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Market-Day

by

Onyx Tao

[© 2007 by Onyx Tao](%5C)

[Some rights are available to this story. This story is licensed with the Creative Commons](%5C)

[Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 License](%5C)

_ Author's Note: This is a rewrite / second version of a previous story,To Market to Market. This story proceeds from the view of the fox Bosc, whereas the previous one is told from dog-Colonel Erik's point of view._

Bosc stared out into the marketplace of Greenthorpe; he had high hopes for the day. The little fox peered eagerly through the wide gaps of the bars; and wished desperately for a curry-comb. Or just a comb. A_brush_, oh, yes, felines, even just a_brush._He'd made do, overnight, trying to make his coat look just a little more respectable. He had - and Bosc knew it - a_beautiful_coat. Pristine white on the belly and an intense fox-red across his back, just the right hint of black around around the ears, and the pelt itself was long, silky, lustrous - just the kind of coat that made one want to run paws through it. He was a beautiful little fox. He was! He_knew_he was. Even if, after four days in a cage in Greenthorpe's dog-market, he didn't look it anymore. His coat, his beautiful, lustrous coat, was uncombed, tangled, and worse, it was_dirty._It was, he thought sorrowfully, a high-maintenance kind of beautiful coat, and without the maintenance, it didn't_look_beautiful. And worse in a little backwater town dog-market in South Carolina, first impressions meant a lot. He'd been here for three days, and ... they weren't feeding him. Just in case he hadn't sold by the end of the fourth day. Being ravenously hungry didn't help make that all-vital first impression on somebody who needed a fox.

Especially an_old_fox. Bosc had turned fifteen two months ago - and his then-owner, Puma Athriala Medina y Venni, had treated him to a party. Well. Or maybe it had been an excuse for Puma Athriala to have her little circles of friends over for a lovely dinner ... but he'd gotten to sit at the table, since it was nominally in his honor. And he'd gotten a lovely filet mignon with bacon and_two_glasses of the best wine and _three_slices - small slices, but still - _three_slices of cake. Far better than the typical fare slaves got. Well. That wasn't fair. Puma Athriala had trusted him, Bosc, to run her little house, and she'd ordered him to make sure the canines and vulpines got decent food. And it_was_good food. It just ... wasn't filet mignon with bacon and wine and cake. Bosc sighed. Somehow, the longer he went without breakfast - even the foul dog-chow dished out to the other temporary inhabitants of Greenthorpe's dog-market - the better that meal seemed in his memory.

Bosc pulled his paws through his coat again, and used a little water from his drinking bowl to neaten himself. He didn't have a mirror, and he was dolefully certain that he wasn't very neat. His owner would turn in her grave to think of_her_butler looking like ... like ... Well. Like a disheveled caged fox in a dog-market. The market was open, he saw a few felines walking about - but none he recognized.

He'd hoped, when his Mistress had passed away so quickly, that one of her friends would buy him. They'd always admired her house, and how neat it was, and how charming it was, and how lovely the food was, and how_clever_she was. The Puma had just smiled, said that she was working on her translations, and that Bosc really ran the house. And he'd_thought_they'd believed her. Maybe they had. Maybe they thought someone else had bought him. Maybe they thought he'd passed on to one of the Puma's children, and been sent south. Maybe, maybe, maybe ... maybe, he'd thought, he'd see_someone_he recognized, someone who'd understand what a good purchase he was.

He hadn't, and then he hadn't yesterday, either, and now, it was mid-morning and shoppers were starting to wander around the market, looking at the dogs and foxes, and ... taking some of them home. Maybe, Bosc thought, just maybe, maybe, maybe,him._Maybe. Oh, _please ...

"Cheetah, Sir," he said, calling out to a dawdling shopper. "Sir! I ..." Bosc fell silent as the cheetah turned away. "I'm a bargain, Sir! Please, Sir ..."

A bargain. A fifteen-year-old fox. Some bargain. Oh, yes, Bosc thought. Not just an old fox, a_crippled_old fox. A bargain. But ... but _somebody_had to need, not a fresh foxy fucktoy, but ... but an experienced competent body servant. Only ... only he didn't_look_like a competent fox, not like this.

Bosc struggled out of the black despair, and began scanning the market anew. He'd talked to_her_yesterday; she wanted a matched set of dogs as footmen - he'd talked her into looking at the carrythane, in the off hope she might want a fox - a cheap, clever, knowledgeable fox - to look after the brainless russet canines. Apparently she hadn't.

Bosc paused. He'd seen that cachalox soldier walking around, scanning the cages, and ... why was a dog-soldier ...Gold!_That was _gold_on his epaulets! A dog-Captain, or dog-Major! In Greenthorpe! And ... and a dog-officer could_own foxes._Bosc paused for a moment, wondering if he really _wanted_to be owned by a dog-soldier. One heard stories about military canines. Very_alpha-dog. Still.

Better than being skinned for not selling, Bosc decided. "Dog-Sir! Dog-Sir!" he called. "Please, Dog-Sir! I know you're looking for something, Dog-sir!" Bosc did his best to look_humble_. Not_pitiful_, that was for older feline queens, who might just take on a_pitiful_little fox. Humble._A devoted and loyal - dogs valued loyalty, he'd found - slave, just looking for an owner he could_serve. Dogs liked the whole_alpha-canine_role, too, he'd found. "You must be, Dog-sir, to go up and down the stalls. Please, Dog-sir, please look here! That's all I ask! Just ... consider me, Dog-sir, maybe I'm wrong, Dog-sir, but please, just look!"

The dog-officer strode over quickly, and glanced into the cage. His face twitched as he saw Bosc's untidy state. "I don't think an old fox is what I'm looking for," he said, readying himself to turn away. Bosc groaned to himself.Old fox. Those words hurt.

The glitter on his epaulets were gold acanthus leaves - not the bars of captain, or even the double-bars of a major. This was a dog-colonel. And ... a handsome dog, too. Not quite the coloration a cachalox should have - a little light, not enough black around the face, but still, Bosc thought, handsome. And a dog-colonel, too. Bosc hadn't even realized there was a dog-colonel in a hundred miles of Greenthorpe. What would bring a dog-colonel, for goodness sakes, to a dog-market in rural South Carolina? Maybe ... maybe ... he had to be_busy_. Lots of things to do. Important, dog-colonel things. Yes. Bosc smiled nervously."_No, dog-sir, I know, dog-sir," he said quickly, "everyone wants young foxes, ready to train, dog-sir, but, I see you're an officer, dog-sir, and, do you really have time to train a fox-slave? When you could have one who's already trained, dog-sir? And I know I look awful, not presentable, no, dog-sir, but ten minutes, dog-sir, just ten minutes with a brush and comb, dog-sir, and I'd look so much better!" Bosc closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them. "Please dog-sir, oh please, wouldn't you rather have a fox who's ready for you, rather than one you have open up? Part of my duties for my last mistress, dog-sir, were keeping her two torkower satisfied. Oh please, surely even a big cachalox like yourself, dog-sir, can't be_too much bigger than a torkower!" Bosc looked up at the dog-officer with big eyes. He wasn't_that_old, and a little flattery never hurt. Someday he'd meet a male dog that wasn't sensitive to the size of his maleness, maybe, but ...

"I suppose not," the dog-Colonel said, his face twitching a little in what Bosc_hoped_ was amusement. "I'm not shopping for a personal slave, though."

No flattery, Bosc decided. Assume he's much smarter than an average dog. Well. Of course he would be, Bosc thought quickly. He's managed to be a_dog-colonel_for goodness sake! No flattery, then ... a practical approach. Practical. Yes. Not shopping for a personal slave ... "Do you have one?" Bosc inquired, and paused. "Are you satisfied with him? With her? Dog-sir? Are your appointments kept? Your laundry cleaned? When you come from your headquarters late to your quarters late, Dog-sir, because you've been working, is there a hot meal for you?" The little fox stared hopefully up into the eyes of the dog-Colonel. If there was an expression there, well,Bosc_couldn't read it. Food? Try food! "Breakfast when you wake? Eggs? Omelets? Well, I actually make pretty lousy omelettes,"- humility,_ Bosc thought, humility_-_ "Dog-sir, but ... I can make any other kinds of eggs! Pancakes? Waffles? Home-made preserves with your waffles, Dog-sir, or freshly whipped cream?"

"No," admitted the dog-colonel in an abstracted tone, "but ..."

Yes! Good! Excellent! Work to be done! Half the battle! Only he didn't want to suggest that the colonel's current slave was bad, no, that would just make him defensive. And ... even being a second slave would be better than being skinned, oh yes! "Dog-sir," Bosc said quickly, "I know, your fox is just too busy for that, Dog-sir, I don't mean to suggest otherwise, Dog-sir, but maybe ... maybe your fox is overworked? Maybe she needs to be up cooking, and in bed at the same time? He needs to be with you, and still cleaning your quarters? He needs to run errands, but have your sheets and linens ironed?"

"I don't have a fox," the dog-colonel said, in a tone that made it pretty clear he didn't_want_one.

"Oh," said Bosc. Didn't_have_one. "Dog-sir, maybe ... maybe you need one?" Bosc paused to watch the cachalox considering his words. "I know I'm just an old crippled fox," -yes, better to mention all the problems now and up front- "Dog-sir, but ... if you spend any time, any time at all, on those chores, time that you'd rather have to attend to your duties Dog-sir, or maybe just grab a few hours of swordwork or sleep, then, maybe you need a fox who can do all those things for you quietly and calmly and bring more order to your life."There, Bosc thought._I can't put it better than that._Bosc looked up at the dog-Colonel, trying to find some spark of interest, and ... and ...

Nothing. Bosc sighed, and slumped back down onto the cage floor. "Well, thank you, Dog-sir, for listening to me." Might as well be polite. "Please, Dog-sir, if you come across anyone who might need a house-slave, please let them know I'm here, Dog-sir. I can do anything in a house, Dog-sir, from scrubbing floors to planning banquets."As if that would be helpful to a soldier._Bosc felt so ... so ... _useless. Maybe he wouldn't have sold in Charlotte. Maybe he was useless.

"Planning banquets?" the dog-colonel inquired. Well, at least he was being polite, too.

Bosc shrugged. "My mistress gave house-parties for eleven guests. Formal dinners for twelve, Dog-sir. I hired a chef and a couple of kitchen-assistants, and the torkower and I served." Bosk cocked his head, remembering "It was fun, actually. Took us days to clean up, though." He looked up at the dog-Colonel. Why would he ask ... could he... "Is that of interest, Dog-sir? I wouldn't think an officer would need a butler ..."

"If you were such a success as a butler, why did she sell you?"

The little fox sighed. "She died, dog-sir, very young, not fifty, and her children are all in South America. Moved there. I was remanded to the county for sale. But, Dog-sir, I'm not a young fox, I'm not_old_ Dog-sir, no, I'm just fifteen, but ... but I'm not a fresh young fox of seven right of the pens. There isn't much market for old foxes, and ... I've already been here for three market days, and I only get four, Dog-sir."

After that, of course, he'd be put down. Skinned. He repressed a shudder, and resolutely, he decided to try again."So, Dog-sir. I can see I've made a mistake," the fox said softly. "What are you looking for, Dog-sir? What do you need?"

The dog-Colonel looked right at the fox, a forthright approving stare that made Bosc feel hopeful. "You're determined, aren't you, fox?"

Determined. Yes. Bosc nodded. "Yes, Dog-sir, I am. Are you looking for that, Dog-sir?"

"Actually - yes," the dog-Colonel said. "I am. And I could use someone who knows about tablecloths, and laundry, and home-made preserves, and everything else about running a house."

It sounded too good to be true, and Bosc just stared for a moment. He needed ... he needed a butler. "Oh Dog-sir, I do, I do. I can do that in my sleep. Oh, please, Dog-sir, please let me do that for you, please, Dog-sir, oh, please! I can garden, Dog-sir, if you have a little land, kitchen herbs, roses, oh Dog-sir, I can run a house with my eyes closed, with one paw tied behind my back, ..." Bosc paused suddenly. There was that other thing ...

"Well, Dog-sir, I mentioned I was a cripple, didn't I?"

The dog-colonel nodded.

_Now or never._Bosc took a deep breath, and said, "I'm lame in my left leg, Dog-sir, hamstrung." Hamstringing was a penalty for runaways, although it was more common for them just to be put down.

"Not a punishment, Dog-sir," he sighed, willing the tall cachalox soldier to understand him, and the truth about that incident, so long ago. "An accident, a jaguar kit, learning to stalk and who didn't keep his claws sheathed, all excited about hunting, Dog-sir. But ... everyone thinks it's because I was a runaway. I'm not, Dog-sir, I know there's nowhere to go, Dog-sir, not for a fox."

Bosc would have paid his life savings - if he'd had any - to know just what thought crossed the canine's mind as he said that. The faraway look as the eyes tightened just a bit ... had someone escaped who he'd know? Had he had to hunt a friend or lover down? Still ... Bosc decided to pretend he hadn't noticed.

"The scar is ragged, Dog-sir, you can see it was done with a claw, and not a sharp knife," he continued, "not the way a runaway would be cut, and I'm not gelded, Dog-sir, like a runaway fox would be, either, Dog-sir. It was just an accident. But ... it does mean I'm not very fast, Dog-sir."

"Right," the officer said, with something like amusement. "Well ... I'm not really worried about a lame fox running away on me, so ... accident or not, it doesn't matter."

Bosc thought his heart was going to explode. "Thank you, Dog-sir. Are ... are you going to buy me, Dog-sir? I'd be ever so grateful, Dog-sir, really I would." Should he? Bosc continued hesitantly. "I'm not very expensive, just ... just the price of the pelt, really, Dog-sir. And maybe ... maybe something to eat, Dog-sir? I ... I haven't eaten today."

"What," said the dog-colonel said in a joking tone. "Yesterday is too far away for you?"

Bosc smiled nervously. "No, Dog-sir, but ... I didn't eat yesterday."And tomorrow is my last chance.

"You've gone two days without food?"

"Three, Dog-sir," he said, very quietly. "Tomorrow will be four."No. Leave it there. He knows what happens to a fox that doesn't sell.

The dog-colonel glanced up at the cage. Looking for the price, perhaps?

"Discipline problems?" the cachalox asked, looking back down at him.

Discipline? Bosc was confused for a moment, until he realized it must refer to his lameness. "The scar, Dog-sir," he said perking up a bit. "I can show you, Dog-sir, see ..." Bosc turned around, reached down to his leg, and parted the fur to show a fairly clean - but slanted - scar. That also showed off his lovely little behind and tail, but ... Bosc decided not to lift his tail.Subtle. Subtle. "It's not what a knife would do, Dog-sir, it isn't," the fox said, trying to talk over his shoulder.

"I see the scar," the dog-colonel said, in a noncommittal way. "You can turn around now."

"Thank you Dog-sir," Bosc said. "Are ..." he stopped. "I'm sorry, Dog-sir. I already asked." He paused.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Bosc shook his head. "No Dog-sir, I can't think of anything."

The canine just nodded, and walked off.

_Wait!_Bosc howled silently._Don't go ..._the fox sighed, and lay back down on the floor. So close! So close!

_Try again._Bosc called out to one or two others, but he couldn't arouse any interest. And ... his imagination kept going back to the tall, very_alpha_canine. No. He'd lost his chance. Bosc very carefully put the tall dog out his mind, and concentrated on trying to see who might be shopping for a slightly-used fox. Bosc was actually concentrating on an elderly cheetah when the dog-colonel tapped on the cage.

"Dog-sir! Did you have more questions, Dog-sir?" Bosc asked hopefully - and then bit down on his tongue.That wasn't the way to do it.

"No," the dog-colonel said. "I didn't." He unlocked the cage, handed the muzzle and leash to a stunned and silent Bosc, and waited. "Put them on," he said, after a moment. "It's a requirement of the market that ..."

"You bought me," whispered Bosc, almost prayerfully. "Thank you, Master, thank you" and his nimble fox-fingers were already at work untangling the muzzle - it took him barely five seconds before he had the hardware ready, and it was on him and fastened in under a minute. He snapped the leash onto the muzzle's collar, and then almost shyly offered it up to the cachalox.

The dog-colonel walked back through the market, traded the key for the exit paperwork, and headed on out of the market. He stopped for a bowl of soup, and handed it Bosc. The fox looked at it longingly, but simply held it.

"That's for you," the dog-colonel said. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh," said Bosc, and then, "You've never had a fox before, have you, Master?"

"No," the canine said slowly. "Why?"

"Because ..." Bosc started, and the fox paused, thinking. How... "Master, there are strict rules in the militia, aren't there? About how beds are made, how you address superior officers, how things are supposed to happen, all very formal, yes?"

"There are," the dog said. "Very strict."

"And you'd feel ... just wrong, about doing them some other way, wouldn't you, Master?" Bosc looked up at the cachalox, a bit worried. "It might not be bad to do them differently, but ... it just isn't the way it's done. Wouldn't you?"

"Probably," came the admission.

"There are similar rules for house-slaves, and personal slaves, Master," said Bosc quietly. "Am I to be a house-slave, or personal slave?"

"I'm not sure I even know the difference," admitted the dog-colonel. Bosc thought that was so ... Well. Cute. "I've never really thought about it before."

I think I might like this one,_Bosc thought. "As a personal slave, Master, I am responsible to and for you. I eat off your plate when you're done, I sleep in your rooms, and my highest priority is you. I might have other duties, Master, but ... my Master is my first concern, always." Bosc looked down at the soup. It smelled so good ... but Bosc had a point to make. Bosc_had to show his Master that he wasn't a fox driven by immediate needs, that he was trustworthy. That he could be trusted. "A house-slave is responsible for the house, and assigned duties by whoever is running the house - a butler, like I was, or a steward, or maybe even a feline. A house-slave might be_assigned_ to look after someone, but they might be reassigned to some other duty, as well.

"Master, I would like to be yours, your personal slave," Bosc said, softly. "I don't wish to be forward, or ungrateful - I'm not, Master, I can't tell you how grateful I am, and ... and the easiest way to be grateful would be to be your personal slave. I've never been a personal slave, just a house-slave, Master, but ... but I would like to be yours.

"But that means, Master, it would be wrong, very wrong, for me to eat before you." He offered the soup back to Erik.

"Even if you're hungry, and I'm not?"

"Yes, Master." said Bosc positively. "Very wrong."

"But it wouldn't be wrong for a house-slave?"

Bosc shook his head. "No, Master, it wouldn't. But ... Master, you've never had a personal slave."

"No," the dog said, almost nervously.

Cute. So damn cute. I_am _going to like this one. "Try me," Bosc said, smiling. "Please Master, just ... for a week. Give me a week, Master, to earn a place with you, Master, just seven days, that's all. You won't regret it, Master, you won't."

The dog sighed, took a sip of the hot soup, and then set it down. "There. Now, can you eat?"

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master," said Bosc, and took the soup. He drank it - not too quickly, but without any hesitation, either.

The little fox yawned. It was hard not to be sleepy, not after the hot soup, but he needed to know_something_ about his new owner. _"_Where are we going, Master?"

"Zergu House."

Somehow, Bosc managed to control the shriek of terror, and replace it, somehow, with "But ... isn't that Great Lion Mazka's estate?" The fox heard the quaver in his voice, and somehow the next sentence slipped out. "My Mistress, that is, my_old_Mistress, begging my Master's pardon, didn't approve of him." Bosc clenched his jaws shut, hoping that his new owner would_not_notice the implicit criticism of a Lion, and cursing himself for his own pure stupidity. If_half_the things he'd heard about Lion Mazka were true - and from his Mistress's silences, he was sure he hadn't heard half the things that were true, then ... then ...

The next words from his new Master dispelled that fear. "Lion Mazka has moved elsewhere," said Erik, "and his household no longer resides at Zergu," and Bosc relaxed, as the dog continued with "Governor Jolnir has plans for it."

The fox felt his stomach heave.Governor Jolnir was the ruler of South Carolina, one of the Great Lords of the Confederacy. A_Lion_. And not just_a_ Lion, but one of the Great Clan. The only reason Mazka had been tolerated was because he'd been related - somehow - to the Governor._"_Great Lion Jolnir ..." said Bosc, feeling like he'd just been dropped into a sea that just kept getting wider and wider. "You ... you belong to Great Lion Jolnir?"

"Yes."

"So I ... I now belong to Great Lion Jolnir." Bosc swallowed nervously, and_terror_came rushing back up, and before he could clamp down on it again, he heard himself babbling, "He's not .. not there, is he?_" No no no no, shut up, shut up, shut up,_Bosc screamed to himself, but the words just kept spurting out. "I ... I don't know if I could face a Great Lion, not ... not today, Master, ... but, if he's there, I ... I'll do it, Master." Somehow Bosc managed to quell both his panic and his tongue. "I'm sorry Master. I can do whatever you require, of course. I just ... it's just that I was a little surprised." Bosc managed to keep the grimace from his muzzle. "Master."

"Governor Jolnir isn't there right now, although I expect he'll visit. One of my tasks is to put the house in order so it can receive him. Lion Mazka did not ... leave much." The handsome cachalox smiled at the little fox. "And honestly, I don't know much about housekeeping."

Ah. I understand."I do," said Bosc, quietly, thinking about all the protocol involved with receiving Lions. There would be more for a Great Clan Patriarch. "Although, for a Great Lion ... I don't ..." and then he looked up at Erik. "I will, Master." Maybe one of his old Mistress's friends would know? Somebody would. "Please you, Master, the house will be perfect." The thought suddenly struck the fox. This dog-Colonel - and he'd need to find out his_name_, drat it all,

"Great Lion Jolnir will find nothing to complain of, Master,nothing. I won't let you down, Master."

"His consort-fifth will be arriving in the next few days, the Lioness Beatrice," the dog-Colonel said. Behind it Bosc heard the problem: the House isn't ready.

"No wonder you were looking for house-slaves," said Bosc, thinking hard. There would be so much to do ... and most of it the cachalox probably didn't even realize had to be done. House slaves, a proper staff ...where had Mazka gone? "_But ... really, Master, you won't find much until ... next Thursday, that's the third Thursday of the month, Master, when the traders come. Well. They get here Wednesday, of course, and set up, so everyone can see the stock, but ... they don't trade until Thursday, and they leave Friday afternoon, but ... that's next week."_Too late.But still, there might be one or two things Bosc could do about that. With money. And serving Great Lion Jolnir - he doubted that_money_would be an issue.

"I didn't know that," said Erik.

Bosc smiled shyly. "You're not a local, Master. Zergu House!"With a Great Lion_and _his consort in partial residence. Oh, wouldn't the local felines go berserk ... in their reserved feline way, of course. But still. The social climbers and old blood would be racing at the kill for this. Opportunity, yes, opportunity for a fox ... and a fox's well-placed, high-ranking Master."This could be a lot of fun, Master. Did Great Lion Mazka take the herds?"

"No. They're still there, and the poultry, but ... not well looked after. I need farmworkers for that, and what I have are soldiers. Soldiers don't really know much about milking cows."

"No," said Bosc. "But you do have money?"

Erik nodded.

"Well, let's go, Master, and see what needs to be seen!" He couldn't help himself, he laughed. An hour ago, he'd been Bosc, pelt-to-be. Now he was Bosc, personal slave to the steward of Great Lion the Governor By the Grace of Fel His Excellence Jolnir. What a change! "There are other places to get dogs, Master, much better places than the slave market, especially if they are going to Zergu House to serve Great Lion the Governor Jolnir!"

"How so," started the dog-Colonel.

"Well, Master," said Bosc, taking it slowly, because it was pretty clear that this military dog didn't have the faintest clue about Society, "the social position of_any_ Lion is tremendous, and there are any number of local felines who would do_anything_ to be invited to Zergu House, Great Lion the Governor Jolnir's house! Selling you farmworkers, or trained domestic staff will allow them to introduce themselves to you - and thus, to His Excellence the Governor." Bosc snorted to himself. "And I know_everyone_ to ask, Master, just see if I don't!"

That night, while Erik dealt with the inevitable paperwork any military edifice generates, Bosc brought him dinner and took the remains away, and the little fox had even turned the bed down for him after laying out his uniform for tomorrow. Bosc nerved himself to ask. He really,really, really wanted his master to be pleased. He'd been hopeful when the cachalox had bought him, but now, after watching him work and the several touching gestures he'd made ... well, he wanted the dog-Colonel to be his alpha. "Master, Sir?"

"Yes, Bosc?"

"Master Sir, where ... where will I be sleeping?"

The cachalox stared down at the little fox. "I didn't get you a room, did I?" Bosc heard reproach in the voice, and cringed. Dog-Colonel Erik hadn't gotten him a room because he, Bosc, had made certain to distract him everytime Erik had started to wander towards that target.

So that he could have_this_ conversation. "Well, Master Sir, I was hoping ... Please, Master, Sir, may I ... may I sleep with you, Sir?" He didn't do it often, because it was a trick that would wear thin if used to excess, but he made his eyes a little bigger, and stared up adoringly at the big dog. Not that he had to work that hard at it; Erik really_was_adorable, and Bosc was quietly realizing, over and over again, just how lucky he was.

"You don't have to," said Erik. "Really, Bosc, I'm delighted with everything you've done so far. You're going to be very helpful in getting Zergu back up as a going concern, I won't look clueless in front of Lioness Beatrice when she arrives, you've more than earned your place as my personal slave. Is that what you were trying to do?"

"Partly, Sir," admitted Bosc. But ... it was more than that. Maybe some honesty? That, too, was a powerful weapon to be used sparingly. "But, Master Sir ... please, I know I'm pushy, my last Mistress beat me from time to time because I was too pushy, Master Sir, and ... I'm sorry, Master Sir, I just want to do my best for you, and Master Sir ... I want to be your personal slave, Master Sir, because I think I can help. I'm sorry, Master. I'll shut up."

"When I want you to shut up, Bosc, I'll let you know," said Erik. "Trust me."

"Yes Sir Master Sir, thank you Master Sir," said Bosc, biting his lip. "But ... unless you don't want me, Master Sir, I'd like to be with you, Master Sir. Please. You rescued me, Master, and ... and you_trusted_me, Master. I would like to be yours, Sir. And ... Master Sir, I think you'd like me." Bosc smiled up at Erik, confidently. "It will help you sleep, Master Sir."

The dog-Colonel just shook his head, smiled, and nodded.