Date: Thu, 6 Apr 2006 06:01:30 -0400 (EDT)
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Knights of Aurora - Chapter 19

"The Knights of Aurora" is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead),
events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2005 by John Ellison

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or
by any means without the prior written consent of author, excepting brief
quotes used in reviews.

WARNING: This story contains graphic depictions of sex between consenting
adult males and/or teenage males. Please do not continue reading if you are
offended by this genre of erotic literature, if you are underage or if this
type of story is illegal where you live.

WARNING: This story contains scenes of violence, graphic and abusive
language and graphic descriptions of male nudity. Discretion is advised.

I enjoy hearing from readers and try to answer all e-mails. If you have a
comment or a question please contact me at paradegi@rogers.com

This is the last chapter of "The Knights of Aurora". An Epilogue will
follow shortly. The story will continue, however, in my next novel, "Aurora
Crusade". I hope to start working on this soon. That is not to say that I
will be watching the grass grow, or the snow fall. I have decided to
revisit my first attempt at writing, "A Sailor's Tale". I have three
chapters in hand and will publish them shortly.

As mention in my last posting, a group has been established on Nifty for
fans of the "Aurora" series. The group is still in the preliminary stage so
anyone who wishes to join, please be patient. Good things are
coming. Interested readers can access the group by accessing the following:

Group Name:		Aurora_Roundtable
Group Home Page:	http://ca.groups.yahoo.com/group/Aurora_Roundtable
Group email:	Aurora_Roundtable@yahoogroups.ca

Please Note that in order to access the group you must join the
group. There are no restrictions. Remember to always put the little "_"
between Aurora and Roundtable.

The Knights of Aurora

Chapter 19


	"Oh God, I can barely walk!" groaned Doctor Bradley-Smith as he
cleaned his body. He had finally sent the young Hispanic away and was now
showering in the small bathroom attached to the surgery.
	"Dear God, the boy's stamina matched the size of his cock! What a
Bull, yes a Bull with a capital 'B' Jesus was. And so accommodating!"
	Smiling, Daniel turned off the water and began to towel dry. Jesus
was such a lovely boy! Daniel made a mental note to have the Hispanic
return for a follow-up examination when he returned from Quebec
City. Jesus' thick pole was too much of a treasure to pass up!
	"Now, if only he'd become interested in a little S&M, and water
sports," thought Daniel as he reached for his silk boxers, "the kid would
be perfect!"
	Ignoring the wreckage of the surgery - Jesus was such an
enthusiastic fuck that they'd knocked one leg of the table out of its
socket - Daniel finished dressing, and hurried to his car, leaving behind
Jesus' chart. He was late, he knew, and had missed not only the Investiture
but also the reception following. Michael Chan might overlook his absence -
there had been a lot of men to examine after all and Daniel could use the
excuse that such things took time - but Michael would be unforgiving if
Daniel did not show up for dinner.
	Humming contentedly, Daniel drove back to the main house slowly,
eying what seemed to be an increase in patrols. Yes, definitely an
increase. He saw one of the men he had examined earlier - Bookman, he of
the loosely circumcised dick, for Daniel never forgot a dick - dressed in
black and carrying a Sig Sauer, with a man Daniel did not recognize,
strolling along the side of the road. That made sense to Daniel, putting a
newbie with a seasoned hand.
	Leaving the car in the care of the footman on door duty to take
care of, Daniel went immediately to his room. The house was quiet and he
assumed that everybody was in their rooms, dressing for dinner.
	In his room, Daniel saw that his bags were already packed and
smiled. One the perks of visiting a well-run house were that one really had
to do . . . nothing. One's bags were unpacked and the clothing placed in
the bureau drawers or hung on cloth-bound hangers. Dirty laundry would be
collected and washed, and ironed and folded. When one was due to leave
one's bags were packed and he did not have to look to know that the
clothing was layered in the suitcases between sheets of tissue paper.
	He looked in his closet to see that his mess kit was hanging,
waiting for him to wear it. He also saw that his travelling clothes - CF
summer dress trousers and short-sleeved, light green shirt - were chosen
for him. On the bed were laid out fresh boxers, T-shirt and socks, while on
the dressing table were his studs and cufflinks, ready to be slipped into
the stiffly starched dress shirt. He also saw a stiff piece of paper and
picked it up.
	Frowning, Daniel saw that it was the itinerary for their flight to
Quebec City. Damn, he wished he could get out of that little expedition,
but knowing that he couldn't, he read that the Travelling Yeoman's Staff,
whoever they were, would pick up his bags sometime before 2230.
	Daniel also saw on the dressing table the sheet of notepaper on
which he had written his resignation. He had not signed it and thought that
he would look it over to make certain that there were no errors, and sign
it later. He also thought that it might be best to check in with Diem.
	Diem answered on the first ring.
	"The medical examinations are over," Daniel said bluntly.
	"And?" Diem's tone was equally blunt.
	"The new men have been integrated into the Security Force. Patrols
have been increased since the arrival of the new men," said Daniel, making
a face. He knew that he should at least be polite to Diem, but there were
times when the man's arrogance was galling.
	There was a long pause and then Diem asked, "That would make what
. . . 100 men?"
	"More or less," replied Daniel disinterestedly. "Give or take the
men Michael sends on the plane with the kids, and I have no idea how many
that will be. We leave here around 2330 for the airport. It's a charter so
there will be no airport delays to speak of." He reached for the printed
itinerary. "We should take off at around . . ."
	Diem had no interest in the doctor's travel plans. "Is Chan going?"
he interrupted harshly.
	"No, not that I'm aware of. So far as I know it's the Naval
officers, the kids, and the minders."
	"If there is change we must know!" growled Diem, his tone
suggesting very bad things would happen to the doctor if he did not report
any change in Michael's plans.
	"I'll know more after dinner. I'll call . . ."
	"Call only if there is a change in plans," ordered Diem. "I must be
away for a while. If I am not here, leave a message with whoever answers."
	"All right. If there is a change I'll call. Failing a change, I'll
check in tomorrow morning from the hotel in Quebec City."
	"There is no need," responded Diem. "If Michael Chan is not with
you then we have no interest in what is happening in Quebec City."
	"As you wish," replied Daniel, childishly sticking his tongue out
at the telephone receiver. "If you don't hear from me, Michael is still
here, and I will call in any event when I return." He paused and said not
quite menacingly, "I wish to discuss the matter we spoke of earlier."
	"The matter has been brought to the General's attention. He will
decide when you return." With that, Diem terminated the conversation.
	Cursing at Diem's obnoxiousness, Daniel went into the bathroom to
shave.

******

	In the CCR, Frank Campbell flicked the switch then reached out to
rewind the tape recorder. When he was finished he picked up the telephone
and dialled Michael's extension.
	"In fifteen minutes," instructed Michael.

******

	Michael hung up the telephone and looked at Alistair. The boy's
eyes never faltered as he stared back at his cousin. Behind Alistair, Pete
Shepard sat quietly, waiting for Michael's decision.

******
	
	Alistair had not wavered in his determination to speak with
Michael. He knew that after tea there would be two hours in which to meet
with his cousin and Michael had barely walked out of the dining room where
tea had been served and Alistair approached. Followed by Pete Sheppard,
Alistair had asked for permission to speak with Michael . . . privately.
	Seeing Alistair looking pointedly at the Major, his meaning clear,
Michael had first thought to ask for time. There were many things on his
plate at the moment and he really had no time for what he assumed to be a
schoolboy triviality. Still, Michael thought, Alistair was family, and his
possible heir. If the matter were not too serious, they could solve
Alistair's problem quickly.
	Gesturing, Michael had walked into his office. Alistair and Pete
Sheppard followed. As he moved to sit behind his desk Michael wondered why
Pete was here, when whatever the matter Alistair wanted to discuss was
supposed to be "private".
	When Michael was settled, Alistair took a deep breath. "Serenity
. . ." he began.
	Michael, wishing to put his young cousin at ease, held up his hand.
"Please, in this room I am your cousin," he admonished lightly.
	Glancing first at Pete, Alistair nodded brusquely and raced
ahead. "Cousin Michael, I wish to know what you plan for me." Michael said
nothing, and his face remained blank. Alistair hurried on. "I am aware that
you feel I am a possible heir."
	"Possible," granted Michael heavily.
	"If I am to be your heir," said Alistair, his voice calm, his
manner unafraid, "then you should know something about me. Something you
will disapprove of."
	"And that is?" Michael's tone had not changed.
	"Cousin Michael, I am in love. I know the nature of your business -
that goes without saying. I also know the nature of your business partners
in Hong Kong and Taiwan." Once again Alistair glanced at Pete. Then he
looked at Michael again. "You have told me that in this room I am you
cousin and I ask that you listen to me, as a cousin, and not as your heir."
	Frowning slightly, Michael looked at Pete. "And what have you to do
with a family matter?" he demanded, his tone rising.
	Pete was not about to let Alistair handle this alone. "You might as
well know, Michael, that we are in love. We slept together last night."
	Michael forced himself to be calm. "You . . . what?"
	"We slept in the same bed," explained Alistair quickly. "We did not
do anything else!" His eyes flashed as if daring Michael to respond
adversely. "We did not have sex!"
	Sitting back, Michael asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"
	"Just this," began Alistair. "If I am to be your heir, I will do
it. I know that I will not be as great as you are, and that I have a great
deal to learn. At times you will be there to guide me, and I will do
everything I can to make you proud of selecting me."
	"But?" inquired Michael. He had an uneasy feeling about what was
coming next.
	"Michael, you have suppressed all feelings in your role as
Serenity. You did this because it was business. You could not have a normal
life because anyone outside of the business, outside of the family, could
be an enemy, or used by your enemies." He looked darkly at his cousin. "I
am not stupid. You are contracted to marry only because you are forced into
it. Up to a point I will do the same." He leaned forward in his chair. "But
I will not be your heir if Pete is not with me."
	Michael's temper flared slightly as he looked at Pete. "And you?
What do you have to say for yourself?" he demanded.
	"Michael, I am your loyal servant. Everything you ask of me, I will
do. Please, though, allow Alistair to have some happiness. We will be
discreet. We will cause no scandal."
	"And if I say no?" Michael's voice rose. "If I decide that you are
unworthy to be my servant, as you put it, or you . . .?" He pointed at
Alistair. "What if I decide not to make you my heir?"
	"I will return home," responded Alistair, a small note of fear
creeping into his voice. "I will continue in school and try to be a cousin
to you." He stiffened slightly. "And as soon as I can I will leave the
family."
	"And I will leave your employ," said Pete firmly. "Hopefully I can
find work." He shook his head. "Please understand, I, well, in a way, I
love you. You gave me hope when everyone else gave me the backs of their
hands. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that. But, Michael, I want
to be with Alistair."
	The room fell silent. Michael looked at the two men, not really
seeing them. His mind drifted back to the office Uncle Henry had kept in
the family house next door. Michael had been 16, and had just been told
that if he wanted to be the heir, he must give up Joel. It was not personal
- it was business. Uncle Henry had been adamant. Joel must go.
	Abruptly, Michael stood up to stare out of the office window. He
had not considered Alistair's sexuality - how could he? When he left Uncle
Henry so many years before he had basically left the family. He had
visited, yes, he had presided over the sealing ceremonies, yes, but he had
not bothered to really come to know the young men of his house.
	Michael thought of the pain, the loneliness that he had brought
upon himself. He had given up his life to Uncle Henry's legacy. He had
remained, in so many ways, a creature of the shadows, unafraid, yet
unwilling to accept the truth about himself, or find a small measure of
happiness. He could have had it with Patrick Tsang.
	Patrick Tsang did not love him, Michael knew, but in time would
have come to love him, if only Michael had offered the younger man the
chance. For the first time Michael had felt a need, and suppressed it, and
the more he thought of it, the more he knew that the unfairness of Uncle
Henry's demands had warped him. His lifelong excuse that his personal life
must never be called into question, must never be used against him or his
family grated on him. Uncle Henry had asked him to subordinate all things
to the business. Uncle Henry had asked him to give up the only person in
his life had had ever loved. Uncle Henry had . . .

******

	They had not argued. Uncle Henry, in his calm, dispassionate way
had been trying to explain that Michael must, if he became the Heir, accept
certain facts, certain restrictions, make certain sacrifices. He must also
understand that no matter what he or Uncle Henry did, they would never
truly be a part of mainstream, White Society.
	"We have adapted, most of us!" Michael had argued back. "We attend
English schools, and we speak English as our first language. With each
generation we grow more westernized. Many of the second and third
generation Chinese have accepted the Western religions." He shrugged
expressively. "There are some of the whites who will never accept us, being
the bigots they are. Most are more than happy to work with us and take our
money."
	Uncle Henry nodded. Michael was learning. "Our family is a part of
mainstream Canadian life. This is true and it is the way I wish it. The
more westernized we become the less they look on us as Chinks!"  "There are
still our cousins in China and Hong Kong," observed Michael pointedly.
	"Who live their lives as westerners, not as traditional Chinese,"
countered Uncle Henry. "They dress like westerners, they communicate in
English and they are smart enough to know where the money is."
	Michael did not reply. He had heard much of Uncle Henry's words
before. Which meant that the old man was up to something. Michael sat back
in his chair and waited.
	Uncle Henry sighed inwardly. His nephew was waiting for him to get
to the heart of their little talk. It was most embarrassing, really. He
hated discussing such unsavoury matters. Still, for Michael's sake, it must
be done. He cleared his throat and looked at Michael. "When I said that we
must conform to the mores and traditions of the society, the culture, in
which we live, I should have added that we must honour their taboos as
well, many of which are also a part of our own ancient culture."
	Michael slowly sat erect. Uncle Henry knew! Someone, somehow, had
whispered in Uncle Henry's ear.
	Uncle Henry leaned forward and placed his hand on Michael's
trembling knee. "I am an old man, and I have seen many things. I have many
nephews and I know that at times adolescent boys form 'special
attachments'." He smiled knowingly. "This is not necessarily a bad thing,
Michael. In many ways these youthful attachments form the basis of firm
friendships in later life."  Ashen faced, Michael nodded slowly.
	"Michael, when I was young there were very few Chinese women
available. It was primarily a masculine society. Sometimes, out of
necessity, men formed strong friendships with other men. We, all of us,
knew that our culture forbade such attachments, but being men we ignored
that which was forbidden. I did not participate in such attachments, but I
knew of them and I turned a blind eye to them."
	Michael gripped the arms of his chair. "I . . . please, Uncle Henry
I can explain . . ." he began, his voice trembling with the very real fear
he felt.  Holding up his hand Uncle Henry silenced his nephew. "It is not
my purpose to question your friendships. What I want you to understand is
that a man is judged not only by his conduct, by his sense of duty and
honour, but also by the friendships he has formed. You are too young to
understand these things, but you must understand this: friends, no matter
how close, must never know what you are thinking, must never be in a
position to know what you are doing."
	"Trust no one, no matter how close," muttered Michael.
	"Trust no one," repeated Uncle Henry. He waved his arm, his gesture
encompassing more than just the room they were sitting in. "I have no wife,
Michael. I have many acquaintances, but I have no friends. I have wealth
beyond counting, yet I am a poor man." His probing eyes bore into
Michael's. "I make no excuses, offer no apologies for who I am, for what I
do. It was a life I chose to live."
	Michael swallowed heavily. "And you want me to live that life?"
	Uncle Henry nodded. "You know what we do. If you are capable of
living a life of loneliness, of giving every waking moment, every ounce of
willpower, all the fibre of your being, yes. You will gain much honour,
have great wealth, but you will be lonely."
	"You are asking a great deal," replied Michael. He had always known
that this moment would come. He had always feared the moment, and now he
must give his answer. "I must give my answer here, now?" Michael asked,
stalling for time, hoping for a reprieve.
	"It must be now," replied Uncle Henry unhappily. "You are old
enough to understand what is required of you, and old enough to make a
decision." He saw the fear and trepidation on his nephew's face and add
kindly, "You will not be punished if you say no, Michael."
	Michael was sixteen. His whole future lay ahead of him. He was
afraid of that future if he followed Uncle Henry's path. Yet, he had been
groomed for that path, trusted beyond all others because Uncle Henry
assumed he would follow that path. He alone, of all the cousins, had been
chosen. He had not asked for that choice. He had never wanted, really, to
be the chosen one. Yet here he was, and he could either follow his destiny,
or refuse the offered hand, and suffer whatever the consequences might
be. He was being offered two of the most powerful aphrodisiacs known to
humankind: power and wealth.
	Rising, Michael paced the small office, occasionally glancing at
his Uncle, whose stoic, placid face betrayed no emotion. For a long time
Michael paced, thinking. In many ways he would be an outcast, considered a
thug and a criminal. That he had never injured anyone, never killed anyone,
would be of no consequence. People would think what they wanted to think.
	Uncle Henry had said that others judged a man by the friends he
kept near to him as well as his conduct. Michael did not need any help in
divining Uncle Henry's meaning about special attachments and
friendships. Uncle Henry's gentle words meant only one thing: he knew about
Joel, he knew about Michael's relationship with Joel, and was giving fair
warning that Joel would never be a part of Michael's life if he chose to
walk Uncle Henry's path.
	Uncle Henry had long had patience drilled into his psyche. He was
asking a great deal of his favourite nephew. It was well that Michael was
not rushing to judgement. He was being offered much, and asked to give up a
great deal. Such a decision could not be taken lightly.
	Suddenly, Michael made up his mind. "I understand, Uncle, what you
ask of me." He knelt before Uncle Henry and kissed his hand. "I will do
what is asked of me, become what I must become."
	Uncle Henry nodded. He was pleased at Michael's decision. Still,
there was a note of uncertainty in the boy's voice. Uncle Henry knew what
lay behind that uncertainty. He stood and pulled Michael to his feet. "Joel
will not be harmed," he promised sincerely. He gently kissed Michael on
each cheek. "But you must say goodbye to him."
	Michael nodded glumly. "I know, and I will. Tonight."
	Reseating himself Uncle Henry thought a moment. "It is always
difficult to end a friendship, and more so when you have grown up with the
object of that friendship. Still, it must be done."
	Michael was overcome with emotion, his heart all but breaking. He
had been in love with Joel ever since they had been young boys. He needed
Joel in his life, and now he had just said that he would give Joel up. "You
promise?" he asked through his tears. "No harm will come to Joel?"
	"He will not be harmed. He will be allowed to live his life as he
pleases." Uncle Henry scowled. "I fear he will not be a credit to the
family."
	"He is what he is, Uncle," temporized Michael. "He cannot be blamed
for something he cannot help!"
	"Perhaps," conceded Uncle Henry. "And I cannot dictate to him." He
smiled weakly. "He is a most obstreperous young man and very
independent. He does what he wishes to do." Uncle Henry glanced out of the
corner of his eye. "As you well know."
	Michael nodded and recalled the conversation he had overheard in
the library. "I know," came his whispered reply.
	"Then in the knowing you will find comfort when you say goodbye to
him," said Uncle Henry blandly. He stood up and walked to the door. "I am
going to the restaurant for a few hours. There is business to be done." He
looked upward. "Joel is waiting for you in the small guest suite. No one
will bother you."
	Michael gave his uncle a dark look. "You arranged it all, then?" he
asked waspishly.
	"Of course. I knew that you would see reason."
	"I will do what you ask. I will speak to Joel, and say
goodbye. After tonight I am a man, uncle, and I expect that I will be
treated as a man."
	The harshness in Michael's voice gave Uncle Henry pause. The boy
was a man! "And that means?"
	Michael looked icily at his uncle. "I no longer wish to live with
my parents. I will attend school, I will do whatever you wish, but I wish
to have my own place. I am tired of being a Chinese son. I am tired of
living in the middle of a Chinese village! I will be the son, the man, you
want me to be, but I must do it in my own way."
	"Your parents have been grumbling about their living
arrangements. They wish to move back into the city. It will be arranged,"
replied Uncle Henry, secretly pleased at the steel in Michael's voice. "You
may remain in the apartment, do whatever you like with it," he said as he
opened the door.
	"There is something else," growled Michael.
	Uncle Henry turned. "And that is?"
	"I realize that I must have guards. It is the way of our business
and I accept them. However, I do not wish to be surrounded by Tsangs!" His
eyes glared angrily. "I do not wish to have Joey Tsang hovering over my
shoulder, frightening the friends I do have at school. I wish to choose my
own minders."
	A bit surprised, Uncle Henry nodded. "If you wish it. I shall make
arrangements."
	"No, I shall make arrangements," replied Michael firmly. "I know
whom to contact." Once again he glared at his uncle. "And Joey Tsang?"
	Uncle Henry shrugged. "Joey was unhappily derelict in his
duties. He will not be 'hovering' around you anymore."
	"Good."
	Michael's calm acceptance of Joey's departure surprised Uncle
Henry. He knew that the boy had hated the man, but still . . . "You are not
interested in what Joey did? Or of his fate?"
	"I know what he did," returned Michael. Joey had allowed himself to
be seduced by Joel, and in the seduction given up any claim to trust. "Joey
forgot about business, forgot about what he was supposed to be doing."
Michael shrugged. "Perhaps a few years in that dismal ancestral village of
his will teach him to pay attention to his duties."
	"Joey is not in China," said Uncle Henry grimly.
	"He isn't?"
	Uncle Henry shook his head. "The Italians have a saying."
	"The Italians have a lot of sayings! Don Giovanni is always quoting
one or the other," replied Michael with a smile.
	"Then perhaps he might have used this one: Joey Tsang sleeps with
the fishes."  Uncle Henry wheeled and left the room, leaving a stunned and
terrified Michael staring after him.

******

	They had made love. Michael could not just cut Joel out of his
life, not without some form of explanation. They had made passionate, soul
cleansing love, and then Michael had told him . . .

******

	"I will not be coming to see you anymore," Michael had told Joel
flatly.  Joel thought, so, that explained the fierceness, the near
desperation of their lovemaking. "Why? Uncle Henry busting your balls?" he
asked flippantly.
	Michael's face clouded. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked
sadly.
	"Know what?" Joel slid off the bed and searched around for his
white briefs. Finding them draped over a chair he slipped them on. He had
no idea what Michael was upset about, and in truth, cared little. He stared
back at Michael, waiting.
	Michael cleared his throat and then glared at his cousin. "You've
got to stop, Joel. You have got to start remembering who you are! It's time
that you thought about the consequences of your actions."
	Joel sniffed. "What consequences? What actions?" he flopped down
onto the bed and gave Michael a dirty look. "As to 'who I am', well I know
who I am. I'm the son of the poor side of the house. I won't be asked to
join the family business. I'm a Chiang, remember? We can't be trusted. We
are tolerated, an inherited nuisance." He waved his hand angrily. "So don't
think that you can come in here and fuck me, and then dictate to me! It
ain't gonna work!"
	Before Joel could react Michael had bounded across the room. His
hand clutched Joel's throat and for the first time Joel saw the murderous
anger that Michael was capable of. "You little fool," hissed
Michael. "Don't you know what you're doing? Don't you understand the shame
you bring to your house, to the family?" He shook Joel fiercely. "It is
over, do you understand? No more boys!"
	Joel wrenched Michael's hand away. "How . . . who . . .?" he
growled, his fists clenched. "Just who the fuck do you think you are,
telling me 'no more boys'? How dare you!" He rubbed his bruised neck and
skittered to the head of the bed. "You came in here, you fucked me, and now
you have the gall to tell me something like that?"
	Michael felt immediate remorse. "I did not mean to hurt you. I
should not have grabbed you like that. I apologize."
	"Not accepted!" returned Joel, his eyes flashing. "I'm not some
Tsang that grovels at Uncle Henry's feet, or quakes whenever the old
bastard growls in their direction. You can stuff your apology and you can
get out and leave me alone!" He quickly gathered the soiled sheet around
his shoulders and glared at Michael. "Go on, get out!"
	Michael shook his head and sat in the chair. He allowed his
breathing to slow, gaining control of his emotions. When he was ready, he
spoke softly. "I meant what I said. From now on, the boys at school are off
limits." He cocked his head toward the door. "Patrick Tsang will not
succumb to your wiles, and you are not to even try to seduce him."
	"Why, you want him for yourself?" asked Joel cruelly.
	Michael shook his head, ignoring the harsh, and hurtful
question. "Patrick will not allow himself to be seduced. As for the others,
the Bowes brothers, Chris Owen, the Australians, all the others you managed
to drag into that little room you've sequestered, it is over."
	Joel thought quickly. So, Michael, and Uncle Henry, knew of the
boys at school. He wondered if they knew about the undergrads of UBC, or
that he haunted the bathhouses down on Nelson or Davie Streets. Vancouver
was filled with sleek, tasty dicks, not all of them resident in
St. George's School. "I really don't care for your tone, Michael. Nor do I
understand why, not ten minutes after getting your nut off, after fucking
me, you suddenly decided to make me join a nunnery!"
	"You are not asked to join anything. You are being asked to
remember that your actions reflect on Uncle Henry . . ."
	"And you!" snarled Joel.
	"Yes, on me," replied Michael sadly. "And our family."
	Joel sniffed loudly. "Michael, I'm a fag, a queer, a fairy! I suck
dick, I get fucked in the ass!" Venom dripped from every word. "I like
guys. I have no intention of embracing celibacy! I am what I am and if you,
or Uncle Henry don't like it, well too fucking bad."
	"Joel, Uncle Henry is not joking and he is deadly serious about
this. You either start practising discretion, and leave your schoolmates
alone, or . . ."
	Joel all but leaped from the bed. He waved his fist at Michael. "Or
what? You'll cut off my balls? Send me to China to live in some dismal
hovel with the Tsangs?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Hey, you could put me in
the same hut with Joey. Joey would like that, the fucking traitor!"
	Michael's face was stony. "Joey is not in China," he said quietly.
	"Oh? Then where is he?" Joel's anger had ebbed when he saw the look
on Michael's face. Michael, or more than likely, Uncle Henry, had
. . . Joel's eyes widened and his face grew as white as the sheet he had
wrapped around his slim body. "You . . . Uncle Henry . . ."
	Michael held up his hand. "What is done, is done," he said
icily. The chasm that would distance him from his cousin opened. "Joey
betrayed the trust placed in him. He has paid for his betrayal. That is all
you need to know."
	Stunned, Joel sat abruptly back down on the bed. For a long time he
stared at his cousin, then spoke, his voice filled with the fear he
felt. "Joey's dead," he whispered.
	"What is done, is done," replied Michael emotionlessly,
non-committally.
	"You killed him!" Joel spat. He glared at his cousin through
narrow, hate-filled eyes. "Joey didn't deserve that!" He cowered against
the headboard and hurled an accusation: "And you'd do the same to me!"
	Michael's face remained blank. "I will do whatever is necessary to
defend the honour of the family." His eyes became slits. "Do not stand in
my way, Joel, do not fight me on this matter." He rose and turned to
leave. Then he looked at Joel, the fire in his eyes lessened. "I will
always love you, my sweet cousin. But when I leave this room I begin a new
life. You cannot be a part of it, ever. I will miss you more than you will
ever know. You do not understand, but I do. There are times when we must
make sacrifices."
	"How noble of you," Joel sneered.
	Shaking his head, Michael spoke again, his voice soft, his face
calm. "Joel, it is the nature of our life, of our family, that we do things
that are not usual to us, and which we would rather not do. Nobility has
nothing to do with it." He sighed sadly. "We must conform and maintain the
family honour. What we do in private must remain private. We must live a
secret life if necessary."  Joel all but burst into tears and bawled,
"You'd kill me? After all we've meant to each other, after tonight?"
	Sighing sadly, Michael looked at Joel. "You are to leave the boys
at school alone. What you do with the cousins can be explained away,
dismissed as something teenage boys do. There must be no more scandal, no
more flagrant seductions."
	"You didn't answer my question," snarled Joel. "If I don't
'conform', if I don't stop making the boys at school happy, will you kill
me?"
	Michael coughed. "I will never harm you," he replied, his voice
filled with determination. "I will see to it, however, that you spend the
rest of your days away from the family, in an environment where your
natural urges will have no outlet."
	"And yours? What about your 'natural urges'?" Joel demanded. "You
like dick just as much as I do."
	"I am in love with you, and I have enjoyed being with you. You are
the only boy I have ever been with," returned Michael. "When I leave here
it will be the end of us. There will be no other boys, or men, in my
life. I will do as Uncle Henry wishes." He shrugged. "You at least have the
baths. There you are just another anonymous Chinaboy getting his rocks
off."
	Joel's mouth gaped. "You know about . . .?" he managed to gasp.
	"In many ways Joey Tsang was a good and faithful servant. He saw
everything and he reported what he saw. It is unfortunate that he allowed
himself to give in to his baser urges."
	"As you did!" Joel hurled the charge at his cousin. "As you did!"
	"Yes, and as I would again, if such an option were open to me. When
I leave this room tonight, I will have no options. You will have the baths,
and the frat boys you manage to pick up."
	Joel sensed a concession on Michael's part. "I don't have to be
celibate?"
	"No."
	"You won't kill me?"
	"No." Michael opened the door. Before entering the corridor he said
firmly, and quietly. "You will not seduce Patrick Tsang. You will not
service or seduce the boys at school. So long as there is no scandal, so
long as there are no names, you may do what you wish." His voice
hardened. "Be warned, Joel. Those are the terms, the rules. Break the
terms, trash the rules, and you will regret it. I will regret having to do
something if you do not moderate your life and practice discretion. I will
regret it, but I will do it."
	With that Michael motioned for Patrick Tsang, who was loitering
outside, and closed the door.

******

	How Joel had hated him! Michael could not help himself as he buried
his face in his hands. He had given up everything for what? Power? Money?
Face? He had threatened Joel with destruction! Uncle Henry had ordered the
death of poor Cousin Joey and for what, for following his instincts?
	If he refused Alistair's request, Michael knew he would lose an
heir. If he refused Pete's request, he would lose a good man, not a
servant, but a man. And if he refused their requests what a hypocrite he
would be! He was Grand Master of an Order that was dedicated to the
complete freedom of man! How could he fight for the rights of others if he
denied his own family members the same rights? What would he do if Arden,
sweet little Arden who had yet to learn discretion were to express his love
openly, as carefree as the schoolboy he was? What would he do when someone
expressed disdain and disgust for Michael's harbouring a . . . fag?
	Would he sentence Arden, or Alistair, or Matthew, who was spending
time with the Putnam boy, would he sentence them to a life of pain and
misery and exile in some dismal village in China where they would be
reviled and spat at? Would he call for Tsang Shen, and send them all on a
voyage they would not return from?
	Michael's mind reeled. He had secured the succession of the Order,
as a good Grand Master should. He needed to secure the succession of the
Family, ensure that the new Serenity would rule with logic and
compassion. Rule with the thought in mind that nothing was personal, it was
just business. Was Alistair the heir? Did he have the fortitude, the
determination, and the balls to rule? Again Michael's lack of knowledge of
his male cousins grated on him. He turned suddenly and looked at Alistair.
	Alistair was not shaking, not quavering. His chin was set and his
eyes were clear - not fiery - and filled with determination. There was no
fear in the boy.
	"When I was a boy, Uncle Henry made me his heir. I was told to make
choices. Some I knew I would have to make and some I did not know
about. Some I made willingly. One I have regretted from the first day."
Michael walked carefully to stand in front of Pete.
	"You are not, and never have been, my servant," Michael said,
choosing his words. "You are a good man, and I know that you do love my
cousin." He turned to Alistair.
	"You are my heir," he said quietly. "I will ask much of you, and
you will be required to do many things, some of which you will regret, some
of which will rest uneasily on your conscience. You have much to learn."
	Alistair rose slowly from his chair. "I will learn, Cousin, and I
will never betray you, or the family. I was sealed to your service and I
wish to serve you."
	"And you do not wish to live a lie," finished Michael. "I know
this, I understand this. Others will not understand."
	"I know," came Alistair's whispered reply.
	"You may find life difficult, made more difficult by your love,"
cautioned Michael.
	"All life is difficult," replied Alistair. "But I must have a
life. If I am not happy, not content, then the harmony of the Celestial
Kingdom is disturbed."
	Michael ignored the metaphor. "Show me your hands," he instructed
Alistair.
	When Alistair held out his hands, Michael took them in his and felt
them, felt the fingers, the bones, and the knuckles. "Good strong hands,"
he said. "The hands of an Emperor." He looked into Alistair's eyes. "I will
soon resolve a situation that presents a danger to my person and my
family." His face grew strong as stone. "A viper has prepared a nest
. . . IN MY HOME!" His hands squeezed Alistair's to the painful realization
that his life was about to change drastically.
	Michael noted that Alistair did not flinch. "Tomorrow, perhaps
sooner, I will call upon you to perform a service." The pressure increased
on Alistair's hands.
	Michael's head turned slightly. "You will find him a weapon, and
teach him how to use it," he instructed Pete, who nodded. Michael returned
to looking at his cousin.
	"You are aware that I am the Grand Master of an Order dedicated to
helping homosexuals?"
	Alistair nodded. He wanted to ask Michael if he was "professed",
but did not dare.
	"I, Michael, do solemnly swear, upon my Oath, and upon the symbols
of my Faith, that I will bear true allegiance to my Brothers In Knighthood,
that I will defend those of Our Brotherhood, and that I will in all things
conduct myself in a chaste manner, so that no dishonour will I bring upon
the Order. I swear to succour the ill and destitute. I avow to live my life
according to the precepts of duty and honour." His eyes bore into
Alistair's. "Do you understand that oath?"
	"Yes," replied Alistair with a nod of his head.
	"You are not yet my Brother in Knighthood, but you, and Pete, are
of Our Brotherhood."
	"Yes," whispered Alistair.
	Pete nodded. "Yes."
	"Then hear my decision." Michael's eyes softened. "Tonight you will
become of member of my personal household. A suite will be prepared for
you." He regarded Pete a moment. "In addition to his regular duties Captain
Sheppard will be your personal protection officer. This is expected once it
becomes known that you have been declared the Heir. He will accompany you
whenever you leave the compound. Our friends, and our enemies, will become
accustomed to seeing him."
	Both Alistair and Pete nodded.
	Looking at the younger man, Michael continued, "You will continue
in school. You will not consummate your relationship with Captain
Sheppard." Michael's tone did not invite protest. "This will allow you both
to come to understand each other, to know each other, and to know if what
you feel today is the same a year from now."
	Again, Pete and Alistair nodded.
	"You may see each other, and be together. You will at all times
conduct yourselves, at least publicly, in a chaste and seemly manner. There
must be no scandal, no hint of impropriety."
	Pete spoke first. "I give you my word, Michael. We will not bring
dishonour to you, or to your House."
	"I swear, Serenity. I will do as you ask," added Alistair, although
how he was going to remain a virgin for another year he did not know!
	"Do not look so glum!" said Michael with a smile. "You may go out
on the town, visit the restaurant, attended the theatre, see a film, do
what other couples do."
	"Except have sex," growled Alistair to himself.
	"I know it will be difficult, but it is necessary. Your enemies
will use your relationship against you, to turn trusted friends against
you."
	"I will do what you ask," said Alistair firmly.
	"Good." Michael looked strange for a moment and then asked, "You
are close to your brother?"
	For a moment, Alistair wondered what Michael meant, and then he
realized the meaning of Michael's words. "I will speak sternly to Arden, so
that his behaviour does not bring dishonour on our House."
	Michael shook his head. "Speak rather as a brother, to a
brother. Speak with compassion, and understanding, and with the love you
have for him."
	"I will."
	"Then it is settled." Michael returned to his desk. He was about to
give Pete and Alistair leave to go and discuss their new lives. A discreet
knock on the door interrupted him.
	"That will be Frank Campbell and, I suspect, the Major," said
Michael with inflection. He had a thought. "I wish both of you to stay."
	Pete hurried to open the door and Frank entered. Behind him was the
Major.
	"Another telephone call," said the Major, giving the eye to Pete
and Alistair.
	Michael saw the look and said, "Alistair is to be the Heir. Captain
Sheppard is to be his protection officer."  The Major knew Michael well
enough not to question his decision.
	As Frank slipped the tape into the player that Michael kept on his
desk, Michael looked at Alistair. "There is a traitor, to me, and to our
family, and to the Order, who was sent to gather information for an
enemy. The traitor is indiscreet and a fool." He gestured for Frank to play
the tape. "Listen, and learn," he said to Alistair.
	Dr. Bradley-Smith's whining voice filled the office. Pete scowled
at the reference to his perimeter guards. Michael's face remained
impassive. When the tape had run its course he looked at the Major. "The
doctor will be unable to attend the dinner," he said. "Where are the
Knights?"
	"In their rooms," replied the Major, "changing for dinner, or
resting."
	"Then now is the time to remove the viper from his nest," growled
Michael rising slowly. "There are Tsangs waiting?"
	Pete nodded. "Yes. Marvin and Conrad."
	Michael nodded. Both Marvin and Conrad Tsang, who were brothers,
were large, well-muscled young men, and quite presentable - for Tsangs.
	"They will attend me," he ordered. "You will inform the Maestro
that his staff is to remain in the undercroft. Station a footman in the
bedroom corridor. The young Knights are to remain in their rooms."
	Moving quickly, Michael walked to the door. He took Alistair's arm
and led him out. "It is time to begin your education."

******

	While Colin showered, The Phantom took the opportunity to admire
himself in the cheval mirror that stood in one corner of the bedroom. He
turned to each side, admiring his reflection, nodding at the flow of the
jacket, and then turned around, looking over his shoulder and snickering as
he admired how well the uniform set of his butt. He knew that he was being
vain, or Narcissistic, but then, what the hell, no one was looking and a
guy did like to know what kind of an impression he made to the general
public.
	As he regarded his reflection, The Phantom's fingers seemed to
constantly reach out to touch the jewelled collar around his neck. He had
never really thought about his eyes before, although The Gunner had always
referred to him, in moments of stress, as a "green-eyed little monster" but
now he could see for the first time that his eyes were green - a rich, deep
emerald green!
	From the bathroom, Colin began to bellow out the opening lyrics to
"The Ball of Kerrymuir", a dirty ditty if ever there was one. The Phantom
smiled fondly, remembering the sailing trip, and the campfire, when they
had all sat around, naked as the day that they had been born, singing dirty
songs - the Twins had managed to remember and regale their fellows with a
few choice dozen verses to "The North Atlantic Squadron".
	Smiling at Colin's singing, The Phantom wondered if there would
ever again be days such as today. Thinking, The Phantom wondered if there
would ever be another weekend like the sailing trip. Sighing, The Phantom
doubted it would ever happen again. The Commanding Officer, the Twins, and
The Phantom himself, had more or less decided that something very special -
The Phantom hesitated to use the word "miraculous" - had happened. Somehow
that weekend, indeed, the whole summer, somehow what Father called "The
Boys of Aurora", had been brought together.
	"And somehow the Tapestry was formed," thought The Phantom. The
unfinished Tapestry that he had seen only once. The brightly coloured
panorama of death and battle that contained so many unformed faces. As he
fingered the Collar, The Phantom wondered how many more faces would be
woven into the Tapestry. So far the additions had been . . . Colin Arnott,
Eion Reilly, Peter Race, Nate Schoenmann, Phil Thornton - who had,
surprising all in attendance, professed - Michael Chan, and Laurence
Howard.
	He was not at all surprised at the last two. Michael and Laurence
were a part of the Order, and the Order was more and more a part of The
Phantom's soul. Michael had made him a Prince of the Order. A Prince! He
could scarcely believe it! Michael had also said that one day he, The
Phantom, a seventeen-year-old schoolboy, would one day be Grand Master.
	Leaving the mirror, The Phantom poured a drink of Scotch and sat in
the wing chair beside the fireplace, trying to make some sense of what had
happened. Peter Race had told him not to question, only to accept!
	Self-doubt began to creep into The Phantom's mind. Michael's chat
in the woods had given him much to think about. The Phantom knew, much
better than Michael, or Chef, or anyone else for that matter, his failings,
his weaknesses. He had so much to learn, and so many looking to him for
leadership! Damn, it was a hell of a position for a fellow to be in!
	"Fuckin' aye," growled The Phantom aloud, reluctantly agreeing with
his thoughts. Then his lips began to form a smile. The Gunner had once
joked that The Phantom had "it", the strange, indefinable, charismatic
"it", the spark, the flame, the fire that so few had.
	The Phantom's smile grew wider. Harry and Mike Sunderland both
spoke in mock horror of the "look". The look that compelled them to
act. Harry had received the look in the drill hall, a look that told him to
move his ass and take care of Little Big Man, who had been acting his usual
obnoxious self. Of course, Harry always ended the telling by thanking God
he had not reacted quite the way Mike had. Mike had received the look on
the parade square, at PT, and had ended up not only mooning the entire
Ship's Company, but had waved his dick and balls at the cadets in the
bargain!
	"The look," thought The Phantom with a shake of his head. "I don't
really have that effect on people, do I?"
	Before The Phantom could answer his question, there was a light tap
on the door. "Come," he answered absently. He looked up to see Alex
entering, carrying a large, wooden box under his arm. The Phantom
immediately noticed that there was something different about the man. He
looked at Alex and then realized what it was. Alex was smiling!
	Before The Phantom could comment, Alex made a neck bow. "Sorry for
intruding, but I've come for my Prince's flub dubs."
	"Knock it off, Alex," returned The Phantom, and returning Alex's
smile. "I still have to unzip when I have to pee!"
	"Which means?" asked Alex as he reached out and waved his hand in
an upward motion. "The Collar has to go back now. It's only worn at
Investitures and never at dinner."
	"Which means that underneath all this clothing is Philip Lascelles,
a naked male!" replied The Phantom glibly. "Just like underneath all that
finery . . ." He regarded Alex a moment, admiring the man's slim figure,
and the well-cut dress suit, and noticed that Alex was already
changed. "White tie suits you. Anyway, underneath all that finery is Alex
Grinchsten, a naked male."
	"Just plain folks, huh?" asked Alex. He reached out his hand
again. He regarded The Phantom a moment. "Philip?" he asked as he placed
the wooden box on the round table that dominated the centre of the room.
	Rising, The Phantom sighed. "Yep, just plain Philip Andrew Thomas
Lascelles, just a kid from a small town in the backwoods of Vancouver
Island." He reached up to lift the Collar from his shoulders. "Help me with
this, please?"
	Nodding, Alex helped The Phantom remove the Collar from around his
neck and then placed it carefully in the box. "Back to the Gold vault for
this puppy," he said with a grin.
	"Thank God," replied The Phantom. "For a moment there I was afraid
I'd have to keep it, and Alex, my basement back home is already full of
enough hidden treasures to give Blackbeard a heart attack!"
	Laughing, Alex picked up the box, about to leave, when The Phantom
stopped him. "Have a drink with me," he asked.
	Glancing at the mantle clock, Alex replied, "You should try to get
some sleep. You still have an hour or so before dinner and you've seen the
travel itinerary. You're leaving in a few hours, and you have a long day
ahead of you."
	"I'm too keyed up to sleep," replied The Phantom. He refreshed his
drink and poured a healthy measure for Alex. As he held out the glass of
Scotch, The Phantom asked, "Please?"
	Once they were settled in their seats, The Phantom regarded Alex a
moment and then said, "I'm going to miss you, you know."
	"Miss me?"
	"Yes. I have sort of grown accustomed to your face," The Phantom
replied, grinning at his weak joke. "Although I must admit that for some
reason today you've been positively . . . bubbly!"  "I am never bubbly,
Phantom," replied Alex soberly. "Obviously Michael hasn't told you."
	"Told me what?"
	"I'm going with you. So is Logan Hartsfield and I think, Ned."
	The Phantom's left eyebrow rose slightly. "Really?" he said in a
low drawl.
	Alex nodded. "Put it under the heading of better safe than
sorry. You really don't know what you're going to find when you get to
Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré you know."
	"Other than a dead Sea Cadet, no, I don't," admitted The
Phantom. Then he frowned slightly. "Now I am truly sorry."
	"Why?" asked Alex. "It's part of my job. I would have been
surprised it I hadn't been told to accompany you."
	The Phantom's natural kindness rose to the fore. "But Alex, don't
you want to, I mean, aren't you and . . ." He shut up abruptly. "Sorry, I
should mind my own business."
	For several moments Alex rolled the glass of Scotch in the palms of
his hands, thinking. "Jake Guildenhall," he said finally.
	The Phantom hesitated before answering. "Um, yes."
	Alex lay back in his chair and looked upward at the ceiling. "I
don't know what to do!" he breathed sadly. "Jake was, is, the man I want to
be with for the rest of my life." He laughed ruefully. "And that is
something I never thought I'd ever say!"
	As Alex had never expanded, really, on what had happened in
Vietnam, The Phantom was momentarily at loss. Then he asked, "He's the man
you fell in love with, in Vietnam?"
	"Oh, yeah," breathed Alex huskily.
	"Alex, there is no law that say's you can't give in to your
feelings and fall in love you, know," said The Phantom carefully. His eyes
glanced toward the closed door leading to the bathroom. He could hear Colin
bellowing away as he showered. "Hell and sheeit," he thought, "he sure
makes a lot of noise!"
	Alex noted The Phantom's glance. He smiled thinly as he said, "The
last time I heard a noise like that a poppa water buffalo had got into the
fields with a momma buffalo and ol' Papa San was wavin' his arms and
yellin' to keep them apart, and ol' Mama San was screechin' at Papa San
'cause she didn't think he was doin' it right, and about a hundred kids
were laughin' at both of them!"
	The Phantom noticed that Alex had slipped into the idiom of his
home place and youth. He stood, found the decanter of Scotch and refilled
Alex's glass. When he returned to his seat, The Phantom asked, "Is he, um,
has he, said anything to you?"
	"About us?" asked Alex as he sipped his drink. The Phantom nodded
and Alex continued. "He wants to meet with me later, to talk things over,
he said."
	"Then why don't you go?" The Phantom's voice was low, and very
calm. "If you love him, and he loves you . . ." He paused and looked
searchingly at Alex. "Or is it that he doesn't love you?"
	"That's just it," Alex replied with a shake of his head. "Jake
wants us to be together, like we were in Vietnam."
	"Then what's the problem?" asked The Phantom. "If he loves you, and
wants to be with you, well, hell and sheeit, Alex, go for it!"
	Again Alex shook his head. "Easy for you to say." He looked into
the smoky dregs of his drink. "There's a lot of things, though . . ."
	"Such as?"
	"Phantom, I'm afraid!" Alex declared with passion. "Where I come
from, men don't live with men. It just doesn't happen!"
	The Phantom sighed. He knew exactly how Alex felt. "Alex, I come
from a small town. I know what people in small towns think about 'queers'
and 'faggots'." He paused and look thoughtful a moment. "For some reason
the phrase, 'Better Dead Than Queer' comes to mind."
	Alex snorted. "Phantom, my daddy is a good man. He's always
provided for his family, is a church-goin' man, and will give you the shirt
off of his back if you're in need of it."
	"But?"
	"If I told him that I was planning on setting up house with Jake,
he'd shoot me dead in the yard! Hell, if he knew right now that Jake and me
had been together in 'Nam, he'd shoot me dead in the yard!"
	"He thinks so little of you that he would do that?" asked The
Phantom, frankly shocked. "Or is it that he hates too much?"
	"In my daddy's world there are no queers, Phantom. He thinks that
way, his daddy thought that way. All his friends think that way and my
brothers think that way!"
	The Phantom considered Alex's words. He also considered the life he
had led before coming to HMCS Aurora. He had known fear, but he had also
found acceptance. "Alex, you can't change what you are, or the way you
feel." He looked at Alex. "Does Jake love you?"
	"Oh, yeah."
	"Do you love Jake?"
	"More than you can believe!" said Alex almost breathlessly.
	"Then what the hell are you doing here?" came Colin's voice.
	Alex turned to see Colin, as naked as a babe, stroll out of the
bathroom, towelling his blond hair dry. Alex had to admit that Colin was
one good-looking man. And not too shabby when it came to his upper deck
fittings.
	Colin saw Alex's admiring look, ignored it, and carried on, "Why
aren't you with him? You haven't seen him for years! Hell, Alex, I'm
surprised you haven't dragged him off to your quarters and had your way
with him!"
	"Colin!" gasped The Phantom.
	"Oh, come on, Phantom, they're in love! Why pussy foot around?"
	"There stands the voice of warped reason," sniped The Phantom.
	Ignoring his lover, Colin slipped on a fresh pair of tighty
whiteys, adjusted himself and said, "Alex, if you're in love with him, then
do something about it! Who gives a shit if your family won't approve? Or
his! It's your life, damn it! Do you want to spend the rest of it alone,
hiding from some damned prejudice." He waved his arm firmly. "When we get
finished with whatever it is we're doing in Quebec City, Phantom is coming
home to meet the folks!"
	"He is?" asked Alex.
	"I am?" asked The Phantom, aghast.
	"You are, and don't give me that look!" instructed Colin. "Do you
love me?"
	"With my whole heart, with my soul," replied The Phantom, his eyes
bright.
	"And I love you! I love you so much that I am not going to hide
away! We're a couple and we're in love and we're going to be together." He
looked around and found what he was looking for, his Collar, which had
tossed on the bed.
	"Now listen to me, the pair of you," Colin growled. "I am not only
the Defensor Princeps, I am the Champion of the Order! That means - if I'm
right - that I have to defend everything the Order stands for! Michael gave
me the honours for a reason! He does not hand out empty honours, things to
be put on and put off as it pleases me! He is trying to rebuild something
that was essentially dead and buried a hundred years ago! He is telling us
to be proud of what we are, and proud of what we do as Knights." He glared
at The Phantom. "I understand that someone in this room blew his cork on
the lawn of the Legislature in Victoria one sunny morning and said the same
thing."
	"Well, yes, I did," admitted The Phantom. He frowned at
Colin. "You've been talking to the Twins! Or Randy and Joey!"
	"And Chef, and Tyler, and Val!" returned Colin. He glared at The
Phantom. "You are the hope of the Order, Phantom! There are guys in this
house, some we know about, some we don't, who will look to you, as the
Prince of the Order, for leadership and guidance, just as they will look
for that same leadership and guidance from me!" He turned to Alex. "And
that goes for you as well, Grinchsten! You were made Phantom's protection
officer because somebody saw that you had balls! Let 'em clang and for
Christ's sake, make an honest man out of Guildenhall!"
	Alex, unable to respond to Colin's outburst simply stood there,
with his mouth open.
	Colin walked to the closet and took out his blue mess kit. "What is
the point of making us knights, of giving us honours, if we're going to
hide in the closet? I walked down the streets of Comox with you
Phantom. Okay, we couldn't hold hands - the time for that is not yet - but
the day will come when it will be just two people in love, showing that
love and as far as I'm concerned it's going start with my folks! They can
either accept it, or go to hell - their choice! I am going to do it because
I would be one sorry son of a bitchin' Defender of Princes or Champion of
the Order if I didn't."
	The Phantom's heart grew large with the love that filled it. Hell
and sheeit! Colin was sure a man!
	Alex, sensing that a special moment for The Phantom and Colin had
come, quickly gathered up both Collars. "Um, I'm going to speak to Jake as
soon as I return these to the Gold Store." He winked at The Phantom. "It's
time I wasn't here!"
	Before The Phantom, or Colin could object, Alex opened the bedroom
door, and was surprised to find Jake standing in the corridor. Jake turned
and quickly whispered in Alex's ear. Alex look surprised, and asked,
"You're sure?"
	"Yeah," replied Jake. "I'm to keep everybody inside for a while -
until it's done." Then he smiled. "I almost forgot, I'm now the Travelling
Yeoman. I get to gather up all the luggage and take care that everything is
handled properly." I laughed. "I even have a staff!"
	"You do?" asked Alex.
	"Yeah! Rusty!" replied Jake as he turned to walk further down the
corridor.
	"What was that all about?" The Phantom asked as Alex began to close
the door.
	"It seems that Michael has decided that the doctor is not going to
be attending the dinner," Alex replied as he slowly closed the door.

******

	Across the corridor, Jérémie Cher, bug-eyed at what he had heard,
closed the door. He had showered, dressed into his perfectly ironed, white
uniform, and decided to go downstairs. He had heard that there were some
very interesting books and plates in the library. Since Blake Putnam was
not in there - he was in fact lying on the bed behind Jérémie Cher wearing
some boxers he had borrowed from Harry, waiting for his kilt to be returned
from being pressed - Jérémie Cher had decided to check them out. He had
barely opened the door to his room when he heard Jake speaking to Alex.
	Closing the door carefully, Jérémie Cher sat in the chair near the
window.
	"I thought you were going down to the library," observed Blake.
	"Uh, I changed my mind," replied Jérémie Cher.
	"Did I hear someone talking?" asked Blake.
	"Uh, yeah, that new footman, Jake? He's now the Travelling Yeoman."
	"What's that?" asked Blake.
	"Sounds like a glorified baggage handler to me." Jérémie Cher
looked around. "Where's the television?"
	"In that big cabinet," replied Blake, indicating the wardrobe that
stood between the windows.
	Wondering what was going on, and it did not sound at all good for
the doctor, whom he did not in any case like, Jérémie Cher opened the
wardrobe. "Maybe there's a ball game on," he said.

******

	After shaving, Daniel began dressing. He put on some fresh boxers,
and a white T-shirt. He looked around for his boiled shirt and saw it
hanging in the closet. He took it out and was about to reach for the gold
studs that replaced buttons on the stiffly starched dress shirt when there
was a knock on the door.
	Daniel opened the door to find Michael Chan standing there. Beside
Michael was Pete Sheppard and some young Chink - Michael's nephew or
something, Daniel remembered. Behind Michael was Major Meinertzhagen and
two of the largest Chinese men Daniel had seen in a long time.
	Opening the door wide to allow Michael entry, Daniel felt a shiver
of fear travel rapidly down his back. He stepped back. "Um, is something
wrong?" he asked, his eyes widening.
	Michael entered, followed by the other men. His eyes cool, his
manner calm, Michael stared at the doctor for several seconds. "You are
called to a Bar of Justice, Sir Knight," said Michael formally. "And you
will answer to me for your treachery!"
	For a moment, Daniel could not believe what he had just
heard. "No!" he squeaked as he took a step back.
	The two Chinese men moved around Michael and walked toward the
doctor, who moved back.
	"No, you can't," wailed Daniel. "I'm . . . I'm a knight! I'm an
officer in the Canadian Armed Forces! You . . ."
	Conrad Tsang reached out and took the doctor's right arm. Marvin
Tsang clasped the other firmly. "Be a man!" snarled Marvin.
	"I have rights!" screamed Daniel! "I have rights!"
	"You gave up those rights the moment you entered Minh's brothel!"
replied Michael.
	Michael's voice was low, but so filled with malice that Daniel Dane
Bradley-Smith voided his bladder.

******

	"What was that?" asked Colin, rising from the bed where he was
resting before dinner.
	Alex reached inside his jacket but The Phantom motioned for him to
stop. The Phantom's eyes had turned dark. His face was blank as he looked
at Alex and said, "Michael Chan never forgets an injury, and never forgives
an insult."
	"A Bar of Justice?" asked Colin from the bed.
	The Phantom shook his head. "This is personal."
	Colin lay back on the bed. He had no great love for the doctor, nor
did he have any respect for the man, not after what he had heard two of the
footmen whispering about him.
	"God have mercy on you, Doctor," thought Colin, "for Michael Chan
most surely will not."

******

	Michael Chan sat in his darkened office a large Scotch in his
hand. He was looking out of the window at the moonlit garden. He slowly
sipped his drink.
	The dinner had gone well, with no delays, and with only three
toasts and no speeches, they had finished early. This had allowed the Major
to advance the flight schedule for Quebec City and the young knights had
hurried upstairs to change into the clothing they would wear on the flight.
	And now it was done. The young knights, the officers, and the three
lady chaperones had boarded the bus and motorcars and were on their way to
the airport.
	Michael heard the door open and reflected off of the window he
could see Alistair, who entered, closed the door, and sat quietly in the
corner chair.
	"Do you wish you were going with them?" asked Alistair presently.
	"No. It is not my place. I have done what I could to protect them,
but in any venture there is risk. You will learn that . . . in time."
	Alistair rose and stood beside Michael's chair. "I hope that they
will find what they are looking for," he said.
	"They will find what they are destined to find, and do what they
are destined to do," replied Michael softly.
	Alistair nodded. He looked out of the window and saw the gardens
darken as a cloud passed between the Earth and the Moon. "Our struggle is
almost ended."
	"And their Crusade has just begun," replied Michael. He lifted his
glass in a silent toast to his knights and whispered, "Deus Vult!"

To Be Concluded