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A Peacherverse Story
The world is being rebuilt after the defeat of the Black Horde and central to the reconstruction is the Marshal Prince Rudolf Elphberg, who is leading a multi-national body called the Oecumene based in New Constantinople. Only he can command the prestige to build a new world order and he finds himself with many challenges and enemies but also new friends and allies both strange and unsuspected. Will Martinovic, a naive and ordinary Rothenian teenager, is caught up in the tumult of his age. He finds himself in love with a foreign prince, who is destined to be one of the new kings of the Oecumene. What happens next turns out to be the darker sort of fairytale romance.
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Teil 1
IWillem Martinovic looked meditatively across his new friend Johan’s bedroom. He guessed most city boys had similar pads, and with its jumble of random posters, desks full of tech, single bed and neutral carpet it could be any teen boy’s refuge. But Johan Toblescu was a city boy, and there was necessarily an air of urban sophistication about it. Till one week ago Willem had been a country boy, living in a semi-rural suburb of Rechtenberg, semi-rural perhaps only in the sense that his mum’s rented house was next door to a tractor showroom, though the variety and amount of wildlife that got within its walls was definitely not urban: mice, rats, wild cats, snakes and all manner of large insects. But now she was abroad on a posting, while he was in Strelzen, under the care of his father, a man with whom he had had minimal contact in his seventeen years of boyhood. Bolslaw Wyzhinski was a lawyer and, looked at objectively, by no means a bad man. He had honoured Willem’s birthdays and Christmases scrupulously and indeed generously. But his mum made it clear that Bolslaw was not welcome in the process of parenting Willem in person, and one did not lightly challenge Willem’s mum. Krista Martinovica was a senior field officer in the king’s army, and had commanded her battalion with distinction in the Horde Wars, during which she was promoted lieutenant colonel at General Cornish’s recommendation. It was the general who had requested Colonel Martinovica’s posting to Anatolia in his latest mission. So Willem had been bundled off to his father since school for him was over. His Wyzhinski grandparents might otherwise have been approached to take him, but Willem did not know the Wyzhinski side of his family about whom his mother muttered angrily, ‘Criminals all, and petty ones at that.’ Her parents, the elder Martinovics, had retired to their dream villa on the Slovenian coast, and Willem would have been happy to go to them, but building works were going on there, so it had to be his dad, who had answered the call with no show of reluctance.
Willem was finding some compensation as he looked across the bedroom at the tight rear of Johan Toblescu, lying out on his bed. Johan was an average-looking guy but nicely curved in all the right places, and very happy to show the curves off. He was barefoot and barechested at the moment, not overtly with an intention of seducing Willem, he was just cool with showing skin. That morning Willem’s dad had to go into his office, and Willem tagged along. Bolslaw’s client that day, a TV executive called Marek Toblescu, had observed Willem’s boredom and suggested he text his son, Johan, and meet up in town. So Willem had found his way to King Henry’s monolithic statue in front of the royal Residenz and this cute smaller boy had grinned up at him and offered a brief city tour. His first pointer was that ‘King Henry’ was a good resort for weed but also for gay pickups, he winked at Willem when he said that. ‘Well, come on Willem,’ he added, ‘you must look in the mirror every now and again.’
Willem blushed. ‘Yeah well, Johan, my mum got me a model shoot when I was 12.’
‘And what happened?’ ‘Work on clothing sites, that’s all. The internet still worked then.’
Johan grunted. ‘And then the Horde … But hey! Did you know that the Oecumene is gonna reboot it next week?’
‘Really? Damn, if I’d known I could have brought my old laptop with me to Strelzen.’
‘You can come around and we can look and see what the servers might have preserved, know what I mean?’
‘Huh?’
‘The old Pornhub site for one. And Falkefilm?’
‘Falkefilm?’
‘It used to be the big porn studio, based in Rothenia, mostly gay stuff.’ Johan waggled his eyebrows.
Willem grinned, not much bothered. ‘You know I am? I didn’t say.’
‘You gave me that look I get from guy’s sizing me up. Don’t bother me. I’m bi. So …?’
‘Maybe, Johan. You’re a bit sexy and I love your butt.’
‘I’ll file that as a yes, Will. But you … I mean …. You’re a bit godlike, mate. You ever done it with a boy?’
‘Strangely no. Old guys hit on me sometimes, but it gives me the creeps. I wouldn’t do it, even if they offered cash.’
Johan had grinned at that and amused himself advocating they go stroll the Wejg, but Willem knew enough about that dubious place to resist, and so here he was, being teased in Johan’s bedroom in his parents’ Fourth District townhouse. Johan had almost got his way with Willem by the time Willem’s handij buzzed. His Dad wanted to meet him and a friend at a place called Berwinckel’s. Johan sniggered and gave him directions. They would meet up again tomorrow and pick up where they left off, Johan said hopefully.
***
Willem looked over his epic-sized sundae at the man newly introduced to him as his godfather, a Herr Willem Kral. ‘How come we’ve never met since my christening?’ he asked.
The man seemed cheerful, solid and unexceptionable. He shrugged. ‘My wife and your mum were very good mates back in the day, young Will, and I knew your dad well too, we were at school together at Sudmesten Central. But Krista was dead keen to be in the army and she was sent to Alfensberh for the officer training. She took you with her too. After that we sent you cards on your birthday for a long time, but what with her postings and promotions you’ve not returned to Strelzen till now.’ He gave a comically anxious look. ‘Hey! You’re not wanting all that backlog of presents now, are you?’
Willem gave the man his signature smile and shrug, the one that had usually pacified and diverted disappointed teachers and authority figures in his life, though not his mum. His godfather seemed not to be immune to it. ‘Have to say, kid, you have your mum’s looks and athletic build. Are you sporty too?’
‘Me? Not really. I played in my Rechtenberg gymno’s first eleven in the local league, but that’s all. I have no dreams of playing for Strelzen Kunglich.’
His dad shifted his bulk and regarded his son. ‘Your mum told me to badger you about your plans for future employment. So are you thinking about uni?’
Willem scowled. ‘My grades aren’t good enough, Dad, so no.’
Herr Kral shrugged. ‘I skipped university too and went directly into business.’
‘What is it you do?’ Willem asked, interested. The man gave off a discreet aura of wealth.
His dad laughed. ‘What does he not? Is Skipper Associates still your main client, Kral?’
The man shrugged. ‘The new management wants me in Berlin, now that Davey’s retired, but it’s not convenient. My main business is not music.’
Bolo raised an eyebrow. ‘But you run half the clubs on the Wejg, mate!’
‘An exaggeration, Bolo. I bought out the O’Brien interests after the guy died at Kaleczyk.’
‘But man, you’re behind Club Liberation! The place for gays across Eastern Europe.’
‘I don’t manage it. I leave that to Yaz.’ He laughed. ‘Though my boy Julius is eager to take on Liberation.’
‘Really?’ Will said, rather intrigued.
Herr Kral smiled. ‘He’s only fourteen, and straight too. But God! A chip off the old block he is. He lives with his granddad at the moment, sorting out the old gift shop on Domstrasse now the Strelzen tourist industry has begun to recover. It annoys his mum. Jules is quite the musician and Della reckons he’s skimping on his school work. You should meet him, young Will.’
‘Er … why?’ Willem was suspicious, had the man sniffed out his orientation?
‘Krals have a good record in instilling drive and ambition into Wyzhinskis. My Jules is a human dynamo. I take personal credit for turning your dad towards the study of law, in which he has subsequently excelled.’
Willem quirked his lips. ‘I might turn him into a dosser. Thought of that, big man?’
‘Oh!’ said Herr Kral, eyes widening. ‘I heard your father in that remark. Never was such a guy for the sharp riposte. Remember how you disintegrated that tosser outside the school, wassisname? Hadjek, yeah! The one that got sent down for sex trafficking in the end.’
Bolo sniggered. ‘My lost golden age.’
‘Bet the judges love you, Bolo,’ Herr Kral observed, affectionately.
***
Julius Kral was a well turned-out lad, fresh-faced if small for his age. There was an engaging charm about him which Willem recognised, since he possessed it too, the self-possession of a boy who was the undoubted centre of his mother’s world. The fact that Jules was two years junior to Willem and Johan did not seem to bother the boy in the least. Nor was he bothered that Johan sat, rather provocatively, in Willem’s lap as Johan summoned up the long defunct browser on his laptop.
‘Now then Will,’ he urged. ‘If we can get Pornhub, don’t chub up. It’ll make my perch uncomfortable.’
Willem whispered an obscene suggestion in Johan Toblescu’s ear which caused them both to titter, and Jules to roll his eyes. ‘Girls,’ he sighed.
‘SITE UNAVAILABLE’ was the disappointing response.
‘Okay, let’s stay local, www.falkefilm.org.rn.’ urged Will.
‘Woohoo!’ cried Johan as a front page with a large acreage of tanned male flesh appeared. ‘Fuck! Where do we start?’
‘Are you two gonna sit there and wank over guys’ butts?’ Jules growled.
‘That was our plan till I got saddled with you, kid.’ Will grumped.
‘Get into it, kid,’ Johan sneered. ‘You can get yours out too. There’s allegedly some straight stuff here. Anyway, aren’t you the kid who’s burning to manage Club Liberation? You should get to know your potential clientele.’
‘Just check the business section of the site for me, Johan,’ Will said. No need to upset little Jules here.’
‘The Falkefilm boss used to be Felip Ignacij,’ Jules contributed, with a offended sniff, ‘otherwise known, Johan, as the husband of your dad’s boss, Will Vincent. Another one of you pesky gay boys.’
‘How d’you know that?’
‘My dad knows all the major players in entertainment in Rothenia, Johan. He and your dad were mates with my godfather back in the day.’
‘Your godfather, Jules?’
‘Yuli Lucic.’
Will was taken aback. ‘Yuli Lucic? As in Starcrossed, the Rothenian pop legend? Fu-u-u-u-ck.’
‘He taught me keyboard. And by the way, Will, your dad was their roadie.’
‘He was what?’
‘Check their album sleeves.’
‘Well fuck,’ said a somewhat overwhelmed Willem. ‘He never mentioned it. I just thought he was some boring-as-fuck lawyer.’
Johan tutted. ‘Even a boring-as-fuck lawyer can have a wild youth, Will. He got your mum pregnant, didn’t he?’
‘They were drunk, she told me, it was unplanned. I’m a happy accident, she says.’
Jules Kral counterfeited vomiting. ‘So what’s so important about the Falkefilm site?’ he asked.
Will heaved a sigh. ‘I need cash, and there was a time when teens like us could get a lot of that through taking off our clothes online for the excitement of old guys with money. It needs the internet to do it, and the Oecumene has just made that possible again.’
Jules shook his head. ‘Porn was a crap business model, Will, at least for the performers. In this country, Falkefilm started by making quality porn with hunky Rothenian and Czech guys, who they paid peanuts for their monkeying round while raking in profits from marketing the CDs. The internet killed that business by deluging the world with purveyors of free porn, who made money by enticing advertisers to their sites. Falkefilm never cracked that market, and in the end it was selling clips to Pornhub. The final killer of the whole corporate porn business was AllmyFans. A platform where sexy teens could themselves upload their own creations and directly charge customers who wanted to wank over them. Ethical porn, sort of. Sexworkers working in safety while gaining control over their content and profiting by it. Pornhub had to buy off them direct if they wanted their content.’
Johan frowned at the younger boy’s rather acute business analysis. ‘So making money through Falkefilm is a bust?’
‘It’s just a legacy business now, managing an ageing back catalogue.’
‘Still markets itself as a “model agency”, though.,’ Will read from the site, ‘with an office on the Leuwen Pasacz in Rodolferplaz.’
Jules shook his head. ‘You’re seriously going to go through with this?’
‘Sure, me and Johan both.’
Johan looked startled. ‘Woah … don’t count me in, my dad has connections with Felip. Besides, I’m heading for the Technische next year. My future’s sorta sorted.’
‘Oh!’ Will was a little dashed. ‘Course. Do your thing mate, as long as we’re still getting it on later, huh?’
Johan took and squeezed Will’s hand. ‘Can’t wait, guy.’
Jules Kral rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll be off then, not really my thing boys.’
***
Rozhin, Queen of the Kurds, in her usual battledress camos, led her staff into the Viceroy’s reception rooms in Istanbul’s Feriye Palace. She had been impressed by General Cornish’s careful use and choice of symbols since they had first met the previous year, when the Marshal Prince of Elphberg had singled her out to occupy the Kurdish throne. The Feriye Palace was one such symbol: a minor imperial palace which the vile Malik Rammu had occupied during his chaotic rule of Turkey, in whose basements terrible things had occurred. But now the clean blue flag of the Oecumene draped its frontage and smartly turned-out Rothenian guards policed the precinct. It was a new world, and Istanbul was getting used to the idea of once more being an imperial capital, for Prince Rudolf was soon to be proclaimed First Emperor of the Oecumene in Saint Sophia. European Turkey was to become an exclave of direct Elphberg rule and the red lion flag would fly from the towers of New Constantinople.
Rozhin became aware of a new presence in the general’s staff, a female colonel by her shoulder boards and a woman of breathtaking looks. The name tab MARTINOVICA adorned her breast, along with a formidable board of medal ribbons and the star of the Order of Henry the Lion. Now, was this too a symbol for her to make sense of?
‘Your Majesty,’ said General Edward Cornish, the Elphberg Viceroy of Constantinople and Thrace, ‘I’m very pleased you could find time to join us today. There are certain issues which need resolving before Proclamation Day, and only you can help. May I introduce my new chief of staff, Colonel Krista Martinovica? I would much appreciate your willingness to give up the rest of your morning to the colonel’s briefing.’
General Cornish himself filled the coffee cups for the queen and the colonel, probably another symbol. Rozhin gave a smile at Colonel Martinovica and asked. ‘How are you finding Istanbul?’
She got a glowing smile in return. ‘It’s a breathtaking city, your majesty.’ She motioned to the tall windows beyond which glittered the Bosphorus and the dramatic span of the Sultan Mehmet Bridge connecting Europe to Asia, the only one surviving from the Black Horde’s occupation of the city.
The queen considered her over the rim of her cup. ‘Tell me, colonel, have you children?’
‘One son, ma’am, aged 17.’
‘Ah! Just like me.’ The queen replied with smile. Krista did not ask for any more information. The whole world knew that Rozhin had been raped as a youth by Tigridic bandits, and that she had made it her mission to catch and shoot the balls off the Iraqi chief who had done it to her, which she succeeded in doing two years later. The child engendered on her had been carried to term however, and brought up as a Kurd. But his parentage meant that he was not Crown Prince of the Kurds, though he was called Prince Afran, and was currently an officer trainee in his mother’s army.
The queen smiled to herself and eventually turned her smile on the Viceroy, with whom it appeared that she was very friendly. ‘Edward dear fellow, I expect what you want me here for is the Anatolia question.’
The general nodded. ‘It has Prince Rudolf very much engaged at the moment. With new kingdoms of Armenia and Kurdistan now bringing peace to eastern Anatolia and the Upper Euphrates valley, the chaos around Ankara stands out as an offence to his neat mind.’
The queen shrugged, ‘The answer is simple enough, yet another new monarchy owing allegiance to the Oecumene and its Elphberg Caesar.’
The general inclined his head. ‘That is so, ma’am. The problem is that such a monarchy really ought to be Turkish, and the natural candidates are in the ex-imperial Osmanoğlu clan, which is fractious. The Elphberg’s choice has fallen on Prince Selim, who is the eldest of them, but his nephew Suleiman has begun a vigorous anti-Oecumene campaign, raising animosity about the appropriation of Istanbul and European Turkey to the Elphbergs, demanding restoration of the Caliphate and pandering to ancient racial hatred.’
‘That is concerning, Edward, especially the last. If I were an earlier sort of Kurdish leader I would recommend the swift termination of Suleiman’s existence in this world, but that is not the way of the Oecumene. What was the deal offered to old Selim?’
‘Recognition as King of Rum, with the Black Sea coast as far as Armenian Pontus, Nikaea, the Aegean provinces and northern Syria down as far as Aleppo, with his capital at Nikaea if he chose, or Ankara if not.’
The queen frowned. ‘Considering the mess Anatolia is in, that is a reasonable offer. I assume it went with guarantees of Oecumene troops to establish civil order?’ The general nodded, and the queen continued. ‘Selim is old and tired. Switch the offer to his nephew, but offer no troops, and let him handle the resulting chaos. Suleiman is not the man to do well in such circumstances. He’ll soon be overthrown and the next shake of the dice box might present a better choice.’
Krista surprised herself by observing ‘Chaos in Anatolia might suit the Kurds, ma’am. It would not suit the starving and fearful Turkish people who look to the Oecumene for a better life.’
The queen smiled. ‘Well said, colonel. Actually, chaos in Anatolia would not suit me in the least. Engineered chaos was a tool used by that foul Malik-Rammu, of course, but I am my people’s guardian and the suffering of the Turkish people would affect them too, in a rise in banditry and a drag on our economy for instance. So what do you suggest, Edward?’
The general relaxed in his chair. I think this is a job for King Maxim. A regional conference on the Ankara question for the Osmanoğlu family’s leaders in Strelzen, under the king’s presidency, might well raise possibilities.’
The queen shot the viceroy a quizzical look. ‘He’s what … fourteen years of age? I know he’s an unusual boy, but even so.’
‘Would your son, Prince Afran, be acceptable as the Kurdish delegate? King Maxim asked particularly for him if he was available.’
‘Afran?’ smiled the queen, ‘it would get him out of boot camp early I suppose. But he has no constitutional position in our kingdom.’
‘But at the moment you have no other possible heir, ma’am. If you ever consider bringing Afran forward, this might be a good opportunity to begin.’
The queen pursed her lips. ‘Afran is a good boy, bright, and friendly to the Elphbergs. He and young Maxim really hit it off when they met last year. Very well.’ She caught Krista’s eye, and smiled. ‘Would the colonel consent to being Afran’s Rothenian attaché during his visit?’
The viceroy confirmed for Queen Rozhin her suspicions of Colonel Martinovica’s engineered attendance at the meeting by observing. ‘Exactly what I would have suggested, ma’am.’
***
Marek Toblescu was a cheerful and friendly sort and was quite unfazed to find Willem Martinovic sharing his son’s bedroom. Will concluded that he was not the first boy Johan had slept with in his parents’ house. Even so, he kept the noise down when he topped their appreciative son.
Johan grinned. ‘Shout all you like when you nut, Will. Dad and Mum won’t be bothered, believe me. They so-o-o like being liberal parents, both being in the media and all.’
‘What does your dad do?’
‘He’s Media Editor at Strelsenermedia. He used to work the news desk in Eastnet before he got promoted. And that’s why we’re going electioneering this afternoon with them.’
‘Oh? What? Outside broadcast with cameras?’
Johan scoffed. ‘Nah. This is real electioneering. Dad’s former boss was Henry At-vood.’
‘Really? General At-vood? The Hero of Kaleczyk?’
‘The very same. He and my dad go way back. I call him Uncle Henry. Anyway, he’s standing as MP for the City 4th and 6th Districts for the Unity Party, so we’re going out to post candidate placards at all the junctions. Big draw, ‘cos Yuli and Roman — Starcrossed no less — are joining Team At-vood this afternoon.’
Willem kissed Johan on the nose. ‘You must be the best connected fuck in Strelzen. Am I the luckiest boy, or what?
The Toblescus and Willem walked cheerily together along Stracenzstrasse to find a sizeable knot of Atwood supporters gathered outside Café Jednorocz. Marek was in amongst the group backslapping and gladhanding. He seemed to know everyone. Willem was on pins to see Starcrossed, but no luck.
‘Hi cutie,’ came a voice from behind him. Willem looked around, then down, where a short man had appeared. He was the candidate, Henry Atwood.
Taken aback, Willem blurted, ‘I thought military heroes were usually taller.’
Not in the least offended, the man guffawed. ‘Teens. Where would we be without your honesty? So who’re you, kid?’
‘Willem Martinovic. I’m a friend of Johan Toblescu.’
‘And when you say “friend”, and in the context of Johan, do you mean that in the gay boy sense?’
‘I guess I do. Though we’ve not been hooking up that long. I only just moved to Strelzen.’
‘Where were you before?’
‘Rechtenberg, sir.’
‘Ah … a military family then? Hold on. Is Krista Martinovica your mum?’
‘You know mum, sir?’
‘I’m a sincere admirer, kid. She has the Order of Henry the Lion for her defence of the Ostberg bridge, and well-deserved too. Had the bridge been forced, the Horde might have got the better of Prince Rudolf. So my Edward says, and he should know, he was Rudi’s chief of staff on that glorious day.’
‘Edward?’
The little man smiled. ‘General Edward Cornish, count of Ebersfeld and currently Viceroy of Thrace and Constantinople, my man.’
‘Oh sir! Mum’s just gone to be his chief of staff.’
‘Well, what d’you know. I know two guys who’d love to meet ya, babe.’ He looked around, and whistled loudly. ‘Yuli! Roman! Here boys!’
To Willem’s astonishment, two of the most famous Rothenians of the modern world responded obdiently to the call, and the next he knew, he was shaking the hands of Yuli Lucic and Roman-Rudolf Staufer von Ebersfeld, the latter of whom was easily the most beautiful man Willem had ever met.
‘Guess who this kid is, boys?’ Henry asked, beaming.
Yuli frowned. ‘You do look a bit familiar, kid. Why is that?’
Henry crowed. ‘It’s his mum! Don’t you recognise the face and hair colour. It’s Krista’s boy, Willem.’
Roman’s eyes widened. ‘Good heavens. We were at school with your mum, Willem, Sudmesten Central.’
‘And my dad too, I hear.’
Yuli grinned. ‘We so were. They both came with us on our post-bacca voyage down the Arndt just before Eurovision 2005. Bolslaw Wyzhinski, my God. How is the old guy? He was putting on weight last time I saw him.’
‘I can’t imagine dad as a roadie for a pop super-group,’ Willem confessed.
Yuli shrugged. ‘It was a short career. Though they did both join us in Spain when we put together our album. And I think that was where you must have been conceived, Willem. They were out of their heads for most of the stay there.’
‘As were we,’ Roman contributed. ‘We mustn’t be strangers now you’re back home in Strelzen. We’ll have your dad and you out at our place in the Green Hills after Michaelmas. It’s time we had friends round. What you say, Yuli baby?’
‘There’s truth in that, Romesczu. Mostly my fault I confess. Now I’m Kapellemeister at the Hofkapelle things get in the way. Give me a number where I can contact your dad. Not his office number, that I know.’
Henry Atwood chipped in. ‘Now guys, time to get these pictures of me posted on the local traffic lights, so the more forward looking inhabitants of the Fourth will know who to vote for next week. You vote, Willem?’
‘Er … yes sir. I was sixteen last year. This’ll be my first election.’
‘All intelligent queers know to vote Unity, baby. Bear that in mind.’
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The Boy and the Level