23 Chapter 22

Another evening in the tavern. And despite Lancelot's best efforts, still no sign of Tristan's little pet after a week. He had even tried to ambush the little creature in the stables, but been thwarted by Bedwyr who had needed him to help rearrange his workshop. Really, was the child's rumoured existence just some sort of elaborate practical joke? He didn't dare confront Tristan with anything less than a detailed retelling of his own personal encounter with the boy. He didn't know what the boy's name was, or even what he looked like.

Not that he wanted to shag the little bastard – gods no; grown women with plenty of experience were very much his preferred targets.

Unfortunately, he had been kept busy at Bedwyr's well into the evening and by the time he made it to the tavern the evening was already in full swing. The lovely ladies were all off with their chosen partners, leaving him with the prospect of either gambling some soldiers out of their money… or talking to his fellow knights. Oh, he liked them well-enough as people; he loved them like fostered family, and he had certainly had his fill of their company for the week. Thank the gods it was Arthur's holy day of bugger-all tomorrow and he could relax, alone.

So he wandered over to Brenna and asked for some wine and dinner. She nodded and sent one of the girls off to see to it – she was clearly distracted by something. Lancelot watched the way her long golden braid swung alluringly over her hips as she moved away. Brenna was his greatest challenge – if he managed to bed her, it would be like one of Arthur's oft-cited miracles actually happening.

As he lounged quietly at a table, wondering what to do with himself, he noticed a small figure slip quietly out of the kitchens and place a platter of food on the counter.

Ah, that must be his dinner.

"Hey! Over here!" he called, raising an arm.

The person's head snapped up and Lancelot noticed that it instead of the girl he had been expecting behind the long hair, it was a young lad. Although his face was also a girl's – the skinny frame and trousers proclaimed his gender. Clearly he had to be an officer or local nobleman's boy toy attending his master. But Lancelot was too hungry to care and waved emphatically.

"Bring that here!" he said, pointing to the food. He was starting to feel a frown crease his brow as the boy stared at him, transfixed like a startled doe. But then, after a moment's hesitation, he picked up the platter and carried it over to Lancelot.

"Finally! Are you deaf?"

The boy shrugged and half-turned away when Lancelot reached out and grabbed the boy's arm.

"Stay. I could use the company."

He hadn't meant to sound like… that… but the boy showed no sign of alarm or negation at the implied sexual invitation, and he obediently sat down on a stool opposite Lancelot. He eyed the food for a moment, then folded his hands in his lap and blandly regarded the table-top.

As he tucked into the food, (hot meat off the spit, bread and some vegetables) Lancelot openly studied the strange boy; his eyes were half-lidded and passive – his entire expression one of calm submissiveness.

"So who did you come here with?" Lancelot finally asked.

The boy looked up at him and held his gaze steadily. That was unusual.

"I am here alone." He said, so quietly that Lancelot had to lean forward to catch the words. His voice was light, smooth and crystalline. How interesting… no wonder he'd been snapped up into the trade – his androgynous qualities would doubtless be considered enchanting to anyone who liked young men. And most would want to listen to him recite tales or poetry and watch the way his eyes might sparkle in the lamplight.

Lancelot had a keen eye for seeing what other people wanted. Gaheris was even better, but that man had fewer scruples about what he did with such knowledge. For the lad's sake, Lancelot hoped that the boy was spoken for, and that his lover was the short-tempered sort.

"What's your name?"

"Kation."

"Where are you from?"

"Overseas."

The evasive answer pinched at Lancelot's good-humour and he pressed for a more detailed answer. "Where exactly?"

"Italy, I think."

"You think?"

"I was taken away from my parents when I was very young – but they must have been from somewhere else, though – since I recall being told that I was 'exotic'."

Selling the slaves' children to save money was a common practice, and clearly the boy was not originally from the central Roman territories, or he wouldn't have ended up this far north.

"And how did you come here, the end of the world?"

And why was he so interested in hearing the child's life-history? Was it to idly pass the time? He knew it wasn't out of concern or for any particular personal gain. He noticed the way the boy watched him; smiling outwardly, but his eyes revealing that he was noticed and assessed every motion and word Lancelot made. Clearly he was an intelligent fellow.

"I was brought here by a dealer as 'exotic stock'." The boy said casually – as if it wasn't such a bad thing, really.

As he was about to ask about the boy's master, a serving girl appeared with a platter of food. She stared at the two sitting at the small table and laughed before giving the boy the meal and stroking his hair affectionately.

"I see you stole the boy's dinner, then."

Lancelot shot the boy a searching look – but he was already tucking into the meal, seemingly oblivious to the offence.

"You've met him before, Verica?" he asked.

The serving girl nodded. "Oh yes, Vanora's taken Kation here under her wing – so behave yourself or you won't be allowed back for days."

"Could I survive?" Lancelot joked with a grin.

"I doubt it. Now eat up," she added, turning her attention back to Kation. "Or else there's no way we can put some meat on your bones." Verica was a warm and generous young woman, who had clearly taken a sort of sisterly shine to the boy. Then she bustled off, shouting over the noise to Brenna and expertly slapping away the groping hands of half-a-dozen men without breaking stride.

Lancelot turned back to the boy and sipped at his wine. Keeping eye contact with Kation, he asked: "So… your master must be pretty trusting to let someone like you out alone at night."

"It is not me he shows concerns for." The boy replied softly.

"Ah, he is afraid for his reputation."

"You could say that." It was not an affirmation, but it didn't rule out the idea altogether.

"And he doesn't care if you're generous with your favours?" Lancelot asked, casually. Usually such men were highly possessive and controlling.

If he hadn't been watching Kation, he wouldn't have seen the look of pure calculation that flitted over the boy's sharp features. And for the first time that night, Lancelot realised that something wasn't quite right. But before he could question it, Kation's expression changed as the boy pushed his food away and rested one elbow on the table, the other falling to his lap again. He leaned forward slightly with a smirk that sent chills along Lancelot's skin. The boy's entire body language had shifted from relaxed neutrality to subtly threatening with one simple, seemingly innocent, set of gestures. Something was very wrong here…

"He has ways of getting what he wants when it suits him – and not just from me. But I am not under his eye all the time." The boy said smoothly, arching an eyebrow in challenge. A secret joke was sparkling in his eyes.

Lancelot's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "So you're willing to face the beatings if it means you can have a little freedom?" He asked. It hadn't been the answer he expected, but he ran with it – hoping to keep the boy talking. He wanted to dig away at that small thrill of suspicion and trepidation the boy had aroused in him.

"Slaves and soldiers know the meaning of pain." The boy answered – it would have been poetic, if it hadn't been said in a foreboding tone. Implicitly threatening.

"I expect you are very busy at night, then?" Lancelot was insinuating, yes, but he wanted a straight and simple answer for once. He'd just have to push back. "Are you meeting someone here tonight?"

The boy's grin turned feral, and his eyes widened slightly. Lancelot had to exert considerable restraint not to show any unease. This was ridiculous! He, Lancelot, was being unnerved by someone's sweetie! But no delicate boy would say such thinly veiled threats, even if they felt threatened. And although the boy's words fitted the role, his body language didn't.

The boy's voice oozed the same predatory grin as his facial features. "Fortunately, no. This place has proved… disappointing. And I just hate being bored."

By now, Lancelot was seriously confused. By his own admission, the boy was someone's arse. The problem was that nothing else about him, apart from his looks, supported that fact. Was Kation just teasing him? What sort of game was he playing? What body slave would suggest they had lovers on the side; aggressively reject Lancelot's supposed proposition and then suggest a later rendezvous? And why did this predatory behaviour make the fine hairs on Lancelot's neck stand straight up?

Simply beating the answers out of him clearly wouldn't work – that smile spoke of a resilience and wildness that wouldn't be broken in a single evening. And besides, Lancelot would have to contend with the boy's enraged owner, later. And then there was the distinct possibility that the youth wasn't simply used for pleasure; maybe he was something else… maybe he was simply pretending to be what he seemed.

Not what he seemed…

"You're bored? Clearly you aren't kept busy enough." Lancelot said, buying time while his mind raced down this new avenue.

"Oh, I assure you that my days are pretty full. Arthur does not know the meaning of administrative organisation."

That snapped Lancelot out of his musings faster than an arrow from a bow.

"Arthur?" he repeated sharply.

Kation nodded and stood, preparing to leave. "I am his new scribe."

Lancelot spluttered, his mind having to wheel around to this new piece of incredible information – reorienting itself to encompass a totally different situation to what he supposed… "What? But that means you're…?"

The boy tilted his head as he stared down at Lancelot. There was no longer any of that predatory teasing or thinly veiled menace. He was just a boy. Unremarkable, save for his looks.

"Yes. And no." He said, eventually answering despite the lack of an understandable question.

"What sort of people were you bred out of?" Lancelot said wonderingly – he had never met such a complex or enigmatic person in his life. The obvious intelligence made all the more fierce by that sensation of tightly-controlled feral menace.

"Oh, but there's where you are wrong," Kation wagged a finger at him, that awful grin still stretched across his face again. Clearly he was enjoying Lancelot's increasingly apparent unease. "I am a demon's child." He looked utterly relaxed as he said it – but the light in those ice-pale eyes was deadly serious, as if he was warning Lancelot off a dangerous topic.

Never one to back down, Lancelot opened his mouth to demand an honest answer – but the boy thwarted his attempt. With a conspiratorial (and not at all saucy) wink, Kation inclined his head respectfully.

"Thank you for allowing me to dine with you, sir knight. Please excuse me." He said, and then turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. Lancelot didn't bother to follow. He knew the boy would have disappeared as masterfully as he had controlled the conversation.

~oOo~

What an interesting and satisfying evening! I had been so unbelievably bored and aggravated by the prosaic monotony of day-to-day secretary work that the idea of messing with someone's head appealed.

Hey, I never said I was a particularly nice person. Besides, that guy's ego was in no danger from my corner and no lasting damage had been done. I think I just annoyed him by being really evasive.

And they were so similar looking that I would have thought them to be brothers: tall, with identical curling black hair tumbling over high foreheads and expressive mouths. But Arthur's eyes were the colour of a winter sea, while that knight's eyes were nearly black. I had enjoyed watching him become increasingly suspicious during our conversation, too. It was refreshing to be taken seriously for once… even if I had to lie through my teeth.

I would have to ask Tristan which knight I had spent the evening provoking. But I seriously doubted I would be in any real danger: it seemed everyone was frightened of Tristan's wrath.

My roommate noticed my good mood as I almost skipped through the doorway a moment later.

"What happened?" he asked, instantly suspicious.

And rightly so.

"I just had a really interesting conversation with one of your fellow knights." I said, tugging off my boots and wriggling out of my semi-poncho and black tunic. I was so ready for sleep.

"Which one?"

"Don't know. He had black curls like Arthur and dark eyes. He wore a black tunic too."

"Lancelot?"

"Oh. That's Lancelot? I thought he'd be taller." Arthur's second in command and closest friend was spoken of with great reverence by the soldiers and stable boys. He wasn't nearly as imposing in the flesh.

Tristan groaned and set down the filing tray he'd been carving. I noticed that he had yet to injure himself in that task. Damn him. "What did he say?"

"Oh he wanted to find out who my master was."

"And what did you say?"

"Well, I had to admit I was Arthur's scribe in the end. So he's worked out who I am. But he doesn't suspect I'm a girl." I sank down onto the bed next to him and plucked the knife from his hand, setting it down on top of the unfinished trays. Then I brushed the wood chips off the blankets and passed him an apple – he would have certainly forgotten to eat something.

"Are you sure?" Oh ye of so little faith...

"Yes. He believes me to be a rebellious little sex slave who passes favours out behind my master's back and will risk a beating to do so."

Tristan chuckled and shook his head. "I will probably have to black your eye to allay such a story."

"And no doubt you'll enjoy the attempt." I smiled back. We were both only half-joking, but weirdly that's what kept the conversation light.

"Well, tomorrow's the Sabbath. Does that mean I get a day off too?" I asked, crawling under the covers with a yawn.

Tristan gave a grunt and shook his head. "I don't doubt that Gawain or Kahedin will steal you away for their own entertainment if Arthur has no tasks for you."

I didn't doubt it either. But I could hope.