father, panic in his eyes at the possibility that his father might be unwilling bid on an imperfect boy. It was the first sure sign Martin had seen that Henry might be interested in him, and it provided him a little welcome reassurance.
“Where are his glasses now ?” Father demanded, frowning. “Can he see? Boy, can you see?”
“I can see you very clearly, Sir,” Martin told him. “I only have trouble with distances.”
Henry met his eyes, and Martin smiled at him, his most dazzling smile. Henry ducked his head.
“He’s an excellent scholar,” Mr. Paulsen put in, hurrying to extol Martin’s virtues. “Should Henry have occasion to require assistance with his schoolwork, Martin is prepared to help.”
“How is he with Latin?” asked Mr. Blackwell, giving Henry a sidelong glance.
“He’s always received top marks,” Mr. Paulsen assured him. “But he’s also conversant in modern languages, as well. He manages quite well in French, Italian and German.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Blackwell flipped through the catalog with an inscrutable expression. He closed the catalog with a snap. “Henry is athletic,” he announced. “Whatever choice we make, we will expect the boy to be able to keep up.”
“Rest assured, that will not be a problem. As I’m sure you’re aware, all of our boys are given a thorough background in sport. Martin, for instance, is the House fencing champion for the fifteens and sixteens,” Mr. Paulsen told them. “He sits an excellent horse and is expert with bow and arrow. I should not presume that he is any match for Henry, but he should have no trouble keeping up.”
While the adults talked, Martin lowered his voice and asked, “Excuse me, Sir. Henry , Sir. What sports do you enjoy?” It was risky to have used Henry’s name, and his minders would be furious with him for taking such liberties, but he desperately wanted Henry’s attention.
“Just those.” Henry’s voice was barely audible. “Same as you.”
Martin hesitated a moment, confused; it seemed unlikely that Henry also participated in the exact sports that Martin had trained in. Well, he wouldn’t question it now, and, hopefully, he would have a chance to clarify matters in the future.
In the same intimate tone, Martin offered, “I also like to swim, Sir. I play the violin. And I’m keen on reading. I could read to you, if you wanted, Sir.”
Henry shook his head, but he did not seem to be rejecting the possibility outright.
How could he make this boy understand what he wanted? Martin leaned closer. “I don’t look it, but I’m very strong. Feel, Sir.” He took another risk: touching without asking. He reached for Henry’s wrist and drew his hand close, pressing it flat to his belly. Henry gasped and pulled back sharply.
“What are you boys talking about?” Mr. Blackwell asked, turning to look at them.
“Nothing, Father.” Henry shook his hand as if burned.
Martin shivered, feeling the hot imprint of Henry’s hand like a brand across his belly. He wanted to feel those hands on his body, holding him down. He wanted Henry to make him do things, to play dirty games with him. He’d known shy boys at Ganymede, and they could be just as dirty as any more brazen boy.
Mr. Blackwell stepped back and looked Martin over again. “Hmm…yes, quite impressive, but what about these others?”
Mr. Paulsen said, “Martin, return to your place, please,” and Martin would have preferred to stay within touching distance of Henry, but he certainly wasn’t going to be disobedient in front of the very boy he wanted for a master. He returned to his place on the dais and watched Henry intently.
As Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Paulsen discussed and compared the merits of the other Superiors, Henry poked at the Ganymede disk woven into the carpet with the toe of his boot. He glanced at Martin occasionally, always looking away quickly when Martin caught him doing it. Martin did what he could to attract and hold Henry’s
“Where are his glasses now ?” Father demanded, frowning. “Can he see? Boy, can you see?”
“I can see you very clearly, Sir,” Martin told him. “I only have trouble with distances.”
Henry met his eyes, and Martin smiled at him, his most dazzling smile. Henry ducked his head.
“He’s an excellent scholar,” Mr. Paulsen put in, hurrying to extol Martin’s virtues. “Should Henry have occasion to require assistance with his schoolwork, Martin is prepared to help.”
“How is he with Latin?” asked Mr. Blackwell, giving Henry a sidelong glance.
“He’s always received top marks,” Mr. Paulsen assured him. “But he’s also conversant in modern languages, as well. He manages quite well in French, Italian and German.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Blackwell flipped through the catalog with an inscrutable expression. He closed the catalog with a snap. “Henry is athletic,” he announced. “Whatever choice we make, we will expect the boy to be able to keep up.”
“Rest assured, that will not be a problem. As I’m sure you’re aware, all of our boys are given a thorough background in sport. Martin, for instance, is the House fencing champion for the fifteens and sixteens,” Mr. Paulsen told them. “He sits an excellent horse and is expert with bow and arrow. I should not presume that he is any match for Henry, but he should have no trouble keeping up.”
While the adults talked, Martin lowered his voice and asked, “Excuse me, Sir. Henry , Sir. What sports do you enjoy?” It was risky to have used Henry’s name, and his minders would be furious with him for taking such liberties, but he desperately wanted Henry’s attention.
“Just those.” Henry’s voice was barely audible. “Same as you.”
Martin hesitated a moment, confused; it seemed unlikely that Henry also participated in the exact sports that Martin had trained in. Well, he wouldn’t question it now, and, hopefully, he would have a chance to clarify matters in the future.
In the same intimate tone, Martin offered, “I also like to swim, Sir. I play the violin. And I’m keen on reading. I could read to you, if you wanted, Sir.”
Henry shook his head, but he did not seem to be rejecting the possibility outright.
How could he make this boy understand what he wanted? Martin leaned closer. “I don’t look it, but I’m very strong. Feel, Sir.” He took another risk: touching without asking. He reached for Henry’s wrist and drew his hand close, pressing it flat to his belly. Henry gasped and pulled back sharply.
“What are you boys talking about?” Mr. Blackwell asked, turning to look at them.
“Nothing, Father.” Henry shook his hand as if burned.
Martin shivered, feeling the hot imprint of Henry’s hand like a brand across his belly. He wanted to feel those hands on his body, holding him down. He wanted Henry to make him do things, to play dirty games with him. He’d known shy boys at Ganymede, and they could be just as dirty as any more brazen boy.
Mr. Blackwell stepped back and looked Martin over again. “Hmm…yes, quite impressive, but what about these others?”
Mr. Paulsen said, “Martin, return to your place, please,” and Martin would have preferred to stay within touching distance of Henry, but he certainly wasn’t going to be disobedient in front of the very boy he wanted for a master. He returned to his place on the dais and watched Henry intently.
As Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Paulsen discussed and compared the merits of the other Superiors, Henry poked at the Ganymede disk woven into the carpet with the toe of his boot. He glanced at Martin occasionally, always looking away quickly when Martin caught him doing it. Martin did what he could to attract and hold Henry’s
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