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CHAPTER FIVE
Another cold day, another letter. This one had come so quickly after Barnaby had sent his own. Acgard was hurried.
As it stood, the letter itself was not very long.
Dear Ben,
You mistook my intent with my last letter. I meant every word, and it arrived exactly where it needed to arrive. I write not from imagination but from yearning, and such yearning should never be only contained on paper with ink.
I shall leave it right there for you, my handsome, clever friend. You already understand me better than most. You will understand this, too.
Your mention of Caedel had me leaping to hunt down his writings. His ideas are simple but intriguing. It helps me consider my current issue, which I won't bore you with.
Tell me, Benfred, what your letter to a lover would look like? Ease my curiosity.
With virtue,
Gardy
Barnaby turned the phrase over in his head a couple of times. "It arrived exactly where it needed to arrive", meaning Acgard wanted him to read those words. Wanted him to feel their immense impact, their vibration within his whole being, the startling images they contained.
And had he. Every night he had been in heat, thinking of such things. Thinking of his poetic Gardy, with a mask covering his eyes and a tailored suit covering his body, until Barnaby would be allowed to strip him bare, touch every inch of him in the darkened room, kiss him and do all manner of other things. They were just two strangers, and that's probably what made the thought more potent. More arousing.
He had been reading more about the use of technology for war and its potential uses, and very well had he tried to keep on topic, but what pushed through his mind was the carnal reality behind the words. Would he dare actually meet? Even behind a mask, it seemed so soon.
But God, how he wanted it and Acgard had given him such an opening. So giving and kind was his Gardy, but Barnaby couldn't help but wonder why. Had they really just wormed into each other's beings by writing these letters? He didn't know correspondence could be this dangerous.
The vote was in three days and he sat down to write another letter.
*
Dear Gardy,
I understood your words perfectly. You won't ever know how I was ruined by them. You wield a powerful weapon with your writing, one I never could. I will do my best.
My love, if you were here now I would open a book and let you read it out loud as I watched you. I know it sounds dull, but watching you never will be. Your face relaxed, your mouth making sounds, smiling as your tongue glides over a funny phrase or a clever alliteration. Your voice could make a phone book sound interesting, a fax catalogue sound as pleasant as the summer rain feels on one's skin.
I couldn't help but touch you, maybe just on the shoulder. Your mouth falling open with surprise would be worth hearing. I might lean close enough to kiss your neck, touch your collar bone, opening your shirt for more. I'm not teasing, I promise, I will only take my time. If you'd allow me. You would as I would make you long for more.
I would whisper words to you that you know I mean. You're a wonder, my joy, my every breath is yours, my every life is yours. You would take my hand and command me, as you are inclined, and you only say "now" but I know precisely what you mean.
You know what happens next but you also know I've not got the words to say it. These things can scarcely be written down without sounding immoral, even though they are virtuous and good, beautiful and perfect.
Gardy, I must apologise. I never meant to feel the things I am feeling. I hope you are not tortured by them as I am. I will give you anything, just ask.
With you,
Benfred
The meeting with Thomsen was next. The gaggle of Liberals had already been quickly swayed to Edgar's position, that Tamfer’s proposal was a dangerous step towards military expansion and would bring a number of unconsidered consequences. The current war was of course, of utmost importance. Livonians must be supported through charity or by providing the Aests the assistance to help the refugees.
Of course, Edgar wasn’t himself against the very idea of technological advancement, but he didn’t want to give Tamfer the satisfaction of making history by passing such a bill. So he would opposite for all his might, and craft his own bill, when the time came. Today he needed Thomsen’s support, and when he himself would become High Chancellor, he would reassess the usefulness of the old fool.
Thomsen had a twat for a forehead and an ass for a mouth. He would switch sides for some gains, if Tamfer wanted to play dirty and Tamfer surely would, the old fuck.
"Hello, esteemed Secretary," Edgar said as he entered.
"Ah, have all the whorehouses finally closed?" Thomsen said with evident derision. "You are again forced to do politics."
"A cross to bear, but this is the only thrill I have nowadays," Edgar replied warmly. "I've become celibate, you see."
The truth of it pained him. Just his hand and Benfred on the brain. What a downfall.
"I don't care," Thomsen told him. "If you are here on Tamfer's beckoning or Paliwen's ask, you can leave immediately."
"I am not a lapdog," Edgar said, feeling a rising anger. "I'm here on my own account. I worry about the bill, same as any man."
"Truly," Thomsen said, sounding unconvinced. "And on what account, precisely? You have never openly opposed technological development."
"No, but I see problems with the resolutions of this bill," Edgar said. "I can’t see it pass, to do so would be reckless. I’ve written a manifesto against it."
"A whole manifesto, you, a mere schoolboy?" Thomsen laughed.
"With sincerity," Edgar said. He added in his mind, <i>fuck off</i>.
"I'll vote with my conscience, I suggest you do the same, should you have access to one," Thomsen said. A stack of paper landed next to him on the desk with a thud. "What's that?"
"The manifesto," Edgar said, turning on his heel, not even having had time to sit down during the conversation. "Half of my party is voting with me, as are the Liberals. If your lot joins us, we win easily."
"I know," Thomsen said but it looked like he was thinking it over, his hand measuring the weight of the stack but not putting it away, and not giving it back, either.
"You know, I will be High Chancellor one day," Edgar told him and Thomsen laughed in response. "Maybe my cabinet needs someone with your caliber of experience."
"Get out of here and take your bribery with you," Thomsen told him coldly.
“Have you ever read thoughts by one Mr Caedel? Or Mr Wrights?” Edgar asked.
Thomsen sat up in his chair, brows furrowed. “Why yes, of course.”
“I’ve based a lot of what I have written in the manifesto on their philosophy. I think you should find it quite convincing. Maybe we can discuss it further, once you sit in my cabinet.”
And with those words, he took his leave.
Edgar had to count that one as a triumph, and he had another victory in his back pocket. Benfred's letter had arrived that morning, and its contents made his heart sing, with feeling or achievement or lust, or all three at once.
Mostly lust.
He had locked the door and touched himself, thinking of his pen pal's careful hands all over him, those incredible brown eyes, the coarseness of skin along the jaw, the reddening skin at the collar. Benfred's fantasy with its gentle tone and ending with a demand. All the words he refused to get out in writing but Edgar would want to hear out loud, spoken in despair or arousal or climax.
He came into his own hand, thinking of Benfred moaning beneath him, obscenities in an endless string, his innocence tainted, ruined. So good, as it should be.
The next reply would be his most important of all.
Dear Benfred,
The club is called Croswell on Frisgelf Street. Meet me there on Thursday at 6pm. Code word will be Brown Shoes, say it to the door man and you will be guided to a room. Wear a mask.
With wait,
Acgard