously, Zekial still had not come by and Tomas' mind was as ready as his lance to have some fun. Just to confirm his nod his hip ground into the Master's lance which was quickly rising. One of Tomas' hands swept the coins back into the cash drawer and pushed it closed as the other hand began working at undoing the Master's belt. Last time the Master had been somewhat gentle and relaxed. This time it seemed the fog of heat was taking him quickly. Tomas wondered if the shrieking females at the Master's house had thought to do their duty. He felt the Master was perhaps not desperate, but close in need to exercise his stones. The Master was indeed expectant and before Tomas could get the belt undone the Master had shoved his own breeches down, pushed Tomas' breeches past his knees and his shirt completely off and picked him up and turned him round and pulled him back and into his lap. Grinding his rampant lance between Tomas' buns the Master's stones gave a lubricating squirt and suddenly the Master was pulling Tomas' hips back and down and the lance was disappearing up beyond Tomas' portcullis. Tomas took a deep sharp breath, his gate had hardly had time to open as the invader plundered the tunnel. He had his hands barely on the desk top, but his feet were off the ground and he hadn't fully seated in the Master's lap so the only thing really holding him up from falling to the floor was the lance poked up inside him. The Master bounced his own hips and Tomas began a bucking ride that skewered him, tried to dislodge him, then skewered him at a different angle, then tried again to bounce him off and came punching back to pin his insides again and again. Somehow Tomas stayed astride and his mind skipped right over yellow and was screaming orange orechasm even as the tipping slanting pike tapped deeper and deeper on each thrust. The Master, now grunting as he rutted, managed to grab Tomas' arms and with a particularly vigorous thrust launched them both from out the chair. Tomas was now held truly on the horn and barely allowed to balance himself so that his head did not over tip and go crashing to the floor. The orange orechasm ran quickly to red. The Master's nectar disgorged itself and poured forth in such quantity that Tomas believed that he could taste it. The Master could not now bounce, but his feet desperate to push his pike further into the slick hot victim's flesh managed a couple of staggering steps forward. Each step plowed Tomas' internal furrow a little deeper and stirred around thus whipping hot nectar up with hot boy-bottom gravy. The hot batter of the stones and boy-bottom boiled around inside Tomas' butt and fired the synapses that initiated the siren's wail of silver orechasm and ran it down and through each of his immobilized extremities. Tomas squished. Tomas froze. Tomas melted. Tomas became a puddle. A puddle at the feet of the Master Printer who crowed his invincibility and promptly collapsed almost comatose back into the chair.