Part 11 (2/2)

”Can't give you those,” Collins said apologetically, then hardened his tone. ”If you don't agree, you leave me no choice but to ...” He trailed off with clear significance.

Korfius hugged himself. When he finally spoke, he used a small voice. ”I want to help save lives.”

Vernon made a noise of approval, deep in his throat. ”So you won't tell anyone about His Majesty or his companions?”

”I won't,” Korfius promised.

”Good boy.” Vernon returned to his food, and the others followed suit.

For several moments, they ate in silence, then Collins rose and yawned. ”My turn for a nap?” he suggested.

Vernon also stood. He walked to the chest of drawers, pulled open the top one, and removed a clay pot. ”Let me show you to the well. You can wash up and change.”

It seemed more logical to wash after the nap, so Collins suspected the older man wanted to talk with him alone. ”Great,” he said, waving at Korfius. ”See you soon.”

Korfius eyed the beetle jar.

Though Vernon headed for the door, he did not miss the gesture. ”Have as much food as you want,”

he called over his shoulder to the boy as he exited the cottage, Collins behind him.

The sun slanted toward the western horizon, and Collins' watch read ten minutes until four. Vernon strolled toward the back of the cottage, waiting only until they had clearly pa.s.sed Korfius' hearing range before asking, ”That was brilliant. Where did you come up with all that stuff? About missions and thousands and lives and . . . ?” He showed Collins an expression that bordered on awe.

Collins did not have the heart to tell his companion it came from the meanest B-grade spy movies he had seen in high school. Choosing an air of mystery over idiocy, he reverted to the same understated melodrama that Vernon had laid on him when he asked about the bolt-holes. c.o.c.king his brows, he put on a tight-lipped grin. And left the answer to Vernon's imagination.

Collins awakened to the slam of a closing door and the pound of footsteps on floorboards. For an instant, his mind returned him to the dark enclosure behind Vernon's dresser, desperately clutching a frightened and morphing dog/boy who might give them away in an instant. His lids snapped open to candlelight that held evening gray ness at bay in a circle. He lay on the pallet. Korfius sat in the chair Collins had vacated hours earlier, his yellow hair mostly flopped over his right ear, his small hands clasped together on the tabletop. Vernon and Falima stood on the threshold, the man carrying the aroma of cool evening wind and the woman wholly naked. For the second time, Collins caught a glimpse of that wonderful body: the generous, sinewy curves, the pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and the black triangle between muscular thighs.

Falima glanced at Collins, and her golden skin turned a p.r.i.c.kly red. She hid behind Vernon, her discomfort an obvious change from the unself-conscious dignity with which she had carried herself a day ago.Sensing Falima's uneasiness, Vernon removed his cloak and tossed it over her bare shoulders. She drew it tightly around her while he crossed to the dresser and began sifting through clothing. At length, he pitched out a simple dress of coa.r.s.e weave, dyed a sallow blue. Falima turned her back to pull it over her head, giving Collins a full view of her round, firm b.u.t.tocks every bit as pleasurable as what she hid.

The fabric fell into place, disguising the exquisite angles beneath a shapeless blob of material. Only then, she returned the cloak to Vernon.

Collins waited until Falima had dressed before sitting up and rubbing grit from the corners of his eyes.

His mother had called them ”sleepy seeds,” but Marlys had broken him of the habit. She felt it best not to refer to bodily fluids, whether liquid or dry, at all. Even earwax made her ill, and a used Q-tip accidentally left on a bathroom ledge sent her into a frenzy. Marlys. Collins grimaced. He knew she would not appreciate him staring, or even worse enjoying the sight of, another woman's naked body, no matter how amusing or dire the circ.u.mstances.

Vernon and Korfius seemed to take no notice of the process, though the older man prodded the washbasin they had filled earlier that now perched on top of the dresser and waved at the clean pile of clothing beside it. ”Your turn,” he said in heavily accented English, then winked at Collins.

You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Collins glanced in the indicated direction, then sat. He thrust a hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the translation stone. He withdrew his hand, clutching the quartz to his palm as he removed the travel-stained tunic to reveal his ribby, nearly hairless chest. ”Happy?”

Korfius glanced over.

Vernon smiled.

”Not yet,” Falima said, mouth widening into a grin.

Now it was Collins' turn to blush. Seeking a distraction, he rose and strode to the basin. He splashed water over his face, abdomen, and armpits, then ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. Grit rasped against his nails, and twigs pattered to the ground. Without a heavy stream of water and a lot of shampoo, it seemed hopeless. He looked at his companions.

Korfius had lowered his head to his arm, but the other two still watched Collins intently.

All right, I can do this. Collins thought of his two delicious sessions of Falima-watching. It's only fair. He reached for his fly, thinking back to his experiences in the locker room. For size, he fell squarely into the average category, and his slender figure only enhanced what he had. He turned around, freed the metal b.u.t.ton and unzipped. His pants slid to his ankles. He stepped out of them, then his underwear, baring his backside for his companions.

Collins felt more self-conscious now than the time his six-year-old cousin, Brittany, had pulled the bathroom door wide open during her sister's wedding reception, while he performed inside. He splashed water over his legs and privates, his back to Falima, hoping she had the decency to look elsewhere as he had done for her.

Collins s.n.a.t.c.hed up the fresh, gray britches that Vernon had laid out for him, the fabric rough and scratchy against his hand.

”Turn around,” Falima teased.

Collins winced.

”There's nothing to be embarra.s.sed about, Your Majesty.” Vernon restored the t.i.tle and the charade of respect, even as they stripped Collins of all physical dignity. ”Those of us who switch see one another naked all the time. There's a lot of ... normal variation.”

Let's get this over with. The longer Collins put it off, he knew, the more Falima would expect when she finally saw him. And so what? What does it matter what she thinks of. . . that? Even in his thoughts, he had to use a euphemism, and it intensified the scarlet circles of his cheeks. It's not like there could ever be anything between us. Yet, somehow, it did matter. Whether or not they ever came together, he wanted her to like him, to want him, as much as he wanted her. This is ridiculous. As if a guy like me could ever attract a hotty like her. s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his courage, he turned, only then realizing that Falima was accustomed to seeing stallions.

Nervously, Collins watched Falima's face as the smile wilted and her pale eyes widened. She back-stepped, gasping.Collins could not have imagined a more unnerving reaction. ”Very funny.”

”Wha-what . . . ?” Falima stammered, not sounding the least bit amused. ”What happened?”

”It ... I ...” Collins floundered with the britches, and it seemed to take inordinately long to find the leg holes. ”Sometimes . . . they're all . . .”

Vernon smoothly stepped in to a.s.sist. ”The cutting,” he explained. ”The foreskin. We don't do that here.”

Collins tied the britches in place, the excess color draining from his face. He dropped the rose quartz into a pocket to speak the word in English that he knew must not translate. ”Circ.u.mcision.” He took up the stone again, so as not to miss anything. ”It's a. . .a ...”

”Royal thing?” Vernon suggested.

”Exactly.” Collins appreciated the reminder. In the horror of the situation, they had all apparently forgotten his cover. Otherwise, Vernon would have said ”switchers don't do that” rather than ”we don't do that here.” Collins explained, ”Keeps it cleaner.” I can't believe I'm discussing the details of my p.e.n.i.s in mixed company. He tried to drop the subject. ”So, any place to get a real bath around here?”

”Doesn't it hurt?” Korfius piped in, rising to join the others.

”What?” Vernon inquired.

”That.” Korfius jabbed a finger toward Collins' now-covered groin. ”Doesn't it hurt to ... to ... cut it like that.” He added, belatedly, ”Your majesty.”

Though unnecessary, Collins followed the direction of Korfius' motion naturally. ”Oh, that. I don't know. It's done when you're just a couple days old.”

”Does it still work, Your Majesty?”

”Work?” All of the blus.h.i.+ng returned to Collins' face in an instant. ”Of course it works. All the ... all the . . .” He glanced at Falima, then wished he had not. It only intensified the embarra.s.sment. ”. . .

functions work. It's just . . . well . . . cleaner, I guess.” Again, he tried to redirect the conversation.

”Please stop with the 'Your Majesty,' though. No one's supposed to know who I am, remember?” He placed a finger to his lips. ”Top secret.”

”Top secret.” Korfius repeated vigorously. His expression wilted from open and eager to wrinkled disappointment in an instant. ”Will I ever get to tell my friends I met a royal?”

Falima placed an arm around the boy. ”I've kept the secret a year now. Think you can last half that long?”

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