The Following Saturday
I grinned at Zuchter's excitement.
Zuchter, jumping up and down in place, his face glowing, bubbled, "This is going to be so cool, Maverick!"
Maverick smiled back. "I know. I remember my first show."
I always felt a little amused at seeing the first-ever underclass boy to have a crush on Maverick. Every student in school was in awe of him, but the degree of that awe kept them at a distance. Zuchter's feelings were much more personal. I gave Zuchter a big-brother look. "Zuchter, just keep remembering this is Garrett's day."
Zuchter looked slightly hurt. "I know, Wynn, I know. I'm trying to get it all out of my system now so I can just be cool when the time comes. I'm not going to take any attention away from him at his own hanging."
Beside Zuchter, Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's like the air... I don't know, tastes different out here."
I laughed. "I remember how it felt, my first time out. There's this whole world out here you've almost forgot about." Graduation, last week, had been a big moment for the Second Years, allowed out of the secured area for the first time, but today was a still bigger step for Zuchter and Marcus, being allowed off the campus altogether. It wasn't as if they'd been cooped up in the building — all of the boys had plenty of tanning and jogging time outdoors in the Academy's inner courtyard. But I had to agree, it seemed different out here.
Garrett, for his part, had that other glow — the one that always suffused the face of a Hanging Boy on the day of his show. He was the first of my class to be sold for hanging, and he was immensely proud. The arrangements, in fact, had been made the week before graduation — the boys from Larry and Leo's class were all departed now, and the client had only the near-graduates to choose from, with the understanding that the sale would not be final until after the ceremony.
I set down my bag and hugged Garrett tightly, barely touching my cheek to Garrett's, trying not to spoil his hair. I had already said goodbye to Garrett earlier, after breakfast. This was more in the nature of a good-luck hug.
Garrett was dressed to impress, just as Marshall had been when he had arrived at my house so long ago — black silk shirt that seemed to mold itself to his chest, matching shorts, white leather boots with "elevator" heels, all of it looking gorgeous against his dark fur. His collar, likewise white, read in flowing blue script, "Garrett, Property of David Madison." I was tempted to think everyone at the pre-hanging party would stare at nothing but Garrett's long, spotted legs, but the outfit did draw the eye to his other attractive features as well. And of course, Garrett was highly trained in making people admire everything about him. I whispered, "You're going to do a fantastic job, babe. But I'll miss you a lot."
Garrett sighed and let go, and chuckled. "Just don't make me cry, okay? I spent so much time on my facefur this morning."
I laughed. "Okay, I won't say how much I love you."
Garrett grinned back, "Deal. I love you too."
I gave Shaw a hug as well. The rabbit was dressed for his role as executioner in a black leather top that left a deep V opening down his chest, very tight black leather pants that ended just below his knees, black boots similar to Garrett's white ones, black Academy collar, and the requisite eyewear, nearly opaque-looking shades. As I released him from the hug, Garrett let his hands drop down to take both of Shaw's. "Have you worked out who you're going to stay with after you get back?"
Shaw nodded. "For now I'll go back with Jack and Eric." Shaw had moved in with them after I had volunteered to take his place as Maverick's roommate.
I smiled. "That'll be nice. Remind you of the old days." I thought about asking Shaw to come by some night for a movie, but decided to wait and sound him out when we were alone. Shaw appeared to have forgiven Maverick completely, and he and Maverick had worked together closely as teachers of the essential techniques now used by all of the boys. They had not, though, in all this time, been together in a purely social way.
Zuchter and Marcus were dressed in slightly less eye-catching outfits, though still perfectly appropriate for parties, each in green sport shirts and shorts. I looked over Marcus's outfit. "You look really nice, hon. You did get to practice with them, right?" I felt a need to make sure Marcus and Zuchter were prepared for their roles. Garrett was doing the Runaway Slave show, which now included one or two extra slaves, and I had recommended that he take Zuchter and Marcus along, for their first experience in a real show. I felt a certain degree of responsibility for their performance.
Marcus sighed in exasperation. "We hardly have to do anything, Wynn. You know that. We're just a couple of naked slave boys in a cage, and we don't have any lines. Just moan in horror and cry when they drag in Garrett to hang him and 'teach us the penalty for trying to escape.' And yes, we know to quiet down when the hanging actually starts."
Zuchter's eyes glowed. "And we'll be in chains!"
I laughed. I'd known Zuchter would love that part.
The limo pulled up in front. Garrett, Shaw, Marcus, and Zuchter, all in high spirits now that their adventure was underway, tossed their bags in the trunk and piled in. Rolling down the window, Zuchter called out, "You'll be back tomorrow night, Maverick?"
Maverick grinned and nodded. "Tell me how everything goes."
"Oh, for sure! See you!"
From beyond Zuchter in the seat, Marcus waved enthusiastically. "See you Sunday night, Wynn!"
I waved back, grinning. "Take notes!"
Marcus started to say, "I won't have..." and laughed as he realized I was joking. "Have a great weekend!"
As the limo pulled away, another rolled to a stop where the first had been. Orson emerged from the driver's seat and opened the near door for Maverick and me.
I felt suddenly odd to be so casually dressed while getting into an Academy limo. I'd been off campus for a variety of reasons in the last two years, but nearly always for formal occasions, for which eye-catching attire was demanded. This was my first family visit, admittedly not my own family. I wore denim shorts and a polo shirt with the Academy logo, of the sort some of the boys wore instead of their uniform t-shirts in the summer when the building's air-conditioning was overly enthusiastic. Much as I hated parting with my red collar, I decided it didn't quite go with the outfit, so I chose a dark blue one matching the shorts. Maverick was even more casual, in a white tank top and cut offs. But Maverick was eye-catching regardless of whatever he happened to be wearing.
After fastening his seat belt, Maverick closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, his hand over his chest. I rubbed Maverick's back. "It's your own family, hon! Everything's going to be fine."
Maverick muttered, barely loud enough for me to hear, "Hope so."
Orson opened the limo door; I got out and took in my first sight of Maverick's house. The idea that Maverick had ever lived anywhere other than the Academy was still, somehow, startling. It was a nice, roomy-looking house, not as large as the one I'd grown up in, but a good size more than was needed for a family of four.
At the front door, Maverick tried the doorknob, but found it locked. He sighed. "Probably forgot I don't have a key."
"Hope they remembered we're coming."
Maverick snickered and, with another sigh, rang the doorbell, obviously a little put out at having to do that at his own house.
A boy opened the door, and I blinked in surprise. The boy appeared to be about nineteen or twenty, much too old to be Kelly. He wore a white t-shirt partly covered by an open, sleeveless brown leather vest, with slightly darker pants, and sneakers on his feet. The only clue to his identity was the beautiful silvery chain-link slave collar. This, obviously, was Maxwell, the servant Maverick's father had mentioned having bought a few months ago when he'd grown tired of getting by on twice-weekly maid service and cooking his own meals. Somehow I'd visualized a male closer to thirty or so. Maxwell's casual attire must be something Maverick's father found attractive or cute — he would have set the rules for Maxwell's wardrobe. Or possibly he had left it to Maxwell to decide how to dress. Maxwell was very handsome, with bright eyes and lovely gray koala fur, his straight, nearly black headfur cut nearly shoulder-length. He glanced briefly at me, then smiled at Maverick. He said cheerfully, "Hi, I know you're Mr. Maverick. Mr. Sadler has pictures of you all over." He gave a small bow, and turned to face me. "And you're Mr. Wynn, then." He repeated the bow, and backed away. "Please come in. Mr. Sadler is in the back yard, doing some gardening." He looked down at the bags we were carrying. "Please let me take those. May I show you your room first? And then I'll go find him."
As we stepped into the house, I heard Orson put the limo in gear, with a brief beep from his horn. I turned and gave him a quick wave, then followed Maxwell, realizing with a slight start that this was the first time in three years that I'd been away from the Academy with no staff supervision. As unobtrusive as the bodyguards usually were — often to the point of invisibility in another room — I discovered I missed the eyes of the Academy, and felt vaguely as though I were playing hooky.
We followed Maxwell into the house and down a short hallway. Maverick seemed a little bemused. I'd ask later whether Maxwell was what Maverick had been expecting.
Maxwell stopped just beyond the first open door on the left, and turned to look back at us. "Mr. Sadler thought you should be in your old room, Mr. Maverick. He thinks the bed is big enough for Mr. Wynn too. Is that okay?" Maxwell stood waiting as Maverick looked in through the doorway. The koala obviously hoped the sleeping arrangement would be satisfactory. If not, I had no doubt he would cheerfully rearrange the furniture.
Maxwell had obviously been through a servant training school, usually a nine-month program of cooking lessons, cleaning methods, servant etiquette, and instruction in all of the standard sexual techniques. Students usually entered the school at 18. It appeared Maverick's father must have bought him immediately after his graduation. I assumed Maxwell shared a bed with Maverick's father — there seemed only to be three bedrooms I was standing in one, another was presumably Kelly's, and one on the other side of the hallway: almost certainly the master bedroom.
Maxwell had stepped back to let Maverick and I enter the room first. My jaw dropped open. A moment later, I nearly burst out laughing, only able to choke it back at the last second. When I trusted my voice, I said, "So, Maverick. Is it... the same as when you left?"
Maverick took a quick glance around and said absently, "Been dusted, I guess."
My first thought was, Maverick lived here?? After a moment of reflection, it had occurred to me that nothing in the world could possibly better represent Maverick.
The room was done primarily in baby blue, with other pastels in various spots. The bedspread, a darker blue than the walls, was covered in soft pillows and stuffed animals, the latter also occupying the top of a dresser with a blue gilt-bordered mirror. There were posters on the wall of talking animal cartoon movies, and one of a boy band rock group from more than a decade ago whose primary appeal had been to pre-adolescents — I remembered being nuts about them for a time, along with my classmates.
Overall, three quarters of the room looked like an eight-year-old lived in it.
The fourth wall of the room was entirely different. It was filled from one end to the other with wooden bookcases, packed with books and videos. The bookcases were four-feet high, stacked two high, so that they reached from floor to ceiling. On the bookcases were texts on physics, chemistry, anatomy, physiology, the cardiovascular and pulmonary systems, and hanging. The videos included movies and game shows with hangings in them, and instructional hanging films of the sort aimed at amateurs interested in being snuffed by hanging who wanted to prolong the experience to the extent possible. (I wondered briefly whether Leo's brother Emil had found any of these.) There was a smaller collection of texts on mathematics, writing and language arts, history... Maverick's other studies during his days of home schooling.
It was as if Maverick had completely lost all interest in the decor of his room at age eight, making no age-appropriate updates, nor any changes at all other than to add to his collection of books, studying hanging to the exclusion of almost everything else.
I couldn't hold back the smile. I really should have expected this.
I hadn't seen Kelly's room yet, but I was willing to bet that any visitor to these rooms would assume Kelly was the older brother. Except for the books. Those would leave the visitor scratching his head in puzzlement.
Maxwell said, "If everything looks okay, Mr. Maverick, I'll go get Mr. Sadler now." He waited to be dismissed.
Maverick had a quizzical smile of his own. "Maxwell, ummm... You are Maxwell, right?"
Maxwell smiled. "Yes, Mr. Maverick."
Maverick sighed in amused exasperation. "Look, you don't need to call us that." He rubbed his own collar with his finger. "You know I'm a slave, right? Just like you. I'm not your master or anything like that."
Maxwell responded earnestly, "Mr. Sadler told me that while you're here, I'm to treat you as a family member. In this house, you are family, no matter what you are anywhere else. And that I should treat Mr. Wynn as your spouse."
Maverick opened his mouth again, then gave up — his father was Maxwell's owner. Family or not, there was nothing Maverick could say that would supersede an order to Maxwell from his master. He looked at me with a smile and gave a helpless shrug, then turned back to Maxwell. "I was about to ask, is Kelly here?"
Maxwell shook his head. "Mr. Kelly is at the park, rollerblading with his friends. But Mr. Sadler is expecting him back for dinner." He stood waiting, expectantly.
Maverick looked puzzled for a moment, as if he thought Maxwell might be awaiting a tip, then understood that Maxwell couldn't leave his presence without permission. "Ummm... okay, I think we can settle in here. Could you go check for my dad now?"
Maxwell smiled. "Yes, Mr. Maverick." He did the little bow again, and turned slightly to do it for me. "Mr. Wynn." He turned and went back up the hallway.
Maverick shook his head. "That will take some getting used to."
I grinned. "Could be worse. He could have married Maxwell instead."
Maverick shuddered. "Oh yeah. A step-dad younger than me." He shook his head again.
I slipped my arms around Maverick's waist. "And he promoted me. I'm your spouse now."
Maverick laughed, and said, "Yeah, that'll be nice," before kissing me.
Coming into the living room, I heard running water through an outdoor faucet, and then the door to what must be the back yard opened. Paul Sadler entered, drying his hands on a towel, Maxwell trailing after him. He managed to toss the towel onto a hamper just before Maverick put his arms around him, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder, saying "It's nice to be home, Daddy." He leaned back immediately and faced him, his eyes bright. "I've got some great news!"
Mr. Sadler grinned and waited receptively.
Maverick went on, excitedly, "My hanging is on, for a few months from now. Three or four months. The date's not set yet, but it's going to be on campus. And you'll be invited! You and Kelly!" He bit his lip. "Will that be okay? If it's on, say, a Saturday afternoon? Could both of you come?" Left unsaid was the obvious "please please please" in his eyes.
Mr. Sadler's face lit up. "That's great, honey! Of course I can come."
"You and Kelly."
"Sure, if he wants to. On campus, you said? Isn't that a little unusual? I know we just watched that boy, Pat, but he wasn't a graduate."
Maverick looked flustered, torn between wanting to answer the question and wanting to get a more firm commitment on the subject of Kelly. I jumped into the conversation. "It's kind of a special thing. Maverick wants to hang for an audience familiar with Hanging Boys, so it's going to be members of the Academy Club. They already know him and they'll be eager to see what he can do." As am I, I thought.
Maxwell said, "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt. May I start on dinner now?"
"Oh! Sure." He waved Maxwell toward the kitchen. As the slave departed, he turned back to Maverick. "So this is kind of an honor then, right?"
Maverick grinned, apparently deciding to wait on the subject of Kelly. "Oh, yes! It's like they're..." He colored slightly. "Well, kind of showing me off."
He laughed and gave his son a squeeze. "That's my boy. Say, I'm just finishing up outside. Do you want to come and help? I'm just doing a little weeding and replanting. And I want you to tell me all about what this 'Academy Club' is."
Maverick smiled uncertainly. "Ummm... you'll have to show me what to do." Obviously Maverick had never helped his father with gardening before.
"Sure." He looked at me. "You coming too?"
I shrugged and grinned. "I'm game."
I yanked at another stem and tossed the weed into a nearby cardboard box. From where I knelt, I could see through the big bay window into Paul Sadler's comfortable-looking home office. He would have a gorgeous view looking out as he worked. Maverick's father was a fiction editor, who had once worked in the offices of the publisher who employed him. But since the advent of the age of computer communications, he performed his editing duties at home.
Maverick had told me that his dad supplemented his income by engaging in every editor's dream, writing books of his own, in order to pay for Maverick's home schooling and hanging lessons. He had one well-received textbook on the art of editing to his credit, and a popular series of books on the bizarre prose he had run across in the books he'd been given to edit. The publisher was now kind enough to forward to Mr. Sadler the books that could never conceivably be published and had no need of an editor, which proved an endless source of wonderfully mangled grammar, syntax, and imagery.
While Maverick had little physical resemblance to his father, it was not surprising that his offspring would be voracious readers.
As a stay-at-home dad, Paul Sadler had been able to raise his sons on his own, after his wife had been skinned. When Maverick left to attend the Hanging Academy, Mr. Sadler had saved up the money he'd been spending on Maverick's lessons, and bought Maxwell.
I guessed about an hour had gone by in the garden, and Maverick was asking again whether he was attacking the right shoot ("This one, Dad?" "Yeah, any of those with sort of a yellow cap. Pull those out.") when the back door opened, and Maxwell called out from the doorway, "Sir, Mr. Kelly is home."
Maverick sucked in a quick breath and jerked his hand away from the weed he'd been about to pull. I could see him close his eyes, his jaw set. I knew that look. What in most people might have been a sign of anger was, on Maverick's face, just a look of determination. Maverick stood and brushed off his hands. I stood too. I was eager to meet Maverick's brother: I'd been hearing about him for nearly three years, but this was my first chance to meet him.
I followed Maverick through the door. Then I stopped and tried to suppress a gasp.
Kelly was a beautiful boy who was on his way toward becoming a gorgeous adult Jackal. He was already over five feet tall, and would probably be at least as tall as Maverick by the time he finished high school. His headfur, as blonde as his brother's, was a little disarranged from exertion, but it framed a face that, like Maverick's, would always make people stop and look a second and third time. His legs had a strength that might belong to a boy several years older. He had a pair of rollerblades, connected by their shoelaces, slung over his right shoulder.
If I had just seen Kelly walking down the street as a complete stranger, I would have pointed and said to Maverick, "Look, hon! That boy could be your brother!"
Maverick's determination broke for just a moment, and he hesitated. Then he walked up to Kelly and put his arms around him, keeping his hands outward. "Hi, Kelly. Sorry, my hands are dirty."
Kelly made a face, not trying to return the hug. "You're all sweaty, too."
Maverick backed away. "So are you. You've been out rollerblading."
"Mine's almost dry."
Maverick reached back and took my hand. "Kelly, this is Wynn, my roommate at school." He smiled. "Or my spouse, as Maxwell calls him. Wynn?" He made a presenting gesture. "Kelly, my brother."
I used my most winning smile. "Nice to finally meet you, Kelly. Maverick talks about you a lot."
Kelly's face was neutral. "Nice meeting you too." He looked toward the kitchen and shouted, "Maxwell, is there anything to eat?"
From the kitchen came Maxwell's voice. "Not so close to dinner, Mr. Kelly."
Kelly made a face again. "I'm going to take a shower. Can we play Lightning when I get out?"
Maxwell called out, "After I put dinner in the oven in about fifteen minutes."
"Oh, good." Kelly turned and sprinted to the hallway with the bedrooms. Moments later, I could hear a shower running.
Maverick looked stunned. He had wanted to get into the subject of his hanging right away. I took his hand. "Maverick, there's still lots of time." I smiled. "It looks like he kind of lives his life in a hurry."
Maverick's jaw was working. At last he was able to say, "I don't know how to talk to him, Wynn."
I rubbed my roommate's arm. "It's been three years. He'll warm up."
Maverick shook his head. "I mean, I never knew how to talk to him."
I leaned my head on Maverick's shoulder. "Honey, you didn't used to know how to talk to anybody. You'll be okay."
As soon as Kelly vacated the steamy bathroom, Maverick and I took it over and showered together. We dried off and put on some fresh clothes from our bags, and we could hear a lot of laughing from the kitchen.
We found a card game in progress when we got to the kitchen. Kelly and Maxwell sat giggling as Kelly dealt the cards. I shrugged at Maverick and addressed Kelly. "Okay if we watch?"
Kelly said absently, "Yeah. Kind of sit back from the table, though. We get a little wild."
It took some time for me to dope out the rules for the game, apparently "Lightning." I'd never seen it before. Each player began with thirteen cards, with the remaining cards face down in a single pile between them. A card from the pile was turned face up and set on the table, and it was up to either player to set, on top of it, the next card higher, or else a card of the same number with the opposite color — which then reversed the direction of play, that is, the last-played card now needed to be covered by the next lower card rather than higher, until a card with the same number and opposite color was played again. The players did not, strictly speaking, take turns. When Kelly played a card, Maxwell might quickly play the next card on top of it — but not if Kelly could do it first. If Kelly played a 5, Maxwell must look through his hand for a 6, or else a 5 of the opposite color, and play it before Kelly could do the same, if he could. The player setting down cards must do it one at a time, waiting until he had set a card down before reaching for another.
Occasionally a player acted too quickly and made a mistake. When he did, the other player would call him on it, and the player making the mistake had to pick up the card he'd played, and take another card from the face-down pile and add it to his hand. Whenever neither player could play an appropriate card, a new card from the pile was turned face up. The player able to shed all his cards first was the winner.
I couldn't recall seeing any card game that called for the degree of quick thinking and reflexes that this one did. The reason for the name of the game was obvious.
As play went along, I noticed that Maxwell was allowed to drop his slave-boy etiquette in this situation — no "Mr. Kelly" or "Yes, sir." From both sides of the table came a steady stream of giggles, full-throated laughs, and exclamations. "No no, we're going up!" "Damn, I had a four!" "You rat! I was sitting here with a seven, eight, and nine all set to go!" (The last of those came from Kelly. Casual familiarities with the master can only go so far.)
A beeping sound came from the oven. Maxwell turned to look at it, and then apologetically at Kelly. "Sorry, Mr. Kelly. I need to get that out, and then set the table and see to the salads."
Kelly grinned. "So that's a forfeit. I win, six games to three."
Maxwell smiled back. "Wait till next time, Mr. Kelly."
"Time to give up hope, Maxwell."
As Kelly gathered the cards together, oriented them face down and began restoring the cards to their pack, Maverick spoke up. "Can I play?"
Kelly did a startled double-take. "With me?"
"Of course."
"Ummm... sure." He shuffled the cards, as Maverick took Maxwell's place opposite Kelly.
It seemed a different game. It proceeded a little more slowly for obvious reasons, with Maverick's lack of familiarity, though he had a quicker mind than anyone I knew. But the main difference was in the atmosphere. Kelly was quiet, his face a study in concentration, a slight frown on his face as his eyes flicked from the table to the cards in his hand, his fingers reaching quickly for the card he needed and throwing it down forcibly. No banter, no laughing. I looked at Kelly's combination of computer-like mind and machine-like reflexes, and suddenly smiled to myself, remembering where I'd seen that before.
After two games, the first won easily by Kelly, the second closer, Kelly gathered up the cards and said, "I've got a new CD I want to listen to." A moment later, he was gone.
Maverick fiddled idly with the cards, shaking his head. He sighed, "Wynn, why was it so different?" He gestured between himself and Maxwell.
I rubbed Maverick's shoulder. "He doesn't relate to you right now. He's got a whole life he's been living without you for three years, and he's used to that. And I know that you... have kind of a hard time with strangers. Maybe there's some of that in him too. He didn't exactly give me a rousing welcome."
"Wynn, I'm not a stranger."
"To him, you are. For now. There's still tonight and tomorrow. Give it time."