Sequel in progress, part two
Aug. 15th, 2007 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeOkay, I can't just leave that hanging. ;)
Part One
“Here,” said Holden, passing Bran back a clean white square of cloth. “Help him get his face cleaned up.” His voice was quiet and cool, with no trace of drunken slurring.
Bran slid over on the seat and carefully wiped at the sticky residue of blood and saliva that had run down Jesse’s chin.
“It’s okay,” he said softly as Jesse's eyes met his.
“It... is?” Jesse managed, staring at Bran's calmly friendly face and wondering at what point he had gone mad.
“Yes,” said Bran firmly. “Sorry about your teeth. It was the only thing we could think of to get you out of there.” He leaned in and touched the cut on Jesse’s lip with the soft cloth. “Master? Painkillers?”
Holden reached back again and dropped three small white pills into Bran’s outstretched hand, and Bran popped them between Jesse’s lips. Jesse swallowed automatically before Bran lifted a bottle to his lips, and he drank, the water metallic and strange from the blood in his mouth.
“I don’t understand,” he said flatly, with a lisp from the missing teeth that made him feel sick. “What do you mean, get me out?”
“Get you out, like you and Quen were planning to get out,” Bran explained patiently. “You had a plan, right? To meet at the place in the forest?”
Jesse snapped his mouth shut despite the pain, his throat suddenly dry. No one knew he and Quen had planned the escape together. And no one was supposed to know about the place in the forest– certainly no one who would talk about it in front of the slave breakers.
“Quen made it,” said Bran softly. “He’s alive, Jesse.”
Jesse blinked, feeling as if he had been struck in the chest with something large and heavy.
“Quen is dead,” he said as loudly as he could.
Bran shook his head.
“Presniakov lied,” he said. “Jesse, my master and mistress know the runaway people. They... help each other out." He gave a quick, crooked smile. "Quen got safely to Karl and Tara’s, but when you didn't show up on schedule, he got hysterical and wanted to go back, and they came to us to see what we could do. My master and mistress put out some feelers, but Presniakov wasn’t selling, and his security’s pretty airtight right now. As you probably know.” He nodded at Jesse’s face. “This was all we could come up with. I'm sorry.”
Jesse shook his head, his head spinning, knowing only that he couldn’t afford to believe the boy. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never heard of– a place in a forest.”
“It’s true, Jesse,” said Alix calmly from the front seat. “And we’re sorry it took so long– it must have been hell. But Quen said you were a survivor. Tougher than him, he said.”
Jesse opened his mouth, hearing with a clarity more like hallucination than memory the voice he had managed not to remember for ten days. It was one of the last conversations they had had.
“Jess– oh gods, Jess, look at your hands–"
“Quen, come on, don’t cry. I’m fine. It barely even hurt.”
“Liar. You were screaming.”
“If I don’t scream he just keeps going till I do, you know that.”
“Gods, Jesse, how can you take it? I can’t take it and I wasn’t even the one–"
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m tougher than you, ever think of that?”
Jesse set his jaw and made his face expressionless to look at Bran, who grinned, suddenly and irresistibly, and squeezed Jesse's shoulder.
“It’s okay if you don’t believe us,” he said. “You’ll see soon enough. We’re taking you home to him now.”
“He wanted to come with us,” said Holden gently, turning around to look at Jesse, “and be waiting in the car for you, but we managed to persuade him that coming back onto Presniakov's property would endanger not only him, but you as well. He loves you very much, I hope you know.”
“Of course he knows, idiot,” said Alix. “We know, and I somehow doubt Quen’s less effusive around Jesse than he is around us.”
“Shut up, you castrating bitch,” Holden slurred in the voice of the the aggressive brute who had knocked out Jesse's teeth. Jesse startled, and Holden turned back to him, grinning, as Alix shook her head at him. “Sorry. My dad was a mean drunk. It’s not often I have occasion to speak my first language, but it’s nice to keep my hand in.”
Jesse put a hand to his mouth as he stared at Holden, and the older man grimaced.
“I'm really sorry about that, kid. We’ll call the dentist when we get home–“ he held up the jar of white liquid– “and see if he can’t get them back in. If he can’t, we’ll figure something out.”
Jesse swallowed, turning back to Bran, whose smile was like sunlight. Tears began to trickle down his face as if he, or something inside him, were melting.
“It's all a bit much, yeah?” Bran said gently, offering the bloodstained white handkerchief. Jesse dried his tears and crumpled the bloody rag in his hand.
“I still don’t fucking believe you,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Bran repeated, squeezing his shoulder again. “We’re almost home.”
The door of the slave breakers’ house had hardly slammed behind them when a blur of blue-black hair and pure joy flew into Jesse's arms, nearly knocking him over.
“Quen,” Jesse whispered, feeling the familiar warmth and shape in his arms again, leaning on his lover to keep from falling.
Quen hugged Jesse until his ribs creaked, raining kisses on his face and hair. The floodgates of Jesse’s tears broke while Quen kissed every part of him that he could reach without letting go.
“Gods, Jess, they really did it, you're really here–“ Quen kissed Jesse's lips, then gasped and pulled back. “Oh, baby, your poor mouth--“
”It's okay,” said Jesse between sobs, trying to smile without displaying the toothless gap. “They say maybe they can fix it or– Baldur the beautiful, Quen, baby, I can’t believe you’re... I can’t–”
“I'll call the dentist now,” said Alix from behind him.
“Let me-- sit down,” Jesse begged quietly, and Quen guided him to the steps, helped him sit, and put his arms around Jesse’s neck.
Alix was at the telephone, dialing. Holden had his arm around Bran and was saying something in his ear while Bran watched Quen and Jesse. Quen was saying, “Jess, Jess, I'm so fucking sorry I left you behind, I've been going out of my mind, but you're okay, everything's--"
“Hi, Marjorie,” said Alix into the phone. “Alix Jamesen. Yes, please.” She turned and made a shushing gesture at Quen. “Hello, Dr. Lewis. Yes, I'm afraid I've got a bit of a situation on my hands. Two front teeth knocked completely out. Yes. No, no one you know-- a new acquisition. Yes, I'm afraid so. Yes. Yes. Do you think you can-- Oh, thank you, doctor. Yes, of course. I'll see you in half an hour then. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”
She hung up and turned back to Quen and Jesse. Jesse looked up at her, then at Holden.
“Thank you,” he heard Quen say. “Thank you so much.”
“Pshaw,” said Holden. “Thank Karl and Tara. They're the ones who dealt with those goddamn bloodhounds of Presniakov's. Alix and I just do the drawing-room work. Swilling cocktails, punching out innocent slave boys. Nothing to it.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” said Alix gently, as Quen kissed Jesse's neck.
“Master?” said Bran, turning to Holden with a small smile. “Do you think Jesse and Quen might like to be alone for a little while?”
“Of course,” said Holden, with a quick answering grin at Bran. “Quen, why don't you take Jesse upstairs? We'll come get him when the doctor is here.”
Jesse nodded; Quen was already tugging at his arm. He let himself be helped to his feet and led at a scramble up the stairs, across a wide landing, into a neat, smallish bedroom, and onto the bed, where he rolled, exhausted, into Quen's arms. The bed was wonderfully soft to his tired, tensed muscles, and he felt himself relaxing in Quen’s embrace. Quen smiled at him, stroking his face and pressing his body hard against Jesse's.
“Do we have time?” Jesse whispered as Quen's hand found his cock through the cloth of the light robe he wore-- still Presniakov's light blue slave livery, as he realized with a slight shock. He noticed for the first time that Quen was wearing neither blue nor the green Bran had been wearing, but a brown tunic that was slightly too big for him.
“By the Ash we'll make time,” Quen said softly, pushing folds of cloth out of the way as his mouth fastened to Jesse's neck. Jesse moaned, his body lifting to meet Quen's, crushed against his lover, dizzy now with more than the blow to his head.
Some little time later, a quick, soft, oddly paced knock came at the door. Jesse jumped and instinctively began straightening and smoothing his clothes, while Quen, slightly bloodstained in places, slid off the bed and opened the door. Jesse scrambled to his feet in time to see an unfamiliar man’s face peering in at him and Quen; his heart nearly stopped before Quen said, “It's okay, Jess. This is Yves. He belongs here.”
“Hi,” said Yves, stepping into the room and drawing the door closed behind him. He was a handsome man in his late thirties, with an intensely blue gaze that lingered with sympathetic amusement on the disarranged bed and the two disheveled boys. “Glad to see you two have been, uh, catching up.”
Quen grinned. Yves winked at him. “The dentist's here. Come with me, Jesse. Quen, you know the drill: lock the door and stay here till someone comes to get you.”
Quen sat up and pulled Jesse down for a quick kiss on his cheek, just shy of his cut mouth. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you,” Jesse whispered, tears starting in his eyes yet again, as if all the tears he hadn't cried for ten days were bound to come out in this one afternoon. He turned quickly and started for the door.
“Just remember,” said Yves quietly and quickly to him, his hand on the doorknob, “act scared and confused. Crying's fine, too, if you feel so moved. Don't talk. If he asks you a direct question, hesitate long enough for the master or mistress to jump in. And don't act surprised at anything they say.”
Jesse nodded, and Yves opened the door for him, took his arm and guided him out. Behind them, the door clicked shut, then locked.
“Dear me,” said the dentist. Jesse lay on his back on the high bed in what looked to be the master bedroom, his mouth propped wide open as the dentist examined him. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Almost an hour ago,” said Alix, and the realization that it had indeed been less than an hour since the moment that Holden's fist had come at him was so bizarrely funny, especially after what the dentist had dosed him with "for the pain," that Jesse had to hold his breath to keep from laughing.
“A most unfortunate accident,” the dentist said, using a pair of small pincers to fish one of Jesse's teeth out of the small dish of milk on the table at his elbow, “though, I hope, a repairable one.”
“It wasn't exactly an accident,” said Alix grimly. Jesse held very still as the dentist fitted the tooth back into the bloody socket with a mildly curious, “Oh?”
“Let's just say,” said Alix, “that Jesse's former master has a bit of a temper.”
“Oh,” said the dentist expressively, doing something to Jesse's gums with a sharp instrument.
“A bit of a temper is a bit of an understatement,” said Holden. “Presniakov looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, but once he got a few drinks in him--”
“Presniakov?” said the dentist. Jesse fought back a gag reflex, whether at the name or at the dentist's poking around in his mouth. “I seem to recall-- wasn't it Presniakov who-- of course, I only hear rumors, but wasn't there recently a case of a runaway--“
”Torn to pieces by hunting dogs?” Holden supplied. “That's no rumor. Presniakov confirmed it while we were there. With some relish, I might add.”
“How horrible,” said the dentist. “To boast about such a thing-- and in front of this poor lad, no doubt. Was the runaway a friend of his?”
“More than a friend, I think,” said Alix softly, and tears sprang to Jesse's eyes as the dentist dug into his gums with the sharp thing. “Apparently they were very close. And Presniakov kept goading Jesse, you know, making little comments about the other boy's death-- I shouldn't get into it with Jesse here. Really nasty stuff.”
The dentist made a tch-tch sound as he dug harder into Jesse's gums. Jesse whimpered in protest.
“There, there,” the dentist said to him soothingly. “That's a brave lad.” Jesse swallowed another whimper. “He seems docile enough.”
“I think he will be, with proper training,” said Holden. “You can hardly blame the poor kid. Here he is, his friend's been horribly killed, his master won't stop needling him about it-- I'd probably have mouthed off too, you know?”
“I take it Presniakov didn't see it that way,” said the dentist, as Jesse tried to breathe deeply.
“I don't believe he did,” Alix said dryly. “And I hadn't even planned to make an offer on the boy, but there he is, bleeding on the floor, Presniakov's clearly not the type to take time to nurse an injured slave back to health, and with the dog story-- well, I didn't see what else I could do.”
“Of course, of course,” said the dentist, putting something cold and metallic into Jesse's mouth. “I wouldn't expect you to do anything else, Ms. Jamesen.”
Alix chuckled. “I know, I'm a soft touch. But I'm a good businesswoman, too. Got the kid dirt cheap, and if those teeth survive I'll be able to make a pretty tidy profit.”
“I hope they will,” said the dentist, straightening, “but the only thing we can do at this point is wait and see. Leave this brace on at all times and don't let him eat any solid foods. Call me back in a week and I'll check the progress.” He chuckled. “That is, if you don't need to call me before then for a filling. Entirely too many sweet teeth in this house!”
“You know us too well,” Alix grinned. “Thank you so much, doctor. We'll see you in a week.”
When the doctor had taken his leave, Holden came to the bedside and put his arm around Alix. Jesse looked up at them dizzily, tasting the metal brace on his teeth, as Holden kissed his wife on the lips.
"It's a good thing," he said, "that he knows us so well."
“Much too well,” Alix agreed primly, adjusting her collar, “to put any stock in any cock-and-bull story Presniakov might try to put about to save face. Not that you'd have to know us particularly well to know any such story was nonsense. I think having met us once would suffice. I mean, really. You, getting drunk and taking a swing at a slave? While babbling about my proclivities towards younger men? Towards Bran, for heaven’s sake? I doubt anyone who's seen you anywhere near Bran would believe that.”
“That part,” said Holden, "is particularly implausible. And I must say that even if I could imagine myself throwing punches at pretty slave boys for imaginary inappropriate advances on you-- instead of making inappropriate advances on them myself-- I certainly couldn't imagine you just fluttering around ineffectually and letting it happen. You've always seemed like-- well, to be frank, I've always gotten the impression-- I could be wrong, of course, but I think you'd probably bitchslap me.”
"Till your head spun around, darling,” said Alix, laying her head on her husband's shoulder. “Really, Presniakov couldn't have come up with a more far-fetched story if he'd tried. Although-- on the other hand--I suppose it’s just the kind of story you’d expect him to come up with."
"That's the trouble with class prejudice," said Holden, shaking his head sadly. "Makes you so predictable, doesn't it?”
Jesse laughed suddenly, loudly, and Alix and Holden looked down at him, arms still twined around each other's waists.
“I think he's high,” said Holden, amused.
"And exhausted," said Alix. "It's been a long afternoon." She pulled away from Holden to touch Jesse's forehead. "Would you like to sleep for a while, dear?"
Jesse closed his eyes to consider whether to risk nodding or speaking.
"I'll send Quen in to sit with you," said Alix, but Jesse was already asleep.
Part Three
Part One
“Here,” said Holden, passing Bran back a clean white square of cloth. “Help him get his face cleaned up.” His voice was quiet and cool, with no trace of drunken slurring.
Bran slid over on the seat and carefully wiped at the sticky residue of blood and saliva that had run down Jesse’s chin.
“It’s okay,” he said softly as Jesse's eyes met his.
“It... is?” Jesse managed, staring at Bran's calmly friendly face and wondering at what point he had gone mad.
“Yes,” said Bran firmly. “Sorry about your teeth. It was the only thing we could think of to get you out of there.” He leaned in and touched the cut on Jesse’s lip with the soft cloth. “Master? Painkillers?”
Holden reached back again and dropped three small white pills into Bran’s outstretched hand, and Bran popped them between Jesse’s lips. Jesse swallowed automatically before Bran lifted a bottle to his lips, and he drank, the water metallic and strange from the blood in his mouth.
“I don’t understand,” he said flatly, with a lisp from the missing teeth that made him feel sick. “What do you mean, get me out?”
“Get you out, like you and Quen were planning to get out,” Bran explained patiently. “You had a plan, right? To meet at the place in the forest?”
Jesse snapped his mouth shut despite the pain, his throat suddenly dry. No one knew he and Quen had planned the escape together. And no one was supposed to know about the place in the forest– certainly no one who would talk about it in front of the slave breakers.
“Quen made it,” said Bran softly. “He’s alive, Jesse.”
Jesse blinked, feeling as if he had been struck in the chest with something large and heavy.
“Quen is dead,” he said as loudly as he could.
Bran shook his head.
“Presniakov lied,” he said. “Jesse, my master and mistress know the runaway people. They... help each other out." He gave a quick, crooked smile. "Quen got safely to Karl and Tara’s, but when you didn't show up on schedule, he got hysterical and wanted to go back, and they came to us to see what we could do. My master and mistress put out some feelers, but Presniakov wasn’t selling, and his security’s pretty airtight right now. As you probably know.” He nodded at Jesse’s face. “This was all we could come up with. I'm sorry.”
Jesse shook his head, his head spinning, knowing only that he couldn’t afford to believe the boy. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never heard of– a place in a forest.”
“It’s true, Jesse,” said Alix calmly from the front seat. “And we’re sorry it took so long– it must have been hell. But Quen said you were a survivor. Tougher than him, he said.”
Jesse opened his mouth, hearing with a clarity more like hallucination than memory the voice he had managed not to remember for ten days. It was one of the last conversations they had had.
“Jess– oh gods, Jess, look at your hands–"
“Quen, come on, don’t cry. I’m fine. It barely even hurt.”
“Liar. You were screaming.”
“If I don’t scream he just keeps going till I do, you know that.”
“Gods, Jesse, how can you take it? I can’t take it and I wasn’t even the one–"
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m tougher than you, ever think of that?”
Jesse set his jaw and made his face expressionless to look at Bran, who grinned, suddenly and irresistibly, and squeezed Jesse's shoulder.
“It’s okay if you don’t believe us,” he said. “You’ll see soon enough. We’re taking you home to him now.”
“He wanted to come with us,” said Holden gently, turning around to look at Jesse, “and be waiting in the car for you, but we managed to persuade him that coming back onto Presniakov's property would endanger not only him, but you as well. He loves you very much, I hope you know.”
“Of course he knows, idiot,” said Alix. “We know, and I somehow doubt Quen’s less effusive around Jesse than he is around us.”
“Shut up, you castrating bitch,” Holden slurred in the voice of the the aggressive brute who had knocked out Jesse's teeth. Jesse startled, and Holden turned back to him, grinning, as Alix shook her head at him. “Sorry. My dad was a mean drunk. It’s not often I have occasion to speak my first language, but it’s nice to keep my hand in.”
Jesse put a hand to his mouth as he stared at Holden, and the older man grimaced.
“I'm really sorry about that, kid. We’ll call the dentist when we get home–“ he held up the jar of white liquid– “and see if he can’t get them back in. If he can’t, we’ll figure something out.”
Jesse swallowed, turning back to Bran, whose smile was like sunlight. Tears began to trickle down his face as if he, or something inside him, were melting.
“It's all a bit much, yeah?” Bran said gently, offering the bloodstained white handkerchief. Jesse dried his tears and crumpled the bloody rag in his hand.
“I still don’t fucking believe you,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Bran repeated, squeezing his shoulder again. “We’re almost home.”
The door of the slave breakers’ house had hardly slammed behind them when a blur of blue-black hair and pure joy flew into Jesse's arms, nearly knocking him over.
“Quen,” Jesse whispered, feeling the familiar warmth and shape in his arms again, leaning on his lover to keep from falling.
Quen hugged Jesse until his ribs creaked, raining kisses on his face and hair. The floodgates of Jesse’s tears broke while Quen kissed every part of him that he could reach without letting go.
“Gods, Jess, they really did it, you're really here–“ Quen kissed Jesse's lips, then gasped and pulled back. “Oh, baby, your poor mouth--“
”It's okay,” said Jesse between sobs, trying to smile without displaying the toothless gap. “They say maybe they can fix it or– Baldur the beautiful, Quen, baby, I can’t believe you’re... I can’t–”
“I'll call the dentist now,” said Alix from behind him.
“Let me-- sit down,” Jesse begged quietly, and Quen guided him to the steps, helped him sit, and put his arms around Jesse’s neck.
Alix was at the telephone, dialing. Holden had his arm around Bran and was saying something in his ear while Bran watched Quen and Jesse. Quen was saying, “Jess, Jess, I'm so fucking sorry I left you behind, I've been going out of my mind, but you're okay, everything's--"
“Hi, Marjorie,” said Alix into the phone. “Alix Jamesen. Yes, please.” She turned and made a shushing gesture at Quen. “Hello, Dr. Lewis. Yes, I'm afraid I've got a bit of a situation on my hands. Two front teeth knocked completely out. Yes. No, no one you know-- a new acquisition. Yes, I'm afraid so. Yes. Yes. Do you think you can-- Oh, thank you, doctor. Yes, of course. I'll see you in half an hour then. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”
She hung up and turned back to Quen and Jesse. Jesse looked up at her, then at Holden.
“Thank you,” he heard Quen say. “Thank you so much.”
“Pshaw,” said Holden. “Thank Karl and Tara. They're the ones who dealt with those goddamn bloodhounds of Presniakov's. Alix and I just do the drawing-room work. Swilling cocktails, punching out innocent slave boys. Nothing to it.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” said Alix gently, as Quen kissed Jesse's neck.
“Master?” said Bran, turning to Holden with a small smile. “Do you think Jesse and Quen might like to be alone for a little while?”
“Of course,” said Holden, with a quick answering grin at Bran. “Quen, why don't you take Jesse upstairs? We'll come get him when the doctor is here.”
Jesse nodded; Quen was already tugging at his arm. He let himself be helped to his feet and led at a scramble up the stairs, across a wide landing, into a neat, smallish bedroom, and onto the bed, where he rolled, exhausted, into Quen's arms. The bed was wonderfully soft to his tired, tensed muscles, and he felt himself relaxing in Quen’s embrace. Quen smiled at him, stroking his face and pressing his body hard against Jesse's.
“Do we have time?” Jesse whispered as Quen's hand found his cock through the cloth of the light robe he wore-- still Presniakov's light blue slave livery, as he realized with a slight shock. He noticed for the first time that Quen was wearing neither blue nor the green Bran had been wearing, but a brown tunic that was slightly too big for him.
“By the Ash we'll make time,” Quen said softly, pushing folds of cloth out of the way as his mouth fastened to Jesse's neck. Jesse moaned, his body lifting to meet Quen's, crushed against his lover, dizzy now with more than the blow to his head.
Some little time later, a quick, soft, oddly paced knock came at the door. Jesse jumped and instinctively began straightening and smoothing his clothes, while Quen, slightly bloodstained in places, slid off the bed and opened the door. Jesse scrambled to his feet in time to see an unfamiliar man’s face peering in at him and Quen; his heart nearly stopped before Quen said, “It's okay, Jess. This is Yves. He belongs here.”
“Hi,” said Yves, stepping into the room and drawing the door closed behind him. He was a handsome man in his late thirties, with an intensely blue gaze that lingered with sympathetic amusement on the disarranged bed and the two disheveled boys. “Glad to see you two have been, uh, catching up.”
Quen grinned. Yves winked at him. “The dentist's here. Come with me, Jesse. Quen, you know the drill: lock the door and stay here till someone comes to get you.”
Quen sat up and pulled Jesse down for a quick kiss on his cheek, just shy of his cut mouth. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you,” Jesse whispered, tears starting in his eyes yet again, as if all the tears he hadn't cried for ten days were bound to come out in this one afternoon. He turned quickly and started for the door.
“Just remember,” said Yves quietly and quickly to him, his hand on the doorknob, “act scared and confused. Crying's fine, too, if you feel so moved. Don't talk. If he asks you a direct question, hesitate long enough for the master or mistress to jump in. And don't act surprised at anything they say.”
Jesse nodded, and Yves opened the door for him, took his arm and guided him out. Behind them, the door clicked shut, then locked.
“Dear me,” said the dentist. Jesse lay on his back on the high bed in what looked to be the master bedroom, his mouth propped wide open as the dentist examined him. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Almost an hour ago,” said Alix, and the realization that it had indeed been less than an hour since the moment that Holden's fist had come at him was so bizarrely funny, especially after what the dentist had dosed him with "for the pain," that Jesse had to hold his breath to keep from laughing.
“A most unfortunate accident,” the dentist said, using a pair of small pincers to fish one of Jesse's teeth out of the small dish of milk on the table at his elbow, “though, I hope, a repairable one.”
“It wasn't exactly an accident,” said Alix grimly. Jesse held very still as the dentist fitted the tooth back into the bloody socket with a mildly curious, “Oh?”
“Let's just say,” said Alix, “that Jesse's former master has a bit of a temper.”
“Oh,” said the dentist expressively, doing something to Jesse's gums with a sharp instrument.
“A bit of a temper is a bit of an understatement,” said Holden. “Presniakov looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, but once he got a few drinks in him--”
“Presniakov?” said the dentist. Jesse fought back a gag reflex, whether at the name or at the dentist's poking around in his mouth. “I seem to recall-- wasn't it Presniakov who-- of course, I only hear rumors, but wasn't there recently a case of a runaway--“
”Torn to pieces by hunting dogs?” Holden supplied. “That's no rumor. Presniakov confirmed it while we were there. With some relish, I might add.”
“How horrible,” said the dentist. “To boast about such a thing-- and in front of this poor lad, no doubt. Was the runaway a friend of his?”
“More than a friend, I think,” said Alix softly, and tears sprang to Jesse's eyes as the dentist dug into his gums with the sharp thing. “Apparently they were very close. And Presniakov kept goading Jesse, you know, making little comments about the other boy's death-- I shouldn't get into it with Jesse here. Really nasty stuff.”
The dentist made a tch-tch sound as he dug harder into Jesse's gums. Jesse whimpered in protest.
“There, there,” the dentist said to him soothingly. “That's a brave lad.” Jesse swallowed another whimper. “He seems docile enough.”
“I think he will be, with proper training,” said Holden. “You can hardly blame the poor kid. Here he is, his friend's been horribly killed, his master won't stop needling him about it-- I'd probably have mouthed off too, you know?”
“I take it Presniakov didn't see it that way,” said the dentist, as Jesse tried to breathe deeply.
“I don't believe he did,” Alix said dryly. “And I hadn't even planned to make an offer on the boy, but there he is, bleeding on the floor, Presniakov's clearly not the type to take time to nurse an injured slave back to health, and with the dog story-- well, I didn't see what else I could do.”
“Of course, of course,” said the dentist, putting something cold and metallic into Jesse's mouth. “I wouldn't expect you to do anything else, Ms. Jamesen.”
Alix chuckled. “I know, I'm a soft touch. But I'm a good businesswoman, too. Got the kid dirt cheap, and if those teeth survive I'll be able to make a pretty tidy profit.”
“I hope they will,” said the dentist, straightening, “but the only thing we can do at this point is wait and see. Leave this brace on at all times and don't let him eat any solid foods. Call me back in a week and I'll check the progress.” He chuckled. “That is, if you don't need to call me before then for a filling. Entirely too many sweet teeth in this house!”
“You know us too well,” Alix grinned. “Thank you so much, doctor. We'll see you in a week.”
When the doctor had taken his leave, Holden came to the bedside and put his arm around Alix. Jesse looked up at them dizzily, tasting the metal brace on his teeth, as Holden kissed his wife on the lips.
"It's a good thing," he said, "that he knows us so well."
“Much too well,” Alix agreed primly, adjusting her collar, “to put any stock in any cock-and-bull story Presniakov might try to put about to save face. Not that you'd have to know us particularly well to know any such story was nonsense. I think having met us once would suffice. I mean, really. You, getting drunk and taking a swing at a slave? While babbling about my proclivities towards younger men? Towards Bran, for heaven’s sake? I doubt anyone who's seen you anywhere near Bran would believe that.”
“That part,” said Holden, "is particularly implausible. And I must say that even if I could imagine myself throwing punches at pretty slave boys for imaginary inappropriate advances on you-- instead of making inappropriate advances on them myself-- I certainly couldn't imagine you just fluttering around ineffectually and letting it happen. You've always seemed like-- well, to be frank, I've always gotten the impression-- I could be wrong, of course, but I think you'd probably bitchslap me.”
"Till your head spun around, darling,” said Alix, laying her head on her husband's shoulder. “Really, Presniakov couldn't have come up with a more far-fetched story if he'd tried. Although-- on the other hand--I suppose it’s just the kind of story you’d expect him to come up with."
"That's the trouble with class prejudice," said Holden, shaking his head sadly. "Makes you so predictable, doesn't it?”
Jesse laughed suddenly, loudly, and Alix and Holden looked down at him, arms still twined around each other's waists.
“I think he's high,” said Holden, amused.
"And exhausted," said Alix. "It's been a long afternoon." She pulled away from Holden to touch Jesse's forehead. "Would you like to sleep for a while, dear?"
Jesse closed his eyes to consider whether to risk nodding or speaking.
"I'll send Quen in to sit with you," said Alix, but Jesse was already asleep.
Part Three
