The air at the end of the corridor grew warmer and steamier. It appeared that preparations for dinner were, literally, in full boil. He heard Majek talking in the kitchen and his heart rose as he hastened to the door.

"You could make yourself useful," Majek's deep voice chided him. His mouth was open to respond when he realized Majek wasn't talking to him. Sitting on the stool by the counter was a large blond man, chin on fist, watching Majek's activities in smiling indolence. Dorian blinked. The newcomer was gorgeous, but absolutely. A thick mane of untamed gold hair, deeper than the Aouille light blond; night-blue eyes that danced in ambiguous amusement; strong dark-brown eyebrows that seemed nearly black; a wide mouth that curved sardonically up at the corners, and a long well-shaped nose. Everything about that face indicated a vast energy only momentarily at rest, and the whole effect was quite, quite shocking. It was like coming on a lion or a bonfire sitting there among the pots and pans. One felt it shouldn't be loose. More personally, it shouldn't be here, usurping Dorian's place by Majek's side.

"I burn things when I cook," the man was saying in a satisfied baritone, and filched a turnip slice from under Majek's knife. Majek smacked his hand, fatherly, and the other laughed, crunching the vegetable between very white teeth.

"I did my best with you," Majek complained, sounding unbearably smug, "but you still turned out useless."

Was this Majek's son, come a day early? Not possible, surely. Szintarow was an Acaille. A blond teenager might go dark but not the other way around. Dorian stepped into the kitchen.

"Hohh," the man said before he could open his mouth. "What have we here?"

Majek turned. "Ah, Dorian. Good. I could use some help."

"Good evening, Majek," Dorian said complacently, and got himself an apron as if it were his everyday habit.

"This is Dorian Red Gloria, an English lord who's guesting with us for a while. Try not to be too upcountry around him. They're civilized where he comes from."

"Mmh." The stranger's piercing eyes looked him over. To his credit, the dubiousness in his gaze wasn't totally obvious. Dorian looked back at him, smiling pleasantly, and began chopping the apples Majek indicated. If his thoughts hadn't been so abstracted when he came to the door, and more particularly if the rest of him hadn't been completely drained after his afternoon with Araszyam, he might be responding to the stranger in a rather different fashion. The man was so very much alive, after all, and really quite stunning. But as it was, Dorian found he could consider him in a purely aesthetic light with no fleshly promptings at all.

"You're a friend of Savijc's, I suppose?" the man said.

"He's a friend of mine," Majek corrected him, and Dorian glowed.

"Since when?" He sounded astonished.

"Ten years- eleven."

The blue eyes narrowed a little. No, the man was no fool. "Can I talk freely in front of him?"

"As freely as you like. He's my luck."

"You find your luck in strange places. A foreigner?"

"You're hardly the one to talk."

"My men are my men. I know what they're good for. My luck I make for myself. And really, Majek-" The eyebrows cocked at Dorian's lace and silk.

"I've told you not to despise what's different from you--"

"I know, I know. 'Savijc has his own strengths.' I've heard it already."

"And so does Dorian. He's the one who spiked your conspiracy with the President."

Dorian and the stranger both froze. Dorian stared at Halim and Halim looked back at him.

"And he put a knife through Maaqa," Halim said, recovering. "You nearly cost me a good man," he told Dorian with a remarkable lack of heat.

"No hard feelings, I hope. He was trying to flash-fry Sergei and me at the time."

"So I heard. He forgot to mention that detail in his report but he confessed it later."

"Talk about taking your life in your hands," Majek said. "I always thought Maaqa had a streak of suicidal chivalry in him."

"He told me after he knew I wouldn't kill him for it. Honour is one thing and stupidity quite another. Maaqa isn't stupid."

"Did you bring him along?"

"Yes, but you can't have him. I need him. I'll lend you the others."

"I wouldn't have him. I've got Araszyam here. And you can keep the Italian as well."

"No problem. He's still in Tangier. Will six men be enough?"

"Plenty. This will be over on Friday, God willing. Now Kinta's agreed to change his paper-"

"Only if Takamatsu agrees to the operation. What if he doesn't?"

"He can be forced. He'll probably have to be."

"And what if Szincza doesn't go along with it?"

"He'll see my point when I tell him the circumstances. He's a realist. He understands necessity."

Halim shook his head. "You're getting soft in your old age, brother. Let me take Takamatsu back to Circassia now- keep him safe until Kinta returns-"

"No."

"He'll run for it. I would."

"Unlike you, little brother, Takamatsu is devoted to something other than his own sweet self." Majek went to the stove and dumped the turnips into one of the steaming pans of water. "Are you finished those apples? They go in here too." Dorian slid the apple slices off his carving board.

"If he was as devoted as all that, he'd have agreed to the operation before now," Halim was arguing.

"His devotion, let's say, is divided between Ruza and Ruza's son." Majek was rummaging in the refrigerator.

"Ruza's a long time dead."

"Ruza has a habit of not staying that way."

"What do you mean?" Halim's voice was sharp.

"Remember you got the feeling, during the war, that he was still somewhere around?"

"Right after Kinta turned up. And how right I was."

"Well, it's the same since I got here. I can feel him." He came back to the counter with an armful of green vegetables.

"Here?" Halim indicated the apartment with his chin.

"Here in T--. Out in the streets. I don't know what he wants, but he won't stay quiet."

"He wouldn't, damn him," Halim said. "We took him back and buried him properly with all the rites, but he still--" He stopped in disgust.

"And if I sense him, be sure Takamatsu does too. Dorian, wash these, will you?" Majek turned to him with two heads of bib lettuce. "The drier is next to the sink."

"Certainly."

"Your lucky Englishman thinks we're insane," Halim remarked, eyes flicking over him. "Or a bunch of superstitious peasants. Right, Lord Gloria?"

"Wrong," Dorian said, turning on the taps.

"Westerners don't believe in ghosts. Takamatsu doesn't, for sure."

"I'm an Englishman, and we live with our ghosts quite comfortably. The third earl of Red Gloria- who died in 1668, should you be interested- still uses his bedroom in the east wing of my country house, and his great-grandson regularly appears in the hothouse to inspect his fruit trees from the Indies. They're not there any more, of course, but that doesn't stop him." He put the lettuce in the wire basket and swung it with vigour. "Oh, sorry," he apologized politely as Halim, swearing, ducked the shower of water drops.

"Wasn't it an Englishman who said 'Dead men rise up never'?" Halim scowled as he dabbed at his jacket with a tea towel.

"Swinburne, yes. A poem called The Garden of Proserpine.

'From too much love of living

From hope and fear set free

We thank with brief thanksgiving

Whatever gods there be

That no man lives forever

That dead men rise up never

That even the weariest river

Winds somewhere safe to sea.'

A lovely poem, but wrong, of course."

There was a peculiar silence. Halim was looking at him as if he had two heads. Majek said something in Circassian and Halim, snorting, relaxed.

"This can't have anything to do with Takamatsu," he said to Majek. "Takamatsu wouldn't admit that ghosts exist even if he saw one."

"But Ruza could be behind this refusal of his. Kinta thinks so, and Savijc half does, and Takamatsu himself is much too insistent that Ruza's got nothing to do with it. It's pretty odd on the face of it. Takamatsu's always had a careful regard for his own health and well-being. Why's he choosing death over life now, I wonder? Could it be Ruza whispering in his ear?" He took the pannier from Dorian and dumped the lettuce leaves into the salad bowl.

"You know," Dorian said, helping Majek to tear the lettuce into smaller pieces, "your brother had a great success here many years ago. Don't you think it's more likely a ghost from the past you're feeling? A memory from that time when he was happy?"

"What I'm feeling isn't happy. It has that genuine Ruza nagging insistence. He wants me to do something for him and I'm damned if I know what. I'm already doing what I can to protect his son from his own stupidity."

"Could he want Kinta to have a chance at the fame he missed himself? Maybe he wants you to let him give the paper."

"Then he can want," Majek said shortly.

"If I know Ruza, he probably just wants you all to go away," Halim said. "You're disturbing his happy afterlife."

"What right has he to tell me to go away?" Majek demanded in a sudden rage that made Dorian's stomach tighten. "Who does that brother-betrayer think he is? Going and getting himself killed because his life had become a burden to him- forgetting his duty, forgetting his family-- He deserted me like a coward in battle. How dared he? He was my brother. For as long as I can remember he was there beside me, the way Savijc was there with you. I needed him. I depended on him. And then suddenly he was gone, and I was alone with no-one at my back. Do you know what that was like?"

"I know what that was like," Halim said, and gave his brother a peculiar smile. "Believe me, I know." Dorian's heart contracted. He knew that smile. It was the one Klaus wore when he was badly hurt- it meant torn flesh and dislocated knees and pain that Klaus would never admit to--

He looked down and went on ripping lettuce. The only thing he could do was pretend not to notice, the way he'd pretended for Klaus. It was, in fact, the only polite thing to do. The other two weren't even aware of him.

"Halim-" Majek was looking at him in pity and exasperation.

"Majek," Halim said, smooth and undisturbed. Majek reached over and knuckled his head.

"Why did you have to be my brother?"

"Heredity. It was even odds one of us would be."

"God." Majek, sighing, turned his attention back to the salad. "Won't you at least change your mind about staying the night?"

"Mnh." Halim shook his head, and took a cucumber from the bowl. "I've people to see this evening- not the kind you can take official notice of. I told you, it's just luck I happened to be in town the same time as you."

"You're sure you can spare the men?"

"Positive. The next round is still in the planning stages. Maaqa's enough for protection now. You're sure you don't want me to kidnap Takamatsu?"

"Yes. We do this by the book."

"Szincza's book. Good luck. What about some vodka for me too?"

"In the living room. You want it, you go get it."

"Where's the living room, for god's sake? Trust you to live in a palace even when you're a tourist."

"Forgive my idiot brother, Dorian. His nurse dropped him on his head when he was a baby. Could you show him where the vodka is? Then you can come back. He won't need any more company."

"My loving brother." Halim got up, put an arm round Majek's neck, and kissed him on the mouth. Majek swatted his head and Halim went laughing out the door. Dorian raised his eyebrows at Majek and went after.

"Now," said Halim in a very different voice when they were well down the corridor. He stopped short and loomed over Dorian. They were much of a height- maybe an inch or two in Halim's favour- but the other man had the bulk that he lacked and there was no doubt it was all muscle. Nor did it help that Halim's expression showed not the slightest trace of friendly feeling.

"I know what you are, you damned sodomite. I've met enough westerners to tell. Don't think you can pretend with me."

"It wouldn't occur to me. What I am is no secret."

"Then what's got into Majek, to take a perfumed ponce like yourself into the house?"

"Perhaps he wants a change? Maybe he wants something that actually looks like a damned sodomite instead of just acting like one?"

Halim smiled, unamused. "Who are you talking about?" He moved threateningly closer.

Dorian stepped forward so that they were breast to breast. He matched Halim's smile. "Who indeed? A certain mercenary I can think of who surrounds himself with non-Circassian men, strangers who have to be-- secured-- on a regular basis, no doubt. Right, Squad Commander?" He patted himself on the back for remembering Halim's title even as he watched the dark eyes go diamond-like with rage. "Someone who zeroes in on any innocent who walks into his path- as it might be, a young man who'd been kept from human company all his life and had no idea of what's allowable in a relationship and what's not." The other man drew a deep angry breath and Dorian cut in before he could speak. "Someone who finds it easier to plot his brother's murder than to tell him that he loves him."

He felt the reflex jerk of Halim's body. Halim said, in very calm tones, "I'm going to kill you.

"Good," Dorian answered. "That makes it unanimous. Now I've had death threats from all three of you." He pressed closer to the wall-like body. Their eyes held for a long moment.

"I'm not surprised," Halim said, and stepped back. "Or only surprised that the others didn't carry through." He looked at Dorian without expression while his mouth decided whether to go up or down. It went up. "Hell, come and have some vodka." He clapped him on the shoulder- Dorian, prepared, managed not to stagger- and dragged him down the hall.

"Here," Dorian instructed him as they reached the living room. He found the vodka in the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses and gave one to Halim. They faced each other.

"You're a degenerate," Halim said with conviction, lifting his glass.

"You're unspeakable," Dorian responded, lifting his.

"Here's to us," Halim smiled, and tossed off the vodka in a gulp.

"And a barbarian," Dorian remarked, taking a small reproving sip.

"That's no way to drink." Halim poured himself another glass.

"I'm a degenerate. I'm allowed to savour my liquor." He sat down in an armchair.

"How nice. I'm a man, and I'm not."

"I don't understand you," Dorian said exasperated. "You're a law to yourself. Why put up with these silly shoulds and should nots?"

Halim laughed shortly. "'A law to myself.' Not likely- not while I'm still Majek's brother."

"I don't get the feeling Majek confines you in any way." He put the emphasis on the 'you.'

"Majek always confines people. Just by existing. The world isn't big enough for two when he's around. You have to shape yourself to fit his desires." He looked at Dorian through his vodka. "Savijc knew that long before I did. That's why he left. I only found it out when I stopped being the good brother and left myself."

"The good brother with his regular conspiracies," Dorian pointed out.

"Of course. That's what good brothers do in his scheme of things. Why do you think I kept on trying to kill him? Because that's the only form of love he can accept- the love of enemies. Oh yes-" he cut off Dorian's protest. "He did it again with Szincza. I didn't understand how it worked until I watched it happen there. He drove his son to rebellion, step by step, over seven long years. Even after they broke and Szincza had run away- Szincza would have settled at any time but Majek wouldn't give an inch. It was only when Szincza was ready to kill him that he had a change of heart. He wouldn't settle for anything less. He'll believe he matters to us if we're ready to murder him."

This was mumbo-jumbo. "Why didn't you ever try telling him straight to his face? Just a plain, simple, 'I love you'? Too scared?"

"I knew better. I saw what happened with Savijc. He was fool enough to say it, and he got his heart broken for his pains. Ask him sometime how Majek behaved when he was wounded and needing comfort."

"How?"

"I said, ask him."

"Not if my life depended on it. Give, Halim."

"He got the back of Majek's hand. Majek treated him like damaged goods, fit for the rubbish heap."

"But that was because--" He hesitated, realizing he was about to step on a landmine. Well, so what? He continued boldly, "--that was because of Jahn."

"Jahn." It wasn't a question.

"The outsider. An Acaille. The one who came into your close family circle and made off with your brother. You're alike, you and Majek- you both hate losing what's yours. No, don't bother denying it. Sergei threatened to break my neck once for even suggesting you might have been jealous of Jahn. I don't need any more proof than that."

"Christ," Halim said after a minute. "Majek was right about you. Go on- if you dare."

"Easily," Dorian said. "None of you liked him. Ruza hated him, and with good reason. And then he was dead and you thought everything could go back to normal. Only it didn't. Sergei had changed." He took a sip of vodka. "It must have driven Majek crazy. He knew Jahn was a spy, and I'd guess he told you as well." Halim nodded, eyes intent. "But you couldn't tell Sergei- you didn't dare tell Sergei- and there he was, mourning for someone who'd betrayed him and refusing to be comforted. And there was Majek with his hands tied. And I bet he hates having his hands tied."

"Oh god," Halim said. "You don't know."

"He couldn't do anything. He couldn't act and he was going crazy with frustration and impatience. And Sergei read that as anger and rejection. It wasn't- it was the exact opposite- but that's what it looked like."

"Close," said Halim. "Very very close." His eyes brooded on Dorian. "He just wouldn't stop," he said. "He walked around the house like a ghost- with his head and eye bandaged, like a half-wrapped corpse- and when we talked to him he only looked back at us and wouldn't say anything. We were at our wits' end- scared shitless he'd be the next to go. And at night I had to listen to him crying beside me in the bed. I wanted to hit him- I wanted to make him pull himself together- and I couldn't do anything. What can you do, when someone you love just goes on suffering and won't stop?"

"You can get angry at them," Dorian suggested. "That keeps the pain away from yourself. You can throw your heart away and refuse to feel anything. Only then the dead emotions come back like ghosts some day-"

"Christ!" Halim started up violently and grabbed Dorian's shirt. "How the hell did you find out about-- Did Sergei tell you? He wouldn't dare--"

"He didn't tell me anything," Dorian said. "I'm guessing.

Halim let him go, turned and poured himself another vodka. "It's over now," he said. "It all came out in the war and it got settled then. You can conjure the dead men alive for awhile, Lord Gloria, but then they go back to their graves."

"I'm glad," Dorian said. "Did you ever get your heart back?"

"Where were you brought up, for god's sake? Have you no decency?"

"None," said Dorian. "Sergei told me that ten years ago. Neither do you, so I thought you wouldn't mind."

"I do mind," Halim said.

"Then I apologize. Let's change the subject."

"And now you're going to play at being a gentleman."

"We can play at something else if you like. I'm amenable."

"Oh no. Let's go on rattling my family skeletons. I never get to do this with outsiders. What else do you want to talk about? Ruza's little games? Takamatsu and Gunmar? Szincza and his friends?"

"Szintarow..." Dorian said thoughtfully. "He's the one I don't understand."

"He'll be here tomorrow. You'll see then."

"Not Szintarow himself. Szintarow and Majek. Why does Majek love him the way he does? Didn't he ever suspect he wasn't his son?"

"If he did, he never said anything. You don't argue with Majek's likes and dislikes. We kept our thoughts to ourselves."

"But you must have seen the resemblance. Sergei did, of course."

"Resemblance?"

"To his father."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jahn."

"What--" Halim's face split in an unbelieving grin. "You think he's- Oh god. That's lovely. That's beautiful." He started to laugh.

"But that's why Ruza killed Jahn--" Dorian protested. Halim shook his head, convulsed.

"Oh, Lord Gloria, you're wonderful. I love you. Here, have some more vodka. God, I haven't heard anything this funny in ages-"

"But Sergei said they looked exactly alike--" Dorian was getting seriously annoyed.

"A lot alike. All the Acailles do. They're inbred. Comes from centuries of isolating themselves in the mountains. Have a look at Araszyam some time and compare him to Jean. They could be brothers."

Well, now Halim mentioned it, it was true. But--

"Then who's the father?"

"We haven't the foggiest idea." Halim shrugged. "It wasn't Ruza, it can't have been Jahn- the house was a day's journey from the city and surrounded by guards. He never came there. So we just don't know. And if you want to keep on enjoying Majek's hospitality, don't ask. He doesn't care, and neither should you." He looked at Dorian and the corners of his mouth started to twitch again.

"Uncle Halim?" Gunmar stopped in the doorway. "I thought it was your voice. Why are you here? Did Papa send for you?" He wandered over and kissed Halim absently on each cheek. He had the unfocussed vagueness of someone on drugs, but Dorian, adept at discerning the lineaments of gratified desire, realized his manner was the result of a more natural high.

"Halim." Kinta, coming in with the same abstracted expression, greeted him with a nod. Halim smiled.

"Haven't you got a kiss for your uncle?" He stood up.

Kinta regarded him for a moment with what looked oddly like satisfaction, then smiled his sudden sweet smile. This time there was an edge to it and Halim gave a reflex frown. Kinta kissed him properly on each cheek, and once very improperly on the mouth, and sat down by Gunmar with an arm around his shoulders. Dorian observed with interest this unusual evidence of conjugal harmony, while Halim gulped vodka in annoyance.

"I was passing through and thought I'd look in on you. I didn't know Majek was here and I didn't know you'd all started getting yourself attacked."

"They're crazy here in the West," Kinta shrugged. "It's nothing to worry about."

"Naturally- only I'm leaving six of my men until the weekend, just to be on the safe side."

"It's not necessary-"

"Let's hope not."

"-But thanks anyway."

Halim's eyebrows flicked. "I hear you're putting the screws on Takamatsu."

"I'm doing what has to be done for his safety."

"Like your father- you always have the best motives for everything, and you're always right."

Kinta stretched his long legs, again with that creamy smile of satisfaction. "I could be like my uncle, and always wrong."

"Oh, don't fight," Gunmar said, and shifted sideways to lean back against his cousin's chest. "It's too nice a day." Kinta ran his fingers through the fine blond hair, smiling down at him.

"Christ, Kinta," Halim said in disgust. "What's got into you today?"

Kinta choked on a sudden hiccup of laughter, going red. Gunmar put a hand over his face to hide a smile. Halim watched their mirth in growing irritation. Dorian half-sympathized. Kinta and Gunmar were behaving like a pair of giddy adolescents but it was nice to see them so happy together.

There was a heavy tread behind him and Koczi came into the room, addressing himself to Halim.

"Majek wants you," Halim translated. Dorian bounded to his feet, beaming. "God," said Halim, looking from him to his nephews. "I'll be outside. Maybe Araszyam can still talk sense."

Dorian, unheeding, flew down the corridor.

"There you are," Majek said, straightening up from the oven. "What were you doing? Making friends with Halim?"

"Just getting the preliminary death threats over with," Dorian said flippantly. "He's got an odd way of ingratiating himself."

"He always did," Majek said, lifting lids. "First he tries to dazzle and if that doesn't work he tries to intimidate. After that he's rational. Help me drain these."

Dorian held the lid while Majek poured steaming water from the turnips and apples and dumped them into a bowl.

"That's a good way to get followers," Dorian noted, "but a terrible way to make friends."

"Followers are what he wants," Majek said, putting the bowl in the warming oven. "He's got the wrong temperament for a middle son. He should have been the first, in someone else's family."

"How can he be middle? He and Sergei came at the end."

"I know. But he was always so much bigger and stronger that he seemed older. Savijc was like the youngest child- and yes, I'll admit we spoiled him like one." Majek rummaged in a drawer for a carving knife and whetstone. "We let him read his books and have his own way and never called him to account. 'Savijc is so delicate.' 'Savijc is so sensitive.' I suppose we treated him like the girl-child our family can't have. That must be why he turned out as he did."

Dorian sighed. Argument was useless, but he felt compelled to try. "You think he's girlish? He's one of the deadliest fighters I know. Wasn't he the one who trained your son?"

"Yes, of course. But he's still not a man." Majek was sharpening the knife with whip-whip strokes, stopping to examine the blade periodically.

"He's very much a man. I've slept with him and I know."

Majek made a noise of exasperation. "It's like having a dragon in the house. You shouldn't exist in the first place and I've no idea what you'll do next. Go get me the carving board. It's down there."

Dorian brought it from the cupboard next to the sink. It must be all those hormones fizzing about him- Gunmar and Kinta, Sergei and Jean, himself and Ara- or possibly just the vodka on top of an empty stomach. He felt giddy and daring and randy as hell, and the most sensible thing to do seemed to be to nuzzle Majek's neck from behind as he stood by the oven. Oh, lovely, lovely. His skin was warm and the shaggy hair smelled of spice.

"Dorian," Majek said warningly.

"Mm-m-h?" He moved over to the earlobe and nibbled the edge. There was an uncomfortable pricking sensation at the front of his neck. He straightened up slowly, the point of the carving knife coming with him as Majek turned around.

Dorian gazed at him reproachfully along the blade, doing his best impersonation of a spaniel refused a table-scrap. Majek smiled in appreciation and indicated the counter. Dorian put the board down. The knife flicked in the direction of the stool and Dorian went and sat on it, sighing deeply.

"You're driving me crazy," he complained.

"Haven't you learned yet that you can't have things just because you want them?"

"Of course I can. What I want is mine by definition."

"You and Halim alike- you think if you want it you're entitled to have it."

"Why do you always insult me? You know I'm not at all like Halim."

"True. Halim's learned to do without. Time you did too. Make yourself useful. Those potatoes need mashing."

Dorian fetched the pan and the potato masher and worked out some of his frustration while Majek removed a stuffed loin of veal from its roasting pan and placed it on the carving board.

"This needs to cool. Those can go in the warming oven when you're done."

Dorian sighed again. It was heaven to be in the same room as Majek, but his role of saucier's apprentice was beginning to bore him.

Majek put the carving board down on the counter, took the stool for himself and sipped at a glass of vodka-and-something. "What you want is yours by definition, is it? Meaning, if you want it you take it. Is that why Takamatsu called you a thief?"

Dorian's heart jumped. "Yes. I am a thief. I'm the greatest thief of my generation."

Majek's eyebrows rose. "You're joking, of course."

"I'm completely serious."

"You boast of being a criminal?"

"Naturally."

"What do you steal?" Majek asked, unsmiling.

"Art."

"What?"

"Paintings. Statues. Porcelain. Tapestries."

Majek blinked. "These are valuable goods?"

"Yes."

"And then what do you do with them?"

"I sell them back to their owners, sometimes, but mostly I keep them."

"Why?"

"They're beautiful. I want them with me always. Why else?"

Majek snorted and went over to the carving board. "If you're going to steal, why not take something useful?" he asked, picking up the bone-handled knife and fork.

"I used to take practical things for Kl- for NATO- microchips and blueprints and so on- but it's so unromantic. It's a waste of my talents."

Majek's mouth was expressive as he made the first incision. "Paintings. Good god. It must be because your father died so young. He'd have straightened you out otherwise."

"My father encouraged me in my career. It's a family tradition. He got me the best tutors, helped me with my first lessons in picking pockets--"

Majek turned icicle-coloured eyes on him. "I don't take well to being mocked, Dorian."

A shiver went up Dorian's spine, surprising him. "I'm not mocking you," he said as seriously as he knew how. "My family was ennobled in the 16th century for plundering Spanish ships when we were at war with the Hapsburgs. We've always been thieves. Really, it's an honourable tradition with us."

"You English are insane. I'd heard it said but I'd never actually believed it. Get me a platter."

Relieved to find himself still in Majek's good graces- or at least not totally out of them- Dorian complied.

"Did your father know about--" Majek gave a vague nod in his direction.

"Yes. He was homosexual himself, actually," Dorian said apologetically, in case Majek took offence again. Majek frowned.

"Still, he married and had children. Why don't you?"

"My father wanted a son and thought that a good enough reason to make some woman miserable by marrying her. I don't."

"You're a fool. Having a son-" Majek was smiling as he carved the roast. "Having a son is the greatest happiness a man can know." Dorian's heart contracted in jealousy.

"I wish I was your son," he said without thinking. "Then you'd love me."

"Be grateful you're not. You wouldn't be alive now if you were. I wasn't always as mild as I am now."

"But it's now that I know you. Why not adopt me?" He edged a little closer. "Wouldn't it be useful to have a clever thief in your family? You never know when you'll need a lock opened. Or in your army, at least. Here's a stranger just dying to be secured by you." He nudged meaningfully against Majek's side.

Majek put the knife and fork down and turned towards him, raising his arms. Dorian stepped nearer in rapture as Majek's hands went round his neck and pressed hard on his windpipe. The blue eyes were frozen in fury and the face would have turned an army to stone. Dorian stood perfectly still as his breath was cut off. He could do nothing but look into those terrible eyes, watching a moment of infinity stretch out before him like a long black line. Dots swam in his sight and the world became blood-tinged at the edges. Gazing still at Majek he waited for the inevitable blackness.

The pressure eased, letting him draw a gasping breath, but Majek's hands were still on his throat.

"You're a dirty little child," Majek informed him thickly, "playing your dirty little games, and you understand nothing. The tie between man and lord is sacred. When a man takes his oath to me and swears it with his body, he gives me a part of his soul. It costs him something to give, and it costs me something to take, and what happens between us is not a joke to be sniggered at by some she-male perversion who'll open his arse to any man."

"Not any man," Dorian said rawly. "I have my standards."

Majek loosed his neck and slapped him so hard he nearly fell over. He was saved only by Majek slapping him on the other side and so straightening him up again.

"Any man," Majek repeated. "Do you think I don't know what you've been doing since you came in here? You've gone through my household like a lion through the sheep fold. I can see it in their faces. You've bedded with my brother and his friend and my nephew and my son, and even Takamatsu though I'm damned if I know how you managed it. Twenty years ago I'd have turned you into the woman you behave like for so abusing my hospitality. Is there anyone you haven't laid your hands on?"

"Gunmar, actually."

"Don't lie to me. Gunmar had his catamite's eye on you from the minute you walked in."

"I don't say we wouldn't like to. I would and he would. But I gave my word not to."

"To whom?"

"Takamatsu."

"That means nothing."

"It means everything. My word binds me the way your oaths bind you. You don't understand a gentleman's honour, of course, because you're not a gentleman. You're a small-souled peasant who'd sneer at his own son. Gunmar's not a catamite and never was. Not that it's any of your business, but he was a virgin until he was a grown man, which has got to be more than you can say. And he's generous and kind and loving and too damned good to be the son of a butcher like yourself." Dorian blinked tears of rage. "I can't think why he acknowledges you as his father. He's criminally good-natured. If it were me I'd disinherit myself." He turned his back on Majek and headed for the door.

"Dorian."

He stopped, fists balled.

"What?" he said, refusing to turn around.

"Five minutes ago you were saying you wanted to be my son. You see what it would have been like? Come back here."

Unwillingly, Dorian turned around. Majek was smiling a little, ruefully, and Dorian's heart melted. He frowned ferociously to cover it, but all that did was bring a hint of tenderness to Majek's eyes and threaten to complete his downfall.

"What am I to do with you, little brother? You're a stranger to my land, and you insult our customs. Don't make me angry, Dorian. I had enough of that in the past, and I don't enjoy it any more."

Dorian fought to hold on to a shred of self-respect.

"You insult me," he said, pretending offence. "If I'm a pervert and a child by your standards, what do you think you are by mine?"

"You told me. A butcher. I don't deny it. Come, Dorian. You have a man's courage in that woman's nature of yours. Let's be friends again."

"We can't be friends," he said bitterly. "I love you and it's killing me."

Majek came over and put an arm on his shoulder, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, little brother."

Dorian leaned against him in sudden pain, but even as his heart stabbed him a thought came into his mind. He looked down at Majek through narrowed eyes.

"What is it?" Majek asked, puzzled.

"Oh, but you're good. I thought I was good at this, but you-- My god, next to you I'm an amateur. And it's all natural, isn't it?

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"The secret of your success, General. You make men fall in love with you. No wonder they line up to join your army. You do it by instinct. You don't know you're doing it and they don't know it's being done. It takes a man like me to see how it works."

Majek looked at him a long moment, then turned back to his carving.

"It's true, isn't it?" Dorian challenged him.

"Dorian, Dorian- ah well. Never mind." Majek was smiling to himself. "It's natural to see things in a way that's familiar. You charm men without intending to, and you think that's how all men behave. Go call Miyagui. It's time we got dinner on the table."

"Right," said Dorian smoothly, removing his apron. "At once." He was smiling too. Now he understood the territory and had the measure of his opponent. Now he was ready to go to war.

As he started down the corridor, he almost bumped into Gunmar coming from the washroom.

"Oh, Lord Gloria," Gunmar said, and gave him an exuberant hug. "I've got to thank you. You're so wonderful!"

"I try to please," Dorian said. "What did I do?"

"Oh- you know. Everything's so different when you're around. I'd never have had the nerve to ask for myself if you hadn't suggested it, and I don't think he'd have agreed if you hadn't- you know- with him. But he says- Kinta says-" Gunmar lowered his voice, beaming like the noonday sun, "it's just so much better with me than with Uncle Halim, there's no comparison."

"Oh," Dorian said in comprehension. "Today you are a man. I'm glad to hear it. So- what do you think of it?"

"It's- interesting. I think I still like it better when he does it to me, but it's nice for a change. We're going to try it again tonight."

They'd come to the livingroom.

"Where's Miyagui, by the way? I'm supposed to send him to Majek."

"In the front with Koczi. I'll go get him." He hastened off.

Kinta looked up from his journal as Dorian came in and gave him a wide smile.

"Halim?" Dorian asked.

"Gone to get his men. There was a call from the front desk."

"Oh, good. Umm- I take it things are alright now?"

"Yes, perfect. I can't believe how everything's changed, just in one day." A trace of self-consciousness crept into his smile, stripping years off his already young face so that he looked like a shy teenager. "Majek said you're his luck but I think- I think you must be mine."

"Maybe I'm a family possession. Do you believe in luck? I do, of course, but you're a scientist..."

"I never did before, but now- It's amazing, what can happen."

He stood up as Gunmar came back into the room and put an arm around his shoulder. They went out into the hallway. "When Takamatsu's cured and we're all back home- there's this new angle Gruber has on inherited immunity. Jean's quite excited by it, and we were thinking- well, never mind. I won't bore you. But really, this is the first time in forever that I'm actually looking forward to the future. So much seems possible, now that things are finally going my way."

"You don't think Takamatsu will mind too much?" Gunmar asked. "He hasn't come back yet."

"He'll come round when he realizes we're doing it for his own good. He's a scientist too, after all. He's just getting stubborn in his old age."

Jean and Sergei were already seated in the diningroom, talking in low tones. Sergei had a hand on Jean's thigh under the table. Their heads turned together at Kinta's last words.

"Majek?" Jean asked, eyebrows flicking a little at Gunmar and Kinta's affectionate pose.

"Takamatsu," Kinta said, dropping his arm.

"That's not old age. He was always like that," Sergei said. "He'd have run Ruza's life for him if Ruza had let him."

"The tyranny of the servant," Jean said. "I never know if he gets it from his Russian side or his Japanese one."

"Don't talk like that," Gunmar said, looking unhappy as he took his seat.

"But it's true," Kinta said. "We've always done what he wanted. We just didn't notice."

Majek came in with Ara and Miyagui. "Dorian, take the other end of the table. I don't suppose we should expect Takamatsu, but he might turn up." Bowls were passed around and wine was served. Araszyam gave Dorian a fleeting soft smile as he filled his glass and Dorian gave him a small wink back. About to take a sip, he saw the corners of Majek's mouth tighten as he registered the exchange. Dorian sat up straighter and smiled at him directly, heart lifting in sudden realization. They'd worked a love-charm this afternoon, was what they'd done. He and Ara, Kinta and Gunmar, Jean and Sergei, working separately and unknowingly, had together described three points of a triangle of love and lust, and Majek was caught in the middle of it. It was only a matter of time before the spell had its effect.

"To your health, General," Dorian said, lifting his glass.

"To yours, Lord Gloria," Majek responded. "But the General will be here tomorrow. Save your toasts till then."

A deep male voice boomed in the hallway. Sergei jerked upright. Halim burst through the doors, a crowd of one who made the dining room seem suddenly too small.

"Good," he said. "I'm starved. My loving little brother-" He enveloped Sergei in a huge hug that left him blinking and frowning. "Jean-" He mussed Jean's hair, to his obvious annoyance, and threw himself into the chair on Dorian's right. "Food!" he said peremptorily to Araszyam.

The platter of veal had come to rest by Dorian. He picked it up and placed it bodily on Halim's plate.

"Have some meat, Commander."

"I could eat all that," Halim said, helping himself liberally.

"But you won't," Jean said, whisking it adroitly out of his hand and passing it across the table to Kinta.

"When did you get in?" Sergei asked in a resigned voice. "And what are you doing here?"

"This afternoon. I thought I'd drop in on you on my way back to Amsterdam, but when I found out Majek was here of course I stayed for dinner. I've missed your cooking, brother." Halim was shovelling meat and vegetables into his mouth. It looked like he could indeed have eaten the whole platter merely by way of appetizer.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Majek said automatically. "And what are your men doing in the suite?"

"Checking for bugs."

"It's been checked already."

"Not by G, it hasn't. If he says it's clean, then I'll believe it."

"G?!" Dorian said, startled.

"One of my men. Impossible name- German- so we just call him G."

It couldn't be, of course. G wouldn't moonlight. Klaus would have his skin if he did- but the coincidence--

"What does he look like? Not small and blond by any chance?"

"Not by any chance."

"If they break anything, it's your neck," Majek said.

"Don't worry. They're pros."

"Why are you going to Amsterdam?" Gunmar asked.

"Business. Don't ask."

"Drugs?" Sergei inquired neutrally. "Or guns?"

"Both, of course."