In retrospect, it should have as no surprise that Jared was unable to lead me to his uncle after I retrieved my rifle from my room.  "Must have gone ahead... he's not quite so blind as to accidentally shoot at us, I should think." Jared said glibly.  "Think it worth the risk to try to catch up with the old man?"

Merlin was not were he was supposed to be?  In truth, the news struck me with both cheer and dread. I was certain that Merlin Herne had wanted me to sign those papers, but those papers were also clear forgeries of deeds and contracts that undermined wholly the business dealings of the man.  How could he have meant for me to have Avalon, or the shipping company, for that matter?  Logic says he cannot have, for what would he gain by creating the forgeries?  Why not simply create real documents?

With so many confused thoughts in my head, I felt it best to follow his lead.  I nodded numbly, and tried to concentrate, instead, on the little sport hunting he had suggested. 

As I walked carefully into the brush, I tried to recall, exactly, what rabbits looked like.  Instead, all I can picture is pumpkin coloured hair atop a cherub of light brown skin, smiling with mischief up at me.  The red-headed mulatto's simple drawing of me became intertwined in my thoughts with the ancient Greek's uncomfortably realistic statue of a gold forest godling.  When I put these thoughts aside, my mind's eyes became lost in the seductive abyss of Naomi's bosom.  If I fought that impure temptation, I began to worry frightfully so about the signed papers Twinings had left behind in his sudden attempt to escape. 

I saw no rabbits, but Jared's chattering might have scared them away.  I was so lost in thought, I fell once, not realizing that the younger Herne was about to turn about.  This level of distraction, I told myself, was not safe for either of us, so I redoubled my efforts to pay attention to my surroundings.  If nothing else, a gentleman should be able to put meat on the table.

Not long afterward I suffered a surprise that sharpened my attention sorely; a monstrous boar crashed through the brush like a bolt of lightening.  Then, before its maddening squeal could stop echoing in my ears, it was gone.  I raised my rifle in pure reflex, and fired with my sights dead on its rump.

Instead of a barking rapport, however, my precious firearm was silent, except for the sound a clasp coming undone.  Betrayed, I could only stare at the rifle in my arm.  Such a failure was as bewildering to me as anything else that had happened since my arrival in Herne's Avalon. 

"You must have broken it when you fell," Jared said helpfully.

I looked carefully now and saw traces of indentations along the barrel of the rifle, almost unnoticeable, in the waning light of day. 

I looked up at Jared and saw that he seemed quite pleased with himself.  He raised an eye brow, inviting me to respond, knowing that my rifle had barely touched the ground during my little spill.

"I must have," I said carefully.  "It's the only rational explanation."

I looked down at my rifle again and the odd ridges that suddenly had marred my precious wheelock.  If I were mad, I would have said they appeared as if finger marks left on a candle in a very hot kitchen.

I would be mad before long.

***

Circumstance seemed to conspire to keep us from reaching the manse until just past sunset.  Once in the mudroom, Jared handed my rifle to a young houseboy with orders to have Mr. Knocker repair it if he were able.  The boy shot off before I could protest.

We discovered Merlin Herne at the dinner table, a plate of chicken bones and the shell of baked potato before him.  "Ah!  There you are, I was wondering where you had run off to."  My host made some movements with his hand and the waiting maid snatched away the plate, its job done as if she'd existed for just that task.

"We'd hope to catch up with you on the hunt, Uncle,"  Jared said, almost as if chiding him.  To my surprise, I felt annoyed for Merlin Herne. Jared shouldn't speak to him, his elder and superior, like that of course, but the flare of anger and perhaps even jealousy seemed to come from deep within me and had little to do with propriety.  Especially, in light of the fact that Merlin Herne seemed to encourage his nephew to speak in that manner.  "Where on Earth did you wander off to?" 

Herne absorbed the information and seemed to hesitate by only the slightest of moments.  "My apologies to you both.  My little sickly colt needed some very special attention.  Have you seen my colt, Mr. Penrod?"

I nearly fell into my chair.  Images flashed through my mind of sweat and straw, flavored with fish and salt, ebony and ivory skin intertwined in serpentine convulsions while something sad and pitiful watched with uncomprehending eyes.  "I... do not think so," I said.  Had it only been a dream?  If so, than Naomi had shared the same dream.  The sweat on his back irritated the scratches there and the gouges on his backside.  The folly we had shared earlier had been real enough.

But if the dream had been real, what of the nightmare?  Surely that was naught but a manifestation of my guilt.  I could not even fully picture it in my mind.  But for the rack of pronged horns upon its head, the demon had no distinguishing features.

As I gnawed on that knot of logic, I realized that Merlin Herne was looking at me oddly.  "No," I said quickly, as if staying in his good graces was suddenly the most important thing in the world to me.  "I am certain that I have not.  You said it was sickly?"

Herne nodded as food was brought to us.  It was a simple plate of fish and cornbread, but the smell reminded me that I had all but forgotten to eat today.  Yet, for some reason, I had come to associate the taste of fish with the dark vixen.  It felt almost like an accusation, the plate of fish before me and my host, who I had wronged, sat at the same table without food before him.  There was no way that I could steal Naomi away from him; she loved him and burned for him with a desire beyond belief. 

She had called out for Merlin several times, each time with greater ardor until I was spent and could do no more.  I was but a proxy for her lust.  As she had said, Merlin Herne had very cold hands.

Jared began to eat without so much as a pause.  I wanted to say grace.  I needed to send up to a prayer our Lord very badly.  Still, how could I insult my hosts by insisting they say grace with me?  It was certainly not a habit of mine.  Lest my children were at the table with me, I was neither less nor more thankful to the lord for my bounty than any other man who had worked hard for that bounty.

"It suffers from a rare type of palsy," Merlin said suddenly, cutting through my thoughts.  "My neighbor, Mr. Kenner, would have killed it had I not intervened on its behalf.  You see, I have a rather soft spot in my heart for hopeless causes."

"That is a very Christian outlook, Mr. Herne."  I said without hesitation, although I think the confusion I felt was still apparent in my voice and manner.  "All successful men should follow your example."

"Were all men to follow his example," Jared said around a bit of largely chewed cornbread, "they would find themselves quite successful.  No man is as poor as the man who cannot find generosity in himself."

"I stand corrected," I said, conceding the point to Jared so as to bring the conversation back to his uncle as quickly as possible. 

"All that you see around you, Penrod, is nothing more than a lost cause.  At least to my allies and my enemies, both.  But to me, Avalon is a labor of love."

I flinched and looked away from Merlin Herne, the taste of cod becoming the metallic tang of copper in my mouth.  I forced myself to swallow as I ran my fingers through my hair.  My hosts sat in silence for a moment, staring daggers of accusation at me, I was sure.

Yet, when I looked up at the Irishman, I saw nothing of the sort.  Confidence, pride, and openness, these are the things I saw beneath the bright red mop of air of Herne.  My own father had never looked at me so.  A sudden impulse to throw myself at his feet and beg forgiveness took hold of me and it was only my fear of perturbing my lord's dignity that kept me rooted to me seat.  I was simply, I realized at that moment, not worthy.

"Uncle, I think perhaps it is too early to--"

"Shut up!"  I jumped out of my seat, upturning the chair as I did so.  I was startled by the screeching voice, and even more so by the revelation that the horrible roar had come from my throat.  I pounded the table once, confused by my actions.  "Just stifle yourself and let your uncle speak for once." 

Jared stared at me without rancor and with only a mild surprise.  Ironically, my own my face was locked in an extremely startled expression.  My hands slowly, blindly groped at my face, as if it was a mask I could remove yet I was not sure how to.

"I'm sorry," I whispered and tried to lower myself to my seat.   I was trapped there, however as the chair could not be found.

"Well, now it is my turn to stand corrected," Jared said brightly.  "Well, actually, I sit corrected."  He grunted with amusement.  "Or I will, if I can remember to keep my elbows off the table."

A black girl sprinted forward and righted my seat.  She guided it under my lower end and I gratefully collapsed into its solid support.  I whispered a silent "thank you" and I repeated my apologies in what I hoped was a louder and clearer voice than earlier, although I knew my excuses to be weak and totally without merit.  I was completely staggered by my own offensiveness; how could I allow myself to behave like this?

"I am sorry, Gentlemen. Forgive my outburst," I said, trying to regain my lost dignity.  "I am apparently ill and I should retire to my room."  I pushed myself reluctantly up from the table, and I thought I might have liked my rifle at the moment.  One well place shot would likely render me clear headed enough to leave the house with something of my dignity attached.

Then a cool pale hand, patted my shoulder paternally and I nearly swooned at that very moment.  I must be very fevered indeed, I thought at the time, for his hand did feel as if it were made of ice.  "There's nothing wrong with you, Penrod," my pale host said calmingly.

I met his eyes, and there were not unkindly, but they were deep and burned with something man was not meant to.  He was powerful and strong and I was but a child who nothing of the world.

"I want to go home..." I wailed the words and the tears burst from some place inside of me I had thought dead long ago.  Frigid fingers pulled my pitiful, crying head into his chest and it was like hugging a tree.  Merlin Herne was as strong and as solid as a rock, yet he was still gentle enough to comfort me in my time of irrational need.

He tried to get my attention several times but I knew I was not worthy enough to look him in the eye.  Instead, I cried out apology after apology in an attempt to make him understand that I could not help myself and I didn't know why I was suddenly like this.

Then in the depths of my utter despair, he gripped my hair firmly and yanked my head back until my neck was exposed like a beaten dog.

For a long moment, I held my breath.  Time ground to a halt as my neck was held naked before him and... I did not know what I was waiting for, but I waited, afraid and curious but oddly willing and accepting that it was only right and proper to be manipulated so in the arms of this red haired man. 

"Listen to me," he growled as time ran forward once more.  He relaxed his grip ever so slightly until our eyes met and my throat was naked no more.  Then his voice was kind and generous once more.  "Listen to me... you _are_ home."

***

It is difficult to account for time immediately following that announcement.  I am reluctant to admit that the wave of gratitude that flooded my body and soul was such that it overwhelmed any external stimulation I might have received during this time.  Yet I do not quite believe the shock of such an unexpected and weird emotional reaction reduced me to a nigh vegetative state.

They talked about me as if I wasn't there, I am sure of that much.  Had any of my friends or associates broken down as I had, I am certain I would have done the same. 

I had just decided that I must be drunk and therefore not fully accountable for my shameful actions, when Torc Triath entered the dining room.  The overseer was dressed as befit his station, but there was an evil excitement burning in his pig-like eyes and a number of small leaves and twigs entangled in his wild, red hair.

"I've got Twinings trussed up for you," he announced and suddenly the room vanished.

***

I awoke in my room.  No fire burned in the fireplace and neither sheets nor bed clothes covered my frame.  There was a chillness upon the night that even my nakedness could not account for.  I thought, perhaps, that I had dreamed of screams but there was naught but an eerie silence upon all the manse.

For a long moment, I lay there and stared up at the ceiling.  I could not bring myself to look out the window that overlooked Avalon.  I wondered during this time how hard I would have to pray for this to be my own bedroom, for Pamela to crawl besides me and lend me her warmth.

I wondered which god I would have to pray to.

I heard the footfalls long before they came to my door.  I watched twisting serpentine flashes from beneath my door as a candle was brought to my door..  The devil was coming for me as surely as a hunter returning to check his traps and I was ready to go with him, just as long as everything was over and my torment was at an end.

Then the door opened and, framed by the flickering candlelight, stood my dubious savior.  Would that I could say I hesitated or that I was able to hold onto my unease beyond that moment.  However, that would be a lie.

My heart leapt at the sight of his pale face and I silently thanked god for bringing my salvation to me in the form of this man.  "Master Herne," I cried out as I sat up in bed, my propriety forgotten in the rush of pleasure that I suddenly felt.  Then I realized I was naked and I tried to cover myself but I had neither sheets nor clothes to hide my shame.

Herne only chuckled at this.  "Do not fuss, Penrod.  Are we not men?  What perverse vanity to think the sight of your natural, god-given body might offend me.  You do have a fine body, my boy.  You should be proud of it."

I was suddenly giddy with pride and embarrassment both vying for my senses.  My cheeks flushed and I pulled my hands away from between my legs.  I giggled insanely as the Devil's worm struggled to life and I could not conceal it with my hands any more than if they'd been tied behind my back. 

I did not know what to do about it.

I wished desperately for the Irishman to tell me what to do about it.

***

My sensibilities had suffered greatly doing my short stay at Avalon.  I knew I had waded deeply within madness and, yet, I did not care overly much.  I did not suffer madness so much as I clung to it as a drowning man might latch onto to a drifting log.  For in the very center of this madness was absolute unshakeable conviction that it was all but a dream.

My new reality was that nothing was real.  I knew time passed strangely in dreams, but it did indeed pass.  All things passed, even this.  I merely had to let the dream run its course and it would carry me along softly.  I knew I would drown if I fought the current.

Naked and proud, yet vulnerable and ashamed all at once, I followed my redheaded host down the dim hall to the room where I had first enjoyed Naomi's expert attentions.  My sinful member pulsed expectantly as I found myself hoping that Naomi would be there, to touch and fondle my manhood while my lord and master watched proudly as my god-crafted flesh did the devil's jig with her ebony talons.

Yes, that would make this a most pleasant dream, indeed. 

I did not expect to discover a hanged man dangling from the rafters over the great metal basin I had so enjoyed not too very long ago.  That he was naked and inverted seemed no more shocking at how very worm-belly white his skin seemed.  This man was someone's trophy fish and, because his lips were no longer visible on his face, it took a moment for me to realize that this poor fool was none other than the redoubtable Mr. Twinnings.

Herne seemed pleased to see that he was there, and not at all surprised.  I followed his example and smiled as the awful man's angry eyes found mine.  He tried to speak, but the skin between his cheeks was impossibly flawless.  Without a proper pair of lips, much less a mouth of any kind, Twinnings made only muffled noises of outrage.  He might have been warning or threatening me, or both.  I did not care.  I simply stroked my member to make sure it was still there and smiled witlessly with pleasure and relief.  His eyes and nostrils widened as one and Twinnings became still, watching me test my manhood.

I would like it, I thought, if Twinnings watched Naomi and me, especially if it would be the last thing he would ever see.  I would have liked that very much and I think I may have intended to say as much to my host, but I was suddenly overcome with fear that I might hear my own voice and wake-up from this dream.

Or worse, not wake up at all. 

A small part of me, of course, knew this was no dream at all.  That I only wished it to be such, but my mind was as embarrassingly pliant as any slave hauled from the belly of a slave ship.  No, more so, for no Negro craved his own enslavement for want of base emotions.

I was no more than a stallion led to stud.

Like any stud beast, there were witnesses and helpers at my side, but I was not aware of them.  I could only see Twinnings and the tub, sparkling in the candlelight.

My master began speaking to the hanged solicitor, but his words fell dumbly upon my ears.  I caught only a sense of his words, not the words themselves.  Someone moved boards over the tub and held my master's prisoner so that he must watch me as I pleasured myself.

"You are so very eager, my friend."  My master spoke suddenly from my side.  I was not startled.  It is always thus in dreams, was it not?  "Are you ready to become what you must be?"

I nodded, for I knew I would be damned; that I must be damned already by any measure.  The shame of my actions would be too great if I did not pay the price of damnation, I knew.

Herne touched me on the shoulder and made me his own.