Chapter Thirty – Nec Pluribus Impar (1)
If Lawrence believed that the academic routine at Veridien would ever cease to amaze him, he was in for a rude awakening. Lessons crawled, but demands soared, and Monday seemed to never end. After the revelations he had made Ali admit, he had hoped for a smidge of free time so he could continue his investigation, alone or together with his slippery partner, but no such opportunity presented itself.
Things turned more difficult in more ways than one. But at least one hypothesis began to develop, and that was that someone must have found Lukas's elaborate extracurricular activities dangerous enough to silence him. Jealousy, while so often a motive to commit murder, fell down the ranks, no matter how much Lawrence was striving to keep a straight head.
It had to do, of course, with the allure of a conspiracy that might have led to the late student's demise. Lawrence didn't want to admit it, but at least regarding this matter, he needed to be honest with himself. Like Ali, he couldn't refrain a chill of excitement at the possibility that he might just uncover a secret so dark and deep that it might shake the old institution from its foundation. How he'd return from such a thing! Of course, there was the matter of conducting this investigation as a silent partner for his uncle and Marius Vassier, the private investigator, but his young mind refused to have its projected elation dampened by anything as trifle as reality and its consequences.
Discipline had been hammered into his bones at a young age, and he had been its arduous adept ever since he understood its benefits. Yet now, he felt restless. He wanted to be out of that stifling room in which history and diplomatic protocol through the ages was taught, eager to return to his findings and explore further. Time was his enemy. He simply didn't have enough of it. Turning Lukas's diary into an intelligible text, exploring the grounds, examining possible motives, writing his notes, everything was piling up, and there was simply not enough time.
He popped the pencil in his hand in two, making pairs and pairs of eyes turn to watch him, some with curiosity, others with disdain, and at least one with interest.
"Mr. Garth," the history professor scolded him, "control yourself."
"Apologies. I was simply too focused to realize I was--"
"Apologies accepted. May I continue?"
The mocking tone wasn't lost on him. Lawrence shifted in the old desk. "Of course," he said.
"We do not have time here to offer basic education, Mr. Garth." The professor was getting a bit red around the collar. He was a man with a hasty, easily annoyed disposition, and Lawrence dreaded that he had managed to incur his wrath. Now everyone would most likely be in for a long lecture that led nowhere.
"Mr. Trollope," Bastien intervened, his voice sharp as crystal carrying over the long narrow room, "there is something I have always wondered about and I hope that you could make clear for all of us."
"Mr. Hawthorne, what is that something?" Trollope held on to his annoyance, but he couldn't ignore Veridien's most accomplished student.
"Louis XIV is famous for one specific quote." Bastien, standing erect, his golden head a beacon at Lawrence's peripheral vision, paused for a moment as if he needed to recall the quote in question. "L'État, c'est moi." (2)
"What of it?" The history professor said snappily. He was gradually turning away from Lawrence and his broken pencil, his nostrils flaring in anticipation of a long and winding argument.
"When did he say it, precisely?" Bastien asked in the same breezy, somewhat commandeering tone. Lawrence would have loved to meet the person who'd dare not to answer any of Bastien's questions when he talked like that.
"He had never!" Trollope exclaimed, making a couple of students in the front rows, sluggish and dazed by the long lessons, jolt out of their drowsiness. "Some people are fools. And they call themselves historians." He puffed and walked over to his pulpit.
Bastien turned his head briefly and dared to wink at Lawrence, before Trollope had a chance to notice the utter disregard for the sanctity of his lesson.
I am the state, indeed, Lawrence thought and hid a smirk of his own in the big tome open in front of him.
***
Freedom came that day at late hours. As he hurried out of the lecture hall, Lawrence caught a glimpse of Bastien, standing by the wall, his legs stretched in front and crossed at the ankles, his arms over his chest. His head was hanging low, the result of the fatigue of the day. It was so unlikely to see that part of him, so human and imperfect.
Lawrence slowed down. His investigation couldn't wait, but he needed to make time for Bastien.
"Were you waiting for me?"
Bastien raised his eyes and blinked lazily. "Do you often need saving, Sir Galahad?"
"Don't mock me. I was bored stiff. But life here must be truly dull if someone breaking a pencil in the middle of a lesson is cause for such excitement."
"You should know the answer to that already after a week spent here. Let's walk."
Lawrence followed as Bastien took lead.
"I'm afraid my privileges are temporarily suspended. That means that my freedom of movement is impaired for the moment, which, as you can suspect, prevents me for visiting your lovely quarters."
They were walking down a long dark corridor. Lawrence counted the wall torches without light bulbs. At least one out of two was missing. He was watching Bastien's shoulders move, appreciating the back of his head and the curve of his neck over the collar of his uniform.
"What did you do to be sentenced to house arrest?" he asked.
A small shrug was the answer. "It is not important. However, my priorities suffer and this I cannot have. Workarounds are, in a way, my specialty."
Lawrence was about to ask what Bastien could mean by that when his companion stopped and turned. The way Bastien's lips crashed against his reminded him why he wanted this so badly. They were alone, the others having hurried back to their rooms already, in anticipation of dinner and later a free evening. It appeared that he and Bastien wouldn't be able to enjoy the same luxury.
Not if his lover could help it. Lawrence grunted as Bastien grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a small dusty room. He coughed for a moment and blinked. Since Bastien closed the door they'd just gone through, they found themselves in absolute darkness.
Ali's words about being so willing to take a killer to bed seemed on point and warning him of possible danger, given the circumstances, but Lawrence didn't feel afraid. All he was aware of was the tightness of his pants in front as Bastien palmed him shamelessly.
"It is a bit cramped in here, don't you think? I don't even know if I'm not going to stumble and fall as soon as I move."
Bastien laughed and caught Lawrence's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it playfully. "Live a little, knight-errant. I will not be able to fool around with you for the whole week. Do not dare to deny me this simple pleasure."
"By simple pleasure you mean attempting to make me soil my underwear?"
Bastien's cheek was pressed against him. His mouth was close, too. Lawrence knew that he'd be able to taste it if only he stuck his tongue out briefly, which he promptly did.
"I'm counting on you to not mince words," Bastien said. "I want you to talk the way you talk to your women."
"Then you'll be disappointed. I don't talk to them much."
Bastien laughed and rubbed against him. His deft fingers had managed to find their way inside Lawrence's pants and they were now feeling his length.
"Then talk to me. As dirty as you wish."
Lawrence moved his hands to feel Bastien's ass. He pulled him close so they could rub against each other more. "I'd fuck you, but we really risk bumping into something in here. Suck me off. Wait, not yet."
He turned Bastien and worked his belt, then pushed down his pants and underwear. He filled his hand with Bastien's hard cock, earning a soft appreciative hiss from his lover right away.
"This is it," he heard Bastien panting and whispering. "I love your rough hand on me, Bear."
"When I handle you, you slip into calling me that. So I'm Sir Galahad or your knight-errant only when you intend to mock me?"
"If I mock you, it's only in good humor," Bastien promised.
"Should I believe you?"
In the dark like this, being so close made everything feel so much more intimate.
"Believe me," Bastien said simply, his voice without a trace of artifice.
Lawrence wanted to. He was aware of the wrongness of judgement he was employing, and he was free to curse himself for it. But there were layers upon layers that hid the true Bastien underneath a heap of polite education, a deep need for fakery that could easily pass as a requirement for survival, and the demands of a position in the world not many could rival. Nec Pluribus Impar. Like no other. The Sun King's true motto.
Bastien's soft demands became harsher as Lawrence moved his hand faster. He kissed the side of his lover's neck, sucking at it, eager to leave another mark, unable to stop himself, as his own hard cock pressed against Bastien's naked backside.
Bastien tensed and gasped in his hand, wetting it with his release. He rested only for a moment, then he turned and knelt in front of Lawrence, pressing his hot cheek against the length of Lawrence's cock.
There were ways to describe what he felt in that moment, as Bastien took his cock into his mouth, pressing his lips around and using his hand for leverage and for handling his balls, as well as rubbing him. His usual disdain for poets and poetry alike seemed unwarranted. Lawrence didn't think of sex in terms like those.
But it was divine. Lacking all relation to what counted as religion and divinity, it was divine. A good argument in favor of Lawrence losing this small battle. He brought his hand to his lips, the one wet with Bastien's cum, and at first, he only rubbed his fingers slowly against his mouth. An intoxicating smell filled his nostrils. It didn't matter that they were engaging in furtive sex, in a dusty room that served for cleaning materials, most likely.
It was elation. Lawrence tasted his fingers and then sucked them into his mouth, his senses heightened by his own daring move. At his feet, Bastien was busy bringing him closer and closer to his orgasm with his lips, tongue and hands.
Fake motives and wicked plans aside, there was no other place he'd rather be now. He licked his fingers clean and pressed Bastien's head close to make him swallow deeper. A needy moan from the other assured him, once more, that communicating with their bodies was not only doable, but honest and preferable.
Bastien took his cock down to the hilt and let out the softest grunts and muffled gasps as Lawrence reached his peak.
Sex could be more than pleasurable. It was a lesson Veridien was offering Lawrence unwittingly through its most prestigious student. A student who didn't wish to bend and be the spitting image of an ideal and instead chose to kneel down in a dirty room and enjoy serving a man way below his station.
He helped Bastien to his feet. They kissed for a while, Lawrence needing to taste himself from Bastien's mouth.
"I must go," Bastien said when they came up for air.
"Wait." Lawrence didn't want to let him leave just yet. He ran his hands through Bastien's hair and kissed him again. "No, a little more," he demanded when his lover made another move to leave.
"Bear," Bastien reproached breathlessly, "you're insatiable."
"Because it's you."
At least, about this, he could be honest. This moment belonged to them, Veridien and its blasted mysteries be damned.
***
Even if he didn't have Bastien in his room that evening, it didn't mean that he lacked visitors. Ali promptly reported for duty, somehow having managed to escape an entire day without having Herr Becker lord over him and force him into studying until nightfall.
"What should we do next?" Ali started.
"You're not the one asking questions," Lawrence warned him. "I am."
Ali placed his hands in his lap and threw Lawrence a guilty look. "All right. Start your interrogation."
"Don't play the victim. It won't work with me. What I need is a partner with a good head on his shoulders. I'm not Bastien. I'm not your brother. Whatever history you have with them, you have nothing like that with me. In other words, I'll keep an open mind." Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest to indicate Ali that he was free to start talking.
"All right," Ali said again, drawing one deep breath. "By the way, you are very intimidating right now. In movies, you'd be the bad cop. If I were the perp, I'd confess right away."
Lawrence sighed and sat on the bed since Ali was monopolizing the chair. Being the one to sit lower, he would hopefully offer his partner the confidence he lacked to confess whatever he had to confess.
"Lukas was certain Veridien is hiding a dangerous secret."
"What kind of secret?"
"Something bloody," Ali said in a low, conspiratorial whisper. His pupils were dilating, and it was easy to tell he was getting the hang of his confession time since he could launch himself in one of his favorite activities.
"Very well. Veridien was built in… help me here," Lawrence said.
"The construction started at the end of the fourteenth century," Ali recited, showing that he didn't neglect his lessons altogether. "I don't know the exact date for that. But I know when it was finished. Almost one century later, in 1482."
"So, Veridien has been standing for half a millennia," Lawrence pointed out. "Seeing the general bloody history of Europe over so many centuries, was Lukas really surprised about having discovered such details? I assume numerous battles were fought at these walls."
"But we're talking about more than just medieval… head banging," Ali said, pursing his lips in frustration.
"Torturing prisoners? Murdering innocents? Of what we know of history, neither of us should be surprised, correct?"
"Yes, Larry," Ali agreed, "but still. This was a lot more. Will you just let me talk?"
"You're right. Continue. I won't interrupt you anymore."
"There are certain rumors going strong even today," Ali continued. "Involving, you know," he said, gesturing with his chin toward an undefined direction, "the men in white."
Lawrence could barely stifle his disappointment. "Is this about some delusional individuals believing themselves the heirs of the Knights Templar murdering the last of the Capetian line? A little girl, perhaps?"
Ali stared at him in utter disbelief. "Larry, I am starting to hate you. If you know everything, why are you torturing me with useless questions?"
"You are not yet telling me anything groundbreaking. I didn't even ask, and people in the village made my head big with that story," Lawrence explained. He ran one hand over his face. "If that was all Lukas was investigating--"
"They killed her there. In that room behind the doors with the white oak," Ali said quickly.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. That was what our research pointed at. So, they basically destroyed the Capetian line all over again."
Despite himself and knowing that such things were most likely confabulations, Lawrence felt a small frisson. Ah, Ali must have cracked open the window earlier, he thought, as he observed where the draft was coming from.
"And when did that happen? Recently?" he asked as he climbed on the bed to close the window.
"In 1704. That was Lukas's earlier conclusion."
Lawrence stopped, his hand on the window latch. "Earlier conclusion? What do you mean?"
"Yes. But also according to him, they got the wrong girl. They killed a peasant family's offspring instead."
Now he was intrigued, and it looked like Ali only was confirming what Lukas had written in his diary.
"How could they make such a mistake? If they were the dangerous and knowledgeable people they pretended to be?"
"A story as old as time. People from the village, poor and willing to sell their souls only to have food on the table. They sent their daughter to her death in exchange for coin. Can you image a terrible thing like that, Larry?"
"Unfortunately, yes. So, were the killers made aware of their mistake? How soon?"
"Not for centuries," Ali replied. "Not," he added quietly, staring at his hands, "until now."
Lawrence waited. It wouldn't serve anyone to stop Ali now, no matter how farfetched his conspiracy theory.
"Because Lukas stumbled upon something, and because of that, now they know the last true heir is alive. And they will stop at nothing to kill him or her."
A sudden knock on the door landed like a rock thrown haphazardly into a lake. Lawrence gave Ali a reassuring look as he went to receive the unexpected visitor.
"Why do you two look so rattled?" Felix asked, walking into the room as soon as Lawrence stepped aside.
"I told you I'd be spending the evening with Larry," Ali complained.
"Come. It's getting late," Felix said.
Ali made a move to protest some more but gave up. Since Felix had his back turned to Lawrence, it was impossible to say what non-verbal warning had been exchanged between the twins.
"See you tomorrow, Larry. If my jailer," Ali said pointedly, "allows it, of course."
"Good night, Lawrence," Felix said. His smile was light and seductive as he passed by, brushing against Lawrence's chest. "A little something from Bastien to keep you warm at night," he whispered and placed a brief kiss on the corner of Lawrence's mouth before moving away.
TBC
(1) Nec Pluribus Impar (Latin) – like no other, none his equal. It was the motto Louis XIV adopted in 1658 according to historical evidence. A precise translation is not actually possible, since word by word, it would mean 'not unequal to many', which makes it more obscure than the meaning chosen by scholars.
(2) "L'État, c'est moi." (French) - I am the state. Attributed to Louis XIV as an illustration of his absolutist power, it has never been proven as having been uttered by the Sun King himself.