Date: Mon, 9 Jan 2006 17:33:43 -0500 (EST)
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Knights of Aurora - Chapter 14

Pete groaned loudly, gave one last thrust and then rolled away from
Daniel's heated body. Breathing harshly, Pete lay on his back, his eyes
trying to focus in the darkness of the bedroom, listening to Daniel purring
contentedly. The deed was done, but there was still more that needed doing.

	Slipping his arm under Daniel's shoulders, Pete pulled the doctor
to him and forced himself to press his lips against Daniel's, giving him a
long, lingering kiss. Daniel responded, as Pete knew he would, rolling on
his side and grinding his soft organ against Pete's thigh. Pete could feel
the cooling stickiness and stifled a shudder.

	"Thank you," Pete whispered. "It was a long time ago when I felt
something as . . . wonderful," he said truthfully.

Daniel had been wildcat, plunging and bobbing on Pete's organ before he had
barely had the chance to drop his trousers and lower his boxers. Dropping
to his knees, Daniel had worshiped Pete with a gusto Pete had never
encountered. Then, as Pete drew near exploding, Daniel had drawn away and
pulled him onto the bed. "I want you," Daniel had groaned, "Fuck me!" he
croaked as he raised himself on his knees, offering himself.

The first time they had not made love. They had rutted and Pete had given
Daniel what he had asked for, a rough, doggy style fuck. Both men exploded
within minutes and Pete had despaired for a moment, thinking that he had
disappointed the doctor. Not so. Pete had barely recovered before Daniel
was on him again, sucking and licking, moaning and nipping at Pete's
nipples. Then he had lain on his back and raised his legs. Breathlessly,
Daniel moaned, "Oh God, do it now!"

	If anything, the second time had been more spectacular than the
first. Daniel, far gone in lust, had matched Pete thrust for thrust,
clawing at Pete's back and then his buttocks, trying to push Pete deeper
into his body. As Pete reached the point of no return, Daniel clamped his
muscles and orgasmed, spewing his seed in a long stream across his chest
and Pete's stomach. Pete had climaxed within seconds, thrusting deep until
he too was spent.

	Hearing Pete's offering of thanks, Daniel smiled and rubbed his now
cool ejaculate into the warm flesh of his chest. "That hasn't happened
before," he lied enthusiastically. "I should be thanking you!" Then he
leaned over to kiss Pete's shoulder. Pete had been very enthusiastic and
Daniel's initial disappointment in discovering that Pete was, as he had
expected, a clean-cut American boy, had quickly dissipated.

	Reaching around, Daniel fondled Pete's sleeping penis, gently
rubbing the still-sensitive head. He felt Pete wince, and whispered a
question, "Can you stay the night?"

	Pete knew he would be lying if he said no. He had not lied when he
had told Daniel that their sex had been great. Their couplings had brought
to the fore the deep-rooted feelings Pete had first explored back in
Saigon, feelings repressed and hidden for so many months, and now laid
exposed. The difference was that Pete felt nothing for Daniel. The man was
simply a repository for his semen, thus invoking no more feelings than he
might have for one of the rent boys that haunted the alleys and byways of
Gastown.

	Willing himself to remain quiet, Pete allowed Daniel's fondling to
continue. In keeping with his role as a besotted and satisfied male, Pete
allowed what he hoped sounded like a contented sigh to escape his lips
before answering Daniel's question. "I would like to stay," he began, his
voice deliberately sad, "but I have too much to do." He rolled on his side
and hugged Daniel. "And you should get some sleep. You'll be busy as well."

	In the darkness of the room Pete could not see Daniel's eyes
brighten with anticipation. "Oh, yes, the new recruits."

	"The new recruits," repeated Pete, grinning, his tone playful. He
almost blurted, and won't you have fun with them! Instead he gave the tip
of Daniel's nose a peck. "All 54 of them!"

	"54!" exclaimed Daniel.  "Wherever do they come from?"

	"Word of mouth for the most part," replied Pete truthfully. "You
know, one of the guys already on staff writes to a buddy, and tells him
when there's a job on offer. Michael also uses a special agency he set up
in New York." He regarded the doctor a moment. "The new men were all
examined in New York, and they're all supposed to be healthy, young males,"
he continued, thinking that that ought to pique the doctor's interest.

	Daniel chuckled. "And Michael wants to make sure that they weren't
damaged in transit?" he asked.

	Shrugging, Pete sat on the edge of the bed and switched on the
bedside lamp. "I guess so," lied Pete, knowing full well that the
"physicals" were just a made-up excuse to keep the doctor busy, and away
from the business of the house, and the young knights. "I just follow
orders." Pete looked around. "Now, where are my shorts?"

	Reaching out, Daniel stroked Pete's firm, round backside. "Do you
have to go so soon?" he whined.

	"Yeah, I do," said Pete over his shoulder. He slipped on his boxer
underpants and took a deep breath. It was time.

	As Daniel watched, a crestfallen look on his face, Pete slowly drew
on his T-shirt. "I have to do Rounds, and talk to Ned. Michael wants us to
run some sort of an exercise tomorrow . . . or is it today?"

	Daniel fumbled for his watch. "It's after two. Ned will be in bed."

	Chuckling dryly, Pete shook his head. "You don't know Ned! He'll be
up all night mapping out the plan, as he calls it. Ned is very good at
planning an exercise." He looked at Daniel and frowned. "I could use him
for something much more important, and he's busy playing stupid games with
kids!" His feigned anger seemed very real. "But Michael is the boss, and
. . ." He deliberately let his voice trail off.

	Daniel's sloping brow furled and a glint came into his eyes as he
thought that perhaps Pete's obvious displeasure might lead to him
disclosing something interesting. "I am sure that Michael has his
priorities," responded Daniel, keeping his voice low, and projecting an
aura of complete disinterest in Pete's little problems.

	Pete laughed dryly. "Yeah, well, his `priorities' are a little
skewed at the moment. Ned should be calculating fields of fire, and
trajectories. Instead he's mapping out some fuckin' field exercise and
running around passing out camouflage uniforms and worrying about how to
keep the hikers and the tourists out of the way!" He shook his head and
then smiled. "But then, if Michael's plans work out, I won't be around to
worry about them."

	Slowly pulling himself into a seating position, Daniel asked
carefully, "You're leaving?"

	Pete reached for his tie and began to knot it carefully. "Yeah," he
replied simply. He smiled a secret smile. Things were working out very
well, and Daniel was taking the bait. He did not elaborate further, wishing
to wait for Daniel to make the next move. Pete knew it was a calculated
risk. Daniel just might not want to know which meant that Pete would have
to take another tack entirely.

	Pete's silence disturbed Daniel. The man was obviously involved in
something very important, something that he perhaps did not approve
of. Whatever it was, Daniel was determined to find out. He reached out
gently ran his fingers down his chest, hoping to entice Pete to stay
longer, and pretending to be interested in nothing more than another roll
in the hay. "But why leave?" Daniel asked, his voice low. "You have a good
job here. Michael is a generous employer, isn't he, and the work isn't all
that difficult, is it?"

	Sitting on the side of the bed, Pete pretended to give in to his
baser instinct. "I wish I could stay longer," he whispered as he ran his
thumb across the clean-lined glans of Daniel's soft penis, "But I really
have to get going." Then he reached back to run his hand over his face,
seemingly in exasperation. "Michael is a good boss, yeah, but I can't, I
won't become involved in his latest venture."

	As the shudder of delight at Pete's touch left his body, Daniel
looked at the man. "Is it that bad?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

	Pete looked evenly at the doctor. "I saw enough drugs in Vietnam. I
didn't like it then. I don't like it now!" he declared hotly.

	Drugs? Daniel's eyes grew brighter. "But Michael is not involved in
drugs," he said firmly.

	"Not yet," replied Pete. He had seen the look of anticipation come
into Daniel's eyes and knew that he was making his plan work. "But soon, if
Saturday's meeting is a success." His eyes darkened. "Which it will be
because Michael has no choice in the matter and the Italians will make
concessions because they have no choice if they want Michael on board."

	Laughing a tinkling laugh, Daniel waved his hand
languidly. "Really, Pete, you are not making any sense." His mind was
racing. Michael involved in drug trafficking? On the one hand it seemed
impossible, as Michael had always kept well away from the nefarious trade,
claiming that it was too dangerous and against his personal principles and
mores. Daniel decided to confront the issue directly. "Not to mention that
Michael would never become involved. He hates druggies and their
suppliers. He's forever railing against the Italians for their part in the
trade, and I know he has forbidden his own people to even think about
setting up shop."

	Shrugging, Pete said, "True, all true. But when you marry the
Soongs, you marry the Triads, and they expect a return on their
investment."

	His eyes widening, Daniel's eyes widened. "Marry? Whose getting
married?" he asked.

	"Michael," replied Pete flatly. "He's signed the marriage contract
and he's committed now." He seemed to think a moment. "Michael is marrying
into one of the most powerful families in Hong Kong. He has to show that
he's worthy of their giving him a daughter. He also has to prove that he's
a man of great power and greater wealth. If he just sat back and did
nothing, he'd lose face, and you know how important that is to the
Chinese. Michael has to show his new in-laws that he's a man of the times,
a man of vision, a man who is powerful and feared." Again Pete
shrugged. "It's all about power and money."

	It was a stretch, Pete knew, but he also knew that Daniel was
committing treason for, in part, money. The doctor understood the power of
money. "Look, money brings power, and power brings more money," opined
Pete. "The richer Michael is, the more powerful he becomes, the more he
gains face, and influence, with the Soongs, and the Triads."

	Daniel was torn between his lust for Pete, and his desire to find
out more. He reached out to gently place his hand on Pete's crotch. "You
make it sound like a business deal!" he said as he rubbed gently.

	While he had no great desire to have sex again, and in truth
wondered if he could, Pete was prepared to do whatever it took to get
Daniel to believe what he was saying. He allowed Daniel's groping as he
said, "That's because it is a business deal. Michael will meet with the
Italians on Saturday night . . ." He felt Daniel's fingers slowly lowering
the zipper of his trousers. "Actually Sunday morning 'cause the meet is
scheduled for midnight at the Stewart Street warehouse . . ." He groaned as
Daniel's fingertips probed, and found, the warm head of his penis. "And if
Michael agrees, as he will, Don Giovanni Delessoni will become the cocaine
king and . . ." He let out a very real groan of pleasure as Daniel stroked
him to hardness.

	Giggling, Daniel continued to play with Pete. "Cocaine? Why
cocaine? It's been totally banned since 1922 or so, and only used for
medical purposes. Besides, it's much too expensive."

	Pete deliberately undid his belt and unbuttoned his trousers,
presenting what Daniel wanted without seeming reluctance. "Damn, your
good," he exclaimed with low groan. He thrust his hips forward. He was
fully hard now.

Daniel, grinning, lowered his head.



******



	"Damn, I never thought I could make it three times in one night!"
gasped Pete as he pulled away.

	"I aim to please," sniggered Daniel as he stretched seductively. He
began to pull the sheets over his naked body. Then he began to pout. "Are
you sure you can't stay?" he asked again.

	"I told you," Pete returned, a note of annoyance in his voice,
thinking that if he stayed he'd leave with nothing but a little pink nub!
"Like I said, this meet is very important and I can't let anything screw it
up." He deliberately frowned. "It's only a planning meet, you know, both
sides feeling each other out, trying to figure out who will give the most
to the other side. The Italians want Michael's contacts in Chinatown, and
his help in distribution."

	"Michael has contacts in every Chinatown on the continent!"
returned Daniel.

	"Yeah, and if he gives the okay, the Italians will use them to set
up the pipeline." He looked directly at Daniel. "There's a lot of money to
be made, and I mean a lot!"

	"From cocaine?" asked Daniel, his tone doubtful. "It's too
expensive! Now, if it were crystal meth, which is big time . . . but that
business is controlled by the bikers," he noted, "and the Italians have a
piece of it anyway. Hell, even I know that!"

	"The bikers will keep that end of the business," said Pete
calmly. "Michael considers them trash and wouldn't deal with them no matter
how much money he could make." His eyes darted conspiratorially around the
room. "And with Michael's organizational skills, you're looking at a
billion a year, maybe more!"

	Daniel started and his eyes grew wide. "A billion?" he gasped.

	Nodding his head, Pete replied, "Minimum. Or so the Italians are
saying."

	Daniel began to sputter a protest. He'd seen enough drug overdoses,
and read enough SIU reports on drug use in the barracks at Esquimalt - for
some reason anyone remotely involved with a drug case received a "Do Not
Keep - Read and Return" report - to know what drugs were "affordable", and
which were not. Only the wealthy could afford the powdered cocaine that
they sniffed, well not really, for the powder actually coated the linings
of the nasal passages and was absorbed through them, which brought on what
was called a "rush". The punters used heroin, or methamphetamines, or
smoked marijuana, all of which were relatively cheap, and much more readily
available.

	Pete saw Daniel about to protest and said, "I don't know how it
works, but from what I heard Michael tell the Major some Columbian named
Escobar has a chemist who worked out some formula that turns the basic coca
paste into a rock-like substance. It's easy to do, apparently, and the
stuff can be stepped on - you know, lactose added, or something like that -
and the original kilo of base cocaine becomes five or six kilos!"

	Daniel, who had as part of his medical training, taken chemistry,
had to agree. The sap of the opium poppy, which was originally smoked in a
pipe, had become heroin, which was injected. Nodding his head, Daniel
silently agreed. The proper chemist, with the right ingredients, could do
it. And if the base cocaine could be turned into something that could be
increased in volume many times over, why . . . "Motherfucker!" Daniel
thought. "Michael is on to a good thing!"

	When Daniel looked up, Pete was slipping on his coat. "Anyway, I'll
be well gone 'cause like I said, the whole deal is still in the planning
stages, and the Columbians don't have their end set up yet." He looked at
Daniel, wondering if the doctor believed what he'd been told. "And you'll
be out of it. Michael won't bring anyone who isn't a part of his `business'
into the picture."

	"I'll be out of it," agreed Daniel. "I don't know what Michael has
planned for me after we return from Québec." He shrugged. "I don't think
I'll be back at all."

	"Too bad," replied Pete with a grin. "We could get together, you
know. I won't be leaving until this meet is done, and Michael finds a new
Chief of Security."

	Daniel, who was thinking more about how much money the information
he had just learned from the obviously smitten Pete would bring him,
returned the smile. "My loss," he said. "But please, Pete, do be careful."

	A small laugh escaped Pete's lips. "I'm always careful," he
said. "I always cover my ass."

	"And a beautiful ass it is," thought Daniel as Pete waved and left
the bedroom.



******



	For a long time Daniel lay in his bed, staring into the
darkness. His brain was calculating the money he could earn if he stayed
with Diem. Daniel had supplied the contacts that Diem, and Minh used to set
up the network in Esquimalt, and Royal Roads, Colwood, Work Point and
Albert Head. There was also a certain young Lieutenant who had given him
the eye in the Wardroom bar; an officer who worked in the Ships Movements
Office and might be persuaded to share the daily signals detailing the
arrival and departure of the warships and tenders that used Esquimalt
Dockyard as a home port, the arrivals of visiting ships from Australia and
New Zealand, to name only two of a dozen nations that came calling on a
regular basis. Then there were the Reserves, young men for the most part,
who filled the barracks from April to September, not to mention the Sea
Cadets. My God, the prospects were endless!

	The more he thought the more Daniel came to believe that he could
do it. Diem, Minh really, would reward him for his latest little bit of
intelligence, and the money would join the rest of his fortune, which was
sitting quietly in an offshore bank account. The possibility was there,
Daniel thought, for the dealers he had recommended to Diem really didn't
trust the man - not that Daniel blamed them. He didn't trust Diem.

	Still, Daniel thought if he could convince Minh that there was a
place in his business, and if he could inveigle Michael into keeping him on
here in the cantonment . . . well, well, well! Yes, Daniel thought he could
do it. He could take over the "white" distribution network, and increase
it.

	He would have to be very careful. One misstep and either Michael or
Diem, or Minh, would crush him like a bug - a most unpleasant thought - but
something that had to be considered.

	As he schemed and plotted mentally Daniel thought of all the money
- a billion dollars - to share. Why, he could have his own house, with
servants, and boys, lots of boys to keep him company, boys he could take
into a special room, boys who would gladly do his bidding!

	Realising that he was working himself into an aroused state, Daniel
forced himself to think of how he was going to make his plans a
reality. First he had to convince Diem. He also had to convince Michael,
but that would come later. He also had to consider what he wanted to do
with his so-called naval career. This caused no problem. He was a licensed
physician and could set up shop anywhere. If he were in private practice it
followed that he would have patients, who would book appointments. Nodding
to himself, Daniel thought that a medical practice was a perfect cover.

	As a former naval officer, Daniel knew that he would retain access
to the Wardroom in Esquimalt, and even the facilities on Dead Man's Island,
where HMCS Discovery, the Vancouver Navy Reserve unit, was located. Then
there were the bathhouses of downtown Vancouver. Daniel had been in them
and knew that many of the young denizens used drugs to increase their
sexual highs. Once again he nodded, convinced now that he had much to offer
Diem.

A minor problem might be his contract with the Canadian Armed Forces, which
had paid his way through medical school in return for which Daniel was
required to serve five years with the Navy. He still had a little over a
year to go. On the other hand, Ottawa was reducing the military to
dangerous levels - not that Daniel cared - and a settlement could be
negotiated he felt sure. In the event, he would start the process and would
write out a letter resigning his commission in the morning. That was step
one.

Step two would be a quick meeting with Diem to tell him of Michael's
plotting with the Italians. Daniel wondered if Diem would be pleased enough
to offer a bonus.

	Lying back in his bed, and closing his eyes, with visions of gold
coins and lithe, handsome boys dancing in his head, Daniel drifted off to
sleep.



******



	Toward midnight Caroline Arundel announced that it was time for her
to go home. She had had a wonderful time, but all good things must come to
an end. Mary Randolph and Mabell Airlie echoed her sentiments. Mary called
for the car, and her nephew, who seemed to be nowhere about. She was about
to send out a search party when Blake, followed by young Matthew Chan, came
into the room. Being a lady, Mary did not doubt her nephew's explanation
that he had been in the library, looking at some superb first editions and
some Leonardo drawings that defied belief. Mabell, also a lady, but with a
catty streak in her, observed that she had seen the drawings, and while
admittedly they were magnificent, viewing them had never left her flushed
and blushing like a schoolgirl! Mary ignored her best friend and told Blake
that he would drive them home.

	After the ladies had said their goodbyes to Michael, the Major, and
their dancing partners, collected their handbags and the favours Michael
had distributed at dinner, they left, after accepting Michael's invitation
to dine the next evening. Blake was not only invited to the dinner - full
regimentals, please, by Michael, The Phantom asked him to join the young
knights in the morning, and to bring his camouflage uniform.

	As the hour was late, and well past their normal bedtimes, the
younger cousins, Max, Will, Joey, Harry and Teddy, were nodding. Arden,
still in the thrall of his newfound friend Harry, tried gamely to pretend
that he wasn't tired at all, and begged Michael's permission to stay the
night. Michael demurred, not because the Cousins were not welcome, for they
were, but there were simply not enough beds.

	The older Cousins looked disappointed. Just a short time before
their Cousin had called them "princes". They had been looking forward to an
evening away from the probing questions of their mothers, and the even more
direct questions of the amahs, who would not rest until they had extracted
every detail of what their young charges had done, what the Serenity's
house looked like inside, what they had eaten for dinner, and no one would
get a minute's sleep until they told all.

	Michael's demurral met with gentle opposition from two
corners. First, was Cory. While he suspected he would be getting very
little sleep, if he had to stay up half the night waiting for Pete Sheppard
to shtup the doctor, if that was indeed what the poor man was planning to
do. Cory intended to spend some time actually sleeping with Sean and while
they had spent time in bed together, but had never slept together, and Cory
wanted to know what it felt like. He pointed out that there were two beds
in the bedroom assigned to Todd and him, two double beds, one of which
would easily accommodate three little Chinese boys.

While this drew some black looks from the younger Cousins, none of them
made a sound of protest. Sharing a bed was not too bad, as they had done it
from time to time anyway, and if sharing meant stopping the night, they
were not about to complain. Cory also pointed out that each bedroom
contained a chaise, which to his eye looked quite comfortable, and would do
for a night, and would accommodate the older Cousins, strapping lads that
they were.

	The Phantom also suggested that the Cousins stay the night. He had
promised to talk with Alistair, and he had been thinking that it might be
good idea to have the Chinese boys participate in the morning's
activities. In a way he felt sorry for the Cousins, sequestered and
cosseted as they all seemed to be, and had seen the brightness come into
their eyes as they interacted with the young knights. Having the Cousins
participate in the orienteering that Ned Hadfield was plotting seemed, to
The Phantom, to be a very good way to gauge the mettle of this new
generation of Chans.

	Michael considered Cory's suggestions. With a little squeezing here
and there, and doubling up, the Cousins could be made comfortable. Michael
also considered The Phantom's words, and found himself agreeing with his
young friend. He really did not know the Cousins, and perhaps The Phantom
was right. Perhaps it was time that the Cousins discovered that there was a
whole new world beyond the walls of their compound. He agreed and was
surrounded by a horde of happy, if tired, Cousins, expressing most
un-Chinese-like delight in the form of hugs from younger boys and broad
grins from the older.

	Arden was walking on air. Not only would he sleep in Harry's bed,
although he did not know that Harry had no plans on being in it any time
soon, he would sleep in his unders, which was never allowed at home, it
being the collective opinion of the amahs that young gentlemen always wore
pyjamas to bed, with no exceptions, and no argument! There was also
something to be said about not undergoing the nightly ritual of bathing,
with Amah, sponge in hand, hovering over him, her bony fingers rubbing
together in preparation for his proper preparation for sleep. Arden hugged
Michael and then reached up, pulled the Serenity down to his level, and
soundly kissed him on the cheek!

	After some confusion, the bedroom assignments were sorted and the
Cousins, together with the young knights, went up to bed. No one seemed to
upset about sharing, even Peter Race and Eion Reilly, who had been gifted
with Max and Joey. While the two young Chinese boys went into the bathroom
to pee and wash, Peter discretely put the bottle of lotion, and a hand
towel under one of pillows on the bed he would share with Eion.

	Eion, seeing what Peter was doing, giggled and said, "I sure hope
they're heavy sleepers!"



******



	Harry knew that Arden was infatuated with him. He also knew that
nothing would ever happen between them. He liked the young Chinese boy,
liked him very much. In many ways Arden reminded Harry of Stefan. Both boys
were slim, dark-eyed chatterboxes, hyperactive and full of piss and
vinegar. Both were also boys, fun loving, impish and filled with the joy of
living. The difference between the two was that Stefan loved Harry, loved
him deeply, truly and without reservation. Arden, on the other hand, was
infatuated with the first older male - other than his brother - who had
ever really paid any attention to him.

	There was also the very real fact that Harry loved Stefan.

	Reaching into his kitbag, Harry brought out the photograph of
Stefan and himself, taken by The Phantom's mother just after the conclusion
of the Commanding Officer's Anniversary Parade. Harry was in full Drum
Major regalia, with gaiters and Sash, and holding the Mace. Beside him,
grinning into the camera was Stefan, standing as tall as the Mace, and as
pleased as punch and proud of "His Harry".

	As he listened to Arden puttering around in the bathroom, Harry
smiled a sigh, remembering his time with the young boy who had stolen his
heart. Harry remembered vividly the day that Stefan had found him, sitting
at the edge of the Dockyard jetty, staring angrily out into Comox Harbour,
and trying to understand how Paul Greene, Little Big Man, could betray his
fellows, his shipmates.

	As he stewed, Harry had not heard Stefan approach, eating a huge
sandwich. Stefan, unbeknownst to Harry, was on a mission. As he later
explained to Harry, Stefan might be a kid, but he knew what he wanted, and
he wanted Harry. He had sat beside Harry, sympathised with Harry, and then
deliberately, and with malice aforethought, Stefan had slipped his hand up
Harry's shorts and manipulated the huge, muscular and magnificent Drum
Major to a crashing orgasm.

	Harry never truly understood how it happened. He only knew that he
fell in love with the dark eyed Stefan, completely and totally in love. He
knew it was wrong, but he could not help himself. Harry had never been in
love before, and before he could consider the consequences, gave way to
Stefan's pleas, and allowed their affair to continue. They made love, in a
schoolboy way, never truly consummating their love. Stefan had wanted to,
but Harry had said no. They would make proper, binding love when Stefan was
older, when he had had a chance to see life, to experience life, to truly
understand what Harry meant when he said that he would give his heart, and
his soul, and his body to the boy, but only when Stefan understood the full
meaning of their love.

	As Harry stared at the picture, Arden came out of the bathroom. He
saw Harry sitting on the bed and craned his neck to look. He looked at the
photo and then at Harry, and with a sudden understanding far beyond his
years Arden knew that Harry, magnificent, wonderful Harry, could not, and
would not, love him. Carefully, Arden crawled onto the bed. Hey lay there a
moment, and then reached out and patted Harry's broad, strong back.

	"It's okay, I understand," Arden whispered.

	Shaken from his reverie, Harry turned and looked at Arden. "What?
What did you say?"

	Arden rolled on his side and looked into Harry's dark eyes. "I said
that I understand." He smiled softly. "I wanted to . . . you know, but that
isn't going to happen, is it," he asked.

	Relief flooded Harry. "No, Arden, it isn't. I like you, a lot, but
not the way I . . . I love Stefan."

	Raising his head, Arden looked at Stefan's image. "He's very
lucky." He flopped back down and groaned softly. "I guess I'm stuck with
Amah!" he said with a low giggle.

	Harry didn't know if he should be disgusted, or shocked. He decided
to be shocked and disgusted. "Arden!" he exclaimed. Then he calmed, and
reached out and tickled Arden's thin side. "She's too old, and you're too
cute!" he said, grinning.

	Arden's almond eyes gleamed. "You really think I'm cute?" he asked.

	"Yup, maybe too cute for your own good!" responded Harry, thinking
that one day Arden would turn more heads than he would know what to do
with. "And one day you'll find someone you can love." Impulsively, Harry
reached out and before Arden knew it he was sitting in Harry's lap.

	"Arden, you are a very nice boy," Harry said slowly. "One day,
maybe soon, maybe not, someone will come along and he'll feel the same way
about you that you feel about him."

	Feeling warm, and truly wanted, Arden rubbed his head against
Harry's chest. He sighed happily as he said, "One day I'll get lucky," he
said. His eyes danced with laughter. "One day I'll take a spin on
"Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" and I won't be at the PNE when I do!"

	Harry's jaws dropped and then he started laughing so hard that he
fell off the bed with a horrendous thud!

	Steve and Stuart, who were sharing the bedroom with Harry,
entered. They saw Arden lying on the bed, on his stomach, his mouth formed
in a loony grin, watching Harry, who was on the deck, laughing maniacally,
clutching his sides, as close as damn it to peeing himself and cackling
about "Mr. Toad"

	Steve looked at Arden, then at Harry, and then at Stuart. "I do not
want to know!" he said slowly. "I just do not want to know!"



******



	Major Meinertzhagen sat in Michael's office, smoking quietly and
reviewing the menu for the dinner next evening. The Maestro had pulled out
all the stops, it seemed. As he read the list of dishes to be served the
Major raised his eyebrows at one of the items, thinking that if anyone ever
found out that the Maestro had somehow managed to secure a supply of
ortolans, a delectable, if endangered, tiny songbird, every whacked out
environmentalist, tree hugger and rabid animal rights activist from John
O'Groats to Land's End would storm the mansion foaming at the mouth and
brandishing pitch forks and torches.

	He glanced over to the other side of the room where Michael, who
was reviewing what he called the dinner board - actually, the seating plan
for the dinner - raised his eyes and smiled gently at the Major. "At least
no one will be able to complain about the wine list," he observed with a
slight shrug.

	Nodding his agreement, the Major found the wine listing that the
Maestro had suggested. "My, he has taken your orders that nothing but the
best is to be served literally, hasn't he?"

	"One does not care to be mean," said Michael pointedly.

	The Major took the hint, although one eyebrow did rise
slightly. "He's got a '47 Miguel Fontady Florido with the soup!" he said,
somewhat in awe.

	"It's sour?" asked Michael. He was not a connoisseur of wines.

	"Good heavens, no!" exclaimed the Major. "It's a superb
Amontillado. I had a drop or so of it years ago, when I dined with `The
Blues'. They had a jolly decent Officers Mess in their barracks in Hyde
Park." He snorted disdainfully, "Of course, now that the Royal Horse Guards
have been merged with the Royal Dragoons one supposes the regimental
traditions have been swept away."

	Michael smiled. He had caught the disdain in the Major's voice when
he spoke the word, "merged." The Gunner, and lately, The Phantom, used the
same tone when they were forced to refer to the unification of the Canadian
military services into one command. They made the word sound like a
particularly loathsome social disease!

	"I am sure that the Maestro knows what he is doing," offered
Michael non-committally, not wanting to set the Major off on one of his
hobbyhorses.

	"From the wine list I would say he does," agreed The Major,
thinking that just the wine for the dinner was costing Michael a trim
packet. Then he added ever so casually, "You are aware that your prince and
his cronies are keeping watch on Pete."

	"Alex Grinchsten is helping them," replied Michael just as
casually.

	"A rather decent white for the fish," observed the Major. "A '75
Chassagne Montrachet. Rather young, I thought, but the Maestro assures me
that the Chateau will become the king of white Burgundies." He scratched
his nose reflectively. "However did they find out?"

	Chuckling, Michael shook his head. "The Gunner once told me that
young Phantom has an intelligence system that he would match against the
combined efforts of the CIA, the FBI, Mossad, Shin Beit, MI5 and MI6! At
one time I doubted. Now I don't!"

	"Where there's a will, there's a way," countered the Major. "Might
come in handy." He scanned the wine list and frowned. "He's got a Nuits St
Georges Première Cru for the joint, decent year, I see." Without pausing,
he segued, "Grinchsten is coming along, I've noticed."

	"Yes. Chef has spoken to him about the Order. Would you care for
another claret? I'm sure the Maestro would find something for you . . ."

	"No, no, the St Georges is fine." The Major smiled. "He's more than
made up for it with the champagne." He sighed blissfully. "The '38 Krug. A
magic year!" Then he added, "Ned Hadfield is also quite a diamond in the
rough. He's organized the little expedition tomorrow. Done a credible job."

	"The Maestro informed me that the '38 Krug epitomizes everything
that champagne should be: romantic, elegant and . . . magic. Yes, Ned is
doing very well for a son of coalminer. He has some rough edges, but I
rather think that between you and my young knights his rough edges will be
polished away."

	The Major ignored Michael's weak play on words. "I'm sure they
will. I say! He's got the 1946 Graham's Port for the toasts. Have you
thought what you're going to do about the doctor if he swallows Pete's
bait?"

	Michael fussed over the seating plan. "I suppose it's a social faux
pas to seat a mother next to a son," he said in an off hand manner. "But no
matter, as I've already done it," he said, moving a small bit of paper on
which a name was written into another slot. "I wish we had more ladies
dining with us."

	The Major shot Michael a sharp look. He knew that Michael was very
angry, and while he kept his emotions in check now, the doctor would be
punished. The manner of the punishment was obviously something that Michael
was not prepared to discuss at any great length. "As you're planning to
raise The Phantom to the peerage, you might want to seat him directly
across from you. I take it that Mrs. Arundel is the ranking lady?" He
neatly folded the wine list and tucked it in his pocket. "A Bar of
Justice?" he asked, not quite ready to give up his quest for information
concerning the doctor's ultimate fate.

	"No." Michael looked at the Major, his black eyes flat, and devoid
of the fire they normally held. "And I shall handle the matter personally."

	The look in Michael's eyes, and the tone of finality in his voice
told the Major that the matter had been decided, and was now closed.

	A thumping from the corridor, which caused Michael to look up and
regard the closed door, distracted the two men. "Please see to it that each
of the Maestro's workers receives a small gratuity," Michael ordered
quietly. A small, grim smile flashed on his lips. "A small one. We must not
appear to be vulgar."

	As he made a note, the Major nodded his agreement. The Maestro
needed a large room for the dinner. Michael's house had two, one in which
he dined each evening, which was cosy and close to the stairs leading to
the kitchens in the undercroft. The larger dining room, much more formal,
could seat perhaps 20 comfortably and in a pinch could seat 24
uncomfortably. It had a large pantry, with hotplates and plate warming
ovens, and would have been ideal if the number of guests never exceeded the
seating capacity.

	However, as the Maestro had pointed out, with the number of diners
and need for space seeming to rise exponentially every time Michael turned
around, other arrangements were necessary. Michael had invited not only the
young knights, and their accompanying officers, but also the Twins' father
and uncle. Gabe Izard, who was soon to be Louis Arundel's adopted son, was
invited, as were Joel and Joe Hobbes, Catherine Arundel, Mary Randolph and
Mabell Airlie. Then Michael had decided to invite the Cousins, who were, as
he explained to both the Maestro and the Major, "Princes of His House" and
it was time, or so Michael thought, to initiate them into the world of
their principality, to show them what would be expected of them when they
dine formally - as they would do, in the fullness of time - and teach them
how to handle the rows of strange cutlery and small groupings of crystal
glasses that they would sit before. The Cousins also had to be taught how
to behave, with no "Boarding House Reaches", as Michael put it. They might
be princes in name only, but if Michael had his way they would at least
look and act like princes! God forbid that they should sit at table and
drink from the fingerbowls!

	The small problem of space was quickly solved. The Maestro, as
inventive and as attentive as he always was when it came to difficult
requests from his clients, had decided that the double cubed drawing room
would serve. This meant, of course, that all the furniture in the room had
to be removed - carefully - for each Hepplewhite, Chippendale, and Adam
table, chair and artefact was priceless and any damage to any of the
pieces, while restorable, would reflect on the future provenance and value
of the piece.

	Once the drawing room was cleared, which was what was happening now
if the thumps and muttered curses were any indication, the table would need
to be set up. The Maestro had ordered that a table be fetched from his
warehouse, a great table that he had picked up on the cheap during one of
his periodic trips to Europe. The Victorian-era creation, eight feet wide,
had once graced the dining room of a French duke. Sadly, His Grace having
speculated too long, too fast and too loose, on the Bourse, to inevitable
results and had been sold up by his creditors, the contents of his elegant
maison on the Place Vendôme sold to the highest bidder, as was the house
itself.

With leaves and extensions the table could seat 140. Once the thing was put
in place, the mirror-polished surface had to be examined and
French-polished to remove any blemishes and handprints, and then laid with
table decorations, flowers and cutlery and glasses. It was all very
labour-intensive and footmen and under butlers were doing double duty as
removals men.

	A small gratuity was very much in order!

Michael stood up suddenly and stared out of the window into the blackness
that hid his gardens. "Mrs. Arundel and her ladies have convinced me that
they should accompany our young knights to Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré," he said,
his voice bland. "You will have to contact the air charter service for a
larger aircraft." He turned slowly. "I also wish you to make reservations
in a hotel for the young knights and the ladies. They will need a place to
change, after all."

	The Major nodded. He would make the necessary telephone calls in
the morning.

	"I would also think it wise if the Randolph boy went along. The
ladies will like it, and I suspect our young knights." He smiled
knowingly. "He seems a fine boy, don't you think?"

	"He seems to be," agreed the Major. "And he gets on well with the
lads, and the Cousins. I shall speak to Joel. If there is anything in his
background that might prove . . . embarrassing . . . he'll find it."

	"I doubt he will," countered Michael. "Mary Randolph would never
have brought her nephew with her if there were." He sat down again. "I
shall speak to Chef." Then he added, in an offhand manner, "I wonder if
Blake and Cousin Matthew actually found the time to examine the Leonardo
drawings when they were in the library."

	"Leave it alone," thought the Major, wondering what the two young
men were doing in the library, and how Michael had found out about it.

	"I also think that we should send two or three of the Security
Force with them," Michael was saying. "Perhaps Grinchsten - he has formed a
bond with Phantom - and Ned Hadfield. I had thought of asking Pete, but as
he will be needed here to keep up the charade with the doctor, I thought
better of it."

	"Pete will also be needed to ginger up the new men," the Major
pointed out. "While they have all been checked out and vetted, Pete will
want to assure himself of their reliability and experience."

	"He will also be needed to be seen," responded Michael. "If what
Pete tells the loathsome doctor works, Diem will react. We must keep the
appearance of normalcy." Michael and the Major had both spoken with Pete
Sheppard, and given him the germ of a plan. Pete was to plant the seed, and
hopefully the doctor would harvest the crop.

	"Diem will expect a show of force - not too much - in and around
the so-called meeting place," Michael said confidently. "He expects that as
`host' for the meet with the Italians I will be responsible for security
and, as he knows, or will know, that I have dispensed with my Chinese
guards, will think nothing amiss when I show up with white guards." He
regarded the Major a moment, and then continued. "General Minh is no
fool. He would not have survived as long as he has if he were. He will not
suspect anything because I shall do what he expects me to do. He expects
that I shall increase security here at the compound. This is where the new
men come in."

	"As additional guards," agreed the Major. "Where there were two,
now there will be four?"

	"Yes. Remember, Minh and Diem will think that I am entering a new
business venture, one fraught with uncertainty. I fully expect that he will
try to infiltrate with watchers and surveillance teams. Remember, Minh was
a general in the Vietnamese Army, and while he was a corrupt general, he
was also a competent general!"

	"In other words, he knows how to plan and execute an operation."
The Major nodded. "He will try to set up some sort of an observation post
to keep an eye on the comings and goings at the Stewart Street warehouse."

	"Of course he will," replied Michael easily. "He will see a normal
business operation tomorrow. Saturday he will see nothing because all the
businesses will be closed for the weekend. He will see elderly security
guards doing their rounds, he will see the occasional police patrol. He
will see nothing that would lead him to suspect that the building is filled
with armed men!"

	The Major started. "Armed men?"

	Michael nodded. Then he asked, "Where is Cousin Tommy?"

	Colouring slightly, the Major shrugged. "I believe he is spending
the night at Joel's flat," he said carefully.

	"Ah, so the affair continues," replied Michael, his face blank.

	Both Michael and the Major knew that Cousin Tommy and Joel had
become lovers. Michael did not mind. He had been a little surprised at
Cousin Tommy, who had never before indicated in any way that he might find
solace in the arms of another man. Cousin Tommy was also married, with two
fine young boys. On reflection, however, Michael could understand Cousin
Tommy's seeking peace in Joel's arms. Cousin Tommy's wife, while beautiful,
was also shrewish, grasping, and venal. After the birth of her second
child, the bitch preferred that Tommy not assert his conjugal rights.

	In a way, Michael approved of the arrangement. Had Cousin Tommy
taken a mistress his wife would have objected - loudly, Michael was sure -
and caused scandal. Michael could never understand women. They would bar a
husband from their beds, and then scream bloody murder if he found another
bed to lie in. Of course there was the danger that Cousin Tommy's wife
might find out that the person sharing her husband's bed was not another
woman. Michael doubted she would, or that she would suspect
anything. Cousin Tommy was a handsome man and, in his youth, before he
married, had cut a swathe of maidenly deflowering across Chinatown. Uncle
Henry had spent much of his time complaining about his randy cousin, and in
facing down irate fathers demanding compensation for their daughters' lost
treasure. Cousin Tommy had a solid reputation as a womanizer and no one
would believe him capable of forming a relationship with another man.

	At least, Michael was convinced, Cousin Tommy would be discreet,
and keep Joel out of trouble, and be a welcome change from the rent boys
Joel dragged back from Gastown, or rice bowl Rickys he picked up in the
bathhouses. Or the frat boys, or the anonymous young men . . .

	"In the morning ask him to come and see me," Michael told the
Major. "And I also wish to speak with Logan Hartsfield."

	The Major's left eyebrow rose slightly. Logan had only been in
Michael's employ for a few weeks. True, he had been trained by Laurence,
and seemed capable, but . . .

	Michael sensed the Major's hesitation. "Richard, when you were very
young you were thrust into danger, yes?"

	The Major nodded.

	"And being young, you made mistakes. In time, with training, with
experience, you became a very good leader of men, yes?"

	The Major harrumphed loudly. "Didn't have a choice," he
growled. "Royal Marines and all that!"

	"Quite," responded Michael easily. "Now, tell me, if you had not
been given the opportunities, what would have become of you?"

	The Major squirmed slightly. There had been very little money in
his family. He was also a second son, which meant that what the family had,
his brother would inherit. As a second son he had a choice of three
traditional careers: The Church, the Diplomatic Service, or the military
(Army or Navy, his choice). He had always considered himself fortunate in
that he had chosen the Royal Marines, had made firm and fast friends, and
had served with honour. He understood what Michael was saying, and nodded
his head while saying, somewhat grumpily, "Well, the lad has to start
somewhere."

	"Yes, he does," agreed Michael with a slight chuckle. "If Logan is
to be in my service, then I must know what he is capable of, and the basics
of his character."

	"I understand," said The Major. He glanced down at his
wristwatch. "It is very late," he said. "Do you wish to see him now?"

	Michael waved away the Major's question. "No. I want him to take
the early ferry to Victoria and speak for me to Eddy Tsang."

	Once again the Major's eyebrow rose slightly. "Eddy Tsang?"

	"Yes. Diem knows that the Tsangs are in my service. He knows what
they are capable of, and will want to keep an eye on them. He will have
someone watching the Tsang compound here in Vancouver - please make Tsang
Sun Shun aware of it." The Major nodded and Michael continued. "Logan is to
speak with Eddy. I will tell him what I wish Eddy and his people to do for
me." He smiled at the Major. "Do not worry. Logan will only be carrying a
message, nothing more." He thought a moment and then added, "And as I think
of it, perhaps he should accompany the young knights to Québec."

	"A capital idea," agreed The Major. "He'll fit in well with them."

	The Major did not add that Logan would fit in well with one of the
young knights in particular, a young knight who was, at the moment, sharing
Logan's bed.



******



	"I am falling in love with you," Logan said to the young man he was
cradling in his arms.

	Brian Venables, the young man Logan was holding, squirmed and
buried his head deeper against Logan's broad chest. "And I fell in love
with you the day you left Comox."

	"I know," said Logan as he kissed the top of Brian's close-cropped
head. "You went to The Gunner, didn't you?"

	Brian raised his head and looked into Logan's eyes. "Yep." Then he
shook his head slightly. "Well, actually I went to see The Phantom
first. Then I went to see The Gunner." He cradled his head against Logan's
chest again. "I hope you're not angry."

	"Why would I be angry?" Logan asked, perplexed. "It changed my
life!"

	"And I'm sure glad it did," exclaimed Brian with a wicked little
laugh as he reached down to fondle Logan's soft penis. "Man . . ." His
voice trailed off as a warm feeling once again filled him. Logan had made
love to him, fulfilled all his fantasies, and Brian was still in the thrall
of it all!

	"That's not what I mean," protested Logan mildly. "And you know
it!"

	"I do," breathed Brian. "It's just that when I first met you, well,
I never thought you could be so . . . gentle."

	"You never had the chance," replied Logan. "As I recall our second
meeting, I cried like a baby and puked my guts out!"

	"Not without reason!" declared Brian hotly. "Hell, you'd just told
me about how Little Big Man forced you to have sex with him!"

	"Forced me to fuck him," corrected Logan truthfully. He shuddered
at the memory and said, "But yeah, you're right. Even I didn't think I
could be gentle like I was with you." He hugged Brian close. "Up until now
gentleness was not a requirement. All it took was a hard dick!"

	"Logan!"

	"It's true, Brian. I won't lie to you. I was a whore. I'd go to
Harkness Beach, which was where the gays, tourists for the most part, went
looking for sex, for boys like me. I'd drop shorts and walk down the beach,
buck naked and swingin' meat." A long, mournful sigh escaped his
lips. "Fuck, I wish I'd never done that!"

	"Don't," Brian whispered. His hand found Logan's chest and caressed
the warm skin of his lover. "You did what you had to do. It meant nothing
and please, don't dwell on it! What's done is done."

	"But I was a whore!" Logan shook with self-anger. "I let guys blow
me for money."

	"You never, um, you never let them fuck you?" Brian asked, his face
registering his surprise.

	Logan shook his head emphatically. "No! It was a place I didn't
want to go. I told myself that it was all right to get sucked, or to let
another guy beat me off - which happened - but getting fucked was not for
me."

	"Because if you had, that would have made you `queer'?" questioned
Brian mildly.

	"Yeah," responded Logan glumly. "I knew that queers did it, but not
straight guys. Straight guys fooled around, at least I thought they did,
but drew the line at fucking. I told myself that so long as I didn't get
fucked, I was straight."

	Brian suppressed a chuckle. Dylan had used the same argument. It
was all right for buddies to take care of buddies. To "fool around" was
almost a rite of passage. Masturbating your best friend, or sucking his
dick, to "help him out", was marginally acceptable so long it was just
between him and you. So long as you and your buddy never engaged in
anything else, you were straight. Still . . .

"But you had `fucked' another guy," responded Brian.

"Yeah. I was just a kid! The first guy I ever fucked was a kid too! He
lived in the same trailer park as I did. We were fooling around one
afternoon and . . . it was kid stuff. We tried a lot of different things,
and he asked me to fuck him so I did. When he moved away I didn't find
another guy!"

"Understood. You fooled around, got it out of your system and moved on."

	"Yeah."

	"And Harkness Beach?"

	Sighing, Logan chuckled caustically. "That was for money. I told
you, I was a whore. I sold what I had. I only went there because I needed
cash. I never thought about what I might have to do, and when the first guy
came up to me and offered money to suck my cock, I let him." He
shrugged. "Somehow I convinced myself that getting blown was all that the
queers wanted." He sighed again. "I was asked to fuck a guy, for big
bucks," he said flatly. "But I didn't do him. I couldn't! I told myself
that it was because the guy was old, and ugly . . ."

	"But if he had been young, and good looking, you would have!"
interjected Brian harshly.

	"Yes, but only for the money, nothing else!" protested Logan. "It
wouldn't have meant anything!"

	"True, but you thought about it," rejoined Brian. "Just as you
thought about having sex with other guys." Brian scratched his chin
reflectively. "It was something you wanted to do, but were afraid to do,
and then along came Little Big Man!"

	Logan's face darkened with anger and hatred. "Paul Greene, Little
Big Man to you," he spat, "took something away from me!"

"What? What he did was reprehensible, terrible," agreed Brian, "but by your
own admission, he wasn't the first guy you ever fucked!"

"No, okay, he wasn't!" returned Logan, his anger palpable. Then he shrugged
and took a deep breath. "But Brian, it wasn't supposed to be that way! I
wasn't supposed to feel what I felt, because - and I hate to admit it -
while one part of me felt dirty, another part of me wanted more! Fucking
Paul Greene was an ugly, animal rutting, Brian." His voice grew hard. "He
made me discover a part of me I didn't want discovered, didn't want to be,
didn't want to think about!"

	Drawing back, Brian asked, "And?"

	Without reply, Logan drew Brian to him and buried his face in the
valley of Brian's neck. He was breathing heavily, near to tears. "I hated
myself! I hated my life! I was a stud! I liked girls! Hell, I've been with
girls! I was supposed to fuck girls and I ended up fucking some little
shit!"

	"Logan, Logan," whispered Brian. "He forced you, remember?"

	"Yeah," Logan grudgingly admitted.

	"And threatened to call the cops because, let's be honest, you were
trying to rob the place!"

	"Yeah," grunted Logan.

	"So what's the problem, then?" demanded Brian.

	"Huh?" Logan was confused. "I, um, what the hell do you mean?"

	"Logan, are you pissed off because Paul Greene basically raped you?
Are you pissed off because you enjoyed fucking Paul? Or are you pissed off
that suddenly your little world has come crashing down around you, because
you, Logan Hartsfield, have suddenly discovered that you actually like
being with another guy, actually like having sex with him?"

	"Um . . ." came Logan's hesitant answer.

	"Look, I know that all your upbringing . . ." began Brian.

	"Such as it was!" snapped Logan.

	"Whatever!" Brian returned sharply. "What I am trying to say to is
this, and please listen to me." He suddenly sat up and hugged his
legs. "Logan, I've been there! Okay, nobody forced me to have sex with him,
but I'm not going to lie to you. I've had sex with guys, and with girls."
He turned and looked evenly at Logan. "I prefer guys." He sighed and
continued. "From almost the first day I could understand I heard the cracks
and the warnings. `Fags are bad!' `Queers should be killed' `No son of mine
will ever be queer'. I would go to church and I heard that if I sucked
cocks, and did other guys in the ass I would burn in hell forever and ever!
I've heard all the names!"

	"But Brian, being queer is wrong!" exploded Logan. "Okay, I liked
fucking Paul Greene! There, I admit it! And yeah, I asked Laurence to show
what it means to . . ."

	"Laurence? Royal Marine Laurence? The handsome guy who works for
Michael Chan? The kipper?" Brian gasped.

	Logan squirmed uneasily. "Yeah," he whispered. "We were, um, we
were out in the woods - it was a part of my evaluation - and I was
. . . well I was having these thoughts about . . . well, damn it, about a
guy I met in Comox and what I'd felt like after I'd been to Harkness Beach
and fuck, I was confused! Everything I knew told me that what I felt was
wrong! Yet I still wanted to, you know, make love with him! But I didn't
know how! All I'd ever done was fuck! The first time I had sex with another
guy was just a fuck. The first time I ever had sex with a girl, it was just
a fuck! And when I was with Paul Greene it was a fuck! He sat in my lap and
shoved my dick up his ass and bounced away! Just another fuck!" He reached
out and gently touched Brian's warm, naked back. "But I didn't want to fuck
you."

	Shivering at Logan's touch, Brian asked softly. "You wanted to make
love to me?"

	"Yeah." Logan laughed softly. "I sat in the bus as it left town,
wanting to turn around, because I knew you were standing there, but I
couldn't look back. I knew if I looked back, and saw you standing there
that I would never leave!"

	"What?"

	"I mean it! I guess I fell in love with you back in Comox. Like I
said, I didn't know how to handle it! I wanted you, Brian. I wanted to make
love to you, to hold you, to do everything I could to please you! I wanted
you like I never wanted anyone ever before! And I didn't know what to do! I
couldn't understand why I felt the way I did! When I got to Victoria, and
got a job, and had my own place, I'd lie in bed at night, staring at
nothing, wondering and wondering why I felt that way! Everything told me it
was wrong, but my mind told me it was right! Can you understand that,
Brian, can you?"

	Brian leaned back and gestured for Logan to come to him. He held
the young man, stroking the smooth skin of his arms and chest. "The first
time I had sex with a boy, it was my cousin. We were sharing a bunk and I
woke up, in the middle of the night, with him giving me a blow job! On the
one hand I was scared shitless. What he was doing was wrong! But my dick
felt so damned good I let him do it. Later, when he asked me to let him
blow me again, I said yes. I discovered that I liked what he did to me, and
I liked, later, doing it to him. It wasn't wrong! I didn't feel guilty, or
bad, or dirty, or anything. I liked doing him!"

	"And later?"

	"I found out that guys liked guys," replied Brian flatly. "We told
each other that we were just doing what came naturally. We weren't hurting
anyone, it felt good, and everybody did it, so why worry? Eventually I
ended up with a girl, and damn, it felt good, but not as good as when I
slept with a guy. I played the field. Sometimes it was a girl, which was
okay because word got around and I got a reputation as a swordsman." He
laughed into the darkness. "Which was even better because that meant when
one of my special friends came around, we could do things and no one would
even think I was doing him!"

	Although Brian could not see it in the darkness, Logan's brows
furrowed. "Ya know, maybe that's what I shoulda done. You know, go with the
flow sort of, with guys, and girls. Not that I had much of chance. Comox is
a small town and while I did have a reputation, I didn't get lucky too
often."

	"Well, North Bay is hardly the hub of the world," offered Brian,
"But I did manage. I think, though, that while you could have found a guy
to help you out, you were too afraid, too cowed by what people would say
about you. You went to Harkness Beach because you had something to
offer. To quote our Grand Master, `that was business, it wasn't personal'."

	Logan sniggered. "I made a good buck but I did like getting my dick
sucked!"

	"You ain't alone," countered Brian. "It's something every guy
wants! Hell, I never lacked for dick! When I was in school, there was
dick. When I went to a camp with the cadets, more dick."

	"You seem . . . well so accepting," Logan blurted. "Like being with
a guy for sex is the most natural thing in the world!"

	"It is," replied Brian simply. "When you're gay, and it's offered,
you take it. Tell me, Logan, if you were truly straight, and if I hadn't
come along, or Paul Greene, or Harkness Beach, or any of the gay stuff
you've done, if you were in a bar, or say the local hangout and one of the
girls came up to you and said, `Let's fuck', would you have turned her
down?"

	Logan thought a moment. "Well, no. I mean, if I was totally
straight, I'd want to fuck her."

	"So what's the difference?" demanded Brian mildly. "If I'm in a
bar, or a hangout, or the school gym, and a guy comes on to me, why is it
wrong if I say yes to him? I'm gay. I'm attracted to other guys, and
hopefully they're attracted to me. I'm just giving in to my true
feelings. I don't feel dirty, and I don't feel bad after I've gone to bed
with him. That Logan, is being truthful, to myself because as far as I'm
concerned what I do is totally natural!"

	"And you never worried, or had doubts, or felt . . . scared?"

	"Of course I did! Hell, man, we live in world where being queer is
being dead! Yeah, I used to lie in bed at night scared shitless that the
guy I'd just been with would tell his folks, or mine. I lived in fear for a
long time because everybody told me I should. Then . . . well let's just
say I learned differently."

	"In a way, I did too," replied Logan thoughtfully. "When I was out
in the woods with Laurence I asked him to help me. Like I said, I had all
these fuckin' demons eatin' at me." He squirmed a bit, and then continued,
"When I first got here one of the footmen, a guy named Noel, tried to put
to moves on me."

	"Tried?"

	"He offered, let's say," responded Logan. "I wasn't too upset about
that at all, because let's face it, I ain't too ugly and I have all the
right equipment . . ."

	"And then some!" quipped Brian.

	"Please, I'm serious!" snapped Logan. "I know that guys look at me,
and my equipment is what got me the money I needed."

	"So, what was the problem?" Brian asked.

	"Well, first it was the way he put the moves on, like I was
expecting it, and would just say yes."

	"But you said no."

	"Yeah. And when I did that he more or less said that I'd been
brought here to service the big wigs, you know, Major Meinertzhagen and
Michael. I mean he just assumed that's why I was here!"

	"Which you weren't."

	"No. I didn't know why I was told to come here. Later, when I was
in the forests with Laurence he told me that I was here because a certain
Sea Cadet Petty Officer had recommended me to the Chancellor to be a
possible candidate for the Order. He explained things to me and told me
that I didn't have to sleep with anybody I didn't want to sleep with. He
also told me that I would have doubts, about myself, I mean, about what I
really was. He was very kind to me, Brian, and when I asked him to show me
how to love, he did." He held Brian close. "We never did it again. It was
almost as wonderful as when you and I did it, I have to admit that."

	"Almost as wonderful?" mused Brian aloud.

	"Yeah. Almost," whispered Logan. "I wasn't in love with him. I
liked him, and the sex was great, but he can't hold a candle to the way I
feel about you."

	Logan could not see it, but Brian blushed furiously.

	"And now that I've found you, and managed to decide that I can be
in love with another man and feel good about it, the whole fuckin' thing is
going to come a cropper," Logan whispered, almost to himself.

	"What?" Brian started. "What the hell are you talking about?"

	"Brian, I don't intend to stay here. I think I know what I want to
do and . . . well, I've applied to join the Army - the Princess Pats to be
precise, 'cause that way I can transfer to the . . ."

	Brian let out a whoop and started laughing. "The Airborne
Regiment!" he yelped. "You want to be an Airborne Ranger!"

	Not seeing the humour in what he had just said, Logan scowled. "I
don't see what's so damned funny!" He growled. "It's a very good regiment!
And I . . ."

	Logan's explanation ended abruptly as Brian kissed him
soundly. "Ass! That's what I want to do!"

	Extricating himself form Brian's hold, Logan looked quizzically
into his lover's eyes. "You do?"

	Pushing Logan onto his back, Brian laid his body down on
Logan's. He could feel Logan's soft maleness stir slightly. "And not
because I think I need to prove myself a man!" He kissed Logan's lips
gently. "I can be whatever I want to be, Logan, and so can you. You can't
join just because you think it will make you a man - a straight man. Just
as I am what I am, you are what you are." He ground his hips slowly.

	Groaning at the pleasure beginning to course through his loins,
Logan wrapped his arms around Brian's broad, warm back. "Damn, that feels
good." He nuzzled Brian's neck a bit and then asked, "You going to make
love to me?"

	"In a minute," whispered Brian in reply. "But first I want you to
understand something. You're a man, and that's all that matters. Becoming
an Airborne Ranger will only make you a better man."

	"But I want to . . ." Logan's voice trailed off.

	Brian knew what Logan wanted to do. "We will, soon," he said
quietly. "But you have to know that being a man is a lot more than having a
dick and a set of balls. It's being honest, to yourself and to your
friends. It's always telling the truth, even if it means death. It's being
loyal to your friends no matter what! It means you always do the harder
right than the easier wrong." Brian could feel Logan's rising member and he
raised his hips slightly to give him more room. He settled himself again,
feeling Logan's hardness throbbing against his own.

	"Never think, Logan, that by joining the Army," continued Brian,
his voice calm and level, "or the Navy or the Air Force, or the most elite
unit on earth, that you will learn all those things! You might learn some,
but you will never learn them all. You can go through the motions, you can
pretend to be a man, or at least your definition of a man, but at the end
of the day, unless you are willing to admit to being what you really are,
you've gained nothing! You can live two lives, one open, one secret, but
you will never be happy, never be content. We can rise to great heights,
Logan, but if we let the fear of our true selves, or what people might
think of us, govern our actions, then we might just as well find a cabin
deep in the woods and stay there!"

	Brian rolled away from Logan, the mood to make love gone, and lay
quietly, his hands folded behind his head as he stared upward toward the
darkened ceiling of the bedroom. "You can either live your life as an
honourable, gay man, or you can hide away, afraid," he said presently. "I
know what I intend to do. I would like you to share my life eventually,
Logan . . ."

	"It's easy for you to talk!" snapped Logan. He folded his arms
across his chest, his eyes snapping with the anger he felt at himself. "You
have the Order behind you. You have twenty-odd knights standing at your
side! What do I have?" Before Brian could answer the question, Logan did,
"I have nobody!"

	"You're wrong," Brian said, his voice filled with gentleness. "You
might not want to believe me, but you are one of us." He turned his head
slightly and looked at the dark silhouette of Logan's handsome face. "You
are a part of the Tapestry. Do not question it, accept it. You have the
love and support of The Phantom. Do not question it, accept it. You cannot
change it."

	"How can you say that?" Logan demanded. "The Phantom hardly knows
me! Hell, he has to know about me, about my reputation! He lived in the
same town as I did and, God damn it, folks did love to talk about me!"

	"What you did in the past is no longer important! The Phantom
knows, I am sure, of your past. We all have a past, Logan. What is
important is the future. You alone can determine your future, no one
else. If you decide to accept what will be offered to you, and trust me,
you will be offered our love and friendship, all well and good. If you
decide to live your life as a lie, then on your head be it. I will be sorry
if you do, because I do love you." Brian took a deep breath and continued,
"But no matter what you decide The Phantom will not abandon you."

	"Yeah? Even though I'm an ex-hooker, and refuse to admit that I'm
queer?"

	"You are a part of the Tapestry. It is enough," replied Brian
simply.

	Logan thought he detected a certain tone in Brian's voice. "You're
in love with him, aren't you," he asked bluntly

	Brian would not lie, as a knight he could not lie. "In a way,
yes. Not in the way I love you. I am his companion knight, his friend. I am
not his lover."

	"But you would be, if he asked you," replied Logan, his voice flat.

	Brian thought very carefully about his answer. It was not necessary
for him to repeat the true nature of his relationship with The
Phantom. Logan had no need to know about the furtive, sex-filled visits in
the middle of the night. Those visits had been sex, nothing more and
nothing less. What Brian felt now was entirely different. His love for The
Phantom was much deeper, much more intense than mere sex.

	"Logan, The Phantom is a man who loves me. He loves you. His love
does not include sex. He sees in each and every one of us, his knights, and
you, something that we do not see! I don't understand it; I just know that
it exists." Once again he rolled on his side. He placed his arm across
Logan's chest. "Remember, Logan, no matter how far you go, no matter where
you go, if and when you need us, we'll be there for you. You're one of us
now, and you'll never be alone again."



******



	A low murmur of voices came from the adjoining sitting room. The
Phantom could hear Harry laughing quietly as he chatted with Tyler and
Andy. Occasionally there came the sound of a muted oath as the play of the
cards - no poker this time, just a "friendly game" of Crazy Eights - went
against one or the other of the players. Glancing at his watch, The Phantom
noted the late hour and yawned cavernously. He should be in bed but he was
due to relieve Colin, who was keeping watch on the corridor leading from
the doctor's bedroom, in about an hour.

	On the bed The Phantom had hoped to share with Colin, Alistair Chan
was stretched out, wearing only a pair of boxers borrowed from The
Phantom. As The Phantom watched, Alistair stretched languidly, like a very
contented cat and smiled. "Gosh, this is nice," he said.

	"What is?" asked The Phantom.

	"You know, just being around a bunch of guys, listening to them
playing cards, shooting the shit, things like that."

	"You live in the same house with `a bunch of guys'," replied The
Phantom. "Don't you sit around like that?"

	Alistair propped his golden-skinned body on one elbow and his dark,
ebony eyes met The Phantom's emerald green look. "I wish," he said
sadly. "The amahs would screech like loons if they found us lying around in
our underpants!" He grinned impishly. "Maybe we should try it. It might
give the old witches heart attacks and to be honest, some of my cousins
look very good in just their drawers!"

	The Phantom returned Alistair's smile, laughing inwardly, for two
reasons. First, although it was obvious that Alistair was not aware of it,
his most private and personal possession had slipped the confines of his
borrowed underpants. Alistair would never be a competitor as a successor to
the Pride of the Fleet, but he was a handsome boy all the same.

	The second reason that caused The Phantom to smile was something he
had seen happen time and again when a normally quiet, inhibited boy was
thrust into an all-male situation. First his clothes would come off and
then he would assure himself that he looked more or less like every other
guy in sight. Then, as he became more secure in his surroundings, his
language would become coarser, and cruder. As he grew in confidence, the
boy would also learn the no holds barred art of "chuckin' shit!" and learn
to cuss and disparage with the best of them, taking no offence at the
double-entendrés, the plays on words that could mean one thing, and also
another.

	"You should have been with us in Aurora," said The Phantom
dryly. "The gunroom was a hoot, what with the Twins never wearing pants,
Two Strokes getting a splinter in his dick, and Harry biting every bum in
sight!"

	Alistair looked quizzically at The Phantom, not knowing if he were
joking - pulling his pisser as the knights called it - or not. Were such
things possible?

	Seeing the look on Alistair's face, The Phantom placed his hand
over his heart. "Swear to God," he said. Then he added, somewhat hastily,
for he did not know how Alistair would take the truth, "Of course, it was
all just innocent fun. In the gunroom you didn't have to pretend to be the
good, God-fearing little boy your parents thought you were and . . ."

	"You could be your normal, raunchy self!" interrupted Alistair with
a throaty laugh. "Jesus, Phantom, I wish I had joined the Sea Cadets!"

	The Phantom joined in Alistair's laughter. "Yeah, you missed all
those morning woodies, and group showers, the Twins going to war with each
other at the drop of a hat, Americans dropping in whenever they felt like
it, and Chef marching around, drunker than a coot, howling `The Soldiers of
the Queen!'" He laid his head against the back of the chair he was sitting
in and laughed softly. "And you know what? I wouldn't have missed a minute
of it!"

	Frowning slightly, Alistair said, "We were never allowed to join
anything. We were Chans, expected to act a certain way, to dress a certain
way, to never draw attention to ourselves." He looked at The Phantom. "You
should have been there this afternoon when Michael took us to the house and
all we had on were our Speedos." He stopped speaking and looked
thoughtful. "You know what?"

	"No. What?"

	"Tomorrow I'm going to talk the other Cousins into walking into the
house starkers! You know, just a-swingin' in the wind! We'll kill the old
bitches!"

	When he stopped laughing, The Phantom said, "You should have been a
Sea Cadet! Hell and sheeit! You'd give the Twins a run for their
money. We've done a lot of things, but we never went on parade starkers!"

	"It's too late for me, Phantom," replied Alistair sadly. "I'm too
old to join now."

	"But not too old to become a Cadet officer," The Phantom pointed
out. "They're always looking for young guys to con into become officer
cadets. Or you could wait until you start university and apply to the Navy
Reserve. I'm sure with Michael's connections, or with the Twins' father's
connections, you'd have no trouble."

	A doubtful look came into Alistair's eyes. "It is not allowed."

	"Who says so?"

	"Well, um, I don't think that Michael, who is the Serenity, would
approve of his Cousins, whom he calls princes of his house, destined to
wear the Imperial colour, um, you know, being exposed to such things."

	The Phantom took a deep breath. "Alistair, how was Michael chosen
to be Uncle Henry's successor?"

	"Why, well according to tradition, when he was brought home he was
presented to Uncle Henry, just as all of us were presented to Michael after
our sealing ceremony. It is said that Uncle Henry looked at Michael and
somehow knew that he would be the Serenity. Later, when Michael was I think
thirteen or so, he spent much of his time with Uncle Henry, learning the
business. Then, when he was sixteen he moved into Uncle Henry's house."

	"And where are you now?" asked The Phantom. He deliberately looked
around the bedroom.

	Alistair followed The Phantom's eyes and understood his new
friend's meaning. "That is not going to happen!" He sat up abruptly, which
caused his appendage to bounce. "Me? You have got to be crazy!" he yelped.

	"There are some who would agree with you on that," deadpanned The
Phantom. "But, my dear Alistair, I venture to say that something makes me
think that Michael has found his Crown Prince." Before Alistair could
respond The Phantom held up his hand and continued. "You are here, in his
house. You spent the day with his knights, tonight you will sleep with them
- albeit in another room, but you know what I mean. Tomorrow you will
participate in fun and games with us. Put everything together and tell me
what you think it all means."

	Alistair flopped back on the bed, sprawling. "Oh God! Me? Why not
Cornelius, or Matthew? They're here too, and they're ever so much smarter
than I am!"

	"Intelligence is important," opined The Phantom. "However, it seems
to me that Michael sees in you something he does not see in the others." He
leaned forward in his chair. "Something even Michael does not see in
total. Michael will have a successor, and I'll bet my bottom dollar that
it's you!"

	"You seem awfully sure of yourself," complained Alistair. Then his
frown quickly turned to a smile. "You think he really wants me to be his
successor?"

	The Phantom nodded. "I do. Michael is just now realizing it. In
time he will call you to him and teach you what you need to know." He
regarded Alistair carefully. "You know the nature of his business?"

	"I do," replied Alistair with a nod. "I'm not supposed to know, but
I do have ears, and I hear the adults talking." He looked directly at The
Phantom. "What Michael really wants to know is if I have the balls to do
what is necessary. I'm not stupid, and I know something is going on now. I
also know that in the past men have paid with their lives for
underestimating Michael Chan!"

	The Phantom, who had heard several stories about Michael, regarded
Alistair's words as an understatement. Michael Chan could be, and had been,
ruthless when he had to be. His successor, and The Phantom thought that it
would be Alistair, would need to be as ruthless. He plunged ahead. "Then
Michael wants to find out if you have the balls to follow in his
footsteps." He looked pointedly at Alistair's crotch. "You've been sealed
to his service, after all!"

	Alistair looked down, gasped, turned a bright red, and quickly
stuffed himself back into his boxers. "Sorry," he said with a grin, "I
didn't realize that it had got out!" He grinned at The Phantom. "You know,
the next time you might want to spend a couple of bucks and get some
drawers with a button on 'em!"

	Laughing, The Phantom nodded. "Well, at least you can see the
humour. And you have balls!"

	Alistair deliberately reached down and squeezed his
testicles. "Damn right, I do, and they're bigger than Arden's!"

	"I'll take your word for it," responded The Phantom. "Right now,
however, I think you should know that something is going on."

	Alistair nodded slowly. "I thought so." He jerked his thumb toward
the low hum of voices in the drawing room. "They're not here just to play
cards and drink Michael's booze, are they?"

	"No. We're talking turns watching a certain room."

	"Why?"

	"One of the two men inside the room is performing a service to us,
to the Order. He does not know it, but he is. He is also performing a
service for Michael."

	"Business?" asked Alistair, cocking an eyebrow. He sat up
carefully, made certain that Little Alistair was snug in its boxers' nest,
and continued. "Or is it personal?"

	The Phantom scratched his chin reflectively. "Personal," he decided
aloud. "For two reasons."

	Alistair had an inkling of the import of The Phantom's words. His
mouth formed a perfect "O" before he said, "Two reasons?"

	"Doctor Bradley-Smith is a knight. You are aware of the Order?"

	"Yes, Cory told me about it. Michael is the Grand Master." Alistair
settled back. "Because of what Cory told me I no longer worry about Arden."

	"Good. He is one of us, as are you." The Phantom rose and walked to
the bed. He sat down beside Alistair and put his arm around the young
Chinese boy's shoulder. "The doctor has, or is in the process of, betraying
his oath as a knight. He is not only a false knight, he is a traitor to
Michael. I do not know the details, but I believe that he is spying for
someone." He gave Alistair a gentle squeeze. "You know what that means?"

	Sighing, Alistair nodded his head. "The doctor is dead. He doesn't
know it yet, but he is."

	"Yes. For his betrayal of his fellow knights he is subject to what
is called a Bar of Justice. There is only one sentence."

	"And for betraying Michael Chan's trust," whispered
Alistair. "Death."

	"Yes."

	"And you are worried that in some way I will be asked to become
involved?"

	"No. I believe that you are the Crown Prince, as you put it, and I
also believe that Michael will bring you into his business when he feels
you are ready. I only want you to understand that when he does bring you in
that you will be asked to do certain things." The Phantom's emerald green
eyes grew dark. "Can you order a man to be put to death?"

	Alistair's eyes never wavered and his voice was strong as he said,
"Phantom, the Order demands that a knight be `sealed' to its service, yes?"

	The Phantom nodded. "Always."

	"You take an oath, a binding oath of love and caring to your
brother knights. You swear never to betray them, yes?"

	Again The Phantom nodded.

	"I was sealed to the service of the Serenity. I did not take an
oath, and I may never be called upon to service him, but if he calls, I
must go." Alistair wrapped his arms around The Phantom's chest. "If I am to
be the Crown Prince, then that is my destiny. I cannot change it. If I am
called to perform a service for the Serenity, then I will do it. I am a
Chan, a son of the Imperial House. If I refused the service I would lose my
honour."

	"Then you understand?"

	"Yes. I am afraid, yes, but I will do what I must." Alistair raised
his eyes and regarded The Phantom. "Even though I am condemned for it, I
will perform the service, just as . . ."

	"Pete Sheppard," supplied The Phantom. "He is with the doctor
now. I . . ." The Phantom hesitated, not really wishing to give all the
details to Alistair. "He is performing a service for Michael. It is
distasteful, but it is necessary."

	Alistair had observed the doctor. He had seen the hand gestures,
seen the ogling, the touchy-feely way the doctor treated the younger
men. He did not need to let his imagination run too wild to know what Pete
was doing. He shuddered.

	"Yes," The Phantom whispered.

	"I do not know if I would have the courage to do . . . that,"
returned Alistair, his voice as low as The Phantom's.

	"Pete has the courage. I only hope that he has the courage to face
what follows."

	Alistair did not understand, but felt instinctively that The
Phantom knew - somehow - what was to follow. He was puzzled, but would not
pursue his curiosity. Instead he asked, "You will help him?"

	"Yes."

	"He is not a knight," observed Alistair.

	"It does not matter. He will be a man in pain. And who knows? One
day he may be a knight."

	"You will do this for a stranger?"

	"I would do it for any man who would be my brother," replied The
Phantom.

	"Then I will help," declared Alistair.

	"But, you . . ." The Phantom tried to pull away but Alistair held
him close.

	"You are my friend, and you are my brother," whispered Alistair. "I
am not a knight, but one day with your help, I will be. Pete is also my
brother. I will help and you cannot deny me."

	"It might get ugly," warned The Phantom.

	"I will help," repeated Alistair. His tone suggested no argument
would sway him.

	"Very well." This time The Phantom succeeded in breaking Alistair's
hold. "I must go. I must be there when Pete comes out."

	"Okay."

	As Alistair moved away and The Phantom stood, they heard Harry
bellow from the drawing room. "Hey Alex, how's it hangin'?"

	"Just like it was when you left it - soft, sassy and very happy!"
returned Alex over his shoulder as he came into The Phantom's bedroom. He
saw The Phantom and Alistair, stopped, and gave them a neck bow. "Sirs."

	"Knock it off, Grinchsten!" replied The Phantom with a laugh. "What
are you up to now?"

	Alex held out a piece of paper. "Ned has been busy. He's decided to
put your guys through their paces and turn this exercise into a war! The
idea is that one side will defend a position; the other side will
attack. He's laid out a map."

	"May I see it?" asked Alistair.

	"Sure." Alex handed the map to Alistair. "I'm glad you're here,
Alistair. Ned has some cammy uniform jobs for you and any of the other
Cousins who are nuts enough to get up for this little bit of fun and
frolic."

	"Why Alex, don't you know that you're going to be with us?" asked
The Phantom, feigning surprise. "You are my minder, after all and where I
go aren't you supposed to go?"

	"Yeah," growled Alex. "And I know."

	"Excuse me," interrupted Alistair. "You did say that Ned drew this
map?"

	"Yes," replied Alex. "Is something wrong?"

	"In the words of the esteemed Lieutenant Arnott, you betcha ass,"
quipped Alistair.

	"Are you going to tell us what?" asked The Phantom, staring at the
map.

	"Well, the general layout is all right," said Alistair. "But he's
marked paths on this map that don't lead to where he says they do. Take
this one, for instance." He pointed at a meandering line on the
paper. "According to this map this trail leads to a clearing. It doesn't,
it leads right into a marsh!"

	Alex looked doubtfully at Alistair. "And you'd know?"

	"I would," returned Alistair sharply. "We do escape from the amahs,
you know, and the Cousins and I have been in those woods. Fuck, Arden knows
every trail like a critter born there. Cornelius is not far behind and I
know what I'm talking about." He grinned at The Phantom. "You're being set
up for a fall!"

	"The sneaky bastard!" Alex breathed.

	The Phantom smiled tightly. "I'm sneakier." He regarded Alistair a
moment. "Alistair, will you tell the guys?" He looked at Alex. "I'm going
to relieve Colin. I will be perfectly safe and I would like you to stay
here. It might be better for Pete if he did not see someone he knew well
first off. You understand?"

	Alex had a very good idea of what Pete was doing. "Yeah. I should
go with you, but okay. This once I'll stay behind."

	"Good. Alistair, we'll do some more talking later. I have to go."

	With that, The Phantom left the bedroom.



******



	Colin was nodding sleepily when he heard a soft footfall. Then he
felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see The Phantom.

	"All quiet?" asked The Phantom.

	"All quiet" repeated Colin. He was sitting at the far end of the
corridor that led to the doctor's room. He nodded with his chin. "I haven't
heard a word."

	"Then I wait," replied The Phantom. "Go on back to the room."

	As he rose from his chair, Colin asked, "The other guys there?"

	"Yes. They know what to do."

	"Pete will want to report to Michael when he's . . . done."

	"Yes. But first we must make certain that he's all right." He gave
Colin a quick peck on the lips. "I know what I'm talking about,
Colin. Please trust me on this."

	Colin returned The Phantom's kiss. "One day you'll tell me how you
know." He hugged The Phantom and started to walk down the corridor. "I can
stay if you like," he said, stopping.

	"No," replied The Phantom. "He needs to see only one."

	"All right."



******



	From somewhere deep within the house a clock began to chime the
hour. The Phantom stretched and yawned as the third deep tone faded
away. Then, from far down the corridor a door opened and Pete Sheppard
stepped into the carpeted passageway. The Phantom stood, and waited.

	Pete looked up and saw the young man. He hesitated, and then walked
purposefully toward The Phantom. Neither man said a word. The Phantom took
Pete by the arm and led him away, toward his own rooms. Neither of them saw
Michael step into a small alcove halfway down the corridor.



******



	The room fell silent as Alex, who had been waiting outside, entered
and nodded. The young men gathered in The Phantom's drawing room put away
the cards and sat quietly. Tyler and Val had told Andy and Kyle in the
strictest confidence what they might expect to see and hear. Harry, who had
been told the whole story of what had happened between The Phantom and
Little Big Man, and the aftermath by Cory, stood leaning his elbow on the
fireplace mantle. Alistair, who had pulled on his shorts and T-shirt, sat
to one side, wondering what would happen.

	The Phantom entered with Pete. He said nothing, nodding his head
slowly at the assembled knights and Alistair. When Pete had closed the door
behind him, The Phantom turned.

	"You have said that you are not one of us," he began slowly. "I
tell you now that for what you have done this night you are one of us." He
drew Pete close and placed his hands on either side of Pete's face. "I know
what you are going through. I share your pain. Accept my gift of thanks and
love." He leaned forward and before Pete could protest, The Phantom gently
kissed the man.

	  Todd came forward. "We know what you have done, and we know the
pain you must be feeling. Please believe me when I say that you are a man
of honour. I am pleased to know you. Please accept my gift of thanks and
love." He kissed Pete gently.

	Cory held out his hands, which Pete took in his. "You are very
brave, Mr. Sheppard," Cory whispered. He cast a quick glance toward The
Phantom. "You are my brother now and what you have done we will never
forget." He leaned forward slightly. "Please accept my gift of thanks and
love."

	Much to everyone's surprise Harry gave vent to his emotions. He
could only imagine what Pete had gone through to complete the service asked
of him. He was weeping quietly as he first enveloped Pete in a bear
hug. Harry did not know what to say except, "Please accept my gift of
thanks and love." His kiss was warm, a kiss only a brother could give to a
brother.

	Colin, then Tyler came forward, then Val, then Kyle. Andy looked at
Pete and nodded his head slowly. "I have seen war, as you have. I have
suffered pain, as I know you are suffering now," he said quietly. "In time
the pain will go away. The memory of what happened tonight will fade. What
will never fade is the love that you have given us, your brothers. You have
my thanks, and my love." He leaned and kissed Pete.

The Phantom looked at Alex Grinchsten and nodded slowly. Alex moved
forward, not quite believing what he knew Pete had done. "I stand before
you at attention, sir. Like you, I am not yet one of them, but I want you
to know I think of you as my brother. I always did. Please accept my gift
of thanks and love."

	Alistair came forward hesitatingly. "I am not of your brotherhood,
Captain. I am a mere servant of my master, but I am also your brother, if
you will allow me to be your brother. I cannot know your feelings. I cannot
know how you found the courage to do what you did. I can only ask that you
accept my gift of thanks and love."

Pete nodded, still in the thrall of what was happening. He accepted
Alistair's kiss and suddenly he felt a warmth that he had never known
course through his body. As he drew away, he looked into Alistair's
eyes. Suddenly he wanted to see those eyes forever.

	As Alistair moved away, Pete hung his head and he buried his face
in his hands. What was happening to him? He could not understand what he
had just felt. He raised his head, murmuring, "I don't know what to say,
what to do! How can I . . . I never understood before."

	"You do not have to say anything," offered The Phantom. "You can
remain silent. We are here, and we will stay here for as long as you need
us. You are our brother."

	Tyler, remembering how The Phantom had acted, asked softly, "Would
you like to shower? Change your clothes?"

	"A drink?" asked Val, moving toward the small table laden with
bottles and a bucket of ice.

	Pete drew himself erect and then shook his head, no. "I would like
to go to my room. I thank you for your gifts."

	Andy moved to step forward, looking enquiringly at The Phantom, who
shook his head. Each must deal with his demons in his own way.

	"As you wish," murmured The Phantom.

	Before he knew what was happening, Alistair stepped forward. "I
would like to accompany you," he said, his voice so soft that he could
barely be heard. "Please?"

	Pete looked into the Chinese youth's dark, pleading eyes. He could
not say no to those eyes. "I would like that," he murmured, his voice, his
eyes, his soul filled with an indescribable feeling of warmth and need and
. . . love.