Free The Academy by Laura Antoniou Page B

package. Then, in silence, he bowed his way behind the screen, leaving the guests to politely applaud and murmur praise. The bound slaves, of course, had no place to go. They both closed their eyes; Chris could see them straining to breathe quietly, their bodies hot and slick, the ropes tight and just so slightly yielding.
    “All this to make slaves ready to be used?” Walther Kurgan laughed, and stretched his shoulders. “The master must have great patience, I think.”
    “Well, not everyone thinks that foreplay consists of ‘bend over,’ my friend,” Ninon replied, fanning herself lightly.
    “What more do you need?” The ex-military man grinned and eyed the bondage arrangement again. “It is attractive, though. I can see this on the auction block. After the examinations, before the bidding.”
    There was some general agreement with him on that score. Chris was one of the only dissenters. “I don’t think Americans have that kind of patience, Mr. Kurgan. As a special demonstration, yes. But they want to be able to go right from exams to bidding.”
    “Americans don’t have any patience,” Kurgan said strongly. “Present company excepted, of course!”
    Of course , thought Chris, as he nodded.
    “Mr. Parker,” Ninon said gently, after giving Kurgan one of her pointed “I am ignoring you” head tosses, “When can we expect Anderson to arrive?”
    “I don’t know if she is at all,” Chris said, feeling the ripple of shock that followed his words. “The last time I spoke to her, she was still considering.” Across the room from him, Tetsuo sat comfortably, no sign that he was paying any particular attention to this announcement.
    “That is not like her,” Corinne said petulantly. The French trainer whose translator clients were making the week easier for everyone was a woman in her late fifties, with a narrow, elegant nose and long, sandy hair. She was easily fluent in over a dozen languages and functional in half a dozen more, and her slaves were in high demand as tutors and translators, but she cherished opportunities to dabble in less-specialized property. She moved forward on her knees to examine the slaves up close, running her fingers across the ropes. “I know she does not like to attend, but this is too important for her to miss. She supports the proposal, of course.”
    “Yes,” Chris nodded. “I do know that her vote is assured, and her...cadre will support her as they always do.”
    “But we will not have her presence. That might be a problem.” The female slave groaned—Corinne had apparently found a sensitive spot. She smiled briefly and then turned her attention back to the little group. “I hope you understand that I am not disparaging your presence, Chris.”
    “I understand perfectly.”
    But it was a problem, and they all knew it. Kurgan yawned and stretched again and then prodded the nearest slave with his toe. “I will tell you what I think,” he said bluntly. “We must make alliances with the South American factions; they will appreciate the need for order among our members, even if they chafe at the thought of... hmm... regimentation? You find a better word, Corinne.”
    “No, I don’t think that military terms will serve us best here,” Corinne agreed, her eyes mischievous. “Present company excepted, hm?”
    Alone, away from their students and apprentices, away from their lesser rivals and the need to keep up that all important appearance of absolute control and formality, the trainers in the room delighted in teasing each other. Among themselves, they were not rivals; each had their areas of expertise and their countries of origin (or residence) to separate them. They were an un-elected elite, formed by habit and tradition, and maintained, some said, throughout the history of the Marketplace. Although Chris had met with all of them separately on different occasions, this was the first time he had taken a place among them. Of the fifteen people in the room, he