Date: Fri, 15 May 2009 20:58:12 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mystery and Mayhem at St Marks:  Sequel 17

		      Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
				 A Sequel

				    by

				   Joel


Seq 17:

                  Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned:
Mark Henry Foster                     The story-teller: Newly graduated.
Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams     His well-proportioned boyfriend.  Trainee Solicitor
Francis Michael Foster               Alias Toad/Gobbo   Mark's younger brother
Adam Benjamin Carr                 Mark's cousin: History don
Ivo Richie Carr                           Ditto, as his twin: safely married diplomat
Sophia Carr                                Their mother in Dorset
George Carr                               Their father: A farmer
Victoria ['Tory] Carr                  Ivo's wife
Lady Mary Machin                    'Tory's mother
Mr James Marriott                      Head of Legation
Andrei zu Glottenberh                Rothenian Army Officer [Special Services]
Lucasz Voynovich                      Rothenian Army Officer [Signals Division]
Professor zum Adamszberh        Rector, Rodolfer University
Dr Schreiber                               Music Faculty staff: Rodolfer U.
Frau Schreiber                            His wife
Yniold Schreiber                        Their son: 17
Father Artur       [Dr Wendel]    Archbishop's Secretary
Dr Claude Valentin                    Organist: St Vitalis Cathedral Strelzen
Fraser (Fido) Doggett                 Plant hunter and 'Yogger Stag'
Brett Baldry                                Ditto
Ignasz Zendener                         The hotel manager in Strelzen
David Vinodosj                          Taxi driver:  Probably secret police
Tomas; Igor;                               Hotel receptionists
Herr Kusterin                              Intendant of the Opera House


			   Later that afternoon:

     I hadn't heard Pig Latin since about the Second Year at school.  We
kids thought ourselves very clever as we assumed the beaks were daft and
didn't understand.  It wasn't until Geoff Scholes said loudly in History
"Iway etbay Igger'sjay otgay artsway onway ishay umbay!" and a well-aimed
piece of chalk got him square on the forehead, that we were disabused of
that notion.  Mr Jefferson's "Ymay oybay, Iway asway otnay ornbay
esterdayyay.  One hundred lines for the cheek, minus one hundred lines for
the memory!"  Jigger's stock went up a thousandfold and we quickly stopped
using it.

     So, with the injunction to 'Shut up!  Bugged!  Get out!"  I did as I
was told and it wasn't until we had exited the hotel, with Tris telling
Ignasz we were meeting a friend, that I dared open my mouth.  No use.  He
hurried me along towards the park and it wasn't until we got there I
realised what had happened.  Tris had his mobile out and speed-dialled.
From what he said next I guessed it was the number the Adjutant had given
us.

     "Mickey Mouse here," he said, then paused.  He looked at me and
grinned.  Then someone must have answered.  "Hello, I think our room at the
hotel has been bugged.  Ignasz said a telephone engineer called because of
faults on the line.  We have come outside to the park and did not say
anything."  He paused again listening carefully.  "Young man with a sports
bag?  Yes, we will wait."  Another pause.  "Yes, in the park, first seat
opposite the statue of Milan Steppitch."

     I looked around.  There was a seat and a statue.  I walked the short
distance to it.  I beckoned Tris.  "Here.  Now tell me."

     We sat and he said he'd had a feeling the television seller and the
telephone engineer were connected in some way.  Why two electronic problems
in two days?  I said I had also noticed the open laptop case on the floor
and was puzzled.  I was still carrying my bag with his laptop in it so that
hadn't been bugged.  "I think it's the phone," he said, "I noticed it was
set quite straight on the shelf just now, but since we've been here it has
been at an angle.  I'm certain I was followed yesterday and Tomas confirmed
that with our little playacting last night.  Whoever it is was still
hovering but he realised Tomas had spotted him."

     I said I hoped whoever was coming would hurry up as we had to get
ready for the dinner at the Rector's.  No problem.  I saw a car stop and a
young man got out in sweatshirt, jeans and trainers and hurried into the
park.  Yes, he was carrying a sports bag.  And...  We both knew who it was.
He smiled when he saw us.  "I have left my taxi over there."  He sat
between us and Tris told him his suspicions.  "We are not surprised," he
said.  'We' I thought?  "We shall find out.  Call me David when we go in.
I think Mr Zeldener will not worry if you tell me some Maths.  I will not
understand but it will cover."

     We went back to the hotel.  Ignasc was talking to Tomas with much
waving of arms and more or less ignored us.  Before we got into our room
David warned us not to speak but to wait in the study room until he came to
fetch us.  We didn't have to wait long but we heard him go out and then
return.  He came to the study laughing.  "You were correct.  There was a
bug placed in the phone.  It is now in the phone next door.  I think there
are two men in there as well."

     We said there were and Tris said they were very good friends and
waggled his eyebrows.  David took the hint and grinned.  Tris asked him how
he got into their room as he didn't have a key.  He laughed "I have to get
in places more difficult than a hotel room."

     "And when you drive a taxi you should try to keep the gun hidden,"
said Tris, "I guessed this morning as I noticed the bulge."

     Ouch, the bugger hadn't let on to me but I'd noticed Tris's look.

     "Very good," David said, "Perhaps we should offer you a job.  You have
good eyes and good thinking."  He laughed.  "I shall say good afternoon but
I will be back at half past seven.  My taxi."

     He then came over and hugged both of us.  Ping.  My gaydar was off the
scale!

     "My boss says we make the best in our job," he said, "See you later!"

     Tris and I said 'alligator' together and as he closed the door behind
him clutched each other and hugged and wondered what the hell was going on.

     Silence was no longer golden so as we showered (no sex), and laid out
clothes in the nude (no sex), and dressed and admired each other, we
chatted on about our day.  What a day so far what was to come?

     We calmed down a bit and I phoned James.  Again, just the answer
machine.  I gave the shortest summary possible just saying all was OK.  I
then texted Frankie to say how his balls had been admired.  Five minutes
later and he said mine weren't too bad either, but he thought Tris's
better.  Cheek!  And all that in txt-speak.  A couple of minutes later he
texted again.  'got gr8 m8s waz et kaz wrk at cmbs mit pug'.  Text speak
plus French and German!  Who were Waz and Kaz though.  Oh, he'd been up to
town to meet the Arab lads.  I remembered Charles had mentioned Wasim.  So
he'd ingratiated himself and counted them as pals now. Yes, I already knew
he was going to work for Mr Coombs and so Pugsy was there, too.  Building
up more muscles carrying bricks, or digging holes, no doubt.  Oooh, Pugsy's
image always caused a twitch.  Down Fido!  And what about Fido and Brett in
the next room tonight.  The bug would pick up all their conversation and,
if they continued as the previous two nights, sounds of exuberant sexual
couplings.  My oh my!  What would the listeners think of upright English
boys?  Very upright English boys, no doubt.

     I shared a few of my thoughts with Tris but he was more interested in
writing postcards and sticking on stamps.  He said he thought the post
boxes were yellow but hadn't seen many.  I said ask Tomas.

     Tomas was still busy reading.  Tris had a book with him.  It was
another Sherlock Holmes book 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes'.

     "I found this in a shop," he said, "Would you like it?"

     Tomas beamed with pleasure.  "For me.  So many thankyous," he said.

     A favour.  "Would you post these, please?" asked Tris.

     Tomas took the half dozen or so cards and smiled.  "In the morning I
do.  I sleep.  I have room here."  He pointed to a door behind the desk.
"Then go home."  He turned and opened the door and switched on the light.
It looked small and cramped.  "Look."  He was obviously proud of his
secondary home.  We went behind the desk and looked.  It was small and
cramped and there was a smell.  'Old socks, sweat and semen' as someone had
remarked about a fellow student's quarters at St Mark's.  Well at
seventeen, or even nineteen, what did one expect!

     Our carriage drew up as Tris graciously held the hotel door open for
me to descend the two steps arrayed in my best Matteoli jacket, shirt and
trousers.  Tris spoilt it rather as he matched me, except in a darker
combination.  David made it better, though.  As the taxi halted he peered
at us and kissed two fingers in a sign of approbation.  As he got out of
the cab I noted he was the same size as Tris.  Some of Tris's best garb
would find a new owner!

     He took the same route as this morning.  The zum Adamszberhs lived in
the old quarter.  He drove through a gateway with a wrought iron arch over
it.  He stopped at a flight of steps leading up to an imposing old door set
in the middle of a double-fronted small mansion.  The front door opened as
we got out of the car.  The Professor came down the steps to greet us but
first he nodded at David and smiled.  David gave him a bow of the head,
which I had quickly learned was the general response to a friendly
greeting.

     "Thank you, David," the Professor said in English, then added
something in rapid Rothenian.  David gave another courtly bow of the head
and got back in the cab.  As we went up the steps the Professor explained.
"David is my nephew.  He has a very good career.  I think Jerzy may join
him once his studies are over."  There was no explanation why he should
ferry us about so easily.

     Yes, Jerzy had said his uncle was in the police so his cousin was
also, or in some sort of undercover work.

     We were not the first to arrive.  After being introduced to Frau zum
Adamszberh and her daughter, Caroline, we entered the drawing room and
there was Dr Valentin - with his left arm in a sling - and a very smartly
dressed lady, Madame Valentin, as she was introduced as I had guessed Dr
Valentin was French.  Oh.  His arm was in a sling as he had slipped when
'descending from the 'balcon'' as he put it with a Gallic wave of his right
hand.  "I knew it was the Monsignor who made those steps slippy.  He liked
jokes and that one went wrong.  He acted as my assistant one day and when I
came back from taking my Communion he had pulled two stops I didn't want so
when I played on the Echo before Abbot Gregor's blessing he was trumpeted
loudly and was very cross!"

     "Claude, you did put pepper under his croissant when he came to
breakfast that day."

     "Only because..."  He stopped and laughed.  "The Monsignor was a great
man and everybody loved him."

     I said I'd thought it strange to see so many people smiling going to a
funeral.

     Madame also smiled.  "The Monsignor made everyone happy and had
instructed no one should be sad at his funeral."

     At that moment other people started to arrive and a young man in black
waistcoat and trousers quickly distributed flutes of a delicious sparkling
fruit wine.  We were introduced to Mrs Marriott who said she'd been to see
'Tory that afternoon and she was sure it wouldn't be long.  Father Artur
came in with the final pair.  These were the Schreibers, Yniold's parents.
They were both quite short, but bubbly, with Dr Schreiber sporting the most
handsome beard.

     "You have met our son," Frau Schreiber said as she shook my hand.  I
didn't say that Tris had seen a lot more of him than me.  "I hope he did
not intrude but he is so curious, you say, or is it inquisitive?"  I said
probably both and we hoped to meet him again.  I certainly did - even to
just check on the cute little cock!

     Dr Schreiber wanted to know about my Grandfather.  I had brought one
of the scores, 'La Boheme', with me and everyone gathered round when I
fetched it from the hallway.  On the inside cover were the dates of the
five performances he had conducted in each of the years 1935 and 1936.
Other dates were there as well for the Opera House in Palermo.

     "Maestro Matteoli," Dr Schreiber said quite reverentially, "I have
looked at the old reviews and he was acclaimed.  And you are his Grandson!"

     Just in case there was any hint I was too young I pointed out he
hadn't married my Grandmother until he was sixty and he was in his early
forties when he conducted at the Strelzen Opera House.

     "My Mother would like to present this score and another, Verdi's
'Othello', to the Opera House in his memory."  Wow, if that didn't get us
entry nothing else would - except buying tickets, mercenary toads!

     Dr Schreiber clapped his hands.  "I will speak to the Intendant in the
morning.  He will be so pleased.  We have little in our archives, a few old
programmes, those reviews."  He shook his head.  "But the rest.  Taken,
destroyed, damaged beyond repair.  But these are a great gift."

     After a bit more general chit chat, during which I learned that the
house had only been returned to the family five years previously and that
was why things were a bit shabby, dinner was announced and we all trooped
into the spacious dining room.

     Tris was well away.  Madame Valentin and Frau Schreiber on either side
of him were chatting to him and, 'yes', he had seen 'Les Miserables' and
the 'Lion King' recently in London and I heard him also give a run down of
a couple of ballet and opera performances his Father had taken him to at
Sadler's Wells.  I had Mrs Marriott and Caroline zum Adamszberh on right
and left but I also had to field questions from Drs Valentin and Schreiber.

     Caroline was younger than me and was delightful.  She was very much
like Dina, I thought, quiet to begin with but thoughtful and very clever.
Her English was good and I found she had just finished her First Year at
the Rodolfer and was reading Philosophy.  She said there were a couple of
English boys in the Maths Faculty but she thought they had gone home.  I
got the feeling she rather fancied English boys.  She said Father Artur had
suggested she read History, but she preferred Philosophy, though she was
attending his lectures on Thomas Aquinas which were 'verry difficult'.  He
heard her say that and gave her a non-scholarly thumb's-up.

     I had a bit of questioning from the two musical doctors, mainly about
musical life in Cambridge.  Dr Valentin then dropped a bomb-shell.  Because
of his injury he would be unable to give the recital scheduled for
Wednesday evening next.  His two assistants would have deputised for him
but Georg was already committed to his own recital at the Cathedral in
Glottenburg.  That name seemed familiar.  Anton was nervous of playing a
whole programme, would I consider helping out with the Maurice Greene piece
and, here he paused for effect, the whole of Rheinberger's Sonata Number
Four?  I was both dumbfounded and elated at the same time if the two
emotions could be mixed!  I played the third movement of the Rheinberger,
the Chromatic Fugue, often in my practice mode in Chapel.  To play the
whole piece on the wonderful Strelzen Cathedral organ was something to
aspire to.  The rest of the table had fallen silent.  They had heard the
request.  I nodded.

     "I must practice, though," I said, "It's those pedals."  Actually
though, the pedal part of the Rheinberger wasn't too ornate and I had
memorised quite a lot of it anyway so could concentrate on where my feet
should be a bit more.  "And if you will register for me."

     I think there was an audible sigh of relief around the table.

     "Monday evening at six and then dinner with us." He looked at his wife
who nodded.  "No good tomorrow, three weddings and then confessions which
must not be disturbed, or Sunday as they mumble at all hours!"  He shook a
fist at Father Artur who laughed.  "We will arrange something after Monday
as well."

     I looked across the table at Tris.  He smiled and nodded.  He looked
so pleased I'd agreed.  I then remembered 'Glottenberg'.  That was the name
of the hunky young officer who drove for Ivo!

     I remembered little about the dinner after that.  I know the food was
delicious and I savoured the wines as well as the conversation.  I was
rather on Cloud Nine.  I knew I had to do well and I would!

     Mr Marriott was pleased, too.  "I'll have the recital announced at the
Anglican Church on Sunday.  You'll have quite a few of our congregation
there, I'm sure."

     All in all it was a most pleasant evening but I would have only a hazy
memory of it.  Even when David's taxi took us back to the hotel I was
mentally going through the Rheinberger and only desisted when Tris said he
was fed up with me kicking his feet as I automatically tried out a couple
of phrases on imaginary pedals!

     He didn't complain in bed though when I made him twitch and kick in
pleasure as I brought him to a truly stupendous climax molto lento et
appassionato.

     That was nothing to the cries of ecstasy, triple forte, which came
clearly from next door.  We surmised it was Brett being 'porked' by Fraser
in the first instance and what Brett then did to Fraser was accompanied by
rhythmic squeals and grunts which wouldn't have disgraced any little piggy!
Whoever listened clandestinely to that lot would have trouble not beating
off in sympathy!!

     But...  Who was listening?  Not just us, sated now not only by food
but glorious sex.  We supposed David or the Adjutant would be tracking
somehow.

                         Saturday

     Saturday was another clear and sunny day.  We decided to visit the Art
Gallery and use the tickets for the opening of the special exhibition that
day at ten a.m.  I'd read about Mapplethorpe and that he'd died quite young
from AIDS.  I'd also seen a couple of reproductions of his photographs.  I
didn't expect to see such a wide-ranging collection from flowers to
portraits, then nudes and, finally, some very explicit sexual depictions.
The place was buzzing.  I think the viewers were almost equal to the
viewed!  There were the beautiful people, both male and female,
flamboyantly or soberly dressed, parading up and down, to be looked at
rather than being just lookers.  There were quite a few who came in leather
- much more outre than our friends at the Club - and several whose outfits
were well in the region of S & M with one male in a complete rubber suit
and gimp mask.  Tattoos abounded, from black swirls and geometric patterns,
on arms, legs and upper bodies of younger males generally, to complete
coloured depictions of dragons, snakes, animals and scenes on the thirties
and older.  One man, tattooed in shades of green and yellow mainly, looked
quite lizard-like.  I swear he'd had his tongue forked too as he licked his
lips after taking a sip of wine.

     We, in smart Matteoli rigs of tops and under knee shorts, were
fashionable, to say the least.  In fact, three older gentlemen brought us
glasses of extremely nice wine as excuses to chat and we were sure would
have whisked us away for unknown frolics if we had been so minded.  But, no
one seemed hassled, the gents moved on to other fry swimming in the pool of
such eroticism as soon as they realised we were a pair and had no need of
other excitements.  We were definitely filmed for television and the
reporter told us after, off-camera, that she'd made the point we
represented the British Legation.  She then took notes about us and what we
thought of the place.  A photographer was also prowling around snapping all
and sundry and the camera was pointed in our direction a couple of times.
I just hoped Ivo had told Mr Marriott that he'd given us the tickets!

     We chatted to several of the younger men, mainly students, and found
that some earned money towards their accommodation fees by modelling.  One
said there was extra money for being in the nude.  So Jerzy and his pal
were not exaggerating.  Tris was singled out by at least three who passed
him cards for the studios while I was talking to a young lady, who I
realised in the end was an artfully made-up male late teenager.  No, he
didn't want the operation were his parting words, and said with the most
ravishing smile.  One clearly gay lad also gave Tris a signed card which he
translated as being valid for entry to Liberation.  Oh, the local main gay
club we'd seen on our walk!  "Be careful," he warned, "It's getting a
reputation. If you go there watch what you drink!"  Yep, I'd seen reports
of young ladies being date-raped after imbibing spiked drinks.  Did young
men experience the same thing?

     I suppose we were there almost two hours and came out in a haze of
alcohol and sensuality.  We didn't have the will to look at the Old Masters
or Impressionists or any of the other artistic creations in the main
galleries.  Tris was looking at the studio cards.  "While you're playing
around with that big organ I might see if they would like to view an
equally nice organ of a different sort."

     I said that was not happening, his organ belonged to me, I didn't want
Tom, Dick and Harry ogling it.  He just laughed and said we would have an
early lunch, go back to the hotel to change into something casual and then
he'd take me up to the Spa.  Bloody hell.  To be ogled at, no doubt.

     The Art Gallery had a very convenient small restaurant so we had a
salad and another glass of the local wine.  The Spa seemed a good idea.  A
bit of sun and a sleep.

     There was a different lad on duty at the hotel.  We introduced
ourselves and he said his name was Igor.  He was quite a chatterbox and
wanted to speak English like everyone else.  He handed me two letters and
as I read them he told Tris his life story.  I half listened as he
explained that his father had stayed on after the other Russians had left
but had died in a factory accident three years ago and he had two older
brothers who were in the Rothenian Army but he wanted to be a dentist and
had never been to Russia as he and his brothers were born here.  The tale
didn't interfere too much with my reading as the first letter was a note
from Ivo.  As usual, short and sweet.

                          'Hi big organ boy 1 and big organ boy 2: take
your pick.
                                       Sunday lunch chez nous 12.30
                                       don't be late Frau Schreiber is the
cook
                                                              I&'T'.

     Good!  But the second was equally acceptable.  This one contained two
tickets for tonight's performance at the Opera House of Donizetti's
'L'Elisir d'Amore'.  Tickets for seats in the Intendant's box, with an
invitation to drinks before, at seven thirty for the performance at eight,
and a supper in the interval between the two acts.  Please to get the hotel
to confirm.

     That meant the gift of the two scores had been signalled to him by Dr
Schreiber so we'd better take them with us tonight.

     As I held the letter I looked over at Igor who was now standing behind
the reception desk.  My, another male beauty, black-haired, a wide face
with perfect teeth, all accentuated by the powerful chest outlined in the
tee-shirt he was wearing and the prominent biceps which swelled the short
sleeves.  My gaze was caught by the wording on the shirt.  In bold blue
letters across his chest it read 'If you like Hard Rock hoot!'.  Diagonally
up from the bottom in red there was 'LIFE SUCKS' with the 'C' enmeshed with
the 'R' of Rock.  He seemed blissfully unaware of the implications.  Or was
he?  Were we surrounded by young Rothenians who were either gay or bi?  Or
was it a free-wheeling response to years of repression and subjugation?

     Tris had also seen the shirt.  "Is that from the shop off
Rodolferplaz?" he asked.

     Igor smiled and nodded.  "Good shop," he said, "Plenty good."

     I interrupted before Tris could invite him to trade tops, or whatever.
"Please, Igor, would you phone this number and say we will accept with
pleasure."  He nodded as he jotted down the number and I repeated 'accept
with pleasure'.  I handed the two letters to Tris who just laughed.

     "Definitely both!"

     Further discussion was halted as Brett and Fraser came down the stairs
looking a bit worse for wear.  No, not drunk, just bleary eyed.  "Slept in
this morning," Fraser explained.

     "Then he woke up!" rejoined Brett.  There was no need to clarify that.
What happened next must have been to mutual satisfaction.

     "Is that the fucking time?" said Fraser looking at the clock behind
the desk.  No, I wouldn't say the obvious!  "Got to get some lunch, I'm
starving, and we promised to meet the lads up at the Spa."

     "They go back tomorrow," added Brett, "We're staying to visit the
Botanic Garden on Monday then we'll go searching for that gingko supplier.
We'll fly back Friday ready for the wedding."

     Neither of us said we were going to the Spa nor that we intended
visiting the Botanic Garden sometime, too.

     We left them talking to Igor as we went up to our room and the last
thing we heard was Fraser going 'Parp Parp', hooting like Mr Toad.

     "I think young Prince Igor will be seduced before long," said Tris as
he closed the door, "I think he'll be burrowed in!"

     Oh, what a weak pun!  If only I had Toad's sneer gene.  I just gave
him a valiant two- fingers.  "And what caught your eye in the tee-shirt
shop?"  The best I'd seen in Cambridge was the swaggering eighteen-stone
rugger-bugger who had 'Dip Me in Chocolate and Throw Me to the Lesbians'
displayed on his forty-eight inch chest.

     He laughed.  "Someone there has quite a sense of humour.  'Twinkies
are best sucked slowly' and I thought I might buy you 'Practising
Taxidermist I stuff for free' but I gave up on most of the others as they
were in a variety of languages except some of the pictures were rather
explicit.  Oh, there was one with just the number sixty-nine on the front.
Another favourite, eh?"

     "Thank you for those kind thoughts," I said, "Perhaps Unc might do a
line, I'm sure Frankie would approve."

     Tris laughed.  "I remember him and Laurent and the ones they bought.
There was one for him there.  Big letters, 'My Swim Team' and six wriggly
sperm underneath.  I might get it for him."

     "Don't encourage him, he's bad enough as it is."  We both laughed.
He'd wear it, no doubt, with the leather jock strap as accompaniment.  Mum
would not be amused!

     Changed into well-worn shorts and tees of a sedate sort we made our
way down.  Igor was alone.  He gave us a great grin.  "I have phoned.  They
said thank you."  The grin widened.  "Your friends invite me out tonight,"
he said with glee.  Oh, seduction had already started.

     The weather was still perfect.  The tree-lined Lindenstrasse gave
certain shade but the temperature was quite high.  A swim and a sleep was
something to look forward to.  Our free tokens were valid and we were
directed to the cloakroom where we left everything, except our sandals, in
lockers and were issued with a small handbag for keys, money, sunglasses
and suncream, plus two large colourful towels.  Odd, I'd never been in such
a throng of semi-naked, and then naked youths and men but I didn't feel at
all embarrassed.  We were then instructed to go through a shower and the
next room we entered was a huge hot-spring bath.  Quite a sulphur smell
but, putting our possessions in cages which the attendants then locked, we
plunged into the steaming water.  My, it was quite hot but stimulating to
muscles and we swam up and down avoiding the gaggles of other bathers who
all seemed to know each other and were conversing in the impenetrable
Rothenian language.

     After we'd had a good swim we climbed out, wrapped towels round
ourselves and, retrieving our handbags and sandals, strolled out onto the
huge paved patio with its umbrellas and inviting-looking open-air cafes.
We sat and looked around and when the young waiter, nude but for an apron,
came up, ordered a coffee each.  After that I was ready for sun and a
snooze so we wandered fairly aimlessly until we found a less crowded area,
spread our towels and lay down.

     I must have gone to sleep almost immediately and was awakened by the
sound of a voice quite close to me.  The voice was familiar.  Of course, it
was Yniold.  And, as he stood chatting to Tris who had sat up, I could see
that Tris was quite correct.  A very cute young cock dangled about three
feet away from me.

     "It's OK," I heard Tris say, "Sleeping Beauty awakes..."

     "...And did not need a kiss," said Yniold.

     How my autonomic system didn't respond with the biggest erection I
could manage I did not know.  Just in case I rolled onto my side, so if it
did happen I could be on my stomach in seconds.  Yniold clothed was a gem
of young perfection.  Unclothed he had that lithe grace depicted in ancient
statues and esteemed in art through the ages.  There was no young
adolescent roundness but a slimness which accentuated his flawless
features.

     "May I join you?" he asked.  We both nodded.  He spread a towel and
sat cross-legged.  "I hope I do not intrude."  Intrude?  I could gaze on
him indefinitely.  I could see Tris was also having a certain difficulty in
managing the intense attention he was focussing on the lad.  It was almost
as if Yniold was exerting some sort of magnetic control over the pair of
us.  It wasn't that we were exactly sexually starved but this young man was
stimulating the juices, as it were.  I just hoped that his friend Pyotor
realised how lucky he was.  If this was Yniold.  I wondered what Pyotor was
like?  I needn't have worried.

     "I am very happy today," he said, "Many things.  My friend Pyotor and
his team have won again." He delved into his bag and brought out a couple
of pieces of paper.  "He sent me these."  He handed one piece to Tris and
one to me.  There were two very clear colour prints of a basketball team
and of a head and shoulders of a lad.  Gosh, he was so like Tris.  Yes,
Pyotor was a handsome lad.  I passed my sheet to Tris and received his in
return.  The team again but also a full length this time of Pyotor,
shirtless but in long red basketball shorts, also so reminiscent of my
Tris.  "He will be back for Wednesday and if it is good we shall come
here."

     He took the pages back.  "You will be at the Opera tonight?  My father
is so pleased.  Isolde has given me a ticket.  She has a free ticket as she
is in the orchestra.  I will see you sitting in the box."

     Tris was in big brother mode.  No little brother for him but Yniold
would do!  "I think we would all like an ice-cream," he announced.  I
started to get up.  "No I'll go and get them.  What flavour, Yniold?"

     No hesitation.  "Den Jahdovij, please: that is 'strawberry' I think."

     Tris looked at me, his more than cute cock hovering in my line of
sight.  "Same, strawberry, please," I said.  He strode off and we both
watched as others also looked at him as well.

     "He is very nice I think you say.  Mrs Carr said it is a strange word.
In German I would say gut aussehend."  He lent forward.  "You love him?" he
asked very quietly but it wasn't said inquisitively.

     "I love him very much," I said equally quietly, "And he loves me."

     "I know he does.  He looks at you.  I do not know words...."  A tear
fell from his right eye, then one from his left.  "I love Pyotor but I have
not said.  I want.  But if..."  He picked up the corner of the towel and
dabbed his eyes.  "I hope he is shy...."

     Agony Uncle Mark was being called on again, but this was like Logan
and Curt.  Uncle Mark this time, however, was rather lost for words.  How
does one counsel a lad from another country?  A different culture.  Albeit
one which seemed to accept different lifestyles more readily than some.

     "Perhaps he is really shy.  Has he said anything to you which might be
a clue, a hint?"

     He looked thoughtful.  "My birthday three months ago.  He gave me a
present and he hugged me.  And he kissed me."  He shook his head.  "Not
like a greeting kiss.  Then he got red as his Mutti came in the room."

     "And since?"

     "When we are together he looks at me."  He looked ready to let more
tears fall.  "I want to hug him," he said disconsolately.

     "When you meet him Wednesday will you be alone?"  He nodded.  "Then
greet him with a hug to congratulate him and then say how much you have
missed him.  Just keep hugging him even if he tries to get away.  If he
does get away I will buy you two ice-creams when I see you."  Yniold was
trying to work that out.  "And if he doesn't I will buy you both an
ice-cream or a pastry or even a whole tea.  I guess he loves you, too, and
he will tell you while you hug."  I pointed at the bag where Yniold had put
the photos.  "That photo of him smiling was for you!"

     He had worked it out.  The smile was dazzling.  "I will and we will
have tea I am sure!"

     Tris came trundling up with three large cones.  "Had to queue up," he
explained.  He realised we were laughing together.  "And what have you two
been up to."

     We all sat cross-legged then and over the licking and demolishing of
our cones I told Yniold's story.  Tris was in forthright mode.  "Go for it,
lad!  If he doesn't respond we'll have those shorts off him and I'll smack
his backside."

     Yniold was in agreement.  "And I will have those two ice-creams and
watch while you smack him!"

     Well, over the next hour we all got nicely toasted.  Yniold was
sporting a good all-over tan already so Tris's and my white middle sections
were getting slightly red even with the sun tan lotion smeared on.  We were
then distracted by roars and claps of approval from somewhere over to our
right.  It was a game of touch rugby and, even with no clothes on, Yogger's
build and voice were unmistakable.  We stood up and gathered our things and
strolled over to watch.

     Yogger was rallying his troops and as he ran around and jumped to
catch the ball I could see clearly that Janie wouldn't be disappointed as
what he had would support a sizable wallet stuffed with euros!  The
original nine Stags were being augmented steadily by other youngsters
joining in.  As we got nearer I saw the tenth, Brett, standing beside a
heap of towels and other belongings.

     "Hi," he said as we joined him, "Yogger pinched the ball from that
American lad there.  Trust him to get things going."

     Yes, the ball wasn't a conventional rugby ball but a brown, more
ovoid, American football.  That made no difference to the passing skills of
the English players who were thoroughly enjoying their nude frolic.  Frolic
it was as the game progressed.  Yogger was in full charge and directed any
newcomers either to tie a handkerchief round a wrist or to leave it bare so
they knew which side they were on.  Both Tris and Yniold joined the throng
clamouring to be included.  The game went on, fast and furious, no tackles,
just a touch and the ball had to be passed.  In the end there must have
been thirty or so nude and sweating figures scurrying, all eager to have a
go at running with the ball.

     Certainly Yniold was no slouch.  He was bare-armed like Tris and they
ran passing the ball between them, dodging the outstretched hands of their
pursuers.  Their run over, the ball passed to others, until in the end
Yogger clapped his hands and shouted for a two-minute break.  The panting
mass stopped and most clung to fellow players to get their breath back.
Bottles of water were passed round and everyone shared.  I noted that the
exertion didn't stop quite a few stiffening prongs, but no one stared or
pointed!  Two minutes were up and the melee continued.  Brett was heaving
with laughter.

     "He said he'd get a sweat on the buggers to clear it all out but most
haven't touched a drop since Wednesday.  I don't think they want to go back
and we've had to keep shtoom about our plans.  Final dinner tonight and
that's that.  Most have run out of money so it'll be dicks in drawers
tonight but there's a free entry tonight at that gay place."

     "They might get an offer or two there," I said and having viewed the
toned bods of the sweating horticulturalists I guessed there would be many.

     "I hope none of them try to dick anyone.  They all know about AIDS
though and Yogger's sure to keep an eye on them."

     "As long as they don't get bitten I guess a blow job would be OK," I
said showing off a bit of lore I'd culled from the Net.  I knew that the
'back room' at the Club had its 'artistes' as Davy had told us one night
early on.  As a nurse he said he'd been called on numerous times to
adjudicate on cuts and grazes and never advised 'popping the sausage'
anywhere if there was a sign of damage, but he knew a couple of the
regulars in the room still went ahead to 'taste the morsel' as they
considered that quite safe!

     "Fucking hell, don't tell them that, they'll all be after one of
those.  Bobby Hodgson boasts his girlfriend gives him them regular as she's
saving herself.  I don't believe the lying bugger as I know he and his pal
Watty trades 'em.  I was in the bog at the Nursery and heard them arguing
whose turn it was."  He pointed carefully at a tall young man with a short
cock but dangling balls.  "That's Bobby and that skinny merchant behind him
with the ring through his tit is Watty.  I think he's..."  That was left in
the air.  No, Watty would not be kicked out of bed.  He had a very tanned
defined torso and his lengthy cock flapped rather because of the loose
rosebud of foreskin at it's end.

     "Don't fancy him?" I asked.

     "Got Fraser and I love the silly arse."

     A further good half hour of intensive exercise in the heat had
produced a thirsty mob.  I was dragged off to buy large glasses of fruit
juice for the three of us by Tris and Yniold.  Both were sweating buckets
and the aroma of hot boy would have set things off if Yniold hadn't pointed
to a little extra cooling off of heated parts by a group of middle to late
teens who had been active participants but were now standing apart from the
main crowd.  Each had a glass of the tasty juice, which came in various
flavours and colours, and each were taking it in turns to dip their wicks,
as it were, and were giggling and commenting loudly.  Unfortunately in
Rothenian, but Yniold was on the ball.  "I know them, they are at the Gymno
with me and they are daring each other to taste the juice they have on
their....  I know, cock, is that right?"

     Tris said 'Yes' just as one of the lads saw Yniold with us and held
and waved a dripping cock and shouted out something which made Yniold
blush.  Yniold didn't move but Tris strode over and with a quick movement
the lad was on his knees with one of the other's prick dangling by his
nose.  Tris stood back and to cheers the lad licked his pal's dick and held
up two fists in triumph.  Tris patted him on the back and rejoined us.
That started it.  It was 'Ring a Ring o'Roses', 'Here We Go Round the
Mulberry Bush' or whatever, as the group slurped drops of juice.  Tris
pushed Yniold forward while the mouthy lad was still on his knees and as
soon as Yniold's dripping cock was presented he gamely licked it with a
large pink tongue and said something which made Yniold smile.  The whole
new game only stopped because all in turn developed the most amazing show
of erections which drew further shouts of approbation and cheers.  I looked
down at Yniold who had returned to be with us..  He was quite in sympathy
with his pals.  A healthy, slim, six inches of boymeat was up and running.
Yes, running.  A colourless drop of fluid was apparent in the slit.  It was
all I could do not to engulf that gorgeousness in my mouth and savour the
no doubt sweetness of that drop and any remains of the sweet juice it had
been dipped in.

     He put out an arm and hugged Tris to him.  "Thank you," he said, "They
would have teased me because I am with you.  That boy called out that he
would fuck me after you had made my hole big.  He said he was sorry They
would not dare say things now."  He grinned at me and held out his other
hand.  "I think some will fuck now."

     I took his hand and squeezed it.  "You are a naughty boy."

     The smile and look said it all, but he underlined it.  "I want to be a
naughty boy!"

     Oh, Yniold.  To be tempted so.  I looked at Tris.  He was in the same
predicament - the only word to describe the dilemma.  Behind Yniold's back
he slowly shook his head.  Yniold's virginity was safe for Pyotor to take.
If Pyotor could resist that loveliness, if he turned out to be completely
macho, he would not realise what he was missing.  But, I knew, or hoped I
knew, that Yniold's love would conquer.

     "Only with Pyotor," I managed to croak out.

     "Yes," he said and squeezed my hand back.

     Yogger's own merry band had retreated to the shade of trees and were
laughing and chatting with Brett and Fraser carrying over trays of more
glasses of fruit juice..  I don't think they'd witnessed the lads and their
caper or Yogger might have orchestrated that as well.  The thought of him
having his meaty dong licked by the mouthy boy had a slight effect on my
own.  It was either that thought or the hand squeeze.

     We were lying in the sun again with Yniold sitting up finishing off
his glass of juice when he whispered.  "That man.  He is here.  He looks
around." He grabbed his bag and took out a small digital camera and quickly
took a couple of photos.  "He has not seen and he goes to them."

     I sat up slightly and saw a back view of a burly man peering over
towards Yogger's Stags.

     "Could you print those for tonight?" Tris asked.

     "I can.  I have a good ink-jet printer.  You saw photos of Pyotor."

     Tris didn't elaborate any further but just looked at me and nodded.
It must be the same man he'd spotted.

     Anyway by five we felt quite cooked and had a quick dip again in the
pool.  We were just going through to collect our clothes when we heard
Yogger's lot calling out and there were almighty splashes as they
belly-flopped into the steaming water.

     "Thank you," said Yniold, as we parted, shaking hands, outside the
hotel, "I must hurry and I will see you tonight."

     Both Igor and Tomas were sitting behind the desk and I heard Tomas
reading in English.  It must have been something from the Sherlock Holmes
book.

     Igor looked up.  "That is good book and he reads good.  I must lend
it."

     Oh, Tris was in didactic mood.  The lads were instructed in the
correct usage of 'lend' and of 'borrow'.

     Igor smiled.  "You should teach.  Better than Herr Mischler.  I lend
him to you to teach him."

     Tomas was not to be outdone.  "Und I borrow Fraulein Stempel.  She is
sehr sexy!"

     Igor gave him the American single finger in response.  I suppose their
English was improving.  Tomas then remembered something.  He pointed to the
pigeon-holes behind the desk.  "I forget.  A letter.  Mr Foster and Mr
Price-Villi-ams."  He handed me the letter and looked at Tris.  "You have
two names."  Tris then explained that many English people had two names
together, usually when two families joined through marriage.  Also, he
should be careful as the English 'W' was not pronounced like the German, or
Rothenian one.  He wrote down several 'W' words and got the lads to read
them.  I just wondered if Tris should give up Law and teach.  He was good.
The note was good, too.  Very short and sweet.

                                                    'Taxi.  19.05.  D'

     I managed to drag him away and we showered, carefully, as our
backsides especially were rather red, and dressed in best.  We had both
packed suits 'just in case' and we did look a handsome pair as we went
downstairs at nineteen hundred hours.  Tomas was alone.  He appraised us
and nodded.  We passed his scrutiny.  Tomas had more to tell.

     "That boy," he said and we knew he meant Igor, "He boasts he has
dinner with the others and their friends and go to that place."  We knew he
meant the gay club.  "They will have trouble if they are not careful.  Many
naughty persons are there."

     I said he shouldn't worry as I was sure the main friend would not
allow trouble.

     "Igor is a good boy.  He looks after his mother but he does not think.
Uncle worries about him as his father was a good man.  He does things to
earn money, I am sure.  He has more money than me."

     I wondered 'what things?  I didn't think he thieved, or dealt drugs.
I supposed rent-boys came in all shapes and sizes but I'd had no personal
experience of that particular profession except meeting a lad at the club
who, as a newcomer from London, had been warned off plying his trade when
on or near the premises.  A model, perhaps?

     No time to discuss Igor.  Tris signalled it was time to go.  Tomas saw
the wrapped books we were carrying.

     "You want good bag?" he asked.  He fished under the desk and brought
out a plastic carrier bag with handles.  "Very strong.  Not break."

     I thanked him and we placed the two books carefully in the bag and I
carried them out to the waiting taxi.  David was fending off a very large,
very irate lady who was waving her umbrella at him.  "Please to tell her I
am booked," he said rather plaintively, "She wants me to take her and the
dog to the lazarhet veterinariske, we say.  It is tiermedizinischhaus in
German.  Let me think. That is dog house.  No, no! hospital for dogs and
animals."

     By the woman's feet was a tiny, furry, very fat ball with little legs.
It was yapping for all it's worth, adding it's own frenzy to the woman's
rant.

     "Is it near the Opera?"  I asked.

     "In the same street, Konigstrasse," David said.

     "We have time," I said and, to the lady as I opened the back door of
the cab, "Madame, with us."

     She calmed immediately.  "Tak, tak," she said as she shuffled her vast
arse into the back seat and grabbed the now silent dog off the pavement.  I
had to go the other side of the cab to get in and Tris, valiantly, got in
beside David.  I leaned over and more or less apologised to him and said it
was beginning to rain and it was a good turn to help her out.

     I sat back and just missed squashing the creature which she dragged
back onto her lap after she pulled the door to.

     "You not Russian boys?  American, no?"

     I said we were English.

     "Ya, I thought.  You are good to lady.  That man there," she gestured
towards the park we were just passing, "I ask him to get taxi.  They stop
for man not woman.  He say he busy.  He not busy.  He stand.  Look.  I
think he is fat criminal."

     "Perhaps he wanted a tram."  The trams to and from the Spa and the
centre of the city stopped by the park entrance.  I glanced across but the
man had gone.

     "No I do not think." She said no more as the dog began to whine.  She
said something to it in Rothenian and stroked it's little head.  "My
Mischka no shit five days," she said.  Both Tris and David gave audible
snorts.  I just hoped the thing would be able to contain itself until we
reached the multi-syllabled dog's whatsit.

     Luckily it wasn't too far down when we turned into Konigstrasse.  I
got out my side and went round and opened her door.  She held the dog up
and I took it as she heaved herself out.  It was beginning to drizzle quite
heavily and I was getting wet.  I looked down at the dog.  It gazed at me
with what appeared a doleful expression and whined again and it's little
face contorted.  I put it on the pavement and waited until madame was out.
"You are kind boy," she said and gestured with the half open umbrella at
David who had got out of the driver's seat and was standing by the car.
"Not him.  He probable konechnik Russiske drovnij!" she said quite
venomously.

     As I got in the side vacated by her there was a clear fart from ground
level.  Tris had opened his window and was grinning.  David had an
imperturbable look on his face but as he drove off he heaved with laughter.
"She thinks I'm a little Russian arsehole," he said and laughed even more.

     Tris was laughing, too.  "You should have seen what came out of that
little Rothenian arsehole.  Must be a yard of poop.  No wonder the poor
thing was so fat.  Five days!!"

     Two grinning boys were decanted by a third, older, lad, all
desperately trying to maintain proper decorum, at the front of the imposing
Opera House.  David could hardly speak as we thanked him.  "I will be here
to take you back," he said and relapsed into giggles as Tris said 'Danke,
men drovnij..."  He didn't finish as an imposing doorman, in top hat and
dark green tail coat came up.  He spoke to David, now composed, in
Rothenian.  He touched the brim of his hat as he turned to face us.  "Come,
plizz," he said and we followed, gazed on by other early arrivals and what
must have been the returns queue.

     We were taken up the steps to the entrance and then to the most ornate
lift decorated in what I'd heard described once as 'belle epoque' style,
all mirrors and art deco carvings and quite OTT.  It had obviously been put
in long after the original elegant building was put up.  A short walk along
a wide corridor and we reached the back entrance of the Intendant's box.
The doorman knocked and opened it and we were greeted by Dr Schreiber who
was obviously waiting for us.  Inside we were introduced to a much older
man, tall and thin and looking very much like a photo of Gustav Mahler I
had seen, even to the small glasses he was wearing.  He was the Intendant,
Herr Kusterin, and he welcomed us with very firm handshakes and ushered us
into a large space behind the two rows of seats.

     Already here were Frau Schreiber and a very solemn Yniold, with Ivo
and a man in full white tie and tails, each with a glass of wine.  After
shaking hands with Frau Schreiber we met the guest conductor for the
evening, the man in tails.  He was Italian and very voluble.  As he said
how delighted he was to meet us, especially the Grandson of Signor
Matteoli, others were arriving.  We received glasses, too, and out of the
corner of my eye I saw the Rector, his wife and Caroline, with the
Marriotts and Father Artur come in, followed by a cameraman and a young
lady with a microphone.  More greetings and as the cameraman raised his
camera three others came in.  A very smartly-dressed middle-aged, rather
over-weight man, a woman and, again, someone we knew, this time in uniform,
Captain-Lieutenant Andrei zu Glottenberh.  This group was introduced to us
by Herr Kusterin as the Minister of the Interior with wife and
aide-de-camp.  All the time in the background was the young lady's
commentary in Rothenian as she, I assumed, was describing the scene.

     After all this kerfuffle Tris nodded down at the bag I was holding.
Yes, the reason for the evening out.  I walked over and put the bag on the
nearest table and drew out the two scores in their carefully wrapped paper
covers.  There was a respectful silence as I took the wrappers off.  I gave
'La Boheme' to Tris and picked up 'Othello'.  Then, followed closely by
Tris and the cameraman I went over to the Intendant.  The young lady held
the microphone low down.

     "Sir, my family would like to present these scores in memory of my
Grandfather, Signor Matteoli, who conducted here many years ago.  I am very
honoured to be able to be here and to offer them to you."

     It was quite theatrical.  The Intendant took the first score, held it
up and kissed it, then handed it to a rather bemused looking Minister.  He
did the same to the second which Tris gave him.  The Minister passed the
first to Andrei who then got the second as well and stood hands laden.  Dr
Schreiber saw his predicament and took the bag across and between them they
re- wrapped them and placed them in the bag which the Doctor handed to the
Intendant.  There was a slight ripple of laughter and then applause from
the group.  Ivo was just behind us.

     "Where did you get that bag?" he asked sotto voce as he and Father
Artur beside him clapped as the others did.  The pair were grinning madly
and I saw Yniold across the room blushing and trying hard not to bust a
gut.  "You're only advertising the biggest gay sex-shop in the city!"  I
looked and all I could see was a single address '69 Herrengasse', nothing
else.  Oh, Gawd!  'Number Sixty-Nine Man Street'.  What else.  "Having seen
your face on the six o'clock news with a Mappleforth dick behind your left
ear and this will be on the ten o'clock I can tell you your reputation will
be sky-high." Ivo was poked in the arm by Father Artur.

     "Behave yourself, the Minister is saying something."  But he was
trying hard not to burst into laughter.

     While all this was happening the Minister had started speaking in
Rothenian direct to camera.  The rest of us then stood attentively while he
spoke at length and kept smiling and pointing his finger as he made
emphatic statements.  The usual politician's flannel, I thought.  Finally,
he turned to me and thanked me in English, ending with a wink.  I hoped
that didn't get on camera!  My turn again.  The young lady, in perfect
English, asked me about Grandfather.  I said he was originally from Italy,
but his daughter, Angelica, was my mother and all my own family were
musicians.  "You play the organ?" she asked.  I just wondered if there
would be a double entendre after the bag.  Luckily, no.  "And you will
playing in the Cathedral on Wednesday?"she continued.  I quickly said I was
and I was playing with the assistant, I didn't know his full name, as Dr
Valentin was injured.  I added I was really here on invitation by the
Rodolfer as I was also studying Mathematics.  I gestured towards the
Rector, the camera swept across and the Rector acknowledged this with a
bow.  The young lady said a few words straight to camera and it was over.
"Thank you," she said and gave me a kiss, and then turned and kissed Tris.
She, the cameraman and the conductor made their exits, the conductor
looking in a very happy mood.

     The Intendant directed us to seats in the front row where I was
between the Minister and his wife.  Before we settled in our seats I
noticed Yniold give Tris an envelope before he, too, gave a little bow and
disappeared.  I had never seen the 'The Elixir of Love' before but had read
a description so I knew it was a love story with quite a helping of comedy.
Very kindly, someone had provided synopses in English for us and I was soon
lost in the tuneful spectacle.  At the interval we had an extensive buffet
of smoked fish, vol au vents filled with different mixtures, unusual
'bonnes-bouches' and more of the characteristic fruit wine.  Bliss.  All
this and music, too.

     All too soon the evening ended and goodbyes were said.  I said to Ivo
to give my love to 'Tory and it was a pity she couldn't attend.  He smiled
and said he had been under orders to attend, not only because the Minister
was going to be there.  Anyway, see you tomorrow.

     So, it was in a quite elated mood we left after a handshake from the
Intendant on the steps.  David was waiting and smiled as we got in the cab.
"You must be very important." He nodded his head at two black vans marked
'Polizei' parked across the road.  "Not really, the Minister was here and
he's not too popular at the moment."

     Luckily it had stopped raining but the streets were still wet and were
relatively empty of traffic and people.  The journey back was quite rapid
and there was a hoot of laughter as we passed the 'dog's hospital'.  At the
hotel David came into the lobby with us and scanned the room.  Tomas was on
duty.  He waved the copy of 'Sherlock Holmes' and returned to reading.
Tris took the envelope Yniold had given him from his inside pocket and
extracted a folded piece of paper.  "The man," was all he said as David
unfolded it and looked at the photo printed there.  His eyes opened wide.
He said something like 'Oh Scheisse!!'.  He folded the paper and thrust it
in his pocket.  "I must go!  Good night!" and rushed off.


To be continued: