"I'm afraid I really must insist." Robert's voice was firm, and he put as much of his military gravity into it as he could still manage. While it was undeniably pleasant being retired and safe from inquiry and discovery in the military — not to mention being home with his father at his beloved family home and sharing life with his dear Lou — there had definitely been something to be said for having a rank and knowing where one stood with people.
Specifically, that one either had consequence or didn't. It wasn't as much a shadowy thing of law and money as whether one outranked someone else or not. Specifically, if he did, they had to obey — and if he didn't, he must usually follow their orders. It was a very clear-cut way of living, with exceptional accomplishments earning a certain dash and greater credit and responsibility and rank — but always, that rank was plain to see and visible to even the meanest intelligence.
Now he was staring down at an angry little man who might be a clerk, or might be someone really quite important, but at any rate, seemed to think he had the right to deny a Skeffield an audience with someone high up in the magical ministry.
There had been quite a scandal a few months ago. It was taking some time to clear up. Hearing that the man who'd saved his father's life was still in prison, denied the use of his magic (for he was a magician, and had transgressed some of their laws), Robert had gotten quite angry.
While Silverman had no doubt done wrong, it was still very clear-cut. He'd gone against Bauer, who'd coerced him into trying to steal valuable artifacts, earning himself a great deal of trouble and pain, all to save Robert's father's life.
Many people would not have bothered. Because the sad fact was, Robert's father was dying. His heart was giving out; they didn't know how long he had yet. And still, Gareth had risked his own life to save Mr. Skeffield.
He was a hero, as far as Robert was convinced, not a villain. When legal counsel had only gotten so far, and the Skeffields had received word about the current state of Gareth's case through yet another telegram, he'd finally gotten good and angry.
The flowers were blooming at Skeffield Manor, making a lovely spring, and the man who had let Robert's father live long enough to see that spring was locked away in some dank hole. And Robert simply wasn't having it anymore.
"I will speak to someone now, if you please, or it will be in all the newspapers by noon tomorrow, just what sort of travesties of justice are performed here." He stamped his cane for emphasis.
While he was more or less bluffing — he had no control over any newspapers — his family did own quite a lot of stock in one of most widely circulated papers of the city. He might have no head for business (his sister controlled all that sort of thing, and wouldn't thank him for fumbling his hack-handed soldier's mitts in it), but the bluff was a good one and he knew it. It was plausible, and he could practically hear the man thinking That would be just like a Skeffield.
His family had been known for rather ruthless business practices and a lot of wealth for some time. That he was an ex-soldier with more to hide than he ever let anyone know, and this was pure bluff, the man needn't know. This clerk had to waver and send Robert on to a higher authority — where he would use this or some other ruse to go further, until he could finally make a difference, or at least get some useful information.
Whatever one said about life, there were times when it just did best to get good and proper mad. With proper Skeffield steel and white-hot passion running through his veins, he meant to test that to its limits today. And he would shamelessly use his family's influence to do so, if it would make a difference.
The clerk gave him a sour look, as if he'd tasted something particularly lemony. "I'll just fetch someone, shall I?" His mouth was pressed tight as he walked away.
The man removed himself and hurried away sullenly to some inward fold of the building. Robert wondered if it was a magical building, with all sorts of secret passages and extra rooms that could only be found by those with certain magical strengths. It was a curious and somewhat foreboding thought. Anybody ordinary could be lost here forever, perhaps.
At any rate he didn't take the opportunity to snoop. He'd have thought it beneath him even if the idea of danger hadn't occurred to him. Instead he thrummed his fingers on the desk and looked around impatiently as he waited. He'd been better at waiting while he was a soldier; he must be getting soft. He had always just slightly looked down on civilians. It was an odd shift in his world to have to see things as one now.
Two men entered the hall, talking quietly. They came from the direction opposite the one the clerk had gone, and moved on soft feet from somewhere inside the dark wood-paneled rooms. He'd not have heard their approach at all on the carpet except for the soft cadence of their voices.
He stared in astonishment. They nearly walked past him, but in his surprise he lost all of a soldier's edge and called out, "Lou!"
Louie Candless was a designer and Robert's particular friend — his boyfriend, beloved, and life partner. Louie was pint-sized, sweet, expressive, and not terribly masculine. He felt things intensely, whether that might be the colors of a sunset or the particularly revolting shade of a living space's wall coloring.
Now he was deep in conversation with a man about his height — a man with ginger whiskers and auburn hair on his head arranged in a smooth, neat helmet with a sheen of its own, soft-looking but every hair in place, as though he didn't need any oil to keep it neat, because it wouldn't dare misbehave.
Louie was wrapping a scarf about his neck as he talked, clearly preparing to leave, but still sounding animated and involved in the conversation, with the kind of shy, confiding nature he showed. It always devastated Robert a little when it was aimed elsewhere. There was nothing flirtatious about him, except for the usual sweetness he could no more have discontinued than he could have stopped breathing, but his manner and speech made it clear he trusted and liked this man on at least some level.
And the man was a magician. Coming from the inner folds of the building gave him away. And if his brisk air of belonging — as of a man who owned a spot here securely, hunkered down from years of work and devotion — hadn't given him away, then his uniform certainly would have. As they stopped and stared at him, another shock traveled through Robert, and he blinked.
The man with ginger whiskers and darker hair wore not just the dark navy blue suit it had appeared at first, but a pair of lapels that marked him — good lord, as one of the highest-ranked magicians in the country!
It clearly said L2. Only L1 was a higher official rank, and he'd heard of very few of those.
His skin prickled and he backed away, feeling a shock of revulsion and fear — and betrayal. These were the sorts of magicians who'd participated in some of the worst work on the front lines — or even from farther back. Worse than giant bombs, they were, for all the damage they could fling so calmly at the enemy. Surely it wore them out, ground them down, but it was still killing. They'd been like a Big Bertha to him — terrifying, even on our side. The men, the regular sort of men, had found ways to avoid them, avoid even meeting their gaze for fear of these monsters they might be. For who else could be used as a weapon all day, shelling enemies who were much more like the men in the trenches than these magicians?
He had certainly put away many of those old feelings, but the sight of such a high and terrible rank brought back the stench of mud and blood to him. He stood breathing heavily, ragged breaths, his hands clenched uselessly at his sides, not from anger or reproach but as an automatic reaction to danger.
"Robert," said Louie, by turns surprised and awkward. "This is — a surprise." He turned to the L2 magician and looked at him with a kind of confiding pride. "This is my Robert."
The magician nodded as though he'd have expected no less. In the moment Louie was turned away the two men had taken one another's measure fairly well. Wariness reigned in the air between them. A cautious nod between the two was as close as Robert intended to come to shaking hands, and the official appeared no more willing to close the gap.
"Robert, this is my friend, Jocelyn Powers. I met him when we were both in the club today, and he said he'd look into the matter of our friend for us." He looked up at Robert, saying more with his eyes. Please be natural. It wasn't quite an accident, meeting him — but you're not annoyed, are you?
All this seemed conveyed with one look of his big soft brown eyes, the ones that always melted Robert to butter.
He took Louie's hand, fumbling awkwardly a moment, and squeezed. "I'm afraid I came here without any friends," he said, looking directly at Powers and not Louie. "I have been trying to make a fuss on just that affair."
Powers gave a laugh that was low and warm and rich, surprising him in the beauty of its sound. "So you have. I see someone's not at their post. Never mind. Louis has told me about it, and I promised to look into things. In the meantime I owe him lunch. Coming along?" He spoke pleasantly, but it wasn't quite a suggestion.
Robert found himself nodding dazedly. "Of course." He firmed his grip on Louie's elbow as the three of them walked out, somehow passing the desk just as the clerk returned, shooting Robert a sour look and exchanging a knowing sort of look with Powers.
Louie gave no indication of knowing anything was wrong, although he seemed a little uneasy — as shown by chattering too much — on the walk to the club.
"You're not a member, I suppose," said Powers.
No, he most certainly was not.
This might be a respectable-looking exterior, but inside was a club very well known for entertaining gentlemen who preferred gentlemen (and sometimes quite common fellows — as long as they all had money). He had never darkened its doors, of course. Louie was his first open affair with a man.
Sometimes he thought it was the first time he'd admitted to himself just how much he did fancy men — in general, and in particular. Although he'd always been an outrageous flirt, and had enjoyed several easy-come, easy-go lovers, he'd always told himself he could like women just as easily and one day, he would of course settle down, get married, have a family.
Instead, he'd fallen deeply and properly in love, and with a certain amount of shock realized some hard truths. He cared what people thought about him a great deal more than he'd wanted to admit to, and he'd never had the least evidence for liking women. His self-delusions seemed laughable and cringe-worthy, and no doubt many of the people around him had realized before he had. It made him want to disappear at times, feeling so see-through and cliché.
While Louie had always lived in a certain amount of openness, Robert had hidden very successfully even from himself. It was embarrassing, to say the least. In some ways it took a great deal of bravery — as much as ever it had on the battlefield — to open himself to living with Louie as honestly as he could, loving another man and admitting it, and living with him, even when it was hard.
They had never had an easy relationship of it, with such varying personalities and experiences. Things had begun to run more smoothly as they learned about one another, communicated more expertly, and forgave each other often. But still, it somehow shocked him to his core to know that Louie had been — and still was — a member of this club (so very indiscreet of him to actually join!) and knew this powerful magician. Apparently without fear.
He found himself wondering if they had been lovers. Jealousy reared, an angry black horse crying out in a surprise of pain, beating the air with hooves.
Louie laughed suddenly, nervously, and tightened his arm through Robert's. "If you'd rather go home," he said awkwardly.
And Robert's heart melted with helpless protectiveness all over again. He smiled at his man. "No, of course not."
They went inside. He looked around the den of iniquity, which he couldn't tell apart from any of his officer club experiences, except that there were no uniforms present and the men all appeared to be dressed with great taste and style, often understated.
This was the place he'd heard such whispers and laughter about?
While it was no longer exactly illegal to like men — and the greats in society could flaunt their preferences when they liked — it was not exactly the done thing for soldiers to have anything but the narrowest views of attraction.
They were quietly whisked to a table by a discreet, slim-waisted waiter whom Robert at first assumed had been chosen for this job on the strength of his pretty face (too delicate to be called handsome, and definitely the sort to inspire second and third glances, or even stares), but he appeared to be quite competent at his job and went to fetch their drinks after delivering menus.
"So," said Robert, trying to pretend he wasn't uncomfortable. "What is to be done about Gareth Silverman? He saved my father's life. I hate to see him locked away forever after he tried to make things right."
"I agree." Powers looked down at his menu, appearing uncomfortable, as if the admission was awkward at best. "The trouble is, Bauer was in rather deep and for a long time. Gareth Silverman is the only one of his associates we've so far caught, and he's been able to give us few details about the man's activities.
"It's safe to say Bauer will be put away for life, but we will have to reopen all of his previous cases, the things he had access to, and be certain there was no tampering, theft, trickery, or perversion of justice. The man has given the ministry a black eye. We are running around like ants. I suppose it would give some people pleasure to know that." He met Robert's eyes silently for a moment, till Robert looked down at his own menu, ashamed.
He might not like the ministry, but it was no doubt necessary. He hated how high-handed and superior its members could act. He'd have counted Gareth among those. But now the man needed their help, and Robert was nothing if not loyal.
"It's a damnable shame," he said, "but surely he's told you all he knows."
"Yes, and that's the problem. He worked with the man for some time, but knows very little. What he does know is bad for him as well as Bauer. If he'd reported the man earlier — but apparently Bauer had a hold over Gareth, a curse on him. That's one reason he's been locked up in a magic-proof room. To prevent it from taking hold and either killing or manipulating him into some further treachery. Bauer has nothing to lose if he dies. And perhaps something to gain, if only revenge. We're working to take it off, however."
"What will become of Gareth after the trial?" asked Robert gruffly.
"Oh, there's to be no trial. There never is in the ministry. Bauer has already stood before a magical judge and been sentenced to life imprisonment. He has been interrogated as thoroughly as we know how, but with little but a few bare facts revealed. The man has great strength in himself — which is one reason he had attained such a high position in the ministry. It's no good saying we didn't use enough force. Past a certain point, force does no good against a magician."
Louie looked a little sick, his hands making anxious movements against the menu, plucked at its edge. "Do you mean...torture him?"
They both looked at Louie, not having expected the blunt question.
"It would be no use if we did," said Powers gently. "But you needn't worry about it."
"Oh," said Louie. "They — they won't hurt Gareth, will they?"
Powers sighed. "That's the trouble, I'm afraid. They're already hurting him just by locking him up. He's losing the will to live."
They both looked at him, astonished.
"He's not on a hunger strike, but he's lost all appetite. Today they came to the decision to let him out if Silus Smith can complete a task for them. The only trouble is, it will take months and I doubt Gareth will survive that long."
He looked down at his menu and they both stared at him, silent and shocked.
"I hate to see a man die for such a reason," said Powers quietly. "It would be but petty revenge, and he nearly as much a victim as the ministry already." He shook his head, fiddled with a fork.
"What can we do to help?" asked Robert, feeling it required asking.
Powers met his gaze steadily. "Keep making a fuss," he said. "I shall keep doing what I can behind the scenes. I believe we might get him released into protective custody with someone to watch over him and see that he doesn't harm himself or anyone else. But he won't live long like this. Some of us have a greater connection to and need for magic than others. You could likely survive being in a cell for months and emerge nearly as robust as ever." He gave a faint, half smile, tilted on his mouth as he looked at Robert, his eyes laughing suddenly. "Not that I'd like to be the one to attempt it."
"Oh, no," said Louie, shuddering. "How horrible that would be!"
"Send an agent with him and bring him to Skeffield Manor," ordered Robert. "He'll be safe enough there with us."
Powers pursed his lips, tilting his head slightly. "Make a fuss," he said again. "I'll do what I can, but there are limits. The ministry is not known for moving quickly or forgiving easily. And I am not in a position where I can show overt favor to a man such as Gareth." He looked around the club significantly. "I am certainly not a secret lover of men, but I am a discreet one, and it can't interfere with my job or I would lose effectiveness."
Broadminded of the ministry, compared to the military, Robert supposed. But still hampering Powers' usefulness in this situation.
Robert nodded his understanding. "I'll work on it with my lawyers this afternoon, and return to the ministry at least once more to ask questions and demand answers."
How much time had they already lost, waiting for justice to run its course, while Gareth was wasting away? It pained him to think of bravery and goodness being punished as much as wickedness. While Gareth might have been involved in trouble, working for a bad man, he'd never hurt anyone that Robert had heard of, and indeed had risked his own life to protect another. It wasn't right he should be punished as badly as Bauer, or even worse.
Powers looked up as the waiter arrived to take their orders and smiled. "Yes please. I'll have the beef Wellington."
"Cucumber soup and finger sandwiches for me, Titus," said Louie, looking up at the waiter with soft familiarity in his eyes.
Robert felt something twist and flop in his gut, and he looked at the waiter a second time. The man smiled back at Louie, a friendly smile, not just that of a waiter, and made a quick note, nodding. He turned professionally to Robert and awaited his order politely.
Friends, or more than friends?
Louie did have the ability to make friends out of most people he met who didn't actively hate him (and sometimes even those who did at first), but he'd also had a great many lovers before he and Robert made a go of it.
Still, his lovers had mostly been older men who wanted to capture his beauty and youth and worked on his trusting nature. He had not managed to remain friends with any of them after the affairs had run their course and left him heartbroken, to hear him tell it.
Unless Titus was an exception — a beautiful, slender man with striking eyes and a pretty face — then Robert had nothing to worry about. Still, it bothered him that Louie was still a member of the club here, and obviously had friends (and possibly ex-boyfriends) about whom Robert knew nothing.
It did not bear thinking about, Louie falling into someone else's hands and being charmed away. Robert knew he could be abrupt and hardheaded, but he didn't want to lose his man to someone who could talk more smoothly and didn't have other responsibilities keeping him busy. His heart twisted again, and he mumbled out his order of steak.
They ate a quick meal together, talking only of non-official things while eating. Then Powers excused himself and said goodbye, shaking hands with both men before leaving, taking his trim, ginger moustache back with him, smoothing it gently before he pulled on his coat and left.
Robert looked at Louie across the table from him, and again felt the helpless rush of affection that still rose in him so often. His smile softened, warm and grateful for this man who'd changed his life so much.
"Do you want to accompany me to the lawyers? I need to start that fuss." He smiled.
Louie smiled sweetly back. "Oh, I'd like to stay and catch up with a few friends, if you don't mind. It's been ages since I saw everyone."
Robert's smile disappeared.
"If you have a few minutes, I'd love to introduce you. You already saw Titus, but I'd like you to meet him. He's a singer really, but this is his steady job. Do you know, it's ever so hard to get work as a singer lately, with all the phonographs about? There just isn't such a call for live music."
"I can't imagine why not, with a face like that," said Robert.
"Oh, but that's almost worse. Most people don't want such a handsome fellow to distract all the womenfolk and make the men feel inadequate. If it's a choice between him and someone else for an engagement, it's rarely he who's chosen." He plucked up the last bit of a sandwich and ate it delicately.
"You speak as though you know much of the business," said Robert, smiling tolerantly.
"Oh, he's told me a lot."
I just bet he has.
"So will you stay, just briefly, and meet some friends?" Louie rose as Robert did, and his eyes were hopeful, nearly pleading.
"I suppose," said Robert.
"If you'd rather not," said Louie, looking sad and anxious.
"No, of course I'd love to meet your friends." I wish you could meet mine. But he had not yet gotten to a point where he'd shared such things about himself with his army mates.
Old friends from campaigns, still serving, no doubt thought him still the lad he'd tried to pretend to be, a projection that had gone over well because most ladies did find him attractive, and only a dance or two and a little flirting at any social occasion was enough to cement a reputation — especially among soldiers who were often quite shy among women, even if they were the bravest fellows imaginable on a campaign.
Something about a pretty girl could turn the bravest soldier into a nervous schoolboy at times, uncertain what to say, how to act, how to speak to her. He had more often than not been asked how to approach a woman, how to talk and dress and speak, and had been able to help some of his fellows.
Of course, he'd never felt comfortable asking for their advice when he felt out of his depths approaching an attractive man he felt tongue-tied around. He'd just had to muddle along on his own, arranging his trysts with code words and secret meetings, looks and smiles and assignation points.
It all seemed so dreadfully tawdry now that he had the real thing — a man who loved him, who wanted him, to keep and not just to have a short and secret affair with. He hadn't even realized he'd wanted that, till he met Louie. The man had worked some change in him like a key fitting into a keyhole that he hadn't even realized was locked.
At the time, of course, he hadn't felt that. It was just how things were. Men who loved women could feel romance and loyal love and build a life together. Men such as himself, if they didn't burn out on the battlefield and risky adventures, must snatch what they could from the corners of life, a friendly hand in the dark, a warm body for an evening's secret pleasure, and then go on. He had not seriously thought it could be different, not for a man like himself, a Skeffield, a soldier, a man whose heart had been replaced by a machine.
There was some poetry in there somewhere, that his heart was a machine now — driven by magic and gears, keeping him alive after a fatal injury in the war — but that he had never been more attuned to love and in touch with his emotions than ever. He had never loved before Louie — not properly, out in the open with himself, admitting that he felt not admiration or appreciation, not a crush or lust, but real, proper love he wanted to last forever.
It still astonished him sometimes, that a man such as Louie could feel the same way back. The slim, sweet man sometimes confounded Robert. He was no soldier, not strong or brave in any conventional sense, though he had great strengths and braveries of his own on the inside. He was one of the best and kindest of men, and sometimes Robert could not believe Lou could love someone like himself, a man who had always prized efficiency over heart. Till he met Louie, of course.
So now he allowed his boyfriend to drag him around a club where he was far less than comfortable, introducing him to friends. Robert did his best not to be jealous, but he couldn't help watching closely how the men interacted with Lou.
There were handshakes, hugs, jokes, the occasional kiss on the cheek. Perhaps it should have worried him that he received more than one admiring and teasing glance, even outright speculative lustful looks up and down, but indeed it set his mind at ease. No one who secretly longed for Louie would ogle his boyfriend quite so openly in his presence.
And in truth, Robert was used to the attention, accepting it as his due. He might not usually receive such open looks, but he was used to being the most handsome man in the room — any room, no matter how big. He was a tall, strong fellow with good features and excellent carriage. He had good hair, attractive eyes, and a way of speaking and carrying himself that drew notice. He also dressed impeccably, as a Skeffield ought to.
His good looks were something he'd always known and accepted with a great deal of complacency, and did not find himself unduly concerned now when there were perhaps one or two men in the room who could rival his looks. After all, it took all sorts to make the world go round. There were different sorts of attractiveness, after all.
He shook hands with one man who had a firm grasp and could probably have fit into Robert's suits. He felt them eyeing one another, taking note, comparing silently the things they would never have said aloud.
My hair is better — his is receding a bit — and I think my skin is clearer. But his bones are excellent, and there is something about his eyes. Yet he is not quite as confident as I, nor is his clothing as good a design.
Then the fellow smiled, and gave his hand a little extra intimate squeeze, and he was far handsomer than Robert, blindingly so, just for his admission of Robert's being the handsomer in this instance.
Louie touched Robert's arm. "Do come and meet Titus properly, Robert," he said quietly, a little hint of something anxious in his voice.
Robert looked at him quickly, and saw the insecurity and anxious fear in his eyes. He had been holding another man's hand a bit too long, smiling at him with affection. Louie, it appeared, could be jealous as well.
"Yes, indeed I shall, my dear," said Robert, and released the handsome man's hand.
The handsome man, name of Jacoby, watched him with a mix of interest, regret, and amusement. "It was a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure."
"Likewise," said Robert, flashing him a grin. Were he a soldier still, a man tethered to his job and without a boyfriend, he would not have let ten minutes pass without buying Jacoby a drink, and would have seen his pants on the floor and his cock in hand by the evening at the very latest. Now he walked away without a single regret, following Louie instead.
Louie cast him another anxious glance, as though feeling insecure. Robert smiled at him, warm and helplessly melted by his beloved, and put an arm around his shoulder. "Are we nearly done? I'd like to take care of this lawyer business and get back home." He gave Lou's shoulder a little intimate squeeze.
Louie's face relaxed into a rueful, sweet, and happy smile. "Oh yes. Just come and meet Titus first. Then I'll go with you if you like, or head back myself."
Louie went along with Robert's plans and wishes so easily, it was sometimes easy to forget to give him his head. A man used to issuing commands, who loved a shyer and more insecure fellow younger than he was, could become bossy quite easily without realizing. But he was working on it, and they were communicating better than ever these days.
He gave Louie a gentle squeeze on the hand, and smiled. "Whatever you wish, my dear. But I'd rather you came with me, if you don't mind it."
"Oh yes," said Louie. "I'd like that!"