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The Irishman's Memorial

by Oncidium

Title: The Irishman's Memorial
Author: Oncidium
Archive: m_a ONLY
Category: Romance, Angst, AR, Chan
Pairing: Qui/Obi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: This is not a happy fic. In fact, quite the opposite. Consider yourself warned.
Summary: Unlikely pair falls in love in 19th century New Orleans.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me; they belong to George Lucas. I just like to play with them and will try and return them in somewhat the condition in which they were found. No money was made.
Feedback: Woooot! Yes, please ( oncidium@hawksong.com )

The small tour group moved slowly through Louis I Cemetery, wending their way down the twisting, packed-dirt paths that coiled around the raised tombs in the City of the Dead. The tour guide pointed to various crumbling edifices and rhymed off points about New Orleans' history and the "colourful" inhabitants of Louis I with all the enthusiasm of someone reading their grocery list.

But then it was July in the French Quarter and not a breeze stirred or dared disturb the oppressive blanket of humidity that buried the city this time of year. There was a time when this sort of weather would kill, in more ways than one.

The sweating tourists, in their once clean and dry summer linen and cotton clothes, now looked as if their had been thoroughly dunked in the Mississippi as their clothes clung to them and their skin turned red in the summer sun. They all had the same faintly bored expression as they trudged dutifully after the tour guide, shooing away the few insects that dared brave the heat of the day with their fans.

Occasionally the group would stop and gather close as the guide delivered yet another perfunctory speech about the inhabitant of the brick and stucco mausoleum. More tombs, more heroes and villains of the city, more names and dates they would all be doomed to forget. All at least tried to feign interest in the tour, except one teen boy who hung near the back of the crowd, scrubbing his shoes disinterestedly at the mud and stubby grasses. His hat was pulled low. His body had that still slender look of a boy fifteen or sixteen. He was an average height also. Totally unremarkable boy. But then sometimes those are the very ones who surprise you.

I listened for a bit, my head bobbing slightly as the sounds of cicadas and far off traffic buzzed in my ears. Often, I would sit on the bench against the wall furthest from Rampart Street. In the unfashionable, or some called it the Protestant, part of the graveyard. Here I could watch the tours and wait for that inevitable time when the people's interest in the guided, acceptable, tour would wane and then I could tell the story worth telling.

About a small, tarnished plaque fastened to the wall that read "Beloved Son of the City".

New Orleans, Louisiana, in 1848 bore only a slight glimmer of the city it would eventually become. Back then it bore more a resemblance to the swamp the landowners were madly trying to drain than to the urban centre now. The streets were all narrow cobble stoned paths that wandered among the crowded, colourful stucco townhouses of the French Quarter, the sprawling Garden District was its own separate town away from the Creole population, and never the twain shall meet. The streetcars were horse drawn and the drainage canals were wide ditches that scored the landscape.

Barely one single voice could be discerned above the raucous din in the room. Smoke rose and curled in wispy plumes up toward the ceiling to add to the low hanging cloud that covered it.

The men in the room were all huddled at its centre, facing inward, in an anarchistic ring that sought to break itself several times as fights broke out sporadically. They shouted cheers and jeers and barked orders for more drinks to the few, harassed looking women, who dutifully refilled glasses with bourbon or ale and artfully dodged the advances of the drunken patrons.

But little, not the music or the prostitutes, could tear away the majority of their attention centred on the tawny haired youth in the centre of the throng. The young man took another long drink from the glass of deep amber liquor he clutched in his left hand. His right was clenched around a set of dice possessively, as he swayed and almost lost balance, much to the amusement of the crowd.

A tall youth, who stood impassively next to him, held out a steadying arm and caught him just before he could go crashing into the plank board floor. "Odil, I think you have had enough," he said in a cool, steady voice.

Odil looked at his friend, his grey-green eyes flashing in challenge, "I will decide when I have had enough, Garen. You would do well to keep your mouth shut. I know on this next roll, I can win back all I have lost."

"You can barely focus on me, Odil. How do you expect to focus on the game?" Garen stood Odil back on his unsteady legs and looked at him with his mouth slightly pursed and eyes hard, but said no more about it.

Odil knelt down, legs trembling slightly; he tilted precariously to the left. He shook the dice in his fist and flung then at the horseshoe bent plank across from him.

A deafening silence fell over the crowd as they all watched the dice hop and bounce off the wooden backboard and the floor. Odil barely breathed, he stayed there, motionless, hands clasped before him as if in a silent prayer, while a thin trail of perspiration made its way slowly down his forehead.

The dice did one more turn and came to a rest, and sat there staring back at him obstinately. The barker walked over to the backboard and looked down at the two small stones in the dust. Odil screwed his eyes shut, his heart pounding in his ears and his stomach clenched.

With a tone of almost elated derision, the barker called out "Snake Eyes."

Odil's face paled and he fell over sideways onto the floor at last. His stomach relieved him of its contents in a foul smelling pool on the plank boards.

He'd lost.

Odil walked out into the bright sunlight and blinked back the tears, the brightness stinging his eyes after being in the semi dark for most of the day. He held his kerchief up to his nose, stifling the stench. Starting about May, it was unbearable in this drained swamp. Hot, still, oppressive. The threat of yellow fever hung heavy.

The whole city smelled of decay and the open drainage canals of the expanding port offered a whole new assault on his Creole sensibilities. They smelled of rotting vegetation and human excrement from the buckets of refuse the servants and slaves brought from the neighbouring houses and emptied into the open ditches.

Odil wished he had not had quite so much bourbon before having to take this route home after spending the afternoon in the gambling den, but he had little choice. This way might take him along the canals with their fetid odours, but the other way would lead him directly passed his father's law office.

So the choice was having his nose assaulted by the canal or just be assaulted after he was subjected to the tedious lecture about how the old man did not pay the exorbitant tuition costs at the college so Odil could pilfer away his days gambling, drinking and whoring. Not that his father was a stranger to any of these things, especially since Odil's mother died, it would be the money spent on his son's education and lost at Craps that would rile him.

Odil often felt that he, himself, could succumb to some foreign social disease and his father would only complain about the expense of the funeral. Afterall, it would have to be a black tie affair. They would be expecting all the cream of Creole society to attend. Strictly a black tie affair. Catered, most likely.

He walked along the slippery banks of the canal, the silt and glutinous mud sticking to his shoes and the cuffs of his trousers. The city had commissioned raised, wooden gangways for the genteel Creole ladies to use as they were forced to pass this unsavoury sector of the old city. But they were a poor idea and went largely unused, for while the trottoirs were sound and clean and perfect for a Creole lady of breeding... No Creole lady of breeding would be caught so near to the levee and wharf.

There were times Odil was sorely tempted to just throw caution to the wind and just used the trottoir, and then he would not have to harry the houseboy when he got home to quickly clean his shoes and trousers before his father arrived home promptly at six.

Also he would dearly love to put more room between himself and the most repellent aspect that seemed to thrive in the drainage ditches along the Mississippi, the Irish.

About a few years ago this blight on the face of all that was decent began to disgorge and permeate into the city. Odil just could not abide by them. They were loud and ill mannered. Had no conception of the long-standing rules of civility in New Orleans. Much less did they care. They were unkempt and smelled. Worse than hogs. After all that time toiling away in the canals, they smelled of them.

Odil picked up his pace a little, hoping to get by unnoticed. The canal diggers would sometimes toss shovels full of reeking muck onto unsuspecting Creoles who passed by too closely or slowly. Then they would pretend it was an accident. Sometimes, an altercation would start and then end only when the gendarmes would break it up and take the unruly Irish mongrel off to cool his heels in the bastilles for a night or to and the gentleman would be escorted home.

He marched along, quickly and deftly; his grey-green eyes remaining fixed on the path ahead of him and ignoring the snide comments coming from the workers in the quagmire next to him. The sudden splash of sodden filth over his shoes, drenching his stockings made him jump.

Odil stopped, his cheeks reddening, his eyes darkening and flashing with a dangerous light. Unconsciously he straightened up his posture, trying to look taller, bigger. His smooth face transformed into a mask of anger and disdain. He pulled the kerchief away from under his nose and looked into the ditch, ready to curse out the savage who had sullied him.

But then stopped short.

The man looking up at him was powerfully built, tall and lean. He was covered with mud from the crown of his unfashionably long hair right to where his legs disappeared into the murky water. Two things entered into Odil's mind, freezing him to the spot as if pinned under the steady gaze that met his. He would never be able to even match this man in any physical altercation and he was currently staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

"I am very sorry, young man. My shovel slipped... I am guessing Papa will be forced to buy you new hosiery." The low, growling voice of this mud man with the beautiful eyes carried with it a mocking tone that jerked Odil from his frozen state and into quick action.

He grabbed a pail from one of the slaves who was coming to empty it into the canal and poured the foul contents over the Irishman's head. "I am also very sorry, monsieur... but as your shovel slipped... so did my hand."

Not waiting to give the goliath of a man the chance to think of retaliation, Odil fled the scene, practically running home. It was only after the houseboy had shut the iron gate to the courtyard that he allowed himself to stop. He sat on a stone bench, catching his breath, and removed his sodden shoes and hosiery, handing them to the servant.

He climbed the stairs to his room and lay down on the bed, draping one of his arms over his face and willing his heartbeat to return to normal. The bourbon and the panic finally took their toll and his eyes remained shut, his breathing shallow and quick.

In his fitful dreams a pair of azure eyes was watching his every move.

"And then you poured it on his head?" Garen's pealing laughter reverberated off the walls of the narrow alley he and Odil were using as a short cut.

"Well yes! And then I called him out you know. Told him he was a boorish sewer rat and he was just lucky I had had too much bourbon to truly teach him a lesson," Odil giggled and threw an arm around Garen's shoulders, as gravity seemed to want to pull him down into the cobblestones.

Odil swiped his other arm through the air for dramatic effect and sloshed some of the contents of the flask in his hand over Garen and himself. Garen took the flask from him, took a drink from it before capping it and putting it in his pocket.

He cocked an eyebrow at Odil and smirked playfully when the tawny haired boy pouted at him, making a grab for the flask. "Odil... finish telling me about this giant of the canal you vanquished with your superior wit and intelligence and then you can have the flask back. I fear if I give it to you beforehand, the paving stones will have drunk more than we have!"

Odil stuck out his lower lip a bit further, making a little moue at Garen and opening his eyes up wide in a way he knew his friend always gave in eventually and let him have his way. Garen laughed and rolled his eyes, handing Odil the flask. "I swear, with your wily ways, you should have been born a woman." He leaned against the wall and took out a cigar, watching his friend fiddle with the lid of the flask before getting it open.

Odil grinned at Garen and took another drink, leaning against the wall next to him. "Perhaps, but then I would be home growing fat birthing an old man's babies and not out here with you. And so it would be your loss if I had been." Odil winked cheekily and leaned against Garen, reaching for the cigar and taking a sloppy puff from it.

Garen laughed again and put his arm around Odil's shoulders. "It would indeed, Odil... but perhaps not all the babies are the old man's. Perhaps when he is at work, keeping you in the style you deserve, you have a handsome you lover who calls on you."

Odil snickered and took another pull from the flask. "Who would you suggest?"

"Oh someone young and handsome. Smart. A student, perhaps."

"Are you suggesting that the lover would be you?" Odil sounded incredulous.

"If you were a woman, why not me?" Garen's eyes darted to Odil who now seemed a little lost in thought.

"Well... seeing as if I am exposed as an adulteress I stand the chance of losing not only my home and husband but also my social standing... I don't think I would do it for a student who was just a barrister's son. I mean you father is not even a partner in the law firm like mine. No, I think I would definitely be more likely to take someone of my station to bed before yours."

Garen kept his face expressionless not giving away any response at all to Odil's frank reply. "But what about love, Odil? I mean you can't choose who you fall in love with. What if you fell in love with a boy of my lowly social ranking?"

Odil took another puff from the cigar and gave it back to Garen. "I don't believe in love. I believe that marriage is a at best a financial agreement and at worst the method polite society covers up the dallying of its people that are fruitful. Love is something poets think up so they have something to write about. Love is the biggest fiction of them all. Even parents don't truly love their children in the way they say they do. We are nothing more than vessels to carry on bloodlines and social rank"

Odil's gestures became more pronounced as his small tirade went on and soon the liquor in the flask was spilling out the top again as he waved it around. Garen tried to smile a little, his eyes remaining soft and warm. He pulled Odil back in next to him and held him close, chuckling. "You know one day, you will start in on something like that and someone might be inclined to believe you."

Odil relaxed against his friend, letting his arms go limp by his sides, the remainder of the contents of the canteen spilling onto the stones of the alley. He leaned into Garen's solid warmth and heaved a sigh. A sudden tightness seemed to close around his chest and he lowered his gaze to the ground, his eyes bright and glittering. He would not cry. Men did not cry. Last time his father caught him crying, he got such a thrashing that he knew never again could he let that sort of weakness show.

Men weren't weak.

He stared steadfastly at the stones of the alley, Garen holding him, and watched as he first drop on the pavement splashed up in a small ring of water. Soon a bright flash of light illuminated the sky above them and thunder rumbled in the dark like a large purring cat.

The drops fell with greater frequency and urgency and soon the two boys were drenched through, their clothes sticking to them, and small rivers cascaded over their feet. It was still a while before Odil finally stirred and he looked at Garen, his face back to its usually boyish softness. "We should get in out of the rain, before we catch our death."

"But where can we go? We are too close to the wharves to find any place you would find suitable" Garen teased him a little; glad to see when Odil smiled, and then grinned in his usual cocky way.

"Any place where it is warm, with a bartender, would do me fine. We don't have to stay. And who knows, it could be a true lark to see how the dregs of the barrel live."

Garen shook his head and smiled mock ruefully, allowing himself to be pulled along the alley by Odil. "One day, I will buy you a dictionary just so you can see for yourself that fun does not have to include risking our necks."

He wanted to say more, but Odil threw open the shabby door to a ramshackle hovel near the levee. A warm glow tumbled out of the entrance and into the alley, washing over them.

But the raucous conversation and laughter that had only moments before been muffled behind it came to a dead halt and all eyes were on them. Garen tried to back away and just leave, but Odil pulled him inside and walked up to the bar, holding his head high and strutting like a prize rooster.

Garen's face flushed as the eyes of the canal workers bore into them. He crowded to Odil and tried his best to turn his back on the crowd, cutting off the angry stares. But his posture lacked the confidence of Odil's and gave them away for what they really were. Invaders in someone else's domain.

Odil picked up the squat glass of bourbon that the bartender had practically slammed down on the countertop in front of them, and leaned back against the roughshod wood surface and surveyed the crowd. The coarse looking men sat in groups around unfinished tables, the light being mostly provided by hurricane lamps that sat on rough wall ledges. He observed them with cool detachment and they looked back at him, some with uncertainty, and some with open hostility, but none made a move to approach the boys.

He noted that Garen held his drink close to himself, a small trembling to his hands, and how the other boy was pressed up against him. He felt a small surge of pride in himself that he was showing no outward signs of discomfort, even though his heartbeat was deafening in his ears.

His nonchalant gaze moved from the unshaved face of one man to the next as he observed the coterie. He tried to smile in what he hoped was a superior, but reassuring manner. "Don't worry, we came in only to escape the storm and will not stay long."

Through the stillness of the room he noticed some movement in the back corner of the room where a group of four men still played cards and seemed not to have even noticed the arrival of the two Creole youths. Odil watched as each of then placed their bets and were dealt their cards, each man watched his companions suspiciously for any sign of double-crossing and then carefully played his hand.

Odil saw a flash of cream, and what could possibly be the suit marking for a card, from the sleeve of one of the players. His eyes followed the man's hands up his powerful arms and finally looking at his face. The man sat in profile to him and he noticed that along with a slightly crooked nose, where it looked to have been broken at some point, this man had a determined set to his jaw. His demeanour remained relaxed, if not peaceable, as he chatted softly with his fellow card players.

Then Odil saw him pretend to scratch his wrist. Sure enough, the man took a card from his sleeve, where it had been hidden, and replaced it with a card from his hand.

He boggled a little as the other men who seemed to be watching him in particular, so jealously, did not even bat an eye when this man had made an obvious substitution. As each man either folded or called, this man simply put his cards down on the table and with the same gracious air he'd been using with his fellow players, announced his hand and collected his winnings.

"I swear Kaelan, your mother must have been of the fair folk, because I have never seen luck to match yours" one of his companions said with no small amount of awe.

"Well t'wouldn't be his father who were. I knew him and he had all the appeal of a mud fence, such as was sorrowfully inherited by his son." Another laughed and clapped the large man, whom Odil now knew was named Kaelan, on the shoulder.

"Oh aye, I regretfully got me father's mug, but then made up for it with me mam's luck." Kaelan smiled and chucked his friend amiably back before taking the deck to deal another round.

Round after round Odil watched as the men cajoled, kidded and played, and the man named Kaelan cheated them of their money. Not that he was ungenerous with his winnings; he often called for another round of drinks to be brought for his friends "on him". Each hand of cards that was dealt, he noted that Kaelan would find a reason to brush a hand over his long hair so he could slip a card into his sleeve.

Odil stood transfixed as he watched this man get away with his obvious ruse, but none of the others seemed to notice or care, if they did. Such a thing as this would have been enough to cause a duel with pistols at the Craps games he frequented. Odil jumped a little when he felt the tug on his sleeve and turned sharply to stare down Garen.

His friend smiled somewhat apologetically and said softly, "The rain has stopped. It's time for us to leave if we are to be awake in time for class tomorrow."

Odil nodded a little and drained his forgotten glass, then turned back to look at the card players before he left. And now Kaelan was turned toward him, looking back at him and Odil froze for a moment. Again he was immobilized under the steady gaze of those deep blue eyes.

The lamplighters were just finishing illuminating the gaslights of the narrow streets when a soft rope trailed down from one of the iron balconies onto the sidewalk below. Soon to be followed by a lithe young man shimming down it. Odil straightened out his trousers and fixed the rumples in his shirtfront before heading off down the street.

Tonight had been next door to impossible to get out of the house. His father had come home in a mood after finding out that Odil and Garen had been seen coming out of a low class establishment near the wharves a few nights back. He had broken a full glass decanter throwing it at Odil; he was so enraged at the embarrassment the gossip his son's behaviour had caused. He missed the boy with the decanter and it smashed against the wall, but his aim with his fist was still dead on.

Odil had never been so happy to hear the houseboy announce Garen as he was then. Even though he knew one night his father would be the death of him, he prayed each night with all that was left of his faith that this would not be it. Odil's father's entire countenance changed when Garen entered the room and he became his outwardly affable and gracious self, a demeanour which had afforded him a high ranking station on the New Orleans social circuit. He led the young man into the parlour and ordered the maid to bring them punch.

Odil had followed sullenly, spitting the blood from his split lip onto his father's pristine hallway floor.

The rest of the evening had been an excruciating exercise in social politics as Odil had been subjected to yet another evening of his father boasting to Garen about all the parties and dinners he was to attend very soon, knowing full well that such things would then get back to the other boy's father and then out into the public interest. Odil played idly with the glass of punch in his hand, his cheek bruising painfully where his father had hit him.

He only half paid attention to what his father was saying because he was forming a plan tonight. He would go out after the old man was asleep and find the Irishman, Kaelan, and make him give up all his secrets about how to cheat at cards. Then Odil would win enough money to get a ticket to New York.

His mother had a Yankee sister up there and Odil just knew that when he arrived on her doorstep she would have to take him in, social graces and family ties dictated it to be. No matter what anyone was saying about the Northern aggressors and their hatred for the south, he knew she would help him.

It was well past midnight before Odil had managed to get Garen to go home and his father to pass out. Then he tied the rope to the balcony to make good his escape. But tonight, he would have to be on his guard, so as to not be caught again.

His shoes echoed a tapping sound off the rows of darkened houses. The entire of the Quarter seemed to be asleep except for him. He pulled the collar to his shirt and coat up further around his face and his hat down, hoping to obscure his identity to any curious residents who might still be gazing from their windows and caught the Riverfront Streetcar down to where the canal was being dug along the border of the French Quarter.

He took a seat near the back of the streetcar and ignored the curious glances from his fellow passengers, keeping his face averted and staring out of the window steadfastly.

He tried not to fidget too much with the collar that was cutting into his neck. He had borrowed clothes from one of the servant's that evening in order to try and blend in more with the crowd that evening. Surely, they were the boy's Sunday best, but buy Odil's standards, still pretty shabby, and also ill fitting. The cuffs of the shirt hung down well to the second knuckle of his fingers and the trousers dragged unfashionably over the backs of his shoes.

When the doors opened at Rue Iberville, one block away from the canal, he rushed out the doors, pushing past the others trying to get off at this stop. He smiled to himself as he heard someone mutter angrily about poor mannered urchins and how they should just be put off the streetcars for good. He was elated that his disguise was enough to fool the Yankees on their way back from the brothels of Marigny to the Garden District where they had encamped themselves like a plague of locusts.

His heart was fluttering madly in his chest as his feet felt as if they were barely making a sound they were tripping so lightly over the rough cobbles that lead to the wharves. He couldn't help but smile, widely and genuinely to himself, freedom had never been so close to his grasp.

The streets near the docks were crowded with people. They jostled Odil as he cut through the crowds, skimming past the men and women who sat on the seagoing crates, or crowded around them, smoking and drinking. He heard a lively fiddle from somewhere near to him and sound of people laughing and dancing. How different it sounded from the formal cotillions his father made him put his starched shirtfront on to attend.

Finally he saw where the music was coming from as he spied a crowd gathered together around a small bonfire. He slid through the crowd of people to get a better look, the mud stained clothes of the canal workers who just finished the final shift brushing against his pale cheeks and streaking them with grime. Odil went to fetch his kerchief to wipe off his face, and swore softly to himself when he found he had left it in his own clothes.

He wiped his hand over his face, but only succeeded in further streaking the grime over his face. But he finally made it to the centre of the crowd and watched as a broad shouldered man and plump woman danced artlessly and energetically to the increasing tempo of the lone fiddle.

The crowd started to hoot and clap along to the beat of the dancers' feet. Odil had never seen anything like this before, for while their feet moved swiftly to the music, it seemed as if the entire up halves of their bodies had been paralysed, for they didn't move at all. Their arms remained rigid as a soldier's next to their sides.

He started to clap along with the crowd as he watched the dancers and then finally the fiddle player joined in the animated dance. He stopped in mid clap, for there, playing the fiddle swiftly and with great passion, was the man he had come to see. Odil moved back from the firelight in hopes of blending in with the crowd a bit more.

The tall man moved with a grace Odil would not have thought possible for someone of his stature. Indeed he seemed more to glide over the boards than lumber against them, as the youth would have expected. As he watched, he became aware that all of the powerful man seemed to move with the music, from his agile fingers that had now reached an impossible speed over the taut strings of the instrument, to his hair that swung loosely about his neck and shoulders. All that remained still on him were his eyes. There were fixed on the boards below his feet, intense but distant, like a man who was living in an encompassing memory.

Odil found himself being drawn into the scene of pure revelry and abandonment these peasants had created as if for his won amusement. All too soon the music stopped and the spell was broken by the applause of the crowd. Someone in the back called for ale for the dancers and Odil felt himself being pushed forward. "Boyo, you are still young and strong. Get them something to drink!"

Odil looked around to see whom they were talking to, for he found he would also like a drink. His heart plummeted as he realised all eyes were fixed on him, including Kaelan's, who was now wearing an inscrutable smile. Odil stepped forward nervously and grabbed the pitcher of ale from one of the crates and filled three glasses. He was positive one would end up being dumped over his head and that he would be exposed as the impostor he was.

He nervously carried the glasses of ale over to the three people and tried to keep his head down far enough as to avoid Kaelan's gaze. He gave them each a glass and turned to make a retreat, breathing a sigh of relief when he did not feel the ale being unceremoniously returned to him. He had only started to walk away when his knees buckled slightly under the unexpected weight of a hand clamping down heavily on his shoulder.

Odil turned slowly and readied himself for the worst as he met the large man's steady regard. Much to his surprise, the other man still only smiled that small curious smile and said to him in a low voice, "A little late for a lad like you to be out, isn't it?"

Odil barely had time to nod when he felt himself being ushered quickly but not ungently out and away from the crowd by the scruff of his neck. He heard the people behind him laugh and speculate loudly on whose son Kaelan had caught out of doors passed his bedtime.

Kaelan said nothing to Odil as he steered him away from the docks and toward the alley-riddled neighbourhood the canal workers called home. A sudden panic gripped him and he tried to loose the grip the large man had on him, but it was no good and he now knew what would happen. The Irishman would take him to where no one would witness and kill him, dumping his body into the river. He could have kicked himself for being so stupid as to take this big a risk. He should have known better than to try and enter the wolf's den and not expect to get mauled.

They turned into a small alley, not unlike the one he and Garen had been in only a few nights back and Odil let out a small cry and closed his eyes as he felt himself being shoved back against a wall. The youth started trembling uncontrollably and readied himself for the end and was surprised when the man let him go and leaned against the wall opposite him. "Why have you been following me?" Kaelan asked in a dangerous tone

Odil opened his eyes cautiously and peered at the older man through the semi dark. His heart was still racing and he could not get his legs to stop shaking in an embarrassing fashion, but luckily managed to keep his voice even as he did his best to meet the Irishman's steady gaze, "I had a business proposal for you, monsieur, that you might find could benefit us both."

This statement seemed to amuse the other man, whose eyes were now sparkling with barely contained merriment. "If I remember correctly, you are the young man who managed to blow a simple miscalculation on my part into a personal insult, resulting with me being doused in human refuse. Then you barged in to an establishment and proceeded to put on airs like you were the Napoleon himself. And now, you are here, thinking you are incognito one would presume... Now what would the lad I just described, who obviously thinks so little of me or my intelligence that he thinks borrowing clothing from his servant would trick me, well what proposal could he possibly have for me?"

Odil's cheeks coloured a little with embarrassment as he listened to the canal worker's assessment of him, but he spoke softly, "I saw you cheating at cards the other night, in the bar."

"Oh did you now? Then what would you do, rob a poor man of his winnings for your silence?" Kaelan's tone remained neutral, throwing Odil off a little. He was not sure if the man was intimidated or just amused and toying with him.

"No, I would not do that. I would like for you to teach me, monsieur. I want to learn how to do it. How can you be under such scrutiny and still manage to hoodwink your opponent?"

Kaelan was silent for a while, his eyes fixed on Odil. "No."

"My father is rich, I could pay you." Odil said desperately.

"Then you have no need to cheat at gambling and I have no need for a student such as you."

"Then if you cheat, your need must be great, by your logic. I could pay you handsomely" Odil lowered his voice trying not to allow desperation to colour his words as he watched his chance to finally make the money he needed slip away.

"If times were different and circumstances, there would nothing that could make me take on an obnoxious, self-centred cretin such as yourself as a student."

"Then it would be my own good fortune that they are not."

"All right, come back here tomorrow afternoon." Odil heard the defeat in Kaelan's voice and felt triumph grow inside him.

The next day Odil made up a grand excuse to Garen about why he would not be traveling home with the other boy. He knew Garen didn't believe a word of it, but due to the deep bruise on Odil's cheek let him go without question, figuring he needed to run some errand for his father he thought was beneath him and so did not want his friend tagging along. For it was not unusual for Odil to have to do just that when his father was in a temper.

Odil caught the streetcar back down to the canal and waited for Kaelan in the alley, fairly bouncing in place with excitement. Today would be the day his fortune would change and he would start on the road to freedom from under his father's tyranny.

He paced a little as he waited, wishing that the time had not been so vague that he was to meet Kaelan, because the longer he waited the more chance someone who knew his father would see him here and tell the old man. But this would be worth the beating. He would be able to smile and know that soon, very soon, he'd be on his way North.

He turned as he heard footsteps coming up the alley behind him and whirled around. He let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding when he recognized the sodden form of Kaelan walking toward him. "I didn't think you'd come."

"I was considering it. But something made me change my mind." Kaelan used a tone with Odil that if the young Creole didn't know better, he could have sworn was sympathy. "But I am here, so follow me and be sharp about it."

Kaelan walked passed Odil at a good pace and the young man almost had to jog to keep up. "What is your rush, monsieur? Please slow down, I am not used to such a pace."

"I have much to lose, being seen with you. Worst that would happen to you is being blacklisted from a few of the more fashionable parties for a few months. Being seen with a young Creole would mean my neck..." Kaelan stopped for a moment and grossly mimicked being hanged.

Odil grimaced and then trotted after Kaelan as he took off again quickly. He was panting heavily by the time they reached a rude wooden door the Irishman pushed open and allowed Odil to enter. ""Monsieur... There is ... much more.. at stake.. should.. I... be seen with you... Than a bruised social standing."

Kaelan closed the door and looked at the young man with an odd softness to his azure eyes. "Oh aye, I think there is."

Odil blanched a little and turned his face to try and conceal the purple mark below his eye. "I think perhaps we should just get right to business, monsieur. I am prepared to offer you cinq sous per lesson."

He looked around the room they had entered and, indeed, that's all it was. A bed in one corner, an old wood burning stove in the other and a rough wooden table in its centre. There were no windows and the dried mud-brick walls were cracked and crumbling, rejoining with the packed dirt floor. But there was also a hominess to it that Odil found remarkable. Drawings of people and open rolling fields, ruined castles and low roofed houses had been carefully attached to the dilapidated walls. There was a threadbare quilt on the bed that seemed to speak of much care and love being poured into it.

The young man finished his survey of the room and looked back to where the Irishman was standing. "That is a fair price... and now for the rules." Kaelan strode easily over to the table and took a seat.

"Rules? Who said there would be rules to this? I pay you and you teach me." Odil was indignant at the very thought of this.

"Wrong, young man. If only life were so simple ever. Rule one. When you are here for a lesson, you will refer to me only as Sir, Master, or Mister Jinn. Are we understood?"

Odil bristled at the other man. "And what if I disagree?"

"Then the deal is off and you can keep your cinq sous." Kaelan spoke fairly and frankly and by his tone, Odil knew that he knew the youth had no choice but to agree.

"Rule two. You will listen to me and not back talk. I will not have any of your bullshit society ranking darken my door. Are we understood?"

"Oui, sir" Odil nodded, feeling every minute this deal was not going at all how he hoped.

"And rule three. While you are my student, you will behave like a well-mannered young man. That means no drinking, smoking, or whoring. You will be quick witted and ready to learn and I will not tolerate a hangover making you slow and stupid."

"What I do in my own time is my own business, sir: Odil spoke softly, but added slight edge of threat to make his point clear.

"Not while you are my student. A poor student reflects badly on the teacher and I will not have you embarrassing me as you must embarrass the professors at that fancy college you so wilfully refuse to attend with any regularity."

Kaelan leaned forward in his seat and gave Odil a look that dared him to try his patience on this. Finally Odil shifted uncomfortably and lowered his eyes and nodded. "Oui, sir."

"Good, now take a seat and we'll begin," Kaelan motioned to the seat opposite him and Odil rushed to sit down, readying himself finally for the cards to be dealt. His face fell, as did his stomach, when Kaelan reached over to the small shelf at the foot of the bed and produced a battered mathematics textbook.

"Sir? I don't understand. I am paying you to teach me your tricks at cards."

"Yes and the beginning is to learn your mathematics inside and out. How can you possibly know the odds of what card you will need in a hand if you don't have the math skills to back it up?"

Odil scowled at the other man, but took the book. "I still don't understand."

"Which is why you need the book. I want you to take it home and read through it for three days from now. Then you can return."

"That's it for today?"

"Not quite, that will be cinq sous, if you please."

"But why would this guy care about Odil's math, really? I mean, couldn't he just get him to memorise some cheats? And why would Odil go back? I wouldn't." The softly lyrical voice of the youth in the back of the crowd made everyone jump as surely as a gunshot.

I chuckled a little at the surprised look on the people's faces at the boy's interruption. "Well what Odil didn't know was that in his former life, Kaelan had been a university professor and used to dealing with fractious students. But times were hard in Ireland. The potatoes had developed a blight that caused the crops to fail. People were starving and leaving the Emerald Isle for the New Worlds in record numbers. And unfortunately, when there are no more kids to teach, there is no more need for professors.

But none of this was for Odil to know yet, all he knew was that he felt duped by the Irish canal worker.

He toyed with the idea of not reading the book and just never returning for his next lesson, but he did and Kaelan was just as cryptic the next time, taking the book on mathematics back from the young Creole and handing him a book by Plato, telling him it would teach him logic, then asking for his cinq sous.

Odil read that. And the book after it and then the book after it. All the time wondering what any of it had to do with cheating at cards, but keeping his mind on the goal of eventually getting the money for the train.

Garen noticed the change in Odil immediately, for his friend no longer went to the Craps games, bars or brothels. Always making the excuse of his studies. "They have never been important to you before, Odil" Garen chided him one day after class. "You told me that you would simply wait for you father to die and live off your inheritance."

"Well, that may not happen soon enough for my liking and I may need a way of supporting myself after all," Odil joked back before bidding his friend adieu and catching the streetcar to Kaelan's.

He knocked on the door and entered when he heard the muffled "Enter" and took his regular seat across the table from the Irishman.

"I finished this last book you told me to read, sir, and I was wondering if today you would teach me about cards?" Odil looked hopefully at the other man.

Kaelan smiled at Odil, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, and took out a deck of cards and started to shuffle them. "I think today, yes, we'll play a hand or two."

Odil could not contain his excitement at the prospect of finally learning what he had come here to learn in the first place and found himself squirming in his seat. The large man sat back with careless ease as he shuffled the cards and Odil watched him. "So, how were your classes today?" the older man asked him in a conversational tone.

Odil looked at him in surprise, not quite sure how to answer the question; he'd never been asked it before. "They were... ummm... fine, sir."

"Just fine? You didn't learn anything of note today, then?" Odil wasn't sure, but he could swear that Kaelan sounded disappointed in his answer. Was he supposed to have answered it differently?

"They were... " Odil floundered for a moment, searching for what he hoped was the right answer. "They were tedious at best, sir..." he finally admitted. Probably not the right answer, but it was the truth.

Kaelan chuckled a little at Odil's admission. "You are now so learned that you find class a bore?"

Odil let out a sigh, "They always were, sir. Before because I could not be bothered to care what the professors were saying and well today, because I knew one was dead wrong."

"How so?"

"Well he was talking about that book you made me read... the one by Plato..."

"The Republic?"

"Yes. That one. And well... I just didn't agree at all with what he thought Plato was trying to say and he even misquoted the book in three separate places in order to prove his point."

"Ahhh. Well yes, often people like to bend the facts in order to prove themselves right."

Odil frowned a little at this statement. "I would say that it's true perhaps of politicians and professors, but not for everyone."

"Oh really? In time I think perhaps you will find you are quite wrong in that assessment." Kaelan put the deck down on the table in front of Odil. "I shuffled, you cut."

Odil watched Kaelan carefully, trying to map his every movement. He split the cards into two piles and placed the pile from the bottom on top. "I don't see it. What would most people stand to gain from it? I mean a politician has to bend facts to make it appear he can solve a problem and therefore become elected. And a professor must always try and appear as if his theories are unique in order to retain his employ at the college. But what would most people gain?"

Kaelan chuckled, a low rumbling sound like distant thunder. "The same things, but to different purposes, perhaps. The need to be able to tell themselves something in order to justify the lives they have come to lead."

Odil's frown deepened, creasing between his brows. He was positive that the older man had a point h was driving at, but like all the books, it was a mystery to him just was it was. "I don't understand, sir."

The older man picked up the deck of cards and began to deal them, watching Odil and smirking a little in his enigmatic way. "Well take for instance your levels of society."

Odil nodded. "Yes, the levels of society, what about them?"

"No, I said your levels of society, not the levels... There is an example right there of what I am talking about."

"What's the difference between what we said?"

"There is a large difference. You assume that the entire world holds the same opinions you do about social standing and your rank in it, just because you are a member of the class who created them. But the only way your system can work in your mind is if you accept the bent truths about the other people on the scale making them less than human. For you would have to agree that for one man to treat another man in any sort of rude or vulgar way would go against social etiquette."

Odil nodded and tried to fight the flush creeping into his face. His gaze dropped to the table, where the cards Kaelan was dealing to him sat in a small pile.

"Oh now, don't worry, Odil. I am not placing blame directly on you or on your people. That's the way it has always been for the men who hold the power. They set the rules, and then seek to justify them, even at the expense of the dehumanisation of others. I am not pointing fingers, just using it as an example." Kaelan's voice was soft and had a faraway quality that made Odil think that perhaps he was recalling a memory.

He nodded again and kept his gaze down, not daring to look Kaelan in the eyes. He knew if he did, the memory of their first meeting would haunt him, as he was positive it was what Kaelan was recalling. He cast his eyes about the room, desperate to change the subject. "What caused you to leave your home and come here? I mean it's obvious you loved it there."

"Well there is a two tiered answer there, Odil. There is a famine going on there. People are starving, dying. Those who can are leaving. I was a professor at a university, and when the classes started to empty... It was decided we weren't needed anymore. It was with a heavy heart I left, but I could not afford to be out of work. I have my mother and young brothers and sisters to think on. Da is dead and so I took over. I came here in hopes of teaching... but the money I make in the canal is enough. It keeps me fed and housed after I send the bulk back to them. But there is no point in dwelling in the past. We live in the here and now."

Odil nodded and looked thoughtfully at the other man, his heart fluttering in an odd way. Somehow he felt bad about the circumstances that brought them together, but he was happy they did.

I took a drink from the canteen that sat next to me on the bench and fanned myself. "Mon dieu, it's hot," I said leaning back against the bench and getting comfortable. I knew I would be here a while, I had them.

The tourists were now crowded around me in a semi circle. They looked at me intently with anticipation. I looked to the youth in the back. He'd pulled back his hat and in his captivated expression I saw them. Eyes I had not seen in too long. They were still as lovely as ever.

I had to shake myself from their equal spell and force myself to continue to weave my audience into the story. Especially him.

"So Odil went to his mentor's every day after class. Finding he was always looking forward to seeing the man again. He never knew what to expect from their meetings and found Kaelan to be a charming and soon, he could think of nothing he liked better than spending his early evenings listening to stories from the other man's youth... and slowly, it snuck up on him. He was in love. But little did he know. His love had made him blind. And someone had been following him every day in hopes of stealing him back from his Irish mentor."

Odil smiled to himself as he walked home, it had been a good day over at Kaelan's. Sometimes it surprised him how much he looked forward to his afternoons there, even though they rarely if ever played cards now. But he found new fascination in the stories the older man told about his home country. The other man's students, his family, his whole life; became like a cherished fairytale to Odil.

Kaelan spoke to him in soft tones, never raised his voice or his hand to him. He didn't have to, one look or cock of his eyebrow could chasten him, or make him truly think about what he said. He never ridiculed him or said his ideas were stupid like the professors at the college, but he would make Odil debate him until he'd satisfactorily proved his reasoning behind his beliefs.

Often he would lose the argument against the older man, who, even if he was playing devil's advocate, had years of experience at this sort of thing to his benefit. Those times Odil would go home and think all night about how he'd approach the topic the next day in order to gain an advantage and out negotiate his mentor.

Then there were days when he would win the debate and Kaelan would laugh and smile. He was as generous with his praise as he was his admonishments and advice, and he had a nice laugh, deep and rolling. And his eyes crinkled pleasantly when he smiled at Odil. It made the young man feel warm inside. He wanted to see that as often as possible and know he was the cause. Something about the way the older man looked at him made him tingle pleasantly and even sometimes get the urge to kiss him as he would kiss a woman.

Odil laughed at himself for even entertaining the thought a little.

It was twilight when he reached the red painted stucco townhouse he shared with his father. The gaslights in the carriageway were already lit and the houseboy was just busying himself lighting the lamps in the courtyard. So it was not too late this time, he was just in time for dinner, and if he was really lucky, he father would not even be home yet. And what the old man didn't know would not hurt Odil.

He bounded up the stairs to the apartment two at a time, using the wrought iron railing to haul himself up at even greater speed. He threw the door open into the foyer when he reached the landing and entered the mostly darkened room. A light from his father's study made his heart lurch a little. He was home.

Well, no mind. Odil was not late, drunk and had not lost an unearthly amount of money in the craps den, so it would be a quiet evening at least while his father found something to start into him about.

He crossed the foyer and started to head for his bedroom in hopes of avoiding the old man a little longer, but it was no use. He had been too loud coming in and his father knew he was there. "Odil... come here for a moment. I would like to speak with you." The forced calm tone of his father's voice made him want to run. Run and never look back, but where would he go?

Almost as if pulled by an invisible force toward, the door, against his will, Odil slowly crept to the door, which was slightly ajar and placed his hand against it. Perhaps he could go to Garen's until he found a way North. Garen's family was not rich, but they managed and he would not stay long. He couldn't go to Kaelan; he could barely afford to keep himself after he sent most of his pay back to Ireland and his family.

"Now!" Odil jumped at the short, sharp command. It sounded to him much more like the bark or an angry dog or the crack of a fired cannon than a human voice. He pressed open the door and walked into the room and froze. He was completely unready for what he saw.

His father was sitting behind his large mahogany desk. Fingers steepled before him, pinning Odil under a murderous stare and looking for all the world how the young man imagined the character of Scrooge looked when in a rage at the beginning of that silly little ghost story book Kaelan had made him read. It seemed almost silly and laughable in print... but it was entirely different when one saw it staring at them with all its menacing fire.

But he had expected that. It was not the first time he father had looked at him as if he wanted to wring his neck by will alone. What startled him was seeing Garen sitting in the large, winged back chair next to his father. A small look of forced pity, but inner triumph in his eyes.

"Father, I am dreadfully sorry... if I had known that my friend would be..." Odil heard his won voice come out thin and reedy, choked with fear. But before he could get to far in a fabricated account of his whereabouts his father raised his hand for his silence and pointed to the straight backed clients chair on the other side of the desk from him.

Odil sat down on and tried still the trembling in his legs. "I have had enough of your lies, Odil. Garen came to see me today and told me about where you have been every day for the past months. You have been going down to the canals to fraternize with... with... them!" His father poured such venom into the last word that Odil felt an instant urge to strike him. Hard.

"Father, I was there on business... that's all, " Odil forced his voice to come out more confidently this time. "The canal and wharf workers know where the best shipments are coming in and I was thinking of perhaps going into being a merchant when I am done school."

"No more lies!" his father hollered, his face turning into a red, twisted mask of hate and rage. "Garen has followed you, Odil. You are seen often in the company of one man. Laughing and carrying on. Going to his home and barring the door. " Odil's heart sank and he looked to Garen, who refused to meet his eyes.

"But father..."

"If it's not bad enough that my son is a bugger, he does not even have the decency to hide it. No, he has to flaunt it in the face of normal society. Bringing shame into this house."

"It's not like that!" Odil yelled at his father and stood up.

"Isn't it? I have heard enough from Garen to know that after all the advantages I have given you in this life, money and a position in the elite of society... all you managed to become was the bumboy of filth. And I won't have it in my house."

His father was now standing, his lungs working like a great bellows and his fists clenching at his sides. Odil looked at him in disbelief, not sure if his father meant what he thought he did. Garen too was standing and looking at Monsieur Kenobi with a look of shock and dismay.

"You heard me, boy. Get out. I no longer have a son. If you have such love for the dregs of society, you can join them. You will take nothing with you and feel glad I let you keep your life. It would only be too kind to kill you where you stand and too much energy to expend on one like you."

Garen shifted his look between Odil and his father now desperately. "Monsieur... sure disowning him is not the answer. Perhaps keeping him under lock and key until his affliction subsides would be..."

"Garen. You may go home now. I will speak to your father in the morning. You are no longer to have any association with ... that." Garen made a small sound and looked as if he might pass out right there, but held fast.

"Oui, Monsieur." He said flatly and slunk out past Odil, who was still rooted to the spot in disbelief.

"Perhaps your affliction has struck you deaf, boy. I said leave. " Odil's father turned his back to him and made it clear that the decision was final and there would be no argument. Odil snapped out of the trance that kept him from action and felt a white-hot fury flood him.

He leapt across the desk and tackled the old man to the floor; he turned him over and proceeded to hit him. Pouring years of pain into each blow, he lost himself in the satisfying feeling of letting it all go, shrieking curses and obscenities at the monster.

Odil knew he would have killed his father that night if it had not been for two of the servants hearing him and coming in to pull him off the old man, while he kicked and screamed out his fury to the skies.

He was unceremoniously dragged down the stairs and thrown into the street. A small crowd of people gathering to watch the goings on, as Odil clawed and fought against the two other men, who finally managed to push him hard enough, he lost balance and fell into the mud on the road, and they slammed the iron carriageway gate shut, locking him out.

Odil continued to holler and beat at the gate until he had exhausted himself and leaned back against it. By then the crowd was quite large, but still among them he managed to spot Garen.

"I hope you got what you wanted... You were always jealous of me and the money. Well congratulations, old friend. You now have it all... and I have nothing." He walked toward Garen, not quite sure what he'd do when he got close enough.

"Odil, please, I never meant for that to happen... You have to believe me."

"It's a little late now... I have no money, no food and no place to go..." He smiled and giggled a little maniacally as the reality set in, he had nowhere to go now. No sure place anyway and only one distant hope. His thoughts of ever going North fluttering way in the slight breeze.

"Odil, please take this, it's all I have on me... but perhaps it will get you a room for the night while you father cools down. I will speak to him in the morning." He offered Odil several notes, but the other boy shoved it away.

"It's no good... if I ever see him again, I will kill him, monsieur, mark my words." Odil started to walk away/

"Odil... come back. Take the money, please. I didn't mean for this to happen."

But Odil turned a deaf ear to his former friend's pleas. There would be no way he would let him assuage his guilt so easily. And so he walked away from his former life, not sure where the road would now take him.

I leaned back against the bench and looked at my audience. They were all leaning in toward me slightly with expressions of extreme interest etched on their faces. Murmurs of "That poor boy" and "And it wasn't even true" whispered through the crowd as I waited for them to digest what they had heard so far.

The traffic on Rampart was no longer even a muted background noise as the story had woven its magic wall around all of us, as it always did. The group was looking at each other, not sure if I was finished or merely pausing, when finally the teen spoke up again "But you said you were going to tell us about who was buried there and well... no one's died yet. So is there more story?"

I chuckled to myself; I finally had him where I needed him. "Why yes, there is."

Odil didn't know how long he'd been wandering the streets of the Quarter aimlessly. His feet were hurting and there was a hollow ache in his stomach. He ignored it as best he could, his mind still swirling with the events of the day. Disowned and cast out. He was only half surprised when he ended up in front of the familiar shabby door.

He didn't know what time it was, but he prayed fervently that Kaelan might be home. He knocked on the door and was relieved when he heard soft shuffling on the other side, he say the flicker of a candle being lit through the cracks in the door and when Kaelan opened it and looked down at Odil, a little bewildered, he could not help himself but throw himself against the older man and hold on to him. Finally his breathing started to hitch and the tears he'd valiantly held back stung his eyes as they spilled out and down his cheeks.

"Odil, what is it?" Kaelan sounded concerned as he held the young man, running a soothing hand over his back. "Did he hit you again? You father... did he hurt you."

He shook his head furiously against Kaelan, still unable to speak as he let years of anguish out in huge sobs against his mentor. Kaelan moved them back enough to close the door and just held the boy. After a little bit, Odil's sobs became less harsh and his breathing less ragged. He pulled away from the older man, suddenly as if stung.

"I am sorry, sir, I don't know what came over me."

Kaelan smiled a little at him, reassuringly, and put his hands on his shoulders and squeezed them a little,

affectionately. "All I want to know is what put you in such a state."

Odil felt the wretched misery tighten a bit as he looked into Kaelan's earnest and concerned expression. He could not bring him into this. The man obviously cared for him a great deal, in whatever capacity and now, Odil was afraid of what he might do if he found out what had transpired and the accusations that had started it. He scrubbed his eyes on the backs of his hands and forced a small smile. "I could not stand it anymore and in a fit of temper, I left home for good, sir." He cringed inwardly, well; it was not entirely a lie. "I will never return. But foolishly, I took nothing with me and have been walking a good deal to calm myself down. I was just relieved to see that you are home and could perhaps let me stay here tonight?" He hoped the older man would believe the story.

Kaelan looked at him doubtfully for a moment and Odil was afraid he might be turned out from his one slim chance of being indoors that night, but the older man pulled him toward the table instead and had him sit down. "Then you must be starving. I don't have much, but I can fix you something to eat. I only have one bed and so it will be cramped quarters tonight."

Odil heaved a sigh of relief and shook his head. "No, monsieur. I am quite tired only, but cannot impose so much as to share the bed. I will sleep on the floor."

"Nonsense. I am tired and you look exhausted. Neither of us would get any sleep on floor. Besides, the rats in the area are just ornery enough to eat you alive." He chuckled a little and Odil felt himself go rather faint and look around suddenly as if one of the beasts were just waiting for the moment to attack even now.

Odil nodded mutely and pulled off his shoes, stockings and removed his starched collar. He climbed into the bed, close to the wall and turned toward it to give Kaelan at least the illusion of privacy. He was now looking at the picture of the low roofed house nestled in amongst the gently rolling hills. He closed his eyes and was not awake when the light went out or when the bed dipped as Kaelan climbed in with him and faced toward the door, back to back with him. Right then, Odil was visiting that place in his dream. Walking toward the whitewashed house with the low thatched roof.

As he entrance and strode inside, he felt strong arms wrap around him and a mouth softly touch his own. He smiled into the kiss and the whiskers that tickled his cheeks left no mystery as to whom the dream kisser was.

The sun was barely up the next morning when Odil was awakened by loud snoring. He opened his eyes and allowed them to adjust to the thin streams of light which crept in around and through the cracks of the door. In the night he'd rolled over and now found himself cuddled into Kaelan's side, who let out another long, bone-rattling snore.

Odil thought about moving, leaving, but found he lacked the motivation to. There was no way he could sneak out of the bed over the other man and not wake him anyway, he justified to himself. He cuddled in closer to the warmth of the body next to his, the room being chilled by the night air and closed his eyes again. He still had no idea where he would be spending the night after this and was determined to rest while he could.

In his sleep, Kaelan muttered something in a language Odil didn't understand and rolled over, draping an arm over him. The young man smiled a little and allowed himself the small fantasy that he was the dream lover his mentor held so tenderly and slowly fell back to sleep.

The next time he woke, it was not near as gentle. Odil startled a little as he felt his whole body being shaken. "Come on sleepy head, it's time to get up." Kaelan let go of Odil's shoulders and allowed the young man to sit up and scrub his face a bit and stretch.

"Oh, sir. Could I have not just slept a while longer? It might be the last time I have a bed." Odil smiled a little in hopes of getting out in the open quickly and as lightly as possible as to whether he would be able to stay.

"Nonsense, lad. You will stay here for as long as you need to." Kaelan was cooking something on the small woodstove in the corner of the room and the warmth from the fire, banished the last of the chill. "I have not been known to turn anyone out in a time of need and I don't plan to start with you. Someone I have grown quite fond of, in spite of his foibles" The older man's mouth quirked into a small smile and he winked at Odil.

The young man crawled out of the bed and smiled back, he felt his heart swell at not only Kaelan's generosity, but also knowing that the other man cared at least a little. He sat down at the table and watched as Kaelan stated to trim his beard with a small pair of scissors. "But sir, you can barely afford to keep yourself. You could not possibly keep both of us."

Kaelan put down the scissors and looked at Odil seriously. "You are right, I can't. I have no doubt that your father will cancel your enrolment at the college as soon as he gets the opportunity, so you have no need to worry about going back there. So there is nothing more to it than today I will have to talk to the foreman and you will work with me and keep yourself."

Odil's face fell a little. "Work with you, sir? But I am not suited to... well such labour."

Kaelan chuckled a little. "You are young and strong, that is all they are looking for. It's not probably where you pictured yourself, I am sure. But it's honest work and it pays well enough. You are penniless, Odil, it's not a time to put on airs."

Odil nodded a little feeling a bit of the misery creep back in from the previous night. "You are right, sir." The bubbling from the pot caught his attention and his stomach growled loudly in response.

"Ah I see our breakfast bell has sounded." Kaelan smiled and went over, spooning out some of the thick, hot porridge into two bowls and brought them over to the table, along with some brown sugar. Odil gave up all pretence of etiquette as he started to devour the meal. "You must be starving."

Odil smiled a little, embarrassed with himself. "Merci, sir. But yes, I am starved," He smiled at the other man and poured some of the sugar onto the porridge and continued to eat, but a little more slowly. "And a little sleepy after your impression of a bullfrog kept me up." He grinned and cocked an eyebrow at his mentor, who laughed around his own mouthful of cereal.

"The impertinence of today's youth... sometimes it astounds me."

Odil smiled at Kaelan and left his bowl on the table after he was finished eating, then set about looking for his stockings and shoes. "You will not need those for a moment, where you are going."

"Excusez, sir?" Odil looked at his mentor a little confused. "But won't I need them for work?"

"No you won't, Odil, but that is not where you are going now, anyway. Right now, there is a water pump at the end of the alley. You will take the dishes there and clean them, then return and get ready for work."

Odil goggled at Kaelan for a moment, quite sure that there would be a punch line to the joke soon. "Sir? But isn't that woman's work? Or a servant?"

The older man laughed. "Well, as I see neither here, then it's your job. I cooked and you will now clean the dishes. It's only fair."

Odil picked up the dishes from the table, still not entirely sure that this was not a joke, but then he made it out into the alley and was not called back, he realized the joke was on him. He saw the pump at the far end of the narrow path; a small line-up already had formed to use it. He walked barefoot toward it, the cobblestones slippery with water under his feet.

He joined the line-up as people washed up dishes, clothes and gathered drinking water. He didn't notice the stares he was getting from the other people waiting to use the pump. He was still in the clothes he wore to school the day before, minus his starched collar, but they had never seen a boy put on his fine linens to do the washing up.

Eventually he managed to get to the pump and he felt his face flush and people watched as he dropped the wooden bowls a few times, as he tried to hold them while working the pump. Eventually he gave up and just put them on the ground and pumped the water over them furiously. Then gathered them up, along with what was left of his dignity and headed back to Kaelan's.

All too soon it seemed to him, he was down at the canal, watching as Kaelan argued with the foreman about Odil's wages, making him feel very much like a prize-winning hog off to market. "Look at him." The foreman, a beefy Creole with bloodshot eyes and the fashionable look of his sideburns attaching to a thick moustache. Odil privately thought on him it just looked like his hair was being held on by an odd strap under his nose. "The boy does not deserve any more than half wages. He's just a slip of a thing. Looks like he's never seen a day of work in his life."

"I assure you, Monsieur Bonaventure, he's small, but wiry. He can work as hard as anyone here and I think he should be on at least two-thirds wage. If not full. If he does the work of the rest of the men. And I promised his mother I would make sure he was paid well. She's very ill, you see."

Monsieur Bonaventure took a step back from them "You don't mean she has..." he dropped his voice to a whisper "the fever..."

Kaelan smiled reassuringly. "We think not, monsieur. But time will tell. "

Odil stared at Kaelan as the other man bold faced lied to the foreman, but soon got his way as Odil was put on full wages. More than likely to get them out of the vicinity than anything else, with the possibility of yellow fever hanging in the air. As he took his shovel and followed his mentor into the canal he finally spoke. You lied to him, sir. Why?"

"There is no need for you to be stuck in here forever, Odil. Take what you earn and use it to get out as soon as possible." Kaelan smiled fondly at him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Those were the last words that passed between them for the remainder of the shift.

The young man had never worked so hard in his life, the foreman had been right. Often he was waist high in the murky water as he dug. The work was slow and laborious, but the men joked and jostled with each other when Monsieur Bonaventure's back was turned. Slowly the canal was shaped and then beams put in place the reinforce it.

The excitement of the day for Odil was watching as one of the wooden locks was lowered into the canal. It took about an hour for the men to get the thick door in place and then fastened it there.

"If these canals are not used for shipping, then why the need for locks?" Odil asked on of the men next to him, forcing a slight brogue, trying to blend in.

"For the rains, lad. If there is enough rain and the Mississippi rises, the locks will keep this fetid Frog city from flooding." The man smiled a gap-toothed grin at Odil. "But if it was up to me, I'd say feck 'em. Let 'em all drown... but then I thought frogs could swim."

The man's joke brought a round of cacophonous laughter from the rest, except Kaelan, who looked sternly at the man. "Now, Gus Murphy, don't say things like that. After all, they are people too. And I am sure there must be one or two who are even quite likable" He winked a little at Odil when he said this.

"Ahh, now that's our Kaelan Jinn. A gentleman and philosopher is there ever was one. Why yeh ne'er went into the priesthood will forever be a mystery." Gus smiled and winked back at Kaelan, causing Odil to snicker a little as he had obviously missed whom the private joke was meant for.

"I have neither the patience nor the taste for abstinence, my friend" Kaelan shouted back over the laughter.

Later that afternoon, as the tired, muddy crew crawled out of the canal and turned in their shovels, Odil was positive he was going to die of exhaustion. He placed his shovel on the pile with the rest and lumbered along next to Kaelan, not quite sure where they were going.

"You did well today, lad. Very well." Kaelan wrapped a friendly supporting arm around Odil's shoulders as the young man felt his legs buckle under him.

"It was like being stuck in purgatory, sir. It was not quite hell and most assuredly not heaven. But I felt I had died." Odil was frank in his speech, but still brought a small chuckle from the other man.

"I assure you, you are very much alive, but now, it's time to get you cleaned and fed." Odil noticed they were heading into a large building out of which the voices of many men were drifting. When they got inside, he saw that they were indeed in a large bathhouse. Huge copper kettles of hot water puffed and steamed over large fires.

Men took basins of water over to long shelves where they stripped down and cleaned themselves and then their clothes. After their skin was scrubbed they each received a dusting of lye powder to chase away any parasites that might have attached to them.

Odil took his own basin of water and wandered tiredly over to the low shelf, almost dropping it on the floor, but for Kaelan helping him with it at the last minute. Odil could not even muster enough strength to be embarrassed as he removed his clothing in this very public place and cleaned himself and then his clothes. Getting his dusting of lye before putting his sodden clothes back on and being led by Kaelan into a large hall where women doled out bowls of thin stew and hunks of stale bread to the workers.

Odil, at first, nibbled the food a bit disinterestedly. Making a face as the bland stew, which he was positive had the same basic consistency and flavour of dishwater, offended his palette. But as soon as he had swallowed some, his hunger took over from his basic distaste for the food and he ate the rest of the stew quickly and then tore into the bread.

Kaelan said nothing, but smiled indulgently and passed his own piece of bread to Odil when the boy was finished and looking around a little forlornly. Odil smiled at Kaelan and tried to give the bread back, no really, sir, I am not that hungry."

"Nonsense. You are still growing and are looking like the family dog waiting for table scraps." The older man smiled at him and Odil felt that slight warmth he now associated entirely with seeing him do that and knowing he was the one it was meant for.

After they had finished their meal, Kaelan and Odil left the workhouse cafeteria. Odil dragged his feet along the plank board floor and could barely lift his head, his moment of reawakening to eat truly over now. He heard Kaelan make a few polite apologies to some of his friends about not going to pub that night.

The light pressure of the older man's hands on his shoulders steered him down the alleys and back to Kaelan's room, Odil could think of nothing more he wanted in the entire world than to crawl into the bed and fall asleep. His clothes were still damp from the washing earlier, but he was too tired for the thought of sleeping in nothing but his underclothes to cause him embarrassment.

When the pressure of Kaelan's hands was lifted from his shoulders, Odil just stood still in the middle of the room, swaying a little. When Kaelan lit some candles and the room was filled with some small light, he still stood there. Afraid that if he moved to put one foot in front of the other without the guidance of the older man, whatever magical force that still held him up, would surely break. He would fall to the dirt floor and sleep where he stood, rats or not.

In his stupor, the rough cotton hitting him in the face startled him and he grabbed for it rather suddenly. Kaelan's chuckling made him scowl in his mentor's direction. "I am sorry, Odil, but that is the first time I have seen anyone react quite like that to a shirt." His explanation and continued mirth did nothing to soothe Odil's now rankled nerves.

'Is this another task for today, sir? Am I to now take your laundry out to clean it?"

"No, put it on, silly boy. Unless you'd prefer to sleep in your wet clothes, but then I will have to insist you sleep on the floor..." Odil's temper had done nothing to dampen Kaelan's continued enjoyment of his reaction. He did his best to scowl at the older man and look truly angry with him as he stripped off his damp clothes and pulled on the rough cotton shirt.

"You can hang them by the stove, I will put on a small fire to dry them." Kaelan too was stripping out of his damp clothes and getting changed into dry ones. Odil tried to avert his eyes and not openly stare at the other man. He had been so exhausted in the bathhouse, he didn't notice a thing, but now, with his heart still pumping from the mild shock, he was all too awake.

Kaelan's body was all long, lean muscle and angular planes. He was a little on the thin side, but perhaps it was just his height that gave him that illusion. His torso was surprisingly smooth and almost hairless, and as Odil watched he got the sudden insane urge to know what that skin would feel like under his fingers. He shook his head to clear it away as quickly as it appeared, but it was too late. A flush had crept into his cheeks and a warmth in his body, which was mortifying in its insistence.

He hurriedly hung up his clothes on a small railing next to the stove and practically ran across the room to hide in the bed and will himself back into his previous exhausted state. It was much preferable to how he felt now. He closed his eyes and tried to shut the image out of his head when Kaelan's voice broke the quiet of the room. "Abed so early? It's not even twilight yet, lad."

Odil nodded quickly, not daring to move any more than that. "Yes" his voice was no more than a high-pitched squeak. "I cannot possibly stay awake for one more moment." All was quiet in the room of a moment and he breathed a small sigh of relief that perhaps that was the end of it.

But then he heard the cards shuffling. "If you insist... but perhaps you would be interested in playing a few hands of cards, first. If you go to sleep now, you will be awake at an unholy hour in the morning. With nothing but your thoughts for company." Odil still stubbornly did not move for a bit. Still the cards were shuffled incessantly.

"If it were not for me coming here to learn about cards from you in the first place, tonight I would be sleeping in my own bed. I would not be toiling in filth in the ditch all day in order to make a few sous." Odil finally said, irritably.

"No... you are right. You would still be squandering your life away in Craps games poisoning yourself with alcohol and generally making a mess of all the advantages you did have. I never asked you here to begin with, so don't start laying all your blame at my feet. You can feel angry if you like and blame yourself, me, your father... but it does not change what has happened. But the anger is unproductive. You have two choices now, Odil. Accept that was has happened, happened and move on. Or live you life in doubt and what ifs and never leave this spot. Everyone has their own reasons why bitterness would be justified, but still they manage to make it to a new day without it consuming them. In time, they learn that all things happen for a reason, and even though things change, it does not mean they are doomed to a life free of some happiness. If you let bitterness win, you will take that one thing away from yourself. Then, only you are to blame for it."

Odil listened to Kaelan's even voice, if the other man was angry with him, he never let it show, and because of that, his words sunk in and took root. Odil took a deep breath and held it. When he let it out, he felt all the anger and resentment he had been holding inside of himself for so long, flow away from him with the air. It was the lightest he'd felt in years and for once, he had some hope that even here, he might still find something he'd lost when he was far to young to know what it had been. He found in those words, hope. "Now, are you going to play cards tonight, or shall I just entertain you with shadow puppets in the candlelight?"

Odil got out of the bed and sauntered over to the table, eyebrow cocked in some deep mischief. "Is playing cards going to be the only way I will get you to eventually leave me alone and let me sleep?" He lifted his chin in mock challenge, causing the other man to chuckle.

"Aye, perhaps it might be the only way..."

"Well then shut up and deal already."

I paused here a moment to clear my head. The turbulent emotions rising to close to the surface as they always did this close to the end of the tale. "And here would be the time that if this were a fairy tale I would conclude with saying 'And as the boy grew into a man he and his mentor learned together to love and live out their days in happiness.' But then we are in a graveyard and I said this was the story of that marker. Indeed the boy did grow, and strengthened in both body and spirit. Gone was the stick slender youth and in his place Odil was becoming a fine man. By the time he was seventeen, his hair had grown out into tawny waves he pulled back at the nape of his neck while working. His body had hardened and where it had been rounded and almost feminine when he was younger, it was now muscled and lean, no hint of the boy he had been left. Quick to laugh and joke with the other men, just as quick to cheat them out of a few sous at cards. He was well liked for his jocularity and joie de vivre. Still, he never strayed far from Kaelan's side, still looking to the other man for advice and friendship. He loved him and had learned to accept that love. Even sneaking part of his own earnings into the envelope Kaelan sent back to his family still in Ireland."

'Yes, if this were a fairytale, then this is where my story would end and I would say 'And they lived happily ever after'... but this is just near the end."

I let the sadness I felt fill my voice. No mater how many times I told this story, the end never became easier to tell. No one but me noticed the boy's increasing uneasiness. For him it was becoming a battle of wills. The urge to run and tell himself that was the end of the story was at war with the equally ardent need to make it to the end.

The summer descended onto the city that year and smothered it, wrapping it in a layer of tangible moisture. All of the residents, who could afford to, were leaving the crescent and heading inland to the more open spaces of the plantation roads. Odil and the other workers in the canals barely registered the humidity at all, spending most of their day mired in sluggish, flowing mud.

In fact, the only difference between the summer and the winter for them was the heat and the insects. The cooler weather kept the mosquitoes at bay, but now that is was warm again, the horrible little insects swarmed around them, biting at all exposed flesh.

The men often exchanged family secrets to bug repellent as they worked. Kaelan had taken to rubbing down his skin with suet melted with bergamot and lavender to keep the pests away. Ever morning Odil helped him rub it into the skin of his back and shoulders, and every afternoon he would help him scrape if off again in the bathhouse. The smell of the concoction was just next to being a people repellent also. So when Kaelan offered, every morning, to also rub some of it on to Odil, he always refused with a smile. "If it came down between smelling like you, I would as soon suffer the insects. They are just bothersome, that's vile."

At this time no one knew the connection between the mosquito and yellow fever. All anyone knew is that summer was also the time that the dreaded red bottles appeared in the apothecary windows signalling that there were cases on yellow fever in the area and the red quarantine signs nailed to people's doors.

Odil saw the worried looks Kaelan would give him any time another worker's door had the red sign hung outside it and so would acquiesce at least to taking the cod liver oil and eating the limes Kaelan said would keep them both strong and free of illness. At least he'd recently managed to convince the other man to save this special brand of torment until the evening, when directly afterward, Odil could take them both out for a pint of ale to get the taste out of his mouth. "I swear, I wouldn't sleep a wink with that lingering on my tongue all night." He joked on their way home.

Odil still slept curled up next to his mentor, often cuddled directly against the other man. And would wake in a light embrace from the other man, that filled him with his secret glow. He didn't dare tell Kaelan how he felt, but was silently joyous when he'd ventured one day about getting a place or at least a bed of his own, and had been rebuffed with the answer of that he'd never save enough for an apprenticeship if he spent his money in such ways.

He'd never told Kaelan that at one time he was planning to travel to New York with his earnings, because he'd recently given that up as a plan. He could never leave Kaelan. When the years of hard labour had taken their toll on him, he would need someone to take care of him. Odil vowed that the person would be him.

The hand waving in front of his face broke him from his reverie. He smiled at Kaelan and went back to digging; the older man shook his head and smiled back at him. "I swear, every day, you wool gather more and more."

"You would daydream too if you were my age and waiting to hear back from the new editor of the Picayune about a possible apprenticeship with the paper. I mean so far it's working in the pressroom, making the copies. But one day I will work my way up to be the editor myself." Odil's voice rose to a triumphant note by the end that set Kaelan to laughing.

"Perhaps someone should warn the editor he's hired a shark to his midst." He splashed some of the muddy water onto Odil's back in jest and the youth splashed him back. "But then dreams you are carrying in a basket, won't get you the money for the eggs today, lad. So put your back into it."

Odil stuck his tongue out at Kaelan, but went back to work in the grime. "I am just saying, it will be nice to not smell of sewer each night anymore, sir. I mean, have you never thought about perhaps finding work in another milieu? You are well educated and..." he grinned cheekily at the other man, "somewhat tolerable... "

"Ahh, Odil, I am too old and don't have the right last name to be any more than I am at the moment. But don't let my won troubles worry you any or dull your excitement." He smiled a little sadly at the young man and Odil felt his heart seize a little.

"Then it's settled." He said, forcing himself back to good humour. "When I have made it to levels enough in the paper that I can afford us better rooms, you will have to come with me and work for me."

"As what pray tell? Your snooty butler? A cook? Perhaps your laundress?"

"I will fill a room with muck and let your dig it out daily if you would prefer it. You have helped me in the passed more than you know. It would make me happy to return the favour. I could keep you as my tutor, so that I don't ever become bone stupid and one day I may write a book about the travails of my life."

'How different you are from the young man I met just a year ago."

"Sir, one year ago, I didn't honestly see myself get this far, never mind decide what I would do passed it." Odil looked at Kaelan with all the love he dare show him and hoped he understood.

Kaelan chuckled and ruffled his hair. "If it would make you happy, Odil. Who am I to give you dreams only to spoil them again?"

Odil smiled and went back to work as Monsieur Bonaventure made his way down the side of the canal to make sure no one was shirking responsibility. At the end of the shift, he helped Kaelan out of the canal and took both their shovels over to put them on the pile before walking with the other man over to the bathhouse.

He carefully scraped the suet from Kaelan's skin and then washed his back thoroughly before letting Kaelan wash him. He scratched absently at the insect bites on his neck and shoulders and tried to just concentrate on keeping his body's desires in check, as Kaelan softly ran the sponge over his skin. "You really should use the suet, Odil. It may smell like hell, but at least you won't be up scratching in the night."

"Now you know I only do it to annoy you. Would you take from me the purest form of entertainment I have?" Both of them laughed at this.

The next morning Odil awoke and felt as if he had a hangover. His head and neck were pounding in time to his heartbeat and his stomach was in knots. He watched from bed as Kaelan ate and got ready to leave. "You must have got a mouthful of swamp water with all the splashing about you were doing yesterday."

"But if I don't go to work, then I won't get paid for today, sir." Odil tried to look stubborn, but when he sat up a little, the headache only increased and he felt his stomach flip.

Kaelan gently pushed him back against the mattress and pulled the quilt back up to cover him up to his chin. "Odil, you will be of no use today anyway. Stay in bed and get well. You can come in tomorrow."

Odil opened his mouth to protest, but when Kaelan leaned down to kiss his slightly flushed brow, all thought escaped from him entirely and he smiled up at the other man. "Okay. I will, sir, if it means that much to you."

"It does." Kaelan put his hand against Odil's forehead. "After all, if you got real sick I would not be able to keep you up at night and torment you into playing cards. Would you take away the purest form of entertainment I have?"

Odil snickered a little and closed his eyes. "When you put it that way, it does make it sound like it would be cruel then to do anything to press my health further."

"Good lad," Kaelan said gently while stroking Odil's damp hair. "Now you sleep, I will be home directly after shift in order to give you your cod liver oil and lime."

"Something to live for..." Odil joked quietly as sleep took him. He didn't see the shadow of worry pass over Kaelan's face.

The rain started that afternoon and came down in a cadent film that covered the city and beat on it with a multitude of tiny beads. It banged out a rhythm on the roofs of the houses and the stones of the streets and pathways. Kaelan could hardly seethe way in front of himself as he hurried back to his room to check Odil.

The windowless room was dark and damp when he entered and he cursed himself for not staying to tend a fire to keep the boy warm. He rushed over to the bed and felt Odil's head, it was cold and clammy to the touch, but the ragged breathing told him the boy was alive, but chilled to the bone. He cursed again and went over to the stove and, with clumsy fingers, lit a fire in it. The fire cast the room in a warm light and he rushed back over to the bed and felt Odil's hands and head.

The youth did not wake up or even move a little. Kaelan looked at him and smoothed the young man's hair out of his face and prayed to any greater being listening not to let the end be so close. But hope faded a little as he spotted the small line of dried blood trailing from the corner of Odil's mouth.

He wiped the blood away frantically, as if to erase it from existence and then, without second thought climbed into the bed with Odil to warm him with his body. He rocked the young man slowly and held his head gently as he would a babe's, against his chest. Odil stirred a little and woke. He held on to Kaelan in a weak grip. "If this is a dream, please don't wake me. If it's the afterlife... I must have been more pious than I thought, for I surely made it to heaven." He said in a small voice.

"Don't say such things, Odil. You are neither dreaming nor dead." Kaelan said, the panic making his voice sound sharp in his ears. He cringed inwardly and kept holding the young man to him. "But listen to me, lad, I need the money you have been saving for your apprenticeship. I need to take you to a doctor."

Odil did not meet the other man's eyes, his voice turning misty and far away. "But I don't have it anymore... all gone."

"What do you mean all gone, Odil? Have you gambled it away?"

The young man shook his head and smiled. "It's gone over the sea and far away."

"You can't be serious..." Kaelan's voice shook with his disbelief.

"I am. But don't worry... I won't let this beat me, sir, you'll see. I will be well soon and we'll laugh." Odil chuckled a little, but then started to cough. Kaelan was horrified to see the deep red clot against his grey shirt.

The boy had the fever, he was sure of it. But it was not too late yet. If he could just go to see the boy's father for the money to take him to hospital. Surely whatever quarrel they had was not so grievous that he would leave his only son to die.

The next day he found himself sitting nervously in the law offices of Monsieur Alphonse Kenobi. Harried looking clerks and aids rushed about filing papers and retrieving more. Kaelan had put on his best suit and cap to make this visit and he knew now, he was completely under dressed by their standards.

But he had important business with Monsieur Kenobi, and he would be heard. Poorly dressed or not. So there he sat, twisting his cap compulsively in his hands and trying to not dwell on the worst-case scenario.

When he was finally let into the large private office of the attorney, what was left of his hope crashed. Monsieur Kenobi was a hard faced man who did not look like that type whom did not carry a grudge. "Monsieur Kenobi, I am here on behalf of your son..."

Monsieur Kenobi eyed Kaelan in a way that made his blood run cold. "I have no son. He died the night he decided he'd rather lie down with swine than honour his obligations to his family and society."

"Monsieur," he tried again in his most ingratiating tone possible. "Surely any quarrel you had in the past would be well left there when your son needs you."

"I told you, once, I disowned my son the night I found out that after all I had done for him, he ended up no better than a catamite to you, Irish."

Kaelan tried not to show the shock on his face at this news. Why had Odil made up that story then about leaving on his own will? Then he smiled at himself inwardly. He knew as well as Odil did, if he had found out that night what had truly transpired, he would have gone to the Kenobi house himself and done Odil's father in.

"But sir, you son is very sick, if he does not have money to see a doctor. He will die..."

Monsieur Kenobi's voice snapped out so loudly, Kaelan heard all activity in the next room stop. "I said I have no son and if you insist on making a nuisance of yourself, I will call the gendarmes to have you arrested for loitering. Good day, monsieur.

Kaelan fumed on his way back to his room, the rain pummelling down on him in an angry torrent. Of all the insufferable, bull headed, unconscionable bastards he's ever come across in his life, Alphonse Kenobi had been the worst. It was any wonder Odil was as well behaved, as he was when Kaelan first met him. For surely, if he'd have had that as a father, he would have been a full out murderer himself.

He wanted to go back and give the man the beating of a lifetime, but knew all that would accomplish was being thrown into jail for a night or a few days and coming back to find that Odil had passed away alone. No, he couldn't do that,

He had one last chance to get the money, the one way he knew how. But first, he had to stop in and see Odil. When he pushed open the door to the room they shared, the weak light from the alley spilled into the room and over the bed. Odil rested on his back; one hand lying on his chest as his breath came in short, panting gasps. Kaelan moved closer and took the hand in his own and brushed his hand over Odil's impossibly soft hair.

In the gloom, he saw that the boy's skin had started to yellow as fever destroyed him from the inside. Odil opened his eyes a little and smiled at Kaelan. "I was having the most wonderful dream just now, when you woke me, sir."

"Oh yes? I am sorry I did then. What was it about, Odil?" Kaelan let go of his hand for a moment to fill a glass with water from the pitcher on the table. He cradled the young man's head gently and got him to drink some. Soon, Odil and trying to push the glass away again and lay back down.

"You were there. And you took me to your home across the sea. And there I got better quicker because of the fresh air and the good food. But I can feel myself getting better now anyway, sir. Every day I feel a little better and soon I will be able to go to work and then we can save enough..."

Kaelan pressed a silencing finger over Odil's lips and smiled at him, and hoped he didn't see the tear that escaped down his cheek. "It sounds like a lovely dream, Odil. And one day, perhaps we'll go there. But you have to pull through for me now before we can do this. Do you understand?"

Odil nodded and closed his eyes again, resting against the pillow. "Odil, I have to go out a spell. I will put on the fire before I leave and won't be any longer than necessary. I need you to hold on until then, I will bring you back some food. You must be starved."

Odil nodded a little and fell back to sleep. Kaelan lit a fire in the woodstove and left for the pub in order to try and win the sum needed to get Odil to a doctor. Slim as the chance would be that even all together, they could afford it.

He staggered to the pub through the downpour and when he got in he was greeted enthusiastically. "Kaelan! So good to see you, where is your ward tonight?"

He smiled at his comrades heartily and tried not to reveal too much to them. "Oh the lad is all tuckered out from his apprenticeship at the paper, if we wakes he'll join us anon." He sat down at the card table and leaned in. "So deal me in, lads. I feel luck on my side tonight."

After he lost the third round in a row, something that before now was unheard of. "Lost the magic, did ya, boyo?" one of the other players joked.

"Maybe the horseshoe you sat on finally fell out yer arse." Said another, causing the rest of the men to laugh loudly and clap Kaelan on the back roughly.

"Just have too much on my mind and now know that I should not have come here tonight." Kaelan said with such sadness that it silenced the rest of the men immediately.

"What is it? Something with the lad? Have never seen even a father and son closer than how you dote on him. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he was your son, 'cept he doesn't have yer ugly mug. Is he run afoul of the law?"

"If only that were it, Gus, if only that were it. He's very poorly, lads. He's got the fever and if I don't come up with the money to get him to the doctor tonight, tomorrow it will be too late. He's starting to go yellow."

"Jaysus, Kay, why'd ya not say somethin' sooner? We coulda passed the hat or y'know... But if he's gone yella... well there's naught more that can be done now anyway. Once they go yella. Ya make 'em real comfy and wait." Gus was not grinning his gap-toothed smile for once, as he squeezed Kaelan's shoulder. "I'm truly sorry to hear that. I liked him, even if he was one of them... ya know... "

"You knew?" Kaelan could not keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Oh aye... We're not as dumb as we look. All his fine linens to wash up the dishes... and he didn't have a dialect I had ever heard in any part of Mother Ireland, if ya know what I mean ... Monsieur."

Kaelan could not quite resolve himself to give up quite yet, no matter what Gus said. He dragged his feet on the way home, giving him time to muster up the courage to face Odil again. He would spend the rest of the night making him comfortable and showing him how much he cared, then tomorrow, he'd try again. Perhaps one of the free clinics for the slaves would let a doctor come see Odil if he explained that Odil was a Creole and not Irish at all.

When he pushed open the door again he was not ready at all for what he saw. There was Odil, sitting at the table smiling at him. "I thought perhaps you'd enjoy a hand of cards, sir, before we turn in for the night. Monsieur Bonaventure will be ever so cross tomorrow for me missing so much work, so we can't stay up late. But I will just tell him I was not feeling well. But I am better now."

Kaelan tried to smile at him, but found it hard to. Even in the firelight, he could see the yellow had deepened and Odil's eyes were bloodshot and his teeth stained red from coughing up the blood caused by the small haemorrhages that would eventually kill him. But he sat across from Odil and took his hand. "Are you sure you want to, lad? Aren't you tired?"

Odil shook his head and gave Kaelan the cards. "No, I paid you the cinq sous for today's lesson and you will teach me. You can't get out of it that easily. Unless you give me a kiss. That would be fair."

"A kiss?"

"Yes, a kiss. A soft one. I would like a kiss from someone I love."

Kaelan only half registered the words. All he heard with clarity was kiss and love. Under any other circumstance, he would be elated. Odil stood up and slowly walked around the table to stand in front of Kaelan, his hands on his hips defiantly. "Unless you don't wanna kiss me..."

"I can think of nothing more I would like than that, Odil." He stood up and gently took the young man's face in the cradle of his hands and tilted it back. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Odil's feverish lips. As soon as he did, he knew he could never stop after just one. The younger man giggled a little at the soft kiss.

"It tickles... just like I always knew it would."

Kaelan smiled and held Odil close. "It's time to get you to bed, young man. You will need all your strength to... go back to work."

Odil nodded happily and allowed himself to be led back to the bed, and cuddled against Kaelan when they lay down. "Can I have another kiss, sir?"

"You can have as many as you want. We have all night." Kaelan kissed him again gently, several times; until he felt the youth go lax in his arms as sleep stole over the young man again.

Soon after Kaelan fell asleep too. That night he also dreamed of being across the sea, holding on to the laughing, tawny haired Odil, who was back to perfect health. And in his dreams he spent the night making love to the only being to ever fully steal his heart.

The rain was still teeming down when a loud knock at the door woke Kaelan up. Odil was still nestled against him, in a fitful sleep. Until the second knock came, he was not entirely sure he heard the first. He tripped blearily over to the door and let it swing open. Gus stood outside, ashen faced with panic. "Come, quick, the lock closest the river is jammed open and the canal is starting to flood. Monsieur Bonaventure said to gather all able bodied men."

Kaelan barely got his stockings and shoes on and was heading out the door behind Gus when he saw that Odil too was out of bed and getting dressed. "Where do you think you are going, boyo?" he said to him in a tone he hoped really reinforced his disapproving look.

Odil simply shrugged and kept getting dressed. "I am going with you. All able bodied men, sir." He seemed to pay no attention to the older man, and calmly went about putting on his clothes.

"You are still very ill, Odil. I won't have it." Kaelan continued to sound stern and Odil continued to ignore him.

"I won't ever get better if I lie abed while you mollycoddle me, sir. I feel well enough. I wish to help you. I... just don't want to be apart from you right now."

Kaelan looked into Odil's once defiant grey-green eyes and saw they were now filled with fear. The boy knew. He was putting on a brave face, but he knew. How could Kaelan leave him alone in the dark now? He nodded shortly and put his arm around Odil's shoulders to lead him to the canal. Well all right, but I want you to stay on the edge unless they really need you." Odil nodded and leaned into Kaelan's still strong body as the rain whipped against them.

The water had not yet broken the banks when they arrived at the worksite. All the men from all shifts were in the quagmire trying to drain it as quickly as possible while other searched desperately for the lever that would shut the floodwaters out or the city behind the levee. Kaelan made sure he'd put Odil in a place where he would be out of the way, but they could still see each other, should the boy need him.

When no one was looking, he gave him one last kiss and whispered. "I love you, don't you ever forget that, boo. I will be back for you soon and we'll take you to the doctor." Odil nodded mutely and reluctantly Kaelan turned away to join the men in the flooding canal.

The current under the slow moving sludge was stronger than Kaelan had expected and the walls of the canal here doing their best to hold back the mud, but still the silt poured from the joins between the timbers, causing them to buckle and cracks to appear in some of the walls. Kaelan dug fiercely along side his comrades, trying to find what was jamming the lock.

All the while he was digging, he kept an eye on the ghostly for of Odil, sitting in his silent vigil over the canal workers. The rain blurred him and made it look like he was being viewed through a veil. He was so busy watching the young man on the bank on the canal, that he did not hear the warning groan before the one wall gave out burying the men behind him in mud and debris and pining his leg under one of the holding staves.

As the beam sank further into the mud below him, he felt himself being pulled under. The rising dreck burbling sickeningly around his ears as he fought to keep his head above it. At last, his strength failed and he was pulled under, the final image he was of a ghostly figure jumping into the morass before the light was blocked out and his air was choked off in the mud.

It could not have been more than a second or two, but it felt like an eternity to Kaelan, before he felt the strong young hands lock around his elbows and pull. With a sickening popping sound that was loud in his ears, and a searing pain in his leg. He was pulled free. When he head broke the surface, he saw Odil, already up to his neck in the rising muck, fighting to keep Kaelan's head above the surface.

"What are you doing, Odil? You are still ill," Kaelan yelled at him in panic.

Odil struggled and kicked, not saying a word to his mentor as he fought with the last of his strength to get Kaelan to the edge where other workers worked at helping pull who they could out of the rising water, the current from the Mississippi growing stronger as the flood won.

"Odil... I demand you let go of me and save yourself now." Kaelan hollered above the cries of dismay and horror as another lock broke under the pressure of the mounting waters and earth.

"No... sir..." came the soft reply, that rang as loudly as a bell in his ears. "No matter what, I won't live through this, but you can. Take the money I saved and do something useful with it. It's under the mattress. Perhaps something that people might remember this. Je t'adore, sir, and if you don't live, who will tell the story?"

Kaelan was about to protest one last time and demand that Odil save himself, when he was lifted from the silty water by a couple of the canal workers on the edge. He fought against them and turned quickly, but by the time he did the boy was gone from sight. Swept away, into the mud, by the current of the Mississippi.

The silence of my audience was thunderous. "You mean that was it? He just died?" Said a balding man in a cream linen suit.

"Yes, he died that day, along with five thousand other men." I said with an air of sadness. "The canal was filled in and is now an unmarked mass burial site at the end of Canal Street. None of them remembered by name or for their part in shaping the city, but for one boy who did not care about the city or the rest of her inhabitants. No in his last act he saved the only thing he truly ever cared about."

"But his name is not even on the memorial to him... " Said the youth, with a tone of scepticism.

"No, by the time Kaelan found the small stash of money Odil had tucked away, he found out that indeed there was not as much there as he'd hoped anyway. Odil had sent more than he thought across the sea to a place he'd never seen and a people he'd never meet. This was all he could afford."

"Then what happened to Kaelan?"

"Oh now that is interesting. You see. No one really knows." I smiled at the people gathered around me, a small enigmatic smile. "Some say he eventually went to New York and found work there. Other think that he was so heart broken, he took what money he had left after having the memorial made and went back to Ireland, never to be heard from again. But then there is the most popular notion..."

"Which is?"

"That he never left the city and was good to his promise to the boy. That even now long after the events that day. Long after the reaper finally claimed him as well... He sits next to the memorial and waits for interested parties to come by so he can tell the story and keep the memory of the boy alive forever."

Slowly the crowd of tourists dispersed. Some of then were shaking their heads and chatting about how "Dixie" loved its tragic ghost stories, some of the ladies still dabbing their eyes at the thought of such a short and tragic life. Still others, now that they were loosed from the spell, just didn't believe it.

I got up from the bench and ready to leave the graveyard when I noticed the muddy trainers still standing behind me. "Seems to me it's kinda a bad way to end that story, monsieur" the voice of the boy was soft as a dove's coo.

I turned to look at him. "Sometimes, that is just the way to story ends." I kept my tone even, but looking into those grey-green eyes again made my heart clench.

"I have a better ending. How about, after all this time of keeping his promise, Kaelan's daily plea was finally heard and Odil finally found his way back to him." He smiled at me and moved a bit closer. The light of the day was fading, the shadows of the evening closing in. Soon it would be time for me to go.

My throat was dry as he came closer to me, soon standing very close and looking slightly up at me, his eyes glinting in the fading light. "And then what happens?"

Odil leaned up and pressed his lips to mine, then pulled away slightly, holding me. "He told Sir that it was time to let the plaque become a mystery. That it was time to go home."

I smiled and kissed him again, holding him close as the shadows of the night finally closed in around us both.

***end***