Rating: NC-17

"Blair, I really don't want you to go into this... profession. There's no need, we can manage..."

"Naomi, please, I want to." Blair clasped his mother's hands in his own. "You need to take your ease for a while, and the extra money would help, you can't tell me it won't."

"I know, but an 'actor'! You could do so much better, sweeting."

Blair lowered his head so that his curls hid the soft smile. "Mother, there's not a lot of legitimate, professional work available for the son of a recanted Jewish..." He hesitated over his last word.

"The word you're searching for is 'whore', Blair. I know what I am." Naomi chastised her son gently.

Blair's head jerked up. "Now, you see, that word has definite connotations. Why, at one time, prostitutes were venerated."

"I know, sweeting." Naomi smiled and stroked her son's cheek with the back of her hand. "I just never want to see you used as a convenient 'hole'. Everyone knows the reputation that actors have, that they're easy meat who will do anything for a few crowns, that they're no better than rogues and bear-baiters."

"Everyone?" Blair refrained from mentioning kettles and pots. "Look, Naomi, I promise I will not sell myself... unless he has plenty of money to set us both up with beautiful rooms, silk sheets on the beds... and hot and cold running servants!" He couldn't help grinning broadly.

"Blair!"

"Naomi!"

"Very well," she sighed. "You do what you must. I just hope Master Shakespeare knows talent when he sees it!"

Blair smiled at her as he opened the door of their lodging house. "If not, then I'll just have to rely on my good looks and my sweet tongue." And he shut the door swiftly behind him before his mother could open her mouth to say any more, and started up the street, whistling as he went.

The round building dwarfed its neighbours. Blair stood outside and let his eyes travel skywards. It was awe-inspiring -- not just the size of the building, but that it was built at all. There weren't that many purpose-built playhouses in England, and most of them were in London, and this -- this was the very best, and here in Southwark too! He'd heard that the late and lamented Queen Bess herself had seen Shakespeare's plays and the roar of the theatre audience could be heard even in the lodging house he shared with his mother. Of course the noise wasn't always in appreciation. Often as not, the bulk of the crowd went to the theatre to enjoy the heckling or the gambling.

The couple of times Blair had been inside the theatre, he'd loved it -- loved the atmosphere, the diverse audience -- young, old, rich, poor; some with rapt attention focused on the stage, others playing cards or making assignations with their neighbours. The whole spectacle was fascinating, and Blair wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to make people laugh or cry just by the power of his words; he wanted to excite them so that, for a time, they would forget the outside world existed. And, if he wasn't talented enough to act, then he could copy the play for future publications in folios. He felt a wave of sadness. The plain truth was, he needed the work.

His grandfather came to England while Naomi was still a child, hoping for a good life for himself and his family, but Jews were still outsiders, still persecuted -- nothing had changed since they were driven from these shores over a century ago. So he anglicised their family name -- became Christians, at least to the outside world, and the Sandburgs became the Sands. Money was still hard to come by and when Naomi found herself pregnant, she was told by her family to find her own way, given a parcel of food and clothes, and shown the door. She'd taken the only profession she believed was open to her.

Nowadays, though still a lovely woman, Naomi was showing her age and her 'clients' were turning to younger whores. The rich patron whose money had kept them off the streets for the past few years had discarded her last year, fearing the 'Wrath of God', the plague, would overtake him because he'd taken a mistress, and they'd sorely missed that income. Now it was a case of beg, borrow or steal, and Naomi had her pride left; she wouldn't let Blair risk that -- not yet.

"So are you going to stand there all day, or are you looking for work?"

Blair had been so busy day-dreaming in front of the notice advertising actor's auditions, he hadn't registered the young dandy propping up the door in the side of the building while cleaning his nails with a nasty looking stiletto knife.

"What?"

"Oh, pretty and articulate! You'll do well here." The dandy smirked and pushed himself off the door. "My name's William, but everyone calls me Willie. What do they call you?"

Blair suddenly realized that he'd been standing there with his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. "Blair," he swallowed. "My name's Blair."

"Well, Blair, come on in and let me introduce you to the acting profession...."

Willie slid his arm around Blair's shoulders, opened the door and gently pushed him through into the darkened interior.

The next few hours passed in a daze for Blair. He shook hands, clasped arms and doffed his cap to so many men, most of whom he felt sure he would never recognize again, then he found himself on the large stage, dressed in a loosely fitted gown and reading a female's part to a small but influential audience dotted about the theatre.

"Speak louder, lad."

"Put more of a lilt on it. You're a wench, for Heaven's sake!"

And then, "He'll do. We can use him in the background for now. We'll see if he develops any talent."

"Sir?" Blair piped up, "Begging your pardon, but how much will I get paid? I can write, and I'm stronger than I look."

The large bald-headed, bearded man in front laughed. "You'll get paid by the size of the audience and of your role in the play. If you want to earn large amounts, you'd do better at Madam Holland's establishment, over in Paris Gardens. I'm told a whore there can get half a crown a cock, and all she has to do is lie back and think of England. Here you have to put a bit more effort into your work and you get heckled while performing!" His audience roared with laughter.

A big Moor standing behind Blair on the stage came up and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't let them put you off, lad, you'll do fine." He slapped Blair's shoulder with the flat of his hand. "My name's Simon. Come on, let's adjoin to the tavern and I'll tell you about the reprobates you'll be working with."

"... and then there's Flemish Adam. He provides us with a few painted props, and he plays most of the female roles, being small and slight. Something I imagine you'll be doing too with that hair and those lips," Simon explained. They were sitting near the fireplace in the tavern, a beaker of ale in front of each of them.

Blair frowned. "I'm neither small nor slight. I would rather play heroic roles."

"Wouldn't we all. But unless we have more feminine looking applicants, I'd get used to the idea, if I were you, and there's a lot of work goes into convincingly playing a woman. For instance, if you were to play my wife, you would have to make the audience believe I would want to marry you."

"Why wouldn't you?" Blair's eyebrow rose suggestively. "I'm young, charming... and a master in the bed chamber."

The Moor laughed. "And about as contrary as a woman -- not to mention about as modest! I'm sure Master Shakespeare will find a role to suit your talents. Just remember, no tongues when we kiss!"

He slapped Blair on the shoulder and the younger man relaxed a little. Simon was obviously sure Blair was joking. Which was just as well, he would have enough trouble fitting in, without admitting he liked the male form as much as the female. Sodomy was a hanging offence, grouped with such acts as sorcery and bestiality.

Simon was continuing, "You saw Joseph? Now he's the son of a monk and a gypsy."

"Really!" Blair remembered the large man at the theatre who was telling an outrageous tale involving a troupe of lady acrobats when Blair was introduced to him.

"Yes," Simon's smile faded. "When 'Good King Harry' destroyed the monasteries, Joseph's father lost everything. If you're really interested, get him to tell you his story. It's a very interesting tale, worthy of the best plays. Then there's Henri. Some lord brought him over from France. However the lady of the manor became a little too familiar with our Henri and he was thrown out. Our two clowns, Anthony and Giorgio, they're from old established acting families."

"Traditional clowns?"

"Oh yes. Clowning's a serious business and every play should have at least one clown or a tumbler, preferably one and the same. It costs less in wages." Simon grinned.

Blair chucked. He liked this large, seemingly open man. "And yourself? How did you come into the profession?" he asked.

Simon leaned back. "I spent some time on Drake's ships. Discovered I liked firmer boards beneath my feet."

"What about William -- erm, Willie?"

"Ah," Simon took a pipe from a pouch on his belt and filled it with tobacco. "Now Willie was a troubadour. I think he had some sort of accident, which damaged his voice. But he's a great mimic. He seems to be able to slip on a character like a worn cloak." With the aid of a spilt, he lit his pipe from the near-by fire. "So, there you have it, our small group of performing mummers. Still want to perform for the discerning, law-abiding public?"

"Oh yes."

His companion laughed out loud. "Well, if that didn't put you off, perhaps the first rotten cabbage that hits you in the face will!"

Jem stepped off the small barge and on to the quay at Paul's Wharf, near Thames Street. He had a few days to wait before his next load arrived from the west and he was able to make the return journey. He could leave his servant, Jack, to guard the boat and keep the other men in check, and he could see the sights, spend a little of his allowance, sleep ashore for a change, be his own man for a while -- as much a free man as his situation would allow him to be.

The air in London was more smoky than he was used to and the city much, much larger and full of smells, noise and squalor. It sprawled across the land on both sides of the busy Thames river -- a city closely packed with creamy-pink and black houses, shops and inns, all sitting along side the narrow congested streets running with raw sewage, in between large churches, palaces and mansion houses, with their courtyards and walls, and everywhere crowds and cony-catchers out to fleece the unsuspecting. He'd been here before, but usually in the company of his father, or without time to spare. But with the bad weather up north and the threat of pestilence ever present in the capital, commerce had slowed right down.

Jem had noticed that the population growth of the flea-ridden black rats seemed to tie into the outbreaks and he made sure to avoid rats as much as he was able, even going as far as to washing as often as possible to be rid of the vicious little blood suckers that infested the rodents and tormented the flesh of good Christians.

Usually it were the very poor, very old or very young who were at risk of the dreadful affliction, but during a large outbreak, say of thirty people, or more dead, then whole areas of the city were closed off. Only the courageous or foolhardy would venture into the empty streets that stank of fear and death where the doors were marked with red crosses.

Last year had been a particularly bad one, and the plague had killed so many that it was feared to be a judgement from God. It was also last year that Good Queen Bess had died and King James had travelled down from Scotland to claim his cousin's throne. The country seemed to be holding its breath. Fear of the new monarch, fear of the pestilence, and fear of God -- all these made the population unsettled and uneasy.

There were a number of rumors about the Scottish King. Some said he was a dour man who took his pleasure from the Bible, that he saw no sense in war, but was no pacifist. The more puritan-minded suggested -- quietly -- that he took earthly pleasure from the company of men and that he'd brought his catamites with him to lord over the court. Certainly there were a few dandies around with the fashionable 'love-lock' or kiss curl hanging over one shoulder that were said to have gained favor in the Scottish court. Yet others said that he was a ruthless, cunning man who would not be crossed. And then there was the story that particularly disturbed Jem Ellison....

He'd read a pamphlet about the trail and execution of one Doctor John Fian. The pamphlet went into full and exact detail about the torture, strangulation and burning of this accused witch, written in the kind of language that made Jem's skin crawl worse that from any flea bite. And all because of one bad storm that came up near Berwick in Scotland that caused King James and his new wife, Anne, problems on their way back from Norway. The king had placed the blame for the storm squarely on a group of witches attempting to sink his ship, and their so-called leader, the young schoolmaster, John Fian, had died for it. The first thing the new king of England did, once he was crowned, was to institute a statute declaring that all witches should 'suffer the pains of deathe.' Although he'd been raised to believe that some things were the works of the Devil, Jem couldn't help but have a grain of sympathy for the tortured witches. For a man cursed as Jem was, a new purge on witchcraft did not bore well for his own future health.

Jem wasn't sure when his affliction had come upon him, though it seemed to have happened around the time that he had gotten lost on the desolate marshlands around his cousin's farm. He'd been trapped, his horse gone lame, the weather bad, driving rain making the landscape bleak and alien. The only cover had been a ruined chapel, and his only company the few sheep too stupid to find their way home. The wind had blown strong and pitiless, and Jem had never felt so isolated or alone. And yet not alone. That same wind that virtually sang through the ruins excited the hairs on his skin. From miles away a hawk cried out before it dropped like a stone and a young fox cub let out a blood-curdling scream. A tiny beetle scratched its way across a stone. He could smell the sweet moss growing on the building; taste the salt of the sea, though the coast was a good number of miles away. Jem's senses both delighted and frightened him and he hadn't a soul he could trust to talk to.

Finally the wind had dropped and the smoke raising high from Rucker's home chimney had drawn him back like a beacon. Later he wondered if he'd fallen foul of some witchery, or the wee folk, though the land belonged to the local lord and was considered safe from such foulness. All Jem knew was that his problems grew worse when he focused too much on any one thing, that it could drive his mind away and put his life at risk.

His thoughts returned to the present as he passed by the port whores. They called out to him as he walked past, offering their 'wares'. They smelt of sex and sweat, a pungent, heady mix to one as starved of affection as Jem was. But as much as he would like a nice, soft, willing body -- or even a hard one -- to lie beside, he couldn't risk the chance that he would lose himself in the feelings. No, he could not relax enough for that form of recreation.

A notice caught his eye about a new play by Will Shakespeare. If he was able to hold onto his senses for a couple of hours, as he sometimes could, that might be worth a look. First he would find a reasonably clean lodging house and then he'd take a ferry across the river....

Although Blair had been at the theatre for several weeks, he was still the general 'dogsbody' and it was beginning to wear a little thin. They needed fruit for a scene one of the other actors was improvising and Blair was sent out to buy some. It didn't matter that he was in full costume, oh no. Didn't matter that Blair had a big part in this production, and that it was only a few minutes before the play started. Nor did it matter that he was playing a woman and thus had to wear the full dress with hoop, bum roll, and corset -- which, he would have told anyone willing to listen, was damned uncomfortable and constricting -- not to mention the elaborate hair style that his character wore. 'She' was the wife of an important man therefore 'her' hair was coiffured with fake jewels and pins. At least he hadn't had the chance to put his makeup on. The white lead powder made his face tingle and the crushed insects they used for a rouge made his skin crawl.

He smiled ruefully, well not literally. His mother's face was pock-marked due to the powder she used. Blair was vain enough not to want his face damaged that way. But it was one of the drawbacks of being an actor. Like fetching and carrying. Fruit was required, so Blair was sent and told not to mess up his costume on the way.

It was common practice for some servant of an eminent lord or knight to be left a garment when their master died. The servant would then sell on the clothes to actors for a small sum. The clothes were usually too elaborate for the common man, but as a theatrical costume, they were ideal. Their seamstress, Mistress Samantha, played around with the material to fit whatever costumes the play demanded. Blair's was a mixture of dark brown fabric and gold trimmings that would pass in the late queen's court -- if one did not look too closely at the person inside. Mistress Samantha was a marvel with a needle, thread and pins -- but woe betide anyone who messed up her creations!

Luckily there was a stall not too far from the theatre that provided enough mouldy old fruit at a cheap rate for the cast to play with. Yum, tasty, Blair thought as he bent slightly, to put a rotten apple on top of the pile he was carrying. Unluckily that was the straw that broke the camel's back and the whole lot fell from his arms and bounced on the street.

He cursed and, pushing his hair back, bent to pick it up, remembering at the last minute to bend from the knees, not the waist and found himself looking at... a pair of smart buckled shoes, which led in turn to a shapely pair of calves and elegant long legs covered by a pair of silver colored hose. His eyes travelled up to a brief view of a very nicely filled pair of paned breeches. Then a short-cropped head of dark hair bordering on grey blocked his view as its owner bent to help pick up the fallen fruit, saying, as he did, "Mistress, a lady such as yourself, should have a host of servants to carry her purchases."

Blair blushed but smiled broadly as the man straightened. "It's a testament to my acting, sir, that you would mistake me for a lady," he said to try and cover for any embarrassment.

It worked. The stranger smiled back. A nice smile, Blair thought, it suits him, along with the blue eyes that seem to sparkle with mischief, the short, pointed beard, the dark blue doublet that fit perfectly across a pair of well-formed shoulders leading to a narrow waist... Blair swallowed and licked his suddenly dry lips.

"So you're an actor. At the Globe?"

Blair blinked and came back to the moment. "Yes, I'm playing the lead female, as you can see." He gave a little curtsy. "I don't usually go through the streets of London like this." He smiled, unwilling to end this conversation. "Will you be coming to see the performance?"

"Yes. I fancy I will."

"Good. Good, I'll look out for you." Blair turned and reluctantly began to walk back to the theatre.

"Wait, you forgot one."

Blair laughed and caught the thrown apple with one hand. "Thanks. I'll see you inside."

Jem stood smiling for a long time, his cap in his hands, before he realized he was standing in the middle of the street like some lovelorn fool. He quickly replaced his feather-trimmed cap back on his head, cleared his throat and walked smartly over to the ticket stall.

Jem knew he'd made a mistake when he entered the main area. He'd bought the cheapest ticket, right in front of the stage, in the uncovered, unseated area, and it quickly became obvious that most of the noise and hassle was situated in that area. He was ready to make a swift exit, when he noticed Desdemona's entrance.

After that, Jem couldn't have moved if the theatre had burned around him. He watched the young actor's performance as if it were the most spellbinding thing he'd ever seen, but the truth was, he wasn't actually concentrating on the words or the role the actor played, just the tone of that voice, a little high pitched maybe, and the painted face, but under the make up... and those eyes.... He barely noticed the other actors. The big blackamoor playing Othello, shifting between love and torment over his fears about his wife, the shorter, shifty looking man playing the devious, wily Iago. They caught his attention, but only in passing.

When Desdemona was killed, Jem broke out in a cold sweat. Though the play ended with all the actors taking their final bow, including a very much alive 'Desdemona', Jem still felt a need to reassure himself that this actor was... well, alive. As stupid as it felt, watching that young life snuffed out, even though it was just playacting, had truly unsettled Jem.

So he found himself, long after the show was done, outside the theatre, waiting for the actors to emerge, standing close to a small group of the actor's admirers, unsure of what he was going to say, but just needing to see this man alive and well.

He heard the voices long before the group of actors stepped out of the interior. "I know Christopher Marlow was good," one was saying, "but he didn't have the same style as Shakespeare. I mean look at his final play...." They walked away from the building, full of life, laughing and jesting, cheered on at having given a good performance and paying no mind to the man who stood against the wall. They halted as the group by the door called out and surrounded them, and then started to move away again.

Jem stepped away from the side of the building. His movement caught Blair's eyes and he turned. For a moment their eyes connected, and then someone took the actor's arm and pulled him along, and he was lost to Jem's vision as the group closed around him.

Jem stood for a long time before he started to walk. Who was this young man to inspire me with such desire? Maybe he's a witch. Because I feel as if he's bewitched me.... Jem shook his head in amusement. That young man, a witch? Unlikely!

It was the sound of the Bow Bells that brought Jem out of his daze. He was alone. Once again, he must have lost himself for a while. Luckily no one had robbed him, but then no one had offered him help either, as far as he was aware. It was growing dark and he also realized that soon the gates of London would be closed for the night and he wouldn't be able to return to his lodging. London was not a safe place to walk after dark, even for a fit and healthy man such as Jem. He made his way down the darkening streets towards the ferry without any more delay.

A scream ripped through the air. Without thinking, Jem began to run towards the sound. A small huddle of people had gathered around the path. Jem pushed his way through. There, on the ground, in a circle lit by the touches some of the bystanders carried, lay a naked male corpse. Around his throat a bright yellow-colored scarf seemed to glow in the touch light, its ragged ends lifting in the cool late evening air. The man's eyes bulged, his skin was white and puffy and his mouth hung open as if he was about to scream.

Nearby a man with curly, hazel-colored hair was comforting a young woman and, Jem realized with a jolt, the curly haired man was the actor he'd met earlier.

"Hush. Hush, Christine, don't fret so. You're safe, no one will hurt you."

"What's going on here?" Jem asked as he bent to examine the victim in order to be sure that he was dead. Jem then removed his cloak and gently covered the body.

"Christine found him." The actor replied, bending down beside Jem having handed the woman off to weep on someone else's shoulders. "She said she was walking down here on her way home when she saw someone running off, another woman. Christine more or less tripped over the," he took a breath and swallowed, "over the body."

"He's been drowned," said Jem, standing. "And recently, by the look of him." He looked around. "Who pulled him out?"

"I think that would be my business, sir." An officer of the watch appeared from out of the crowd, brisk and fat, a lantern in one hand, a sword in the other, an armband declaring his role and rank. "Would you mind telling me your name and your business here?"

The two men turned to face the newcomer.

"James Ellison. Merchantman. I came into town with my boat and small crew." Jem nodded over the water. "She's moored over the river. My men should be sleeping on board guarding her. I came over to see a play."

"And you sir?" the officer turned to Blair.

"Blair Sands." He looked down at the body. "His name is...was Willie, Willie Bright. He was an actor and troubadour with our company, The King's Men."

"You're Naomi's lad, aren't you?"

"Yes." Blair pulled himself up straight. "Yes, that's right."

"Did you find him?" Blair shook his head. "Then you'd best be on your way, lad. Your mother will be worried, with all the racket about.

"And Master Ellison, I take it you have lodgings on the other side of the river?"

Jem nodded. "Yes, that is correct."

"Well, I'm sorry, sir. But the last ferry's just left. I doubt if you'll be able to get to the bridge in time before the gates into the city shut. It gets very busy the hour before they close. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?"

"He can stay with me... with us... at the house where my mother and I lodge," Blair said, stumbling over his words and blushing.

The officer nodded. "Would that be well with you, sir?" he asked Jem.

"Yes, yes that'll be fine." Jem smiled at Blair, his eyes twinkling.

"We'll take custody of the body and see what we can find out. Good night, sir." With that he dismissed the two men. Jem heard him questioning the small crowd as he moved away with Blair. "So Mistress, did you find the body? Did you see it pulled from the river?"

The woman's answers were faint, too faint even for Jem to be sure he heard correctly. The officer took the names and addresses of those present and then Jem heard him say, "Move along, people, no more to see here tonight. You all have homes to go to." What sounded like a small hand drawn wagon rumbled along the cobbles, and the body was loaded onto it.

"That's the second murder in as many weeks," said Blair, "and the reason why I found myself with such a large role."

"I don't understand." They were walking though the dark alley towards Blair's lodging. Blair was carrying one of the torches to light their way. Strange shapes loomed out of the darkness to consolidate into recognizable buildings as the light fell on them, only to fade once more into the shadows as they passed. Jem didn't need any additional light, his night time vision was sharp enough to see his companion and steer their feet safely along even in the dark. Blair was too preoccupied to notice how sure Jem's feet were or the hand on his arm that guided him away from the potholes.

"Adam was killed first, he played most of the female parts. His body was found in similar circumstances." The bile rose in Blair's throat as he remembered Willie's unseeing eyes. He shook himself and continued. "When he went missing a week or so ago, I took over. Our lead actor, Richard Burbage, has taken to his bed, blaming the pox. Mind you, we think it could just be a way of escaping his debtors. He likes the fine things in life. Fine clothes, fine wine and fine ladies. But he doesn't always have the money to pay for them. 'Though it is said he has a share in both the Globe and the Blackfriars theatres." Blair shook his head. "Anyway, Simon is a better actor."

"Which makes you a suspect in Adam's murder," Jem ventured.

"You don't think..." Blair sounded horrified. "I would never kill someone just to get a part in a play! I'm no killer. And, if I were going to kill someone it wouldn't be over a job. If you knew anything about me..."

I'd like to, Jem found himself thinking. "So your friend Simon took over the lead role?"

Distractedly, Blair nodded. "I was Adam's understudy, Simon was Richard's." He looked up at Jem. "He plays Othello well, don't you think? And Willie? I didn't know him that well. He played Iago, he was very good. Sometimes I shuddered at the way he tried to manipulate Othello. 'But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve, for daws to pick at: I am not what I am'." He gave a very theatrical shudder that had Jem smiling. He meant to ask how well Blair knew the other victim, but the look on Blair's face as he smiled back at Jem, chased the thought right out of his head.

They arrived at a house with a candle burning in the window and Blair opened the door, standing back to allow Jem in first. "This is the one. We sleep upstairs." He extinguished the torch against the cobbles.

"We?"

"Oh. I forgot to tell you, I share the room with my mother." Blair climbed ahead of Jem upstairs. "It's not much, but the rent's cheap, and it's a fair space for the price -- only don't tell the landlord that! It's much better than the last place. We had rats this big." His hands flew apart to show Jem just how large the rodents were. "And that was just the body! Nasty vicious creatures." He paused and turned back to Jem. "May I ask that you don't mention the murder to my mother? She worries... about my profession."

Jem nodded and then ducked his head as he stepped through the upstairs doorway. A large curtain hung across the middle of the room, tied back to allow the air to circulate. One single candle burned on an old trunk. Jem's nose began to itch.

"My mother sleeps on this side of the curtain," Blair explained, "I sleep on the other side. You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the floor." A loud sneeze distracted him.

"Sorry. It's the sage hanging down." Jem pointed to where a large bundle hung from the ceiling. "It always sets me sneezing."

"Oh, you poor thing. That's awful. How do you get rid of the fleas?" Blair's mother stepped into the room as her son moved to open the window.

"I... wash and manage... without the sage." Jem took out a kerchief from a pocket and wiped his nose.

"But how?"

"Well, when the creatures bite too much, I bathe."

"Oh. I hear you. Blair does the same."

Blair bit back a grin that threatened to break loose. Naomi, like so many others, firmly believed that bathing and washing destroyed the natural oils in the skin. Even Queen Bess, it was said, only bathed once a year, and that was whether she needed it or not! "Mother, this is Master James Ellison. He's stuck on this side of the river overnight. I said I'd give him a bed. We'd give him a bed." Blair hoped James didn't notice the fumbling of his words. "Master Ellison, this is my mother, Naomi."

"How do you do, Master Ellison."

Blair's eyes narrowed as his mother coyly held out her hand to James, who bent and kissed the back of it. She was wearing her low cut, long, golden-yellow house-smock, the one that always had Blair sweating in case the lacing gave way and he had to defend his mother's virtue, which he knew darn well she wouldn't do herself.

"Mistress Naomi. It's a pleasure to meet Blair's young, beautiful mother. Your son does you credit, and please, call me Jem."

Naomi blushed and smiled. "He's very good to me. And I'm sure we can find space for such a handsome man, Jem."

"I just offered him my bed, Naomi." Blair's voice carried a hint of warning to his mother.

Jem was shaking his head. "I don't want to put anyone out. I can sleep on the floor, or," he turned to Blair, "if you don't mind sharing, your bed seems wide enough for two and it does look more comfortable than the floor."

Blair suddenly looked as if all his dreams had just dropped right in his lap. He swallowed quickly. "No! No, I don't mind at all. Are you sure it's not a little on the short side for someone as tall as yourself? We may have to get very close." I won't touch him. I will keep to my side of the bed... unless he makes a move towards me. Oh God, let him make a move on me. I know it's a sin and a crime, but, dear God, look at him!

"I wouldn't mind getting close to you myself, sir!" Naomi giggled.

"Mother! This gentleman is our guest. He's just staying here overnight -- to sleep!"

The sleeping arrangements settled, the two men undressed in the dark down to their shirts, and settled down to sleep in Blair's bed, though that was a long time coming for the young man.

Jem awoke to feel Blair's morning erection against his body. For a moment he lay there, enjoying the sensation, fighting the urge to push back. Just a little movement, a little shifting and Blair's cock would fit so well against his backside. He stopped himself. Blair seemed nervous enough as it was. Jem couldn't take advantage of the situation. Oh, he knew the lad felt some attraction for him. Given his curse, he could almost see, as a warm cloud of air, the want coming from Blair. In fact, he was sure his own body was giving off the same cloud that joined with Blair's and enveloped them both, leaving Jem wanting to drown in the sensation. But with the lad's mother just a curtain away he wouldn't do anything. If this is a spell, I'll happily surrender to it and damn the consequences! he thought.

He shifted to climb out of the bed and the movement rubbed Blair's cock, causing it to grow and fill. Blair sighed in pleasure, and Jem sighed in frustration.

He stood up.

"Where are you going?" asked a very sleepy voice just behind him.

"To piss," he answered shortly, pulling the jordon out from under the bed to do just that.

"Oh. Then are you coming back to bed?"

I wish I could. "No. I thought I might go and ask the watch sergeant if I could take another look at that body we found yesterday. I have to get my cloak back too."

"Why do you want to look at the body?" Blair's voice sounded more awake.

A hundred answers flew through Jem's mind. Because I want to make sure you're safe, because I feel desire for you, because somehow I can forget about my curse around you, because I care about what happens to you, because I don't want the same thing to happen to you, because, because.... But what he said was, "If this murderer is preying upon actors... well, I dislike the idea of someone who is kind enough to offer me their hospitality being close to danger."

"Then I should come with you." The sleepiness had totally gone from Blair's voice. "I know the men of the watch."

"Shouldn't you be getting to the theatre?"

"Not until this afternoon at least." Blair rose from the bed, pulling down his shirt as he tried to hide his erection from Jem who gave him some privacy by turning his back and reaching for his clothes.

Blair stood at the jordon and gave a sigh of relief that bordered on ecstasy as he relaxed enough to relieve himself, making Jem pause and smile. As Blair bent down to pick up the piss-bucket to throw its contents out of the window he heard a soft groan from Jem. Blair turned in concern and caught his bedfellow give a start. Suddenly Blair realized Jem had been admiring his arse. His eyes caught Jem's and his guest blushed. For a moment Blair panicked, thinking that he'd misread the signs, but then he realized Jem's cock was growing and he began to smile as he felt his own cock fill and rise again.

Jem's eyes were drawn to it, and watched as it grew and lengthened under his gaze, his own hardening too.

The moment was shattered as both men heard Naomi's sleepy voice. "Blair, sweeting, are you getting up?"

Blair sighed. Oh, I was getting 'up'.... "All's well, Naomi. Go back to sleep. Master Ellison and I are just going to wash downstairs."

"Oh, all right, poppet." She turned over and began to snore softly.

The two men quickly exited the room, carrying their clothes over their arms and headed downstairs into the courtyard where the well that served that block of houses sat. The water was ice cold and both men just splashed their faces from the full bucket they drew up. Jem discreetly splashed some on his cock to try and cool it down. Blair bit his lip trying to hide the smile and proceeded to do the same. The shock of the water on his hot flesh took his breath away and did the same with his erection.

The two men swiftly got into the rest of their clothes, thankful that no one was around at that time. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air from a nearby bakery, and two stomachs rumbled in unison.

"Might I suggest," said Jem, "that we see if the baker has any yeoman's bread we can buy, or even a day old loaf? Some food inside us will help start the day off well."

"Sounds like a good idea," said Blair smiling. "So you're a merchant?" he asked as they left the courtyard and began to walk along the street.

"Yes. My father runs the business. We carry bricks, peat, what have you, up the Lea and into the Thames, for London's merchants. Then we collect different goods and return to Luton to sell them in our home town and nearby villages."

"And you use the river, not the land. Isn't that as dangerous?"

"Sometimes it can be, when the weather is bad. Often as not, the boat is quicker and more reliable than the road journey and can carry more."

"And is there a Mistress Ellison waiting for you back on the harbour?" Blair enquired carefully.

Jem smiled at Blair's question. "There was. My mother passed away some years ago."

"And your wife...?"

Jem laughed. "I don't have one. I had a betrothed but, em... we parted company some time ago."

Blair looked at Jem, curiosity in his expression. "Why?"

"Dear Lord, you ask a lot of questions!" Jem groused good-naturedly. "Carolyn left me because," he took a breath and a chance, "well, I took more of a liking to her brother than to her."

"Oh!" Blair's eyes opened wide. "And did he return the liking?"

Jem grinned ruefully. "Actually no. He now has half a dozen children and a fat wife."

Blair laughed out loud.

"And what about yourself. No other lady in your life apart from the attractive Naomi?"

"Sir! That is my mother!" Blair affected a scandalized tone. "I do have many admirers." He smiled at Jem, enjoying their byplay.

"And do you ever take them up on their 'admiration'?"

"I've been known to." Blair tried to look coy but failed.

They sat outside an inn, drinking ale and chewing cheese and bread. Once their stomachs were satisfied, they set off for the watch house.

An officer, in between eating his breakfast of rough bean porridge, told them the body had been placed in St. Mary's church. If no relatives came forward, poor William Bright would go in a pauper's grave.

The church was nearly empty, lit by a few candles. The reverend, having preformed his early service, was standing to one side of the nave where two pallets stood topped by a simple coffin, and beside that stood another man, his cap doffed and his dark head bowed.

"Simon? What are you doing here?" Blair voice was quiet, though in the church, stripped of any idols and papal paraphernalia, his words came out louder than he expected, and the tall Moor started and turned around.

He seemed to hesitate as if looking for the right words. "He is -" Simon cleared his throat. "He was one of our own, Blair. I came to pay him my respects." Though he spoke to Blair, Simon's eyes came to rest on the tall man beside him.

Blair introduced Jem. "This is Master Ellison. He missed the last boat last night. It was his cloak that covered Willie's body."

Simon nodded to Jem and then presented the priest. "The reverend and I have been saying a prayer for Willie." Simon picked up the cloak that lay beside the coffin on a stool and stroked it. "It's a fine wool, Master Ellison, worthy of a gentleman." He made no secret of his curiosity over Blair's companion.

Jem, however, wasn't paying him any attention. He'd walked around to the other side of the coffin and was leaning in.

"What? Have you found something?" asked Blair.

Jem frowned. "The body's been washed."

The priest looked amused. "Well, they do tend to do that with dead bodies, makes them nice and clean for Heaven."

Jem wasn't listening, and Simon looked perplexed, annoyed at being ignored and more than a little exasperated. "Look, sir, I don't know what your business is here..." he began.

Jem interrupted. "No, I mean washed before. I remember that there was no foam around the mouth last night. Why would someone wash the body before dumping it? And why should a body be washed up just there? Wouldn't the currents have taken it farther down-stream?"

"Well, yes." Simon answered slowly. "Depending on the time of year and day, normally the currents and tides would carry it further away, but I still don't see..."

"There was a smell, last night, on the body. Not a fresh water smell, more... stagnant, like from a pond, or lake, and other smells, like vinegar or some such. I know the smell from a man drowned in fresh river water. This man died elsewhere." Jem declared.

Despite his initial reaction, Simon became interested. "You can tell the difference? Could it not be from the port, perhaps? Or further up where the Fleet joins the Thames and the river becomes a sewer? The stench from there would rot a man's clothes from his back. The Watch said that no one saw him being pulled out, just that woman... Christine?" Simon turned to look at his Blair for confirmation of the name.

Blair nodded.

"She told them that she only saw a woman running away, that correct?"

"Yes. Christine's a neighbour. I heard her cry out in the street. She said that she only saw the back of the woman," agreed Blair.

"Did she say what this woman looked like?" Jem turned to Blair.

"No, only that she was dressed all in black, tall for a woman but not that tall."

"And she was sure that it was a woman, not a man wearing a robe or a gown?" Jem pressed.

"She said it was a woman...." Blair sounded unsure. "It's possible. It was dark. Why?"

"There are no signs of violence, no bruising on the neck or elsewhere, no cuts on the arms from Willie trying to defend himself. Either Willie knew his killer, or he was drugged."

Simon looked from one to the other. "I think I'd like to have a word with Mistress Christine."

"You should tell the Watch what you've discovered." The priest added and his voice jolted the other men. They'd forgotten he was still there.

Simon offered Jem his cloak back and as Jem took it, the yellow scarf that had been wrapped around Willie's throat, fluttered to the floor. Jem picked it up carefully. "Why a yellow scarf?" he wondered. "Was it Mr. Bright's?"

Simon shook his head. "No, I would have seen it. Willie and I shared the same lodgings."

"Yellow was a color that the Jews were forced to wear, around a hundred years ago," Blair ventured as he looked from the scarf to Jem's face. "It marked them out as different from the Christian folk."

Jem was running the scarf through his fingers. "So did someone leave this for some religious reason? Are we looking for a Jew or a Jew hater?"

Simon frowned and shook his head. "We could be seeing too much into it. Yellow is easy enough to create, egg yolks, onion skins, even Dyer's Greenwood, I'm told, can dye linen yellow."

Jem lifted the material to his face. "No, not egg yolks, or onions." He took another sniff. "Tansy or weld? I'm sure it's that sort of smell, and... something that reminds me of the beach."

"Alum?" suggested Blair. "I read that roche alum salt is used to fix some dyes."

"So knowledgeable for one so young," murmured the priest.

Jem was nodding. "It's possible, professor." He smiled and Blair felt a warmth travel through him.

Simon had taken the scarf and was examining it, a deeper frown on his face. "I don't see how you got all that," he straightened and tucked it into his belt, obviously deciding that the discussion was finished. "I'm glad I saw you, Blair. Master Shakespeare has closed the theatre for today, as a mark of respect." He slapped Blair on his shoulder. "So, lad, you have a holiday. Make good use of it." He put his hat back on. "And a good day to you, Master Ellison... Father."

"To you too, sir." Jem realized he'd never asked the man for his last name.

"And I must return to my housekeeper. Good day, gentlemen. You have some fascinating theories between you." The priest bowed his head slightly and left.

"That was quite something." Blair said as they followed Simon out of the church.

"What was?"

"The way you detected how the body could have been drowned, and the scarf. You must have a good sense of smell."

Jem scoffed. "It's my curse, the cross I bear. My senses drive me mad."

"In what way?" Blair looked at him curiously.

"At times they overwhelm me and I lose time."

"They? How many? All of them? You mean all of your senses are stronger, more powerful than normal men's."

"Yes, all of them."

"That's truly..."

"Nightmarish? Terrible?" Jem offered.

"...Amazing!" Blair finished. "I've read tales in the classics, about mortal men with better, enhanced senses like that. Do you know how far you can see? How much you can hear? The things you could do..."

Jem shook his head. "I've been called a freak of nature, an abomination, a servant of Beelzebub. I've never investigated them any farther than I need to. It's the first time I've used them like that, for anything like that," he mused. Then he shook his head again. "I just want rid of them."

Blair looked horrified. "Rid of them? Jem, they're a gift. The stories concern men of extraordinary abilities. Guardians, protectors, watchmen..." Blair struggled to find the right word. "...sentinels. Jem, that's you. A sentinel."

Jem looked at his companion to see if he was mocking him, but all he saw was respect and admiration shining from Blair's face. Jem blushed and turned away.

"Look at me." Blair tugged on his sleeve. "You just have to learn how to use them; you need someone to guide you in their use."

Jem laughed unkindly. "And that someone would be you?" He regretted his false laugh straight away as he saw the hurt flash across Blair's expressive face.

Then a tenderness crept over that bright visage. "I'd like to, if you'd give me a chance." Blair said quietly. "I think we could work together on your senses. In fact I do have some ideas.... Tell me, is there anything else that starts you sneezing? You have no fever with it, no boils?"

"Well, my family use wormwood and rue on the floor, which doesn't seem to set them off, but Sally our housekeeper, is very careful not to use sage in her cooking around me. And flowers, cut flowers in the house... and no, no fever nor sores."

Jem's sense of duty led them over the river to check on his men and the boat. He wanted to avoid the noisy confusion of life on the bridge -- the shopkeepers calling out their wares; 'Lilywhite Vinegar!' 'Any Milk, here!' Sellers of eggs, cakes, mousetraps; the distant stench of rotting flesh from the heads of traitors that grimly decorated the spikes on the gate house. Coaches, wagons, children, dogs, all manner of livestock, all crowded into a small and narrow space -- but Blair persuaded him to try, advising Jem to focus on him, his voice, his scent. Jem still had a headache when they reached the other bank, but it wasn't quite as severe as he'd experienced before. Blair drew him into a small empty church, sat him down and told him to take deep breaths. The actor lowered his voice and kept up a soothing monologue, his hand on Jem's knee while they sat up against the wall. After a while Jem smiled. "It's working."

"Really? That's excellent."

"Yes. I feel relaxed and pain free. Thank you." Jem gently squeezed the hand on his knee.

Blair beamed and the reality of their situation hit Jem. He removed his hand from Blair's. "I shall have to return home at some point." He said the words with great reluctance and a sour taste in his mouth.

Blair looked down at the tiles on the floor, his own hand dropping away. "Yes, I imagine you will."

"But I would like to solve this puzzle first.... Perhaps I could send my men and the boat home to my father with a message that I'm helping the Watch, and will return when I've done my duty."

Blair's head came up. "You could do that.... Would your father approve?" he asked tentatively. He really didn't want his acquaintance with this man over and done just yet.

"I doubt it!" Jem laughed ruefully. "But I don't really see what he can do until I get home. My brother can run the business and as long as the goods and money arrive safely, I doubt that I'll be missed." He stood up. "I should write a note for my servants to carry back to my father." He paused, looking at Blair. "Stop that."

"What?"

"The pitying looks, the lost puppy-dog eyes." Jem smiled to take the sting from his words. "I cope well with my family, as long as we don't spend too long in each other's presence."

It didn't take them long to reach the boat and Jem stepped on board and ducked into the hatch. "Jack!" he called.

"Aye, master." A sharp-faced man with greying temples came up from the rear of the barge, smiling at Jem and giving Blair the once over. Jem put his hand on the man's shoulder and pulled him forward.

"Jack, I have some business to take care of before I return home. I'm trusting you with the new cargo when it arrives."

"Your father won't like that, sir." The man shrugged. "But it's your funeral."

Jem shook his head and turned to Blair. "Jack and I were raised together. Sometimes I wonder who is the master of this vessel!"

"Well, Cap', if you knew as much about the old girl as I do...." Jack patted the side of the boat affectionately. "She's named for an old sweetheart of mine, Emily."

At the mention of Emily's name, Jem frowned. "I'll write a note to my father so he knows what I'm about." He ducked back inside the hatch and Blair followed.

He'd noticed Jem's frown and meant to ask about Emily but once he stepped inside the barge, he was distracted by just how much room there was. "How many men do you have on board?" he asked, as he looked around.

"Four or five, normally," Jem said. He was turning over the contents of a fitted cupboard to find some paper and ink. He pulled out a horizontal panel from inside the cupboard and licked the tip of a quill he found there. Paper and ink were soon discovered and he sat down to write.

Blair began to see other 'hidden' cupboards and surfaces that folded down or up. His eyes caught a sliver of lace and he gently pulled it out from a drawer. "This is beautiful." He said, studying it as he ran his fingertips over the delicate pattern.

Jem looked up. "My mother brought it back from France with her." He smiled. "It's been repaired so many times and fixed onto different collars...."

The lace was attached to a white kerchief. "From France?" Blair was still stroking it as he admired the fine workmanship.

"Yes, she was French." Jem leaned back to watch his companion.

Blair caught himself and started to put it back. Jem stopped him. "If you like it so much, then keep it."

Blair was shaking his head. "It belongs in your family, to your mother."

"She died when I was ten. I have other things of hers." He turned back to his writing, suddenly uncomfortable with the subject and Blair's close scrutiny. "Perhaps Naomi might like it."

"If it's all the same with you, I should like to keep it myself."

Jem looked up to see Blair carefully tuck it into his sleeve. "Do as you please." he said, dismissively. "It's not a love token, Sands." But it could be, Jem thought, ducking his head and returning to his writing. "There, that should satisfy my father. Now, what to do about my lodgings...."

"Why did you decide not to sleep on board?" Blair asked. To his eye the bunks on the barge seemed compact and comfortable.

"For once, I wanted to be my own man and sleep where I chose. However, I intended to stay for just a couple of nights ashore, I can't afford to stay at the lodging house longer than that."

Blair gleefully rubbed his hands together. "Then we must find you somewhere you can afford!" He led the way out from the interior of the boat and into the daylight. "People can be very amiable, if you approach them the right way."

"You mean trick them, threaten them, that kind of thing."

Blair shook his head slowly. "Not exactly. You just have to appeal to them in the right manner. They just need to be shown the way to their better selves." Blair blushed as he finished. For a moment, Jem saw the faith in mankind that Blair carried deep within his soul, written on his face.

Jem shook his head. "You are a piece of work, my friend," he said, in admiration.

Blair blushed even redder and smiled. Then he graced Jem with a deep theatrical bow.

Jem tried not to grin as he hauled Blair off the boat by his jacket.

"Most gentlemen in London live on credit." Blair was saying as he led Jem around the back streets. They'd picked up Jem's meagre belongings and paid off his landlady. "People assume you have the money to pay your bills -- eventually, and, as long as you can pay some of it off now and again, they are happy to keep providing you with their services."

"Blair, I have no rank, and very little money. How can I convince anyone that I'm a gentleman? And I am not going to commit fraud and land myself in goal or flogged and branded."

"Trust me Jem, you could dress in rags and take on the role of a beggar, and you would still look like a gentleman. I promise I won't lead you wrong. As I am working, I can give you a small loan. Then we get you a room to fit your status."

"My status?"

"That of a country gentleman, whose luggage is on its way and who has employed me to show him London."

"Why would I need this elaborate scheme?"

"To get a better lodging." Blair slapped Jem lightly on the arm. An ox cart trundled past carrying hay and Blair took off running after it. "Come on!" he yelled and Jem caught up with him as Blair hosted himself up on the back. "We can ride to the other side of the river."

It was a simple matter for Blair to 'borrow' some items of clothing from the theatre and get Jem dressed a little more fashionably. Unfortunately, Simon walked in as Blair was straightening Jem's doublet with a little more care than it really needed.

"Oh, good day, Simon, we were just..." Blair hit his head on Jem's elbow in his haste to stand.

Simon stood with his arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow raised in amusement. What could they say? Jem was enjoying Blair's 'attention to detail', though in a few more minutes, his 'enjoyment' might have been too obvious to ignore and then Simon might not have looked so amused. He gently stroked his hand over Blair's head risking Simon's apprising look.

In the end, it was easier to tell Simon most of the truth. He took the 'borrowing' in good part and promised not to tell anyone where the clothing had disappeared to, as long as the items were replaced. In fact, he had an idea of how else to help. "So, you will need some money while you stay in the city. Meet me at the Mermaid in Bread Street on the morrow. I may have someone who could help you."

The new lodgings were up-market from Jem's previous ones. The bed bigger and the room cleaner, and the landlady more friendly -- though whether that was to do with Blair's flirting or Jem's new style of clothes, was open to conjecture. She'd found them some bread, a piece of cold meat pie, and a jug of ale, and the room had a stock of tallow candles and a warm fire burning in the small grate.

Jem looked around the room, quietly pleased by it.

Blair coughed. "I suppose I'd better get myself home."

"Stay." The word was out of Jem's mouth before he realized he was going to say it.

Blair hesitated. Although this was where they'd been headed since they met, and it was what Blair wanted, he found himself suddenly afraid.

Jem noticed. At once it seemed as though a blank mask had fallen over his face. "I'm sorry.... I shouldn't have said anything. Forgive me for being so forward. You should return to your mother." He turned away and began to remove his possessions from his pack.

Blair caught his arm and turned him around. "No, Jem, that's not..." His hand went to the back of Jem's neck and he pulled the taller man down for a kiss. It was soft, gentle, and far too brief. Jem's arms wrapped around Blair as though they were made to be there. Blair took a deep breath and eased himself away. "We've only known each other a short time, and I do want you. God's truth, how I want you, but I have a feeling that such a coupling would mean much more to you."

"Than to you, professor? You don't believe that people, that two men, could care for each other at their first meeting?" Jem asked, carefully.

Blair lowered his head. "I wouldn't say that it's impossible.... In truth, I do believe that I'm more than half-way in love with you." His last words came out as little more than a whisper.

Jem still heard. "You're more than half-way in love with me?"

Blair nodded, his head still hung down.

Jem stepped forward and raised Blair's chin with one finger. "Then pray tell me why it would be so bad to fall the other half of the way?"

Blair swallowed. "What happens when you return to your father's home, Jem?" He looked up into the pale eyes of the sentinel.

"Damnation, Blair! I don't know what to say to you." Jem ran his hand over the back of his neck. "We're neither of us wealthy men. We can't buy our own future." He gently took Blair's jaw in his hand and his expression became tender, his tone of voice grew softer. "I can only say I love you. You are the first person I've ever said that to and I'll probably never say it to another soul. I want to be with you. Please stay with me.... Is that enough?"

Blair looked into his face, though what he was searching for, he didn't really know. "You fascinate me, Master Ellison." He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. "I will stay for as long as you'll have me," he vowed and pulled Jem's head down for another kiss.

Jem let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding and Blair took advantage. He ran his tongue over Jem's teeth and then dipped inside, his tongue exploring the taste of Jem's mouth. He pulled back a fraction and gazed at Jem's face. "You look almost surprised," he whispered.

"No, not surprised," replied Jem, as he ran his hands over Blair's hair. "More delighted." He smiled at Blair's face and then lowered his head to kiss his lover again. For a while, it was enough -- the feel, the tingle, and the taste of each other's mouth -- each man trying to pull the other's body closer, until Blair pushed Jem away.

"Can't get to your...." He was fumbling with Jem's clothes. "Got to get you naked."

Jem chuckled. "Easy, Romeo. We have all night and it was you who put me in this apparel in the first place."

"Then," Blair said, his head down, brow knitted in concentration as he struggled with the buttonholes, "I should find it easy to... Romeo?" He looked up at Jem, his eyes glittering with mischief. "So that would make you..."

"Don't even think it, Sands. You are not getting me into a gown, not now, not ever."

"Ah, but Jem, just think of how much time we'd save. Women only have stockings under their skirts...." He smiled broadly at the look on his friend's face and, with a flourish, undid the last of Jem's fastenings. He gazed with unconcealed lust at the damp linen shirt Jem now wore over his sweaty chest as it clearly outlined Jem's muscles and hardening nipples.

"My turn," Jem sat on the bed, pulled Blair between his legs, and began the task of undoing Blair's doublet -- only to find he was faced with a similar problem.

Now it was Blair's turn to chuckle. "What's wrong, Jem? Never undressed a man before?"

Jem's movements slowed slightly.

"You haven't, have you?" Blair said in surprise.

Jem sighed. "No, where I live, there wasn't much of an opportunity to do anything like this, at least not with the other boys." Jem grinned ruefully. "My first and only male lover was a gypsy lad. He taught me what was pleasurable and I'd like to think I returned the favour." His grin turned wistful. "We enjoyed each other's bodies all that summer, until his people moved on. But then he never dressed like this!"

Blair was surprised to feel a wave of jealousy sweep through him. He stroked Jem's hair. "I wish I had been your first," he murmured softly, tenderly. "I wish I could be your last and always."

"I want that, too." Jem leaned over to rest his head on Blair's shoulder, his arms around Blair's waist, sighing as Blair continued with his caress.

Blair swallowed past the lump in his throat. Jem was almost purring with contentment. "Ah, Jem.... We seem to have become distracted here, my friend," he said, still a little afraid of the intensity of his feelings towards this man.

Jem smiled and slowly straightened up. "I believe we have. So, where was I? Oh, yes!" He deftly undid the final lacings and eased the clothing from Blair's shoulders, every touch a caress.

"Now the rest," Blair commanded.

Jem quirked an eyebrow. "Yours or mine?" he asked.

Blair slapped his shoulder. "Both, you fool! We may have all night, but I'd rather it didn't take that long for us both to be naked with one another."

Jem nodded, a twinkle in his eye and he allowed Blair to move to one side so they could finish undressing.

Blair looked Jem up and down, his eyes darkening with desire. "A body such as this..." he said, running the tips of his fingers over Jem's chest and the hard nubs that rose under his touch, "should be on public display. And this," he fondled Jem's cock as it throbbed and lengthened in his hand, "should never be covered, except that I'd be very possessive and jealous of anyone else seeing it."

Jem croaked back a laugh. "Possessive?" he managed to say. He was now half lying back on the bed, his arms supporting his weight.

"Oh, yes. And jealous of any others who have touched you before me." Blair's focus was all on the cock in his hand. He ran his thumb over the leaking slit. "Now that I have you in hand," he smiled at Jem. "I may never want to let you go."

Jem gasped. "Oh, God, Blair! If you don't stop that now, I'll explode and it'll be over for tonight."

Blair's hand stilled. "I would rather you come inside me... but then I think you underestimate your own powers of recovery. A man such as yourself, in his prime... could get aroused at least twice in a night, especially with a lover as talented as myself," He grinned but removed his hand.

Jem took a deep, shuddering breath. "I think you could get Lazarus himself aroused at least twice! Come here." And he pulled Blair on top of his body and back on the bed.

"The feel of your body against mine..." whispered Blair. "It's like silk, so soft and smooth." He shivered. "Feels so very good."

"I love the feel of your body too," Jem answered, his hands stroking over Blair's back. "If you could see the play of light on your skin, your hair... I could lose myself in you."

His voice trailed off and Blair realized his lover was too still, his eyes glazed over, his breathing too shallow. He carefully pressed his lips against Jem's, all the while shifting, undulating his body on top of Jem's, stroking his arms, whispering, calling, until Jem shuddered and moaned.

"You're safe. I'm here. All's well." Blair said softly, now trying to sooth rather than arouse.

Jem nodded. "I'm..." He took a breath. "I'm back. Sorry, it was..."

"I understand." Blair smiled. "I was just too much for you, all at once. We can work through that. For now, just give me your hand." Blair lifted Jem's hand to his mouth and licked the palm, slowly... thoroughly... wetting it. He locked eyes with Jem as he brought their hands down to grasp both of their cocks, his hand on top of his lover's. Blair began a slow slide, twist and glide movement as he guided Jem's hand around and over, the sweat and precome helping lubricate the progress.

Up from the base, twist gently over the top and glide down. Up from the base, twist gently over the top and glide down. It was maddening, exciting, and made all the more better as Blair lay full length on top of Jem, flesh to flesh. "I know what you need," Blair whispered. He wrapped his other hand around Jem and rolled them over onto their sides facing each other, their hands still engaged. "Hear us? Smell us? Our bodies, as we move together?" He moved even closed and just before he kissed Jem he said, "Now taste me, trust me not to lose you." And his tongue invaded and conquered Jem's mouth.

It had taken all Jem's will power to hang on, but that was the thing that pushed him over. His eyes rolled back and he was falling apart and coming. Dimly, he registered that his young lover had followed him with a cry that he buried in Jem's shoulder.

"So, did you ever try to seduce your betrothed's brother?" Blair asked. He was running his hand over Jem's chest languidly.

"It was he who introduced me to Carolyn. I don't believe he even considered the idea that I might want him in that way. I wasn't sure how I felt about him myself. Though now, I think it was mere lust." Jem smiled at Blair's upturned face. "Now I know how love feels; that wasn't it."

Blair wriggled and sighed. "What happened to Carolyn?"

"Once I decided I could not, in all fairness marry her, and I called off our wedding, I was packed off to my cousin's farm. He ran the place more or less alone, and needed help. While I was away, Carolyn was married to someone else."

"I can't say I'm sorry. If you'd married her, you wouldn't be here with me." Blair hesitated. "Who was Emily to you?"

"Ah, Emily. I knew you wouldn't let that comment pass." Jem sighed. "Emily was... Jack wanted her, but she wanted me. But after... I realised that however much I enjoyed being with her, I preferred the male form. She worked on Rucker's farm and when Jack came to fetch me home, he fell for her. I think three hearts broke a little when we left."

Blair sat up again. "You love Jack?"

"Oh no, my professor. Mine broke because I thought I could never be accepted for who I am. I was young and melancholy, barely sixteen."

Next morning the two men found Simon sitting at a table outside of the Mermaid tavern. He was taking part in a game of Primero being played by three other well-dressed gentlemen. The game had obviously been going on for some time, Jem thought, judging by the sweaty palms of a couple of the players, and the size of the pot. One of the more relaxed players threw down some coins and called out "40!"

"Damn your eyes, Rafe! You know I can't cover that bid." A disgruntled player threw his cards down on the table in disgust.

"Then, Hal, you had better bow out, my friend. Anyone else feel like covering my bet? I will take a vow of credit from you...."

There were disgusted glares around the table and Simon shook his head. "Matthew, you have the luck of the devil where cards are concerned. We should know better than to play with you."

The man called Hal pushed his stool away from the table and stood up. "Though this has been educational, I must adieu, my friends. As stimulating as your company is, there is a lady who is so much more!"

"Hal, one of these days her husband is going to find out how you cuckold him, and I wouldn't be in your shoes for all great Neptune's treasures."

"You may not want to be in my shoes, Daniel, but oh you would love to be in my breeches when my lady goes exploring for treasure! Fare ye well, my friends!" He waved over his shoulder as he walked away to the sound of his friend's laughter.

The other man stood. "And I also must leave you, gentlemen. I shall have to grovel hard to my sire before I can game again."

Matthew sighed. "Ah, Daniel, you have my sympathies. I know how tight a hold your father has on his purse. Fare ye well."

Jem and Blair walked up to the table as he left. "Simon?" Blair drew the Moor's attention.

"Ah, good day, gentlemen." Simon turned to his seated friend. "Matthew, these are the gentlemen I told you of." He stood and placed his hand on Jem's shoulder. "This is Master Ellison, newly arrived in London, and his companion is one Blair Sands, a worthy actor friend of mine." He turned. "This is Sir Matthew Rafe, a Gentleman and scholar who finds need of someone he can trust to watch his back."

Sir Matthew Rafe stood from where he'd been pocketing his winnings and shook both Blair's and then Jem's hands. "Master Ellison. Simon has told me that you are an intelligent man and have a good eye. Are you also handy with a sword?"

"I can defend myself, sir. What exactly do you want with me?"

Rafe indicated that the two men should sit as he and Simon resumed their own seats at the table. "I am sheriff of this fair borough. My mandate comes from the Bishop of Winchester himself. Our friend here," Rafe put his hand on Simon's shoulder, "helps with the King's peace by alerting me to any potential trouble-makers he may encounter at the Globe. However, I have, under my command, a villain of an under-sheriff, and his troop of no good shoulder-clappers, who would surely kill their own grandmother for a few pennies. I need someone to watch my back when I take these rogues on. Simon seems to think you could be such a man. What do you say?"

"I say I am willing, Sir Matthew. However, I do need to put one matter concerning a vile villain who is stalking these actors, to rest. And I have made a promise to someone important to me to remain in London for as long as possible. If the duties you require of me do not clash with them, then, sir, I am your man."

Jem didn't notice the look of pleased surprise on Blair's face.

Matthew smiled and clasped Jem's shoulder. "Good. Good. What say you we go and get a bite to eat before these scoundrels," he nodded towards Simon and Blair, "have to perform for us?"

Simon tsked. "Your head grows larger, my friend, with every day. Soon you will have trouble getting it through your own front door!"

Matthew laughed out loud, not at all insulted. "And you would still love me, Simon, you would still love me!"

The body lay close to the wall of the theatre. Joel knelt beside it, offering up a quiet prayer. Simon, Blair, Matthew and Jem pushed their way through the small crowd. "Who is it?" Jem asked.

"It's Stephen Frasier," said another voice nearby.

Joel stood. "Begging your pardon, sir, I don't know this poor young man, but it is not Frasier." His finger tapped at a notice on the theatre wall, put up to advertise the play. "This is Mr. Frasier. He joined our company of players a few days ago," he said.

The newcomer shook his head. "No, sir. I've known Frasier the actor for a good many years. He was employed at my theatre for a time. And that poor soul lying there is that very same young man."

Joel was about to argue the point, when a middle aged woman stepped forward. "If you please, sir, this gentleman," she indicated the theatre manager, "may be correct. That drawing has reminded me of the most unsavoury young man I have the displeasure of meeting, some short while ago, by the name of Davy Lash." All eyes were on her and she flushed, but continued. "He came to the inn where I worked as a barmaid. He brought his father with him, an old sop if ever I saw one! Davy left his father to drink himself into the grave and went, he said, to find his fortune in London town."

"And you say he looked like this?" Simon spoke up, pointing to the poster.

"Yes, that's the image of Davy. I've never been inside the theatre, so I wouldn't know what form of an actor he is. His father would tell you about him. As far as I know that drunk is still trying to beg drinks from good folk outside the Red Lion, near the Bull Ring." She shook her head. "He is a most unpleasant character."

"The father or the son?" Jem asked.

"Both!"

Mr. Lash sat begging just as the woman had predicted, outside the inn. He was a sad, twisted creature -- sad by nature and twisted by life. When questioned about his son, he first asked for a drink.

Jem nodded to the potboy and gave him a groat. The boy ran into the inn and returned with a tray of beakers full of beer. The old man grabbed a breaker before the others could blink and supped his drink, then he sat back with a deep sigh and launched into his tale.

"Ah, Davy was a strange one, I tell you. His mother, she'd go to hold him and he'd cry every time. I thought maybe that he needed a friend or something so I bagged us this little mallard from a lake by where we was living. It was a sweet little thing. We called it Homer after some Greek the priest told us about. Davy choked it to death. Carried it around with him for days, talking to it. We had to take it from him by force.

"We had another child, Davy's little brother, Jimmy. He was totally different. Mama used to say the sun shone in that child's eyes." The old man contemplated the bottom of his beaker. "On his fifth birthday, we found Jimmy dead in his bed. The priest says, 'it just happens sometimes.' I says, 'God took the wrong boy.' The damnedest thing happened after that -- Davy, he starts pretending that he's Jimmy. We got the priest to him, tried to beat the devil out. Nothing worked."

He shook his head. "He was and still is a bad'n.... I could do with another drink, please, sir? All this talk is making a poor old veteran very dry."

Ignoring the unsubtle hint, Blair asked, "Does the color yellow mean anything to you?"

The old soldier looked up and squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun. "That was his mother's favourite color. She'd have dyed everything that color if she could have. Why'd you want to know?" He lifted up his beaker to Blair. "I could do with another drink, kind sir."

"Where is your son now? Or your wife?" Jim asked.

The old man slammed down his beaker. "If I ain't getting any more beer, why, you ain't getting any more from me!"

Jem passed his own untouched drink over and the soldier smiled through black teeth. "Thank ye sir." He scoffed a mouthful before finishing his story. "A neighbour told me that my wife had a lot of trouble with the boy while I was away. She had this idea that he was unclean. She'd take Davy down to the river and wash him raw. In the end, my wife must have had enough, 'cause I was told she'd run off with an actor." He laughed, "worse 'roll' he ever had, I'll be bound! I found Davy all alone in the house when I came back from war. He'd got some of his mama's old clothes on a scarecrow in the house. Creepy it was. He brought me into town, left me with no money, no roof and the clothes I stand in. Took my second set, he did, tried them on right in front of me." He grabbed his drink and drowned it as fast as he could, spilling it down himself as he did. Mr. Lash then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and belched, loudly. "There was a look on his face, I thought he was gonna kill me. Guess I was lucky there. So here, sir, cheers to me and my family!"

As he poured the drink down his throat, the four men walked back to the theatre. Simon leaned towards his companions, "They deserved each other!"

Blair looked back just as someone shut a window opposite, the light caught his eyes and for a mad minute he thought he saw his own reflection, distorted and strange in the glass, before the window was firmly shut and the light gone.

The play had barely begun when it started to rain. At first it was just a mist, light and damp, but it steadily increased to a drizzle, then a shower, forming puddles and causing the less hardy souls to seek cover. The actors kept going even as the audience in front of the stage decreased in numbers, but, as the trickle became a downpour and then a torrent, the boards became wet, slippery and dangerous, even with the sawdust that was quickly scattered on them. It was, however, the noise of the driving rain hitting the wooden structure and preventing the last stubborn audience members, in their covered boxes, from hearing the play, which finally stopped it. The actors gave up and retired, drenched through and hoarse with shouting.

Rafe and Jem met Blair coming in to change from his costume.

"Zounds! Could anyone be any wetter?"

Jem tried not to smile at the sight of his wet and bedraggled lover. Little streams of water ran from his feet where his clothes and wig dripped onto the floor. Jem didn't think Blair would appreciate his amusement and covered by handing him a towel to dry off with.

Jem leaned close. "Why don't we adjoin to my rooms and I try to convince you that being wet is not always a bad thing?"

Blair felt a shiver of desire race through his body and his eyes sparkled. "A sound plan.... Might we go to Naomi's and collect some of my belongings first and then..."

Blair was interrupted by one of Rafe's bailiffs rushing in, panting and red-faced. "Sir Rafe! A man's body's been found in the priest's house by St. Mary's. Looks like he's been dead for several days, maybe longer. He had a yellow scarf wrapped around his throat."

The color drained from Blair's face.

"And," the bailiff continued, "we've had a sighting down by the river of Stephen Frasier."

"What!" Rafe exclaimed. "That's impossible. The poor soul's dead!"

"Maybe not," Blair began, "I've been thinking. This killer seems to trade identities with his victims."

The room had gone quiet. "So," began Jem. "He meets Adam, assumes his identity, then kills him, meets then kills Willie, and then does the same with Stephen?"

"Exactly."

"So who is he? And, more important, who is his next victim?"

"I would still like to investigate this 'sighting by the river'." Simon commented, standing in the doorway. He'd obviously heard most of the conversation.

"Yes," Rafe said. "Sorry, Master Ellison but I need you and Simon to come with me. I don't trust my bailiffs."

Blair squeezed Jem's arm. "Don't worry, I'll return to your lodgings and await your pleasure." He waggled his eyebrows and Jem laughed.

"Keep that thought, Sands," Jem called as he left.

The rain had petered out somewhat by the time Blair reached his old lodgings. Christine was sweeping the rain out of her house as he walked by. She called out to him.

"If you're looking for your mother, Blair, she's gone to Our Lady's Fair, to have her fortune told. I'm not sure when she'll be back."

"Oh, no, Christine. I just came to pick up a few things. Would you tell her that I'm staying over the river with Master Ellison, and I'll send her some of my actor's pay at the end of the month?"

"You're a good son, Blair. Sure I can't tempt you into being a good husband too?"

"Ah, Christine, you're such a beautiful woman..."

"Took you long enough to notice!"

"But I'm taken. If I wasn't, then maybe...."

"Well, whoever she is, I hope she knows how lucky she is."

"Don't worry," Blair grinned. "I make sure 'she' knows!"

The streets began to fill again with people once the rain had lessened and Blair had to push and jostle his way across London Bridge. Perhaps the rain had changed the humours in the air, but for some reason, he felt uneasy, his skin prickled and, though he was sweating, goose bumps arose on his arms and the back of his neck. He found himself looking over his shoulder every so often, but never saw anything suspicious.

Finally he reached the lodging house. It was empty, and he remembered that his mother wasn't the only woman out to have her fortune read this day. Jem's landlady had said the same thing. He forced himself not to run up the stairs, but once inside, he locked the door. "Be calm. Breathe. It's just your imagination." Then he heard fast footsteps coming up the stairs and he grabbed the small stool as a pistol went off at the lock and the door was kicked in.

Jem looked around, desperately looking for something, anything that might tell him where Blair had been taken and by whom. The room was wrecked, bedding all over the floor, a stool broken, the mattress turned onto its side, a jug smashed. But for all the damage, there was nothing, no witnesses, no tracks, nothing to say where Blair was, and only a pistol left abandoned and empty as a terrible hint as to what happened.

The sighting of Frasier had been just a ruse, a diversion, paid for by the real murderer. With Rafe and Simon, Jem had returned to the other side of the river. They had met Jem's landlady complaining about the damage to her upstairs door at the lodging house. Inside they discovered that Jem's room had been ransacked, and there was no sign of Blair, save a maid who had seen him go in but not leave.

Jem grabbed the windowsill tightly in frustration, his fingers white against the dark wood, his face twisted in anger and fear for his friend's life. The sun shone on the wet cobbles outside. People went about their daily business; a young boy tugged something white into his breeches.... And Jem was out of the door like a bolt from a crossbow leaving his friends staring in surprise. He grabbed a hold of the young lad and lifted him up by the edge of his jerkin.

"Where did you get that?" Jem demanded.

"Jem! ELLISON, put the lad down now!" Simon ordered as he rushed up. Behind him followed Matthew Rafe.

The boy looked terrified as Jem placed him none too gently back on his feet, but still held a tight hold on his shoulder.

"I an't done n'thing," the boy said, struggling.

"You unlicked cub!" Jem almost shook the boy, but stopped himself in time. "It was Blair's," he said quietly to his friends. "I gave it to him." Jem held up the white kerchief with the pretty lace trim that he'd taken from the boy for them to see.

Simon looked shocked but he knelt down in front of the boy. "Tell me son, where did you find such a fine item?"

The boy's attitude shifted as he realized he had something they wanted. "What's it to you?"

Simon glanced up at Jem and then back at the boy. "That depends on what you have to tell us. Perhaps the sweet song of an angel will help you remember." He shook the moneybag on his belt and the boy licked his lips.

"It were some gentleman, he gave it to me. It fell out of 'is sleeve as he lifted a rolled up rug onto 'is 'orse. He said I could keep it as I were so 'onest as to point it out to him."

"What did he look like?" Jem demanded, almost shaking the boy.

The boy tried to shake off Jem's hand. "I d'unno. Not old, long curly brown 'air, brown doublet and padded breeches, same with 'is canions... whitish stockings... same as other men, I guess. Not ye expensive stuff though. More like old, well worn."

"What color were his eyes?"

The boy pulled himself up a bit. "I didn't look at 'is eyes, ye lordship. No good comes of looking in a men's eyes, me ma always says."

"Do you know where this gentleman was going with his rug?" Simon asked.

"He led 'is 'orse down towards the Fleet," he said, pointing.

"Where the redundant dyers workshops lie..." Matthew noted, softly.

Simon reached into his bag and pulled out a half a crown. "Here lad, to compensate you for the loss of your prize."

Jem released the boy who ran off as fast as his legs could carry him. Jem started to walk down in the direction the boy had directed, but Simon pulled him back.

"Are you sure that wasn't Blair he saw, Jem?"

"I'm sure. Blair wouldn't just give up that kerchief like that."

Simon stared at Jem with narrowed eyes. "Very well, but you're not going in there alone. We don't know where he's being held or if this villain has accomplices."

"I have to, Simon. Blair's...."

"I know, my friend, but first we get some weapons and horses, and then we search the workshops until we find him...."

Blair was taken unconscious to an old ramshackle dyer's workshop that sat by the Fleet River. Such buildings lay by the Fleet for a good reason. It flowed, sluggishly, past the cookhouses that sat on that side of the Thames and on past the workshops and warehouses to the main river. As such, it was locally used to dump rubbish of all forms. It was a place that few visited unless they had a good reason or bad intention, or both.

Inside the workshop, the smell of stale urine, long dead weld flowers, vinegar, and various dyeing agents still permeated everything. Stains of fading color were splashed on the walls and the floors. Blair was chained to a chair, specially adapted, with a high back and padded arms. His feet were shackled and he was gagged with a yellow scarf around his mouth.

He came to, scared and confused. His head was thumping and at first he was unable to account for his situation. When he tried to move, he realized how he was bound and it all came rushing back to him. He could taste the scarf that bit into his mouth, causing him to gag, and he felt the spittle run down the side of his mouth. His muscles and joints ached from the beating he'd taken trying to escape his attacker and the chains that restricted his movements. Blair cursed himself for a fool. He cursed the foul smells. It would confuse Jem, if he came after Blair. They might even drive him into one of those bad spells, when his senses overwhelmed his mind. He cursed the coarse chains that bound him and scuffed his skin. He cursed his bad luck, and more, cursed his kidnapper.

In an effort to calm down and try to find a way out of this mess, he strained to look around. The workshop would have had the usual whitewashed walls, though they were now a dirty brown and covered in moss and damp. The visible wooden house frames were also neglected and long past saving. Through the gaps in the wood, Blair could see that it was dark outside. He could just see the barred door from where he was seated. An old, carved frame, rotten with mildew and mould, separated the shop from the work area. There were three steps coming down from a stone clad floor, channels had been dug for water to run off and large barrels or tubs to hold the dye had left large ring marks on the floor. One tub still remained and it was full of water. A brazier stood alight inside one of the empty ring marks. There were, Blair noticed, in a remote sort of way, no signs of any vermin. Rats would no doubt have found life easier in the river than in a deserted workshop.

Around him were four dummies, made from over-stuffed hay sacks. They were decked out in different clothes and grotesquely hung from hooks strung from the roof beams. One wore a doublet of white satin laid with gold lace trimming and a long blond wig topped with a black cap. Another wore a man's black fur trimmed robe, small ruff and hat -- the clothes of a cleric, the third also wore men's clothes, but of a poorer cut, plus a small lyre, but the last had on a woman's gown, in claret colored wool with a bodice of black velvet over a farthingale. All around, on every surface that he could see, on the floor, the stairs leading up to what was probably a store room, there stood lit tallow candles of all different shapes and sizes, casting a cruel warm glow to the area and illuminating the other soul in the place -- who, Blair realised, must be Davy Lash -- lighting a last candle off to Blair's left. He was dressed very similarly to Blair. Blair took a deep breath and tried to get the fear that threatened to overwhelm him under control.

"What are you doing?" Blair's voice was muffled with the gag.

"What?"

Blair tried again. "What are you doing?"

"I can't understand you. I need to hear your voice more anyway." Lash came closer and pulled down the yellow scarf.

Blair at once began to scream for help in the hope that Jem, or someone -- anyone -- would hear him, and Lash, mocking him... copying him... screamed too.

"Just be easy," he said, as Blair became breathless. Lash brushed his hand over his captive's hair and his face in a cruel mockery of a lover's caress. Blair struggled, trying to get as far away from that hand as possible. "You're going to have a nice bath," Lash continued breathlessly excited, ignoring Blair's protests. "Are you ready to die? I am. I've been ready to die for a long time."

He paused and stepped away from Blair and his attitude changed. "I'd like to formally introduce you to my friends. I don't have many yet, but that will change." He started the dummies swinging, creaking, as they swung. "You know some of them." He stroked the clothes of the cleric. "Our friend the priest had left before you came to the church, but Adam, so fey, but with no taste -- I mean what was he thinking of, wearing this?" His hand flicked dismissively over the dummy dressed in Adam's clothes. "And Willie-not-so-Bright -- you worked with them both, didn't you. Friends are so easy to make for Hairy-Blairy... like the sweet Mistress Christine or the masterful Master Ellison."

Blair tried not to panic at the threat behind his captor's words, but Lash appeared to lose interest in tormenting his captive as he moved over to a small chest, picked up a mortar and pestle, and began to pound something that released a heady smell Blair recognised as henbane.

For a moment there was silence in the room save for the sound of heavy breathing and the soft noises of the herb being prepared as a small amount of liquid was added.

"So," Lash's attention returned to Blair, "do I make a good actor? You know, I think my finest performance was in the church with your two friends. They had such fancy theories. But you... you are so much better. What do you think? Am I a good 'you'?" Lash struck a pose for Blair.

Blair felt a wave of anger sweep over him. "Do you really think you can be me? When's my birthday, eh? What was the name of my first sweetheart? How old was I when I fell from Mistress Danbush's apple tree and broke my arm? Come on, you tickle-brained madman, answer me! You can't be me. Only I think what I think, feel what I feel."

His words hit home and, for a moment, Lash hovered on a knife's blade of madness. "I can be you! I can be... you! Me... I..."

Blair was shaking his head. He was surprised how calm he suddenly felt. His lips just mouthed the word 'No'. His voice was quiet, seductive. "You think you know me? I know more about you. Why did you kill your pet duck, Davy? Poor little Homer. Why did you kill your brother, your mother?" The last was a leap in the dark, but it seemed to hit home.

Lash was shaking his head now. "You're spoiling this. Be quiet!" He moved towards Blair.

But his captive wasn't finished. Blair didn't know if help was on its way, but he had to stall. "Why did you make the priest punish you? If you'd been a good little Davy, the priest wouldn't have had to beat you!" He goaded his captor on, recklessly.

Lash lost his temper. He put his knee on Blair's chest, pulled his hair back and tried to force the foul mixture down Blair's throat. Blair tried to keep his mouth shut but Lash shifted, his knee forced into Blair's ribcage and as the pain made him gasp, so the pounded juice slipped in. He coughed, trying to spit it out but he could taste the henbane as a few thick drops slipped over his tongue and down his throat.

Suddenly there was a loud crash as the door was forced and Jem appeared, a small loaded crossbow in his hands, the arrow pointing straight at Lash. He stepped carefully into the shop and began to take the stairs down to where Blair was tied, Jem's eyes on Lash all the while. Blair began to struggle. Lash had the pestle in his hand.

"Put it down, Lash. Release Mr. Sands." Jem ordered as he oh-so-slowly stepped down, one foot crossing the other, taking the greatest care not to spook the murderer. Lash carefully put the blunt object on the floor. The last but one step creaked and broke -- Jem lost his balance and fell, his crossbow skidding across the floor. Both men went for it, and fell on each other. They began to wrestle for domination and Blair could only watch and struggle against his bonds in vain.

Every time the men landed against the walls the building would creak and groan. It sounded as though it would collapse at any time. The two men were locked in a match to the death, then Lash managed to throw Jem off and raced for the stairs, kicking the candles aside as he went. Jem followed hot on his heels, picking up his crossbow as he did, sparing a glance at Blair first to reassure himself that his friend was all right. Though dazed, Blair ventured a smile and nodded, "Go."

Jem spied Lash scrambling up towards a hatch at the top of the stairs, intending to escape to the rooftops and confuse any captors, but Jem sprinted after him. Lash pulled himself through a small dormer window and disappeared. Jem followed more carefully.

He pulled himself out onto the tiled roof. Lash was running along as fast as he dared, arms outstretched to keep his balance. The tiles beneath his feet rattled and clattered. There were gaps where parts of the timber frame were exposed, gaps that seemed to be black holes leading to nothing and into one of these Jem saw Lash disappear.

Tiles slipping and sliding under his feet, feeling as unsteady as on his boat during a storm, Jem followed.

The interior of the building was hollow, black, and silent. The moon shone through odd holes here and there, giving the place an otherworldly feel. Jem paused to give his eyes a chance to adjust, and noticed a pool of water on the floor. A faint moonbeam struck it, reflecting Davy Lash about to hit Jem over the head with a large plank of wood. Jem turned and Lash hit out just missing Jem's head but catching his hand and forcing him to drop his crossbow and gasp in pain, as his weapon dropped down through a hole to the lower story. Lash ran for the broken and unstable stairs, Jem after him, but strange shapes and shadows disorientated and confused his sight. Then, clearly, he saw Lash, lit by the moon, through a patch of torn board, run for his bow and Jem swung onto a beam into the air and leapt down to grab it. The movement distracted Lash and he spun, lost his balance. The floor beneath him groaned and splintered. Lash cried out... and fell, his voice cut off abruptly.

Curiously Jem stepped to the edge of the large hole and looked down to the cellar where Lash's body lay broken and bloody, speared through the heart with a sharp piece of wood. All that Jem could hear was dripping water and his own harsh breathing.

Down below, Rafe and Simon had finally caught up with the chase and they pushed the old door to the property open, gazing up at Jem, then down at Lash. Rafe climbed down to examine the body. "He's dead," he confirmed quietly, and made a quick sign of the cross over the body.

"Is Blair..." Simon began, looking back up to Jem, but he'd already disappeared.

By the time Simon and Rafe found the other men, Blair was sitting on a three-legged stool, drinking clean water from a beaker. Jem was hovering beside him.

"You all right, son?" Simon asked, putting his hand on Blair's shoulder. The young man nodded.

"He will be, once he's gotten some rest." Blair looked up as Jem answered for him. The truth was he didn't really have the energy to speak for himself, and was happy for Jem to take charge. But that would change, once he was out of here and not feeling as weak as a kitten.

"I'll go for the authorities," Simon said. "Will you two be all right?"

"I'll take them to my home for the night, Simon. They can recover there in comfort." Rafe suggested.

Rafe and Jem helped a still unsteady Blair out of the workshop as Simon went to find where they'd tied the horses. Rafe went after him to fetch the other mounts.

As soon as the fresh air hit Blair, he bent over to vomit.

"Blair?" Jem's voice was still full of concern.

Carefully Blair stood. "Yeah, yes. I'm fine, or I will be once I've gotten rid of the rubbish he made me swallow out of my gut!" He bent again and tried to heave.

"We just have the two horses," Rafe said, as he returned. "Simon has taken one to go for the guards."

"He can ride with me." Jem took a look back at where Blair was bracing his body with his hand against a wall.

"I wish you would stop talking about me as if I wasn't here! I'm still awake and aware, you know!" Blair griped as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rafe flinched. "Sorry, Mr. Sands."

Jem climbed onto one of the horses. "Will you be comfortable up here, professor?"

"For God's sake, Jem," Blair put his hand on the saddle, "I'll be fine." He hesitated... he did still feel queasy and dizzy. He looked up at Jem and sighed. "Just... give me a hand here, would you?"

Jem hoisted him up in front and Blair relaxed into the solid shape behind him. "You know," he began, "the Chinese believe when you save a man's life you become his blessed protector and it's your duty to do that for the rest of your life." He paused. "I'm wondering about getting a crest made of both our names tattooed on my chest."

"What? Above the nipple ring?"

Blair craned his neck to look at the man behind him. "How did you know I had one of those? The hole healed over some time ago."

Jem smiled enigmatically. "Let me tell you something. You get a tattoo and your blessed protector's going to whip your buttocks."

"Whoa, there, Master Ellison! Do you really think I'd put something on my body I couldn't take off? I was just jesting."

Jem leaned his body into Blair's and whispered in his ear. "As was I, Blair, though if there's any taking off to be done, I should like to do it."

Blair shivered. "You know, I think that henbane has worn off. I don't feel anywhere near so tired," he declared.

Jem laughed and Blair felt vibrations travel though his body that had nothing to do with being on a horse. He shifted, his trunk hose suddenly too constricted.

"Welcome, gentlemen, to my humble abode." They had arrived at a small gatehouse in front of Rafe's town house. A man with a musket greeted them. "Stand down, Michael. These gentlemen are friends, not creditors!" He turned in the saddle. "My man-servant keeps a watch for those villains as well as my under-sheriff!"

They dismounted in the square cobbled courtyard and a young groom ran out to meet them and take care of their horses as the three men tiredly made their way into the house.

The chamber was magnificent. It had been dark when they'd been shown into the room, with a lantern and a warning to draw the curtains around the four-poster bed, to keep them warm and the corrupted humours that might cause sickness out. Jem had closed them around the top of the bed, but needed to be able to see the rest of the room as much as he could. They'd both been tired out. Not too tired, however, that the chance to be naked together had been resisted, nor the chance to kiss and caress. It had been quick and unskilful, but necessary and satisfying all the same. Now, awake with the sunlight peering through the glass, Jem sat up on one elbow and took his fill of the room.

There were fine painted cloths on the carved walls, a chest for clothes, a pair of carved chairs and a large fireplace, a fire already laid, ready to be lit whenever they needed it. The tinderbox lay on the window sill along with a jug, a bowl and a wiping cloth. The floor was strewn with fresh rushes mixed with sweet lavender, the ceiling, coffered with fine carved wood. Mathew Rafe was obviously a man of wealth and influence, judging by the contents of the room and the glass at the windows.

Jem rolled over in the bed and smiled at the sight beside him. Blair lay on his stomach, naked as the day that he was born. The sheets and blankets had rolled off him during the night, and in his sleep, he looked as innocent as a newborn. Jem's smile grew wider. His body knew how wrong that impression was.

A sunbeam breaking through the windows, shone briefly on a mirror placed at an angle opposite the bed. Jem focused on Blair's image in it and he couldn't help noticing the faint discolorations, which would develop into bruises, on his lover's body. If he'd lost Blair... Jem felt his heart contract. For this man, he would move the heavenly spheres themselves if need be. And God help him, Jem couldn't let Blair go, not now, not ever.

He focused more tightly on the reflection. From this angle he could see up Blair's slightly open legs, but only so far. The reflection offered... possibilities.

"That is a very fine view," he said out loud.

Blair stirred and turned his head to look at Jem with bleary eyes.

Jem nodded towards the mirror and Blair craned his head to see. He turned back and shifted with a sigh. "You seem to spend an inordinate amount of time admiring my arse," he mumbled.

Jem rang one finger over a cheek of that arse. "It's a very nice arse," he declared.

Blair's skin developed goose bumps under Jem's finger.

"I feel the same about yours," he said into the pillow. He opened his legs wider in invitation and Jem's sight locked onto the reflection. He watched as his fingers began to explore the dark crease between the warm cheeks of Blair's buttocks.

Blair groaned and stretched his legs, fidgeting a little. "This wasn't what I planned," he ground out.

"No?" said Jem, though his attention was still on the mirror.

"No, this morning I decided I wanted your arse." He moaned again at the play of his lover's fingers as they tapped against and then pushed into his hole.

Just when Blair began to push back against Jem's moving fingers, they stilled and Jem pulled away.

"What? Why'd you stop?" Blair's voice was still sleep slurred.

"You said you wanted my arse this morning. Your choice." Jem shrugged.

Blair groaned into the pillow, this time in frustration and then looked up at Jem with narrowed eyes. He saw the smirk on Jem's face. Blair sat up with a frown on his face. "Very well. Since you've made such friends with that mirror, you can watch me fuck you."

And Jem was on all fours facing the mirror in a heartbeat.

Blair couldn't help it, he laughed, "Are you so eager for my 'sugar-stick'? I really wanted to taste yours first." He slapped Jem's arse. "So, on your back, Master Ellison, let me see that majestic column!"

Jem chuckled and rolled over.

Blair gently ran a finger along Jem's cock. "O, thereby hangs a tail!" he said with a grin and then as Jem groaned, Blair took another apprising look at the mirror. "If we lie on our sides across the bed, you could see my arse as I take your shaft down my throat."

Jem stroked his short beard. "Your idea has some merits."

Blair smiled. "I thought you might approve."

It took a matter of moments for them to get comfortable and, with a pillow supporting him, Jem could see the reflection of Blair's arse in the mirror as he began to worship Jem's cock, not that Jem could keep his eyes open for long -- the pleasure Blair was bestowing on him, as the younger man sucked, licked and generally teased his cock, was too much and Jem heard himself beg Sands to fuck him.

Suddenly Blair stopped and moved away. Jem's eyes flew open. "What...?" his lust-filled mind was unable to grasp why the pleasure had stopped.

"It's Sandburg."

Jem tried again to understand. "What is?"

"My name. You asked Sands to fuck you -- well -- I should tell you that my family name is really Sandburg. My grandfather changed it when he brought the family to England."

"You're Jewish?" Jem was still confused, his mind not caught up with his body.

"That's my heritage, Jem. 'Tis only fair that you know all about me." Blair's face was set, determined, but Jem was aware of the tainted smell of fear in the air.

Jem took a deep breath. "Is this a problem for you?" he asked. "Is there some rule or law that stops you being with me -- that means we can't love each other?"

Now it was Blair's turn to look confused. "Well.... That's beside the point, I thought... I thought you would be horrified to learn that you're in bed with a Jew. Others have been."

Jem's heart ached for this man. "Blair," he began carefully, "I know prejudice and bigotry are very real and cruel, and totally without sense. My mother told me stories of how her family was driven out of France for following the Protestant church, instead of the Popish one. It made no sense to me then and still doesn't now. You're the same person I care for, aren't you? And we are flaunting the law by being here together."

He ran his hand over his hair in a gesture Blair recognised as Jem trying to think of the best words to express himself. Blair smiled gently. He truly loved this man.

Jem continued. "I could be burnt as a witch. We could both be tortured for loving each other, but... I don't think I can stop loving you, and if you still feel the same, I would be more than happy for that sweet organ of yours to seal the bargain."

"Really? You still want me to? You really do love me?" Blair's cock, flaccid during his confession, now began to get interested again.

"Haven't I said as much? I love you, and, God," said Jem, "yes please!"

Hardly had the words left his mouth when he found himself being pushed back and being kissed passionately by his enthusiastic lover. Jem's world became one of infinite pleasure as Blair drove him half-mad with his body. He briefly registered that he was on his back with his legs on Blair's shoulders and being stretched, carefully, first by one slick finger, then by two, while Blair murmured words of encouragement and endearments. Jem turned his head to stare at their reflections and for a moment he was both the watcher and participant, as though two separate entities. It seemed to offer another world of dark, seductive pleasure. He watched the moving images of shadows and light, an artist's palette of colors with shades of pale yellow, pink and brown, but better than any painting, because this was real and true and alive. He could see, from the different angle, Blair as he prepared Jem to receive his cock, and the young man looked like a sprite or maybe a young god, temptingly beautiful and achingly desirable. Jem could see himself surrender to his lover's caresses and he was stunned by the look of pure joy upon his own face. If ever I am wealthy, I shall have a mirror over our bed, he thought... and then he was filled with his lover's cock, and his world exploded with pleasure.

Jem awoke to a knock at the door. He extracted himself from the arms and legs of his human blanket and, wrapping a sheet around his waist, went to open the door a crack.

Rafe's manservant stood there. "Begging your pardon, sir, but my lord asks if you and your companion would like a hip bath brought in?"

Jem looked to where Blair was now awake and sitting up, and nodding enthusiastically.

Jem smiled and said, "Give me a moment to wake my friend and then bring it in."

Both aware of how risky their situation was, the two men rushed to hide the evidence of their coupling as much as possible, before two maids struggled in with a tin bath and then began to ferry ewers of hot water in. Blair sat watching, a pillow covering his dignity. The last maid returned with some lovage leaves to add to the water, "to ease any saddle sores," she murmured, blushing, and then Jem and Blair were alone again.

"A hip bath," said Blair, unable to believe this luxury. "Our host must be more wealthy than he looks! So who shall go first?"

"Well, I'm the one who is 'saddle sore'," commented Jem.

Blair smirked. "You asked for it! Anyhow, it was me that took a beating from Lash." He didn't miss the guilty look on Jem's face. "Oh, Jem, I didn't mean... I'll tell you what, we'll toss a coin for it!"

Jem frowned and then saw the mischief in his lover's eyes. "Why, I should toss you, you imp!"

Blair laughed and ducked as Jem went to grab him, then he turned the tables and pulled Jem over to kiss him.

"Good day, my love," he said, wrapping his arms around Jem's waist.

"A very good day, I hope, my own one," Jem replied, kissing him back.

"You should have the first bath. With your special senses, being covered by the dried 'fruit of your loins' must be at least, unpleasant."

Jem grimaced. "Thank you for reminding me."

Jem sat himself, gingerly, into the cooling water with a sigh.

"Good?" Blair asked.

"Very!"

"Well, don't stay there too long, I want some hot water myself!"

Clean and dressed, the two men went in search of food and were met by Sir Matthew in the downstairs hall.

"Gentlemen, you slept well, I trust?"

"Very well, thank you, sir."

"Please, no 'sir', I am just plain Matthew, or Rafe, if you prefer." He took Jem's arm. "There is someone here who wished to make your acquaintance. I should call him a gentleman, but you should watch for him, he has a tongue sharper than a serpent's, and a longer reach, but I would listen carefully to his proposal."

They were admitted into the one of the small downstairs rooms where a man clad in black stood sorting papers by a table. He was small, physically slight and had a slightly crooked back. If asked, Blair would have assumed that he was a servant. He looked up and smiled. It was, Jem thought, an unpleasant smile that didn't quite reach the eyes.

"Good day, gentlemen, my name is Robert Cecil."

Blair's eyes opened wide and the muscle in Jem's jaw jumped. There were few in the country that didn't know of Sir Robert Cecil. "I've heard of your name, sir. I believe you're the King's Secretary of State?" Jem said guardedly.

"Yes, Master Ellison. That is my official title. I am also in charge of security in this country. Guarding it, you might say, from spies and traitors -- people who would undermine His Majesty's authority. I have a number of agents who help 'sniff' them out."

"And you answer to the king?"

"Indeed, yes! There are some in the halls of power who would prefer otherwise, but the king himself gives me my orders." Sir Robert shuffled the papers into a bundle and then rolled them up.

Blair's brow knitted together. "You sent for us for a reason, sir. Do you want us, perhaps, to join your group of agents?"

Sir Robert's smile widened. "You are very astute, Mr. Sands. Yes, Mr. Banks brought you to my notice."

"Simon? You know Simon Banks?"

"Yes. It's amazing what you can pick up in theatres these days, especially if people don't pay you much attention due to your skin color. I think your skills, as an actor and your courage in the face of Mr. Lash, would serve us well. And," he turned to Jem, "your abilities, Master Ellison, would be invaluable to us."

"My abilities?"

"Yes. We've never had someone with enhanced senses on our books. You would be extremely useful."

Jem's face became pale. Blair spoke up. "I don't know what you think you know about Jem, er, Master Ellison's senses..."

"It was just a case of putting two and two together, Mr. Sands, from several small notes from many operatives, some of whom aren't even aware that their reports actually come to me. In truth, I knew a woman, a thief, and a very good one, brilliant and resourceful, who had the same abilities as Master Ellison. Unfortunately, we had some problems with her; she didn't have the self-control, the same morals your friend has. However, she's gone now and we speak no more of her. I'm offering you both a chance to work for the king, if you're willing." Cecil went and sat on a chair in front of the fire, looking for all the world as if he owned the house, but then perhaps he did.

"And if we're not?" Jem asked.

"That would be... unfortunate." Cecil steepled his fingers. "Allow me to put the situation this way. I'm offering you a chance to work together as a team. Would you get that any other way? Master Ellison, you carry goods and commodities to and fro for your father. Could you honestly see Mr. Sands fitting in to that life style?" He turned to Blair. "And you, Mr. Sands, could you actually see Master Ellison giving up his life and joining you on the stage? What kind of role could a man with his abilities play in that situation? It would be a waste of his God-given talents. Not to mention your... relationship."

He let the word hang in the air, like a sword posed above them and Blair felt a cold sweat break out. He could almost hear Jem grinding his teeth beside him.

"It wouldn't be easy," Jem admitted after a moment, "for either of us, but if it came to it, we would find something suitable."

"Well, if you worked for me, you would have something suitable. I'm not saying that the work isn't dangerous, but in the long run, you would be able to share each other's lives, and may one day be able to retire somewhere quiet with a not unsubstantial amount of money."

"If we lived that long!" Blair blurted out. He'd heard rumours about the kind of work Cecil's agents did and the risks they took.

"Then you would just have to make sure both of you do." Cecil stood. "I will leave you both to consider my offer. Just remember, Master Ellison, outside this room, your talents would be considered witchery, your behaviour with Mr. Sands, a grievous sin. My offer gives you a measure of protection. With Sands by your side, any mission you would be given would give you a lot of leeway in how you accomplished the goal. Though you would be given orders, you would be, in essence, your own man. Think about it, but don't take too long. The offer may not stay open." He dismissed the two men with a wave of his hand.

"You know, Jem," Blair said, once the door had closed behind them, "that man is a bastard."

His lover gave out a laugh that was half a bark. "Never a truer word, Blair. He's also a dangerous man to cross, as many have discovered to their cost."

"So what do we do?"

"We... accept his offer for now, and do his bidding. But as soon as possible, we find ourselves a 'bolt hole', somewhere we can live in safety, somewhere outside his reach."

"Abroad? The Netherlands, Arabia, The New World, perhaps?" Blair suggested.

Jem frowned. "As much as I don't like the idea of travelling that far, we may do well to keep them in mind. What about your mother?"

The young man considered. "We could take her with us..." He looked at the doubtful expression on Jem's face. "Or, when we have taken enough of Cecil's money, we could set her up somewhere quiet and safe." Blair doubted anywhere would be quiet for long with his mother around, but anything was possible, even true love.

Rafe's manservant interrupted his thoughts. "Sirs? Sir Matthew awaits you in the parlour."

"Please, my friends, come join me." Rafe had a spread of food on the table in front of him. "I usually save the grander rooms for those I have to impress, my friends I feed in the parlour. Are you hungry? Meg, some food for these gentlemen." He called out to the serving maid.

The maid bustled in with a tray of food and a flagon of wine, then she left the men to talk.

"So," began Rafe, once the door closed. "What say you to my lord's offer?"

"What does he have on you, Rafe?" Jem demanded.

Rafe sighed and put down the fruit he was about to eat. "My debts. Without his help, I would be swinging by now, my family name no more than a black mark in history." He wiped his hands on a piece of cloth.

Blair sat closer to the table. "Can we trust him?"

"As much as you could the Devil. But he does look after his own -- as long as it suits him. He will give you a house and servants, if you should wish for them, and, as long as you do that which he asks, you will be treated well."

"And what of my post with you?"

Rafe leaned back. "In a way, that won't change. You will answer to me in the first instance. I did not lie when I said I needed help to rout out the bad eggs in my troupe. Blair, I would like to keep you at the theatre, as an extra pair of ears for Simon, but you will be Jem's backup at all other times. So, do you agree?"

"It appears we have no choice."

"Then I will tell his lordship." Rafe stood. "You will, no doubt, have arrangements to make. I will leave it to you what you wish to tell your father, Jem, but you have my permission to send one of my servants to him with a message."

"So," said Blair when Rafe had left them. "We keep each other's secrets and watch each other's backs."

Jem couldn't help grinning. "It does mean that we can stay together, which is what we both want.... And you know I like the view of your back!"

Blair snorted. "You know," he said, thinking out loud, "I'd like to know what happened to this female sentinel. Cecil spoke as though there was something wrong with her. If it was problems with her senses, it might be prudent to find out just what those problems were. Pre-warned is pre-armed. I don't want something to come up and bite us."

Jem felt a rush of love at Blair's words, though part of him was strangely apprehensive at the idea of another sentinel being around, Blair was still thinking of Jem and his comfort. "Time enough for that, my little scholar. For now, let's deal with our parents."

They found Naomi in an inn, sipping ale with a male companion. She stood as soon as she saw her son and his friend enter the establishment, and came over to greet them. "Blair, sweeting! This is Charlie. He sells the most amazing potions from his apothecary caravan."

"And horoscopes, Naomi, don't forget the horoscopes." A chubby little man stood and joined her, smiling at Blair and Jem and wrapping his arm possessively around Naomi's waist.

She leaned back into his arm. "Oh yes, and horoscopes. And he's asked me to join him on his travels. Isn't that wonderful?"

Naomi looked so eager and hopeful that Blair couldn't find it in him to voice any disapproval. "So you'll be out of reach and on the road?"

"Ah ha. Yes, darling." Naomi clarified. "I wasn't sure if you'd be staying on here..."

Jem spoke up. "It's all right, Naomi. If Blair's willing, I'm sure my landlady will have room for him. I have a post with Sir Matthew Rafe as his new under-sheriff, and I need Blair's assistance and knowledge of the city."

Naomi grasped Blair's hands between her own. "Oh, Blair, that's wonderful! You won't have to cavort on the stage any more." She released his hands to clap her own together. Jem, watching with some amusement, could see where Blair got his bounce.

Blair was shaking his head. "Em, no. I still intend to work as an actor, Naomi."

"But, sweeting..."

"I'll be fine." Blair turned to Charlie. "You make sure you look after my mother, sir! And if you need to contact me, you'll be able to either through the theatre or Mr. Ellison's employer." He turned back to Naomi. "Understand, mother?"

"Yes, Blair, I understand. You will be careful, darling, won't you?"

"Yes, Naomi."

"Oh, Blair, it's so exciting. Helping Charlie to heal the sick and guide their future, I really feel that the heavenly aspects themselves have lead me to this..."

Blair looked at Jem with an expression of fond exasperation over his mother's head, as she continued to describe her new life. Jem risked a kiss to his lover's head. "Be easy, professor, I have no doubt that Naomi will be quite safe with Charlie, and we, as Cecil's agents, should be able to keep an eye on her."

A messenger interrupted his words. "Beg pardon, sir. Would you be Master Ellison?"

Jem nodded.

"I have a letter here, sir, for you."

Jem gave the man a penny and then looked at the seal. "It looks like our first assignment, Blair." His slid his finger under the wax and eased it open. "We are to investigate the whereabouts of certain misplaced plans..."

Blair stood to one side as his partner turned on the charm, doffed his cap and did a small bow to the red haired woman. "My name is Ellison, my lady, James Ellison, on His Majesty's business." Jem watched Blair over the woman's shoulder as his lover rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement, and the woman coyly held out her hand to be kissed. Jem smiled and obliged, then he said, "I'd like to ask you a few questions about some plans that appear to have gone astray...."

~fin~

Notes: For a number of words, I've used the Old English spelling, i.e. color, flavor.

The words, 'sugar stick' (penis), 'shoulder clapper' (bailiff), and 'unlicked cub' (rude, uncouth lad) are expressions to be found in The Vulgar Tongue, a dictionary of slang originally published in 1785, I just moved the expressions back a few years.

The quotes at each chapter break come from Shakespeare's 'Othello'.