The Trainer by Laura Antoniou Page B

could
have ever imagined. And his place in it—favored student of Geoff
Negel—was tinier than he had ever really wanted to know.
    It was hard to even get into the swing of
things—he would introduce himself and his accent would give him
away. Someone nearby might whisper “Negel,” or even worse, he’d see
a spark in the eyes of the person he was speaking to suddenly fade,
and then he’d be brushed off with polite civility.
    He did try to attend a seminar and see if he
could learn something new. But when Geoff or one of his trainers
taught, they used slides, movies and live slaves to demonstrate
things, the slaves always naked or in thongs or something, and they
used humor and charts to liven things up.
    Instead of all that, Michael found himself
seated in the library with six other people, listening to an old
man gently discuss—of all things—servants. Not slaves, but
servants. Butlers, maids, and that sort of thing. It took a while
for Michael to realize that the man was talking about slaves, and
just using different language. He was explaining what it took to
staff a full-sized manor house, back in older days and now, and how
the hierarchy worked, and who reported to whom, and what their
duties were... and Michael almost fell asleep. It was so damn dull
he had to blink and shake his head over and over again to stay
alert. Yet around him, the men and women were either nodding or
taking notes. Notes? On what? Michael thought.
    When the old guy finally got around to
talking about training, Michael perked up a bit. They didn’t do a
lot of domestic service training at Geoff’s, although all the
slaves were expected to know the basic housekeeping chores, like
making beds, loading dishwashers, laundry, that sort of thing. Why
train all-purpose household cleaners if most of the owners would
use their slaves for sex and light work anyway? But maybe domestic
service might be a good sideline to go into.
    Well, if it had been, Michael couldn’t say
by the end of that long day. Because instead of handing out lists
and moving on to showing off some pretty girl in a French Maid’s
uniform and making her serve drinks or something, the guy just kept
talking! And some of what he said just didn’t make any sense at
all. Training done by other slaves?
    Michael fell asleep at last, and awoke as
people were politely applauding. He sheepishly gathered up his
stuff and tried to slip out, but the man who had run the seminar
was near the door, where people were shaking his hand and chatting
with him. Michael tried to look interested in the ornate, free
standing model of the solar system in one corner of the room,
waiting for people to clear out.
    Finally it seemed that they were all gone,
so he dashed to the door. But as he tried to work his way through
the long corridor leading back to the central hallway, he stopped
as he heard voices around the corner ahead of him.
    “I’ve always thought of you as an evil
queen, Dalton, but never a wicked witch,” someone was saying
softly, to masculine chuckles. “You certainly put that sleeping
beauty down, now, didn’t you?”
    “You are incorrect, Evander; that was indeed
an evil queen who cast a spell on Sleeping Beauty. And, I must note
that had I some magical power over such lads, it would have been to
my advantage to use it for more nefarious adventures, rather than
to send them into slumber! In any event, I hardly think the topic
was of interest to the poor boy.” The second speaker, Dalton,
seemed more amused than insulted, but Michael shrank away from the
corner in horror. It was the man who had just presented on
servants. There was no doubt who they were talking about. Michael
knew he should just back away down the corridor and leave them to
their private conversation, but his face burned and he stayed where
he was.
    “I agree,” said the first man with another
chuckle. “I think it might have been the first time he ever heard
that actual labor might be associated with