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Message-ID: <47990asstr$1085562607@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Vulgar Argot <vulgarargotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
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Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough, Chapter 10
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Date: Wed, 26 May 2004 05:10:07 -0400
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Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Princes of Mannsborough, Chapter 10 of 22
by Vulgar Argot
(tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage)

When Thule pulled up in front of Dawn's house the next morning, she
was sitting on the curb. Her head was down, so intent on the book in
her lap that she didn't look up until Thule had stopped his car in
front of her.

Sliding the book into her bag, she unfolded into a standing position.
Thule watched the process, thinking about what Marigold had implied in
her question about being with women and suppressed a shiver at the
visual that hit him. As disturbing as the whole scene with Maya had
been, he hadn't lied when he said it was also very arousing. The idea
that she might have been talking about Dawn..well, it created a visual
that could be distracting.

Oblivious to Thule's train of thought, Dawn chose that moment to
stretch, her yellow tank top rising to expose her belly. Walking to
the car, she brushed gravel off of the back of her jeans before
climbing into the back seat.

"Holy shit," she leaned in over the front seat as soon as she bounced
into the back, "What did you do to all of your beautiful hair?"

Thule laughed, "Let me answer that question indirectly. This morning,
I slept forty-five minutes later than I did yesterday."

Dawn wrinkled her nose in amusement, "Now that you mention it, I don't
miss having all that hair either." She primped her own pixie cut a
little.

"I thought that you were very pretty when your hair was longer," said
Thule, "but I always want women to have long hair."

Dawn pouted, "You don't think I'm pretty now?"

Thule glanced at her, "Can I establish something, please?"

Dawn blinked at him, "Yes?"

"You're a lesbian, correct?" asked Thule, "You have no interest in
men?"

"None of the men I've met."

Thule sighed, "That's hardly the same thing. Is it?"

Dawn laughed, "No. I guess it isn't."

"So, you're only theoretically a lesbian?"

"I don't really like labels," said Dawn. "They cause a lot of trouble.
But, to answer your question, it's all pretty theoretical at this
point."

"In that case," said Thule deadpan, "No. I do not think you are pretty
now. I think you are plain and unattractive. I find all women but one
plain and unattractive. The one woman I do find attractive is pretty
close to more than I can handle."

Dawn laughed, "You're funny. Can I rub your head for luck?"

Thule pretended to scowl, "Once, for a short duration. Ugly girls are
not permitted to touch my head for more than thirty seconds."

Dawn said, "Wait. I'm ugly now? I thought I was only plain."

"Hideous," elaborated Thule, "You'd better make it twenty seconds,
max."

Dawn reached up and rubbed the top of Thule's head vigorously for a
few seconds. It was an odd sensation. At a quarter inch cut all
around, it was the shortest Thule's hair had ever been. He had to
fight all of his traditional mannerisms which included touching his
own hair. It just wasn't there.

"What were you reading?" he asked.

Dawn bit her lip, "Promise not to tell?"

Thule nodded, "Within reason. If Charlie decides it's worth putting
bamboo shoots under my fingernails to attain your reading list, I'll
probably spill my guts."

"Fair enough," said Dawn. She extracted the book from her bag, "It's a
real page turner called 'Automotive Spot Welding and Gross Body
Work.'"

"Sounds riveting," said Thule. Dawn rolled her eyes at him, clearly
stifling a laugh.

                                       -=-

When he went to the door to get Marigold, Jonas answered the door.
Rather than greeting Thule, he called up the stairs, "Delilah, your
chariot awaits."

Marigold came down, looking puzzled. When she saw Thule, she gave a
little squeak of surprise, "What did you do?"

"I slept an extra forty five minutes today," said Thule, "I stepped
out of the shower and it was dry."

"But," Marigold pouted, "I liked your hair."

They were walking down the front path now. Thule said, "I thought it
made me look like a dreg."

Marigold opened the car door, "It made you look like you. Now, you
look like a stranger."

Thule opened the door to his own side and slid into his seat, "Well, I
guess you can pretend you're with another man, then. Maybe it will
make you feel all sexy, like you're cheating on me."

"Well, there's that," said Marigold.

Dawn waved from the back seat, "Hi. Third party here."

"Whoops," said Marigold giggling, "You were so quiet, I forgot you
were here."

Dawn laughed, "You're talking about the hair, right?" When Marigold
nodded, she went on, "He let me rub it once for luck, but only once
because I'm horrendous to look at."

"I believe," said Thule, "that I said hideous. Marigold, on the other
hand, can rub it for as long as she likes."

Dawn leaned over the seat again to pout at Marigold, "You don't think
I'm hideous to look at, do you?"

Marigold laughed, "Nah. I'm sure that you're at least moderately
attractive." Then, she reached back and ruffled Dawn's hair. Thule
tried not to let it show in his face how much the whole exchange
surprised him. Since they'd gotten back from their weekend in New
York, Marigold's personality seemed to be changing almost by the hour.
She was far more relaxed than Thule had seen in years of watching her.
A month ago, he would not have been willing to say she was even
capable of cracking a joke. His greatest fear when considering his
revenge was that he would push too hard and Marigold might take her
own life to get away from him.

Lost in thought, Thule did not hear most of the rest of the
conversation. It wasn't until he was pulling into his parking space in
the senior lot and Marigold reached up and rubbed his freshly-shorn
head that he realized his name had come up once or twice.

"Wow," said Marigold, "I think it's working. All this time, I've been
studying for tests and all I needed to do was rub your shaved head.
Where have you been for the last four years?"

Thule grinned evilly, "Biding my time and plotting against you, of
course."

As they walked to homeroom, Marigold wrapped herself under Thule's
arm. To all the world, they looked like an ordinary couple. Even Thule
could imagine that they were, which was sort of his hope for this
week.

To his surprise and, for the first time in weeks, Thule had a
completely ordinary school day. He went to class, had lunch with his
friends, even had time to get over to the computer lab during study
hall and get some programming done. Because they were both working
towards maximizing their grades, Marigold was there by his side
practically the whole time, smiling, laughing, talking, a light touch
here, a stolen moment there. Thule allowed himself to daydream that it
could always be like this. At that moment, he would have given a great
deal to be a normal student at a normal high school with Marigold.
That part still wouldn't be normal, of course, but "normalized" might
be all right.

As he was walking from his locker to the parking lot, Ioke Lau fell
into stride next to him. Thule smiled at her. He'd always liked Ioke.
She was one of the few people who seemed to manage to remain popular
with all factions at Mannsborough High while seemingly above all the
machinations that went on to maintain the social hierarchy. She was
the first girl Thule had ever asked out. Even at thirteen, she'd had
the poise and grace to turn him down in such a way that he actually
ended up liking her more than before he had asked.

"So," she asked, walking close enough to be heard, but not overheard,
"I heard you and Marigold Tarr were an item. Any truth to that?"

Thule gave no indication of veracity, "Where did you hear that?"

"Brianne," said Ioke. "Although, she used far more colorful and
pejorative language than I did. But, I never believe anything Brianne
says without independent verification. You never know what she might
be up to."

Thule laughed, "I thought it was a requirement for being on the
cheerleading squad that you take everything Brianne says at face
value."

"I'm not stupid," said Ioke. "I don't tell her she's a liar to her
face."

"So, why do you want to know?" asked Thule.

Ioke bit her lower lip, then said, "There are a lot of guys angling to
take your place if you stumble."

Thule looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, "I figured that.
Did somebody tell you to warn me?"

Ioke shook her head, "No, Thule. I'm telling you this because I like
you. And, I like Marigold although that hasn't always been easy. But,
right now, Brianne's out for her blood and Elliot's out for yours. I
just wanted to let you know that I'm keeping my ears open. If I hear
anything is going down, I'll let you know."

Thule smiled at her, genuinely grateful, "Thank you, Ioke. That really
means a lot."

"Thule, can I ask you a question?"

Thule nodded.

"What's going on with you? I always thought you could be popular if
you wanted to. I just figured it was a moral decision not to run with
that crowd. Now, all of a sudden, you're dating Marigold and Randy
Vandevoort of all people is saying nice things about you."

"Is he now?" Thule gave a wry smile.

"Yeah," said Ioke. "And, it's really pissing Brianne off. She put a
lot of energy this weekend into tearing Marigold down using her
relationship with you as Exhibit A. Now, all of a sudden, Randy is
talking you up and it's like he's kicked a chair out from under
Brianne."

Thule turned and faced her, "Since when do you take such an interest
in Mannsborough high school politics? I thought you were above it
all."

Ioke frowned, "I keep my ear to the ground. You don't acquire this
level of obliviousness without knowing what to avoid. But, you're
making me nervous, Thule. I can't believe you're throwing in your lot
with Randy Vandevoort. You're too decent a guy. I can believe you're
going to cause trouble, though. So, I'm asking you, what kind of
trouble are you going to cause? And how much of that trouble are
innocent people around you going to get splashed on them?"

Thule was torn between telling Ioke the truth and telling her she was
imagining things. Instead, he took the middle road of not being too
specific. He said, "There's definitely going to be trouble. Elliot's
not going to leave this alone. And, he's got friends. If I don't, it's
going to be a seriously unbalanced fight. That's not how I want it to
go down. If Randy can manufacture some friends for me or talk some out
of siding with Elliot, more power to him. I never asked him to."

Ioke narrowed her eyes at him, "There's more to it than that. Isn't
there?"

Thule sighed, "If there were, I would be a fool to talk about it.
Wouldn't I?"

Ioke considered that, then nodded, "All right, Thule. Like I said, if
I hear anything, I'll let you know."

As they reached the parking lot, Ioke laid a hand on Thule's shoulder
and smiled before she walked past a cluster of smokers and disappeared
behind them on the way to her own car.

Marigold greeted Thule by putting her arms around his neck and kissing
him on the mouth. Leaning against his chest, his arms still around
her, she asked, "What did Ioke want?"

Thule was still working out the full answer to that, so he gave a
partial answer, "To ask what I'm up to and let me know that Elliot
still wants to kill me and Brianne still wants to kill you."

"Not exactly anything we didn't know," opined Marigold.

"I know," said Thule. "I think she also wanted to give me her
benediction."

Marigold looked puzzled, "Why would she do that?"

Thule shook his head, "I'm not entirely sure. I always thought she was
sort of oblivious to the hierarchy here."

"Ioke?" asked Marigold. "Nah. She refuses to play a lot of Brianne's
games and she's got a lot of credibility because of it. She's nice to
everyone. But, if she's being seen with you on purpose, it means
something."

Thule's surprise must have shown in his face because Marigold stuck
her tongue out at him, "I may miss a lot, but I have survived four
years at Mannsborough High. You don't do that without some awareness
of who's who."

                                        -=-

Thule drove home with his window open, enjoying the feel of sun on his
skin and wind in his face. In the back seat, Dawn chattered about her
newest love interest, apparently having given up hope on Oksana for a
cheerleader who returned her interest. Dawn wouldn't name the girl
because she wasn't out about her sexuality. Thule listened with half
an ear. Later tonight, he would have to go into the belly of the
beast, but for now, he could just revel in the waning days of his
senior year.

After he dropped Dawn off, Marigold asked casually, "Which cheerleader
do you think she could be talking about?"

Thule shrugged, "I don't know. I thought all the cheerleaders at this
school were man-eating harpies. I guess one's a woman eater. It's good
that they're getting some variety in their diet."

"I don't know," opined Marigold. "Brianne rules that squad with an
iron fist and I don't think she would like that. You can get thrown
out for wearing last year's fashion or the wrong color of lipstick."

Thule shrugged, "I guess that explains why she's so deep in the
closet. You should find out who it is if you can. She could be an ally
on the inside."

Marigold's eyes brightened, "Does that mean you're going to let me
help you in your one-man crusade?"

Thule sighed, "Little Flower, I really don't think you know what
you're asking for. My hands are going to be very dirty after this.
I..."

"I know," said Marigold, "You keep warning me that your hands are
going to be dirty and I might hate you at the end of this. Thule, do
you think you're justified in what you're doing?"

Thule sighed, pulling into the driveway, then sat in the car, thinking
hard. Finally, he said, "It's been so long since I asked myself that
question. I'm feeling some doubt that I'm the right person to do this,
but somebody should. Randy Vandevoort's got a younger brother in the
ninth grade who's already on the road to pulling the same crap Randy
does. Brianne's graduating, but she's already grooming June Kane to
take her place. Nothing's going to change if I don't change it."

"So," asked Marigold, "are you justified?"

"Yes," said Thule quietly.

"Then, I'm by your side." Marigold leaned across the seat and kissed
him full on the mouth. The kiss was more tender than sexual. Thule
broke it before that changed.

"Come inside," he said quietly, "there's something I want to show you.
Then, you can decide if you're by my side, want to keep your hands
clean, or...or just want to walk away from me."

Marigold looked like she wanted to reassure Thule, but he got out of
the car and headed into the house. She followed him to his room.
Inside, he opened up the double closet at the foot of his bed and
pulled out a green army duffel bag. He laid it on the bed and unzipped
it, "This is the kit I bring with me when I'm working on gathering
information. Look inside of it."

Marigold sat down trepidatiously, pulling the bag open. Out came a
half dozen cameras, some small enough to be unseen in plain sight, one
with the kind of huge telephoto lens that paparazzi used to get
pictures of celebrities from a half mile away. Then came a shotgun
microphone. After that was a length of waterproof rope.

Thule could tell when Marigold's hand found the gun. Her eyes widened
and she hesitated in drawing it out. When she did, she eyed it with
dread.

"Thule," she asked in a whisper, "You're not planning on going all
Columbine, are you?"

Thule smiled gently, "No. I don't want to hurt anyone unnecessarily. I
carry that for defense sometimes. As far as I know, Randy and Brianne
have never killed anybody. They deserve a lot, but they don't deserve
to die. Besides, you'd want some sort of automatic weapon to 'go
Columbine.' A single-shot handgun would be horribly inefficient."

Marigold nodded. She began pulling things out of the bag again. The
ammunition, clips, survival, and Swiss Army knives occasioned no
comment. After that, everything she pulled out seemed innocuous--tools
and boots and the like.

"Well," Marigold said, taking a deep breath, "It's not much worse..."

Thule knew he could stop there. He wanted badly to stop there.
Marigold had absorbed so much these last few days and was ready to
commit to be a part of not only Thule's dark plan, but his life as
well. He wanted to let her absorb it, get used to the idea. He'd never
even used what was in the small, black satchel and might not yet. But,
she wouldn't understand if she didn't see it. Besides, Thule felt like
he needed a sanity check. The only person he'd ever revealed the
extent of his plans to was Maya, who could hardly qualify as a sanity
check. If he lost Marigold over this, he would know he'd gone too far
into the darkness.

"You missed something," he said. Undoing an internal zipper, he pulled
out the innocuous looking black satchel and laid it out. Half a dozen
little vials and pill bottles laid against the black felt that lined
the inside of the satchel.

He held up the first bottle, "Chloroform, in case I need to detain
someone or move them quietly without a fight."

On the next, "Nondilute LSD, enough to contaminate a small reservoir.
That is not my intent. Even diluted to the one hundredth part, it
creates a state of suggestibility similar to hypnosis."

Seeing that Marigold was not showing revulsion, he decided to skip
over the next two and get straight to the last bottle. He held it up
and let Marigold read the label.

"Rohypnol," she read, "Thule, are you planning to rape somebody?"

Thule shook his head, "No. I know this is popularly known as the date
rape drug, but I've got it as a substitute for sodium pentathol."

"Truth serum?" Marigold asked.

"Also a popular appellation," Thule said, falling into didactic mode
as he often did when nervous, "Mostly, sodium pentathol just lowers
inhibition, like alcohol. Unfortunately, sodium pentathol only comes
in gas and intravenous form. I don't know how to work a needle well
enough not to leave obvious marks or risk hurting someone with an
overdose. Rohypnol lowers inhibition. If you question someone who's
taken it, they'll generally tell you the truth. If you try to fuck
them, they'll generally let you. If you try to play tennis with them,
they'll generally try to play along, although it badly impairs motor
skills, so they won't be any good. Its use often leads to memory loss,
particularly when mixed with alcohol. You wake up feeling like you've
got a really bad hangover and can't remember much of what happened,
which makes it a favorite of rapists. Half the time, their victims
don't remember they've been attacked. Most of the rest of the time,
they think they just drank too much and blame themselves."

Marigold nodded, her face serious, "And these last two?"

Thule pointed, "That one's an ipecac I can administer if I give
someone an overdose or they have a bad reaction to one of the other
chemicals and they need to bring it up quickly. And that," pointing,
"is a diuretic mixed with food dye to make it look like you're peeing
blood."

Marigold picked it up, "What good is it for, other than pranks?"

Thule shrugged, "It's a utility tool like the Swiss Army Knife. If I
want to get someone out of my way, it works fast and has no lasting
side effects. It's strictly for causing panic."

"Well," opined Marigold, "that's all excessively icky. Where did you
get all of this stuff?"

"It's all commercially available," said Thule, "The gun is licensed
and registered. None of the surveillance equipment is contraband. The
chloroform came from a veterinary supply store."

"And the Rohypnol?" Marigold asked.

Thule started sliding the bottles back into their places. He didn't
look Marigold in the eyes, but spoke quickly, almost mumbling,
"Freshman year, after we won our first big track meet, Randy
Vandevoort held a big party at his house. At the beginning of the
party, he got all the freshmen from the team together and offered us
these with very strict instructions on who they were supposed to be
used on. When we found an appropriate girl, we were to come back to
him, make sure she wasn't 'protected' and get a pill."

He started packing up the bag, "I waited until the party was in full
swing, then stole the bottle out of Randy's pocket and left. I quit
the team the next day. I was going to go to the police, but the chief
of police is a Vandevoort, the sheriff is a Vandevoort. I dug a little
deeper and found out that these parties had been going on for years.
Ivan Vandevoort views the whole town as some kind of medieval fiefdom
and he's more or less right."

Marigold opened her mouth to speak, but Thule had a faraway look in
his eyes and kept talking, "I knew what was going on, but I didn't do
anything to stop it. I kept Maya away from them as much as I could,
but..." He trailed off. Marigold put a comforting hand on his
shoulder.

"Because I quit the team," he went on, "I fell far enough out of favor
that Maya became fair game. Randy even intimated once that he went
after her specifically to make sure that I understand who was boss."

"Thule," Marigold asked, "how could all of this have happened under my
nose and I never even noticed it?"

Thule zipped up the bag and pushed it back into the closet, "People
don't see what they don't want to see. I've talked to dozens of people
who have part of the picture. A few have a sense of how big it might
really be. I know it sounds crazy and paranoid..."

Marigold shook her head, "Not to me. Well, maybe a little bit. It's
not contradicted by any of the paltry facts I do have at my disposal.
But..."

Thule waited patiently for her question. Finally, she continued, "I
don't understand how so many girls could have been raped and the
silence maintained."

"Mostly," said Thule, "they prey on the quasi-willing, girls who
aren't quite popular, but want to be. The Rohypnol helps. Going to the
local police gets you nowhere. Fear of what the Vandevoorts can do
contributes. And they buy off the rest."

"There hasn't been anyone who refused to be bought off?" Marigold
asked.

"I looked," said Thule, "I looked hard. When you've built an empire
like the Vandevoorts, I can't imagine that you'd just give up because
someone refused to cooperate. But, if there are any bodies buried
around here, they're buried so deeply that I can't find them."

Thule stopped talking when he realized Marigold was crying. He waited
for her to speak, but she didn't seem inclined to. Uncertain, he
offered her his open arms and she fell into them. He pet her hair,
shushing her as she gripped him hard by the arms.

"Oh, Thule," she whispered, "I'm so afraid for you."

Thule laughed, relieved that Marigold wasn't crying because she
realized she had to leave him. He kissed the top of her head. She
tilted back to be kissed on the mouth. Her hands caressed the top of
Thule's head as he kissed her. Thule pulled Marigold into his lap. She
wrapped her legs around his waist and her breathing quickened.

"Please don't tempt me," Thule said, "I've really got to get changed,
get you home, and get to town and I'm already way off balance as it
is."

Marigold gave a moan of protest, but slid off of Thule's lap and lay
down, pouting on his bed. She asked, "When are you going to be done
today?"

"I told you," said Thule, stripping out of his school clothes, "I
don't know. The meeting is kind of informal." He threw on a white
dress shirt and began buttoning, "It could be very short if the deal
obviously stinks. If we have to get into detail, it could go well into
the night."

"What's this meeting about?" Marigold asked.

"I didn't tell you," Thule said.

"No," said Marigold, "you didn't."

"I know," said Thule, cinching up his belt, "That wasn't a question. I
didn't tell you. You don't need to know. If you're determined to help
me, I'll let you. I suspect that I won't have much of a choice and I
can watch you more closely if I say yes. But, I make it a rule to
never tell anyone more than they need to know. That includes you. I
will not put you in unnecessary danger if I can help it."

"So," asked Marigold, "this meeting is dangerous, then?" She stood up
and came over to him.

"No," said Thule, "In and of itself, this meeting is far safer than
going to school every day is." He pulled the knot up on his tie, "How
do I look?"

Marigold reached up and straightened his collar, "Frighteningly
professional. Promise me that, one day, you'll fuck me in this suit."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Thule, "this suit is much too big for
you."

"Promise me," said Marigold more seriously.

Thule wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her to him. He purred
wickedly, "I promise, one day, that I will take you to work with me,
bend you over my desk, and take your hot, little ass while wearing my
best suit."

Marigold's knees buckled and she held on to Thule for balance. When
her eyes opened and she was able to find her balance again, she
laughed, "You seem to have a thing for desks. You really should keep a
supply of pillows or towels on hand so that I'm not always bruising my
hips on them."

Thule kissed her and, amazingly, felt his resolve slipping. He broke
the kiss, "God," he said, "I wish I could just keep you here and never
stop fucking you."

Marigold laughed, "One day," she said wistfully.

"Actually," said Thule, leading her out to the car, "I'm pretty sure
that I would have to stop at some point before the day was over, but
I'd be willing to try."

Thule found himself genuinely enjoying the ride to drop Marigold off.
His mood in anticipation of the meeting had been one of grim
determination. The conversation with Marigold had left him emotionally
drained. But, a short ride with Marigold where they discussed nothing
of real importance had immediately raised his spirits. When he kissed
Marigold good night, it was possible for a few seconds to completely
forget everything but the kiss. As he drove away, he caught himself
whistling.

He let himself enjoy the moment for a few minutes before clamping down
on his own ebullience. He was glad not to be going into this with a
pervading sense of doom, but it wouldn't do any good to go in feeling
happy-go-lucky either. He glanced in the rear-view mirror to check for
any obvious dishevelment and gave a brief "ah" of surprise as he
failed to recognize himself with short hair.

It was fortunate that Thule already knew where "the Tarr building" was
downtown or he would have had more than a dozen "Tarr buildings" to
choose from. Even the high school was official called Nataniel Tarr
Memorial High School even if no one seemed to know that.

The only more common name than Tarr was Vandevoort. Thule wished there
were some clear and easy division between them, but the Vandevoorts
had funded just as many hospitals, libraries and public works projects
as the Tarrs while the Tarrs had built just as many ostentatious
vanity projects as the Vandevoorts. The official histories spoke
glowingly of both families, but a judicious reading between the lines
suggested that both had their share of black sheep and petty tyrants.

When he'd first started planning his revenge, Thule had thought it was
him versus the two powerful families. He'd first joined Jonas's bible
study as a way of getting closer to the man. He'd slowly come to
realize that it was more complicated than that. Jonas, for all of his
flaws, was basically a good man. Marigold was the problem. Now, he'd
gone as far as to throw in his lot with the Tarrs in order to bring
down the Vandevoorts.

Comparably, Thule had only managed to meet Ivan Vandevoort three
times, always at school events. The impression he'd gotten was
superficial at best and colored by the lens of his own prejudice. With
his sizeable estate and full-time security team, he was a lot more
isolated than Jonas.

And then there was the third family. Until World War I, the Ogden
family had been a third power in Mannsborough. Backing the wrong side
in that war and a lack of sons meant the end of the name and the end
of the family fortune. There were no Ogdens left in Mannsborough.
Thule's great grandmother was born an Ogden. So was Brianne's.
Marigold was a descendant of the Ogdens too, although her family line
branched off from theirs in the 1860s. Thule wondered what Marigold
would think if she knew he, she, and Brianne were all distantly
related. He knew Brianne would be horrified. It might even be worth
telling her.

The Tarr Building was a nineteen story office structure near the post
office. The only taller building in town was the thirty-one story
Vandevoort Tower, so it was easy to spot. When Thule showed up at the
front desk, an efficient-looking receptionist handed him a visitor's
pass and suggested he go straight to the security office and get a
more permanent ID.

Thule smiled, "Would you ask Mr. Tarr if he thinks I have time to do
that? I wouldn't want to delay our meeting."

The receptionist smiled back, "Actually, it was Mr. Tarr's suggestion
that you do so. Security is on this floor, straight back past the
elevators. The door is kind of non-descript, but it's right next to
the only ficus on this floor."

As Thule headed to the security office, he wondered how many new
visitors would know how to identify a ficus tree or if this was, in
fact, some subtle form of hazing. He found the office easily enough,
pressing the buzzer with the word "SECURITY" over it. Next to the door
was a pygmy rubber tree, phylum ficus, of course. The security office
turned out to be two desks and a camera in a windowless room. The
security officer took Thule's critical information, even humoring him
by putting Bartholomew "Thule" Roemer on his permanent ID. As soon as
he'd had his picture taken, Thule watched the security guard slap the
ID together and laminate it, handing it to Thule with the laminate
still hot to the touch.

"Mr. Tarr's expecting you," said the guard, "You can go right up to
the nineteenth floor. The receptionist there will show you to his
office."

In the elevator on the way up, Thule debated with himself how easy it
would be to counterfeit the permanent security badges. They were all
of a uniform salmon color with a light moire pattern under the
printing, the text done on a manual typewriter, the photo of standard
passport size. It depended, he decided, on how many people actually
worked here and if there was a significant portion that only appeared
occasionally. As the elevator door opened, he discarded the line of
thought. It had only been an intellectual exercise anyway.

The executive receptionist turned out to be a pretty Russian girl,
probably not much older than Thule. She led him back through the
office hallways, passing him off to Jonas's personal secretary, a
stout, matronly woman in her mid-fifties, who called Jonas on the
intercom. Jonas himself emerged from the office to greet Thule and
lead him into the inner sanctum.

Jonas's office was much larger than Thule had expected. Jonas drove a
sensible, blocky Volvo, lived in a house not much bigger than Thule's,
and wore suits that had probably come off the rack at Burlington Coat
Factory. His office, however, was slightly larger than the entire IT
department at the lab where Thule worked. Two walls were made mostly
of glass, looking out over enough of Mannsborough to take in downtown,
the high school, and just barely see where Marigold's house was, but
not his own. Thule realized now that the building was on top of a
gradual rise that meant that the whole town sloped gradually away from
it.

"Thule," Jonas said, "Come on in. Have a seat. I had a desk set up for
you in here so that you wouldn't be bored while waiting for Ivan to
get here. He loves to make me wait for him."

"Thank you," said Thule, sitting at the proffered desk. The computer,
he noted with a quick glance, was a few years old, barely enough to
run office applications and e-mail. He turned to face Jonas, "Do you
have a few moments to answer a couple of questions?"

"Yeah," said Jonas. The only computer on his desk was a Bloomberg
terminal. Thule wondered how he survived.

"I want to make sure I understand the corporate structure of Tarr
Services Group," said Thule, "I'm not sure how credibly I can play my
role if I don't know what you do."

Jonas laughed, "You gathered all the information you did and don't
know what we do?"

Thule shrugged, "I understand that you're primarily an asset
management company that helps clients gather venture capital, but you
also seem to own a number of unrelated companies that make up
three-quarters of your revenue stream. In fact, your interest in the
cotton market appears to make more money than the TSG branch."

"Blame that one on my Grandpa Nate," said Jonas, "In fact, you can
blame the odd corporate structure on Nate, too. He founded the core
business in 1906. During the depression, when a lot of companies we
had paper on failed, old Nate would call in his position and, in many
cases, rather than sell off the company's tangible assets as his peers
in the business did, he would put in new management, streamline the
company, and get it back up and running. The cotton thing was
purchased from the Egyptian government during one of its cyclical dire
financial emergencies for about three times what anybody else thought
it was worth. Along with a company that deals with the cotton on the
other end in New Orleans, it brings in about thirty percent of our
revenue. Of course, it also costs a pretty penny and a few more of my
hairs every year in monitoring regional stability. I wouldn't worry
about that too much, though. When I was crown prince, I didn't
understand most of it."

Thule raised an eyebrow, "Crown prince?"

Jonas laughed, seemingly a little embarrassed, "Sorry. I was getting
into the place in my head I need to use when dealing with Ivan. When
we were both working for our fathers, he called us the crown princes.
Now, he calls Randy the crown prince. He eats that shit up. I'm
assuming that part of the reason he called today's meeting is that he
wants to feel me out as to the idea of Randy and Marigold marrying now
that Elliot is out of the picture. It strikes me as an ideal time to
introduce my own new crown prince."

"Strictly speaking," said Thule, typing in a few keys on the keyboard,
"I would be an heir apparent until Marigold and I married."

"Good point," said Jonas, "If you hadn't corrected me on it, Ivan
certainly would have. So, what role am I grooming you for? It would
probably make you more appealing to him if you we trying to do as
little as possible."

"Yeah," said Thule, "but not plausible. Anyone that knows me knows
that I would never be able to do that for more than a week or so."

"Okay," said Jonas, "you could be in my IT department."

"No offense," said Thule, "but I'd rather not take responsibility for
the IT here. I saw computers on the way in that qualified as museum
pieces. And, I can't even get a web browser set up because this
machine was set up with an IP conflict."

"Oh," said Jonas, "that's bad, is it?" Thule nodded. "Well," said
Jonas, "maybe not directly responsible for IT. How about if you were a
project manager?"

Thule clutched his chest with both hands, "You sure know how to wound
a guy. Besides, that would mean that I had people reporting to me,
which would be hard to maintain without my actually doing any work."

"I repeat my offer," said Jonas, "if you actually want to work
here..."

"Thank you," said Thule, "but there's at least a passing chance that I
may survive the summer and still be in Mannsborough. I appreciate your
help, but I've gotten this far without being beholden to anyone and
I'd like to keep it that way." Jonas started to protest, but Thule
waved the protest away, "Maybe I could be an assistant to whoever
handles IT recruiting here."

Jonas frowned, "That would work if we had someone to handle IT
recruiting here. Right now, it goes to anyone in HR, like every other
job at the company."

Thule smiled, "I think I found my role, then. I can be coming up
through HR with a focus on IT."

Jonas nodded, "Is that prestigious enough for the heir apparent? How
would you betray me from there?"

Thule laid out a quick plan for using such a position to gain control
of the company from within. Jonas listened, nodding with admiration.
He asked, "Have you been thinking about this for a while?"

Thule paused, surprised, "No. I'm making it up as I go along. Besides,
it wouldn't actually work within any reasonable time frame. It's naive
and avaricious, which is exactly what Ivan will want to see."

                              -=-

During the next twenty minutes, Thule and Jonas finalized their plan
for the meeting. While they talked, Thule let his fingers troubleshoot
the IP problem with the computer on his desk. He found the process
oddly soothing.

Jonas said, "Ivan likes to pretend that we're still the best of
friends, but knows we're not. He's got some Mephistophlean need to try
to get me to do business with him. I think it's automatic now. Plus,
it gives him a chance to try to get my goat. I imagine that he'll try
to get yours too and, if I know the man at all, he'll start off by
going after Marigold. He's been trying to get my goat over Holly for
more than a decade. Just brace yourself for it and recognize what it's
worth. If you let him get you off balance, he'll sense it and use it."

Thule nodded. He was glad for the warning. Then, he went back to work
on the computer, hooking up the docking cradle for Jonas's new PDA on
his own machine. He'd just gotten the synchronization software
installed when the front desk receptionist buzzed back to let Jonas
know that Ivan Vandevoort was there to see him.

"Here we go," said Jonas and off they went.

Thule was just getting his game face on when Jonas said, "You're
ending an era here, you know?"

Thule looked over, "How so?"

"The little pad and pencil are sort of a trademark of mine," Jonas
answered, "Everybody in the company knows about them. That new PDA is
going to mean they'll have to find something else to joke about around
here."

Thule said, "I wouldn't throw away the little pad just yet. I still do
most of my jotting longhand. For that sort of thing, powering up a PDA
and fiddling with a stylus are just too much work."

Jonas asked, "Do you really think there's something wrong with my IT
department?"

Thule shrugged, "I spoke out of turn."

"Possibly," said Jonas, "but I'd like to hear your perspective."

Thule shrugged more emphatically, "Jonas, I've worked in one office
ever. I've been there about two years, part time. I've found a lot of
things there irksome. But, the most annoying thing I've found is
people who start there and, within a day or two, want to tell you how
to do everything that you've been doing there for years better."

"Acknowledged," said Jonas, "you don't want to be a know-it-all. But,
something seems to have created a strong impression and I'd like to
know what it is--unless you were trying to get into some sort of
intellectual pissing match over high tech."

Thule sighed, "Clearly, whatever you're doing is working. But, I
noticed that you're still running an operating system that's seven
years old and three iterations out of date. But, that makes sense
because most of your computers are about ten years old. Some of your
mission-critical systems are wheezing along on computers that are
older than I am.  Your office network is mostly peer-to-peer. Most
alarmingly, your badge system is completely done manually. I doubt
there's even a way to check the legitimacy of a badge if you can't get
into the security office."

Jonas said, "The computers are so old because we've been able to do
our jobs with them and don't see a need for the capital expenditure of
keeping them current. I didn't understand the network comment at all.
As for the security issue, I'll look into it."

"That's why I said that I spoke out of turn," said Thule, "I mainly
see things from a technology perspective. I'd rather have someone else
to whom I can leave little details like whether the company will be
around tomorrow or not. Still..."

Jonas didn't interrupt him. They were outside of the conference room
now. Through the glass wall, Thule could see Ivan Vandevoort talking
to a young, blonde woman in a navy blue business suit. He could open
the door now and end the conversation, but Jonas seemed to be waiting
for an answer. So, he pressed on, "Ever since my eighteenth birthday,
I've met with an average of one little start-up every week, trying to
sell my software. We're talking five-man, ten-man companies going
head-to-head with companies that have a thousand times as many
employees. The only reason they can compete is because they are
incredibly mobile, don't have a lot of overhead, and do have a great
grasp of the technology. When I did my final project for business and
technology, I focused on a conglomerate named Edmonton Business Group
and how they saved money and increased the productivity of their IT
department by pooling about eighty percent of their IT into its own
corporation and having the other subsidiaries buy their solutions from
that corporation. Now, the technology group is one of the biggest
money makers they have, like your cotton."

Jonas reached into his pocket and brought out the little pad and
pencil, "Edmonton Business Group," he muttered, "Do you still have a
copy of your report that I can see?"

Thule nodded, "Sure. I can e-mail you a copy if you like."

"Actually," said Jonas, "I'd better send a messenger."

                                -=-

Inside, Ivan rose to greet them. Jonas introduced Thule as, "My new
technology man, Bartholomew. I'm helping him get a feel for the
business." Then, he indicated his assistant, "and you know Inge."

Ivan did not bother to introduce his assistant, "Ah, this must be the
new crown prince, then."

"Actually," said Jonas, "more of an heir apparent at this point.
Marigold and Elliot only broke up a week ago. It's a little soon to be
asking for the crown back."

Ivan grinned, his teeth sparkling white, "How is Marigold? She's got
to be around eighteen now."

Jonas said, "She turned eighteen two weeks ago."

"If she's anything like her mother, she must be developing into quite
a sexy, little piece of ass by now," said Ivan in a voice that would
not be incongruous announcing a slight increase or decrease in a stock
price, "You should bring her around some time, let me get a look at
her."

Thule didn't know what he'd expected when Jonas warned him about
Ivan's attacks, but it certainly hadn't been anything so blatant as
that. He actually did get angry for a second, but then noticed
something so interesting that he forgot about his anger instantly.
Drawing out his Palm Pilot, he made a note of it.

"What happened to Elliot?" asked Ivan, "I liked him."

Thule smiled, "If you're looking for a sexy, little piece of ass, I
can give him your number. I hear he really likes to suck dick."

Ivan didn't speak, growing white-faced with rage. His assistant
covered her mouth with a curled hand, unable to hide the laughter in
her eyes. Jonas erupted into a fit of coughing and needed to have Inge
fetch him a glass of water. Thule made another note in his Palm Pilot.

Ivan regained his composure first, "I like this new one, Jonas. He's
got spirit." But, even as he said it, his eyes bored angry holes in
Thule's skull. Thule wondered if he'd gone too far and blown the whole
charade.

"So," said Jonas, recovering his breath, "you had a proposal in mind?"

"Yes," said Ivan, indicating his assistant, who stood up and began
handing out a thick photocopied report, "If you'd told me that the boy
was going to be here, I would have brought more copies."

"Actually," said his assistant, placing a report in front of Thule, "I
brought plenty of copies."

Thule winced a little for her, but recognized by the tone of her voice
that she'd done it deliberately. Then, he tried to focus his attention
on the business plan. He understood loosely that Ivan had found a
company that he considered in danger of insolvency and was
recommending a buyout with Jonas arranging the funding. After that, it
was nothing but printouts of spreadsheets and dense text packed with
terms Thule had never heard. By the end, he found himself answering
e-mail on his Palm Pilot in spite of the fact that Jonas managed to
mention him by name about a half-dozen times in forty-five minutes as
if Thule were his exciting new hobby. Ever time he did, Thule made
another note to remember what had been said to Ivan about him.

Jonas finally stood, stretched his legs, and said, "I'll have my M & A
guys take a look at the numbers. We may be able to do business." He
reached out and shook hands with Ivan, "Bartholemew here is going to
be much more involved in the business this summer. I believe he and
your son Randy go to school together."

Thule nodded. Ivan took the bait, "Oh, yeah? I'll let Randy know.
Maybe the two of them can work on something together over the summer.
It's about time Randy got some real-world business experience."

Afterwards, Jonas turned to Thule, "You took an enormous risk in
there, but I think it paid off. You definitely got his attention."

"Good," said Thule, "although I hope it was the sort of attention I
was looking for. If he decides to make my life miserable..."

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Jonas, "If he seeks revenge, it
will be publicly, so he can regain the face you cost him in there.
More likely, he sees you as a kindred spirit. You knew just which
button to push and pushed it. How did you know he was so homophobic?"

Thule shrugged, "Lucky guess. I wouldn't be surprised if he's dabbled.
He behaves like he has something to prove. Did you know he was fucking
his assistant?"

"I'm not surprised," said Jonas, "Ivan's fucking a lot of people."

"Yes," said Thule, "but this one he's actually having sex with."

"That was what I meant," said Jonas, "Ivan apparently can't seem to
keep his hands off anything in a skirt except for that little trophy
wife of his. Why do you say so, though?"

"I caught a glimpse of body language from outside of the conference
room that made me suspicious. Then, when he made his crude comment
about Marigold, I saw the look on her face. It was jealousy. Besides,
she must feel pretty invulnerable to have pulled that stunt with the
reports."

Jonas chuckled, "Have you ever considered playing poker to pay your
way through college?"

"I've considered damned near everything to pay my way through
college," said Thule ruefully.

Jonas nodded. He seemed about to say something, but Thule cut him off,
"I'm going to get that PDA set up and enter the information you need.
Would Sunday be too soon for me to make sure you have it committed to
memory?"

"Actually," said Jonas, smiling wryly, "Sunday sounds perfect. Once I
told Marigold I approved of you, she started lobbying to have you over
for dinner. She's going to cook." He burst into laughter, "Don't look
so trapped. She's a good cook."

"That's good to know," Thule said uneasily as they passed through the
door into Jonas's office, "but it was more about the official 'meeting
the parents' dinner."

"Don't worry about Holly," said Jonas, laughing, "she always disliked
Elliot and wished Marigold would find someone else."

"Okay," said Thule noncommittally as he started downloading the
encryption tools for Jonas's PDA.

He and Jonas worked silently for a few minutes. Finally, Jonas said,
"You weren't talking about her mother, were you?"

Thule didn't look up, "Everyone has different personae for different
situations. I always respected you in Bible study. I actually like you
when you're focused on business." He trailed off.

"I am your girlfriend's father," said Jonas, "shouldn't you be sucking
up to me, just a little?"

Thule didn't want to answer the implied question. He saw that Jonas
was giving him a way out of discussing a difficult topic. He knew he
should take it. Instead, he said, "I always respected you in Bible
study, but I found your interpretation....overly literal and rather
humorless."

Jonas stood up, stretched his legs and walked over to the corner of
the office where he could look out the window and see his house. He
stood there, just looking, long enough for Thule to wonder for the
third time today if he'd just badly damaged his own plans.

When Jonas spoke, he didn't turn around. Instead, he said, "When
you're an addict, you can take damned near any facts and use them as a
justification to feed your addiction. Facts, reasoned facts are
slippery things. We rarely know them in absolute. The only absolute I
had in my life was heroin. I replaced it with religion, but I needed
religion to be absolute."

Neither of them spoke. Thule waited patiently for Jonas to continue.
Finally, the older man said, "Marigold's mother started drinking after
we got married. I drove her to it. I had a ton of money and not an
ounce of sense. When I...found Jesus, it worked so well for my
addiction that I thought it would be perfect for Holly. And Marigold
was getting into all sorts of trouble with that friend of hers, Marla
or something..."

"Maya," said Thule.

"Right," said Jonas, "Maya. Marigold was troubled over her father's
death and getting ready to screw up her life. I didn't know what to
do. When religion is your absolute, if you don't know what to do, you
look in the Bible. What I found there worked like a charm. She buckled
down, got her grades up, became valedictorian, didn't get pregnant,
didn't fall in with a bad crowd in a town where good crowds are the
worst crowd of all. I have nothing to apologize for in the way I deal
with my family." The words came out defiantly.

"So," asked Thule, "why tell me all this?"

"I don't know," said Jonas, "I'm not very good at justifying myself. I
almost never feel the need to do it. I've made my mistakes..."

It was at that moment that Thule's cell phone started ringing.

"And that," said Jonas, "will be Ivan. How did he get your cell phone
number?"

Thule pulled out his phone and glanced at it, "He didn't. I've got the
phone at home call-forwarded to here." He answered the phone, "Hello,
Thule speaking."

"Mr. Roemer," said Ivan Vandevoort, "I didn't expect you to be home
yet."

"I'm not," said Thule, "I'm still at the office."

"This is Ivan Van..."

"I recognize your voice, Mr. Vandevoort," said Thule, "what can I do
for you this evening?"

"I know that you're helping Jonas get his hands on some good IT
people. I had an applicant here that isn't quite up to our standards,
but I know that Tarr's IT needs aren't so...vigorous."

"Thank you," said Thule, his voice prickly, "but I really don't think
we need your castoffs."

"No," said Ivan soothingly, sounding hurt, "you misunderstand me. I
just thought I could help out my old friend, Jonas."

"Don't try to play me for a chump, Mr. Vandevoort," Thule said
sharply, "You want me to insert a man of your choosing into Tarr,
where he will have access to to their computer networks and, by
extension, all of their corporate data. Cut to the chase. What is it
worth to you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roemer," said Ivan stuffily, "you have misunderstood
me very badly. I wish you good day."

"Whoever they are," said Thule, "make sure they're qualified or I'll
send them running back to your office with my bootmark on their ass.
I've got bigger plans than your penny ante corporate espionage
bullshit and I don't need your guy making me look stupid." Before Ivan
could answer, Thule clicked his phone shut. Then, he breathed a deep
sigh of relief.

"Did he commit to anything over the phone?" asked Jonas.

"No," said Thule, "he's too smart for that. I'll give him fifteen
minutes, then head down to the parking lot. That should be plenty of
time for him to get a courier down there to meet me."

Jonas nodded. He impressed Thule by not asking if he thought Ivan had
really fallen for it.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Thule.

"If his man is at least moderately qualified, hire him," said Jonas,
"He's got spies in my company already. If he wants another one, it's
just as well I know who it is. How much information could he really
get out of our peer-to-peer network anyway?"

Thule said, "Unless you have a rigorous security policy, quite a lot,
actually. How many people work here?"

"At headquarters?" asked Jonas, "about seventeen hundred full time,
another four hundred or so part time."

"With that many people," opined Thule, "you've probably got at least a
thousand major security holes."

"You're being paranoid," said Jonas.

"Yes," said Thule, shutting down his computer, "I am. It's a survival
trait. Listen, I've got fifteen minutes before I head down to the
parking lot. Let me show you something."

In five minutes, he'd found a domain administrator account with the
password "sex." In ten, he'd gotten access to the mail server. By the
time he was ready to leave, he'd picked a half dozen messages of the
correct size to have attachments and copied them to his desktop."

He showed Jonas, asking, "Do any of those look like sensitive data."

Jonas pointed at one, "That's one I helped add some numbers to. It's
very sensitive."

Thule double clicked it and got a password box. Jonas said, "A-ha!"

Thule laughed. He couldn't help himself. With a couple of keystrokes,
he was downloading the application he needed. Two minutes later, he
had the password and opened the spreadsheet. Looking up, he saw that
Jonas's face had gone ashen.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Thule said, standing up, "A lot of
places have little to no security on their internal system.
Externally, your network is much more secure. But, I'm only a hobbyist
and it took me ten minutes out of the fifteen to get the access you
would probably be handing this person on day one. I'm paranoid because
there are bad people out there and, without much effort, they can find
out far more than you want them to know."

Jonas didn't speak. So, Thule said, "I should really get going. I'd
like to finish betraying you before it gets too dark out and I need to
catch up on my sleep. I'll give a copy of that report to you when I
pick up Marigold tomorrow." He got up.

"Thule," Jonas said finally, sounding like he was in shock, "all of my
secrets are out in the open."

Thule looked around, "Well, yes. But, you've gotten this far with them
out there. A little bit more time shouldn't matter one way or the
other."

Jonas shivered, "Thanks," he said more normally, "that puts it in a
little bit more perspective. I just suddenly felt like there was an
abyss opening at my feet. Are you sure you won't come work for me, for
real?"

Thule shook his head, "One day a week, for appearances. It's no
mistake I work for the only significant company in town not owned by
you or Ivan. Besides, my knowledge is really very specialized. If you
like, I can find you a security expert. I know a few."

Jonas nodded, "Okay. Thank you. Should I do anything in the meantime?
I want to tell everyone to turn their computers off and not turn them
on again until they're secured."

Thule grinned, "I wouldn't. It's just as well if as few people as
possible know you're about to crack down before you do."

Jonas grinned too, a little less than certain, "All right," he said,
"you go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Down in the parking lot, Jonas saw no courier. He got in his car,
fiddled around with the radio, read a little, filed the notes in his
Palm. After twenty minutes, he decided that no courier was coming,
started his car, and headed for home.

As Thule pulled out of the parking lot, a black towncar on the side of
the road pulled away from the curb and fell in behind him. He breathed
a sigh of relief. He was starting to worry that he'd read the
situation completely wrong. After letting himself be trailed for about
five minutes, he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store,
went in and bought himself a pack of cigarettes.

When Thule came out, a tall thug with the same haircut Thule had,
dressed all in black, and wearing dark aviator sunglasses was leaning
against his car, smoking.

Thule unwrapped his pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and stuck it
in his mouth. Then, he walked up to the thug, "Give me a light and
your pitch," he said.

The thug laid down a thick, manila envelope, fumbled through his
pockets, and produced a lighter, "No pitch. I'm just here to deliver
something." He handed Thule the envelope.

Thule took a drag and opened the envelope, "Don't you think sunglasses
are a little conspicuous at six o'clock at night?"

The thug shrugged, "I'm diabetic," he tapped one lens of the glasses,
"very photosensitive."

Thule looked inside the envelope. There was a thick, white envelope
and a resume inside. He slid the resume out, "You know how much is in
there?"

The thug nodded, "Twenty five gee."

One of the things Thule had never really gotten about the whole mess
he was involved in was how the Vandevoorts could pay a woman enough
money that she would let them get away with rape. He began to
understand now. It wasn't a number. It was a palpable weight in his
hand and a huge weight off his mind. It was tuition for the first year
at Harvard.

He looked down at the resume, determined to follow the script he'd set
up for himself, even though it was killing him to do so. He looked up
at the thug, "Are you authorized to take a message back?"

The thug nodded, "Yup. I'm a regular Mercury. Don't you see the little
wings on my shoes?"

"Well, Mercury," said Thule, "Tell your boss that he's out of his
fucking mind if he thinks twenty-five kay is going to get him a
sysadmin. We don't need a sysadmin and it'd be worth a hell of a lot
more than that to plant one." Mustering all of his willpower, he
jammed the resume back into the envelope, "Take this back."

"That, I am not authorized to do," said Mercury, "If you want to give
it back, talk to the boss." Then, he smiled somewhat menacingly, got
into his car, and left.

                              -=-

When Thule got home, he could already feel his eyelids drooping. Going
into his bedroom, he shrugged out of his suit, stripping down to his
boxers. Then, he noticed that he had an invitation to video chat with
Marigold and it was less than twenty minutes old. Clicking on the
invitation, he was treated to a view of Marigold sitting at her desk,
doing homework. In the chat window, she typed, "Thule, how R U?"

He typed back, "Have you been using the public chat rooms?"

Marigold: "Yes. Y?"

Thule: "Don't use SMS Speak. It makes you sound like a L33T H4XX0R
D00D."

Marigold: "A what?"

Thule: "Don't worry about it. When communicating with me, type like
you would in a report for school. Phonetic shortcuts make you look
like you don't know what you're talking about."

Marigold: "Yes, Thule. May I use smileys?"

Thule: In _extreme_ moderation.

Marigold: (:

Marigold: How did it go?

Thule: Fine. I accomplished what I needed to.

Marigold: You sound tired.

Thule puzzled over how he could sound tired in ASCII, then typed, "I
am tired. I need to get some sleep."

Marigold nodded into the web cam, leaned forward, and kissed it. Thule
closed the application.

                       -=-

Thule needed to do one more thing before he went to sleep. Climbing
into the attic, he unpiled all of the boxes that were accumulated in
the northwest corner of the room until he got down to the bottom
layer, a neat palette of sixteen boxes in a four-by-four grid. He
opened one, three boxes in and three boxes over, by pulling the tape
off. Then, he pulled out an old tent and an emergency blanket.
Underneath the blanket was a fireproof box in which he kept copies of
all his evidence against the Vandevoorts on a dozen DVDs. He unlocked
the box, added the cash, and locked it back up. Then, he taped the box
he'd opened closed again.

Then, he tore the tape off of all of the other boxes on the palette
and retaped them so that they would look uniformly used. He surveyed
his handiwork. Satisfied, he piled all of the other boxes back on top
of the row. One day, he'd figure out how to redistribute the dust so
that it didn't look like he'd disturbed anything. But, for tonight,
this would have to do.

Downstairs, he took a quick shower, cleaning all of the grit and grime
off of his body. Toweling off, he was grateful to realize that his
hair dried almost as soon as he got out of the shower. Throwing on
only a fresh pair of boxers, he had barely laid his head on the pillow
before he was asleep.

                    -=-

When the doorbell rang, Thule jumped. He would like to pretend that he
jumped out of bed and rolled across the floor to the closet, but the
reality of it was a little less coordinated, even if the result was
the same. Crouched in front of the closet door, he glanced up at the
clock, which read 1:45 AM.

Dragging the duffel bag part-way out of the closet, he reached in and,
by feel, found the pistol and loaded in a clip. Crawling across the
floor, he looked out the window, but whoever was at the front door was
too close to it for him to get a look at them. There was no car in the
driveway.

Gathering his robe from the floor, he shrugged into it. As he
crab-walked across the floor, the doorbell rang again. Out of the
doorway of his bedroom, he could see through the picture window in the
living room who was standing there.

He scowled, stood up, strolled across the living room, and opened the
front door, "Do you know what time it is? You scared the shit out of
me."

Maya glanced meaningfully at the gun at Thule's side, "Is that any way
to greet me, lover?"

Princes of Mannsborough, Chapter 10 of 22
by Vulgar Argot
(rom, nosex)


--Vulgar Argot
  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VulgarArgot/www
--
"Vulgarity begins when imagination succumbs to the explicit."
  --Doris Day

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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