The Grand Design by John Marco Read Free Book Online Page B

into the steam house. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of a brazier used to heat the rocks. In the corner of the room, stretched out like a lounging cat, sat Count Renato Biagio, naked save for a modest towel draped over his groin. Sweat glistened on his golden skin, and his amber hair hung long and wet around his shoulders. His impossibly blue eyes snapped open when he heard Simon enter, and a welcoming smile played across his beautiful face.
    “Hello, my friend,” said Biagio. The voice was alien, inhuman, with the timbre of an expensive instrument. Simon heard it over the hiss of steam, a hypnotic melody bidding him forward. Even after all these years, that voice sometimes made him tremble.
    “Good morning, Master,” replied Simon. “Am I disturbing you?”
    “You never disturb me, Simon,” said Biagio. “Come in. Let me see you.”
    “I’m sorry, Master. I’m filthy. I’ll come back when I have dressed for you.”
    Biagio seemed to love this. “Let me see you,” he said again. “Open the door.”
    Reluctantly, Simon opened the door and stepped into the heated chamber. All at once the steam engulfed him. Biagio’s blue eyes widened.
    “Indeed! You’ve gotten too close to the Mind Bender, I see. You look hideous, Simon.”
    “Forgive me, Master. I was anxious to give you news. I will return shortly.”
    He turned to go, but Biagio stopped him.
    “Nonsense,” said the count. “This is a bath, after all. Strip off those things and join me.” He patted the place on the bench beside him. “Here.”
    Simon stifled a curse. He could already feel Biagio’shungry eyes tracing him. “I couldn’t, my lord. I would only offend you.”
    “Stop playing the tart, Simon,” said the count. “I insist you join me. Now undress. There’s a towel behind you.”
    There was indeed another towel. Simon removed his clothes and lunged for the scrap of cloth, wrapping it tightly around his waist. The steam was unbearable. Simon felt its heat bite into his skin. He watched as Biagio lifted the dipper from the bowl and poured more liquid over the burning rocks. A plume of watery smoke gushed from the stones. Biagio sighed and closed his eyes, drawing in a breath. Like all of Arkus’ former associates, the count had a disdain for cold. It was an odd side-effect of the drug they used to sustain themselves. Even in the longest days of summer, Biagio’s skin was winter cold. The same alchemy that had turned his eyes blue had converted his blood to ice water. It had also made him immortal, or very near. Simon supposed the count was at least fifty, but he looked no more than half that age. Here in the baths, with his body fully exposed, Biagio seemed a mythical creature. He was not a big man, but his muscles were hard and corded and flexed fluidly beneath his skin. The count was proud of his body and liked to show it off, especially to Simon.
    Simon sat down beside his master, the hot wood of the bench scalding his backside. He shifted his towel so that Biagio would see as little of him as possible. Biagio opened a single eye and smiled at him, slipping a frigid hand over Simon’s.
    “I’m glad you’re home, my friend,” said the count. “I’ve missed you.”
    “It is good to be back,” replied Simon. Already the heat was working on him, making his eyelids droop. “Crote was never such a beautiful sight. When we saw it from the ship I thought I’d weep. You know how little I like the water.”
    “And Lucel-Lor? How was that foul place?”
    “Distant,” joked Simon. “And different. They are a strange breed, Master. You should have seen the one I brought back for Savros. His skin was like milk. His hair, too. They are more than just fair. They are … freakish.”
    “He is dead now, the one you captured?”
    Simon nodded. “I killed him myself. Savros has a disgusting way about him. I couldn’t watch him any longer. But the Triin had given up all he had. I made sure of that before I killed