Chapter Twenty-Seven – True to Form
The fact that there were still parts of the academy he had yet to explore shouldn't have come as a big surprise to Lawrence. After all, he'd been here for barely a week, one in which he had come to know – at least to his knowledge – all the important actors involved in one way or another with the case. The white oak doors still haunted his investigative mind, but until Lukas revealed more through his diary, which, fortunately, hadn't been stolen like the photograph holding the key to the victim's cyphered shorthand, he was stuck.
Catacombs didn't serve only as archives, apparently. As imposing as Veridien was on the surface, towering over its surroundings with its tall spires, it had secrets spreading underneath.
An oil boiler room, where he arrived guided by Ali, a little past nine, was the battlefield chosen by the elite institution's finest and bravest.
"What do you think?" Ali whispered.
"Quite a shocking industrial design for your underground fighting," Lawrence commented. "I thought such battles would be carried out in the open. Aren't the Veridien boys known for being hardy and ready to face whatever weather is thrown at them?"
The ring, if it could be called that, was a large area that must have been graced by oil stains for a long time before being repurposed into a fighting arena. The students here didn't mind getting dirty; it was quite the opposite of Veridien's usual pristine environment and constant cleaning routines. Old crates and abandoned pipes lay along the walls, having been pushed away to make room for the physical activities that took place every Sunday, if Lawrence recalled Bastien's words correctly.
The Sun King was, so far, a no-show. Lawrence took in the old metal smell and searched the faces of the students gathered there. First-years had a chance to rub elbows with those closest to the day they'd leave Veridien behind. A bit of observation was enough to notice who vied for whose attention. Hierarchy was thoroughly at home, and that was no surprise.
Casual clothes were getting abandoned in favor of the loincloths Ali had told him about. Under the wire-caged light bulbs, their pale bodies looked surreal, a contrast against the dirty walls and floor.
Had Bastien been the one to find the photograph in his pocket? It was a possibility. Lawrence hated to think that he had just dropped it; the alternative, Bastien doing the actual taking, was neither worse nor better.
It would make sense why he wasn't here. Lawrence's plan was to pretend to be none the wiser regarding the provenience of the photo if Bastien gave him a thorough dressing down.
Bodies fell, each thud quickly followed by cheers or protests. There was no arbiter to speak of. It all seemed bordering on child's play, but with young men who could hurt each other if they sought to do so.
Most likely, it was a way to settle scores, and Lawrence agreed. The students here competed during lessons and outside of them. A few unpleasant feelings had to spring up from time to time. Under the circumstances, whoever had come up with the idea of this clandestine wrestling den had to be a wise man.
He was surprised to see Felix engaged in a clutch with no other but Viv. His slender body wasn't to be underestimated. Ali could complain about having the lungs of a cloistered nun, but that was where his brother took the lead. Felix's pretty face was pinched in the middle, his eyes focused on a point on the floor, while Viv cowered under his snake-like coil.
A settle to score indeed. Ali had been quick to dismiss that he was in any way, shape or form, upset about being an outsider to the Golden Circle. At the same time, he was aware of Viv trying the play the role of a usurper in absentia. Lawrence had seen little of Viv to have a well-cemented opinion of the guy, but his superficial verdict was that the student in question had too dull of personality to love himself much. Therefore, he avidly borrowed, without – perhaps – even realizing that he was committing a terrible faux-pas.
Felix was currently punishing Viv for something, although his victim seemed completely clueless regarding the reasons.
A single glance at Ali convinced him that his partner was just as riveted with the wrestling match as the rest of the audience.
Viv had no choice but to yield. He was breathing hard and raised a pleading hand. Felix stopped mid-way from leaving and eventually, reluctantly, offered to help his friend up to his feet. The look on his face remained impenetrable, while Viv laughed and pretended that it was all just a little friendly sparring.
It didn't look like it to Felix.
"Your brother is merciless," Lawrence whispered from the corner of his mouth.
"Yes, he is also the cruel one. Besides being the wise one."
"You are unforgiving."
"If you want forgiveness, find a church." Ali grinned at him and wrapped an arm around Lawrence's elbow. "Will you do me the honor to name me your second?"
"Are we dueling or are we wrestling? Fine, you are my second," Lawrence said once he noticed Ali's pout. "As if I'd have anyone else. Now, since it looks like we're getting ready to witness the next match, where is the king himself? Doesn't he usually preside over such things?"
"He does. His tardiness annoys me," Ali declared, linking his hands behind his back like a football coach observing his players from the sidelines with a critical eye. "Though not as much as it unsettles you."
"What a keen observer. Where would I be without you?"
"Don't worry. He'll come. He never misses a chance to show everyone why he's our most beloved ruler."
"Does Bastien really best everyone? I doubt it. Ah, I see," Lawrence commented. "They wouldn't dare put the king down. Am I correct?"
"Bastien is an intelligent wrestler. What he misses in mass and strength, he compensates through technique and stamina."
"Now you are simply kissing the royal ass," Lawrence said with a snort.
"I prefer to leave that particular physical activity to you."
"Quite the biter, aren't you? I assume you leave all physical activities to someone else."
"Touché," Ali conceded.
It wasn't only Bastien who was missing. Anton wasn't there, either, nor his henchman. Norris, who Lawrence suspected to be a redoubtable opponent to anyone in the room, was late, as well. Save for Viv and Felix, the Golden Circle was a complete no-show. The only absentee who didn't surprise him was Eldric. A shadowy figure. What was he hiding under his scholarly façade?
"There they are," Ali said, pulling at the sleeve of his sweater.
Lawrence turned, dreading the moment when he'd meet Bastien's eyes. The king was absorbed in something Anton was explaining in a low voice, his gestures fast and nervous. They were coming down the stairs, so they were soon in full view. Norris and Abelard followed close, like obedient hunting dogs.
The ruckus died down, even if the Golden Circle – or the half of it – hadn't made their presence known in any way. A few first-years made a beeline for Bastien immediately. The affable kingly composure was in its rightful place. Bastien listened to the boys until Anton intervened to politely but firmly push them away.
Then Bastien looked around, his eyes searching until they fell on Lawrence.
It hadn't been Bastien who took the photo. Lawrence pushed down his sigh of relief. But his eyes were now trapped in Bastien's gaze, and there was no escape.
"Ready to show Veridien what a man like you is capable of?" Bastien smiled and brushed his hand slightly along Lawrence's jaw.
"I don't know if it's wise of me to compete. I hear that you always come up as the champion."
"You heard correctly. I am counting on you to prove everyone wrong and beat me."
"Are you sure? I don't look forward to incurring your admirers' wrath."
Bastien chuckled and leaned forward. When they were out of their uniforms, in an unlikely place such as this, even the Golden Circle seemed more like everyday people than heirs to empires and whatnot.
"I haven't yet pegged you for a coward, Bear. Give me all you've got."
"Won't that incur your wrath?"
"Let's find out."
With that, Bastien moved away, followed by Anton, who nodded at him. Abelard, to Lawrence's surprise, lingered.
"I heard you got hit by a bottle. Last night."
Abelard looked a little pale. Not one for wrestling matches, without a doubt.
"I wasn't paying attention," Lawrence replied.
"You're not hurt. That is good."
If that was Abelard's olive branch, Lawrence was willing to accept it. Although it was obvious Abelard didn't do well with good wishes and the like.
"It would have been bad if we got in trouble over you."
He'd been too quick to attribute at least one good personality trait to Abelard.
"I heard you started the fight," Lawrence said in kind.
"Hardly." Abelard clutched at his throat for a moment as if he were cold.
"I don't think Anton would mind much if you didn't trail after him all the time like a little pet."
Abelard gave him a venomous look. "I am his most loyal friend. You are mistaken."
"As you say. It all looks a bit like a master and pet relationship to me whatever the two of you are displaying without care."
"Just give up, Abe," Ali intervened. "Lawrence comes from a long line of boxers. Pray that your loyal master doesn't get to face--"
"Yours?" Abelard shot back.
Ali bit his bottom lip hard. "You and His Dark Eminence will never have what I have with Lawrence."
"We're not interested in whatever you and your peasant friend get up to these days." Abelard scoffed. "Remember your place, Lowboy." (1)
Ali's paleness matched Abelard's now, but for different reasons. Abelard moved away, not forgetting to turn and smirk over his shoulder, to show that he had won this round.
"That was a low blow," Lawrence said. "Just say the word, Ali, and I'll put this wise guy in his place. Also, I'm never going to call you Shorty again."
"Don't you dare. It's all right when it comes from you. Even when you're teasing me, you're doing it in good faith. That's the difference. I wouldn't mind, however, if you made His Dark Eminence hit the mat hard a few times."
"There's no mat," Lawrence noted, pointing at the empty floor.
"I said what I said."
***
Lawrence was beginning to give a new meaning to the wrestling tournament he was witnessing. At first, he had thought that it was all about settling scores, but the more he watched, the more he was starting to understand the undercurrent.
Or maybe he was starting to feel it, instead. Lean, strong bodies rubbing against each other under the pale lights of the former boiler room, opened the way for the vague homoeroticism that seemed to infuse the academy in places, like branches growing wildly from an otherwise well-trimmed tree.
Besides Lukas and Bastien, had others become couples? The most reasonable answer was 'yes'. Status dictated attention from the faculty, without a doubt, but that still begged another question: how often were rules against such things enforced?
Ali hadn't been talking nonsense when telling him about Bastien's natural prowess. Down on the dirty floor, wearing nothing but a white loincloth, the Sun King became a different beast. Lawrence was seeing him in a new light, something that was happening more often than not lately. However affable and kind Bastien acted most of the time, he didn't spare any of that outward personality on his opponents in the ring.
First of all, he was, indeed, fast. Students like Norris, who were heavier, would gain the upper hand for a while, and more than once had Lawrence worried that the king's reputation might be quickly tarnished.
There was something else. Bastien never once hesitated. He strategized and committed to his next move, like a general moving troops on a map, regardless of consequences. A single glance would fool the witnesses into believing that Bastien was too brazen and reckless. But he always identified and exploited the other wrestler's weakness, transforming it into his advantage.
The affable king had a determined side that wouldn't accept defeat. Was cruelty part of the game, or were slight humiliations par for the course? Currently, Anton was getting gradually red in the face, while Bastien held his neck between his thighs. Unconventional. Anton hit Bastien's thighs a couple of time before his master and friend decided to let him go free.
Unlike Felix earlier, Bastien offered his hand to his opponent right away. Anton didn't seem in the least disturbed by having been crushed so categorically. His natural color returned, and he grinned at Bastien, patting his shoulder.
Or Anton was, indeed, the sort to offer just the right amount of resistance so he remained a decent challenge while conceding defeat and giving his adored ruler satisfaction. No matter how long Lawrence stared at the duo, he still remained on the fence regarding Anton's ability to accept being beaten without feeling even a little slighted.
His Dark Eminence remained a puzzle. Lawrence wouldn't mind another meeting, one between only the two of them, so he could observe the suspect at length. In an official investigation, he'd return to Anton again and again, eager to complete his file with new information.
"Well, Sir Galahad?" Bastien asked, stopping in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest.
The earlier exertion had made Bastien sweat, and Lawrence felt his nostrils flaring momentarily. Bastien's skin was dirty now, and his hair was a mess. But he was even more beautiful this way, his bare feet pressed firmly against the old boiler room floor, his eyes glinting dangerously, and a knowing smile quirking his lips.
"Do you expect me to undress in front of all these people?"
Bastien gestured with his chin. "Men," he said like a commander, "our next fighter requires privacy. They'll protect your lovely behind while you change. Ali will help you."
Lawrence leaned forward. "Not one trace of jealousy? You must have lied to me before."
"Don't be absurd, knight-errant." Bastien huffed for good measure. "He will help you by folding your clothes and holding them during our match."
"Very well. I must warn you that I might be easily overcome by your charms, hence your hasty victory."
"And I must warn you that I leave my charms out of the ring. You will give me everything you have, or we'll have words."
Lawrence shrugged. "As you wish. With the risk of attracting your admirers' wrath for all eternity, I will do as you please."
"Hurry." Bastien's smile turned a smidge wicked. "I quite look forward to our confrontation."
The Golden Circle didn't even look at him as they quickly formed a wall with their bodies, obscuring him from view while he began undressing.
"Good little soldiers," he couldn't resist taunting them, but just like good little soldiers, they didn't react at all.
Lawrence stared at the back of their heads for a moment and then continued to undress. Ali dutifully accepted each piece of clothing, carefully folded, and offered immediate and unwanted advice on how he should approach his wrestling match with Bastien.
"As I mentioned before, he is fast, and he is counting on it. You are bigger, so strength and mass are on your side."
Lawrence had gathered this much already. There are other things he worried about more. "The boys seem rather merciless when they go against each other. Don't you ever have injuries?"
"There have been. A shoulder popping out of its socket once if I recall correctly. There was definitely an incident regarding a hip. Or an elbow. I can't be too sure."
"You don't often come here."
Ali shuddered and grimaced. "No. Not my stage, as you can easily tell. So, yes, injuries do happen, not that I know details. And they are a pain to conceal. But Veridien does allow its prisoners their occasional fun."
"Dangerous fun."
"Men don't grow in greenhouses made of glass."
"How quaint. What about granite?"
"A greenhouse is still a greenhouse. Are you ready to confront Bastien?"
"As ready as I can be. Don't be too disappointed if I lose, partner."
Lawrence bit his bottom lip in frustration as soon as he realized his mistake. Because the Golden Circle behaved like they were as good as an inanimate wall, it was too easy to overlook their presence. And ears.
"I won't be. But you will not be my chess partner for too long if you prefer this self-defeating mentality."
Good call, Ali. Anton and the others could continue to wonder what sort of partners they were even given his answer, but at least they couldn't be sure something untoward was afoot. None the wiser was how Lawrence preferred to keep everyone.
"Ah, one last thing," Ali said. "Fight dirty if you have to. Bastien will not be so noble."
At his remark, Anton turned his head. "Are you done besmirching your childhood friend, Alistair?"
"Quite done, yes," Ali said, flashing a look full of meaning at Lawrence.
Yes, they were listening. He needed to stop being so careless and pay more attention to his surroundings.
Bastien was standing in the middle of the ring. Even those threadbare surroundings couldn't dim his golden looks. But there was a man underneath that façade who felt differently and wildly, and not at all like the education he'd been spoon-fed with silver implements at Veridien.
Lawrence looked forward to meeting and getting to know that man.
Bastien's smile faded, making room for concentration. Firm hands on Lawrence's shoulders, smooth slippery skin underneath his fingers.
When Lawrence hit the floor hard, the crowd cheered. Their king would not disappoint them.
"You cannot be serious," Bastien hissed at him.
Lawrence met his eyes briefly. Unlike his crowd of sycophants, unlike his Golden Circle, Lawrence needed to bring the king down a peg or two. Bastien needed it, and he understood that. Because if everything that mirrored back at him at Veridien gave Bastien the same version of truth all the time, one that he felt and intuitively knew to be wrong or at least incomplete, if he was meant to be perfect and he wasn't, then how could he ever understand where or when he'd ever done wrong?
Lawrence didn't warn his opponent. In many ways, this wasn't a match; it was a battle for an obscured truth that was struggling to emerge. He turned the tables on Bastien and caught him hard in a lock. As difficult as it was to ignore the pressing of Bastien's smooth skin and hard muscles against him, making him feel as if they were touching each other everywhere, an echo of their entanglement of limbs from the night before, he was determined to offer his opponent the truth he desired.
For Lawrence, the price to pay wasn't even high, regardless of the others' perception.
Bastien slipped from his arms and pressed him down. Ali had it all wrong. Bastien didn't lack strength. It was only better concealed in his case. That was part of his allure and the danger others became exposed to when going against him. Again and again, his close friends and the larger Veridien student body must have seen Bastien gain the upper hand in these matches and thought nothing of it. They saw talent, where Lawrence saw a cunning nature willing to use anything required to secure victory. They saw their king, ready to please, kind, and tolerant, but they didn't realize that was how they fell under his spell and accepted his ruling.
Bastien could command them with an iron hand; he had it in him, and Lawrence saw it. But he chose to use a gloved hand instead, so the others, fraught by their long hours of studying and the brainwashing Ali complained about, flocked to him like to a golden promise that things could be better if only they resisted the siege long enough.
Which had to be true. Beyond the gates of Veridien, far in the wide world, these young men would turn into statesmen, diplomats, makers of destinies for nations. They only needed not to forget that promise, and that was Bastien to them.
Too bad for them that Lawrence needed to chip at that perfect image. Bastien deserved no less.
Though Bastien had been careful about hiding the bruises left on his body and especially his neck all day long by wearing his turtleneck, now he was as good as naked. Bruises came with the territory under the pale lights of the boiler room, so no one was paying attention to a few extra marks on one's skin.
Bastien had his crotch pressed against Lawrence's, knowing well what he was doing. Ali's warning hadn't been so far off the mark, it seemed.
"Getting a little excited?" the Sun King taunted him.
"Taking you as an example."
Bastien snorted, and that was his mistake. Too certain of his victory, he lost focus for a moment, and that was all Lawrence needed.
Once more, he trapped Bastien's body between his thighs and flipped him over. Without hesitation, Lawrence bit Bastien's neck in the same place he had sunken his teeth in before, eliciting an immediate hiss of pained pleasure from his opponent.
"Bear, should we stop this before we put on a rather inappropriate show for our fellow students?"
"If you yield." Lawrence let go but held Bastien down. Whether his opponent was letting him win or not was a matter up for debate.
"I believe I should. I risk spending myself against your leg like a dog in heat. And that, I'm afraid, it's an ignominy I can't accept."
The crowd was silent. This had never happened before. They had just witnessed their king being overpowered by an outsider, even turned into a toy, a willing lustful creature – they couldn't have missed that – and they couldn't believe it.
Bastien was his usual graceful self as he admitted his defeat and presented Lawrence as the new champion. Except for Ali, no one hurried to congratulate him.
After Lustratio, Lawrence had managed to taint another Veridien tradition. Living up to his outsider's reputation wasn't so difficult, after all.
The king always won. But not today.
"You two are impossible," Anton berated them while the others left in groups until they were the only people left. They, the Golden Circle, and Ali.
"What do you mean?" Bastien asked in a mocking tone.
"Truly, Bastien? Was this fighting or fucking?"
"What did you believe it was? The beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, and so is perversion. If you thought you were seeing anything inappropriate, that is mostly on you."
"Oh, don't use clever words with me," Anton said. "Garth, you are no longer allowed at any of our public activities. You are destroying Bastien's reputation."
"Anton, be quiet," Bastien ordered, his voice icy and unlike his usual affable tone.
A tick in Anton's jaw told Lawrence that the second-in-command didn't appreciate being put in his place. Friends by design, Bastien had called his Golden Circle in front of Herr Becker. Dynamics were dictated by games of power.
So Anton could be furious, but he wouldn't speak against Bastien again. He did, however, turn on his heel, and leave, followed quickly by Abelard and the others who didn't even dare to throw a look in their king's direction, their heads hanging low, as if they had been defeated in his stead.
Ali sauntered over to them. "Bastien, tell me you didn't," he said with a grin.
"What is the Veridien motto, Ali?" Bastien asked, his tone mocking yet pleased.
"There are just so many. I have no idea."
"Know your place; it has already been chosen for you," Bastien said breezily.
His eyes turned to meet Lawrence's gaze. Light and dark; they could live together, after all.
TBC
(1) Lowboy – in this context, it refers to a piece of furniture that is basically a small chest of drawers with curved legs. It also goes under the name French provincial dresser (and yes, I did go a bit down a rabbit hole to find the proper insult for poor Ali, as it came from Abelard).