Date: Thu, 7 Jun 2018 13:53:23 +0000 From: Nicholas Nicholby Subject: Boys Guild Chapter 8, Gay, SciFi/Fantasy, Adult Youth 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 Brother Palmer was sitting dejectedly distracted at the Master's Table on the raised dais in the putative position of power. That he felt utterly powerless was only confirmed boisterously by the cacophony of the two dozen giggling, fidgeting, and unruly pre-apprentices many of whom were currently engaged in tearing small strips off the edges of the precious parchments where they were supposedly diligently practicing applying their copperplate cursive. Between salivaed parchment balls and the spatters of expertly flicked quill nibs the room was a riot of nearly white and mostly black polka dots. Brother Palmer's head held down between his hands couldn't see the mess that was engulfing the lyceum. All he could think about was the unfairness of the cosmos and its apparent steadfast intention to keep him in a perpetual state of pre-yellow orechasmic stew teased by whiffs of pre-juvenescent scents, masterfully applied puppy dog eyes, wholeheartedly asserted claims of innocence and mockingly flirtatious hair flips, eye rolls and yes, even blatant crotch rubs and provocative bum waggles. Didn't the Master Scribe know that Brother Palmer was one of Writer Nicholas' most fervent disciples? Didn't the Master Scribe realize that this day was the very day that Writer Nicholas unfailingly brought a new adventure in his stories to the Scribe-orium for copying to the many instances of the Great and Nifty Archive? Didn't the Master Scribe have it totally in for Brother Palmer by somehow arranging it so said Brother chose this one day to draw the short quill and become stuck with the normally pleasant although sexually distracting task of supervising the Copperplate practice? Didn't the Master Scribe realize that it had been almost a whole week since Brother Palmer had managed to find both the quiet time and place to rub out more than the mistakes in illumination he was normally assigned to expunge? No, the Master Scribe did probably neither know nor care that Brother Palmer's quill was far from short and needed desperately to expunge of its own. Sighing with resignation as his stiffened quill dragged itself distractingly against the soft silk of his hidden braies as the rough wool of the prescribed Scribes Gown pushed against it Brother Palmer turned in the swiveling high backed chair and rolled to the special rostrum created almost of light itself where the great Book of Donations, magically enchanted it was said by the current Wizards existential counterparts, began actively flipping its hypertext transport pages awaiting the arcane phase that would indicate which of the Uniform Resource Locators the approaching Brother would seek to Identify. Placing his palms calmly against the rostrum Brother Palmer uttered, "Nifty dot org slash donate dot HTML" The Book of Donations quickly resolved the URI to the correct URL and the brightly colored buttons appeared under the master headline https://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Placing a carefully cribbed routing code upon the parchment Brother Palmer beamed with satisfaction as he transferred a 20 Gold King's Note from his personal stash toward the outstanding expenses of the Great and Nifty Archive. Brother Palmer was serene in his belief that he had done some small part in assuring the continued existence of the Archive and reminded himself to address this point at the next Scribes Scribblings. He looked up at the chaos of the lyceum and barked, "Gentlemen! Quills down, hand ups, you have all managed to earn an hour at the ink grinding stones!" He took no real satisfaction in the groans from the boys although he did look forward to the supervision of the baths where they would all try valiantly to remove the ground in ink from their fingertips before the Master inspected at breakfast time. Chapter 8 - When is a Nest a Lair Once again Tomas' long habit of early mornings had him begin to wake and stretch. At first he thought he must be caught up in some form of giant spider web. There were strands of fibers entwined around him and he could not feel the familiar sharp hardness of the shelf beneath him. The air felt chilled across his face and that was the first thing to actually invade his mind and signal he was not in the comfort of his shelf inside the Guild of Boys up against the warm bricks of the Baker's ovens. Where was he? His eyes opened to far more light than they expected. He saw himself sprawled amid such a variety of fabrics that he could not even begin to know what they might be called. Directly under and again above him was a finely woven thin cloth much like what the Master Printer wore as shirts. Above that a denser cloth similar to a fine tunic, but very soft. Atop it all a puffy extremely soft broadcloth, like breeches, but encapturing what must be clouds inside. No! It held goose down! The very kind of thing he had heard tell of and imagined as windfall that his silver coin could purchase him. Oh, how had he been so wrong? No single silver coin could ever hold the value of such a thing as this. And the shelf too! It was soft and yielding, yet supported his weight and Zekial and Mig also. He could see them still sleeping also snuggled in among the luxury. Tomas closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep. After all, the Wizard said he would inform the Master Printer and who would argue with a Wizard who just wanted the loan of one small boy? Tomas wove his morning dreams in and out of Mig's and Zekial's. There was a dragon, a flute and another being, but Tomas could not grasp what type it was. The whole seemed enveloped in soft and wispy clouds. Their noses woke them next, or perhaps it was their stomachs. The smell of hot fresh bread and something sweet was wafting in the room. As Zekial stretched up out of the billowing comforters he flicked a finger and the tapestries rolled up and away from the window slits. Light flooded in, the sunbeams played among the swirling tiny lint. Glinting off large mirrors around the wall the sunlight was reflected and enlarged and the room was glowing with the golden light. "Come, the Wizard has sent us sweet buns and hot chocolate," Zekial shook the other two lumps within the covers. "Nghfff," Mig shrank away from the rude hand trying to get him up. Tomas sat up and blinked the sleep from out his eyes and stretched his first stretch up into the air. Zekial poked Mig a little harder. "Nghfffff!" and more squirming was all it produced. Tomas dove under the covers and tried a little tickle, he supposed an Elt was ticklish. He was right. Mig shot straight up and backed away so fast he backed right off the sleeping shelf and landed with a thump on the cold stone floor. That of course brought a howl of displeasure, more from the second shock of it than any injury. Almost levitating Mig was off the floor and back on the bed and had Tomas pinned. Mig knelt over him with an evil look and said in a very threatening manner, "Never tickle an Elt while he is wrapped up in his nest!" Tomas actually thought he was going to be punched or spelled or something so he was greatly surprised when Mig reared up and made a horrible face and then swooped down and gave him a gentle kiss on the mouth. "It is a mating custom to tickle in the nest and an Elt knows not what he does with his lance when he is mating. See, you have unsheathed it and made it rise without a fingers touch!" Tomas looked between them and saw the rampant lance. He shuddered to think of that tree length hardness pushed up inside his bottom. "Sorry," was all he could think to say. "Be glad we are in a nest. If we had been in a den I would not have been able to control myself," Mig threatened or finished or perhaps he was teasing about the whole thing, Tomas wasn't sure. "Now, what is this hot chocolate Zekial?" Mig rolled off Tomas who watched as the lance and stones shrank and were pulled back into their slitish sheath. "It is orange orechasm in a cup! Come," he hopped out of the bed and went quickly across the cold floor to the table. Tomas and Mig followed. Small cups, at least small by tankard and small beer standards, were steaming next to a pile of also hot and steaming buns. It all smelled wonderful. Tomas couldn't quite image any color of orechasm in a cup, but he was willing to try whatever Zekial suggested. Some of his suggestions had produced unbelievable orechasms. Taking up a small wooden stick Zekial stirred a cup and then handed it to Mig. He repeated for the other cups and soon Tomas had one too. Holding his own up in a tavern style toast Zekial tipped it and took a sip. "It's hot, just sip it carefully, don't take it down the wrong pipe either." Mig giggled that Zekial sounded like an Elt mother with young children, always interjecting and advising. Tomas loved it when Zekial took such care with him. He could not remember anyone else who ever was concerned that he was happy, healthy or hale. The hot chocolate washed flavors across Mig's mouth like something he knew. He took another sip. Tomas' mouth exploded with the joy of the chocolate flavors. Zekial was right again, although he thought maybe only yellow and not orange orechasm. The flavors were wonderful, but did not set his brain alight with colors and celestial bodies. "Cacao!" Mig called out. "It is cacao! A bean from trees in Eltland. We chew the beans and some Elts squish it into a paste and then extract some oils and mix that with coconut shreds and make a soft bar-cake. It is more bitter, but it is this flavor," he grinned. "Yes, it is cacao," a voice came from the big chair near the fire. All three boys jumped. The Wizard laughed, "Sorry, I live here too. You are bound to find me almost anywhere. Should I wear a bell?" "Yeah, like you would!" Zekial laughed. "He is always scaring me and the apprentice. This cacao, does the tree grow here?" "No, it takes a very warm clime. We add a little sugar to the milk when we make it into hot chocolate Mig. It is somewhat rare, I am sure Tomas has never seen or heard of it," the Wizard said. "Have you three been to the parapet yet?" "No! Can we go?" Tomas knew the parapets were the highest places in the castle and he thought they might be able to see down into the Boys Guild courtyard. "Of course, there are new clothes and you just follow the lighted brick road," the Wizard advised and seemed to settle back into the depths of the chair. Tomas could not decide if he had disappeared actually or just seemingly. The hot chocolate gone, Tomas quickly sorted out the new clothes. The dark green shirt was obviously for Mig who was delighted with the color and how it fit. Zekial had a new pair of coarse linen breeches and a light blue colored shirt. Tomas was bowled over to receive a pair of close fitting soft linen breeches in a light brown color and a very soft shirt with a black and white print that made it almost look like ink stains, but so much nicer. Dressed, Tomas grabbed a bun in one hand and Mig with the other and skipped towards the door. He tried to pull it open, but had to wait impatiently for Zekial. When Zekial opened the door the two younger boys were surprised that there was no stairway down. The lighted bricks went up and there was only blank floor and wall where they had come up the night before. Zekial lead them up and up and the turn got tighter and tighter as though the turret was getting smaller. There began to come a scrapping and rumbling from up above and Tomas wondered if it was perhaps storming. It was weird to not know what the weather was doing, but the only indication he had was the sunlight from the slit windows. Like the disappearing Wizard and stairway though perhaps sunshine inside had nothing to do with outside. The lighted stairs ended at a small platform area and a blank wall. Mig was looking up and poked Tomas and pointed at a handle hanging down like in the rain shower yesterday. Zekial reached up and pulled the handle and with a creaking of movement a stone in the roof began to swing down. As it came the scrapping and tumbling got much louder, but the sunshine poured in too. Tomas had to shield his eyes. Mig shook his head and Tomas saw his eyes get kind of cloudy. There was a ladder on the giant hanging stone and Zekial led the boys up and out. They were in the middle of a flurry of birds. "The Wizard keeps messenger swifts and this is their aerie. Watch out, they will poop on you. It is one of my jobs to bring the water when it does not rain and to clean the poop out. Here is the opening, come out on to the parapet," Zekial explained. Tomas was glad to be out of the swirling mass of white feathers, the cooing of the birds had been the rumble and he wondered what it would sound like when they were all let out to fly. He had heard the explosion of the pigeons in the square when a dog ran among them. This was like ten times more he guessed. "I thought it smelled like a nest," Mig said. "Does the Wizard have a den of wolves down deep too?" "Not that I have seen, but everyday it seems there is something new," Zekial allowed. Mig was looking at Tomas and Tomas saw his eyes blink again and the strange film seemed to blink away too. He was about to ask when Zekial said, "Look, you can see down in the harbor! The Rorqual has moved from the dock, but it does not seem to be ready to sail. We must tell the Wizard of its name before we go out to the mill." Tomas looked out over his town. He could only see about half of it from this tower parapet, but that half included all the areas he knew and made his home. He could see the block that should have the Boys' Guild courtyard, but the buildings were too tall to see down to the street level. In the closer mansion area he could see down and there were people in fancy dress walking in their gardens, sitting at tables having their breakfast and generally going about the business of daily life. Tomas could even see what appeared to be a thief testing the window locks along a small street that was more than an alley, but less than a thoroughfare. Zekial saw him too and waved a finger and a stone fell from the roof and conked him on the head. He looked up at the roof and rubbed his head and hurried away from that street. "I know the family that lives there. I will send a thought for them to check their window locks," Zekial smiled at Tomas. Mig was fascinated with everything he was seeing. His first time in a town and now he was seeing it as a bird might. There was so much to see.