Strongman by Denise Rossetti Page B

side of the track and thrown up his supper.
    His father had scoffed and called him a girl, but the satisfied gleam in his eye told Fort he was well pleased with the effect of the lesson.
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    Denise Rossetti
    “Sir?” he’d asked, his voice reedy with the effort of control. “What did they do?
    What’s s-sodomy?”
    Sobriety had tilted the jug he carried to his lips and sent Fort a narrow-eyed glance.
    “Unnatural,” he grunted. “A Crookedness.”
    “But what—?”
    His father cuffed him around the ear with casual brutality. “Filthy.” Another slap.
    “Degenerate.” Fort swayed back, riding the next blow, knowing from experience that dodging would only enrage the man. Sobriety’s voice rose. “I’d kill you with my own hands, boy!” A big hand clamped on his shoulder and shook him ‘til his teeth rattled.
    “Understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    In the end, one of his cousins had told him, as crudely as possible. Living and working on a farm, Fort knew all about mating, but this—! He hadn’t been sure he believed it at first, but those men had done something . Not even the Ecclesiastical Court meted out such extreme punishments on a whim.
    * * * * *
    “Fort?” Powerful fingers gripped his knee. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    With a shudder, he opened his eyes. Pale bars of early morning sunlight streamed into Griff’s wagon, striping the floor like a cheerful mat. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring sightlessly at the door, while Griff kneeled on the floor, peering up into his face with knitted brows.
    “Where did you go?” asked the tumbler.
    Fort simply shook his head.
    “It wasn’t good, was it?”
    The sweat chilled between his shoulder blades. “No.” Brushing Griff aside, he rose and grabbed his trews. “Have to go.”
    “Not yet.” Griff uncoiled in a single, graceful move. “I’ll put the water on for roberry.” He grinned, completely comfortable in his skin. “And we can wash. I’m all sticky.”
    Speech was beyond him. Fort’s belly roiled as he bent to tug on his boots. That accomplished, he pushed past the other man, his head down. If he didn’t get out of there in the next five seconds, he was going to vomit. Griff was still speaking, but his words were no more than a distant buzz in the background.
    Fort reeled out into the cool, bright quiet of the fairground at dawn. Moving at an awkward jog-trot, he lurched toward the sanctuary of his own small wagon, his long legs rapidly taking him out of earshot of Griff’s voice, first puzzled, then angry. By the time he stumbled in the door, his racing heart had slowed. He braced his hands against the wall next to the worship niche and sucked in deep breaths. Thank Lufra, he hadn’t been seen, he was almost sure of it.
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    Strongman
    He couldn’t seem to process a coherent thought. Numbly, he wet a cloth in the water bucket and pressed it to his face. Then he dropped his trews and wiped his chest and belly, around his genitals. Clean clothes, a mug of roberry and he was ready to face the Ten Nations Fair.
    Except that everything in him flinched at the thought.
    For that very reason, Fort set his jaw and forced himself out the door and over to the menagerie. Tonight , he thought grimly. Tonight I ’ m going to Valaressa to get laid . And drunk . And if there was a brawl—he bared his teeth—so much the better.
    The day was interminable, wretched. Leo’s cheerful chatter drove him insane, so he was even more brusque than usual. The hurt and resentment in the man’s face gave him fierce satisfaction, though he knew it was petty. Several times, he glimpsed Griff’s straight back, disappearing into the Big Top, or passing Magrit’s noodle stall. Each time, the sweat popped on his forehead, his heart skipped a beat and he castigated himself for a coward.
    Late in the afternoon, he came around the side of the tavern tent and nearly walked straight into a knot of men, Griff among them. Shit!
    “Hey, Fort!” said