Title: The Tower: Chapter Two, Part Two
***
Chapter Two, Part Two
Photo: Scott Phillips
Anton had to rush to make his appointment with Camille on
time, waking in a flurry with a mere twenty minutes to spare. He tidied himself
up as well as he could, but didn’t bother shaving—a bit of a beard would lend
credibility to his run-down illusion. He checked his holdall, making sure he
had all the necessary ingredients for constructing a death miasma in a morgue,
rather than in situ, and then bolted
for the front door of the dormitory.
He was stopped on the way out by Montgomery and two of his
pack of rowdies, who looked like they were just getting in after their night of
debauchery. “Seiber!” Montgomery cried out when he saw him, in a voice so
stentorian it was a wonder he didn’t wake the sun itself. “Come to join us at
last? A bit late, man, but for you—”
“I merely have some early morning errands to run,” Anton
said, smoothly sidestepping the drunken arm that threatened to descend around
his shoulders again. “And you fellows look like you’re more ready for your beds
than your cups.”
Montgomery waved his hand in a clumsy brushoff. “A proper
man should always be ready for both.”
“Then you will forgive me if I ask that you skip the one in
favor of the other. It is too early for drink now.”
“But not too late for bed.” Montgomery’s eyes gleamed briefly.
“Perhaps you could accompany me there instead.”
Anton’s mouth dropped open. He was—did he—good God, the
gentry could just get away with anything
couldn’t they? Including propositioning someone of their own gender with no
fear of repercussions or tarnished reputations, which was what Anton would
certainly face, at a minimum, if his preferences were found out. No modern
country had adopted the relaxed attitude of those long-gone Greek and Roman
philosophers, but it was clearly true that with enough money and influence,
anything could be forgiven or ignored.
“You’ve struck him dumb,” one of Montgomery’s friends—Anton didn’t
know this one’s name, but he had a round, florid face and wispy blond hair that
had mostly floated free of his queue. “Not everyone likes to drink from both
hands at once, Gerry, especially not the boring, serious ones like Seiber. You’d
have better luck tempting a monk into your bed!”
“I need a bath before bed,” the other one, Percy, said
mournfully as he examined the stained white lace at the edge of his cuffs. “I
think possibly there was something
nasty in that gutter.”
“Of course there was, it’s a gutter. They’re made to catch
filth.” The unnamed one began to laugh. “It caught you, didn’t it?”
“Best shut your mouth before I haul you out of here by your
ears and see how well the nearest gutter catches you, Harry!”
“Gentlemen.” Montgomery shook his head. “It’s both far too
early and far too late for arguing. Harry, haul Percy to the showers. I’ll be
along in a minute.” They disappeared down the hallway, and Montgomery turned
back to Anton. “Are you struck dumb with surprise, or disgust?” he asked in a
tone more honest and curious than any Anton had ever heard from him before.
Anton finally gathered himself together enough to shake his
head. “Neither, my lord. Just surprised, that’s all.”
Montgomery smiled. “Ah, now you pull out the ‘my lord’ like a dagger. Do you mean to
shame me?”
“Nothing I could ever say would shame you, I’m quite sure.”
For his pertness, Anton expected to be told off; he didn’t expect Montgomery to
move even closer, not yet touching him, but near enough to practically feel the
larger man’s body heat.
“Then why say it? Do you refuse me due to issues of class,
or out of pure disinterest? Are you a monk like Harry implies, or are you merely
a cautious man?”
“There is nothing ‘mere’ about caution when one doesn’t have
the protections of title and wealth,” Anton replied. The church bell began to
toll five-o-clock, and he realized if he didn’t leave now, he would be
inexcusably late. “Forgive me, but I must take my leave.”
“For your ‘errands.’”
“Precisely, my lord.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Montgomery
finally chuckled and shook his head. “You are brave, aren’t you? And stubborn,
I sense. I’ll not have my way with you easily, not like my other lads.”
“I venture to guess that you’ll likely not have your way
with me at all.”
“But not because you’re not the type.” When Anton paused,
Montgomery’s smile widened. “I knew it! I always know these things.”
“Go to bed, my lord,” Anton advised him, transferring his
heavy holdall to his other hand. “Alone. You’ll sleep better.” Then he turned
and briskly walked out into the cold pre-dawn air, doing his best to conceal
how he shook through darkness and distance. To think that that arrogant, indolent, unfairly gifted fool should be
able to order someone into his company, into his bed, for no other reason than that he was bored and he could… Anton had felt ready to hammer
his fist into the other man’s face, and it was only the clock that had saved
him from the indignity of getting his arse kicked, he was sure. It wasn’t even—to
imagine that he—
It wasn’t the taboo. Anton knew his preferences well enough
to be at peace with them, by now. He had only managed a few male lovers in his
relatively short life, but those liaisons had brought gratifying physical
satisfaction that no other romantic contemplations even came close to. If he
could have fallen in love with a woman enough to marry her, it would have been Caroline,
of course. She was beautiful, incredibly intelligent, and sincerely loved him
back. But it was not to be, and if it couldn’t be with her, it wouldn’t be with
any of the fairer sex.
As for desiring more experiences with men, well…most of the
time, Anton simply didn’t notice potential partners. He was a student, he was a
thaumaturge, and he had duties and responsibilities and far more pressing needs
than fulfilling the desires of the flesh. It took an exceptional man to gain
his interest, and the only exceptional man he’d noticed of late was Camille.
God, how he had wanted him, back on the train. What he would
have done for just another half-hour in the man’s company, alone, nothing to
hold them back. Everything he’d ever felt, experienced, practiced with another
lover, Anton would have brought to bear on Camille. Anything to give him
pleasure, Anton would have done, and gladly, eagerly. Not since his first kiss had he felt so out of control
with desire.
Just as well things had been…delayed, was perhaps the right
term. After months apart, Anton wasn’t entirely sure where they stood with each
other. The situation would only have been more complicated if he had already
slept with the lumière. Best to put it from his mind. He reached into his
pocket, clasped the first charm bag, and quietly spoke the incantation. He felt
it take effect, and smiled.
Camille was waiting for him outside the guesthouse when he
arrived, but not with anything like an air of distaste at Anton’s slight
tardiness. “Here.” He held out a crusty piece of bread, still warm from the
oven. “Have a bite to eat before we begin. I recall your spellcasting being a
bit more pleasant for you when you’ve had some sustenance.”
“Thank you.” Anton managed not to brush their fingers
together as he took the slice. The first bite was heavenly, and he closed his
eyes and savored it for a moment. When he opened them again, Camille appeared
to be studying him.
“Have you done something to yourself?”
Anton swallowed quickly. “What?”
“Have you…your gait, when you approached, was slower than
usual, almost with a hitch, as though you were fighting off a cramp or…has
someone laid hands on you since I saw you last?”
“Oh.” Anton blinked, then shook his head rapidly. “Oh, no,
not at all! I hadn’t realized I was doing that.” It made sense, though—he always
changed his mannerisms when he changed his form, a holdover from reckless games
of childhood hide and seek. “I’ve cast a glamour on myself to modify my
appearance, just a bit. I look older, so I am walking as though I am.”
“I see.” The edges of Camille’s moustache lifted. “It’s a
shame I can’t appreciate you in your newfound glory.”
“It feels rather nice for at least one person to see me as I
really am,” Anton confessed.
“Then I’m pleased to be that person for you. Now.” Camille
straightened up as Anton bolted down the rest of the bread. “We’ve a little
over two hours before sunrise, and four corpses to examine. Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Then follow me.”
Gladly, Anton
thought but dared not speak as he trailed Camille into the misty gloom of Zürich’s
darkened alleyways.
*hopes for sexytime with Camille and not sexual assault from Gerry*
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