Lee chapter 38
Jul. 14th, 2008 10:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeI had a terribly sad dream last night that I was Holden, and Bran had died, and I was trying to plan his funeral. My subconscious is so weird.
Lee had decided he really liked red hair.
It was bright, and attractive, and it looked warm, with little glimmering bits of gold and light in it. It probably, logically, wasn't actually any warmer to the touch than Lee's own hair, or Bran's or the master's when they brushed up against his skin, although Lee would like to test that hypothesis sometime, by touching someone's red hair. Running his fingers through it, for example, and touching his cheek to it, and his lips, and burying his face in it and pressing his lips to the scalp beneath.
He'd seen a lot of attractive red hair over the last three weeks, since Miss Valor had gone back to her apartment, taking-- to Lee's slight regret-- Inga with her. Not only had Denys Harper continued to check in, but Lord Taganov's interest didn't seem to have flagged; Jer and Yves had taken to referring to him as "Lee's gentleman caller." In addition, he usually brought Mona, whose hair wasn't so much red as chestnut, but whom Lee had decided was the prettiest as well as the nicest girl he'd ever known-- even prettier and nicer than Inga, whom Miss Valor had finally taken back to her apartment with her after a lot of tense negotiation, but who had seemed happy enough to go, in the end. Lee had been disappointed, though. He was still too much in awe of the mistress, and by extension Greta, to broach the subject of practicing some more girl-servicing on either of them, though he was thinking of asking Bran if it would be allowable to ask the master. Greta had beautiful red hair, too, and she looked soft, and sweet.
"What are you smiling about, Lee?" Mr. Harper suddenly asked, and the master looked down at Lee, who ducked his head against his master's leg, blushing so hard it hurt. The reporter had sounded friendly enough, but it was still disconcerting for Lee to realize he'd had an expression on his face that he hadn't been aware of. If he'd known anyone was watching him, he would have been more controlled. But his master had seemed absorbed in the thick sheaf of typewritten pages that Mr. Harper had handed him, and the reporter had seemed absorbed in watching his master read them.
Lee tried to formulate an answer to his master's guest's question before his silence assumed the proportions of defiance, but his master's hand stroked his hair, and the gentle voice said, "It's okay, kiddo. You're allowed to daydream. It's nice to see a smile on your face."
Lee kissed his master's knee in gratitude as the silence fell again, broken only by the rustling of paper.
"So this is it," his master said finally, setting the stack down on the couch beside him and looking up at the reporter.
Mr. Harper nodded, strands of hair-- a brighter, more orangey red than Lord Taganov's-- flopping over his furrowed forehead. He looked nervous.
"What do you think?" he asked the master. "I mean, obviously it's just a rough draft, and any changes you might want to make-- I'll leave it with you, and you can get it back to me whenever. But... just initially?"
"I'm not a literary critic," said the master. "But it looks pretty damn good to me."
The reporter blushed. Lee had noticed that red-haired people were cute when they blushed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," said the master, smiling. The master obviously thought the reporter was cute, too, which Lee guessed was okay, though it was sort of odd, too, seeing the master smile so affectionately at somebody other than Bran or Yves or Jer or the mistress. Or Lee. Not that the master didn't have the right to smile at anyone he wanted in any way he wanted, of course. "As a slave owner, I'd say that you turn what could have been an antagonistic, mud-slinging exposé into a surprisingly even-handed piece that covers a lot of ground. You come across as quite sympathetic to slave owners who do try to treat their slaves humanely, which strengthens your case against the abusers and appeals to potentially powerful allies, instead of alienating them by tarring all slave owners with the same brush. And as an ex-slave, I'd say..."
He paused, while Mr. Harper looked nervous again, then said, "I guess I'd say it's about fucking time somebody did this."
The reporter grinned happily. "Thanks, Mr. Larssen. I mean, Holden. That means a lot. Is Ms. Jamesen going to look at it too?"
"Of course," said the master. "And I want the slaves to take a look, too, though I don't think any of them will object to the way you've quoted them. Do you have a publisher already?"
"I have a few organs interested in seeing the finished product," Mr. Harper said. "Robin's photos should help with that, too. We can look at the ones you think would be best to include, when she gets here. But you've seen the first set of prints. Lots of human interest, there."
"Does 'human interest' translate as 'pretty naked boys'?" the master asked, and the reporter cackled.
"More or less," he said. "And high-society scandal. For both those reasons, this is going to be a big seller. Which brings us back to the question, Mr. Larssen-- Holden-- are you prepared to deal with the visibility from this?"
"Yes," said the master. "We've been doing a lot of... chatter, with our friends and acquaintances. There's going to be some fallout, no doubt, but we're pretty sure the benefits will outweigh the costs in the long run. We're starting a fight. Not fun, but sometimes you have to."
"Sometimes it's fun," said the reporter, with a small grin.
The master smiled back, but he sobered quickly.
"Listen, Denys," he said. "I need to ask you something."
The reporter assumed the same look of eager attention that Lee had seen on Bran's face when the master said his name. "Sir?"
"I need to know what you and Robin know," said the master, and the reporter frowned slightly, not as if he didn't like the question, but as if he were a little worried he wouldn't be able to answer it correctly. Lee could sympathize.
"Know about what, exactly?" the reporter asked.
"About the things I haven't told you," said the master, and the reporter nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Um, well, here's the thing. I don't know what you know. So I can't tell you everything we know, because I don't want to tell you something you don't already know, and don't necessarily need or even want to know, considering. You know?"
The master chuckled.
"Yeah," he said. "I know. Lee, kid, come here."
He drew Lee up into his lap, kissing him softly on the forehead. Lee let himself shiver a little, again, with pleasure.
"Good boy," said the master, and Lee smiled. "Do me a favor? Run find Bran, and tell him to come in here. He and I and Mr. Harper have some things to talk about."
Lee nearly giggled at the master preceding an order with Do me a favor, but he managed to contain himself as he rose obediently, murmuring, "Yes, master." He was rather pleased than not that the master hadn't instructed him to return with Bran; he liked sitting with his master and Mr. Harper, but Miss Robin was coming over sometime soon with some new prints, and he didn't really want to be sitting in on that part of the meeting. He hadn't seen Miss Robin since she yelled at him about ruining the first set of prints, and he was perfectly content with that state of affairs.
"Okay," the master said, as Lee started for the door, "let's start with some basics. A little over three years back, Alix and I bought and sold a kid named Jesse. You know anything about that?"
"Um," said Denys. "It might be generally known that you and Ms. Jamesen once had the bad judgment to sell to a known abolitionist, yes."
"People do talk," said the master, as Lee closed the door behind him.
Bran was in the kitchen, the way he always was lately, stirring something on the stove; Jer was sitting at the kitchen table, doing something with a pencil on a pad of paper. He turned it face down and smiled up at Lee as Lee came in; Lee smiled back.
"Hi, sweetheart," said Bran from the stove. "Need something?"
"The master wants you," said Lee. "In the filing room."
"Oh," said Bran, and hesitated, clearly and deeply torn between his master's will and whatever was on the stove, for about three seconds. Then he turned the stove down, covered the saucepan with a lid, and said to Jer, "Would you mind watching this for me?"
"I don't cook, kid," said Jer. "I can throw some water over it if it bursts into flame, but that's about it."
"That's all I need," said Bran, grinning. "It should be fine to just simmer for a while, but I think he might be annoyed if I left the stove unattended and ended up burning the house down."
"Only if you scorched your own dear little fingers in the process," said Jer. "Yeah, I'm on flame control. Go on."
Bran flashed Jer a brilliant smile and was gone, leaving Lee to hesitate shyly just inside the kitchen doorway.
"C'mere," said Jer, dragging a kitchen chair closer to himself with his foot, and Lee came to sit down in the chair, smiling up at Jer. "How's the boy detective?"
"The master liked what he wrote," Lee offered.
"Yeah? Good." Jer looked thoughtful. "Miss Robin's coming over pretty soon, huh? You sure you don't want to head up there and be with the master and Bran?"
"That's where she's going," Lee pointed out. "And if she tries to come in here first, you're here."
Jer smiled, a bigger smile than Lee had ever seen him give; he'd never seen Jer's teeth in a smile before. Usually it was just a curve of his lips. The teeth were surprisingly unalarming.
"Yeah, I'm here," he said, and reached out to take Lee's hand. "So you figure I can take Miss Robin out before she gets to you, huh?"
"Yes," said Lee, smiling shyly back at Jer. "I think so."
Jer squeezed Lee's hand, and Lee tentatively squeezed back, watching the older slave, who was looking at him in a way he couldn't quite parse, though it didn't frighten him at all. After a minute, Jer said, "Hey. Lee. Can I ask you something?"
"Yes," said Lee promptly, having learned that people in this house generally waited for answers to apparently rhetorical questions.
"Always wondered this," said Jer. "About Dunaev."
He paused, and Lee nodded encouragingly. He didn't mind answering questions about Lord Dunaev. Bran sometimes liked to talk about him, and Lee had found it was sort of nice to be able to say things about his former master while knowing Lord Dunaev was never going to be able to touch Lee again. Bran and the master had both promised that. They'd said he might see Lord Dunaev again, if what they called "the case" went "to trial"-- which seemed to have something to do with the law punishing Lord Dunaev for what he'd done to Lee, which Lee still couldn't quite wrap his head around-- but only if Lee was "up for it," so it wasn't any kind of immediate problem. And Lee knew that his master and Bran would both fight Lord Dunaev with their fists rather than than let him touch Lee again.
He thought Jer might, too.
Jer was still holding Lee's hand, and examining his face. Whatever he saw must have
satisfied him enough to go ahead.
"I know he-- punished you-- a lot," he said. "But was he ever happy with you? Did you ever-- please him? Or were you just his punching bag?"
Lee hesitated.
"I could obey him," he said finally. "I did-- mostly. But I displeased him-- other ways."
"Like what?" Jer asked, and Lee thought back, not realizing he was shivering until Jer squeezed his hand again and said, "You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to, kid."
"I don't mind," said Lee softly.
Jer tugged on Lee's hand, gently, and Lee moved obediently from his seat, not sure what was wanted, but willing to oblige. When Jer held out his arms, Lee couldn't help grinning broadly as he moved into Jer's lap, shifting his weight onto the muscular thighs as one of Jer's arms went around him, steadying him.
"You're still light as a damn feather," he said, and Lee giggled. "Lean on me. Yeah." He touched Lee's head as Lee nestled himself against the solid, muscular chest, so warm it was almost hot, and felt his shivering subside. "Good boy."
Somehow the words didn't startle Lee, coming from Jer. Jer was friends with the master, even though he was a slave. One of Lord Dunaev's friends used to like to hold him, away from the others, without using him for anything, until they started to yell at him about shitting or getting off the pot, and he'd called Lee a good boy, sometimes. He'd even asked about buying Lee, once, but Lord Dunaev had said no. Lee had been severely punished, later, for looking hopeful at the time.
"He never liked the look on my face," said Lee quietly, now. "That was the biggest thing. He-- he didn't like me to be scared. Or not to-- not to like him."
"Yeah," said Jer. "I know what you mean. They can't make you like them, though."
"No," Lee agreed. "Your mind is your own."
Jer chuckled. "Yeah, it is. So he didn't like you because you didn't like him. I kind of figured it was something like that. You and Bran are both crap at pretending to like people."
"I'm sorry," said Lee, slightly alarmed, but Jer said, "It's okay. I mean, it's okay now."
Lee relaxed. On reflection, if it was true of Bran too, then it probably was okay.
"Holden used to get in trouble for the same thing," said Jer, and Lee looked up at him, startled. "When we both belonged to my old master. Although that was different, because I think he could pretend. He was a decent actor, when he wanted to be. Just stubborn. Maybe somebody like Dunaev could have beaten him into it, but not Argounov. Argounov just fucked around with him. Holden sort of-- amused him. Like a cat with a mouse, you know."
Lee put his head back down on Jer's shoulder, thinking about this, and Jer squeezed him a little, affectionately.
"Bran and I aren't allowed to lie, any more," said Lee finally. "To-- the master, I mean."
"None of us are," said Jer. "That's his one big rule. Don't lie. Don't even-- pretend. Hell of a transition, for me. Not too bad of one for you, though, since you're no good at it anyway. Maybe that's why he likes you so much."
Lee smiled.
"That's funny," he said. "Pleasing your master by not being good at something."
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" said Jer, and Lee could tell he was smiling, too. "Or making him mad because you're too good at something. Like me."
"He got mad at you?" Lee asked, looking up into Jer's face. "What happened?"
Jer cupped Lee's chin, but before he could answer, a woman's voice from the doorway said, "Hey."
Lee looked up, and saw that it was Miss Robin, carrying a yellow binder. He hadn't recognized her voice, and she looked different, too; her hair was pulled back from her face, and she looked thinner, and not angry. He was so surprised that he kept looking at her until her eyes met his, when he dropped his gaze quickly.
"Miss," said Jer flatly. "My master is upstairs in the filing room."
"Okay," said Miss Robin, without moving. "Can I, uh, can I talk to you for a second?"
"As it please you, Miss," said Jer, and although his voice didn't sound the slightest bit welcoming, Miss Robin came further into the room and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, putting her binder down on the table. Lee pressed himself up against Jer's chest and buried his face in the hollow between Jer's shoulder and his neck, shivering a little, but not badly. Jer was warm and solid and strong, and he held Lee close, and Miss Robin didn't have the right to punish either of them. And anyway, she didn't seem to be in a punishing mood, just yet.
"I've been wanting to talk to you," said Miss Robin's voice from behind him.
"Miss?" said Jer coolly.
"You know," said Miss Robin. "For-- well-- what you yelled at me about, before. I haven't really gotten a chance to say-- I mean, I said I was sorry, but we haven't really... talked."
"As it please you, Miss," said Jer again.
"What I mean," said Miss Robin, sounding frustrated, "is, you're a slave, and you got really pissed off at me. And then Lee got really scared of me. I'm sorry I yelled at you that time, Lee," she added, and Lee looked up, surprised. "I didn't mean to scare you, honestly I didn't. I just-- and Mona didn't like me either. She sort of-- froze up-- every time I said anything. Same with Will, and Kit, and Kai and Sophie, and--" She looked, quite suddenly, close to tears. "Jer? I'm not-- I'm trying to do the right thing. I swear I am. I'm just-- I guess I'm not very good at it."
There was a pause, while Lee, still perched on Jer's lap, looked between Jer's deliberately blank face and Miss Robin's unhappy one.
"All that stuff you said," said Miss Robin eventually. "I read Denys' article. You were talking about-- all that stuff really happened, didn't it? To Greta, and Yves, and Bran, and you."
"Yes, Miss," said Jer. "All that stuff happened."
"And you all got through it," said Miss Robin. "And you got to-- a good place, for you. I get that. I mean, I do. But you're still slaves. Just because things worked out okay for you guys doesn't mean-- I mean, they didn't have to work out, you know? Things could have still gone to shit, for all of you. And even now, it's not like you've got any guarantee, that they won't still go to shit. I mean, you're slaves."
"If I might venture an opinion, Miss Robin," said Jer, "I'd suggest that it's not usually necessary to tell slaves that they're slaves. Odds are we know that. Maybe even better than you do."
Miss Robin went brick red and opened her mouth, then closed it.
"Okay," she said. "See, what I don't get is, you're a normal person. And you talk to me like a normal person, when you're not doing all that 'venture an opinion' and 'Miss Robin' crap. I don't know why you can't just call me Robin like I told you."
"Because I'm a slave, and you're a free citizen," Jer answered, "and all that 'venture an opinion' crap is part of being a slave, Miss Robin."
"See, and now you're mad at me," said Miss Robin. "And it's not that you get mad at people who ask questions and make you think about stuff, because everybody likes stupid Denys. You just-- and you yell at me, and Yves says complicated shit that sounds polite until I figure it out two days later, and Bran looks like he's about to fucking bite me if I get near Lee, and Greta doesn't think I'm good enough to date her daughter, and you're all-- you slaves-- you like people, and hate people, and get mad like normal people, it's not like you're-- brain-dead!"
"Did you notice that," said Jer.
"Yes," said Miss Robin, "and it makes it even more fucking crazy that you can-- live like this! How? How do you-- stay sane?"
"You deal with it," said Jer quietly, meeting her eyes. "You learn coping strategies. Like with anything."
"But it's not like with anything!" The photographer was leaning forward, her hands clenched in midair. "You belong to someone else! You've got no rights, no options, no future! And talking the way you do! 'If it please my master' and 'may I have permission to speak' and all that-- how do you-- live? Like that? I'd rather die!"
"Maybe," Jer answered calmly. "Some people would. Some people do. But you might be surprised, what you can get used to."
"That's even worse," said Miss Robin, in a small voice, and Jer's face seemed to soften slightly as he looked at her.
"Maybe," he said again. "But most people like living. Even as slaves. Even for just-- one more day."
Miss Robin looked at him, and then she said, "Is that what it's like for you?"
"It was, for a while," said Jer. "But--" His big palm ran down Lee's back, from the nape of his neck to his bottom, and then back up, before he said, "See, and that's why most people wouldn't rather die. Because sometimes, if you stick it out, things get-- better."
Before either of them broke the pause that followed, the kitchen door slammed open; Lee flinched instinctively back against Jer's chest, then saw his master in the doorway, staring from Robin to Lee and Jer and then back, the hands that had never touched Lee without gentleness knotted into fists that twitched as if hungry to strike.
"What the ever-living fuck are you doing, you maniac?" the master yelled as Miss Robin stood up quickly, and if Lee had ever idly wondered what his master looked and sounded like in anger, he now fervently regretted it. Even though the anger wasn't directed at him and he knew it, the rage in his master's face and voice activated every instinct Lee had to flatten himself belly down on the floor and beg for mercy. He curled harder against Jer, instead, hiding his face; Jer's arms tightened slightly around him. "Did I not specifically state that if I allowed you to come over to this house again, you were not to interact with Lee in any way, shape, or form? What's it going to take to get it through your impenetrable fucking skull that I mean what I say?"
"I'm sorry!" said Miss Robin, and she was scared too. Lee didn't blame her; the anger in Holden's voice sounded like a precursor to hitting, and so did that last question, and when Lee peeked up from Jer's shoulder, the master was more than one stride closer to Miss Robin, who had backed up a lot closer to the wall. Lee sat up further, watching. "I just-- I was just--"
"I don't give a shit what you were just!" the master roared, and took another step forward as Miss Robin took another step backward, her eyes widening.
Before he could think too much about what he was about to do, Lee was out of Jer's lap and on the floor, scrambling on his hands and knees to his master's feet, where he crouched down and pressed his forehead, hard, to his master's boot.
It was only a moment or two-- not long enough to get really scared-- before his master was on his knees, too, his hands gentle again on Lee's head and his back, and then his shoulders, pulling Lee up carefully to face him.
"What is it, Lee?" he asked, all the anger gone from his voice, and Lee, breathing deeply, smiled up into his master's face, which smiled back at him, surprised. "Lee?"
"I'm okay, master," Lee whispered, and cleared his throat. "Miss Robin wasn't scaring me. She was apologizing. She told Jer and me she was sorry."
"She's not even supposed to be around you, Lee," the master began, and then he got a very odd look on his face, and touched Lee's cheek with the backs of his fingers.
"Are you trying to protect Robin from me?" he asked, and when Lee nodded nervously, his master laughed and pulled him close. Lee nuzzled his master's shoulder, dizzy with relief.
"Not bad, kid," said Jer's voice. "Of course, since slaves don't have options, I guess you just did it on auto-pilot."
"Oh, shut up," said Miss Robin's, sounding exhausted.
"Don't you fucking dare tell him to shut up, you little shit," said the master, still holding Lee very gently. "I agreed to let you come over here again on one condition, and it couldn't have taken you more than about twenty seconds after walking in the door before you were blithely ignoring it. Get out of this house. Leave the pictures. We'll do business through Denys for the rest of this process. I don't want to see you again. Ever."
"Please, master," said Lee softly, looking up into his master's face; Holden looked back at him, listening. "She was just-- asking questions. Trying to understand-- us. She wants to help."
"Lee, sweetheart, that might be true, but I still can't trust her to be here," said the master, cupping Lee's cheek with one hand. "I was-- too careless, letting her come over again, not making sure to keep you out of her way. That was stupid of me. If anyone in this house gets hurt or scared or traumatized, it's on my watch-- and I don't like it when shit happens on my watch. And shit tends to happen around Miss Robin. You understand? It's easier for me, if she just... isn't here."
"Yes, master," said Lee, and gathered up his courage to add, "but, master, what's easier-- well, wouldn't it be easier-- not to do anything? Not to-- fight." He was thinking of the moment at which he'd decided, himself, that it wasn't worth fighting any more, or noticing what was done to him, and then of the name that had brought him back to himself in strong, careful arms, with lovely gray eyes fixed with compassion on his face: Bran. "Or try. Or do a news story. Or--" He took a breath. "Buy people-- like me."
His master stared at Lee for a very long time, while Lee, somehow still unafraid, studied his face, the lines in his forehead and cheeks, his dark eyes and darker eyelashes, the swept-back line of his dark, silvering hair. Then the master said, calmly, "What are you saying, kiddo? You want me to let her stay? Give her one more chance to behave?"
"If it please my master," said Lee.
"If I catch you bothering Lee again," said the master after another, shorter pause, looking up over Lee's head at Miss Robin, "I will eject you from the premises forcibly and headfirst, pausing only to secure any soft-hearted slave boys in the vicinity well out of the way."
"Got it," said Miss Robin, fairly meekly.
"Or bothering any other slave without me or Alix there, for that matter," Holden added. "Except Jer. You can talk to him. It'll do you good."
Jer snorted. "Oh, thanks, master!"
"I know you love to brawl, baby," said Holden, and started to get to his feet, drawing Lee up with him. "Anyway, Robin and I are heading upstairs right now for our scheduled discussion with Denys, to which she was supposed to come up in the first place instead of wandering around in search of slaves to terrorize. Did Bran mean to leave the stove turned on?"
"I'm on it," said Jer, holding out his arms to Lee, who, nudged gently in his direction by the master, hurried towards him and dropped back into his lap, suddenly feeling rather limp. Holden took Miss Robin by the upper arm as Jer, running a hand through Lee's hair, added, "Don't forget your binder-- Robin."
Lee had decided he really liked red hair.
It was bright, and attractive, and it looked warm, with little glimmering bits of gold and light in it. It probably, logically, wasn't actually any warmer to the touch than Lee's own hair, or Bran's or the master's when they brushed up against his skin, although Lee would like to test that hypothesis sometime, by touching someone's red hair. Running his fingers through it, for example, and touching his cheek to it, and his lips, and burying his face in it and pressing his lips to the scalp beneath.
He'd seen a lot of attractive red hair over the last three weeks, since Miss Valor had gone back to her apartment, taking-- to Lee's slight regret-- Inga with her. Not only had Denys Harper continued to check in, but Lord Taganov's interest didn't seem to have flagged; Jer and Yves had taken to referring to him as "Lee's gentleman caller." In addition, he usually brought Mona, whose hair wasn't so much red as chestnut, but whom Lee had decided was the prettiest as well as the nicest girl he'd ever known-- even prettier and nicer than Inga, whom Miss Valor had finally taken back to her apartment with her after a lot of tense negotiation, but who had seemed happy enough to go, in the end. Lee had been disappointed, though. He was still too much in awe of the mistress, and by extension Greta, to broach the subject of practicing some more girl-servicing on either of them, though he was thinking of asking Bran if it would be allowable to ask the master. Greta had beautiful red hair, too, and she looked soft, and sweet.
"What are you smiling about, Lee?" Mr. Harper suddenly asked, and the master looked down at Lee, who ducked his head against his master's leg, blushing so hard it hurt. The reporter had sounded friendly enough, but it was still disconcerting for Lee to realize he'd had an expression on his face that he hadn't been aware of. If he'd known anyone was watching him, he would have been more controlled. But his master had seemed absorbed in the thick sheaf of typewritten pages that Mr. Harper had handed him, and the reporter had seemed absorbed in watching his master read them.
Lee tried to formulate an answer to his master's guest's question before his silence assumed the proportions of defiance, but his master's hand stroked his hair, and the gentle voice said, "It's okay, kiddo. You're allowed to daydream. It's nice to see a smile on your face."
Lee kissed his master's knee in gratitude as the silence fell again, broken only by the rustling of paper.
"So this is it," his master said finally, setting the stack down on the couch beside him and looking up at the reporter.
Mr. Harper nodded, strands of hair-- a brighter, more orangey red than Lord Taganov's-- flopping over his furrowed forehead. He looked nervous.
"What do you think?" he asked the master. "I mean, obviously it's just a rough draft, and any changes you might want to make-- I'll leave it with you, and you can get it back to me whenever. But... just initially?"
"I'm not a literary critic," said the master. "But it looks pretty damn good to me."
The reporter blushed. Lee had noticed that red-haired people were cute when they blushed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," said the master, smiling. The master obviously thought the reporter was cute, too, which Lee guessed was okay, though it was sort of odd, too, seeing the master smile so affectionately at somebody other than Bran or Yves or Jer or the mistress. Or Lee. Not that the master didn't have the right to smile at anyone he wanted in any way he wanted, of course. "As a slave owner, I'd say that you turn what could have been an antagonistic, mud-slinging exposé into a surprisingly even-handed piece that covers a lot of ground. You come across as quite sympathetic to slave owners who do try to treat their slaves humanely, which strengthens your case against the abusers and appeals to potentially powerful allies, instead of alienating them by tarring all slave owners with the same brush. And as an ex-slave, I'd say..."
He paused, while Mr. Harper looked nervous again, then said, "I guess I'd say it's about fucking time somebody did this."
The reporter grinned happily. "Thanks, Mr. Larssen. I mean, Holden. That means a lot. Is Ms. Jamesen going to look at it too?"
"Of course," said the master. "And I want the slaves to take a look, too, though I don't think any of them will object to the way you've quoted them. Do you have a publisher already?"
"I have a few organs interested in seeing the finished product," Mr. Harper said. "Robin's photos should help with that, too. We can look at the ones you think would be best to include, when she gets here. But you've seen the first set of prints. Lots of human interest, there."
"Does 'human interest' translate as 'pretty naked boys'?" the master asked, and the reporter cackled.
"More or less," he said. "And high-society scandal. For both those reasons, this is going to be a big seller. Which brings us back to the question, Mr. Larssen-- Holden-- are you prepared to deal with the visibility from this?"
"Yes," said the master. "We've been doing a lot of... chatter, with our friends and acquaintances. There's going to be some fallout, no doubt, but we're pretty sure the benefits will outweigh the costs in the long run. We're starting a fight. Not fun, but sometimes you have to."
"Sometimes it's fun," said the reporter, with a small grin.
The master smiled back, but he sobered quickly.
"Listen, Denys," he said. "I need to ask you something."
The reporter assumed the same look of eager attention that Lee had seen on Bran's face when the master said his name. "Sir?"
"I need to know what you and Robin know," said the master, and the reporter frowned slightly, not as if he didn't like the question, but as if he were a little worried he wouldn't be able to answer it correctly. Lee could sympathize.
"Know about what, exactly?" the reporter asked.
"About the things I haven't told you," said the master, and the reporter nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Um, well, here's the thing. I don't know what you know. So I can't tell you everything we know, because I don't want to tell you something you don't already know, and don't necessarily need or even want to know, considering. You know?"
The master chuckled.
"Yeah," he said. "I know. Lee, kid, come here."
He drew Lee up into his lap, kissing him softly on the forehead. Lee let himself shiver a little, again, with pleasure.
"Good boy," said the master, and Lee smiled. "Do me a favor? Run find Bran, and tell him to come in here. He and I and Mr. Harper have some things to talk about."
Lee nearly giggled at the master preceding an order with Do me a favor, but he managed to contain himself as he rose obediently, murmuring, "Yes, master." He was rather pleased than not that the master hadn't instructed him to return with Bran; he liked sitting with his master and Mr. Harper, but Miss Robin was coming over sometime soon with some new prints, and he didn't really want to be sitting in on that part of the meeting. He hadn't seen Miss Robin since she yelled at him about ruining the first set of prints, and he was perfectly content with that state of affairs.
"Okay," the master said, as Lee started for the door, "let's start with some basics. A little over three years back, Alix and I bought and sold a kid named Jesse. You know anything about that?"
"Um," said Denys. "It might be generally known that you and Ms. Jamesen once had the bad judgment to sell to a known abolitionist, yes."
"People do talk," said the master, as Lee closed the door behind him.
Bran was in the kitchen, the way he always was lately, stirring something on the stove; Jer was sitting at the kitchen table, doing something with a pencil on a pad of paper. He turned it face down and smiled up at Lee as Lee came in; Lee smiled back.
"Hi, sweetheart," said Bran from the stove. "Need something?"
"The master wants you," said Lee. "In the filing room."
"Oh," said Bran, and hesitated, clearly and deeply torn between his master's will and whatever was on the stove, for about three seconds. Then he turned the stove down, covered the saucepan with a lid, and said to Jer, "Would you mind watching this for me?"
"I don't cook, kid," said Jer. "I can throw some water over it if it bursts into flame, but that's about it."
"That's all I need," said Bran, grinning. "It should be fine to just simmer for a while, but I think he might be annoyed if I left the stove unattended and ended up burning the house down."
"Only if you scorched your own dear little fingers in the process," said Jer. "Yeah, I'm on flame control. Go on."
Bran flashed Jer a brilliant smile and was gone, leaving Lee to hesitate shyly just inside the kitchen doorway.
"C'mere," said Jer, dragging a kitchen chair closer to himself with his foot, and Lee came to sit down in the chair, smiling up at Jer. "How's the boy detective?"
"The master liked what he wrote," Lee offered.
"Yeah? Good." Jer looked thoughtful. "Miss Robin's coming over pretty soon, huh? You sure you don't want to head up there and be with the master and Bran?"
"That's where she's going," Lee pointed out. "And if she tries to come in here first, you're here."
Jer smiled, a bigger smile than Lee had ever seen him give; he'd never seen Jer's teeth in a smile before. Usually it was just a curve of his lips. The teeth were surprisingly unalarming.
"Yeah, I'm here," he said, and reached out to take Lee's hand. "So you figure I can take Miss Robin out before she gets to you, huh?"
"Yes," said Lee, smiling shyly back at Jer. "I think so."
Jer squeezed Lee's hand, and Lee tentatively squeezed back, watching the older slave, who was looking at him in a way he couldn't quite parse, though it didn't frighten him at all. After a minute, Jer said, "Hey. Lee. Can I ask you something?"
"Yes," said Lee promptly, having learned that people in this house generally waited for answers to apparently rhetorical questions.
"Always wondered this," said Jer. "About Dunaev."
He paused, and Lee nodded encouragingly. He didn't mind answering questions about Lord Dunaev. Bran sometimes liked to talk about him, and Lee had found it was sort of nice to be able to say things about his former master while knowing Lord Dunaev was never going to be able to touch Lee again. Bran and the master had both promised that. They'd said he might see Lord Dunaev again, if what they called "the case" went "to trial"-- which seemed to have something to do with the law punishing Lord Dunaev for what he'd done to Lee, which Lee still couldn't quite wrap his head around-- but only if Lee was "up for it," so it wasn't any kind of immediate problem. And Lee knew that his master and Bran would both fight Lord Dunaev with their fists rather than than let him touch Lee again.
He thought Jer might, too.
Jer was still holding Lee's hand, and examining his face. Whatever he saw must have
satisfied him enough to go ahead.
"I know he-- punished you-- a lot," he said. "But was he ever happy with you? Did you ever-- please him? Or were you just his punching bag?"
Lee hesitated.
"I could obey him," he said finally. "I did-- mostly. But I displeased him-- other ways."
"Like what?" Jer asked, and Lee thought back, not realizing he was shivering until Jer squeezed his hand again and said, "You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to, kid."
"I don't mind," said Lee softly.
Jer tugged on Lee's hand, gently, and Lee moved obediently from his seat, not sure what was wanted, but willing to oblige. When Jer held out his arms, Lee couldn't help grinning broadly as he moved into Jer's lap, shifting his weight onto the muscular thighs as one of Jer's arms went around him, steadying him.
"You're still light as a damn feather," he said, and Lee giggled. "Lean on me. Yeah." He touched Lee's head as Lee nestled himself against the solid, muscular chest, so warm it was almost hot, and felt his shivering subside. "Good boy."
Somehow the words didn't startle Lee, coming from Jer. Jer was friends with the master, even though he was a slave. One of Lord Dunaev's friends used to like to hold him, away from the others, without using him for anything, until they started to yell at him about shitting or getting off the pot, and he'd called Lee a good boy, sometimes. He'd even asked about buying Lee, once, but Lord Dunaev had said no. Lee had been severely punished, later, for looking hopeful at the time.
"He never liked the look on my face," said Lee quietly, now. "That was the biggest thing. He-- he didn't like me to be scared. Or not to-- not to like him."
"Yeah," said Jer. "I know what you mean. They can't make you like them, though."
"No," Lee agreed. "Your mind is your own."
Jer chuckled. "Yeah, it is. So he didn't like you because you didn't like him. I kind of figured it was something like that. You and Bran are both crap at pretending to like people."
"I'm sorry," said Lee, slightly alarmed, but Jer said, "It's okay. I mean, it's okay now."
Lee relaxed. On reflection, if it was true of Bran too, then it probably was okay.
"Holden used to get in trouble for the same thing," said Jer, and Lee looked up at him, startled. "When we both belonged to my old master. Although that was different, because I think he could pretend. He was a decent actor, when he wanted to be. Just stubborn. Maybe somebody like Dunaev could have beaten him into it, but not Argounov. Argounov just fucked around with him. Holden sort of-- amused him. Like a cat with a mouse, you know."
Lee put his head back down on Jer's shoulder, thinking about this, and Jer squeezed him a little, affectionately.
"Bran and I aren't allowed to lie, any more," said Lee finally. "To-- the master, I mean."
"None of us are," said Jer. "That's his one big rule. Don't lie. Don't even-- pretend. Hell of a transition, for me. Not too bad of one for you, though, since you're no good at it anyway. Maybe that's why he likes you so much."
Lee smiled.
"That's funny," he said. "Pleasing your master by not being good at something."
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" said Jer, and Lee could tell he was smiling, too. "Or making him mad because you're too good at something. Like me."
"He got mad at you?" Lee asked, looking up into Jer's face. "What happened?"
Jer cupped Lee's chin, but before he could answer, a woman's voice from the doorway said, "Hey."
Lee looked up, and saw that it was Miss Robin, carrying a yellow binder. He hadn't recognized her voice, and she looked different, too; her hair was pulled back from her face, and she looked thinner, and not angry. He was so surprised that he kept looking at her until her eyes met his, when he dropped his gaze quickly.
"Miss," said Jer flatly. "My master is upstairs in the filing room."
"Okay," said Miss Robin, without moving. "Can I, uh, can I talk to you for a second?"
"As it please you, Miss," said Jer, and although his voice didn't sound the slightest bit welcoming, Miss Robin came further into the room and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, putting her binder down on the table. Lee pressed himself up against Jer's chest and buried his face in the hollow between Jer's shoulder and his neck, shivering a little, but not badly. Jer was warm and solid and strong, and he held Lee close, and Miss Robin didn't have the right to punish either of them. And anyway, she didn't seem to be in a punishing mood, just yet.
"I've been wanting to talk to you," said Miss Robin's voice from behind him.
"Miss?" said Jer coolly.
"You know," said Miss Robin. "For-- well-- what you yelled at me about, before. I haven't really gotten a chance to say-- I mean, I said I was sorry, but we haven't really... talked."
"As it please you, Miss," said Jer again.
"What I mean," said Miss Robin, sounding frustrated, "is, you're a slave, and you got really pissed off at me. And then Lee got really scared of me. I'm sorry I yelled at you that time, Lee," she added, and Lee looked up, surprised. "I didn't mean to scare you, honestly I didn't. I just-- and Mona didn't like me either. She sort of-- froze up-- every time I said anything. Same with Will, and Kit, and Kai and Sophie, and--" She looked, quite suddenly, close to tears. "Jer? I'm not-- I'm trying to do the right thing. I swear I am. I'm just-- I guess I'm not very good at it."
There was a pause, while Lee, still perched on Jer's lap, looked between Jer's deliberately blank face and Miss Robin's unhappy one.
"All that stuff you said," said Miss Robin eventually. "I read Denys' article. You were talking about-- all that stuff really happened, didn't it? To Greta, and Yves, and Bran, and you."
"Yes, Miss," said Jer. "All that stuff happened."
"And you all got through it," said Miss Robin. "And you got to-- a good place, for you. I get that. I mean, I do. But you're still slaves. Just because things worked out okay for you guys doesn't mean-- I mean, they didn't have to work out, you know? Things could have still gone to shit, for all of you. And even now, it's not like you've got any guarantee, that they won't still go to shit. I mean, you're slaves."
"If I might venture an opinion, Miss Robin," said Jer, "I'd suggest that it's not usually necessary to tell slaves that they're slaves. Odds are we know that. Maybe even better than you do."
Miss Robin went brick red and opened her mouth, then closed it.
"Okay," she said. "See, what I don't get is, you're a normal person. And you talk to me like a normal person, when you're not doing all that 'venture an opinion' and 'Miss Robin' crap. I don't know why you can't just call me Robin like I told you."
"Because I'm a slave, and you're a free citizen," Jer answered, "and all that 'venture an opinion' crap is part of being a slave, Miss Robin."
"See, and now you're mad at me," said Miss Robin. "And it's not that you get mad at people who ask questions and make you think about stuff, because everybody likes stupid Denys. You just-- and you yell at me, and Yves says complicated shit that sounds polite until I figure it out two days later, and Bran looks like he's about to fucking bite me if I get near Lee, and Greta doesn't think I'm good enough to date her daughter, and you're all-- you slaves-- you like people, and hate people, and get mad like normal people, it's not like you're-- brain-dead!"
"Did you notice that," said Jer.
"Yes," said Miss Robin, "and it makes it even more fucking crazy that you can-- live like this! How? How do you-- stay sane?"
"You deal with it," said Jer quietly, meeting her eyes. "You learn coping strategies. Like with anything."
"But it's not like with anything!" The photographer was leaning forward, her hands clenched in midair. "You belong to someone else! You've got no rights, no options, no future! And talking the way you do! 'If it please my master' and 'may I have permission to speak' and all that-- how do you-- live? Like that? I'd rather die!"
"Maybe," Jer answered calmly. "Some people would. Some people do. But you might be surprised, what you can get used to."
"That's even worse," said Miss Robin, in a small voice, and Jer's face seemed to soften slightly as he looked at her.
"Maybe," he said again. "But most people like living. Even as slaves. Even for just-- one more day."
Miss Robin looked at him, and then she said, "Is that what it's like for you?"
"It was, for a while," said Jer. "But--" His big palm ran down Lee's back, from the nape of his neck to his bottom, and then back up, before he said, "See, and that's why most people wouldn't rather die. Because sometimes, if you stick it out, things get-- better."
Before either of them broke the pause that followed, the kitchen door slammed open; Lee flinched instinctively back against Jer's chest, then saw his master in the doorway, staring from Robin to Lee and Jer and then back, the hands that had never touched Lee without gentleness knotted into fists that twitched as if hungry to strike.
"What the ever-living fuck are you doing, you maniac?" the master yelled as Miss Robin stood up quickly, and if Lee had ever idly wondered what his master looked and sounded like in anger, he now fervently regretted it. Even though the anger wasn't directed at him and he knew it, the rage in his master's face and voice activated every instinct Lee had to flatten himself belly down on the floor and beg for mercy. He curled harder against Jer, instead, hiding his face; Jer's arms tightened slightly around him. "Did I not specifically state that if I allowed you to come over to this house again, you were not to interact with Lee in any way, shape, or form? What's it going to take to get it through your impenetrable fucking skull that I mean what I say?"
"I'm sorry!" said Miss Robin, and she was scared too. Lee didn't blame her; the anger in Holden's voice sounded like a precursor to hitting, and so did that last question, and when Lee peeked up from Jer's shoulder, the master was more than one stride closer to Miss Robin, who had backed up a lot closer to the wall. Lee sat up further, watching. "I just-- I was just--"
"I don't give a shit what you were just!" the master roared, and took another step forward as Miss Robin took another step backward, her eyes widening.
Before he could think too much about what he was about to do, Lee was out of Jer's lap and on the floor, scrambling on his hands and knees to his master's feet, where he crouched down and pressed his forehead, hard, to his master's boot.
It was only a moment or two-- not long enough to get really scared-- before his master was on his knees, too, his hands gentle again on Lee's head and his back, and then his shoulders, pulling Lee up carefully to face him.
"What is it, Lee?" he asked, all the anger gone from his voice, and Lee, breathing deeply, smiled up into his master's face, which smiled back at him, surprised. "Lee?"
"I'm okay, master," Lee whispered, and cleared his throat. "Miss Robin wasn't scaring me. She was apologizing. She told Jer and me she was sorry."
"She's not even supposed to be around you, Lee," the master began, and then he got a very odd look on his face, and touched Lee's cheek with the backs of his fingers.
"Are you trying to protect Robin from me?" he asked, and when Lee nodded nervously, his master laughed and pulled him close. Lee nuzzled his master's shoulder, dizzy with relief.
"Not bad, kid," said Jer's voice. "Of course, since slaves don't have options, I guess you just did it on auto-pilot."
"Oh, shut up," said Miss Robin's, sounding exhausted.
"Don't you fucking dare tell him to shut up, you little shit," said the master, still holding Lee very gently. "I agreed to let you come over here again on one condition, and it couldn't have taken you more than about twenty seconds after walking in the door before you were blithely ignoring it. Get out of this house. Leave the pictures. We'll do business through Denys for the rest of this process. I don't want to see you again. Ever."
"Please, master," said Lee softly, looking up into his master's face; Holden looked back at him, listening. "She was just-- asking questions. Trying to understand-- us. She wants to help."
"Lee, sweetheart, that might be true, but I still can't trust her to be here," said the master, cupping Lee's cheek with one hand. "I was-- too careless, letting her come over again, not making sure to keep you out of her way. That was stupid of me. If anyone in this house gets hurt or scared or traumatized, it's on my watch-- and I don't like it when shit happens on my watch. And shit tends to happen around Miss Robin. You understand? It's easier for me, if she just... isn't here."
"Yes, master," said Lee, and gathered up his courage to add, "but, master, what's easier-- well, wouldn't it be easier-- not to do anything? Not to-- fight." He was thinking of the moment at which he'd decided, himself, that it wasn't worth fighting any more, or noticing what was done to him, and then of the name that had brought him back to himself in strong, careful arms, with lovely gray eyes fixed with compassion on his face: Bran. "Or try. Or do a news story. Or--" He took a breath. "Buy people-- like me."
His master stared at Lee for a very long time, while Lee, somehow still unafraid, studied his face, the lines in his forehead and cheeks, his dark eyes and darker eyelashes, the swept-back line of his dark, silvering hair. Then the master said, calmly, "What are you saying, kiddo? You want me to let her stay? Give her one more chance to behave?"
"If it please my master," said Lee.
"If I catch you bothering Lee again," said the master after another, shorter pause, looking up over Lee's head at Miss Robin, "I will eject you from the premises forcibly and headfirst, pausing only to secure any soft-hearted slave boys in the vicinity well out of the way."
"Got it," said Miss Robin, fairly meekly.
"Or bothering any other slave without me or Alix there, for that matter," Holden added. "Except Jer. You can talk to him. It'll do you good."
Jer snorted. "Oh, thanks, master!"
"I know you love to brawl, baby," said Holden, and started to get to his feet, drawing Lee up with him. "Anyway, Robin and I are heading upstairs right now for our scheduled discussion with Denys, to which she was supposed to come up in the first place instead of wandering around in search of slaves to terrorize. Did Bran mean to leave the stove turned on?"
"I'm on it," said Jer, holding out his arms to Lee, who, nudged gently in his direction by the master, hurried towards him and dropped back into his lap, suddenly feeling rather limp. Holden took Miss Robin by the upper arm as Jer, running a hand through Lee's hair, added, "Don't forget your binder-- Robin."
