Read A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) Online
Authors: Darrah Glass
Martin was saying, “I’m fairly certain that some of the breeders at Ganymede are from Demeter. Don’t our Houses have an agreement of some sort?”
“It’s been so long since I was there,” Nurse told him, “that I can’t be sure, but I seem to recall that’s the case.”
It was interesting to Henry to hear them speaking without all the honorifics they used with his family. What would it be like if Martin were to always call him by his name, just Henry, or even use no name at all?
Once they’d all finished their ice cream, they walked to the carousel at a leisurely pace. Cora still held tightly to Martin’s hand. Henry walked on her other side, his hands in his pockets, but when he took them out, Cora put her small, slightly sticky hand in his.
Martin smiled at him, eager. “Sir, we could swing her!” To Cora, he said, “Miss, I’ll count to three and we’ll lift you off the ground, all right?” Cora agreed readily and Martin counted, “One, two, three, and
up
!” and lifted her arm high, taking a big step forward. Cora swung forward with him, her feet a few inches above the ground.
Henry didn’t really know what they were doing and made his lift a bit late, but it was successful nonetheless. Cora made them repeat it over and over, shrieking in glee. Nurse said, “It’s not very ladylike, Sir,” but didn’t seem too upset about it. Finally, Henry got tired and didn’t want to do it anymore, and then they were at the carousel besides.
There was a long line, the after-church crowd. Nurse stood with Cora while Henry and Martin retreated to a bench out of the sun. Martin stood and claimed he was happy to do so, but then Henry insisted he sit. “At least until someone complains,” Henry told him. “How’s that?”
“Very good, Sir.” Martin sat next to him. “It
does
feel nice to rest. Little Miss is heavier than she looks!”
“That’s something I never did,” Henry told him. “The lifting-and-swinging thing. I didn’t know what you were doing at first.”
“Really, Sir?” Martin looked astonished. “We always did it at Ganymede. It was done for us when we were little, and then we did it for the little ones when we were older. Did your father never…Sir?”
“My father never played or roughhoused with me,” Henry told him, hoping it didn’t sound too pathetic. “And obviously, Nurse couldn’t do anything like that by herself. Most games and things I ever played I learned at Louis’ house.”
“You and Mr. Briggs have been friends a long time, Sir?”
“Since we were 4. Back before all the little ones were born. There are seven Briggs kids, you know.”
“Seven, Sir! That’s quite a few!”
“You saw all the little ones the other day. There’s James—he’s 20 now; and Susannah, who’s 18, I think; then Louis, then Robbie, then Teddy, then Alice, and last is Edward, who’s only 6.”
When Henry and Louis met, there had only been four Briggs children. Four-year-old Henry had gone to the park with Nurse on a Sunday after church—this had occurred during a period when Mrs. Blackwell was insisting they attend—and the two nurses had happened to strike up a conversation on a park bench. The Briggs nurse, Annie, used the toe of her shoe to joggle a perambulator containing a year-old baby called Robbie. Henry, who was a bit clingy, sat on the bench by Nurse and listened to the women talk rather than playing on his own. Annie was older than Henry’s nurse by several years, but the two women had enjoyed each other’s company and were pleased to determine that they were both the properties of high-status families and thus there would be no bars to their socializing. Annie’s other charges were Susannah, age 6, who sat sulking on the bench because she had not been allowed to bring her doll, and Louis, also age 4, who was running around in crazy circles with a tin airship.
Nurse had nudged Henry and said, “Why don’t you go say hello, Henry?”
Henry had not wanted to do so. He felt shy. He had looked at Nurse with pleading eyes, and she smiled at him kindly, but nudged him again.
“Go on, Henry. Say hello.”
Henry had walked over to the place where the strange boy was wearing a looping path in the grass. He had watched the boy for a few seconds, unsure how he might best interrupt. When the boy had noticed Henry standing there, he had had stopped abruptly, wobbled, and shook his head.
“I’m dizzy,” he had explained. “Hello. Do you want to play?” He held out the airship for Henry to take. Henry had reached for it a bit hesitantly and the boy thrust it at him yet more emphatically. “Come on. Let’s play.”
Henry had taken the airship from Louis’ grubby hand and they had become friends, as simply as that.
“He was my first friend,” Henry said, “and he’s my best friend.” There was a great depth of feeling between Louis and himself, but it wasn’t something they talked about, and Henry was a little uncomfortable talking about it now. Louis was Henry’s family, and even though Louis had far too much family already, he seemed to need Henry, too.
“You’ve known each other nearly all your lives, Sir,” Martin remarked. “It’s special to have a friend like that, I think. Who’s older, Sir, you or Mr. Briggs?”
“I am, by a whole month. Louis is July 30th and I’m June 24th.”
Martin seemed amused. “I’m older than you, Sir. By four days.”
“Really? June 20th, then.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That makes you a Cancer, too?”
Martin shook his head. “No, Sir. I’m Gemini.”
“My mother used to be interested in astrology,” Henry told him. “From what I remember, Cancers aren’t very exciting. What are Geminis supposed to be like?”
“Cancers are very devoted, Sir, which is certainly a good trait to have. Geminis are talkative and ask a lot of questions.” He laughed and gave Henry his beautiful smile. “We were all crazy for the zodiac at Ganymede. We had charts made up.” The more Henry heard about Ganymede, the more it sounded like it was fun being a slave.
“Oh, look, Sir,” Martin said. He nodded toward the carousel. “Little Miss is riding. Should we wave?”
Henry looked at the crowds and realized that the minders and family members of the little riders were all waving at them as they went around. “Oh. Yes, it looks like we should.” He got to his feet and walked the few yards over to the carousel, Martin right behind him. When Cora spotted them waving, she beamed and waved back so vigorously that she almost slid off her wooden horse.
Henry turned to Martin. “You know what children like, don’t you?”
Martin smiled, amused. “I was one once, after all, Sir.”
“I’m not a good brother,” Henry admitted. “I never think of including her or doing things special to make her happy. You’ve been so good to her today.”
“But you’re here now, Sir,” Martin pointed out. “And of course I’m kind to her; she’s your little sister.”
“Were you around lots of children at Ganymede?”
“Yes, Sir. The older ones looked out for the younger ones, and we played and worked together all our lives.”
“It sounds like it was…nice. Actually really nice.”
“It was all to prepare me for this, Sir, to put me at your side. This is what I was born for.” He seemed determined that Henry not hold onto any notions of Ganymede as an end in itself. “My real life began on auction day, Sir.”
The conviction in Martin’s voice was unsettling. Henry had never thought of it that way, that the slaves were anticipating the auction as much as their young masters were, that the sale would close the book on a chapter of their lives.
Cora’s ride ended and she and Nurse came to join the boys.
“You’re so tall now, Sir,” Nurse said, squeezing Henry’s arm. “I could pick you right out of the crowd.” She turned to Martin and said, “He was always tall for his age. Have you always been tall, as well?”
Martin shook his head. “I was a small boy, but when I finally started growing, I grew fast.”
As they walked home, Nurse told Martin stories about Henry’s childhood which, frankly, were not terribly interesting in Henry’s opinion, but Martin was attentive and seemed to want to hear them. Henry thought briefly about what he might do with the rest of the afternoon and began to feel anxious, but managed to tamp down those feelings by concentrating on the moment, on what was happening right now. Cora skipped and jumped, tugging on Henry’s hand as she hopscotched along, and Henry gave her his attention like he would give a gift.
At the house, Mother was hidden away in one of the parlors with her ghoulish visitors and Father had left for his mysterious afternoon engagement. Henry kissed both Cora and Nurse on the cheek and they took the elevator up to the nursery, the ride a special treat for Cora, just as it had been for Henry when he was little.
Sandwiches were waiting for Henry in the breakfast room. Despite his huge breakfast and the treats he’d had at the park, he found he was still hungry. “Do you want to join me?” he asked Martin.
Martin considered it a moment, shrugged, and said, “I can always eat, Sir. Thank you.”
“We’re growing boys,” Henry said by way of agreement.
Martin brought Henry his plate, then took a plate for himself. He sat at Henry’s right hand and Henry liked having him there, wished he could have Martin beside him at dinner, at all meals. Henry had a moment’s fantasy, that Martin was free, and only visiting, and could sit anywhere, at any time. But if Martin was free, he wouldn’t sleep in the slave room—he’d be in a guest room and there’d be more walls between them, and that wouldn’t do. Well, if Martin was free, he might
choose
to sleep nearby or—Henry could barely allow himself to think it—even in Henry’s bed. The possibilities that might present themselves if he shared a bed with Martin were overwhelming, an encyclopedia of erotics, most of which he didn’t know names for, and he felt the shameful heat rise in his cheeks. Oh, how he wished he would not blush! What must Martin think of Henry’s embarrassing embarrassment? So far, he had not given any indication that he even noticed, but that must just be his training; Henry’s blushing was one of his main features, if he was to believe what his friends told him.
Martin stood, plate in hand. “Another sandwich for you, Sir?”
Henry thought about it a moment. “No, just cake, I think.”
“Very good, Sir.”
They sat eating the last of the pink cake. Henry wiped crumbs from his lips with his napkin and dared to look at Martin out of the corner of his eye. Martin was sitting up very straight eating small bites of the cake with apparent pleasure. Henry cleared his throat and Martin turned to look at him.
“Uh, I was just wondering,” Henry began. “What do you eat? When you’re not eating with me, I mean? Is it the same as what I eat, or different things?”
“A bit of both, Sir. I think if it’s something that it’s easy for Cook to make a lot of, she makes enough for slaves and family both to have. Soups and things like that. For instance, we also had this cake for our dessert, Sir, but it was baked in a big tray instead of rounds, and it was frosted only on the top.” He picked up the last bit of cake with his fork and smiled. “I’ve enjoyed having it with the extra frosting, Sir.”
“You must think these questions are a little odd,” Henry suggested. “You must be wondering why I never asked any of these things before now. After all, I’ve been around slaves my entire life. I could have asked Billy or Paul years ago what they ate.”
Martin shook his head firmly. “Your questions aren’t the least bit odd, Sir. And I think it very understandable for you to be curious now. After all, the other slaves are your
parents’
slaves. Don’t you think it’s natural you would be more interested now that you have your
own
slave, Sir?”
Henry was not convinced that he wasn’t just an inconsiderate boor, but he appreciated Martin’s effort to make him feel otherwise.
They went upstairs, where Henry gave Martin leave to play his violin and settled at his desk, determined to learn some last-minute Latin. He opened the book near the beginning and read that the declinable parts of speech were nouns, adjectives, pronouns, verbs and participles; the indeclinable parts being adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions and interjections. He knew that after two years of Latin, he should know this information unquestionably already, but he did not. He wasn’t even sure what constituted an interjection—wasn’t it just yelling?
Martin worked on his piece, starting near the middle and continuing through to the part that seemed to give him trouble, which he played several times slowly, then with increasing speed. Henry wanted to watch him play, see his brow crease with concentration, see him dip and sway. He could watch if he wanted to; it was his right. He started to get up from his chair and then sat down again. He should leave Martin alone, let him practice in peace.
He got up from the desk and crossed to his bed, glancing down the hall to Martin’s room as he did so. Martin was in shirtsleeves, eyes closed, rising up on his toes as he drew the bow across the strings. Flopping down on the bed, Henry picked up his novel from the nightstand and began to read or, rather, tried to read. He put his book down and listened to Martin’s violin with his eyes closed. The tone was plangent and pleading, and the way it tore at his chest was unprecedented and a little frightening; Henry had never felt so moved by music until hearing Martin play.
Henry got up and walked the few feet until he could look down the hall. Martin looked as he had before, beautiful and focused, intent, eyes closed behind his glasses. Henry didn’t want to interrupt him, but he wanted to be part of it somehow. Quietly, he leaned on the doorjamb, keeping his eyes on Martin, who continued his animated play. Something in the way he moved reminded Henry of seeing him bent over, the glimpse of his cock. He imagined Martin playing naked, muscles moving beneath his skin as he swayed and danced. He could tell Martin to play in the nude, he
could
. He could order it. No doubt, Martin would talk to other slaves about it, so it wasn’t wise…but he
could
do it…
Martin reached the problematic section of the piece again and seemed unhappy with his performance. He lifted the bow from the strings, swearing under his breath, and opened his eyes. “Oh. Sir! There you are!”