Historical, Geographical and General Notes:

Valerian and Bois bandé - Extracts of the plant Valerian (Latin name: Valeriana officinalis) have their main use in herbal medicine as sedatives. However, as noted in a German herbal book from the fourteenth century, it was also claimed to be an aphrodisiac. Bois bandé is also an aphrodisiac that comes from the bark of a tree called Roupala montana. To get the finished product, a strip of the bark is soaked for a week in rum. The rum is then filtered to obtain the extract of bois bandé. I have no idea what effect combining these two drugs would have since my botany and chemistry are rather pathetic (i.e. I took one botany course in my university career and couldn't run away fast enough) but for the purpose of this story, let's just say that it's not enough to kill Ken.

Candia, Crete (in Prefecture Heraklio) - Now known as the city of Iraklion, Candia has a long and eventful history. During the Minoan and Roman times, this city on the northern coast of Crete was said to have been a port for the legendary city of Knossos. In 824 A.D., it was captured by Saracens and renamed El Khandak (The Moat). It wasn't until the fourteenth century that the city was sold to Venice for 1000 pieces of silver, and under Venetian rule, it was renamed Candia. Many artists and scholars found refuge here, especially after the fall of Constantinople in 1453. The walls that Ran refers to in the story were built around the city for protection by the Venetians starting in 1462 (designed by the famous Venetian military engineer Michele Sammicheli) and were not completed until over a hundred years later (about a couple of decades before this fic). These walls were approximately 60m thick, totaled about 4.5km in perimeter, and boasted 12 bastions and forts all around. It also came in handy when the Turks laid siege to the city in the mid-seventeenth century, a siege that became one of the longest in history, lasting for 21 years and showing how effective these walls were. When the Turks finally took the city, it was renamed Iraklion, the name we know it by today. In 1971, the administrative center of Crete was moved here.

Dia - Dia is a small island off the coast of Iraklion. For those familiar with the Greek myth of Theseus, Ariadne, the Minotaur, and the Labyrinth: when Theseus abandoned Ariadne after she saved him from the Labyrinth, some say he was so anxious to be rid of her that he left her on Dia, within sight of her father's domain.

Clothing and Dress of the Gentleman - The clothes that Ran wears at the end of this chapter is typical of what wealthy gentlemen wore during the time period of the story. Although I'm not too sure of what exactly was 'in style' in 1596, I gave him the generic aristocrat's look with a Venetian flair since he was in Venetian territory. But all the pieces required of a gentleman are there: a doublet, a jerkin, hose, a cloak, and a hat. Well, I omitted the hat; I didn't want to cover Ran's beautiful hair! ^_^

(***)

Upon a Painted Ocean

Chapter 12: Second Encounters

Myklos Island

1596

White.

That was the first coherent thought that entered Ken's head the moment he opened his eyes. The ceiling was unusually white - colourless, bland, uniform - so unlike the nailed boards of a ship's hold. He blinked absently, foggy mind slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer at sea. As the heavy mantle of sleep started to lift, his senses began to rouse from their slumber, allowing him to become more consciously aware of his surroundings.

His back lay upon a haven of softness, and it didn't take all his faculties to conclude that he was comfortably ensconced in a bed. Furthermore, whatever room he was in, the window was open. The cool morning air from the outside world danced teasingly along his exposed skin, its refreshing feel intermingled with an encroaching heat that threatened to overtake its icier counterpart as time wore on. In the distance, he heard the faint echoes of the ocean, waves upon waves of an endless oasis, slapping and crawling its way onto a drier and harsher reality.

Ken let out a muffled groan and brought an arm up to brush a few errant strands of dark hair from his face, only to be rewarded with the stubbornness of several locks that refused to stay put, and the protests of an aching head and body that screamed bloody murder at the slight action. And it was then that the events of the previous night came crashing through his muddled mind: Nikolai, the wine … the blackness.

Panic was an unwelcome fiend at the best of times, but at that moment, Ken didn't know what else to feel as he tried to recall what exactly had happened to him after the wine had been forced down his throat.

Nothing. He couldn't remember anything but an anxiety-arousing void, a temporal slate in his memory that was as blank as the ceiling above him.

Intending to rise and better assess his situation, he suddenly found his left shoulder and arm inconveniently immobilized by the warm pliant body nestled against his side.

Body? In bed? With him?

His spine stiffened of its own accord, and his eyes widened in complete wakefulness at the realization that he wasn't alone in bed … and that he was completely unclothed. Nervously, he peeked over at his companion, the constant pressure against his body enough to tell him that this unknown person was still asleep, entirely oblivious to his growing panic. Golden blond hair peeked back, the fine strands innocently reflecting the early rays of the rising sun that managed to sneak through the window.

Bloody, bloody hell.

Pushing his head back into his pillow, Ken closed his eyes and swallowed, wishing for all he was worth that he could remember exactly how he had gotten here, and why, of all people, he'd ended up in bed with another man. Resigned, he reached over and shook the insensate body beside him.

"Omi," he called in a hoarse voice. "Omi, wake up."

The blonde groaned, and batted blindly at Ken's intrusive arm.

"Omi!" he said a little more loudly, the natural edge now beginning to reassert itself in his voice.

"W-what?" the sleepy boy grumbled and shifted off the brunette to get into a more comfortable position.

"Get up." Now free of the blonde's confining weight, Ken pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around. The simple features of the bedchamber he'd been forced into the night before greeted him: the opened window, the simple table, the gossamer waterfall, and even the detestable wine goblet. "We've got to find a way out of here," he stated plainly as he looked around for his clothes.

It wasn't until he had slid to the side of the bed that he felt Omi bolt upright on the mattress, his actions abrupt and jarring as if finally realizing the repercussions of his current predicament. However, his quick motion knocked the covers off his body and caused a vehement curse to escape from the angelic-looking boy's mouth.

"Christ, we're naked!" the blonde practically shouted as he tried to re-gather the blanket to cover himself.

Ken turned and looked over at his friend. Had the situation been less serious, he might have actually laughed at the faint blush that crept over the younger boy's cheeks. "Get dressed," the brunette said softly instead, hoping his soothing tone would help Omi reclaim his usual optimistic nature. "Our clothes are all over the floor."

So saying, Ken pushed off the bed and kneeled down to sort through the scattered articles on the ground, trying the best he could to ignore the small aches of his body and his own nakedness.

This was no different than the times he had been paraded before potential slave traders, he reminded himself. In fact, the circumstances here were far better than when he'd been inspected like quality horseflesh: at least it was only Omi in the room and not a crowd of bidders vying for him like he was a possession to be had.

"Do you remember what happened to you last night?" Omi asked quietly as he made his way over to join Ken in finding his clothes.

The brunette shook his head. "No. You?"

The younger boy shook his head solemnly as well. "I remember being taken to a room," the blonde said as he pulled on his pair of pants. "And that man was there. You know, the one from the ship, dressed all in black …"

"Nikolai," Ken supplied.

"Yes, him. He forced me to drink something, and after that I … I don't remember."

Ken began to struggle into his own clothes, standing up to pull on his pants, all the while, looking down at the bobbing blonde head of his companion. Blond … silken … strands that looked like burnished gold in candlelight … gliding over smooth sun-kissed skin. Breathing … heaving breaths that tickled that sensitive skin as possessive lips made their mark …

Oh God.

"What? What is it, Ken?"

He wasn't aware that he'd said anything until he heard Omi speak. Blue, inquisitive eyes glanced up at him, soaking in his frozen body and surprised expression.

"I … I think I might know what happened last night." Just the mere thought of it caused an unwanted weight to settle heavily inside his gut.

What had he done? Why him? Why Omi?

But he hadn't been in his right mind, he reasoned. And neither had Omi. They couldn't blame themselves for what had happened. He couldn't even remember any specific details, only brief fuzzy flashes of what might have occurred. Yet, still …

"Ken?" Omi stood, now fully clothed, and watched him expectantly, hoping his older friend would have an explanation for the blank in his memory.

Something must have been lingering on Ken's face, something haunted, something condemning, because without having the brunette say a word, Omi gasped quietly and took an unconscious step backwards, eyes wide with shock as if he were seeing the same images that had flittered through the older man's mind.

"No," the blonde said disbelievingly. "We didn't …"

"This stays between the two of us," Ken commanded, his sudden order sounding irrefutable. "We don't say anything to anyone. Whatever happened between us stays between us. Understand, Omi?"

The seriousness and the practicality of the suggestion were not lost on the young blonde; he nodded obediently.

Satisfied, Ken went back to straightening his clothes, trying to remain as unperturbed as possible as he smoothed some of the wrinkles from his vest. From the corner of his eye, he saw Omi mimic his actions, he too attempting to put everything - remembered and unremembered - behind him.

Whatever they had done, it had not been them, Ken tried to convince himself. They had been played with, cruelly manipulated like pliant puppets with no wills of their own.

"Well, well, it looks like two of my newest acquisitions are finally up and about. I must say that you two have far surpassed my expectations."

So preoccupied had Ken been in coming to terms with his previous night's actions that he hadn't even heard Nikolai enter the room, his habitual guards in tow. Now, the man stood before Omi and him with sickeningly false cheer, his appearance as immaculate as always from his pointed beard to his expensive black hose. The young brunette fought the overwhelming urge to lunge at the man and squeeze his neck until no life remained. However, in deference to the two armed guards, he settled for clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

"You bloody bastard!" Omi yelled, unable to hold his tongue like his older companion. "What did you do to us last night?" The blonde would have met with considerable trouble had he followed through with his intention to attack their captor, but Ken's restraining hand on his shoulder proved enough to still him. Anger spurring on heavy breaths, Omi glared venomously at the black-haired man.

Nikolai chuckled at the boy's overreaction. "What did I do to you?" he asked rhetorically with an amused tone. "My dear boy, I didn't do anything to you. You should be asking what you did to each other. A little Valarian and Bois Bandé, and I discovered what a great investment I had made."

Bois Bandé. Ken vaguely remembered hearing about it. It was an aphrodisiac, which would explain why …

But he showed no outward response to the discovery, and with a subtle tightening of his fingers, he silently urged Omi to follow suit. They couldn't act yet, not here, not now, not when everything was to their disadvantage.

Seeing no outright protests from the younger men, Nikolai promptly signaled for the guards to come forward. "Take these two back down," he ordered. "We'll see their true worth later … perhaps even tomorrow night."

Ken schooled his face to remain impassive at that last remark, but inside, he felt a dreaded sense of foreboding begin to form. Tomorrow night? What would be happening tomorrow night?

"Let's go."

The guard's terse words jarred Ken from his ponderings. Compliantly, he and Omi walked out of the room, their captor's enforcers following in their wake as they slowly made their way back to their locked quarters. Frankly, Ken was more than happy to leave the room behind; the sooner he got away from the chamber, the sooner he could forget about any unpleasantness that might have occurred within its walls.

(***)

Exploitation. Manipulation. Domination.

Those were the words that had shaped and guided Schuldich for as long as he could remember. In the world where he had grown up, the strong survived, and the weak … the weak never lived long, or if they did, it was a pathetic existence riddled with degradation and ridicule. That was why he had become the strongest of them all. That was why he had the blood of so many on his hands. That was why he had survived.

He'd clawed and crawled his way out of the pitiful mire of his youth and escaped into the world beyond, a world that kicked a man when he was down, a world that stole the bread from one's mouth even after months of starvation, but he hadn't minded it. That life had been infinitely better than the one he'd left behind. And when he'd found his way onto a ship called the Valiant, and met its dark-haired captain, his eyes had opened to another reality well beyond his scope of comprehension. True, the whole atmosphere aboard the Valiant reminded him of his origins, especially with Crawford at her helm, but he had also been exposed to a certain freedom and anonymity that he found completely foreign and almost … almost refreshing.

And now, he was trapped again, locked into a new prison away from the world he had slowly began to warm to, deprived of what he'd come to view as his own niche in that reality. Nikolai's whispered words on the beach still rang clear in his head, words that reminded him too much of the threats that had been thrown his way when he was a child.

/ "Give it up, my boy. You are mine now. Do you really think you'll see the outside world again?" /

The outside world … when had he come to view it as such? When had the outside world become such an enviable prize in his mind's eye? Three years ago, he wouldn't have cared less where he ended up as long as it was away from there, but now, everything seemed so much more complicated, like a sailor's knot that became more intricate and tighter as time passed. He was convinced that he didn't really want to live again in that 'outside world' - because he never wanted anything - but he knew without a doubt that he couldn't live here. It was too much like home, too constricting, too confining for his own good, and he had promised himself a long time ago that he would never go back to that again.

A shuffling sound from his left caused him to look over at the kid who had spoken to Ken when they'd first arrived. Giving up all pretense of sleep, Schuldich pushed himself up on his newly claimed bed and watched Nagi flip through some worn pages of an old book. His healing ribs protested weakly at the movement, but he ignored the slight discomfort and focused his attention on the young boy instead.

The brunette had never seen the world beyond these walls, he reminded himself, or so he'd heard when he'd been pretending to sleep the day before.

"You're one lucky bastard," the redhead observed.

Nagi stopped his perusing and looked questioningly at him.

Schuldich smirked. "Not knowing the outside world, not knowing freedom … you're better off that way."

The young brunette didn't say anything, giving the other man a blank expression before turning back to his book.

"Of course, if you find the right people to serve, it's not that bad," Schuldich continued conversationally, his smirk becoming somewhat nostalgic at the thought of his first meeting with Crawford. "No, not bad at all …"

"What's it like? The outside world, I mean."

The boy's voice was quiet, but the innocence that saturated the question made it louder than it truly was.

The redhead chuckled lightly at the words though, but as he thought about it, an inexplicable seriousness stole over him. "Different," he said solemnly. "More different than you'll ever know."

Emotionless blue eyes took in his reply as if he'd just been given the answer to a mathematical question, the reaction as passive and malleable as the boy himself.

It was an unnerving response to say the least. In fact, Nagi's whole personality - or rather, 'non-personality' - was unnerving. For once, Schuldich didn't have to try and read what hidden motivations belied another's words and actions, because in the case of the brunette, there was no motivation.

Just then, their prison door opened with a muted squeak, only to close almost immediately after Ken and Omi had entered. Schuldich watched the two walk silently toward their beds with a guarded gaze, secretly taking in their mussed appearance as they moved. There was a high probability that whatever they had been subjected to would soon be in his near future once his bruises healed. And how he hated that thought. He hated this powerlessness that had been forced upon him, just as he hated himself now for making that decision to please Crawford by getting himself captured to find Ken.

He had to get out of here. He didn't care how, but he had to get out of here before the demons of his past caught up with him and revealed to him that he might actually have a weakness after all.

(***)

Candia, Crete (Heraklio Prefecture)

The sound of hammers meeting wood floated to Ran's ears like notes of sweet music in the wind. He leaned tiredly against the rail of his ship and cast a supervisory eye over his men as they made the necessary repairs to the Redemption. His brief run-in with Crawford back in Marseilles, and a sudden storm he'd met with the day before had done more damage to the vessel than he'd originally thought. So much so that he had been forced to change course and dock in the port of Candia for repairs.

Ran tightened his grip on the wooden rail beneath his fingers, letting the subtle manifestation of his frustration show at the inconvenience. He loved his ship, and was grateful that she had survived so much with him at her helm, but at that moment, he wished that she wouldn't delay him like this. So eager was he to continue with his search that he'd sent out Kit and Youji, along with a few men, the moment they had docked to see if they could gather any information. He would've liked to send out more of his crew but the need to get the Redemption's repairs completed had forced him to forgo that luxury. And so far, of the men he'd sent out, not one had returned yet.

His gaze danced idly over the scenery of the port, hoping the familiar sun-drenched picture of converging land, earth, and air would calm him down. Candia, he'd learned from his school days, was a city steeped in history, and although nothing of the ancient Minoan and Roman civilizations could be visibly seen, he knew he probably stood at the very port that had led to the legendary city of Knossos. To his left, one of Candia's recently built twelve bastions stood, guarding diligently against invasion by both land and sea from its vantage point on the edge of the small bay. Its mere presence denoted how much this place had changed over time, its current occupation by the Venetians clearly seen in the protective wall that surrounded the city and the magnificent architecture that was reminiscent of its Italian cousins.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Ran stiffened and turned at the new voice, only to relax when he realized that it was Youji who had approached him. Returning his violet gaze to the tiny bay, he nodded and asked, "Did you find anything?"

The blonde moved to stand beside him and sighed dejectedly. "No, nothing. Either no one knows anything and we're following the wrong trail, or the locals are being extremely tightlipped."

The young captain closed his eyes briefly and fought the hopelessness that was threatening to spread through his body. He felt Youji's ephemeral green gaze linger on him for a moment before focusing out into the Mediterranean.

"You know that we're standing on a fairly mythical spot, don't you?" Youji asked, and Ran somehow knew the man was trying to lighten their thoughts in his own roundabout way. At the captain's silence, the blonde continued and gestured in the general direction they were facing. "Just over there is Dia, the island where some say Theseus abandoned Ariadne after she rescued him from the Labyrinth."

"The Labyrinth? Wasn't that where the girl's father had trapped the Minotaur?"

Youji smiled at Ran's observation. "Trust the aristocratic captain to be well-versed in his Greek mythology. You're right, of course, about the father. In fact, some believe the Labyrinth and the Minotaur were situated in this area." An amused gleam danced in the blonde's eyes. "Fitting, isn't it?"

The corner of Ran's mouth quirked up at the taller man's odd sense of humour. "Fitting indeed."

'Now if it were only that simple,' the redhead added as a silent afterthought.

"Captain!"

Both Ran and Youji turned around at the excited shout, only to be greeted by the first mate's flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

"What is it, Kit?" Ran asked, pulse accelerating at the news that he knew his old friend had.

The portly seaman ambled his way over to the two younger men, huffing his breaths at the overexertion he'd just inflicted on his old body. The young captain tried to remain patient as Kit regained enough of his composure to speak, but he had to restrain himself from shaking the news out of the man.

"I was just at a local inn," the first mate began when he finally calmed his breaths. "I managed to speak with the innkeeper, a beautiful black-haired widow by the name of Olga …"

"I can see why you're so excited," Youji cut in, his typical amused smirk on his face.

Ran threw the blonde an annoyed look and prompted Kit to continue.

"Wonderful woman, that Olga. She's been running that inn by herself since her husband died over eight years ago." And then, seeing the impatience creeping up on the captain's face, he decided to get to the point of his story. "She was telling me that every so often, she gets quite a few nobles from throughout Europe staying at her inn, all supposedly attending a secret meeting of some sort, privileged to those with enough money. Now, because she prides herself on running a discreet establishment, she doesn't question them, but over the years, she has learned quite a bit by just listening. Apparently, these noblemen are taken to an island somewhere south of here and enjoy some rather debauched entertainment."

Youji chuckled at the story. "So what do the wicked habits of these aristocrats have to do with us? Truthfully, it sounds like fun."

Kit turned serious eyes on the blonde, and then on Ran. "The ship that takes them to this island is called the Minotaur."

That statement sobered Youji up fairly quickly. Good humour dissipating, he glanced over at the redhead, who seemed to be deep in thought. After a moment of contemplative silence, Ran finally spoke.

"When does the next trip out to this island occur?"

"Tomorrow night," Kit replied succinctly. "There is a group gathering at Olga's inn right now."

"I'll go," Youji volunteered the moment Kit finished speaking.

Two pairs of surprised eyes turned to the newest member of the Redemption, one of the owners surprised at how quickly the blonde's entire demeanor had changed, and the other forming an immediate objection.

"No," Ran said with finality. Youji opened his mouth to argue but the redhead didn't give him a chance to speak. "I'm going. I want you and Kit to follow at a discreet distance with the Redemption when they set sail."

"Captain …" Kit's weak protest was halted by the intense determination shining in the younger man's violet orbs. And apparently, Youji saw it too because after a moment of hesitation, he pursed his lips into a grim line and nodded.

Ran was relieved at their lack of resistance. To be honest, he didn't know how to justify his decision to them. As captain of the ship, he was needed here, but he knew he could not risk losing this opportunity to find Ken. And the only way to ensure that was to throw himself headlong into the whole situation. It was not the most rational thing to do. It was not, by far, something the calculating captain of the Redemption would do. But it seemed that it was something that he, Ran Fielding, wanted … no, needed … to do.

(***)

"We have to find a way out of here."

Omi's words pulled Ken from his introspective reverie and drew his attention toward the blonde on the next bed. Since they had returned from their unwanted 'excursion', the brunette had fallen into his own little world of conjecture and deduction. He had said that he would forget about last night, and even told himself repeatedly that nothing had happened, but his thoughts somehow drifted back to the missing pieces in his memory. As hard as he fought it, he couldn't help but try to remember what had occurred between Omi and him, driven on by a sense of morbid curiosity and masochistic fascination. He didn't know if the blonde was facing the same dilemma, but seeing Omi at that moment, he had a feeling that his young friend was trying to put it behind him as well - a fact for which he was thankful since it helped dispel some of the awkwardness between the two of them.

"What do you say, Ken? Do you think we can get out of here?"

Sitting up, the brunette turned to face the younger boy, serious brown eyes leveling with optimistic blue. "I don't know, Omi. Do you have a plan?"

The blonde's elfin features took on a somber cast, as if every fiber of his being was deep in concentration. "I think I do, but I can't do it alone. I need everyone's help."

Intrigued, Ken didn't say anything, allowing the boy to dictate his new idea; if anything, he was starting to respect and admire his friend as an ingenious strategist.

"On the trips down here, I remember passing an armoury. The door wasn't completely open so all I could see were some pistols and barrels of gunpowder. I didn't get a good look at the outside structure of this house when we were brought here, but the room is at the end of a long hallway, which probably puts it in one of the wings away from the main chambers. If we can get to that room, and arm ourselves, we can find a way out of this place."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" As much as Ken believed in Omi's abilities, he was a realist, and he refused to get drawn into a scheme that would dash away his hopes again. He could only take so much.

"The best time would be when the guards come down to feed us. There's usually only two of them, one who comes in, and one who remains at the door. That would give us the perfect chance to escape. But for this to work, I need everyone's help," Omi explained rationally.

"No."

The single word from across the room prompted Ken and Omi to look over at the diminutive brunette who'd spoken.

"Why not, Nagi?" the blond strategist entreated. "If we all work together, we can get out of here. Don't you want to leave this place?"

The smaller boy stared back, expressionless, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Omi's latter question. But Ken sensed that the boy didn't know how to answer, the bland expression masking a child who had grown up not knowing the value of choice and free will.

"I'm in."

The strong, arrogant voice of Schuldich overshadowed Nagi's quiet refusal, and it was enough to draw the attention of all the other boys in the room. The redhead slid off his bed and swaggered over to join the planning session, the action followed curiously by the other occupants. Slowly, one by one, their fellow captives made their way over to Omi's bed as well, until only Nagi remained absent from the gathered group.

Ken watched the other dark-haired boy sadly, wishing that Nagi would bend to the will of his peers for his own good, but he could only pray the boy would follow the others when the plan was set into motion. Then, Omi started to talk, and Ken found himself drawn into the blonde's optimism and enthusiasm, that irrepressible feeling of hope flaring in his chest despite his better judgment.

"We'll plan it for tomorrow night …"

(***)

One day later …

It was times like this that Ran was grateful he'd left the life of the aristocrat far behind him. He tugged hatefully at his deep crimson doublet, and tried to settle himself a little more comfortably into his chair as he watched the common room of the Golden Lyre, the inn that Kit had said would be the rendezvous point for the 'trip'. Against his better judgment, he had sent Kit out to purchase the clothes of the noble he would play, and now, he was regrettably paying for that decision.

His attire had a decidedly Venetian influence, his doublet boasting the pointed waist and narrowed skirt that was at the height of fashion. His sleeves were tightly fitted over his muscle toned limbs, buttoned up on the back of his arm near his cuff and set off perfectly by his cut-to-fit sleeveless black jerkin. His similarly coloured upper hose was more in the Venetian style of the form-hugging knee breeches that hooked on the inside of the knees and pulled over his dark stockings. Kit had brought back an ostentatious set of garters for the said stockings, but Ran had taken one look at them and quickly threw them overboard, opting instead to wear a plain buckled set he'd had in his chest. To top off his torturous ensemble, Kit had force him into a pair of shiny black high-heeled shoes, cut with a tongue and designed with side-lachets fastened over the instep.

Appearing to fluff the lace on his cuffs, Ran inwardly longed for his loose white shirt, familiar breeches, and comfortable boots, but he knew he cut a dashing figure among the aristocratic set that lingered in the room, and that was what mattered. To these men, and hopefully, to their would-be host, he would look like a bored nobleman on the prowl for a night of debauchery and depravity.

"I say, this ought to be a most entertaining night."

A portly, middle-aged gentleman seated himself across the table from Ran and smiled eagerly. The young captain glared back at the corpulent, balding man and said nothing, giving the stranger a look with a withering violet gaze sharp enough to cut diamonds and had sent many men under his command scurrying. The rotund nobleman sputtered at the deadly look, and rose to leave with as much dignity as he could muster.

Alone again, Ran carefully arranged his Spanish cloak over his left shoulder and leaned back in his chair. Because the expensive cloth had to be fastened under his right shoulder in the back to leave his sword arm free, he didn't want to risk taking it off and go through the trouble of tying the thing himself without Kit's help. Besides, according to Olga, Kit's innkeeper, the wait shouldn't be too long now.

The thought had no sooner entered the young captain's mind than a well-dressed man of average height walked into the room with an entourage of what looked to be five burly sailors.

"Gentlemen," the newcomer greeted everyone with a false smile Ran had seen too often on fast-talking businessmen. "For those who do not know me, my name is Nikolai Markhonen, and I have the honour of being your host tonight." With his introduction, the man made an elegant leg and then stood to gesture toward the exit. "If you would all follow me, I shall show you to my ship and take you to tonight's fine entertainment."

There was a general murmur of anticipation and excitement in the room for those new to the experience, but Ran noted a few older gentlemen who watched Nikolai with practiced, jaded eyes.

"Of course," the darkly clad man added with a smile. "I shall require that each of you pay a fee prior to departure. Otherwise, I will be forced to deny you passage."

'Nothing more than a glorified merchant,' Ran thought as he followed the actions of the others in the room, and took out the pouch of gold he'd remembered to bring.

Nikolai was pleased by the quick acquiescence of his potential patrons and kept his fake smile in place. At his signal, all the noblemen in the room began to file out toward the exit, pausing only briefly to hand the waiting man the requisite gold. Ran stood, and walked calmly to the converging group, his heels clicking rhythmically on the clean wooden floor. Handing over a portion of his money to the readily accepting man, he then followed the other aristocrats into the late afternoon air, anticipation slowly building at the possibility of seeing Ken once again.

(***)

They hadn't expected this.

Ken watched helplessly and complied unwillingly as two guards pushed him and another boy into a small room on the main floor. The boy, whose name was Pierre Laval as Ken had learned when they'd been discussing the escape plan the day before, acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His strawberry-blond head bent in a posture of submission, Pierre remained unresisting as one of the guards locked what looked like delicate gold shackles around his wrists. Once finished, the guard turned to Ken and chained his wrists too before the brunette had a chance to react.

Damn, how were they going to get out of this?

When the guards had first come into their locked chamber to take Pierre and him away, Omi had jumped high enough to nearly hit the ceiling with surprise. Their plan had been scheduled for later that night, and he had not foreseen Ken's absence from the upcoming escape. Standing to follow the strawberry-blonde and the guards out of the room, Ken had given his friend a reassuring nod.

"Do what you have to. I'll catch up with you," he'd whispered before departing. The blonde had nodded almost imperceptibly, but Ken still remembered the uncertainty that had shone in Omi's clear blue eyes.

"This way," the guard said roughly, dragging Ken's thoughts back to the present.

Obediently, the two captives followed, Pierre submissively and Ken reluctantly. He tugged gently at his gold chains, the delicate look of them leading him to think that they were more for aesthetic purposes than practical. But to his disappointment, the metal held strong, not giving any measure as he tried to pull his arms apart.

Damnit, why now of all times? Why did he have to be chained up now?

Before Ken knew it, he was led into the room he'd been brought to two nights ago, Pierre walking listlessly at his side as if he knew what awaited him and had done this a thousand times before. The room was still the same as it had been the last time he was here - immaculate, simple, and unadorned - only tonight, something was different with the curtained off area. He tried to hide his shocked reaction as best he could when he realized what was so different: there were people there, probing, watchful eyes that bore down on him through the sheer gossamer, slowly peeling away at each layer of his carefully guarded self as he stood by helplessly.

He swallowed hard to suppress the rising bile in his throat and fought to keep the humiliation he felt from showing on his face.

'Breathe,' he told himself. 'Breathe. Let them stare all they want. You'll survive this. You always have.'

"Gentlemen, I present to you the first specimen for the night." Nikolai's voice cut clear and crisp through the room as he approached, his eyes directed toward the gossamer curtain as if presenting a work of art to interested patrons. "This is my newest acquisition so for those of you who have been here before, I assure you that he will add some variety to an otherwise mundane night."

That said, Nikolai proceeded to slide Ken's vest off his shoulders until the garment rested around his waist, held there by his restrained arms and thereby revealing to interested eyes his lightly sculpted upper torso. From behind the sheer fabric, the brunette heard a few whispers and some rustling, but not enough to reveal what was going on behind the cloth barrier.

Nikolai smiled emptily. Reaching out, the black-haired man clasped a hand around his captive's bicep and squeezed gently on the muscle, sliding exploratory fingers over smooth, taut skin. Reacting more from reflex than forethought, Ken shook off the touch roughly and jerked away, only to have Nikolai react just as roughly and grab him by the throat. Caught by surprise, Ken couldn't defend himself as his captor gently tightened his grip around his neck, and slowly choked the air from his lungs. Letting out a strangled cough, he fell to his knees as the room began to swim, and yet, his hateful gaze never left his torturer's bland face.

Satisfied with the small punishment, Nikolai finally released his hold and looked back at the curtained off area with his business-like mask. "Strong and spirited, this one is, but quite agile and - "

"How much for him?"

All noise stopped in the room at those words, and the moment of shocked silence that followed was the longest Ken had ever endured. Even Nikolai paused at the unexpected question. Then, quickly gathering his wits, the host cleared his throat and vainly searched through the obscuring curtain for the man who'd spoken.

"My deepest apologies, but he is not for sale just yet. I have - "

"How much for him?" The question was asked again, tone forceful and undeterred.

And Ken was kneeling frozen from his spot on the floor, eyes glued unseeing on an area of reddish tint behind the gossamer, all his senses abuzz as he tried to come to terms with the thoughts that were running through his head.

That voice … commanding, confident … a voice he'd heard countless times in his dreams … a voice he'd never expected to hear again.

Ran.

End Chapter 12