Free Lord Melchior by Varian Krylov

"What's wrong, Zaccheus?"
    "What? Nothing.” I heard my voice waver as I answered.
    "Nothing. Right."
    Crossing the room we shared, Arif took two glasses and the decanter from the dresser and came back to where I stood, looking out our small window over the garden. He filled one crystal challis and offered it to me. Breathing in the rich, sweet scent, I drew a taste of the warm port over my tongue, then turned back to the soothing vista of night sky and moonlit garden. Arif remained by my side, sipping from his glass.
    "Tell me, Zaccheus, what happened on your shift tonight."
    I turned from the cool breeze to face him. Arif was grinning with wicked curiosity. Something told me he already had a fairly clear idea of what sort of thing had transpired that night in the master's salon. Arif had been in the master's employ for more than a year, while I had only arrived the week before, on my eighteenth birthday. In the nine days since my arrival Arif had been tutoring me in my various duties, which until that night had been light. Surprisingly so. Little more than attending the master in the evenings as he took his meal at table, staying nearby when he adjourned to the library, fetching his pipe and filling his glass as he read by the fire. But this night had been very different.
    Like all those employed in the mansion I had been raised on the property—schooled by the teachers in the master's employ, brought up by parents who had been taught the same lessons in the same little stone building when they had been children. I had been lessoned very thoroughly and very strictly, like all the boys and girls who had grown up with me, on matters of morality and propriety. Then, like all the other souls belonging to Lord Melchior, on my tenth birthday I had left my family and moved into the boys’ boarding school to finish my education.
    What I had seen, what I had been made to do that night violated everything I had been taught. Everything except the one rule which was understood to be supreme above all the others: that Lord Melchior was to be obeyed in everything, without question.
    I drained the last of the port from my glass and Arif quickly filled it again. As the warmth of the drink spread through me some of my anxiety abated, and as my mind roamed over the images of what I had seen and my body remembered what it had felt, my prick stirred restlessly in my snug breeches. Arif's eyes drifted from my flushed face down to my crotch and his dirty grin widened.
    "Sit down, Zaccheus. I have a feeling the story you've got to tell is worth hearing in detail. We may as well be comfortable."
    I was still unused to the luxuriant accommodations. The little cottage I had shared with my parents and siblings had only the barest of furnishings. My little cot had served as bed and bench. The boarding school, too, had been austere. But in the room I shared with Arif, we not only had two comfortable beds, but two armchairs, upholstered in rich fabric and very soft to sit upon. And certainly I had never eaten such rich food as we were given here, nor tasted a drop of wine. But our decanter was filled each evening and we were permitted to drink as much of it as we liked once we had finished our evening's work. Now, relaxed by the port I sank down into one chair, and Arif pulled the second just opposite and sat down.
    "Come on, let's have it."
    It seemed wrong to speak of it, but after all that Lord Melchior had asked of me, of all of us that night, I doubted that I knew any longer what was right and what wrong. I felt terribly confused. Perhaps if I told Arif what had happened, he could help me understand.
    "Well,” I began, seeing Arif's mouth spread in a smile now that I was finally relenting, “the evening started out normally enough. I was warned in advance by Jeremy that the master would have company, and though I'd never attended him before in the presence of a guest, it wasn't any more difficult than usual. As always, I merely stood at his