Mirages
Part 5

Solomon Sugar was exhausted. He dropped into the narrow bed ready to sleep, thankful that the bed wasn't too lumpy. Twenty minutes later he was still staring at the ceiling.

It had been an exhausting day. The horse ride and the hike through the castle would have been enough to tire him out. But the unexpected discovery of Madame Rochefort and everything she had told him had worn him out as well.

So why wasn't he asleep?

He thought of Madame Rochefort's insistence on showing him the shortcut back to this horse. And then realizing that it was too late to ride all the way back to Paris before nightfall.

He'd been lucky to find an inn that had room to stable his horse for the night. The supper had been excellent, the prices were reasonable, and the pub hadn't been too noisy, allowing him time to think.

Apparently he had thought too much as his brain seemed to be caught spinning at high speed; unable to turn off and let him rest.

It had occurred to him many times throughout the day that Madame might be completely unhinged - she was partway there at least. If she really did murder her brother and his wife, she would need to answer for her crimes. On the other hand, the wife's body had been burned in Madame's place and apparently no one was missing Maurice or his wife.

Regardless, he had promised to try and help Florian and that was what he intended to do as soon as he found a way to discretely convert the items Madame had given him into money.

It would have to be done very carefully, Solomon realized, or else he would end up facing the police and not be able to answer their questions.

His mind continued to spin, throwing up one idea or worry only to have it shifted aside in favor of others. He considered getting dressed and going downstairs to the pub and getting just drunk enough to sleep, but eventually decided against that option; he didn't want to face tomorrow with a hangover on top of everything else.

Having concluded that at least, he turned onto his side and stared at the wall until exhaustion - or boredom - finally let him sleep.
 

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Laila selected a jar from the motley collection on the shelf and placed it on the counter with two others and a chipped mortar and pestle. She needed to make more of her healing ointment for Florian, but she also wanted to stock up on her other herbal remedies while she could. If she was to accompany her master to Carthage, and hopefully be freed to remain there, she wouldn't have the time or supplies to make anything for a while.

The room was stuffy and carried an overpowering mixture of scents, but she found it comforting. When she first entered Azura's service, she had had to mix her potions in secret, but once again Florian had interceded on her behalf. She'd used the last bit of the healing ointment she had been carrying when she was abducted in treating him and he had promised to repay her by gaining permission for her to make more.

It had been a comfort for her over the months that she'd been here and it had proven beneficial. As she used her ointments and salves to help other servants she gained their trust if not exactly their friendship in return.

She wasn't miserable here - the other servants were nice enough and no one mistreated her, but she longed for days idling along the water's edge or spent among the wilds outside the city. It was there that she'd been captured, distracted by idle fantasies until the men were too close for her to get away.

She hadn't gone easily - a fact that soothed her a little in the days when she was crammed into the dark hold of a ship with others and later when she was locked in a too cramped wagon for transport overland to the marketplace in Morocco.

It was only the grace of the Goddess that had allowed her to escape - that and determination not to become another woman vanished into the brothels. She had no desire to live a short life of cruelty and abuse until she was no longer pleasing enough to be bought, when she would be cast out or killed.

She'd lost friends that way and a cousin who no one spoke of any longer. She didn't want her name to vanish from her family's memories as her cousin’s had done.

Laila had been fortunate and she reminded herself of that fact every day as she greeted the sun with her morning rituals. She kept to her family's ways, although she did it in secret for fear of drawing too much attention from the other servants or her master.

It was a calculated risk to help her Azura and Count Courland now - taken just as much for the chance at freedom as a way to repay her debt to Florian. Otherwise, she would have waited and bided her time until she was able to flee this country and return to Carthage.

She knew that her duties at home would have been carried out by others in her absence, but it still felt like a failure of her sacred vows.

She atoned as well as she was able in this place, burning incense in the far corner of the garden under the light of the new moon and reciting the sacred words of the Goddess at dawn and dusk.

She had managed to keep her body untouched, but knew she would have to submit to the purification rituals when she returned home before she could reclaim her place and her duties. Meanwhile, she did her best with the monthly rites and used the specially prepared herbal water to cleanse herself.

She'd done what she could, but she would be relieved when she was back in her own country with her own family. She thought of her mother, saddened but resigned that memories of her no longer drove a spike of pain through Laila's heart - time, and perhaps distance, had helped dull that loss to an ache. Laila lost her father too early to remember him, and her sister had died in infancy. But the rest of her family clan had raised her as one of their own and she never lacked for love and affection.

She'd told Florian a little about her family and learned a little of his life in return. It was hard for her to imagine the cold, lonely life he must have led with such a small family and the rest of his clan so distant. She hadn't understood at all when he'd tried to explain the rituals and customs he observed - all things that seemed designed to isolate people and repress their emotions.

Florian had tried to explain, but there had been such sadness in his eyes that she'd deliberately steered the conversation towards her family and had finally made him laugh by telling him about her clumsy younger cousin, his fondness for berries and an unfortunate encounter with a basket of freshly-washed linens - they never did get the berry stains out and everyone had had to sleep on purple-splotched sheets.

In return, Florian had offered up his own childhood tale of chasing after a kitten and having to be rescued from a tree. He'd seemed younger than his twenty years, his eyes bright with mirth and pale cheeks flushed pink. She'd fallen just a little in love with him that day - not as a lover, but as a brother she wanted to cherish and safeguard.

And that was what convinced her to give up one more of her secrets to the man she hoped would save him - the man whose eyes told her that he had fallen a little in love with Florian himself - Count Ray Courland.
 

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Solomon groaned as he dismounted the horse. He straightened up slowly and wondered if he'd ever walk right again - he felt like he'd gone bow-legged. His friend just laughed at him and took the reins, earning a half-hearted glare from Solomon.

"City boy," Pierre teased as he led the horse into the grooming area and removed his saddle.

Solomon hobbled after him, helping to tend the animal who had carried him so many miles. He really was grateful to the beast, and made a note to bring her apples the next time he visited.

"Paris born and bred and proud of it. I'm not a displaced bumpkin like yourself."

Pierre snorted and shook his head. "That's your best, Solly? You must be worn out. I did warn you it would be a hard trip. I'm glad you at least had the sense to stay over somewhere instead of trying to do it all in one day."

"I didn't have much choice - there were some unexpected delays."

"Still working on that understatement are you? When you say something like that I picture mass chaos. Help me stable the old girl and I'll let you tell me about it. There's whiskey in the deal."

"Sold." Solomon helped his friend get the horse secured and made sure there was food and water for her before following Pierre into his house. They were on the outskirts of Paris in what had once been a large farm. Pierre had to sell off some of the land, but he still had a respectable piece of property and a variety of livestock. They'd been in school together and while Solomon went off to become a policeman, Pierre had stayed behind and taken over the farm when his father fell ill and died at a young age.

Solomon hoped his friend would never leave this place - the farm had become something of a sanctuary, especially when Solomon had been temporarily suspended from the police force for failing to solve a high profile crime. It hadn't been his failure alone, but he had been made to take the fall to cover for his supervisor's incompetence. The matter still stung, especially when Solomon, in his new role as private investigator - had occasion to cross paths with one of his old colleagues.

True, he was happier - if much poorer now and he had friends he could always depend on, like Pierre. That thought carried him into the house where he accepted his friend's offer of the chance to clean away the travel dirt. He also used the time to make a decision.

Hefting the sack that contained the remnants of the lunch he'd packed the day before along with a light blanket wrapped around a large handful of priceless treasure, he ventured into Pierre's kitchen, downed the whiskey he'd been given and told his friend the story.

Much later, as they huddled over the treasure, all the windows locked and shades drawn, Solomon was glad he'd taken his friend into his confidence. Pierre had a wide circle of friends including a trusted family friend who appraised jewelry and other valuables. A brief phone call was made, and not only did Solomon have a possible way to convert his treasure into much needed cash, he had an appointment for the man to come see the items at Pierre's that very evening.

Feeling a bit of relief for the first time since he'd encountered Madame Rochefort in that ruined castle, Solomon accepted his friend's offer of a bed and a nap. He was asleep within ten minutes of lying down.
 

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Florian moaned and leaned back against Azura, pressing his forehead to Azura's neck. He was sitting in Azura's lap, his robe open and his arms and legs splayed while Azura's hands danced across his sensitive skin. Across from them on a sofa was Ray, his emerald green eyes dark with lust as he watched Florian writhe.

Everything was sensation - the teasing caress of Azura's hands, the silk of his robe, the steady throb of Azura's pulse. All rational thoughts had been banished - replaced by this overwhelming influx of sensation.

"He won't last another minute," Ray was saying his voice light but there was a challenge in the words. Azura just laughed.

"He'll last until I allow him his release. I can torment him all night if I choose."

"In his state? The opium took any control he might have had."

"His control has nothing to do with it. He doesn't do anything unless I allow it. Care to learn a few things, Ray?"

"I would love to. But you can't hurt him. Anyone can inflict pain; I want to see how you can give him pleasure while he's in that state and yet control it well enough that he doesn't come until you want him to."

As much as he disliked the thought of Azura tormenting Florian that way, Ray couldn't resist this opportunity. He wanted to watch the slender blond writhe in pleasure, and this might be his only chance to see it. It would also delay any plans Azura had for using the man more harshly; Ray had been sickened by the angry wounds covering that pale body.

"Any more rules?" Azura asked with a smirk. He slid his right hand up Florian's chest and tweaked a nipple hard, savoring the shudder that traveled the length of that supple body. He was the most responsive lover Azura had had in a long time and Azura would probably miss that when he finally gave Florian to Ray. Still, the boy could be wearisome with his petty acts of rebellion. It was much easier to bed someone who did as they were told and didn't want to talk everything to death.

It had been a stroke of luck that one of Florian's charity cases had turned out to be even more useful than expected. If the servant girl could lead then to the treasure, Azura might even let her go. But he'd decide that once she'd proven herself.

For now, all he wanted to do was torment the man in his lap and, by extension, the man across from them watching like a starving man staring at a buffet.

Barely able to suppress a laugh at Ray's expression, Azura took one of Florian's hands and guided it down until the boy was stroking himself. Oh yes. Sometimes it was even more satisfying to toy with someone's mind than it was to use their body. With Ray and Florian’s obvious desire for each other, he might just be able to play with both of them at the same time.
 

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"You're certain?" Solomon asked again, half collapsing into a chair with shock. Pierre pressed a glass of brandy into his hand and Solomon drank even though he hated the stuff.

"As I said, Monsieur Sugar, this is a rough estimate. But I can assure you, the value of your items is enough to make you a very rich man - richer than most of the aristocrats in Paris." Monsieur Campion, the appraiser was discreet enough not to ask where Solomon has acquired such treasures, but he was practically vibrating with curiosity. Surely these were the holdings of an ancient family - perhaps Solomon was the illegitimate child of royalty and had been given the items on the quiet in return for his silence and discretion. Campion had heard that story often enough. Sadly, from the man's reaction, he'd have to let his curiosity remain unsatisfied. He would, however, be handsomely compensated with his commission - more than enough to offset his curiosity.

"You can make the arrangements?" Pierre asked. "Without drawing attention to this matter?"

"Relax, sirs. This is not an uncommon occurrence. No one will know who the seller is. It may take a few days for the initial payment. We use that as a guarantee and then the balance will be sent to whatever bank you designate once the items are sold."

"Will the initial payment be enough to get me to Morocco and back?"

"Sir, you could travel the world twice over with that amount. And spend the rest of your life doing so once you receive the balance."

"Thank you, no. I suspect that this one trip will be sufficient. I'm fulfilling a promise, nothing more. But it is a matter of some urgency.”

"Then I will deliver the initial amount to you in the morning so you may begin your journey."

"Don't rush off," Pierre chided his friend, inviting Campion to join them for dinner. The man agreed, mostly because he wanted to learn more about this unremarkable man who happened to have a fortune in ancient treasure and an obligation to travel to Morocco at the soonest opportunity. The fact that Pierre had an excellent cook and a well-stocked wine cellar was a bonus.

"I'd be delighted," Campion replied, setting his coat aside and taking up his glass so Pierre could refill it. He took a seat at the table across from Solomon and raised his glass.

"To new acquaintances and old," he toasted, taking a drink while Pierre muttered that there was nothing "old" about him.
 

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Florian lay between them on the sofa, exhausted. His eyes were barely open and he was trembling with aftershocks. To his right, Azura was sipping a glass of brandy, his head tilted back to enjoy the burn as the liquid flowed down his throat.

To his left, Ray was licking the sugar off a slice of pear, one hand resting lightly on Florian's leg.

It was comfortably warm in the room but Florian was shivering as his sweat-soaked, over sensitized body cooled and calmed. He wanted desperately to crawl into bed, pull the covers up around him and sleep for days but he didn't have the energy to move.

He was grateful at least that he hadn't been used any harder than he had - something he had Ray to thank for. He hadn't been beaten, he hadn't even been penetrated - but he had been teased and pleasurably tormented until he had no reason left. He'd begged and pleaded and finally cried for release before Azura had ordered him to finish himself off while he and Ray watched.

He hoped the two men had lost interest in him for the rest of the night. As much as he didn't want to witness the two men together, it was preferable to having either or both use him.

The opium was wearing off and all of the aches and pains were making themselves known. He wouldn't be able to put on more ointment or take one of Laila's pain-relieving draughts until he was alone, which probably wouldn't be until morning. Until then he'd just have to remain as quiet and still as he could and hope that they let him rest.
 

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"I'm going to bed," Azura announced after he drained his glass and set it aside. He stood up, looking back at Ray and Florian. "The boy can stay here for the night but you're welcome to share the bed or return to your own."

"I'll return to my own room," Ray decided, standing and stretching a bit. "If you've no need for Florian, he can come with me."

"He's useless when he's like that," Azura cautioned.

"I won't need him to do anything too complicated," Ray replied casually. “If that's acceptable?"

"Fine," Azura waved him away. "I've no use for him in that condition and I don't think you'll get much pleasure from it either, but you're welcome to have him." Ray helped Florian to his feet, pulling the robe around him and tying it closed. He gave Azura a nod and wished him good night before turning to go. They'd only gone three steps when Azura stopped them.

"I won't be joining you for breakfast tomorrow. I have business to attend to most of the day. I'll expect to see you at supper."

"Until then," Ray nodded and left the room with a half-conscious Florian steered along at his side.
 

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The bed was the nicest thing he had ever seen. As soon as they entered Ray's room, Florian lurched towards it, desperate to lie down. Ray stopped him just an arm's length away.

"Sleep," Florian whimpered, reaching.

"Bath," Ray countered. "You'll sleep better if you're clean."

Florian whimpered again but Ray ignored it and towed the other man into the bathroom. Setting him down on the toilet seat to wait, he ran a bath and added scented oil he found in a jar on a shelf over the tub.

The smell was nice and the thought of warm water and clean skin was finally enough to rouse Florian from his half-asleep state. He cast off the robe and climbed into the water when Ray said it was ready. It was only when Ray tossed off his robe and took up a face cloth and some soap that Florian understood what was going to happen.

"I can wash myself," he said, concerned that Ray would think less of him for his weaknesses.

"So can I. Another thing we have in common, Now let me do this before you fall asleep in the tub and I have to haul you out of there." Ray soaped up the cloth and started running it over Florian's body, taking special care around his wounds. They weren't as bad as he'd feared, but they were bad enough, especially the ones on his wrists. Laila would treat them again in the morning but all Ray could do tonight was clean and wrap them.

Florian was lying back in the water, eyes closed and his face paler than usual with exhaustion. Ray looked at him for a moment then made the decision and started gently washing Florian's privates. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen and touched them in the past few hours, but it was different in this setting. He tried to think of it strictly as tending to the wounded and was glad that he made it through without a fuss - although he did wish his erection - and Florian's - would go away quickly.

Finally he was finished bathing Florian - even his hair - and he helped him up and dried him off. At Florian's request, he put the man to bed unclothed and on his stomach. Ray climbed in beside him, worn out and just wanting to sleep. After firmly shoving all conscious thoughts aside, Ray drifted into a deep sleep that lasted well after dawn.
 

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