The Maiden, chapter four
Jul. 3rd, 2009 03:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeOkay, I shuffled some stuff around and I think I found an organic chapter division. So, one long chapter (this one) followed by one short one (I'll post it in a minute).
Also, for all these words, the amount that actually happens storywise in this chapter and the next is very close to zero. Sorry, I don't know how that happened.
Sean sat down, after Kyle had gone back inside, and stared at the lake himself. It was quiet, and peaceful, and he liked the water; he hadn't seen any for a while, other than the communal showers at the center. It was nice to have a chance just to sit still and take stock of his new situation.
His impressions were mixed, so far. His new protectrix's behavior counted on the good side; she hadn't hurt him at all, even as a warning, and far from trying to frighten him, she'd been meticulous in reassuring him and setting him at his ease. He thought he could get along well enough with her.
But then there was Kyle, who Sean was pretty sure hated him, and that couldn't be good, especially since their protectrix so clearly favored him. Clearly the only sensible thing for both of them to do, to avoid punishment or exile, was to try to get along, but Sean wasn't sure Kyle was feeling sensible enough to realize this. He was jealous and angry-- understandably so, if he'd been trying all this time to father his protectrix' child and had finally been declared infertile and had a replacement brought in. Well, all Sean could do was try to be friendly and hope Kyle wouldn't decide to use his position to get Sean sent back to the center.
Sean tried to control his shudder of panic at the thought. Maybe, even if Rita did send him away, she'd at least send him somewhere less nightmarish than the center. There were places, for formerly favored men whose protectrixes no longer wanted to keep them, where the conditions were supposed to be better than in the centers for men who'd simply never been wanted by anyone. Rita seemed kind enough to send Sean to one of those better places, even if her sister Emily had definitely suggested Kyle be sent "back" to the center while Sean adjusted; Sean shuddered again at the idea. After all, Kyle had been living in luxury with a kind woman for two years; the contrast would be unbearable.
Emily might be another problem, but there wasn't much Sean could do except make sure his behavior was impeccable. And as for anything else-- well, Sean didn't really know about anything else yet. So that was that.
Sean wondered what time it was; squinting at the sun, he judged it to be late afternoon, too early for dinner and certainly too early for sleep. Maybe he should find the exercise room; it would probably do him good to work off some of his nervous energy.
He walked back towards the house, noticing that since he'd come out, another man had arrived and was doing something to the tall flowering bushes on either side of the front steps. Sean approached him with some trepidation; he was tall and broad-shouldered, with sun-bleached hair, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, and sandals. Sean hadn't been given any sandals.
The man looked up at his approach, showing very blue eyes in a suntanned face, and said, "Hey."
"Hey," said Sean nervously.
"You must be the new stud," the man said, shifting what Sean now saw were a pair of pruning shears from both hands to just his left. "Sean, right?"
Sean nodded.
"Drew," the other man said, and stuck out his hand to shake. Sean took it and tried to match Drew's grip for firmness; Drew let go without attempting to crush his fingers, and said, "Can I help you with anything?"
"Um," said Sean. "Actually, I was wondering here the, um, exercise room is."
"Oh, sure," said Drew. "I'll take you."
"You don't have to," said Sean, startled. "Just tell me where it is."
"It's okay," said Drew, setting down his shears. "Wouldn't mind getting inside for a minute. It's hot out here."
Sean followed Drew back into the cool of the house, looking at the back of his T-shirt. He wondered if the white of his own T-shirt meant anything significant-- maybe about his status as "stud." If it did, it might actually be one of Kyle's former shirts that he was wearing right now. That wasn't a nice thought.
Drew led the way down a couple of halls and a staircase along a route that Sean recognized as leading to the men's dormitory. The exercise room proved to be just one door down; it was well furnished with weights, a treadmill, a stationary bicycle, and a couple of other things Sean didn't recognize. There was also a shelf stacked with folded track suits and towels; on the floor were lined-up pairs of track shoes in varying sizes, with white socks tucked inside them. A laundry hamper stood next to them.
"So you don't have to work out in your jeans," said Drew helpfully, gesturing towards the shelf. "See if you can find one to fit. Some other guys might show up, but nobody's going to hassle you. Showers are through that door. Need anything else?"
Sean would have liked to say yes, just so Drew would hang around a little longer-- it was amazing how nice it was to talk to someone who didn't seem interested in either killing him or grabbing his junk-- but Drew had his work to get back to, and Sean didn't want to risk getting him in trouble and making an enemy of him, too.
"No," he said, and added, "Thanks."
"See you around, then," said Drew. "You sleeping with her tonight?"
Sean shook his head. "In the dorm. She, um-- yeah."
Drew raised his eyebrows, but just said, "See you tonight, then," and left.
Sean took down a tracksuit from the shelf, hoping that last remark hadn't been ominous. There'd been a dormitory at the center, too, and Sean hadn't gotten an uninterrupted night's sleep, until his quarantine, since he could remember. But he wasn't really too worried; if Rita didn't like her clothes dropped on the floor, she certainly wouldn't want her stud male raped or molested.
He undressed quickly, first dropping his clothes to the floor and then, on consideration, picking them back up and folding them neatly to stow on the shelf. The tracksuit he'd grabbed was a little too big, but he left it on anyway, put on socks, found a pair of shoes that fit pretty well, and headed for the treadmill; he wasn't going to risk lifting weights without someone to spot, especially since he hadn't had the chance for years and his arms were probably about as strong as cooked spaghetti at this point. But he could use a run; a little endorphin rush, a little healthy exhaustion.
He wasn't in great shape, but he kept at it for awhile, until the familiar runner's high from when he was a teenager and allowed to run on his dad's treadmill in the basement kicked in and he kept going until he was just about exhausted. Turning off the treadmill, he wobbled a little on his way to shed the tracksuit, dump it in the hamper, and get a towel for the shower.
The showers were pretty nice. The tiles on the floor weren't broken, and they were very clean; the showerheads were wide, and-- glory to Gaia-- there was hot water.
Although if Sean wasn't allowed to orgasm without Rita's permission for the foreseeable future, he might be better off with a cold shower.
He compromised with a water temperature that was warm but not hot, shifting it gradually as he luxuriated in the water's generous spray towards a temperature that was cool but not cold. Refreshed, he toweled off-- the towel was clean, big, and soft-- and went back out for his clothes.
There was another guy on the treadmill, who lifted a hand at Sean and said "Hey" without stopping his run.
"Hey," said Sean, trying belatedly to cover up with his towel. The guy-- tall, but a lot skinner than Drew, with black hair and thick black eyebrows-- gave him an endearingly crooked grin.
"You must be Sean," he said, a little breathlessly, still running. "I'm Jonas."
"Hey," said Sean again, grabbing his clothes off the shelf with one hand while he held the towel in place with the other, and retreated to the shower room to dress. There hadn't been much opportunity for modesty at the center, but that hadn't made Sean any more comfortable with being naked in front of other men, considering.
When he came out again, fully dressed, Jonas was still running. Sean paused, wondering if he should interrupt, and decided not to. As he walked past, Jonas said, "We eat in the kitchen. About six."
"Oh," said Sean, looking up for the first time at the clock on the wall, which stood at 4:49. "Okay. Thanks."
"Sure," said Jonas.
Sean tried to think of something else to say, but he couldn't, and Jonas was still running, so he eventually just left, planning to look for the library Rita had mentioned. He hadn't had a chance to sit down and read a book since high school.
Wandering around at random past closed doors he didn't have the nerve to open, he met several women, and paused each time to duck his head respectfully as they passed. He wished he could just ask one of them where the library was, but he wasn't stupid enough to speak to a strange woman who hadn't spoken to him first. One of the women, though, stopped when he did and looked at him curiously, scaring him a little; he deepened his head-bow into a slight crouch, of head and shoulders.
"Are you lost?" she asked.
He looked up, although he didn't have to look up very far; she was short, more a child than a woman really, with brown eyes that looked too big for her face and short, curly, unruly blonde hair that made her head look like a young dandelion. She wore a dress like Rita's and Emily's, but hers was a bright sky blue.
He shook his head. Safest not to speak out loud unless he had to.
"I won't hurt you," she said. "You're Sean."
Sean nodded again.
"I'm Carol," she said. "Do you need help finding anything?"
Sean hesitated.
"I don't mind helping you," she said. "Aunt Rita said to make you feel at home."
Aunt Rita? She was too old to be Emily's daughter, so Rita must have another sister, Carol's mother. He wondered if she was around, and which sister she resembled.
"I," he said hesitantly, "I was looking for-- the library."
"Oh, sure," she said. "Take a right at the end of this hall, and go down the stairs, and it's on the left."
"Thank you," said Sean humbly, and she smiled at him and went on past him, pausing to look back at him with interest as she did so.
Following her directions, Sean found the library, which was so gigantic that he was stunned; there were also several women in it, who looked at him curiously but didn't say anything to him. He wandered through labyrinthine corridors of shelves, scanning titles-- everything from science to history to power study to fiction to poetry to advanced mathematics-- not quite managing to pick anything out. But he lost himself so thoroughly in exploration of the possibilities that when he came out into a comfortable little reading area, with armchairs and sofas and soft lamps, and noticed the large clock in one corner, it was already after six.
He remembered the way to the kitchen, more or less; once he'd found his way there, he found that the square wooden table where he'd been fed earlier was spread with food and set with four place settings, three of which were occupied by Drew, Jonas, and another man, who were all already eating.
"Hey, Sean," said Drew. "Sit, eat. Nick, Sean."
Nick nodded, his mouth full of food; he had floppy, cowlicked red hair and freckles, and wore a blue T-shirt. Jonas' was black, like Drew's.
"What have you been up to?" Jonas asked as Sean sat down in front of the empty place setting.
"Um-- nothing," said Sean, reaching out to help himself to a spoonful of some sort of casserole involving chicken and cream sauce and vegetables. "Just wandering around. I met Carol," he added, when he couldn't think of anything else noteworthy to say.
"Watch out for that one," said Jonas. "You don't want to brush up against her while she's thinking about something exciting."
"Thanks for the tip," said Sean, serving himself some green beans. "Um, she was nice, though. She said, um, the magistra said to-- make me feel at home."
"Nice lady, the magistra," said Nick, a forkful of potatoes suspended halfway to his mouth. "Don't see much of her myself, but she runs a very pleasant household for a man to work in. Plenty to eat, plenty of sleep, plenty to do, and the last time I got bad hurt was three years ago-- and that was Emily's doing."
"Emily is evil," said Jonas fervently, and took a bite of chicken.
"She's not evil," said Drew. "She just hates men."
"Well," said Nick. "Hard to blame her, really."
"Not this again," said Jonas with his mouth full.
"What?" asked Sean, who was beginning to feel less nervous; these men had an easy cameraderie that invited confidence. He took a bite of casserole; it was good, flavorful and satisfyingly substantial.
Jonas rolled his eyes and swallowed. "Nick has a theory about Carol's father."
"It's not a theory," said Nick, insulted. "It's a fact."
"And you would know how, exactly?" Jonas asked. "I guess Emily confided in you one day when she was feeling vulnerable?"
Drew snorted, and Nick shook his head.
"Men talk," he said. "I know what I know."
"What do you know?" Sean asked, intrigued. Nick leaned in, obviously elated by his new audience.
"Carol's mother," he said, "their sister-- Emily's, and Rita's-- she was ten years older than Emily. Viviane, her name was. A great magistra, when Rita was just a girl. And Viviane had a man she thought just as much of as Rita thinks of Kyle-- no offense."
Sean nodded, not sure where the offense would come in, but interested in the story.
"Well, this man was Carol's father," said Nick. "But I've never quite caught his name. They don't talk about him. Because he killed Viviane."
Sean blinked. Jonas gave a cough that sounded a lot like "bullshit!"
Nick ignored him, gazing somberly at Sean. "In her sleep. Cut her throat with one of her own daggers. She woke up once he'd made the cut, and killed him right back-- froze him solid, stopped his heart-- but it was too late for her. They've never quite got the healing power down, have they? Even for themselves. Carol was just three years old."
"And nobody ever heard anything about a man killing a magistra," said Jonas, "because it wasn't considered newsworthy."
"Well, they hushed it up, of course," said Nick. "Didn't want to put any ideas in the men's heads."
"If it did happen," said Drew, "and any women got to know about it, men would be a damn sight worse off than we are now."
Nick nodded. "So maybe Rita had something to do with it, hushing it up. She's got a soft spot for us, you know."
"And why the hell would she like men so much if her sister had really gotten murdered by one?" Jonas demanded. "It might explain Emily, but if Rita's sister really got her throat cut by some guy she let sleep with her, you honestly think Kyle would be sleeping in her bed every night?"
"Rita was just fifteen when it happened," said Nick. "Emily was eighteen-- barely-- but she was the woman of the house. She might have kept it from Rita."
"Who also had the idea to hush it up," said Jonas. "Nick, this story makes less sense every time you tell it."
"I don't know why they did what they did," said Nick defensively. "But I know what happened."
"Sure you do, man," said Jonas. "So, Sean, speaking of Kyle, you have any idea where he is? We kind of figured he'd be eating with us tonight."
"I don't know," said Sean. "Um, well, she said she wouldn't need me again until in the morning, so I guess I'm-- sleeping in the dorm, tonight. I don't know about him."
"Huh," said Nick, sneaking an odd look at Drew, who didn't seem to see it. "Well. All right, then."
Nobody said anything after that. Sean ate hungrily, and finished nearly as quickly as the rest of them; when his plate was clear, Drew stood up, and Nick, Jonas, and Sean did the same. There was an automatic dishwasher in the kitchen, like the one in Sean's mom's house, and he followed the lead of the other men in rinsing his plate and flatware and placing them inside it. Nobody made a move to clear the serving dishes, and Sean decided not to say anything about it.
"Well," said Drew, when their places were cleared. "Who's up for shooting some hoops?"
"There's a court out back," Jonas told Sean, with his wide, crooked smile. "We're allowed."
"Nice," said Sean.
"Helps burn off our throat-slitting energy," said Drew.
They went back to the exercise room first-- Sean wasn't sure why until he saw them all kicking off their sandals and putting on pairs of the shoes provided by their protectrix. He followed their example-- minus taking off the sandals he didn't have-- and trailed behind them to the outside court, where they played two-a-side-- Nick and Drew against Jonas and Sean-- in companionable near-silence until it got too dark to see. Then Nick said, "Bedtime for working men" and they straggled back inside, still not saying much, to the men's dormitory.
Once there, the three other men all shed their clothes quickly and unselfconsciously, dropping them into another laundry hamper in the corner of the room. Nick and Jonas climbed, naked, into the same narrow bunk, and Sean's glance skated quickly away, looking for somewhere safe.
"We'll be quiet," Jonas called out.
"Fat chance," said Drew, and added to Sean, "You're not allowed."
Sean shook his head, heart pounding, hoping that would be enough. Drew's glance flicked unnervingly up and down Sean's still-clothed body, before he reached to flick off the light, leaving the room illuminated only by the moonlight from the window. Sean waited for Drew to climb into another bunk before he chose one for himself and slid into it with all his clothes still on, listening to the sounds of creaking, panting, and muffled groaning, Jonas and Nick, in the dark. Even so, and even with everything he had to worry about, the bed was so soft-- how long since he'd slept in a real bed? Two years, three?-- and he was so tired...
A hand on his shoulder woke him in a cold sweat, but full of energy, ready to try to fight-- it was amazing the difference a couple of square meals could make. There turned out not to be a fight, though; it was Kyle, and according to the light in the window, it was also morning.
"She wants you," Kyle said brusquely. "In her office. You need me to show you the way?"
"I can find it," said Sean, sitting up and rubbing sleep-gunk from his eyes; he was sore from unaccustomed exercise, and his hand hurt. "Should I shower first?"
"No," said Kyle. "She'll take care of that. You slept in your clothes?"
"Is that bad?"
"Seems uncomfortable," said Kyle, "but whatever. Go, don't keep her waiting."
"Kyle," said someone, and Kyle and Sean both looked up to see Drew, lifting his head from the pillow, his blue eyes squinty with sleep, his mouth curving with lazy pleasure. "There you are."
"Go," Kyle snapped at Sean, who got his feet on the floor as quickly as he could and scooted out the door, risking only one glance back; in that glance, Kyle had turned around to face Drew, not moving, still as a rabbit in headlights.
Also, for all these words, the amount that actually happens storywise in this chapter and the next is very close to zero. Sorry, I don't know how that happened.
Sean sat down, after Kyle had gone back inside, and stared at the lake himself. It was quiet, and peaceful, and he liked the water; he hadn't seen any for a while, other than the communal showers at the center. It was nice to have a chance just to sit still and take stock of his new situation.
His impressions were mixed, so far. His new protectrix's behavior counted on the good side; she hadn't hurt him at all, even as a warning, and far from trying to frighten him, she'd been meticulous in reassuring him and setting him at his ease. He thought he could get along well enough with her.
But then there was Kyle, who Sean was pretty sure hated him, and that couldn't be good, especially since their protectrix so clearly favored him. Clearly the only sensible thing for both of them to do, to avoid punishment or exile, was to try to get along, but Sean wasn't sure Kyle was feeling sensible enough to realize this. He was jealous and angry-- understandably so, if he'd been trying all this time to father his protectrix' child and had finally been declared infertile and had a replacement brought in. Well, all Sean could do was try to be friendly and hope Kyle wouldn't decide to use his position to get Sean sent back to the center.
Sean tried to control his shudder of panic at the thought. Maybe, even if Rita did send him away, she'd at least send him somewhere less nightmarish than the center. There were places, for formerly favored men whose protectrixes no longer wanted to keep them, where the conditions were supposed to be better than in the centers for men who'd simply never been wanted by anyone. Rita seemed kind enough to send Sean to one of those better places, even if her sister Emily had definitely suggested Kyle be sent "back" to the center while Sean adjusted; Sean shuddered again at the idea. After all, Kyle had been living in luxury with a kind woman for two years; the contrast would be unbearable.
Emily might be another problem, but there wasn't much Sean could do except make sure his behavior was impeccable. And as for anything else-- well, Sean didn't really know about anything else yet. So that was that.
Sean wondered what time it was; squinting at the sun, he judged it to be late afternoon, too early for dinner and certainly too early for sleep. Maybe he should find the exercise room; it would probably do him good to work off some of his nervous energy.
He walked back towards the house, noticing that since he'd come out, another man had arrived and was doing something to the tall flowering bushes on either side of the front steps. Sean approached him with some trepidation; he was tall and broad-shouldered, with sun-bleached hair, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, and sandals. Sean hadn't been given any sandals.
The man looked up at his approach, showing very blue eyes in a suntanned face, and said, "Hey."
"Hey," said Sean nervously.
"You must be the new stud," the man said, shifting what Sean now saw were a pair of pruning shears from both hands to just his left. "Sean, right?"
Sean nodded.
"Drew," the other man said, and stuck out his hand to shake. Sean took it and tried to match Drew's grip for firmness; Drew let go without attempting to crush his fingers, and said, "Can I help you with anything?"
"Um," said Sean. "Actually, I was wondering here the, um, exercise room is."
"Oh, sure," said Drew. "I'll take you."
"You don't have to," said Sean, startled. "Just tell me where it is."
"It's okay," said Drew, setting down his shears. "Wouldn't mind getting inside for a minute. It's hot out here."
Sean followed Drew back into the cool of the house, looking at the back of his T-shirt. He wondered if the white of his own T-shirt meant anything significant-- maybe about his status as "stud." If it did, it might actually be one of Kyle's former shirts that he was wearing right now. That wasn't a nice thought.
Drew led the way down a couple of halls and a staircase along a route that Sean recognized as leading to the men's dormitory. The exercise room proved to be just one door down; it was well furnished with weights, a treadmill, a stationary bicycle, and a couple of other things Sean didn't recognize. There was also a shelf stacked with folded track suits and towels; on the floor were lined-up pairs of track shoes in varying sizes, with white socks tucked inside them. A laundry hamper stood next to them.
"So you don't have to work out in your jeans," said Drew helpfully, gesturing towards the shelf. "See if you can find one to fit. Some other guys might show up, but nobody's going to hassle you. Showers are through that door. Need anything else?"
Sean would have liked to say yes, just so Drew would hang around a little longer-- it was amazing how nice it was to talk to someone who didn't seem interested in either killing him or grabbing his junk-- but Drew had his work to get back to, and Sean didn't want to risk getting him in trouble and making an enemy of him, too.
"No," he said, and added, "Thanks."
"See you around, then," said Drew. "You sleeping with her tonight?"
Sean shook his head. "In the dorm. She, um-- yeah."
Drew raised his eyebrows, but just said, "See you tonight, then," and left.
Sean took down a tracksuit from the shelf, hoping that last remark hadn't been ominous. There'd been a dormitory at the center, too, and Sean hadn't gotten an uninterrupted night's sleep, until his quarantine, since he could remember. But he wasn't really too worried; if Rita didn't like her clothes dropped on the floor, she certainly wouldn't want her stud male raped or molested.
He undressed quickly, first dropping his clothes to the floor and then, on consideration, picking them back up and folding them neatly to stow on the shelf. The tracksuit he'd grabbed was a little too big, but he left it on anyway, put on socks, found a pair of shoes that fit pretty well, and headed for the treadmill; he wasn't going to risk lifting weights without someone to spot, especially since he hadn't had the chance for years and his arms were probably about as strong as cooked spaghetti at this point. But he could use a run; a little endorphin rush, a little healthy exhaustion.
He wasn't in great shape, but he kept at it for awhile, until the familiar runner's high from when he was a teenager and allowed to run on his dad's treadmill in the basement kicked in and he kept going until he was just about exhausted. Turning off the treadmill, he wobbled a little on his way to shed the tracksuit, dump it in the hamper, and get a towel for the shower.
The showers were pretty nice. The tiles on the floor weren't broken, and they were very clean; the showerheads were wide, and-- glory to Gaia-- there was hot water.
Although if Sean wasn't allowed to orgasm without Rita's permission for the foreseeable future, he might be better off with a cold shower.
He compromised with a water temperature that was warm but not hot, shifting it gradually as he luxuriated in the water's generous spray towards a temperature that was cool but not cold. Refreshed, he toweled off-- the towel was clean, big, and soft-- and went back out for his clothes.
There was another guy on the treadmill, who lifted a hand at Sean and said "Hey" without stopping his run.
"Hey," said Sean, trying belatedly to cover up with his towel. The guy-- tall, but a lot skinner than Drew, with black hair and thick black eyebrows-- gave him an endearingly crooked grin.
"You must be Sean," he said, a little breathlessly, still running. "I'm Jonas."
"Hey," said Sean again, grabbing his clothes off the shelf with one hand while he held the towel in place with the other, and retreated to the shower room to dress. There hadn't been much opportunity for modesty at the center, but that hadn't made Sean any more comfortable with being naked in front of other men, considering.
When he came out again, fully dressed, Jonas was still running. Sean paused, wondering if he should interrupt, and decided not to. As he walked past, Jonas said, "We eat in the kitchen. About six."
"Oh," said Sean, looking up for the first time at the clock on the wall, which stood at 4:49. "Okay. Thanks."
"Sure," said Jonas.
Sean tried to think of something else to say, but he couldn't, and Jonas was still running, so he eventually just left, planning to look for the library Rita had mentioned. He hadn't had a chance to sit down and read a book since high school.
Wandering around at random past closed doors he didn't have the nerve to open, he met several women, and paused each time to duck his head respectfully as they passed. He wished he could just ask one of them where the library was, but he wasn't stupid enough to speak to a strange woman who hadn't spoken to him first. One of the women, though, stopped when he did and looked at him curiously, scaring him a little; he deepened his head-bow into a slight crouch, of head and shoulders.
"Are you lost?" she asked.
He looked up, although he didn't have to look up very far; she was short, more a child than a woman really, with brown eyes that looked too big for her face and short, curly, unruly blonde hair that made her head look like a young dandelion. She wore a dress like Rita's and Emily's, but hers was a bright sky blue.
He shook his head. Safest not to speak out loud unless he had to.
"I won't hurt you," she said. "You're Sean."
Sean nodded again.
"I'm Carol," she said. "Do you need help finding anything?"
Sean hesitated.
"I don't mind helping you," she said. "Aunt Rita said to make you feel at home."
Aunt Rita? She was too old to be Emily's daughter, so Rita must have another sister, Carol's mother. He wondered if she was around, and which sister she resembled.
"I," he said hesitantly, "I was looking for-- the library."
"Oh, sure," she said. "Take a right at the end of this hall, and go down the stairs, and it's on the left."
"Thank you," said Sean humbly, and she smiled at him and went on past him, pausing to look back at him with interest as she did so.
Following her directions, Sean found the library, which was so gigantic that he was stunned; there were also several women in it, who looked at him curiously but didn't say anything to him. He wandered through labyrinthine corridors of shelves, scanning titles-- everything from science to history to power study to fiction to poetry to advanced mathematics-- not quite managing to pick anything out. But he lost himself so thoroughly in exploration of the possibilities that when he came out into a comfortable little reading area, with armchairs and sofas and soft lamps, and noticed the large clock in one corner, it was already after six.
He remembered the way to the kitchen, more or less; once he'd found his way there, he found that the square wooden table where he'd been fed earlier was spread with food and set with four place settings, three of which were occupied by Drew, Jonas, and another man, who were all already eating.
"Hey, Sean," said Drew. "Sit, eat. Nick, Sean."
Nick nodded, his mouth full of food; he had floppy, cowlicked red hair and freckles, and wore a blue T-shirt. Jonas' was black, like Drew's.
"What have you been up to?" Jonas asked as Sean sat down in front of the empty place setting.
"Um-- nothing," said Sean, reaching out to help himself to a spoonful of some sort of casserole involving chicken and cream sauce and vegetables. "Just wandering around. I met Carol," he added, when he couldn't think of anything else noteworthy to say.
"Watch out for that one," said Jonas. "You don't want to brush up against her while she's thinking about something exciting."
"Thanks for the tip," said Sean, serving himself some green beans. "Um, she was nice, though. She said, um, the magistra said to-- make me feel at home."
"Nice lady, the magistra," said Nick, a forkful of potatoes suspended halfway to his mouth. "Don't see much of her myself, but she runs a very pleasant household for a man to work in. Plenty to eat, plenty of sleep, plenty to do, and the last time I got bad hurt was three years ago-- and that was Emily's doing."
"Emily is evil," said Jonas fervently, and took a bite of chicken.
"She's not evil," said Drew. "She just hates men."
"Well," said Nick. "Hard to blame her, really."
"Not this again," said Jonas with his mouth full.
"What?" asked Sean, who was beginning to feel less nervous; these men had an easy cameraderie that invited confidence. He took a bite of casserole; it was good, flavorful and satisfyingly substantial.
Jonas rolled his eyes and swallowed. "Nick has a theory about Carol's father."
"It's not a theory," said Nick, insulted. "It's a fact."
"And you would know how, exactly?" Jonas asked. "I guess Emily confided in you one day when she was feeling vulnerable?"
Drew snorted, and Nick shook his head.
"Men talk," he said. "I know what I know."
"What do you know?" Sean asked, intrigued. Nick leaned in, obviously elated by his new audience.
"Carol's mother," he said, "their sister-- Emily's, and Rita's-- she was ten years older than Emily. Viviane, her name was. A great magistra, when Rita was just a girl. And Viviane had a man she thought just as much of as Rita thinks of Kyle-- no offense."
Sean nodded, not sure where the offense would come in, but interested in the story.
"Well, this man was Carol's father," said Nick. "But I've never quite caught his name. They don't talk about him. Because he killed Viviane."
Sean blinked. Jonas gave a cough that sounded a lot like "bullshit!"
Nick ignored him, gazing somberly at Sean. "In her sleep. Cut her throat with one of her own daggers. She woke up once he'd made the cut, and killed him right back-- froze him solid, stopped his heart-- but it was too late for her. They've never quite got the healing power down, have they? Even for themselves. Carol was just three years old."
"And nobody ever heard anything about a man killing a magistra," said Jonas, "because it wasn't considered newsworthy."
"Well, they hushed it up, of course," said Nick. "Didn't want to put any ideas in the men's heads."
"If it did happen," said Drew, "and any women got to know about it, men would be a damn sight worse off than we are now."
Nick nodded. "So maybe Rita had something to do with it, hushing it up. She's got a soft spot for us, you know."
"And why the hell would she like men so much if her sister had really gotten murdered by one?" Jonas demanded. "It might explain Emily, but if Rita's sister really got her throat cut by some guy she let sleep with her, you honestly think Kyle would be sleeping in her bed every night?"
"Rita was just fifteen when it happened," said Nick. "Emily was eighteen-- barely-- but she was the woman of the house. She might have kept it from Rita."
"Who also had the idea to hush it up," said Jonas. "Nick, this story makes less sense every time you tell it."
"I don't know why they did what they did," said Nick defensively. "But I know what happened."
"Sure you do, man," said Jonas. "So, Sean, speaking of Kyle, you have any idea where he is? We kind of figured he'd be eating with us tonight."
"I don't know," said Sean. "Um, well, she said she wouldn't need me again until in the morning, so I guess I'm-- sleeping in the dorm, tonight. I don't know about him."
"Huh," said Nick, sneaking an odd look at Drew, who didn't seem to see it. "Well. All right, then."
Nobody said anything after that. Sean ate hungrily, and finished nearly as quickly as the rest of them; when his plate was clear, Drew stood up, and Nick, Jonas, and Sean did the same. There was an automatic dishwasher in the kitchen, like the one in Sean's mom's house, and he followed the lead of the other men in rinsing his plate and flatware and placing them inside it. Nobody made a move to clear the serving dishes, and Sean decided not to say anything about it.
"Well," said Drew, when their places were cleared. "Who's up for shooting some hoops?"
"There's a court out back," Jonas told Sean, with his wide, crooked smile. "We're allowed."
"Nice," said Sean.
"Helps burn off our throat-slitting energy," said Drew.
They went back to the exercise room first-- Sean wasn't sure why until he saw them all kicking off their sandals and putting on pairs of the shoes provided by their protectrix. He followed their example-- minus taking off the sandals he didn't have-- and trailed behind them to the outside court, where they played two-a-side-- Nick and Drew against Jonas and Sean-- in companionable near-silence until it got too dark to see. Then Nick said, "Bedtime for working men" and they straggled back inside, still not saying much, to the men's dormitory.
Once there, the three other men all shed their clothes quickly and unselfconsciously, dropping them into another laundry hamper in the corner of the room. Nick and Jonas climbed, naked, into the same narrow bunk, and Sean's glance skated quickly away, looking for somewhere safe.
"We'll be quiet," Jonas called out.
"Fat chance," said Drew, and added to Sean, "You're not allowed."
Sean shook his head, heart pounding, hoping that would be enough. Drew's glance flicked unnervingly up and down Sean's still-clothed body, before he reached to flick off the light, leaving the room illuminated only by the moonlight from the window. Sean waited for Drew to climb into another bunk before he chose one for himself and slid into it with all his clothes still on, listening to the sounds of creaking, panting, and muffled groaning, Jonas and Nick, in the dark. Even so, and even with everything he had to worry about, the bed was so soft-- how long since he'd slept in a real bed? Two years, three?-- and he was so tired...
A hand on his shoulder woke him in a cold sweat, but full of energy, ready to try to fight-- it was amazing the difference a couple of square meals could make. There turned out not to be a fight, though; it was Kyle, and according to the light in the window, it was also morning.
"She wants you," Kyle said brusquely. "In her office. You need me to show you the way?"
"I can find it," said Sean, sitting up and rubbing sleep-gunk from his eyes; he was sore from unaccustomed exercise, and his hand hurt. "Should I shower first?"
"No," said Kyle. "She'll take care of that. You slept in your clothes?"
"Is that bad?"
"Seems uncomfortable," said Kyle, "but whatever. Go, don't keep her waiting."
"Kyle," said someone, and Kyle and Sean both looked up to see Drew, lifting his head from the pillow, his blue eyes squinty with sleep, his mouth curving with lazy pleasure. "There you are."
"Go," Kyle snapped at Sean, who got his feet on the floor as quickly as he could and scooted out the door, risking only one glance back; in that glance, Kyle had turned around to face Drew, not moving, still as a rabbit in headlights.
