Master and Servant (Waterman)

by Dusk Peterson

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Carr was having a bad evening. He had spent the previous night tossing and turning and awaking sweat-laden after his dreams of bed-service. And he wasn't even dreaming of Variel.

  The day had only grown worse after that, though he couldn't say why. The day had been no different than other days this week. Jesse had turned up at the breakfast table as usual, flashing his newspaper at his oblivious audience, grinning sardonically and making sharp-tongued remarks to everyone in the room.

  Except Carr. He never looked in the direction of Carr.

  Then there had been work. In the exhaustion of a long day, he had marked the landing papers of a Vovimian lord in such a manner that, within minutes of his disembarkation onto Solomons Island, the lord had been arrested by the police as an unmarked servant. The lord had been taken to the tattoo office, protesting loudly that his government would declare war upon the Dozen Landsteads for this insult. The tattoo officials, more discerning than the police, had sent him to the House of Government to have his papers corrected. The High Master's reprimand to the border guards had followed swiftly, through government courier.

  And Carr was told none of this. He only knew because he had overheard two other border guards gossiping about the incident. When Carr went to his supervisor to apologize, the supervisor had merely said, in a distant manner, "Mistakes happen."

  Now here he was again, where he always was at the end of the evening, sipping tea he had been fetched and staring at the fire that had been built for him. He was in a rut. He was spiralling downwards, falling ever further back from the progress of his transformation, and he had no idea how to stop the decline.

  Gradually, he became aware that a new voice was speaking in the next room.

  He carefully set down his cup, went to the door, and opened it. His mother, dressed in her finest evening gown, was pulling ingredients, willy-nilly, off the shelves.

  "—had the most wonderful idea for a pie," she was saying brightly. "I couldn't wait till tomorrow to try it!"

  Millie, who had just finished scrubbing the last of the day's pots and pans and plates and cups and silverware, glared daggers at the back of Carr's mother. Irene, who had evidently accompanied her mastress back from her bedroom, was yawning into her fist.

  Cook simply looked appalled. "Ma'am," she said hesitantly, "it will take some time to heat the oven. Perhaps, if you think about the recipe overnight—"

  "Oh, don't call me ma'am," replied Carr's mother, struggling with a heavy bag of flour. "We're all friends here. You needn't worry; I'll take care of everything. If you could just show me where the measuring cups are, Cook – and Irene, I think I'll need my shawl. It's a bit chilly in here. Oh, hello, Variel; I hope I'm not— Dear me." This, as the bag of flour fell to the floor, burst open, and scattered onto everything within reach – except, by pure chance, his mother. "Millie," said his mother to the scullery girl, who was frantically trying to pat away the flour on her dress, which had just received its weekly cleaning, "if you could bring a mop and bucket – there's a dear. Cook, do we have any more flour I can—?"

  "For fuck's sake, woman, leave it alone!"

  Everyone jumped. Standing at the open doorway to the kitchen was Jesse, whose sardonic smile was nowhere to be seen. He glared at Carr's mother.

  "Can't you see that you're screwing up these people's lives?" he told her. "They want to go to bed, and you're keeping them up to fetch your shawl and light your oven and clean up the messes you make for them! The gods only know what you've got prepared for Variel to do; it'll probably be dawn before you let your servants go to bed. And then they'll have to be up a half hour later, to fix your breakfast so that you can eat it in your fancy dining room that your maid will have to spend the day cleaning— Oops, you don't have a dining-room maid, do you? You fired her and the footman. And your husband hasn't bothered to replace them. That means everyone here has been doing twice the amount of work they did in the past . . . and you want to keep them awake all night so you can make a fucking pie!"

  Carr's mother was crying now, weeping silently into a lace handkerchief she had crammed against her mouth. Jesse continued relentlessly, "All that you ever do is create messes in the kitchen which your servants have to clean up. And then your husband and son have to pretend that they like your awful food."

  Carr, who had been standing frozen at the doorway to the back room, opened his mouth, but before he could decide what to say, Jesse concluded, "If you really want to help your servants, pay them decent wages and stop trying to dictate their private lives. Let them live where they want and sleep with whoever they want. And stop fucking trying to pretend that you and your husband are your servants' equals, because you're not. You two are their tyrants."

  "Excuse me."

  It was like hearing the whoosh of a heliograph pyre as it is lit, creating a flame that, once properly directed by a mirror, will be seen for miles. Everyone jumped again except Jesse, who stood very still, as though a gun had been placed against his back. Then he slowly turned.

  Carr's father, whose face had turned so choleric that it was practically black, surveyed the room silently before saying, "This is the last straw."

  "Benjamin!" His mother, sensing rescue, rushed toward her husband. "Oh, my dearest, I've made such a mess here—"

  "Nonsense, sweet one." Even at the heights of his fury, Carr's father was still able to smile at his wife and place an arm tenderly around her back. "All that you did was drop a bit of flour. The rest of this mess" – he surveyed the shaken servants again – "comes from other causes."

  "Hey!" said Jesse, stepping forward. "None of this is their fault. I'm the one who opened my big mouth—"

  "I'm well aware, Master Jesse, of how your cruel comments have made my wife miserable for the past weeks. Since you were my son's guest-friend, I thought it best to let him deal with the matter. But now I would appreciate it if you would allow me to deal with my own household matters in my own way . . . since you are a guest here."

  They confronted each other, the Landsteader and the foreigner, neither willing to break their stare. Carr's mother had turned to press her face against her husband's shoulder; she was still crying. Carr, aware of what could happen if his father entirely lost control, began to step forward.

  But it seemed that, for once, Jesse could make the right decision on his own. The visitor shrugged. "Your House, your rules," he said, with barely veiled irony. "I'll leave you to conduct the House of His Master's Kindness in whatever way that Egalitarians usually do."

  He left, closing the door behind him. Cook and Irene and Millie stared at the closed door in the same manner that medieval ladies must have stared if their champion deserted them on a day of dire need. Variel's gaze switched over to Carr.

  Carr thought again of speaking, but remained silent as his father said to the servants, "I have been very patient with you. You were given the privilege of participating in a magnificent experiment: the first Egalitarian House in the Dozen Landsteads, the House that may shape this nation's future. And how have you reacted to this gift? By sulking and skulking, by sniggering behind our backs, by sarcastically calling us master and mastress – yes, even you, Variel." He pointed at his silent valet. "I've heard how you address my son when you think I'm not listening."

  In all honor, he could not allow that remark to pass without protest. "Father, he's not making mock at me, and I don't mind—"

  "I know, Carr." His father's voice turned suddenly gentle, as it always did when Benjamin Carruthers addressed his son or wife. "I know that you've also been patient with the servants' insolence. But when it reaches the point at which all of the servants stand by and do nothing while a stranger reduces your mother to tears . . . It's time for a fresh start."

  Variel stiffened; Cook grasped hard a nearby chair; Irene paled; Millie gasped. They all knew what "a fresh start" meant.

  "Benjamin, no!" His mother raised her face from her husband's shoulder. "They've lived here all their lives. And Variel . . .
Variel was the one who persuaded my brother to give his consent to our marriage. He's always been completely faithful to you. You can't sell his certificate of employment."

  Carr's father smiled at her. "Sweet one, there's no question of my doing anything against your will. We are equal partners in all enterprises. But think past your tears for a moment. The servants have been giving clear indication, for a long time now, that they're unhappy working in an Egalitarian House. If that's the case, why force them to do the sort of work that makes them miserable? Better that they find a House they're best suited for; then we'll be able to hire servants who are truly committed to the cause of emancipating the servants."

  Carr's mother hesitated, biting her lip. She always had a fragile look about her at times like this. Her maid, seeing an opening, stepped forward and said hoarsely, "Ma'am, please don't sell us. I like living here—"

  "'Ma'am,'" interrupted Carr's father. "You see? Even at this moment, the servants can't think of us in any manner except as their betters. They've been corrupted by our societal traditions – even Millie and those two we dismissed, young as they are. But there are Egalitarian servants out there who would jump at the chance to help us bring about change in the Dozen Landsteads. We'd be free to help them."

  Carr's father had erased, in a few words, the image of the servants in front of him, replacing them with a new, enticing lure of helping others in need. Irene was making strangled sobs now, and Cook's chin trembled, but Carr's mother noticed none of this; she was looking deeply into the eyes of her husband. "I trust your judgment, my dearest," she said. "If you think this is best . . ."

  "I do." Carr's father quickly ushered her outside. "Now go dry your tears, sweet one; we'll make up a list tonight of the qualities we seek in our new servants. —Variel." As Carr's mother moved out of earshot, Benjamin Carruthers's voice turned harsh. "I want the servants' belongings packed and the servants ready to leave when I give word. See to it."

  His voice was that of a master disciplining an ill-trained servant. Watching him from where he stood frozen, Carr felt an ache in his chest. If his father could only hear himself, could only see his own expression, then he would be able to recognize how far his actions lay from his ideals.

  All of the servants were looking at Carr now. They were expecting him to speak up; he was their final hope. Variel, who had not said a word yet, kept his gaze level on his master's son.

  And Carr said nothing. He said nothing for a reason that nobody in that room could have known, not even his father and mother. He kept silent, lest worse disaster fall.

  His father and mother had entered the main building. The servants' gazes were upon him. Carr murmured, "Excuse me," and left the building where, for so many years, the servants had fetched his tea and built his fire.

  Outside, Carr carefully closed the dependency door and leaned on it. Nobody was in sight, but he could feel, upon the door's wood, the warmth of where Jesse had leaned as he was eavesdropping on Benjamin Carruthers's final words.

  o—o—o

  The door of the guest room stood ajar. Carr hesitated, wondering whether he should knock at so early a morning hour. Then he pushed the door open.

  Jesse was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. There was no sign that he had slept overnight. His shirt was unbuttoned and open, revealing that he wore no undervest. His chest hair shone glossy under the gaslight. Without moving his gaze from the ceiling, he said, "Okay, fair enough – I screwed up too. Close the door, for the gods' sake; I don't want your parents eavesdropping."

  "They've gone out for the day." As he spoke, Carr closed the door behind himself. "Mother has sailed up-Bay to visit one of her sisters, and Father is taking the certificates of employment down to the Bureau this morning. He says he wants the house-servants out of his home by the end of today." Carr hesitated, then decided that this wasn't the moment to reveal that his father had expressed similar sentiments concerning Jesse.

  "Fuck." Jesse's response was unusually quiet; his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. "What about recommendations? Will he give the servants good recommendations?"

  Carr swallowed before saying, "He let my mother write the recommendations."

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jesse pulled himself up, swung his legs over, and sat on the side of the bed, running his hand through his hair. He still had not looked in Carr's direction. "No chance they'll change their minds?"

  Carr shook his head. "Father is also submitting a request for six new servants – two extra to replace Sally and Bat as well. The Bureau will probably be able to find new servants for my parents before the day is over."

  "Uh-huh." Jesse seemed distracted, as though his mind was on matters other than Carr's words. He stared at the dresser next to him, painting lines on it with his finger. Then he rose to his feet, walked over to Carr, and grabbed him.

  Startled, Carr stood still as Jesse slipped his hand into Carr's jacket. The hand emerged with Carr's wallet in it.

  "Listen," said Jesse with the slightly desperate voice of a fish-merchant dealing with a master whom he knows beforehand will not be willing to pay fair market price. "This money is just spare change for you. I've seen the way you throw it around. A solidus here to pay for flowers grown in the Twelfth Landstead. A solidus there to pay for a box of imported sweet-meats. . . . You go through at least twenty solidi a week in tips alone. Now, look . . ." Jesse took out the notes in the wallet and fanned them open. "You've got forty-three solidi here – a year's wages for a scullery girl, or a couple of weeks' worth of tips for you. If you dropped this on the pavement, you'd never notice it was gone. But with these forty-three solidi, I might be able to save the careers of four servants, including your father's former valet, who you have the hots for. That could give you some nice fantasies in your dreams about him grovelling at your feet in eternal gratitude. Is that worth it to you? A lifetime's worth of great jerk-off fantasies, only for the price of two weeks' worth of tips?" He thrust the cash into Carr's face, his own expression dark with anger.

  Carr's ears were burning by the time Jesse travelled halfway through the speech. He could not trust himself to speak. He gave a jerk of a nod.

  Jesse snorted and pocketed the cash. He tossed the wallet back into Carr's hands. "Here you go, big spender. Consider your money invested in a worthy cause."

  o—o—o

  With nothing else to do, Carr spent the late afternoon in his father's library. He rarely visited there during the spring; the school masters usually only assigned light reading over the spring holiday, knowing that most of their students would be immersed in the social whirl of pageants, balls, masques, plays, concerts, and general revelry. All of this led up to the last week of the high holiday season, Spring Manhood, and especially the final day of Spring Manhood. Even in Yclau and Mip and Vovim, which followed the newer Tri-National Calendar, thousands of people would be celebrating the final day of the spring season, just before the Summer Waning began.

  Kneeling on the floor as he sorted through the box he normally kept hidden and locked behind his scientifiction novels – the one place in the mansion that his parents would never look, since both of them eschewed novel-reading – Carr listened with half an ear as the clock ticked its way to six o'clock, the first hour of the evening and, by ancient tradition, the first hour of the new day. Throughout the Midcoast nations of Vovim, Mip, Yclau, and the Dozen Landsteads, six o'clock would be the signal for cheers, champagne, and shouts of joy. Even the Landstead servants celebrated the final day of the holiday weeks between the Masters' Festival and Spring Manhood, making speeches – not always cynical – about the good masters and mastresses who had owned them over the years. In households throughout the Dozen Landsteads, six o'clock would be the time when music and dancing began in the servants' quarters, while rich food was consumed, a present from the masters and mastresses. A full day of feasting and rest from work would begin.

  The clock chimed six times. The House of His Master's Kindness remained silent. The watermen and
their families, forbidden from participating in a festival that Carr's parents had declared went against Egalitarian ideals, slept in their shantyboats in preparation for another day's work. The house-servants, in their tiny rooms, were as quiet as men and women under sentence of execution. Carr's parents had retired to bed early, "worn out," as Carr's father had put it with a wry smile, "by all the fuss."

  Carr picked up the three-ring binder he had taken from the box and flipped through the dividers, staring at each label, as though he could convince himself thereby that he had a right to the dreams those labels embodied. Then he let the binder slip to the floor beside him. He was still in school. After that, he would be at university. Not until he graduated, at age twenty-one, would he have to make his decision.

  The binder stared up at him, like a question being asked.

  The floor vibrated as someone closed the front door of the mansion. Carr stood up quickly, snatching up the binder. A minute later, Jesse entered the room.

  "I saw the light in here," he explained as he tossed a stack of papers onto the table next to the door. "Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of four servants."

  Carr stared at him blankly. "What?"

  "I managed to catch your father's head honcho at the Bureau before he left work. Serving as your agent, I bought the house-servants' certificates of employment. I also managed to convince him to hold off on hiring new servants for your parents until they've decided whether they'd be willing to make do with your own servants."

  "But Jesse . . ." Carr's hand tightened on the binder. "I can't own servants. I'm going back to school the morning after tomorrow."

  "No, you aren't. You're taking the summer term off, because your parents can't be trusted to care for goldfish, much less human beings." As he finished pulling off his coat and tossing it onto a chair, Jesse cocked his head and regarded Carr. "Don't look so woeful. Your school is hardly likely to expel the heir to the Second Landstead, if you happen to have a family emergency that needs to be dealt with. And this is only temporary. With the stunning recommendations you'll give your new servants, they should have no problems finding positions in other households. They'll all be off your hands by the time the autumn term begins. Unless, of course, you're not willing to dip into that precious fund of yours and pay their wages till the end of the summer." Jesse's voice turned acid.

  "I . . ." Carr stared at the certificates, each with its three holes punched neatly on the side. "Jesse, I . . . I don't know whether I can do this."

  "Oh, for the gods' sake!" Suddenly Jesse's explosive temper was back. "I'm not asking you to fund a servant rebellion! I'm just asking you to temporarily take care of a few people who have served your family loyally for years! What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought you'd been daydreaming about being a master. You should be jumping with fucking joy at this opportunity to order people around."

  Carr stared down at the binder he was still clutching in his hands. The certificates were only two yards away. All he needed to do was take a few steps.

  "Damn it, Carruthers, listen to me!" Jesse wrenched the binder from Carr's grip and threw it on the ground. The binder flew open, and its metal tongs snapped apart. The labelled dividers fanned out.

  Staring down at the dividers, Jesse was silent a minute. Then he said in a mild voice, "You know, every time I think I've got you figured out, you change your pattern, like some fucking cephalopod. Did you make these tonight?"

  "No."

  "How long ago?"

  "Two tri-years ago." He swallowed before adding, "When I began having those dreams. Even though I knew I mustn't sleep with any of the servants, I thought . . . I could see what a wretched job my parents were making of being Master and Mastress of the House of His Master's Kindness. I thought perhaps, if I could convince my parents to sell the house-servants to me, I could do a better job of it. Because . . . I wanted to be a master. Because I wanted to do the job well."

  Jesse's gaze rose to meet Carr's. "But you didn't offer to buy them. Not even today, before your father took their certificates to the Bureau. Why?"

  Carr knelt down next to the binder. Carefully, tenderly, he gathered the dividers together, each divider labelled with the names of his parents' house-servants. He held them in his hands gingerly, barely breathing, staring down at them.

  "Okay," said Jesse, "I am officially the biggest fucking idiot in this entire world. It was right in front of me all along. You want to be a master. You think it's wrong to be a master. You think that, if you become a master, you'll screw up, the way your parents have screwed up. Right?"

  With his head still bowed over the dividers, Carr said, "I'm still in school. I know that eventually I'll have to decide what I must do, but . . . I thought I'd have another tri-year to decide."

  "And in the meantime, you're fucking scared to do anything, for fear of making a bigger mess than your parents have already made." Jesse sighed and ran his hand through his hair as Carr stood up. "And I thought I was the troublemaker. Carruthers, do you enjoy screwing with people's minds? Letting me think you were only wanting to keep your money away from the Abolitionists, when actually you were afraid of harming the servants further?"

  "I'm sorry," Carr said awkwardly. "I wasn't sure how to . . . I've never had anyone to talk to about all this before."

  "Yeah." Jesse squeezed the back of his own neck, as though it hurt. "Yeah, I can see that. And since you weren't sure what to do, doing nothing seemed the safest route. Okay. It all makes sense now." He put his hand on the stack of certificates. "Your call, Carruthers. Say the word, and they're yours. Don't say the word, and I'll take these back to the Bureau. Silence is an answer too, you know."

  The certificates fit neatly in the binder, each separated by a divider. When he was through, Carr stared down at them, thinking of the other documents he would need to place there. Birth certificates. Health certificates. Household records. Copies of the recommendations he would write. Responsibility after responsibility, piling upon him within a very short time.

  Next to him, Jesse said, "You're the quietest master I've ever met. Are you planning to give orders through semaphore? Or are you just going to make the servants guess what you want?"

  Carr snapped the binder-tongs shut. "What about Sally and Bat?"

  "What about them? I was groom's attendant last week, during that big storm we had. Sorry that you weren't invited to the wedding, but Bat and Sally didn't really think you wanted to attend." Jesse scrutinized Carr's face for a minute before saying. "Sorry. That was below the belt. You willing to help them now?"

  Carr nodded, turning away from the binder. "Would they be interested in working here? I mean, I know that my parents won't make things easy for them, but if I'm the one who's hiring them . . ."

  "They can't be hired by anyone else. The Bureau of Employment will revoke their certificates once Sally's pregnancy becomes apparent."

  "I know. And I can't keep them at school with me, when I go back next autumn. Maybe my uncle will be willing to give them positions, even without a certificate. . . ."

  Jesse waved this idea away. "Don't worry about that. Bat has taken to the idea of emigrating. He doesn't just want to go to the First Landstead – he wants to get himself and Sally out of the landsteads altogether. He says he's not letting some kid of his be tattooed with his or her rank, regardless as to what that rank might be. He wants to move to Yclau, where the ranks are more fluid."

  "Can you get him there?" Carr pulled up a stool and perched himself on it as Jesse slid his bottom onto the table.

  "Yeah, with a little trouble. He'll need to go to the First Landstead at the start, like we'd planned; the Yclau are much more inclined to allow First Landsteaders to emigrate to their queendom than any other Landsteaders, since the First Landstead used to belong to them. So we'll smuggle him over the border to the First Landstead, he'll apply to enter Yclau, and then he'll find a new home and a new job. The stores in Yclau's capital are hiring lots of clerks at the moment; it's entry-l
evel work, but Bat will be able to make money enough to live by, and he'll have the opportunity to rise to higher positions."

  "What about Sally?"

  Jesse shrugged. "Yeah, well, she's the problem at the moment. See, she's three months away from having her kid, and so it's not such a great idea for her to be travelling long distances and living in servants' hostels and the like. She and Bat agree that it will be better for the baby she's carrying if she stays in the Dozen Landsteads till Bat is set up in Yclau and can afford to send for her. He should be able to manage that by the end of the summer. And that'll simplify things, because he can apply for her entrance into Yclau on the basis of her being married to an Yclau citizen, namely him." Jesse grinned suddenly. "The Yclau are horrible romantics. All that Bat needs to do is sing them The Ballad of the High Seeker and His Love-Mate, and the Yclau officials will be falling over themselves to reunite the parted lovers."

  "Sally can stay here till then," Carr said quickly. As Jesse raised his eyebrows, Carr added, "If she's willing to forgive me."

  Jesse grinned again, more broadly this time. He pulled two pieces of paper out of his jacket and placed them on the table in front of Carr: the certificates of employment for Bat and Sally, with Carr's name marked as their most recent employer. "Bat and I just managed to keep Sally from coming back tonight and grovelling at your feet in humble repentance. . . . Okay, Sally's taken care of. That leaves Bat." He waited, his head tilted to the side.

  Carr pulled from his jacket the check he had written while Jesse was gone. Jesse looked down at it, his mouth quirking. "My, my, a blank check. I haven't gotten a present like this since the first time someone told me that I could do whatever I wanted to him in bed."

  "I have three hundred thousand solidi in the bank. Will that be enough?"

  Jesse snorted. "That's the annual income of some of the smaller nations I've travelled through. One hundred solidi will be enough to get Bat into the First Landstead."

  "Take it. And give Bat whatever he needs to travel and settle himself in Yclau."

  "One thing I'll say about you, Carruthers," Jesse replied as he slipped the check into his trousers pocket. "You don't do things by halves. Either you're doing nothing, or you're throwing solidus bills around willy-nilly. . . . You've given me a blank check. What if some of that money ends up in the pockets of my fledgling organization here?"

  "Take whatever you need to help Bat," Carr said in a steady voice, "and take whatever you need to help anyone else who needs help."

  Jesse flashed him a smile as he reached for his coat. "Don't wait up. This is likely to be another all-nighter."

  o—o—o

  It was just short of midnight when Jesse came into Carr's room without knocking and walked over to where Carr was trying – and failing miserably – to keep his eyes focussed on A Concise History of the Dozen Landsteads.

  "Here you go," Jesse said, tossing his travelling bag on the floor and throwing the check down onto the bedspread.

  "Didn't you use it?" Carr grabbed the check and looked; it still held his signature and was still blank.

  "The very check you gave me?" Jesse flounced down onto the bed beside him. "Hell, no. You'd be arrested the minute your check cleared. Use this one tomorrow to buy corn flakes or something, and then you can look at the nice policeman with that wide-eyed, innocent schoolboy look you've perfected and can truthfully tell him that somebody must have forged your signature, money was withdrawn from your bank account overnight, as you learned when you went to the bank to check your balance after buying corn flakes. . . ."

  "I thought you didn't have any forgers helping you." Carr moved the check under the lamp and scrutinized it; he could see the faint indentations on it now, where someone had traced his signature.

  "Yeah, well, we don't have anyone talented enough to forge a government document, but somebody who's about my height, and who was wrapped all in a cloak that hid his face, drew cash out of your account this afternoon, using a forged signature and your account number, which is also printed on your check, you might have noticed. The cash will eventually be traced to a certain guard at the border next to the First Landstead, unless he's smart enough to cover his tracks."

  "And the person who's about your height and was wrapped in a cloak?" Carr looked over at Jesse, who had fallen back onto the bed, pillowing the back of his head with his arm.

  "Is taking a trip back over the ocean tomorrow. This latest jaunt was a bit too hot for me, and anyway, I've done half of what I came here for: I've gotten the Dozen Landsteads' Abolitionist movement started and financed—"

  "Financed?" Carr looked back down at his signature.

  "By me." Jesse turned his head to look at Carr. "Just pin money, unless you were serious about that donation to my organization."

  "Yes, I am." Carr set the check aside. "You said that you did half of what you came here for. What was the other half?"

  Jesse shrugged. "A trip to the First Landstead. I told you before: that was my original destination. If I'd gone over the border tonight, though, it would have been too easy for the police to trace where Bat had gone. And anyway, I doubt I could have found a way in to where I needed to go, since you were no help."

  "I was no—?" Carr stopped and looked back at A Concise History of the Dozen Landsteads, with its garish cover of Prison City.

  "You wanted me to arrest you," he said softly after a minute. "That day on the ocean steamer – you goaded me into searching your travelling bag, so that I'd find the secret compartment and arrest you, and you could go to Prison City and raise the servants there in rebellion. . . . Jesse, do you even know how to use a gun?"

  "Oh, sure," said Jesse cheerfully. "I'm very good at shooting out locks and waving my gun around in a threatening manner. I'm told I make dainty maidens faint, cause old men to grow pale in the face, etc., etc. . . . You might at least have had the decency to hand me over to the police when I started gallivanting off into Abolitionist business late at night and flaunting the headlines about it at your breakfast table every morning." He turned his head to grin at Carr, who had fallen backwards onto the bed and had his legs doubled up as he strove to control his laughter. "Thank the gods," Jesse added. "I was beginning to wonder whether I could raise more than a wan smile from you. I'm serious, though. I mean, for fuck's sake, here I am, making it as obvious as I can be that I'm a criminal, and you're being all nobly forgiving, your uncle is treating me as a quaint foreigner, your parents are as oblivious as can be, and your servants— Well. Suffice it to say, I've had no problems staffing our new movement. Which is all well and good, but what does a man have to do to get himself locked up?"

  "Abuse of power." Still breathless from his laughter, Carr managed to roll onto his side.

  "Abuse of power?"

  "Unless you bear a servant's mark. Abuse of power is the only crime for which a master can be sent to Prison City. For anything else, you'd be sent to an upper landstead prison."

  "Oh." For the first time, Jesse's face took on a look of chagrin. "Guess I didn't do my homework well enough beforehand. Okay, then . . . thanks for not handing me over to the police."

  "You're welcome."

  There was a space of silence. Carr became suddenly aware – at the same moment that his shaft did – that he was lying only inches from Jesse, who was also lying on the bed. Jesse, who had been staring up at the ceiling, turned his head and said, "So what do you want?"

  "Want?" Carr's voice cracked.

  "Yeah, want. And don't give me any of that shit about 'I did this all for the sake of the deserving poor, and the knowledge of my new servants' good fortune is reward enough.' Masters don't do anything unless they want something in return, even if it's only a kiss from a grateful servant. So what do you want in exchange for the money you gave me?"

  Carr felt heat enter his face. He quickly sat up in the bed. "Nothing."

  "That's the most unconvincing 'nothing' I've heard in a long time. Was it my mention of a financial transaction that s
cared you off? Okay, let me try this: You scratched my back, now I'll scratch yours. Just tell me how you like to be scratched."

  Carr tried placing his arms around his folded legs and pressing his face against his knees. It didn't help. His cheeks grew cool, but his shaft was still hot.

  "Hey, now, your parents might be morons, but I'm not," Jesse said lazily from where he lay. "I told you before, standing offer. But I also told you: I'm on top."

  "I know." Carr forced himself to raise his head and look Jesse straight in the eye.

  After a bit, Jesse said, "Kid, you're scaring me now. Nobody goes through character change that quick. And I thought I could tag the type of master who likes the servant to do all the work in bed. That doesn't ring true with you."

  "I'm not—" He looked away, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I'm not going to lie to myself any more. I'm not an Egalitarian. The Egalitarians want there to be no masters and servants in the world, and I— I don't want there to be unwilling masters and unwilling servants. Especially not unwilling servants. I want there to be a world where people can choose what to be."

  "Including choosing to be masters and servants?" Jesse's voice was surprisingly mild. "Hell, Carruthers, I'm half a mile ahead of you on that. I've offered slaves the chance to run away, and they've turned me down, because they liked being slaves. Well. To each his own. It's not like I—"

  Carr turned his head quickly. "Not like you what?"

  For a moment, it seemed that Jesse would not respond. Then Jesse gave a small smile. "Oh, hell, you know what I was going to say. It's not like I haven't been tempted to hire servants myself. In fact, I've been offered a position as a slave trainer."

  "You?"

  Carr's incredulity must have seemed exaggerated, for Jesse raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, me. Not that I'd take the position without a major rehaul in that business's goals. But having someone serve me who wanted to serve me . . . Sure, I could deal with that. —Hey, stop goggling at me. I said I was an Abolitionist. I never said I was an Egalitarian – not in the sense that your parents use the word. It's like you said: Willingness is everything."

  "It's not that." Carr felt dizzy with hope now. "It's just— I knew what I wanted from you, but I wasn't sure you wanted— Or would be able—"

  "Spit it out, for the gods' sake. You want what? For me to top you? So that you can—? Oh, shit." Jesse jerked upright abruptly, causing A Concise History of the Dozen Landsteads to fall to the floor. "You want me to train you? To be a servant?"

  "Yes. No. I want you to train me to be a servant . . . so that I can be a master."

  There was a long, long silence, during which Carr tried to decide which crack in the floorboard to melt into. Then Jesse said, in a matter-of-fact voice, "Okay, I get you."

  "Do you?" Carr asked in a faint voice.

  "Sure. You want to be a good master, so you want to take on temporarily the work of a servant to learn what it's like. Your parents had the same idea, you know."

  He felt heat enter his cheeks again. "I didn't intend—"

  "No, scratch that, I didn't mean to put it that way." Jesse waved away his remark. "I meant, that was one of their few good ideas, having you work as a border guard. You learned anything about mastering from taking a service job?"

  "A bit." Carr looked down at the bedspread. "The thing is, though . . . I'm heir to the Second Landstead, and nobody at my workplace ever forgets that. They all treat me with tender regard, as though I'm already High Master."

  "And you want someone who will rough you up a bit." Jesse gave a low chuckle. "Kid, you have so picked the right person to train you. I specialize in roughing up. I don't suppose you've noticed."

  Carr looked over at Jesse and saw he was smiling. Carr gave a shy smile back. "And so . . . ?"

  Jesse's smile disappeared. "Request my help."

  "But I just asked—"

  "Request my help again." Then, in a harder voice: "On your knees."