Date: Wed, 14 Dec 2011 21:49:47 -0500
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Rue Dauphine 4

Rue Dauphine 4
Lance Kyle

No dreams or voices or visions haunted Scott Barnes's dreams.  In fact, he
woke in a state of perfect bliss.  Was it...whatever it was...the house?
Some kind of entity?  Making amends?  Or was it the perfectly beautiful
chocolate brown black boy he held in his arms.  During the night they had
turned and tossed so that Scott lay on his back with James nearly on top of
him, the boy's chest and belly on Scott's left side, the boy's morning
erection pressing against his hip while his own bobbed and strained.  Scott
put both arms around the boy and embraced him.  James moaned and stirred,
lifted his head, look around, then put his head back down and closed his
eyes, smiling contentedly.

Scott's hand rubbed the back and bottom of the boy.  The promise of well
developed muscles chased each other down his body, rolling hills of long,
sensuous muscles from his shoulders down his arm, but still boyish.  The
butt was slab sided but rolled out high and round behind.  When the boy
stood, you could almost imagine balancing a pencil on the top of his butt
and its staying there.  Scott buried his face in the slave boy's crisp hair
and gently stroked him, while James smiled dreamily and softly pressed his
penis against his white master's hip.

Things might have developed further but Scott heard a sound downstairs and
far away.  He sat up in bed.  No, it was not from the right wing of the
house, where he had seen ghostly footprints yesterday.  It was from...Of
course!  Mrs. L'Enfant and her crew were to return today.  Scott had
neglected to give her instructions to make the left wing livable.
Explaining matters to James, Scott leapt from the bed and threw on his
dusty clothes from yesterday, then ran downstairs.  Mrs. L'Enfant eyed her
employer's appearance askance, but said nothing; he was paying her well.
Scott explained his intention to have the left wing cleaned and made
presentable.  He offered to pay Mrs. L'Enfant extra if she needed to hire
more help, which she agreed she would.  The two huddled for a while over
plans.  Scott asked her to clean from the ground floor up, finishing with
the servants' quarters.  The small, shallow cellar she was to leave
untouched.  Agreeing on a plan, Scott secured a simple breakfast from the
kitchen and took it upstairs where he and James ate it on the bed.

Master and boy went to the shower bath on that floor and cleaned up,
companionably soaping and scrubbing each other's bodies.  They dried off
and James helped his master to dress.  Scott had just finished his toilet
when the sound of footsteps on the stairs announced a visitor.  They had
left the door open.  Mrs. L'Enfant entered, with an assistant.

"We are here to change your linen and collect towels and so forth,
Mr. Barnes," she said.  She glanced once at the naked black slave boy but
kept a perfectly composed exposure.  In the French Quarter, she may have
seen worse than that, and it would not add to her employment prospects in
the long term to comment.  Scott realized this in a flash and with as much
dignity as he could muster he bade her go about her work, and then asked
James to follow him downstairs.  The naked boy did so, his plum black penis
bobbing with every step.

They had just reached the ground floor when the bell to the street door
rang.  Scott directed James to run into the library, and then he answered
the door.  He was greeted by a spectacle he did not recall seeing the likes
of before.

On the top step stood an elderly white man with thin, pointed features.  He
wore a wig in the fashion of perhaps fifty years before.  He had on a
likewise aged jacket of a vaguely nautical appearance.  Were it not for his
age and effeminate appearance, one might think him a pirate.  Lace
protruded from the cuffs of his coat, jewelry of every sort adorned his
neck, his wrist, his fingers.  Gold chain hung from one pocket of his
waistcoat to another.  He clutched a lace handkerchief to his nose with one
hand, while another clutched a cane with a jeweled head as big as a bird's
egg.  Rheumy blue eyes looked out of wrinkled and sagging sockets in a
heavily powdered face.  Scott remembered that he was in the French Quarter,
and maintained a composed smile, although he did allow an arched eyebrow of
inquiry.

This vision removed the lace handerkchief from his face, revealing what
must have been rouged cheeks and a trace of lipstick, and with this hand he
removed an old fashioned hat from his head which he swirled with a grand
flourish and attempted a bow.  The scent of a floral perfume rose off of
the waving hand.  The effort cost him a coughing fit which he expended into
his hat.  Recovered, he turned again to the astonished Scott Barnes and
smiled broadly.

"Bonjour, Monsieur, je m'appelle...ah, pardon! My name is Pierre LeRoc.  I
live just across the way," he said, gesturing with his cane vaguely toward
the house directly across from Scott's home.  "I am only just returned from
a journey and am informed that you have occupied your late uncle's house!
Welcome!"

Scott courteously introduced himself and assured Mr. LeRoc that he had
indeed only recently arrived.

"Your uncle and I...we were close.  We were VERY close," said LeRoc, who
then positively leered at Scott.  Scott felt a moment of revulsion, and
then reminded himself to live and let live.  Besides, what did it mean? And
if it meant what he thought, he had only this old eccentric's word on it.
"Ah, many a happy moment spent!" said LeRoc, who then took a step in the
direction of the interior.  Thinking it rude to deny him entrance, and
having no ready excuse, Scott welcomed him, if unenthusiastically.  Once
inside, LeRoc turned around, taking in the interior.  "Yes, many happy
moments!" he said.  Then glancing left and right, he lowered his voice
somewhat and asked Scott, "I hope you are well settled in; are you well
settled in?  To the WHOLE house, settled in, perhaps?"

Scott explained the current state of affairs and his plan for restoring the
second, left wing.  He said nothing of the right one.  And yet he caught
LeRoc's glance straying in that direction more than once.  He sensed that
the peculiar man wanted to say more, but that LeRoc would bide his time and
keep mum at the moment.  A pause ensued, which Scott found somewhat
uncomfortable.  He scrambled to find a topic of conversation.

"I think I may have seen you at your window, sir," he said, "perhaps with
some interest at my arrival; yes?" said Scott.

LeRoc looked blank.  "No, no monsieur, I am only newly returned to the
city, I was...ah!" he look back sharply through the open door at his house
across the street.  Scott thought he saw a hard look pass swiftly across
his features.  "No, not me my friend.  Perhaps...perhaps my staff, one of
my servants," he explained.  Another awkward pause ensued, then some
pleasantries about the weather.  Another moment of silence.

"Well, monsieur, you must excuse me, I only came to welcome you.  Is
there...is there anything you are in need of?  Any...any questions about
the house, monsieur?" asked LeRoc.  "I spent many a pleasant hour here in
the company of your uncle.  I may be able to help with, ah, questions.
Anything amiss?  Missing anything you hoped to find?  Found anything
peculiar?"  This last question Scott thought LeRoc asked with a big more
emphasis than the others, and he was inclined to politely tell LeRoc it was
none of his business, but decided to be civil, and replied instead that he
had been there so little time, he really knew not what to ask.

LeRoc nodded.  "Well, well, if you do desire any information, sir, I am
your servant," he said, bowing low and flourishing his hat in the air once
more.  "I must entertain you and your...family?" He asked.  Upon being
assured that Scott had no family there, LeRoc nodded as if he had been
reassured of something he suspected.  He smiled, a sort of grimace really,
at Scott and then backed away through the door, saluting and flourishing
with the hat as he went.  He traipsed across the street, opened his own
door, saluted again, and disappeared inside.  Scott stared at the closed
door, utterly dumbfounded, and then saw that curtain on the second floor
whisk closed again.  LeRoc must have been telling the truth.  Whomever it
was who had taken an interest, it was not the strange old man, for he could
not have climbed to the window in that little time.  Someone else in his
house was interested in Scott Barnes's affairs, and Scott was pretty sure
it wasn't a wife.

Scott was closing the door as Mrs. L'Enfant and her assistant came down the
stairs bearing laundry and the remains of Scott's and James's breakfast.
She shook her head.  "Master Scott, you should get a servant to cook for
you and help keep house.  You can't keep eating like this," she said
squinting at the plates, and then they bustled off.  Scott nodded a vague
agreement; he thought he was eating pretty well, and had not thought about
what further staff he would add, but...James came out of the library just
then, having heard that the coast was clear.  His plum black penis seemed a
shade more tumescent than at rest, and bobbed a little as he walked.  Scott
motioned the boy to him and put an arm around his boyish shoulders,
squeezing the slave boy to him, then looked down at him thoughtfully.

"James...should we get a servant...a girl...to help around the house?
To..." He wondered how to phrase it. "To...be with us...in the
house...perhaps in bed?"  James looked up brightly and nodded, a smile on
his face.  Did his penis bounce by itself just then?  Scott gave it some
thought.  He was not averse to females, and he realized that James may have
needs in that direction as well.  Yes...yes, he would return to the slave
market soon, to Bucknell's, and buy a young female.  His musings in that
way were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell once again.  Motioning
James back into the library, he answered the door.  It was a representative
of Grant and company, the clothiers.  He had come, he said, with the first
suit of everyday livery and the first suit of special occasion livery to
make sure they fit.

Scott invited the fellow in, and noticed James, having overheard, was
sticking his head around the library door, a huge smile on his face.  Scott
motioned him forward, and he joined them, still naked as the day he was
born.  If the Grant and company employee thought the slave boy's nakedness
unusual, he gave no sign.  Scott supposed he was used to such things.
James tried both suits on and they fit well.  The deliveryman made a couple
of notations, but Scott decided to accept these two as they were and wait
for alterations to the rest of the order.  The one pair of shoes would take
longer.

The moment the deliveryman was out of the door James, fairly skipping,
asked if he could wear the clothes.  Scott was a little sad at the prospect
that he would not see this beautiful chocolate dark body unclothed always,
but of course there were always the times in his bedroom to anticipate.  He
agreed, and James chose the special occasion livery to wear.  He looked
splendid, with gold braid and epaulettes and brass chains and other
accoutrements of splendor.  For a moment James looked longingly at the door
and then, summoning his courage, asked Scott if he might walk around in the
streets outside for a bit, showing off his finery.

Scott smiled.  He had no fear whatsoever that the boy would escape, and
perhaps he was naïve enough to think he would come to no harm.  Consulting
his pocket watch he agreed but asked the boy to be back in the kitchen
building in an hour, for lunch.  Nearly skipping, the resplendent James
went out the door.

Scott spent the rest of the morning working on accounts and paperwork.  He
explored the library casually, taking note of some volumes, trying to gauge
his uncle's mind by his tastes in books.  An hour passed in this way and
then he made his way to the kitchen.  Mrs. L'Enfant and crew were still at
work in the left wing, so he set out enough food for James and himself.
Soon, he heard a rap on the back door of the kitchen, which gave way onto
the alley, and opening it let in James.

The boy paused, a look of puzzlement on his face, once inside.  "Masta," he
began, "I is to give you a message."

"A message, James?" Scott asked in wonder.  "From whom?"

James frowned.  "I don' rightly know, Masta.  It...it was a black man.  A
grownup man, he great big.  He had a hat down over his face, I didn' see
his face proper.  He was at the end of the alley, seemed kinda like he
was...waitin' for me.  Wanna hear the message, Masta?"

Scott said he did.  James drew himself up.  "The message is: Beware Mister
LeRoc.  Don' let him have nothin' in yo house.  If he in yo house, watch
him...Tha's the message, Masta.  Wan' me ta repeat it?"

Puzzled, Scott asked the boy to do so.  Then Scott went quickly to the
alley door and opened it.  The alley was empty.  He ran to the street on
one end; nobody fitting the description was there.  He ran to the street on
the other end; no better luck.  He walked back thoughtfully.  This
mysterious black messenger must have known that James belonged to the
house.  He must have thought his chances of getting the message to the
master were better if he went through a servant of the house; a direct
approach from a black stranger might have been repulsed.  Scott felt in his
gut that the message was worth heeding; Mr. LeRoc had inspired in him
feelings of caution.  So he would take the advice to heart.  But he very
much wanted to know the source of the advice.

Master and slave boy sat companionably at the table sharing their lunch.
James had only circled a few blocks but had felt it a grand adventure, and
gave detailed examples of every stranger, black, white, or café au lait,
who had seemed to admire his fine livery, of the grand homes and
interesting shops he had seen. Scott smiled at the boy's excitement,
sharing in it.  And then he thought it might not be a bad idea to encourage
the boy to take short walks in the neighborhood; the identity of the
mysterious black messenger might then be discovered.  About then
Mrs. L'Enfant and her now expanded crew came into the kitchen for lunch.
She had secured extra help quickly, and the cleaning of the left wing had
begun already.  Scott excused himself and motioned to James to follow.

In the bedroom, wordlessly and by common consent, man and boy prepared for
their siesta.  James carefully removed and folded his livery, hanging it in
the room's wardrobe so that every seam and crease were straight.  His
undergarments had yet to be delivered, so disrobing did not take much time.
Scott sat on the bed and removed his shoes, then shirt, then stood long
enough to slide off trousers and undergarments.  James returned to his
master's side in time to take the clothing and hang them carefully as well.
Scott remained sitting on the side of the bed, naked, smiling at the black
slave boy who walked up to him and stood very close, between the white
man's open legs.

"What you wan' me ta do, Masta?" he asked, his purple black penis already
well risen.  In answer, Scott pulled him forward toward himself, even as he
scooted to the very edge of the bed, so that their groins met, dusky rose
and plum black penises now crossed, now rising straight up between them.
The small dense tuft of kinky black pubic hair merged with the luxuriant
dirty blonde nest of pubic hair.  The white man pulled the black boy to him
and they remained like that, embracing tightly, heads side by side.  Scott
raised a hand and pressed the other side of the black slave boy's head to
bring him even tighter against his cheek, his other arm pulling the slender
chocolate body in toward himself as tightly as he could.  He could feel the
boy's heart racing, feel the ever more labored breathing, which his own was
coming to match.  It was a moment of such perfect intimacy, such delight in
the feel of bodies of different forms and colors, that it seemed as if
neither wanted to break it off.  Then Scott shifted and gently covered the
boy's mouth with his, and for long moments they slowly and gently explored
each other that way, tongue touching tongue and gums and teeth.  James
whimpered a little in sheer pleasure.

Still sitting at the edge of the bed, Scott leaned over and got the pot of
goose grease again.  He handed it to James with a smile.  The black boy
knew exactly what to do.  Gently grasping the dusky rose shaft that bobbed
between them, alongside his own deep black cock, he oiled the bulbous tip
of his master's penis well, then reached behind and inserted grease in and
around his anus.  With a smile and a hint of ceremony, he handed the pot
back to his white master.

Scott, still sitting, drew the boy up onto the bed with the boy's knees on
either side of his thighs, and positioned the dark brown wrinkled anus
above his rampant cock.  A little rubbing, a little probing, as the boy
crouched just above the white man's penis.  And then oh so gently pressing
on the boy's shoulder with one hand and guiding his cock with another hand,
the white man pushed his black slave boy down onto his rod.  James gasped,
but it seemed easier this time.  He had done it before...perhaps he had
been stretched...but when you know the pleasure will outweigh any
discomfort, it's easier to do.  The boy went down, his breath seething,
until the blushing rose cock was fully inserted.  Scott pulled the boy into
him again, his arms and hands now around the boy's back, supporting his
buttocks.  The white man began moving the buttocks up and down, and as soon
as James understood what was desired, he began to move as well.  Then Scott
simply wrapped his arms around the boy's back, hugged him tight, and
covered the boy's mouth with his.  Up and down, up and down, mouths, lips,
and tongues exploring, sharing breath, Scott held off as long as he could
and then, breaking off the kiss and pulling the boy in so tightly he really
couldn't breathe, Scott roared, shooting a load of his semen into the
bowels of his black slave boy, pumping and shuddering as the boy, held in a
vice by his master, did what he could to help by pumping his hips as much
as possible.

Scott finished, shuddering, and relaxed his grip on the boy a bit, who now
took a deep breath.  But his penis remained inside the boy.  The white man
then held the black boy's face in his two hands and looked deeply into his
eyes.  For James, taught by a short lifetime of subservience, the first
urge was to look away, but he understood that somehow the racial calculus
of his early boyhood was being overturned here, and he looked directly and
deeply back at his white master.  Scott then looked down, calculatingly,
and then pushing the boy back a little but bracing him with his hands
behind the boy's back, he found he could bend down and take the boy's still
rampant penis in his mouth.  He did so, and began sucking, bobbing his head
up and down, manipulating the boy's purple black cock with his tongue, his
lips.  Sucking and bobbing, sucking and bobbing, and it did not take the
thirteen year old boy long to shoot his own seed into his white master's
mouth, instinctively grasping his master's head tightly in his hands and
bucking forward, pressing his whole sexual being out through his penis.
Now it was the boy's turned to shudder and gasp as his master sucked his
penis dry and then cleaned it off, then raised his head and pulled the boy
in again.

They sat there long minutes, rubbing, chuckling, the boy even giggling.
And then Scott fell back and, crabbing around into position, scooped the
boy into his arms on the bed.  No cover was needed in the Louisiana late
spring as they fell asleep in a close embrace.

Scott Barnes rose from a brief but deep sleep.  He gently extricated
himself from the sleeping black slave boy beside him and slipped away to
the shower bath.  Returning, he dressed, keeping quiet so as to let James
sleep.  Then he went out onto the landing of the central wing.  Unlike the
other wings, there were no rooms on the street side of this landing.
Instead, there were two doors giving onto the porch above the street,
fenced by its iron railing.  He tried one door and found it locked.  He
went quickly to the library where he retrieved the ring of keys, with
string, paper, pencil, and oil can, and returned to discover which keys
opened which doors.  He labeled them, and then pushed one door open.

The porch was wide enough to sit comfortably.  Mrs. L'Enfant had cleaned
it, so it was free of bird droppings and leaves, but pots of dried earth
sat devoid of flowers or vegetation.  He began to think about renovating
this porch and the seedy central courtyard as well.  Scott sat down in one
of the many comfortable iron chairs, this one a rocker, and looking through
the railing to the street below, watched New Orleans go by.

He sat there for half an hour of enjoyment and contemplation and then saw a
carriage pull up before the house across from him, Mr. LeRoc's.  The
carriage paused a few minutes and then LeRoc, resplendent as ever, this
time dressed as one might expect a major general to do, opened the door
with a sense of drama and descended down the short stairs.  LeRoc was about
to enter his carriage when he spied Scott Barnes above.

"Ah!  Bonjour, mon ami!  Il fait chaud, n'est-ce pas!  Eh bien, c'est
l'apres midi et c'est Nouvelle Orleans.  Ah, pardon, it is my native
language.  Well, my friend, please join me après le diner this evening,
shall we say eight o'clock, for a cognac and cigar?  Do say you will!"

Scott could think of no reason to refuse, and since the mysterious message
that advised him to avoid LeRoc, he was perversely attracted to the
prospect of finding out more about the queer old party.  He rose and, in
something of a parody of the old man, bowed, gestured in a grand flourish,
and promised that he would.  LeRoc seemed to sense neither parody nor
offense, but responded, with genuine delight, that he would expect him.
Then he entered the carriage and rode off.  And yes; there was a curtain
pulled back slightly at an upstairs window, but this time the curtain did
not drop.  Scott returned a salute in the direction of this secret
observer.  The curtain still did not drop, but from the dark within he
thought he caught some kind of movement in response.

Scott heard the sound of footsteps just within the door, and then James
opened it and stepped out.  Scott greeted him fondly, slapped his rump now
clothed in his finest livery, and bade him sit.  He noticed that the
curtain across the street remained with its corner up; and did he perhaps
see the suggestion of a face in the shadows within, watching himself and
James intently?

Scott thought for a moment about the desolate planters on the porch.  Then
about the courtyard.  He turned to James.  "I think perhaps we will work on
the courtyard this afternoon, clear what we can and see what needs doing."
His slave boy nodded agreement.  Then James paused for a moment.

"Masta, may I work without my clothes?  Don' wanna get them dirty."  Scott,
delighted, agreed.  What a pleasure it would be to work while seeing the
beautiful naked body of his slave boy.  They left the porch, locking the
door behind them, and Scott went on to the courtyard while James removed
his fine livery and carefully hung it up.

In the courtyard, Scott saw a small shed against one of the walls
connecting the kitchen building to the left wing.  Opening it, he found
some garden tools.  Time to get to work.

The courtyard was rank, overgrown with weeds.  A couple of iron benches sat
ten feet apart in the middle, but one could not tell what lay beneath the
overgrowth of weeds.  Scott put on some garden gloves and began pulling up
weeds, grubbing them out with a hoe when necessary, and when the naked
James appeared, he bade the black slave boy do the same.  Soon, six feet
from the kitchen building, a pile of uprooted green garbage began to grow.
Slowly the rank growth of the courtyard reduced.

Once everything in the center had been taken down to an inch or so,
everything, even bushes, hacked down to near the roots, master and slave
boy paused for a rest.  Luckily, it was not a large area.  They sat
companionably on one of the iron benches, drinking small beer from the
kitchen, surveying their work.  Suddenly Scott looked with interest at the
very center of the courtyard.  He leaned forward, then rose and walked
around the center.  Then, taking James's hand in his, he ran up the stairs
of the central wing into the bedroom, threw open the window, and looked out
on the courtyard.

It was as he thought, but more visible from above.  In the center of the
court, laid out in stone, was the outline of a heart in grey, flat paving
stones.  And in the very middle of the heart, in just a few red, ordinary
stones, was a small flame.  A flame in a heart.  What did it mean?  Scott
shrugged.  It could have meant anything.  It seemed to have no special
meaning, negative or positive.  It was what it was.  He pointed it out to
James, who had no more ideas as to its meaning than did he.  The two
returned to the courtyard and began clearing it out to the walls of the
wings.  Here and there a choked rosebush was revealed.  Sometimes an azalea
in its last throws.  Scott left promising plants untouched, hoping to free
them from the tangle of weeds.  By the end of the afternoon, a sizeable
pile of green scraps and cuttings rose, while the courtyard was mainly
cleared.

Scott returned to his room to shower and change.  James asked to remain in
the courtyard, and from his window he could smile down at the naked black
boy sitting on a bench, swinging his legs.  The twilight was deepening when
he descended, dressed appropriately for his social invitation.
Mrs. L'Enfant and her crew had left not long before, promising to return by
tomorrow.  Shuttered windows on the first two floors of the left wing stood
open, airing it out.

Scott and James went into the kitchen building and took a friendly meal
together.  It was good enough, but Scott began to think that he would not
mind a home cooked meal, and the prospect of obtaining a female slave to
cook and keep house—among other things—became more attractive to him.
Man and slave boy finished their meal, and in a few moments it was eight
o'clock.  Leaving James the run of the house with a lighted lantern, Scott
made his way across the street and knocked on Mr. LeRoc's door.

Scott took half a step back at the vision that answered the door.  It was a
God out of ancient Egypt.  A dark black man, over six feet tall, answered
the door.  He wore a simple gold headdress and thin gold breastplate in an
Egyptian style.  The breastplate did little to cover his massive chest with
great slabs of muscle, the round copper nipples, the finely chiseled
abdominal muscles.  Around his thickly muscled waist he wore a short gold
Egyptian skirt that did not completely hide his nakedness; just below its
fringe Scott could see the tip of a thick coal black penis pendulant
several inches below his groin.  The man's face was African but not coarse,
his color a deep tobacco brown a shade or two lighter than James's.  The
man's impassive face revealed little.  "Welcome, master," he said in a deep
voice, and stepped aside, bowing, motioning Scott inside.

Scott stepped inside and surrendered his jacket to the Egyptian vision.  He
was turning toward the muscle-slabbed man to ask some of the dozen
questions that had come to his mind when his host emerged from the gloom, a
silver candelabra in his hand.

"Bonne soir, mon ami, bienvenue!" cried LeRoc.  He seized Scott's arm,
hooked his own bony limb through it and led them from the entry hall into
an adjoining room.  Half stumbling, Scott saw huge shapes rise up in the
light of the candles: Egyptian cat goddesses, Greek nymphs twice life size,
a Roman warrior, a suit of medieval armor.  The ceiling rose into dim
obscurity in the candlelight. A strong scent of incense filled the air.
LeRoc brought his guest to a pair of overstuffed chairs by a sizeable round
table.  Setting the candelabra on a nearby coffee table he lit two candles
on the table between them.  Sitting, Scott could barely make out the
furniture of the room.  It was massive and dense; it must have been
impossible to walk ten paces without having to detour around a settee, a
table, a stuffed bear, a life sized statue.  The candelabra and two candles
illuminated the near vicinity, but could not brighten the far recesses of
the room.  Clearly, LeRoc had a very large house for the city, and had a
larger budget than sense of restraint in decorating it.

LeRoc sat, joining his guest, positively giggling and chattering about
gossip from the neighborhood and city, although little of it Scott
understood.  Soon there loomed out of the twilight the massive black
servant, bearing a tray on which were glasses and a small decanter of
cognac, a box of cigars, a massive ashtray, silver scissors, and a set of
cedar twists for lighting cigars from the candle flames.  This was set on
the table between them.  LeRoc bade Scott to help himself, and he did.

The cognac, the cigars, the air of mystery surrounding the darkened room
and the improbably dressed servant actually relaxed Scott, despite the
sense of caution he had brought to the soiree.  He soon told LeRoc much of
his history.  LeRoc kept his own background under wraps, but moved his
share of the conversation forward by talking about Scott's uncle and his
house.

"Yes, mon ami, your uncle and I were special friends.  We dined together,
we attended theater together, we shared many a drink and smoke in this way.
We belonged to, ah, the same social...circles" and here he cast a
surreptitious glance at Scott.  LeRoc downed his glass of cognac and poured
some more.  "You may be interested, mon ami," he said, leaning toward Scott
and now speaking sotto voce, " to learn that my servant...King, the fellow
who greeted you at the door...was your uncle's servant before he became
mine."  Now Scott did stiffen to attention, sitting up a shade more erect,
fighting off the cognac and smoke to attend to his host.  "Poor fellow, he
was about to be put on the auction block at your uncle's death, but I
intervened," said LeRoc, looking like a saint on a pedestal.  Then he broke
the pose with a leer at Scott.  "Servants...we enjoy a special relationship
with them, do we not?  Do YOU not, perhaps?"

By way of response Scott managed a careful smile.  Was LeRoc implying that
his withered flesh had enjoyed the muscled charms of the black god that let
him into the house?  Or wait...was LeRoc implying that his uncle had as
well, in days gone by?  Scott's eyes searched the gloom but could not find
the massive Nubian slave.  He would not speculate beyond the facts, he
decided, and taking a more active part in the conversation he turned it
toward politics, literature, whatever might distract LeRoc.  And his host
proved to be up to each turn of conversation.

It was hours later that Scott, hearing a distant clock strike eleven,
thanked his host and rose unsteadily to return to his home.  It had not
been a bad experience; a little distasteful in some ways, but not bad
overall.  LeRoc again took his arm and led him toward the front door, where
King, the massive black slave dressed as an Egyptian god, emerged from the
gloom to help Scott on with his coat.  The door was opened and Scott
staggered into the street, grateful that he had but the width of the Rue
Dauphine to cross.  His host waved and saluted from the door, and then
closed it as Scott approached his own.

Reaching into his coat pocket for his key, Scott also felt a piece of
paper.  He did not recall having put it there and he could not make out
what might be on it in the gloom, but he moved it to his left hand while he
unlocked his door with his right and entered, locking the door behind him.
He struck a match with some difficulty and took a candlestick from a
collection on the entryway table.  Then recalling the paper he held in his
hand, he brought it near the light to see.

It had no writing on it, but Scott gasped when he saw it.  For on it in
crayon was drawn the shape of a heart, with a small red flame within.  Just
as he had in his own courtyard.  But also drawn across the heart and flame
was a padlock, the hasp going around the heart and flame.  Scott thought
hard about what it might mean.  He thought just as hard as to who had put
it there.  Had LeRoc slipped it there?  Perhaps King, the massive slave?
If it were King, might he also be James's mysterious messenger?

Lost in thought, Scott staggered up the stairway, leaning heavily and
drunkenly on the railing, and entered his bedroom.  There was...there was
something wrong with the room.  It was as if a thin, thin haze stood in the
air.  He could see the room's furniture, but it was as if he needed to rub
his eyes.  He looked toward the bed and saw a form beneath the sheets, a
dark form by what he could tell, and smiled to think of his slave boy
waiting for him there.  But then he paused.  This shape was larger than
James.  He crept slowly toward the bed.  It seemed to be a black person,
but yes, considerably larger.  Was the haze in the air growing thicker?
Closer, then closer, and then he whisked the sheet back.  There was a
sudden flash and in an instant the air returned to a healthy, clear dark.
No haze remained.  Looking at the bed he saw that not only was there no
shape there, the bed remained still made from Mrs. L'Enfant's work in the
morning.  Nothing was there.  Yet suddenly the air was full of the smell of
roses.  Not an evil smell by any means, but roses.

He heard a sound as of running water.  Then he realized that James was in
the shower bath.  He had not even been in the room.  Scott lit every candle
he could find in the room and sat down to await James.  The smell of roses
lingered, even as it faded.  Scott was astonished...astonished to realize
he felt no fear.  In a moment a naked James padded into the room and came
up to his master, kissing him tenderly on the check and putting his arms
around him, the smell of fresh scrubbed boy mixing with the now dwindling
smell of roses.  Scott hugged his slave boy back, still a little
distracted.  He repaired to the shower bath to freshen up from the
evening's entertainment.  Coming back he found James in bed; really James,
no phantom this time.  Scott slid in beside his slave boy, feeling nothing
but comfort and gratitude, and slipped off to sleep cuddling the boy, even
though one part of his mind wondered at all he had seen and heard that
evening.

Comments welcome
lokiaga@austin.rr.com