Count Wartooth and his valet Bellanger crept into the salon where the great Skwisgaar would hold his formal concert that evening. The early morning sun shone through the corners of the heavy velvet curtains and the room, with its long columns and marble floor was basked in an ethereal gold hue.
Toki was dressed simply, with his hair tied back with a blue ribbon, and his face bare. His heart beat rapidly though he had every excuse to be in the salon, and even to tinker with that great machine, the glorious Amp de Triomphe.
Toki crouched by the huge golden amp, and rolled up his cuffs. Bellanger held out a tray containing his tools. The man, slim and quiet, was a clever with his hands, but knew nothing about music and could not assist him in the least.
"This will haves to be quicks," said Toki, unscrewing the back panel and biting his lip.
"Yes, my lord," said Bellanger, bowing. There were a massive numbers of cables in the back, more than Toki had ever seen. Still, it was much easier to make it sound bad than good. He began unhooking random cables, and was so focused on his work that he didn't hear heavy door open and the clack of heeled shoes on the marble.
"Ahem, my Lord, we have company" whispered Bellanger.
Toki carefully lifted eyes over the amp, and noticed a group of men gathered at the door. Heart beating, he walked out with the tools in hand. He had come up with several explanations beforehand, but none of them came to mind, and he could feel his face flushing as they turned toward him.
"Baron," said one of them, clearly a representative of Versailles. "You've had a long journey, let me escort you to your chambers. There will be plenty of time to practice in the afternoon."
"No," said a low voice. "I must sees it now."
There were three men besides the servant, all impeccably dressed. One of them made his way to the front. He was very tall, with piercing blue eyes and full lips. He wore long pale blue coat of the latest fashion with a lace cravat at his neck. His chin was held high and his eyebrow arched with disdain when he laid eyes on Toki.
Toki felt a contraction in his stomach as their eyes met. No, not this. Anything but this. It was a feeling he had known since early childhood and ardently repressed. His father had told him it was the vilest of sins, to lust after other men, and though it was quietly permitted at Versailles, he told himself it wasn't for him. The desire seemed to fade over the years, and he had been satisfied that he had recovered from a passing fancy. He liked women, women like the lovely Yolande, kind and small and tender. But the stranger, so much the opposite, with his intimidating height and cold beauty, sent a strange shiver through his body.
"What ams you doing?" asked the stranger fiercely. Only now he wasn't a stranger- that accent, so like his own- he had to be from the north, he could only be-
"Skwisgaar," said Toki, his eyes opening wide. He dropped a wrench, and Ballenger crouched to pick it up.
"Baron Skwigelf," spat the man. He walked towards him, and Toki involuntarily shrank back. "Must I repeats myself? What ams you doing in my concerts halls?"
Toki could not believe the incredible rudeness of this man, and yet he was still intimidated by him. He caught the glint of gold under the man's powdered hair and the delicate lines of lips as he spoke. His feelings vascillated between fascination and fury, and he forced the latter to win out.
"I ams making the repairs!" shouted Toki, holding back his shoulders to appear taller. He felt goosebumps rise up his arms as the man neared him, closer and closer until their faces were inches from one another. Toki's breath was held, and his stomach muscles were clenched, but he felt the man's warm breath on his face.
Then Baron Skwigelf spun away from him. His movements seemed to range between slow and steady, and rapid. The Swede crouched down behind the amp and studied the cables carefully. His face darkened and he rose his feet.
"What the fucks you thinks you doing?" he yelled, staring Toki in the face. "You ruins the amp! Idiot! " He lifted his hand as though he meant to strike him. Toki did not have the presence of mind to move, and the hand lingered for a second, two seconds. Then the Baron's expression softened, changing to something bordering on pity, and he dropped his arm.
"You seems young," he said in a low voice, turning away. "I won't tells your masters, but never touch an amp agains."
His master! So Skwigelf took him for a servant! He looked down over his crumbled clothes, and grit his teeth. No wonder! What a fool he was to wander Versailles like this at all.
"It ams good that you ams a noble now! For I will fights you!" he shouted, his face going red.
Skwigelf threw back his head and laughed. "You haves the spirit, I gives you that." He touched Toki's cheek lightly, and gave him a mocking smile.
Toki shuddered at the touch, and pushed Skwigelf's arm away. "I ams Baron Wartooth," he said, baring his teeth. "And you wills pay for this insult!"
The Swedes's face paled, and looked at him in horror. Toki almost pitied him, but he gloried in his rival's discomfiture. It helped him to rise above his initial reaction, that ill-suited fascination.
They faced each other, trembling, neither knowing what to say. It was too late for apologies- what Skwigelf had done, whether knowingly or not, was an unacceptable insult at Versailles, and Toki would be forced to fight him to preserve his honor.
"Are you prepared to fights me in the morning?" asked the Count.
"Naturallys," said the Baron, studying his nails. With his reputation as a lothario, he had been challenged to countless duels and had managed to wriggle out alive. But these had all been over ladies- it would a pity to fight such a charming, but woefully inept young man.
Toki watched the man and his nonchalant expression with mounting rage. He had never fought in a duel: no man had ever had a quarrel with him. But he knew how to hold his rapier and knew he would take great pleasure in piercing this man through the heart.
"You didn't!" said Yolande, when she heard the news. Her face had gone white.
"I did," said Toki forcefully. "He tooks me for a servants and raises his hand to me."
"Well…" said Yolande carefully. "What were you wearing?"
Toki frowned. "I wasn't wearing my bests clothes, but what matter is that?"
Yolande doubled over in laughter, and Toki's face reddened. "My dear Count, it was a simple mistake. This is nothing to duel over him. We'll see that you make it up with him."
Toki gritted his teeth. Yolande was a year or two older than him, but it disturbed him how much she treated him like a boy. He was a man, and wouldn't be laughed at, and he certainly wouldn't suffer being insulted by his rival.
"I think you fails to see the arrogance of his manners toward me," he said, grimacing.
Yolande lifted up her head, prepared to laugh once again, but when she noticed his stony expression she coughed lightly, and suppressed her smile. She would have to try another tactic. Sighing gently, she reached out her hand toward his. It was so warm, and he felt a strong temptation to pull it to his lips and kiss it.
"Must I fear for your life over a single mishap?" she asked, her eyes growing misty.
He trembled slightly. She had never shown such concern over his welfare. But he knew these court ladies, and he secretly suspected that she would never respect him if he allowed himself to be coddled.
"My dear lady," he said, pulling his hand away and turning from her. "I ams not at ease with such a stains on my honors." It occurred to him that he was rather enjoying this play- his own speeches, Yolande's concern, and the potential of triumphing over this rival of his.
Then his mind wandered against his will to the Swede with his inherent grace, his lithe body, those haughty, sensuous lips. He imagined that velvet waistcoat stained with blood, and his heart stopped for a moment. This was no play, and the outcome would be death for one of them. And to destroy such beauty in its prime- the artist in Count Wartooth struggled with the thought, before his rational self banished it.
He stared in Yolande's deep, pleading brown eyes, before he turned away from her. It seemed that everything and everyone was in league against him. But he was familiar the trickery of the court: it was enough to drive one mad. They would plead for mercy one moment, then to call the merciful one a coward the next.
"I will fights him- I don't cares! I must!" he cried.