The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (7 page)

“I was thinking,” Anaxantis said, as soon as their lips parted again, “to take a risk and ask Rullio to go investigate what is happening anyway.”

5
“Come in My Lord,” the high king greeted his visitor. “Please, take

a seat.”

The young man nodded curtly.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Most gracious,” he said, while sitting down in an armchair across from the king's.

He tugged at the left little finger of his glove.

“Does it still hurt?” Tenaxos asked.

The young man had obviously been wrapped up in thoughts of his own.

“Oh, no, not really, Sire,” he answered, as if waking from a day— dream. “I just kind of expect it to be there, and it isn't. I can't stop myself from checking once in a while.”

“I'm sorry,” the high king said, sincerely.

“It's nothing. I understand why it was necessary and Your Majesty has been more than generous compensating for it.”

“Make me a count instead of a baron, and you can cut off the right
one as well,”
the young man thought.

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Tenaxos scraped his throat.

“Yes. Splendid attitude. Most commendable, My Lord.”

“Who cares that you have been, and actually still are, a whore?

My youngest elevated farmers and horse breeders. How easy it is. Almost cheap. Letters patent and a plot of land will buy you a man.

Temporarily at least.”

“Any news of His Excellency, the ambassador of His Majesty Vartoligor XIII?” the high king asked.

Landar Parmingh, Baron of Davellon, curled his upper lip.

“The ambassador seems to have no inkling as to what is happening.

I made it a point to ask, in a very roundabout way, if he thought war was imminent. As far as I could discern that is not the case.”

The high king was both relieved and disappointed, but his face remained blank.

“If you don't mind me asking, My Lord, the whole endeavor seems to be distasteful to you. I would have thought, with your previous line of enterprise, that you would be more stoical about this. That you would be able to look at it as what it really is. Just business. Something that has to be done, and in this case something that has to be done in the interest of the realm.”

The young baron looked at the king with some surprise shining through in his eyes.

“Does he really want to know? Does he care? Or is it rather that
every scrap of information, no matter how insignificant it may seem
to be, can have its importance in his eyes?”

“It's just, Sire, that what you so aptly call my previous line of enterprise was actually nothing more than a lucrative hobby. It was me choosing them. I set the boundaries. Whatever generosity they showed 5
me, was at their own discretion. More or less. I know very well how it

looks — what in fact it was — but it felt entirely different.”

Annoyed, he felt himself flush. The king saw it and smiled.

“Don't be embarrassed, My Lord. I am a man of the world and I understand fully that sometimes our actions are dictated by circumstances, necessity or both.”

“If only it had been that,”
Landar thought.

Actually there had never been a pressing need for him to prostitute himself. For that, if the truth be known, was exactly what he had done.

His brother had taken care of him as well as he could. He had provided for him. Landar had never gone hungry, always wore clean, reasonably new clothes and he had always had a roof above his head. Tomar had been a good, responsible older brother. A father almost. He always had taken care of the necessities of life. But that had been it. His friends had more. Like spending money.

Quite by accident he had met this man in his late twenties. Landar had seen him gawking with that unmistakable look of longing. Taking the initiative he had walked up to him. He turned out to be rather nice, though he wasn't much of a looker. They had drunk a few beers and he saw how the man was trying to gather his courage to pop the all-important question. Landar had feigned not to notice and smiled teasingly, borderline mockingly. He had given the man almost a scare, when finally he had dared ask if Landar would sleep with him and he had immediately replied “Sure.” “Really?” the man had asked, astounded.

He had been skittish, and Landar hadn't been surprised that afterwards — barely twenty minutes later — he had asked that they leave the hired room separately. He had thrown a few coins on the nightstand saying, “That should be enough. Keep whatever change there is.

5
Thank you.” With that he had almost run out of the little room. Landar

had taken his time to get dressed.

Only later, when he saw that the coins the stranger had seemingly so negligently left to pay for the room were actually silver moltars, he understood that he had been paid for his services.

It was surprising how quickly he had gotten used to having money in his purse. What remained of the three moltars lasted for a few weeks, by the end of which he had started watching out for the man, hoping he would want another go. He hadn't seen him, but there had been others. More than enough others to be picky. As luck would have it he liked more mature guys, and they in their turn seemed to be attracted to his youth. He chose them carefully. He never went out of his aesthetic comfort zone and they had to be clean.

Until, one night he met this burly old fellow, richly dressed, reek— ing of some strong, sweet perfume. He was almost bald, but combed what remained of his hair from just above his left ear over his shining scalp. At least sixty, he guessed, wrongly. Actually Drevau Heemar was fifty-two years old. Landar immediately ruled him out as a possible contact, as he used to call his clients. Too old. Ugly. Seemed rough.

But he was amusing and very generous company. It hadn't been only the beer, though that had helped, but mainly the staggering amount Heemar was prepared to pay, just for a look.

“Just for a look?” he had asked, mildly surprised. The man had nodded. Landar had followed him to his lavish residence. In the richly decorated bedroom, Drevau had sat down on the enormous bed. On a little table he had piled five gold rioghals. As if he couldn't care less, Landar had taken all his clothes off. Surprisingly, he had found it more embarrassing than having sex with a complete stranger. He felt ap-praised as a piece of meat. Drevau had studied him, from head to toe, as if looking for blemishes.

“Turn around. Slowly, very slowly.”

5
He had done so, becoming ever more uncomfortable under the

hungry stare of the man.

“OK,” he had said finally.

“That's it?” Landar had asked, far less sure than he had wanted to sound.

“That's it. A deal is a deal. You can get dressed, take your money and leave. If you want.”

Landar had reached for his pants.

“Of course,” Drevau had drawled, taking another five gold pieces out of the purse lying beside him, “if you'd like to earn something more… But it's up to you.”

He had looked at the man.

“What… what would—”

“I want to touch you. There,” Drevau had interrupted him, pointing a fat finger, with thick black hairs, at his dick. “Just feel it. That, and your ass.”

He had held the gold coins before Landar's hesitating eyes, his face totally impassive as if he had no interest whatsoever in the outcome.

Landar had agreed. It was only sensible. He was already naked anyway, and Heemar was a man of his word. There was no pressure.

He had approached the side of the bed and let Drevau fondle his private parts, his face becoming red as his member rose under the surprisingly gentle ministrations. He had turned around when asked to, so Drevau could caress his ass with both hands. He tried to stand still when he felt one well-manicured finger gliding between his crack and softly pushing against his entrance, without entering it. His face became even more red when he felt a drop of precum dangling from the gland of his member. When he was asked to turn around again, the 6
man saw the liquid pearl. He smiled, putting one fat paw under

Landar's ballsack.

With his free hand Drevau had taken yet another five gold pieces out of the purse. This time he pouted his lips. Landar had nodded silently, mortified, but unable to resist the offer and let the man suck him until he came in his mouth. For the first time he had felt like a whore. Even more so when another twenty pieces made him lay down on his belly. To his relief he saw, while Drevau undressed, that he had a small penis for such a big man. He had groaned under his weight and almost yelled out in pain when he was penetrated, notwithstanding the diminutive size of the man's equipment and the fact that he had used liberal amounts of heavily scented oil.

He had borne it. Thirty-five gold pieces was a small fortune after all. What he almost hadn't been able to stand were the strange, sweet sounding words Drevau had insisted on whispering in his ear, spent but still impaling and crushing him. It was done with. Why couldn't the man stop? Why did he need to caress Landar with those big, fleshy, sweaty hands of his? Why did he insist on holding him in his arms when he had finally rolled off him? What did those almost plaintive words, spoken in a strange language, mean?

“I'd like to meet you again,” Drevau had said, in plain standard Palton, when they parted.

“I'm sure we will,” he had replied, feeling the weight of the coins in his pocket and smiling as if he had a toothache.

The next morning, upon leaving the house he had sensed that he was being followed. A few streets further down, three men, ordinarily dressed, had stopped him. They had identified themselves as Black Shields and had asked him to come with them. They had some questions they wanted to ask him.

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The high king's voice brought him back to the present.

“Are you under the impression that the ambassador is kept abreast of what happens in the seat of power of Lorsanthia?”

Landar didn't reply immediately.

“Drevau Heemar is not to be underestimated, Sire. Considering his, eh, amorous attitude toward myself, you might think he is a dot— ing, old fool, but I assure you, he is a very astute man. I can't be totally certain, but I think, were war imminent, he would take care to bring some prized possessions into safety. Those would include me. And yes, he must have reliable sources in the highest circles.”

He felt nervously at the stuffed little finger of his glove, where his pinky used to be. He winced. Sometimes, the remembrance of the instant they had hacked it off imposed itself upon his mind, without him being able to stop the gruesome images or the vivid recollection of the searing pain.

They had been very civil. They had interrogated him in a brightly lit room, somewhere deep in the royal castle. On the walls hung several implements that all had one thing in common. They were designed exclusively with the purpose of inflicting pain, of tearing the human body apart, piece by piece. He was the only one who had looked at them.

Almost from the first time they had believed him. He had no idea that his robust client was the ambassador to Ximerion of his Divine Majesty, the king of Lorsanthia. Yes, the name had sounded outland— ish, but, no, he hadn't made the connection. Yes, his brother was something or other in the Royal Administration, but he never talked about his work with Landar. Except that he sometimes muttered that he couldn't understand how the kingdom kept afloat with such morons running its administration. He never went into particulars, though.

6
They had repeated the sessions a few times with an interval of several days. Landar thought it was his youth, his open face and earnest eyes that had made the difference. And the fact that he had told the truth. To his immense relief, the instruments never left the wall.

He was kept in a small, but fairly comfortable room and was fed well. Daily he was allowed to walk for a while in some inner courtyard.

In the beginning he had asked when he would be released, if his brother knew what had become of him and about half a dozen other things that came to mind. The answers had been friendly but evasive. Nobody knew. Nobody knew anything about whatever he asked. They were almost apologetic about it. Before long he stopped asking questions altogether.

Then the court had moved to the southern border, to Fort Nira.

They had taken Landar with them.

“Sir Landar,” the high king interrupted his thoughts, unwittingly freeing him from the torturous images, “You will understand that I can't go into particulars. For several reasons, none of which imply in the least that I distrust you. That said, it is extremely important that you keep us informed of the slightest change in the ambassador's habits, the faintest change in his demeanor. Literally everything can have its importance. We're playing for high stakes.”

“The highest in fact. If this falls flat, I might even be reduced to
begging my own son for asylum.”

“I understand, Your Majesty. I could try, very subtly of course, to dig a little bit deeper. I could say I'm afraid for the future. That even us, lowly cook helps, fear that Your Majesty wouldn't be able to withstand an outright full attack by mighty Lorsanthia.”