Rysykk’s Rise
Smashwords Edition
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The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Rysykk’s Rise Copyright © 2008 by J.C. Natál All rights reserved.
Rysykk’s Rise Cover Art © 2008 J.C. Natál
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This book is dedicated to the people who kicked my butt to make it better, Katy and Mary, and to the people who said it could happen, would happen.
To the ones who supported me and didn't give me crap for spending all of my spare time attached to my laptop.
And to the rockingest friends the electronic age can offer.
Rysykk's Rise
By
J.C. Natal
Chapter One
It wasn’t yet eight, but the streets were pretty bare. It was dark, street lights just coming on and not yet warmed up enough to do more than emit a weak glow or illuminate much more than the dirt in the air.
Alarin didn’t mind the shadows; they kept him hidden while he waited. It was a simple job. Tap and his guys would come out of the club; Alarin would do a little panhandling, combined with some fancy foot work, and make off with a package from Tap’s pocket.
Not many on the street were ballsy enough to try to pick Tap. After all, the man was a legend. Alarin was hungry, though, and that meant more than balls. He hadn’t had real food in so long he almost didn’t remember what it tasted like ... and the payday for this job was enough to buy him food that still resembled the living thing it was taken from.
Incentive enough to be here, three levels up from where he belonged, scoping out the front of a club where Tap and his boys were known to be. Simple job. Easy, even.
The door opened and Tap emerged, accompanied by his newest protégées. They were barely Alarin’s age. This was going to be easier than he’d imagined; they’d been drinking, and young meant green. Alarin put on his best drunken behavior stumble, moving toward his mark as soon as they cleared the windows of the club. “Gots spare change?” he asked, losing his balance and stumbling into Tap.
Tap laughed and pulled away, sending Alarin crashing into the sidewalk. Alarin picked himself up off the ground as Tap moved away, making for the shadows, a small package clutched in his hand.
As soon as he knew he couldn’t be seen, he took off at a run. Best to get down before Tap knew it was gone. Three blocks up he knew a building he could get into and get below ... lay low ... before finding Porlan to collect his pay.
A long, black limo moved past him, and he turned to stare. Not the neighborhood for cars like that. Either someone was up to shady business ... or lost. He didn’t have time to wonder, though. He reached the building and started to climb into the broken window, but a heavy hand fell on the back of his neck and dragged him back to the street.
One of the boys had him. Alarin struggled, but the kid was strong. “You stole from me, boy.” Tap’s voice was angry, deep. “Give it back.”
Alarin shrugged and pulled the package from his pocket, tossing it to Tap. “Can’t blame a kid for trying, right?”
Tap stepped in closer. “I can. You got any idea what you tried to lift, kid?”
“I didn’t try nothing, Tap. I lifted it. And I got away. I just wasn’t fast enough to get gone.”
Tap’s big fist smashed into his cheek and Alarin saw stars.
“You got it back ... what’s your problem?”
“Astarzine.” Tap said, holding the package up. “Enough here to make me a very wealthy man. Take me up a couple levels.”
“Porlan just told me to pinch it, didn’t mark it so’s I’d know what it was.” Better to direct Tap’s anger up the food chain. Might save him a beating.
Tap nodded. “Porlan. I’ll have to pay him a visit. In the meantime ... boys, he’s all yours.”
Or not.
The fist into his stomach was jarring, but not as much as the foot that smashed into his shin and sent him crashing to the ground. Alarin curled up tight, covering his head with one hand and his stomach with the other. A booted foot connected with his face, and he could taste blood. His body convulsed when something crashed into his lower back, sending shooting pain into his hips and up his spine.
Yelling voices made him try to open his eyes. His vision swam ... the long black car ... swirling black coat. Tap was gone. Something lifted up the boy pummeling his body. Alarin fought to stay conscious. Passing out here meant dying. He struggled to sit up, his head swimming.
A tall man was bent over. He dropped the boy back onto the pavement, and then there was a face in Alarin’s -- white and painted red with blood, or something. It was hard to tell;everything was blurring together. Alarin looked down; there was blood on his own face. Blood on his hands.
The man with the pale skin came closer, reaching for him, and Alarin shrank back, but his head was heavy and the darkness was pulling at him.
#
What greeted him when he opened his eyes was anything but dark. He blinked and cringed at the brightness, at the white, and the clean.
Dark he was used to. On the lower levels the only light was artificial, and there wasn’t much of that. His squat hole was dark, there at the bottom. Pallin had insisted that if you could break up the concrete there was actual earth under them. Alarin had never really known whether or not to believe him.
There was a tube down his throat and tubes up his nose and there were hands pulling his clothes from him, cleaning him, tending his wounds. He fought until he was restrained. Something cool was pushed into his arm and he slept.
#
There were moments after that, brief glimpses of faces and voices that sounded soft in his ears. He was vaguely aware that he was being taken care of, that there were bandages and medicines; then he would fall back under the swell of drugs until the next time.
He woke fully for the first time with fresh air blowing through a nearby window into the bright clean room. He'd never tasted anything as sweet as that air. He tried to inhale a deep lungful, only to trigger a coughing spasm that made him very aware of the tube in his throat.
When it passed, he tried to pull himself back together to survey his surroundings. He was on a bed—an actual bed, with rails to keep him from falling out. There was the window and a single door. It was closed, with a white robe hanging from the back of it. To his left was a table, with stacks of magazines and books.
He remembered books from his brief time in the detention center when he was ten. The woman who worked there tried to teach him to read. He thought she smelled pretty, so he tried for a while. Learned a little, but never got good.
He was naked under the sheets, his broken body dressed only in bandages and bruises. A splint held his left leg in a straight line, and his left ankle was swathed in thick, white bandages.
In fact, he'd never seen so much white in one place. The sheets and walls were pristine white. The grunge that had been a part of his life for as long as he remembered was gone and his skin, while not white, was oddly light, clean ... like it had been scrubbed.
So the only way out probably led into a hall where he’d be seen, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen. Not that he was getting up right away anyway. Not with the leg and the tubes and the needles.
The door opened and a man in a white coat came in, smiling when he saw Alarin’s eyes open. “Well, that is encouraging. Welcome back to the land of the living.” He crossed to Alarin’s side, setting the chart in his hands aside. “I’m Dr. Warren ... and you are one lucky young man.”
Alarin made a face at him and the doctor laughed.
“Yes, I imagine from your perspective it doesn’t feel very lucky. So you’ll have to take my word for it. Let’s have a look at you and see if we can’t disconnect you from a few of these machines.”
An hour later, Alarin’s throat was raw and he’d been told not to try to talk while his throat recovered, but he was free of all the machines and equipment, but for the IV. “Now, then; shall I read you the damage report?” Dr. Warren asked, as the room emptied of the extra personnel. His voice was warm and kind, and Alarin relaxed a little. “Your leg, of course, was broken; pretty badly, too. The ankle bent the wrong way when you went down, didn’t break, but it’s badly sprained. Several broken ribs. Bruises; your face is still pretty swollen.”
“How long?” Alarin choked out. He swallowed and tried again. “How long I been here?”
Warren shook his head. “Not important for now. We’re going to keep you on the pain medication; you’ll be pretty loopy and sleep a lot. But you need the rest.”
Alarin wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find his voice again, just the pressing darkness. The dreams came in the dark ... swirling colors mixed with black ... red, bright, vibrant blood red. The towering figure in the blackness of night ... the flash of white ... the smear of red. Alarin never saw what he did to the boy, just saw the boy fall to the ground, and then that white/red face leaned over him. The man dropped a lifeless body and wiped blood from his face before dropping to one knee on the dirty, broken concrete.
Rysykk. His mind whispered it, but only when he was asleep, because there were no such things. Not anymore. They were the stuff of stories told to keep children off the streets. All the Rysykks had been killed off.
There were nurses, doctors. They came and went, mostly ignoring him. That was okay; he ignored them, too ... pretended to be asleep when they came in to check his bandages.
“I thought you might be hungry.” The voice was light, feminine. Alarin opened his eyes to find the red-headed nurse was pulling a rolling table closer. On it was a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread.
Alarin licked his lips. “Doctor Warren said you could probably hold it down now.” She helped him sit up. His ribs twinged, but not as bad as they could have. He’d had worse. She pushed the table up to him and he eyed the food suspiciously.
“Is it ... real?” His voice didn’t sound real, rusty and scratched.
She smiled. “Of course it’s real. You think you’re going to get better eating recycled protein paste?”
He snatched the bread and sniffed it, holding it close to his mouth and nose. It didn’t smell like any bread he’d ever eaten. It smelled fresh. He took an experimental bite. It was soft, chewy. He took a bigger bite and while he was still chewing, he turned to the bowl.
“Hey, take it easy. Don’t make yourself sick.”
The soup was mostly broth, with ... well, he wasn’t sure. “What’s this?”
She turned from where she was hanging a fresh bag on his IV stand. “What? The carrot?”
He sniffed at it. It didn’t smell bad. “Carrot, eh?”
She reached over him and pointed. “Celery, pepper.”
The smell of her wafted over him as she moved ... .clean and soap and ... something else ... perfume ... light, and flowery ... but where he lived, flowers didn’t grow. He only knew the scent from the two-bit whores who wore cheap cologne to mask the scent of unwashed bodies and sex. This wasn’t cheap cologne.
He felt embarrassed, but she touched his arm. “Don’t worry. No one expects you to know about things you’ve never seen.” The light touch of her hand was almost more than he could fathom. Pretty, clean women didn’t touch boys like him. Not gently, anyway.
Her tiny fingers pressed against his wrist, listening to the rush of blood through his veins. She hummed lightly to herself, some airy tune he’d never heard, as she made notes.
He tasted the carrot. It was warm and mushy. He worked his way through the bowl, one thing at a time. He wanted to scarf it down ... but knew better. Make it last ... who knew how long it would be before he got real food again?
“You are very lucky,” she said. “Mr. Bryant isn’t one for bringing home strays.”
Alarin looked at her and she looked back. Really looked. It rocked him. Most people didn’t see him. He was a part of the shadows, they looked past him, through him ... never at him. “I ... Mr. Bryant?”
She nodded and settled a fresh blanket over him. “Yes. He happened to be passing by and saw you being beaten. He stopped and he and his driver brought you here.”
“And where is here?”
She smiled again, and Alarin felt himself blush. “You are in Mr. Bryant’s personal infirmary, attended by his personal physician. Soon you will be able to get out of bed, though you may walk with a limp for quite some time.”
Alarin felt a rush of panic. He could never pay for this kind of treatment. Never in a hundred years. She must have seen it on his face and understood. “Mr. Bryant has stated that you are to be treated as though you were a part of his household. There is no cost.”
“Always a cost.” Alarin responded. Nothing was free. Quite frankly, he couldn’t imagine what he had that would repay this.
She patted his hand. “Rest. I’ve given you your pain meds. I’ll be back in time for the next dose.”
Alarin could just feel the drugs starting to work. “Alarin ... I’m Alarin.”
“Rose. My name is Rose.”
Alarin nodded, but was already being pulled under. Into the dark of sleep, into the realm of dreams and nightmares. In those first weeks he never saw his mysterious benefactor; all he had were the nightmarish visions that stalked his dreams.
The blood. He saw blood. It was on the man’s face. The man he assumed was Bryant. There was no reason, save one, for the blood to be smeared garish and bold over his lips like that. Except that it had been all over Alarin’s face too. It made no sense.
Rysykk. The word whispered around inside him.
Alarin had never believed there were any more Rysykks, and though he knew older kids who said they had seen them, he’d always kind of thought they were just used as boogie men, used to keep people in line. He'd heard the stories, of course, and more than once there had been rumors on the streets that there was one, hunting in the dark of night. Insatiable creatures, possessed of inhuman strength and an overwhelming desire to kill, Rysykks were said to be mindless slaves to their body's needs.
They came out of the war, mutants. He wasn’t sure about the details, but it had something to do with chemicals and the spray. It killed lots of people. And Rysykks killed more.
Of course, Maleus Bryant wasn’t a Rysykk. He was a man, a very powerful man. He knew the name. There were few in the city who wouldn’t. Bryant and ElliSan. Between the two they owned most of the city, controlled the unions. Even on the lowest levels they heard about the battles between the two. Good money to fight on one side or the other, sometimes.
Still ... nothing good could come of this. Bryant was not a man known for his generous spirit. Most of the stories said he was almost cruel. There was no doubt in Alarin’s mind that there would be a price to pay.
He wondered who he’d be sent to kill.
#
By the time he was deemed well enough to get out of the bed, Alarin wanted nothing more than to get out of the pampered prison he’d found himself in. He’d eaten more food in the weeks he’d been awake than he had in his whole seventeen years. He would thank his host for the rescue and generosity, and find out what was required in return. Then get out as soon as he was able, beat it back to his own level. Back to the dark and grunge of bottomside.
“How long have I been here, Rose?” Alarin asked as he dropped sweating and breathless onto the bed after only a short walk, leaning heavily on the cane she’d brought.
She cocked her head to the side and looked at him. “Do you have somewhere better to be?”
He laughed and lifted his splinted leg up onto the bed while she poured him some water and set his little cup of pills beside the bed. “Yeah; ‘cause my flop hole and trash bed’s so much better ... and I gots stuff what needs doing.” He snorted and tossed the pills back, slamming down the water. He figured he should get as much of the good stuff as he could while he was there. Soon enough he’d be back down in the gutter.
“It will be a month tomorrow,” Rose said finally.
Alarin shook his head. “Long time.”
“Mr. Bryant will be home from his trip in a few days. By then we should have your strength up. He’ll want to see you. He’s been pleased with your progress.”
That made Alarin more nervous than he wanted to admit. He had nothing to offer this man. He couldn’t imagine what a man like Maleus Bryant could possibly want with a gutter-born bottom feeder like him. Well, he could imagine, but none of the things that came to him were pleasant.
A week later Alarin was given clothing – simple, but new, and better than anything he’d ever worn. He was led out of his room, into a bright, white hallway and over to an elevator that took them up ten floors. A whole level. As the doors opened, the servant escorting him gestured into the room. "Mr. Bryant is waiting for you, sir."
Alarin actually snorted at that. He'd never been called a "sir" before. He limped his way into the room, which was a stark contrast to everything he'd seen before. The walls were lined in rich wood paneling, dark and well polished. The back wall was filled, floor to ceiling, with books. The carpeting was nearly ankle thick as he stepped hesitantly onto it. A few steps further into the room, and he eyed the lush furniture-- black leather. It was more than a few moments before his eyes adjusted enough to see the eyes regarding him with cool amusement from the depths of one of the chairs.
"Forgive the lack of light. I'm afraid my eyes are sensitive." The voice was slightly accented, gentle, compelling.
"No problem. I come from the dark levels." Alarin responded reflexively, and he sensed, rather than saw, the smile.
"I recall. I trust you are feeling better?”
"Yeah ... you know ... thank you. I can’t pay you for this."
The shadows seemed to shift as Maleus moved forward in his chair. "There is nothing to repay. It was my pleasure."
Something about the way he said "pleasure" put images in Alarin's mind about things other than rescuing teenagers from certain death. He imagined he could feel the other man's eyes raking across his body. So that’s what it was going to be. He could handle that. He moved closer to get a better look. If he was going to have to entertain the man, might as well know what he’d gotten himself into.
"Please, sit down. We have much to discuss."
Alarin nodded and slid onto the chair closest to the stranger. From this spot he could see better into the shadows that cloaked him.
Well over 6 foot tall, Maleus Bryant was broad in the shoulder, but not in a brutish way. His dark hair was long, disappearing behind him and blending with the chair and the black of the finely tailored shirt. Long legs were crossed almost delicately and just a hint of what maybe lay between them was visible in the bunching of the fine fabric.
"Discuss what?" Alarin asked, his eyes rising to meet the older man's. Those dark eyes held the night in them, and Alarin blanched, dropping his eyes.
"An offer." Maleus looked bemused. "For you to stay.”
Alarin raised an eyebrow at that, but otherwise didn't respond. Staying wasn’t something he’d expected. He figured a blow job, maybe some heavy fucking, maybe something kinkier than that and then he’d be back on the streets.
"I have a bit of confession to make, Alarin. I've been watching you." Maleus had eyes that were icy cold, and they were trained on Alarin intently. It was disconcerting.
"Why?" His mouth was dry, his stomach turning as the fear of his nightmares bubbled inside him.
"Several months ago while I was running an errand, I observed you, not far from where I found you that night. You were ... working. I found I was attracted. I've been watching you ever since. The night of the beating, I was actually looking for you. I was going to make you an offer."
“Working?” That stretch of road was only good for two things, picking a specific target and taking tricks. A few months before he’d been sucking off johns to pay back a debt before it got his legs broken.
Maleus smiled vaguely. “Yes. In fact, I sent my driver to test you. His report was that you were quite talented, if not the most eager.”
Alarin licked his lips and tried to still the hammering of his heart. It wasn’t his favorite way of making a living, but it was fast and got him cash ... or drugs he could turn into cash. "What’s your offer?"
"You stay here, live with me. You will have anything you desire; food, clothing, books, an education, money. You never have to go back to the streets.”
Alarin stared, uncertain he’d heard. No one made offers like that to people like him. Especially no one like Maleus Bryant. "And what do you get from that?"
Maleus really did smile then. Alarin got a glimpse of white teeth. "That's simple. I get you." He sat back again and crossed his arms. "You become mine. You will please me. Beyond that, I'll give you jobs that suit your talents."
“You think I’m some kind of whore you can buy like that?” Alarin asked, his voice slightly hostile. Not like he wasn’t ... but he didn’t know this guy ... and truthfully, there was something terrifying about him.
“Perhaps I am mistaken?” Alarin couldn’t see his face, couldn’t work out the tone in his voice. He was suddenly even more afraid he’d blown something ... and it was something that could change his life. “I don’t care what you were before. Alarin, I am offering you a life of leisure, and pleasure. You will live here, attend classes, learn to hone your body. You will have access to fresh food, not recycled protein paste. Doctors, servants, clothes made specifically for you.”
“And all I have to do in return is let you fuck me?” It didn’t add up. Why had Bryant chosen him?
Maleus smiled again. “I’m a little more imaginative than that, I’m afraid. My tastes include that, of course.” He shifted forward. “Let us be perfectly clear. You will belong to me. No one will touch you but me, unless I give permission. Your body will be mine and you will do as you are told. This will include sexual activities, as well as other things that bring me pleasure.”
“So, not just a whore ... you want a slave.” He should be afraid; he knew enough to know that.
“Such a soft slavery,” Maleus countered. “But not far from the truth. You will always be free to leave, but if you stay, you will obey.”
Alarin considered the options. He could go back to hustling on the street, doing the occasional trick when he was desperate, living in a flop hole or trash pile, never sure he’d survive the night. Or he could stay here where things were white and gleaming and clean. Where he could eat real food – without scrounging it out of dumpsters, or stealing it from other desperate people.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Of course, Alarin. This is a business negotiation, after all. Both parties should understand the terms.”
Alarin squinted at him, wishing he could get a better read on the guy. He was powerful, handsome. Alarin doubted there was much of anyone he couldn’t have with the snap of a finger. “Why me?” Alarin shifted uncomfortably, his lower back stiff. “I mean, you could have trained whores ... you could have anything you wanted.”
“Yes. I can have anything I want, Alarin. And I want you.”
And that right there was the part Alarin was sure should be terrifying. He was less terrified than he was intrigued. Even if Maleus was into something kinky, something beyond blow jobs and anal sex, there wasn’t a single part of him that could condone walking away from food and a safe place to stay. That alone was worth the price Maleus was asking.
“But why?”
Maleus stood for the first time, and Alarin’s mind filled with the swirling black of his coat, the splash of blood on his face. Maleus walked away, toward the bookshelves. “It has been a long time since I let a pretty face persuade me.” Maleus kept his back to Alarin, so he didn’t catch the look of disbelief on his face. “When I first saw you, you reminded me of someone. That is why I want you.”
Alarin pulled his hair back out of his face and took a deep breath. He didn’t really see a choice in this. If he left now, he wouldn’t survive on the streets, not when he couldn’t move. He nodded slowly. "Okay, I'll stay."
Maleus turned back to face him. "Be sure about this, boy. Once you agree to this, your only options are obedience or leaving. I am not hard to please, but my notions of pleasure are far ranging. I will demand things of you that you have never dreamed of. But if you please me, I will give you the world."
Alarin rose slowly and crossed the small distance between them. A brief image of the towering Rysykk filled his mind, but he filed it away as a figment of his imagination, as he sank to one knee in front of the man who would become his master, angling the splinted leg to the side, and set his hands on Bryant’s thighs. Slowly his hands slipped up the rich fabric toward the zipper of his pants. He met those dark eyes one more time; then Alarin moved aside the sides of the zipper, before bending his head and taking Maleus into his mouth.
If nothing else, his time on the streets had taught him to give good head.
Maleus didn’t move, only braced himself on the desk behind him and let Alarin lick over his cock. Normally when Alarin resorted to tricking, he was pretty desperate, and he liked to make it fast, get the guy off and get the cash. This was different. He had to make sure Bryant still wanted him to stay when he was done.
He didn’t dare look up, concentrated on the cock that swelled to full size on his tongue. Bryant was not the largest he’d ever touched, but he was sizeable. Alarin opened his mouth and sucked on the tip briefly, then pulled back to angle his head to kiss down the side. He thought he heard a groan when he licked over Bryant’s balls, but it was gone before it fully registered. He ran his tongue under and up to the tip, then opened his mouth. He took half the cock into his mouth and hummed as he slid it back out, his tongue cupped against it. Then down again, until he could feel the tip in the back of his throat.
Bryant fisted a hand in his hair then, holding his head while Alarin bobbed up and down, increasing his pace, taking him deep. Bryant’s hips pressed forward and Alarin bent back slightly to take the thrust; then he was swallowing frantically as Bryant came.
Alarin was released and Bryant walked away, pressing a button on his desk. Alarin struggled to his feet, wiping his face. There was a vague smile on Bryant’s lips. “I’ll have Hennings show you to your rooms. I hope they are to your liking.”
He guessed that meant he could stay. “Yeah, okay.”
Chapter Two
“This way, sir.” Alarin followed the older gentleman Maleus had introduced as Hennings, though whether that was a first name or a last name, or something else entirely, Alarin wasn’t sure.
They left the library where he had accepted the offer and set off down a mystifying maze of corridors. “This is the end of the public rooms. Beyond these doors only members of Mr. Bryant’s household staff are permitted.” Hennings opened one towering oak door and gestured for Alarin to enter.
Beyond the doors was a cavernous lobby, unlike anything Alarin had ever seen. Their footsteps echoed on gold marble flooring as Hennings led him to shiny gold doors. “This elevator is solely for use by Mr. Bryant and his—well, you. There is no one else currently living here.”
Alarin limped into the elevator, followed by Hennings. He’d ridden in them before, but it had been a long time. “I will show you to your rooms and introduce you to Ms. Nash. She will be setting up your appointments for the next few days, to get you settled and acclimated.”
“Appointments? Acclimated?” Alarin shook his head. Thirteen floors up, the elevator stopped. Alarin stared for a long time at the numbers. There was only one floor above them. He’d never been so far off the ground in his life.
“Come along, sir. You have much to do today.”
“I do?”
“This is Mr. Bryant’s room.” Hennings gestured to a door directly across from the elevator. “Yours is this way.” He turned left and led Alarin down a brightly lit corridor paved in tile. They stopped on the opposite side of the hallway at an ornate white door. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay.” He opened the door and led Alarin into a spacious entryway with an open arch, into a sitting room. Beyond the sitting room were more rooms, closed off by solid wooden doors. Wood was hard to come by down below; he’d never seen so much in one place.
“This ain’t a room. It’s a whole freaking house,” Alarin muttered. It was baffling. So much space; so much furniture.
“Your bedroom, sir, is through this door. The bathroom is this way.”
Alarin wandered into the bathroom, which was bigger than the hospital room he’d woken up in that morning. Running water. He’d seen the fixtures before, but outside of the shelters, he’d never actually seen water flow out of them. “Is this an actual tub?” Alarin ran his hand over the edge of the cool porcelain. It looked big enough for three people.
“Indeed; and over there is a shower.” Hennings guided him back out to the main room. “You also have a small kitchen space, for nights when Mr. Bryant doesn’t have other arrangements. If you leave a list of items on the counter, someone will stock it for you.”
“Items?”
He sighed, apparently frustrated. “Yes; food. Things you would like to eat.”
Alarin nodded, though the whole thing was overwhelming. He followed the older man back into the main room without really processing any of it. There was a knock on the door and Hennings went to answer it. When he came back, he was escorting a middle-aged woman in a business suit, carrying a computer pad. “Ms. Nash, our young Master Alarin. I trust you are prepared?”
“Yes, Mr. Hennings. I’ll take over from here. Thank you.” She waited while Hennings withdrew from the room, then turned to face Alarin. “Well, here we are. I had hoped to see you before now, but my schedule has been very tight, getting things situated.”
Alarin looked her over. She looked like one of those women who worked for Social Services, and that made him nervous. “Who are you, exactly?”
She smiled and pushed a wayward strand of brown hair behind her ear. “I am generally Mr. Bryant’s social secretary; however, he has instructed me to take care of getting you settled in while he’s away.”
“Away? Didn’t he just get back?” His heart skipped a little. Like he was being abandoned.
“Indeed. He leaves this evening for Hong Kong. He’ll be back in a few days. In the meantime, we can make you comfortable.”
Alarin snorted and raised his hands. “No offense, lady, but I ain’t getting comfortable anytime soon in a place like this. Way too clean; way too ... much.”
“Why don’t we start by covering the basics? Shall we sit?” She gestured to the couch and tapped on her screen. “Now, I didn’t want to presume anything, so I thought I’d start with getting some history from you. Is that okay?”
Alarin limped around the couch. “What kind of history?”
“Let’s start with something easy. How old are you?”
Alarin shrugged. “Don’t know, ‘xactly. My birthday is April 9th. Figure to be seventeen or eighteen. Ain’t had no one to tell me.”
She nodded and made a note. “April 9th, excellent. Do you have any family? A last name?”
Again, he shrugged, moving to the wall opposite the couch. It wasn’t like the other walls — it was like a computer screen. “Don’t got no one I know about. Not since Pallin got pinched by the cops a few years back. What’s this?”
He touched it and the screen came to life, split into six different pictures. He stumbled backward, tripping over the low table and landing in the chair.
“Media center,” she replied, apparently unsurprised by his reaction. “News, entertainment-- all that stuff.” She pressed a button on a remote and the screen turned off. “How long have you been without parental supervision?”
Alarin snorted. “I never had no ‘parental supervision’, none I can remember.”
She made a face, but hid it quickly. It didn’t bother him; he was used to it from the clean ones. They didn’t get it; always made them upset to think of dirty little kids running around the bottom alone. “Got picked up a couple times, spent a while in the juvie pit.”
“Any schooling?”
It was his turn to make a face. “Not really. I’m good with numbers, but never got the hang of reading and stuff like that. Not much use for it. Can’t eat it.”
She made more notes, then looked up at him. “Mr. Bryant is concerned with every aspect of your life, Alarin, and he has directed me to instruct you or find instructors for you to get you on your feet as quickly as we can.” Alarin looked at her funny. He was on his feet, even if he limped some. She didn’t seem to notice his confusion, though.
“Now, Dr. Warren has a full spectrum of tests already run, and he’ll be prescribing physical therapy to improve your mobility, strengthen your leg and back. Dr. Callis is our resident nutritionist. She will be going over your results and recommending a menu plan for you.
“Tomorrow, you’ll meet Mr. Vernon. He will be your personal tutor for learning to read and write. We will eventually add other subjects as he feels you can handle them. We don’t want to overwhelm you.”
Alarin snorted. Too late for that.
“In about an hour, Mr. Bryant’s tailor will be by to measure you for clothes. He will also instruct you on what you should wear, and when. There are some situations where the right clothing is absolutely imperative.”
Alarin scowled at her and stood to pace again. “I gotta ask ... why all this? I mean ... food and a roof over my head’s more than enough. I don’t need all of this.”
“Mr. Bryant generally gets what he wants.”
Alarin smirked and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m gettin’ that. I’m not gettin’ why. I mean, I’m just a whore here, right?”
“Is that how you see yourself?”
“Agreed to whorin’, right?.” Alarin said. “I mean, just a skid from the bottom, ya’ know, not good for nothin’ much else in a place like this.”
She actually smiled at him then. “That’s what we aim to find out. Mr. Bryant has indicated you are to be treated like family.” She folded her hands over her computer screen and looked up at him.
“I—“ Alarin wasn’t sure what to say to that. He always thought he was good at adapting, but this had him reeling. His stomach churned. It was all wrong. Guys like Bryant shouldn’t care about skids like him. It made him nervous. “Why?”
She sighed. “I don’t generally ask why. He has his reasons.”
“Does he do this a lot?” Maybe it was just his thing. Pick a skid, fuck ‘em, teach them shit and set ‘em loose.
“I’ve worked for him for the last five years. He’s never done this before that I’m aware of.”
Okay, so not his thing. Alarin made a face and sighed. “So, does it bother you?”
“What?”
Alarin sighed explosively, his arms raising to his sides. “This. Me. This thing.”
“I’m not paid to be bothered by Mr. Bryant’s personal life.” She stood. “Now, I’m going to touch base with the staff. Is there anything you need before I go?”
Alarin shook his head and looked around the room. “I—I don’t even know—this place—“
She smiled knowingly. “I’ll be back to check on you when the tailor is finished. Mr. Bryant has asked me to have you prepared to join him for an early dinner this evening before he leaves.”
Alarin sort of followed her out to the door, unsure of what else to do. “Uh, thank you, I guess.” She patted his hand; then she was gone. He was alone. His flop hole had been smaller than the bathroom. Hell, it had been smaller than the tub in the bathroom.
He limped back into the sitting room, then eyed the door to the bedroom. Maybe he would start there. He was tired. All this walking was more than he was used to after a month in bed.
A month. In an actual bed. With blankets and everything. His last blanket had been stolen. He shook his head. It really was too much to get his head into.
He opened the door and stepped into ankle deep plush carpeting. It was rich blue and the pale blue of the walls was offset in trim of the same color. The bed was bigger than anything he’d ever seen, dressed in shades of blue and green. He could lay sideways across it and his toes would only barely reach the edge.
A light breeze caressed his face and he turned, his eyes widening at the sight of glass doors, pulled open to let in the fresh air. Beyond the doors a balcony stretched. He crossed to it, inching out slowly, as if he expected it to go plummeting to the levels below. The sun kissed his face and he froze. It was warm—so much warmer than he’d imagined. He’d seen the sun in old pictures and books, of course, seen it reflecting off windows and guided by mirrors into the depths, but this ... this was pure, untouched by glass, straight from the source, honest sun. On his skin!
It brought him further out onto the balcony, the feeling of it. He pulled his shirt off to get more of it on more of him. It was exquisite. He closed his eyes and soaked it in. It was more than a few minutes before he opened them again, turning to see the view. Only ElliSan’s tower was taller than the building he now called home, and he could see it clearly from his perch. The rest of the city was spread out below him, most of it a good ten floors below or more.
From here he could see down to at least the seventh level, or what he assumed was the seventh level, before the roads and stuff blocked off what was below. There were very few buildings that rose above the eighth level.
It was ironic, really. The drugs he’d picked from Tap would have brought him a few meals, maybe more. Getting caught had landed him on top of the world, so many levels above Tap and his ilk that they couldn’t be seen from here. He could almost pretend they didn’t even exist.
Almost.
As pretty as the sun was, as posh as his new home, his back was complaining loudly and his left leg was pretty painful. Both of which were the fault of those below. Alarin turned and limped back into the room, over to the bed. It was more furniture than he’d ever dealt with in his life. The corners of it were tall pillars of wood, intricately carved, rising up above his head.
Alarin set his cane against the nightstand and lifted his hip up onto the bed. It couldn’t hurt to test it. Even if this was all just some colossal mistake and Bryant realized it and kicked him out, this one moment would stay with him. The bed was firm, yet soft, cushioning him as he lay down, adjusting to his body and lulling him rapidly toward sleep.
He was disoriented when he woke, not sure of where he was or what had penetrated the deep sleep to wake him. There was a knocking sound. Knocking. He sat up and looked around him, bewildered. It was like seeing the room for the first time. Then it slid into place. The tailor. He grimaced as his stiff body protested getting out of the bed. He hobbled out of the bedroom and out to the door, opening it to find a small man in a pressed suit and several assistants.
“Good afternoon.”
“Sorry. I must have fallen asleep.”
“No need to apologize, sir.”
Alarin stepped aside to let him into the apartment, “I took the liberty of bringing some ready made garments for you to wear while I prepare your wardrobe. I’m sure that Mr. Bryant doesn’t wish you to wander around with only one set of clothes.” He directed the others with him, carrying in a bag with instruments and clothes on hangers.
Alarin watched as they marched into his room and hung things in his closet, then left, until it was just the tailor and Alarin. “Mr. Bryant has requested a full wardrobe for you. I’ll need your measurements, and then we’ll talk about color and style.”
Alarin made a face. “I don’t know no styles. I just wear what I find that fits. And ... what measurements?”
The man held up his hands. “I can show you some pictures. We’ll find things to fit that are comfortable. I need to measure your arm and leg length, waist, chest, you know-- to make it fit you.” He popped open the bag his attendant had brought in and pulled out a book, which he set aside, and a long ribbon with numbers on it. Alarin eyed him suspiciously, but followed direction when he was told to stand and hold his arms out.
It took forever, but finally the tailor said they were done and gave Alarin the book to look at. The men in it were all dressed in clothes that would have led to ass kicking where he came from. They’d get rolled just for the clothes.
He found himself assessing them based on what he could get on the market for them. Most of it he wouldn’t even be able to sell on his own level; he’d have to go up at least two. “This isn’t bad.” He pointed to a young man in pressed pants and a casual shirt, with a jacket in his hands.
“Yes, that look would suit you, sir. May I suggest the item on the next page as well, for more formal situations.”
Alarin turned the page. Another young man was swathed in black from head to toe, shiny boots and a jacket that came below his hips, half way to his knees. He wrinkled his nose. “That’s a lot of clothes.”
The tailor smiled. “Indeed, sir.” He straightened up. “You can keep the book; let me know if anything else is appealing. I have enough to get started.”
There was a knock at the door; then Ms. Nash was letting herself back in. “How is everything?”
“Very well, ma’am. I shall endeavor to have Mr. Alarin’s wardrobe ready before Mr. Bryant’s return.”
“Very good. He will be pleased.” She smiled at Alarin. “Are you ready?”
Alarin looked up at her from his seat on the couch. “Ready for what?”
“A hair cut, for starters; then a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes. After that, Mr. Bryant will be expecting you in his rooms for dinner.”
Alarin ran a hand through his hair self consciously. “You mean ... like a hair cut?” The only time anyone other than him had cut his hair had been when he’d gone to juvie or got picked up by the social service people. Most of the time it equated to having his head shaved. “I don’t know... ”
“Mr. Bryant’s personal hair dresser. I assure you, you will be pleased with the results. Come.”
Alarin wasn’t convinced, but he used his cane to leverage himself up off the couch and followed her into the hallway and away from Bryant’s door, around a corner and into a very different section of the otherwise posh floor. “This is where the servants do their work; you will seldom need to journey down here, but for the moment, it is easier than the alternative.”
She didn’t mention what the alternative was, and Alarin didn’t ask, just followed her past doors where he could smell food cooking and hear machinery, and into a small room lined in mirrors. In the center was a large chair. A side door opened and a tall blond man in a white uniform entered, nodding to Ms. Nash and Alarin. “Is this the lad?”
His voice was accented, strange ... something Alarin had never heard. “Don’t be afraid, lad. I won’t bite.”
“Alarin, this is Devin Amber. Devin, Mr. Bryant wants something appropriate done with his hair.” Ms. Nash urged him closer, until Alarin was crowded into the chair and draped with some large cloth. Fingers rifled through his hair while the man made “hmmm” noises. “I take it your last haircut was done with a razor?”
“Um, yeah.” Alarin fidgeted.
“Several years ago?”
“Two.”
The man moved around in front of him and smiled. “I guarantee that there will be no razors involved today, young man.”
“Alarin, can you find your way back to your room on your own?”
He looked up at her and nodded. “Yeah; I guess.”
“I will lay out some clothes on your bed. Shower, dress, and Hennings will come for you when dinner is ready. Once Mr. Bryant leaves tonight, we’ll be able to settle into a slower pace.”
Alarin watched her leave in the mirror and shook his head.
“A little much?”
“You have no idea,” Alarin said. “One minute I’m picking and tricking just to eat, next I’m walking in the freaking clouds.”
The man chuckled. “My mother got us up off the third level when I was twelve. She married a man who was the hairdresser to Delegate Montgomery’s family. I remember my first few months up. Nothing like this mind, you ... but still.” He pulled his hands through Alarin’s hair. “You’ll adjust.”
Alarin wasn’t sure he agreed, but he tried not to squirm as Devin moved the chair to the sink and washed his hair, then sat him up and started combing and cutting, humming to himself. When he was done, Alarin stared at the reflection, open mouthed.
He hadn’t really cut much, but suddenly Alarin looked five years older; the golden waves were tamed and softened, pulled back off his face in a casual way that made the blue of his eyes somehow more vibrant. “Do you like it?”
Alarin slipped off the chair and moved closer to the mirror, one hand brushing the back where it touched his shoulders. “It’s incredible.”
Devin smiled. “I’ll have shampoo and styling products delivered to your rooms, and come by tomorrow to show you how to use them. For now though, you’d best run along. Mr. Bryant will not be pleased to be kept waiting.”
Alarin limped back along the corridors and out into the main hall where his room was. There was a set of black pants and a black button down shirt on the bed. He shook his head and tried to wrap his mind around this whole situation. He was in way over his head.
Shower. Ms. Nash said he should shower. That shouldn’t be too difficult. He stripped down, until all he was wearing was his pants and the splint, then hobbled in to the bathroom. He opened the shower stall and peered inside. “Right.” Two knobs, one marked “H” and the other “C”.
“How hard can this be?” He turned the knob marked “H” and water poured out of the giant overhead faucet. In seconds it was too hot to touch. He turned the “C” knob. The water cooled considerably. “Okay.” He undid the straps on the splint and dropped it to the side, then dropped his pants and stepped into the stall.
He’d showered before, of course, but it had been a long time. The sponge baths in the infirmary had been nice, but didn’t prepare him for this, and the last shelter was more than a year before, when the cold snap sent even the diehard street people scurrying to find warmth. The water fell over his skin, warm and wet and all together unlike rain ... which was usually cold and dirty, from falling through the levels above. It wasn’t even properly rain, more like run off from above.
He did his best to keep his hair out of the water, fully aware of the fact that he had no idea how to make it do what Devin had done. He rinsed his skin until he felt he’d done a sufficient job, then stepped out of the shower before reaching back to turn the knobs back to off.
Alarin felt very out of place as he adjusted his shirt for the hundredth time since putting it on and limped along behind Hennings toward the room where Maleus waited. Hennings knocked at the door, and it was opened by another man dressed very similarly. Hennings smiled at him and backed away.
“Mr. Bryant is waiting for you,” the new man said, and Alarin breathed out slowly before following him into the room. Rich mahogany paneling lined the hall, and a table was set intimately. Fine china and a table cloth, and Maleus, dressed impeccably in a black suit.
Once he was seated a young woman in uniform appeared and began pouring wine and setting plates filled with food on the table.
“Tell me, Alarin; how was your day?” Maleus asked.
Alarin made a face and shook his head. “I’m not completely sure. It’s a lot to take in.”
Maleus smiled and nodded. “I imagine it is. You will adjust. By the time I return home, you will be settled in quite well.”
Alarin glanced up, then back at his plate. There was a slab of meat on it bigger than anything he’d ever seen. “Is this ... what ... what is this?”
“Chicken. That is the breast.” In comparison, Maleus’ plate was nearly empty. As if reading his thoughts, Maleus offered, “I don’t like to eat much before flying. It sours my stomach.”
Alarin nodded and cut into his breast of chicken, taking a hesitant bite. It was not at all unpleasant, and nothing like beef. “There’s so much to learn.” The carrots he recognized. The pile of green he didn’t. The wine was strong and nothing like he was expecting. He choked a little on it before swallowing enough to get it down and smiling sheepishly at his host. “Wow.”
“I do like my wine,” Maleus said, holding up his glass and watching the light catch on it.
“How long you gonna be gone?”
“A week; perhaps two. It will depend on business once I get there.” He put down the glass and looked at Alarin. “I realize this is overwhelming.”
Alarin was extremely conscious of the man’s eyes following his movements, watching him eat. He shifted in his seat and tried to settle ... focus. He had to focus, or this man would figure out what a skid he was and Alarin would be back on the street. “You don’t gotta do all this ... I mean, you been very kind already.”
“It isn’t kindness, I assure you.” Maleus sipped at his wine. “Everything I offer you will come with its price.” His eyes were still, dark pools of cold as he regarded Alarin. “I treat well those who serve me well; it ensures a loyalty one doesn’t get from fear alone.”
Alarin looked up at him, something in the tone catching on his better judgment. “Am I s’pposed to fear you?”
Maleus raised an eyebrow. “You are meant to please me.”
There was something in the word that made Alarin blush. “I—I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will, Alarin. Now, eat up. There will be time for my pleasure soon enough.”
Chapter Three
Hong Kong China. It was not among his favorite places. He did not hold much influence here, not like London or Washington or Cairo. The traditional bent of the Legates and Delegates here required far too much protocol and ass kissing, neither of which were strong suits for Maleus Bryant.
Still, business required his presence. He stood at the window of his office, staring out at the city, lit up like Christmas of old, even at three in the morning. He wouldn’t sleep; there was little point. The day would start early. Instead he pondered the puzzle that was his latest acquisition.
Getting involved with Alarin was probably a mistake. He’d seen the boy and known him in an instant. It would be hard not to; his delicate features were the absolute re-creation of his mother’s. It distracted him. Knowing the boy was alive. Knowing the boy was living on the dark and dangerous bottom, scrounging and whoring himself. He had known from the moment he laid eyes on him that he would have to possess the boy. Have to taste him, have to own him. Even now on the other side of the world he craved it, craved him.
Angelina DeSprey had been little more than a skid-level whore herself when Maleus found her. By the time she died, he’d turned her into a socialite married to one of the richest Delegates in Washington. Losing her had been a serious blow. He shook his head. He should do the same with Alarin-- train him, raise him up, put him in place and stop playing this game.
There was a buzzing from the intercom. “Mr. Bryant, there is a Lann Goh on line one.”
“Thank you, Gina.” He tapped his earpiece to connect. “Hello Lann. What a surprise.”
“Don’t be droll with me, Maleus. I don’t have to deal with you. I could go to Beratech.”
Maleus smiled. “Could, but won’t. I treat you better.”
“You treat me like you own me.” There was a fondness under the words that belayed the bitterness in her tone.
“I only own the parts of you I paid for, Lann. But this isn’t why you called.”
“No. I need something.”
“I figured as much. You’ve got something to trade?” Maleus toyed with an archaic letter opener on his desk.
“I’m working on it. But what I want from you will take time, too.” He could almost imagine her licking her lips. She was nervous; he could hear it in her voice. “I need travel papers for someone. Hong Kong to Washington.”
Maleus smiled. He’d wondered when she would finally ask. “You can get travel papers from the government, Lann. You don’t need me.”
She growled into the phone. She hated being vulnerable. He rather liked it when she was. “I need special papers, Maleus, like you did for me.”
“Where is she?” Maleus knew who the papers for, knew what she was asking. Lann had a sister who was still here in Hong Kong. A sister who was in much the same place she had been when he’d bought her loyalty by taking her out of Hong Kong.