One minor quibble: the wife of an earl is a countess, but as it is your fantasy, you have the right to call her what you wish.
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Jack Mills and the Tomb of Baldur Bjornson (M+/M+) [conclusion posted 4-11-21]
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KidnappedCowboy
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Great update. So much to chew on, [mention]wataru14[/mention]
One minor quibble: the wife of an earl is a countess, but as it is your fantasy, you have the right to call her what you wish.
One minor quibble: the wife of an earl is a countess, but as it is your fantasy, you have the right to call her what you wish.
The twists and turns keep coming! I love it! The flashback/historical side of the story was amazing to read! and Like [mention]Volobond[/mention] I'm stuck speculating more of this mystery! How do the pieces connect, and what wonderful bondage awaits our heroes?!?!
Part 11: A Shocking Revelation
When the plane touched down and the crates were unloaded and opened, I expected something different. A freight hangar? A derelict warehouse, perhaps? What I saw as I was lifted out of the crate was pink shag carpet and a retro-1970's sitting room. Expensive furniture, pop art paintings and sculptures, the works. Everything was polished clean and geometric. Queer Eye was seated in a wicker Morticia Addams chair, smoking a hookah and drinking tea served to him in a porcelain cup by a young man in a silver lamé speedo. I blinked with surprise when I saw his face. It was Zack!
“Good morning!” Queer Eye said with a happy glint in his eye. “Welcome, welcome! I hope the décor isn’t too Ikea-gauche but we are in the land of Abba, after all!”
“That’s Sweden, sir,” Zack said. “This is Norway.”
“What?” Queer Eye said, puzzled. “Whatever. Close enough. Listen, Elton, I keep you around for your looks. If I wanted to be corrected I’d have stayed in Catholic School. Now just shut up and look pretty.”
“Yes, sir,” Zack said.
I saw Jack being lifted from his crate nearby by two other henchmen in red-and-purple form-fitting spandex bodysuits. One of them was Anthony. “Freddie! NPH! bring Professor Mills over here and make him kiss my feet.” Anthony nodded hazily and he and his cohort dragged the struggling Jack over to Queer Eye and forced him face-down on the floor. They didn’t remove his gag, but rubbed his face against Queer Eye’s fuzzy bunny slippers. “Now, Truman and Liberace, bring the lovely Sean over here and give him a comfy seat. And remove that horrible gag. I want to have a chat with the boy.”
I was gently carried over to a white rotating chair shaped like a sphere with a cushioned cut-out for me to sit in. I was not untaped, but the gag was removed. Zack crawled over and gave me some tea and pastries.
“Zack! Are you and your dad OK?” I asked. “What are you doing here? Talk to me, dude!”
“Zack isn’t here,” Queer Eye said, blowing smoke rings. “He goes by ‘Elton’ now. I took quite a liking to him and his daddy, so I decided to keep them after all. Yeah, I lied. I’m a bad guy. Get used to it. Of course, they fought me at first, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
“So what do you want with us?” I demanded. My arms and legs had gone numb from being taped up so tight for almost a whole day, but still I remained defiant.
“Well, firstly, I want Jack to experience some abject debasement,” he said. “He’s been a sesame seed in my bridgework for years and I want to pay him back for preventing me from collecting the chariot of Alexander the Great. That really burned my britches.” Queer Eye rubbed his feet across Jack’s scowling face. “But enough about him,” he continued. “I want to talk about US.”
“What do you mean ‘US?” I said. “There is no ‘US.’ We’re out to find the Tomb of Baldur Bjornsson and you’re getting in our way.”
“Such gusto!” Queer Eye laughed. “I envy your spirit. Maybe you inherited more than I thought. The tomb is exactly what I’m talking about. I want to find it, too. And not for the reasons you might think. And I believe you are the key to that tomb.”
“Whatever you have planned, I’m not interested,” I said. “Jack and I are going to escape from here, rescue Zack and Anthony, and find the tomb without you.”
“I can see this won’t be an easy negotiation,” Queer Eye said. “It looks like you might need some more persuasion.” He reached down and picked up a small gong and mallet from the floor. He gave it a bang and the door to the room opened. In walked four of the strangest men I have ever seen in my life.
The first was nearly seven feet tall and built like an ox. He wore a Greek skirt and belt and looked like his entire body was made of marble. The second was normal height, but looked like he was made out of some sort of liquid. His… membrane, I guess… gave him a translucent blue tint and I could see bubbles moving around inside. The third was an impeccably dressed dapper middle-aged man, but his left arm ended in a futuristic railgun instead of a hand. The fourth walked in on all fours. He was clad only in a fur loincloth and his finger and toenails were long and sharp. The man with the gun arm was holding the end of a leash connected to a collar around his neck.
“Sean, meet my cadre elite,” Queer Eye said. “Rock Hudson, John Waters, Tim Gunn, and Oscar Wilde. They are here for my protection and to help you make the right decision.” I looked around at the hopelessness of the situation and lowered my head. “Now that you understand the gravity of the situation, let’s talk turkey.”
-----
When Sean agreed to discuss terms with Queer Eye, the villain decided I was too much of a distraction and had some of his henchmen lift me from the floor. He told them to take me away and secure me somewhere out of the way. “Remember, boy,” Queer Eye said to Sean. “I not only have your two new friends under my power, but I possess your mentor as well. My influence can be turned off and they can be returned to their normal states, but that all depends on you. Play your cards wrong and all three of them are my slaves forever.”
I tried to grunt a warning to Sean not to give in to Queer Eye’s demands, but the thick leather gag in my mouth prevented that. Queer Eye chuckled at my protestations and bade his henchmen to drag me away. I would have attempted a telepathic communication, but the device attached to my cock and its relentless vibrations made me unable to concentrate enough to use that power. I had planned to give him a vision while we were in the crates, but I couldn’t focus enough to do it.
I was worried about Sean. He had good instincts, and had taken to the training quickly, but he was green. Inexperienced. I hoped he’d be strong enough to resist Queer Eye’s offers, but all I could do was trust that I’d given him the tools he needed. It was little comfort as I was dragged, kicking and struggling in my leather straighjacket, down the hall to a cold stone cell.
“Jeeze Louise,” one of the henchman said as he fought to keep me under control. “You’d think we were taking this guy to the execution room. The boss just wants him on ice for a little while. Settle down, professor, you’re just making this harder on yourself.” I attempted to headbutt him, but his partner grabbed my hair and pulled me back before I could connect.
“That’s it, NPH,” he said. “I’m sick of this. Time for teach to go nite-nite.” I felt a quick pain in my neck from a needle and then everything went dark.
I awoke in a grey stone room that was blistering cold. The gag and straightjacket were gone, as was all of my clothing. My hands were shackled together and suspended above my head, secured to a metal ring embedded in the wall high up. I was kneeling on a straw mat and my ankles were shackled together and secured to another ring at the base of the wall. The chains on my arms were pulled up to maximum tautness, causing my arms and shoulders to stretch most uncomfortably. But the damned vibrating device was still going. I had shot so many loads over the last few hours I was completely dry, but still it tormented me. It must have been left on to prevent me from using my gifts. That was the only explanation.
I looked around the room. Very Viking dungeon-esque. Queer Eye was nothing if not dramatic and I’m sure this room was built to emphasize the tone of the mission. I used my trained senses to scan for a flaw I could use to escape. A loose stone, a weak screw, anything. But my scan was interrupted when then the cell door opened with a heavy squeak.
Anthony walked in carrying a tray of food and water. He was still in his spandex henchman suit, but had a hooded fur coat over it. I could see his breath in the frigid room. He knelt down beside me and fed me. I wasn’t hungry, but I figured I needed my strength, so I ate what was offered. If Queer Eye wanted to drug or poison me, he'd have done so already.
"The food is safe," Anthony said dreamily. "The master wants you aware so you can experience your utter failure with a clear mind." He looked at me with a distant expression on his face, then blinked a few times and his entire demeanor changed. “You’ve been out for two hours,” Anthony said hurriedly. “Sean is still holding out, but he won’t last long. Queer Eye hasn’t told him the secret yet, but he will. He’s saving it for a trump card.”
“Dammit,” I said. “I was saving that for when I thought he was ready. If he hears it from Queer Eye he won’t trust me anymore.”
“We can’t worry about that now,” Anthony said. “I can only fight off his control for short bursts and this lucid moment won’t last for long.” He leaned in and gave me a deep and powerful kiss. “You’ve got to hurry and get out of here. Leave us behind if you have to. We’ll be fine. You have to get to that tomb before he does.”
“But I need Sean to access the burial chamber,” I said. “He’s the key.”
“Queer Eye will bring him,” Anthony said. “That will give you enough time to set a trap or ambush.” Anthony started to get the dreamy look in his eyes again.
“Good thing your FBI training focused on brainwashing resistance,” I said “but even you have limits. Save your strength for when I need you. And I will need you soon. And trust me, I won’t let anything happen to Zack.”
Anthony nodded and then his eyes glazed over. He looked at me and said “Hope you liked the meal, prisoner. It’s the last you’ll get for a long time. But you’ll get all the meals you want when the master makes you one of us.” Anthony tweaked my exposed nipples, which were rock hard and jutting out from the cold room. I grimaced and grunted, but he just laughed and exited the room, locking the door behind him.
Anthony and I had a long partnership. When my exploits first started drawing the attention of the FBI back in the 00’s, Anthony was a rookie agent assigned to be my liaison. But he was more like my sidekick. We got into more than a few scrapes with bad guys over the years. He was a fresh-faced young father who doted on his baby boy who was eager for adventure and showed great potential. But he was more interested in action than history. Not like Sean, who shared my passion for learning and respect for ages past. When his wife died, we got closer on a personal level, beyond just the professional, and had an on-again/off-again relationship for years. When I settled down to teaching and my “adventuring” career slowed down, he was reassigned to major investigations, but we remained close.
The last call from Anthony that I got was two months ago. He told me he was being assigned to go undercover and investigate a right-wing survivalist compound that was supposedly planning a terrorist attack. Zack had just enlisted in the FBI and was assigned with him on the case as a trainee. He gave me the location of the compound in case he needed my help, but assured me that everything would be fine. When contact ended abruptly, I knew he had been compromised. When Sean and I escaped our original captors, I knew we were close to where Anthony was and I needed to see for myself if he was OK. Good thing my instinct turned out to be right or else he and Zack would still be laboring as slaves to the Sovereign Citizens.
The chains that held me were beginning to chafe my ankles and wrists and the strain from the stretched position was taking its toll. If I didn’t get out quickly, I’d be too weak to attempt an escape later. Looking around and making sure I was completely alone, I coughed up the key that Anthony had hidden in the food he served me. I guess Queer Eye's control wasn't as solid as he thought. Holding it in my mouth, I summoned all the strength I had. I felt my brand burning as I drew power from it. Using the divine-boosted strength, I bent my arms, lifting my body in a pull-up, using the chains and the ring as a fulcrum. It hurt like the blazes, but I managed to pull myself up.
The stress on my arms was agonizing, but I managed to hold on long enough to get the key in the lock and release it. One hand now free, I lowered myself back to the floor and unlocked my ankles. When I could stand, I freed my other hand and cast the shackles aside before removing the damnable vibrating device and smashing it against the stone wall. I looked down at the brand on my chest. It had been slightly fading for some time, but now it was noticeably lighter. I had been using too much power. If I wasn’t careful it would burn out completely soon.
But I didn’t have time to think about that now. I had to find some clothes and a vehicle. If Anthony’s intel was true, there was no time to collect Sean. He and the others would be safe for now. Queer Eye wouldn’t harm them yet. Not until they found the tomb, at least. I unlocked the door with Anthony’s key and crept out into the compound.
Coming Soon: Part 12 – Project Runway
When the plane touched down and the crates were unloaded and opened, I expected something different. A freight hangar? A derelict warehouse, perhaps? What I saw as I was lifted out of the crate was pink shag carpet and a retro-1970's sitting room. Expensive furniture, pop art paintings and sculptures, the works. Everything was polished clean and geometric. Queer Eye was seated in a wicker Morticia Addams chair, smoking a hookah and drinking tea served to him in a porcelain cup by a young man in a silver lamé speedo. I blinked with surprise when I saw his face. It was Zack!
“Good morning!” Queer Eye said with a happy glint in his eye. “Welcome, welcome! I hope the décor isn’t too Ikea-gauche but we are in the land of Abba, after all!”
“That’s Sweden, sir,” Zack said. “This is Norway.”
“What?” Queer Eye said, puzzled. “Whatever. Close enough. Listen, Elton, I keep you around for your looks. If I wanted to be corrected I’d have stayed in Catholic School. Now just shut up and look pretty.”
“Yes, sir,” Zack said.
I saw Jack being lifted from his crate nearby by two other henchmen in red-and-purple form-fitting spandex bodysuits. One of them was Anthony. “Freddie! NPH! bring Professor Mills over here and make him kiss my feet.” Anthony nodded hazily and he and his cohort dragged the struggling Jack over to Queer Eye and forced him face-down on the floor. They didn’t remove his gag, but rubbed his face against Queer Eye’s fuzzy bunny slippers. “Now, Truman and Liberace, bring the lovely Sean over here and give him a comfy seat. And remove that horrible gag. I want to have a chat with the boy.”
I was gently carried over to a white rotating chair shaped like a sphere with a cushioned cut-out for me to sit in. I was not untaped, but the gag was removed. Zack crawled over and gave me some tea and pastries.
“Zack! Are you and your dad OK?” I asked. “What are you doing here? Talk to me, dude!”
“Zack isn’t here,” Queer Eye said, blowing smoke rings. “He goes by ‘Elton’ now. I took quite a liking to him and his daddy, so I decided to keep them after all. Yeah, I lied. I’m a bad guy. Get used to it. Of course, they fought me at first, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
“So what do you want with us?” I demanded. My arms and legs had gone numb from being taped up so tight for almost a whole day, but still I remained defiant.
“Well, firstly, I want Jack to experience some abject debasement,” he said. “He’s been a sesame seed in my bridgework for years and I want to pay him back for preventing me from collecting the chariot of Alexander the Great. That really burned my britches.” Queer Eye rubbed his feet across Jack’s scowling face. “But enough about him,” he continued. “I want to talk about US.”
“What do you mean ‘US?” I said. “There is no ‘US.’ We’re out to find the Tomb of Baldur Bjornsson and you’re getting in our way.”
“Such gusto!” Queer Eye laughed. “I envy your spirit. Maybe you inherited more than I thought. The tomb is exactly what I’m talking about. I want to find it, too. And not for the reasons you might think. And I believe you are the key to that tomb.”
“Whatever you have planned, I’m not interested,” I said. “Jack and I are going to escape from here, rescue Zack and Anthony, and find the tomb without you.”
“I can see this won’t be an easy negotiation,” Queer Eye said. “It looks like you might need some more persuasion.” He reached down and picked up a small gong and mallet from the floor. He gave it a bang and the door to the room opened. In walked four of the strangest men I have ever seen in my life.
The first was nearly seven feet tall and built like an ox. He wore a Greek skirt and belt and looked like his entire body was made of marble. The second was normal height, but looked like he was made out of some sort of liquid. His… membrane, I guess… gave him a translucent blue tint and I could see bubbles moving around inside. The third was an impeccably dressed dapper middle-aged man, but his left arm ended in a futuristic railgun instead of a hand. The fourth walked in on all fours. He was clad only in a fur loincloth and his finger and toenails were long and sharp. The man with the gun arm was holding the end of a leash connected to a collar around his neck.
“Sean, meet my cadre elite,” Queer Eye said. “Rock Hudson, John Waters, Tim Gunn, and Oscar Wilde. They are here for my protection and to help you make the right decision.” I looked around at the hopelessness of the situation and lowered my head. “Now that you understand the gravity of the situation, let’s talk turkey.”
-----
When Sean agreed to discuss terms with Queer Eye, the villain decided I was too much of a distraction and had some of his henchmen lift me from the floor. He told them to take me away and secure me somewhere out of the way. “Remember, boy,” Queer Eye said to Sean. “I not only have your two new friends under my power, but I possess your mentor as well. My influence can be turned off and they can be returned to their normal states, but that all depends on you. Play your cards wrong and all three of them are my slaves forever.”
I tried to grunt a warning to Sean not to give in to Queer Eye’s demands, but the thick leather gag in my mouth prevented that. Queer Eye chuckled at my protestations and bade his henchmen to drag me away. I would have attempted a telepathic communication, but the device attached to my cock and its relentless vibrations made me unable to concentrate enough to use that power. I had planned to give him a vision while we were in the crates, but I couldn’t focus enough to do it.
I was worried about Sean. He had good instincts, and had taken to the training quickly, but he was green. Inexperienced. I hoped he’d be strong enough to resist Queer Eye’s offers, but all I could do was trust that I’d given him the tools he needed. It was little comfort as I was dragged, kicking and struggling in my leather straighjacket, down the hall to a cold stone cell.
“Jeeze Louise,” one of the henchman said as he fought to keep me under control. “You’d think we were taking this guy to the execution room. The boss just wants him on ice for a little while. Settle down, professor, you’re just making this harder on yourself.” I attempted to headbutt him, but his partner grabbed my hair and pulled me back before I could connect.
“That’s it, NPH,” he said. “I’m sick of this. Time for teach to go nite-nite.” I felt a quick pain in my neck from a needle and then everything went dark.
I awoke in a grey stone room that was blistering cold. The gag and straightjacket were gone, as was all of my clothing. My hands were shackled together and suspended above my head, secured to a metal ring embedded in the wall high up. I was kneeling on a straw mat and my ankles were shackled together and secured to another ring at the base of the wall. The chains on my arms were pulled up to maximum tautness, causing my arms and shoulders to stretch most uncomfortably. But the damned vibrating device was still going. I had shot so many loads over the last few hours I was completely dry, but still it tormented me. It must have been left on to prevent me from using my gifts. That was the only explanation.
I looked around the room. Very Viking dungeon-esque. Queer Eye was nothing if not dramatic and I’m sure this room was built to emphasize the tone of the mission. I used my trained senses to scan for a flaw I could use to escape. A loose stone, a weak screw, anything. But my scan was interrupted when then the cell door opened with a heavy squeak.
Anthony walked in carrying a tray of food and water. He was still in his spandex henchman suit, but had a hooded fur coat over it. I could see his breath in the frigid room. He knelt down beside me and fed me. I wasn’t hungry, but I figured I needed my strength, so I ate what was offered. If Queer Eye wanted to drug or poison me, he'd have done so already.
"The food is safe," Anthony said dreamily. "The master wants you aware so you can experience your utter failure with a clear mind." He looked at me with a distant expression on his face, then blinked a few times and his entire demeanor changed. “You’ve been out for two hours,” Anthony said hurriedly. “Sean is still holding out, but he won’t last long. Queer Eye hasn’t told him the secret yet, but he will. He’s saving it for a trump card.”
“Dammit,” I said. “I was saving that for when I thought he was ready. If he hears it from Queer Eye he won’t trust me anymore.”
“We can’t worry about that now,” Anthony said. “I can only fight off his control for short bursts and this lucid moment won’t last for long.” He leaned in and gave me a deep and powerful kiss. “You’ve got to hurry and get out of here. Leave us behind if you have to. We’ll be fine. You have to get to that tomb before he does.”
“But I need Sean to access the burial chamber,” I said. “He’s the key.”
“Queer Eye will bring him,” Anthony said. “That will give you enough time to set a trap or ambush.” Anthony started to get the dreamy look in his eyes again.
“Good thing your FBI training focused on brainwashing resistance,” I said “but even you have limits. Save your strength for when I need you. And I will need you soon. And trust me, I won’t let anything happen to Zack.”
Anthony nodded and then his eyes glazed over. He looked at me and said “Hope you liked the meal, prisoner. It’s the last you’ll get for a long time. But you’ll get all the meals you want when the master makes you one of us.” Anthony tweaked my exposed nipples, which were rock hard and jutting out from the cold room. I grimaced and grunted, but he just laughed and exited the room, locking the door behind him.
Anthony and I had a long partnership. When my exploits first started drawing the attention of the FBI back in the 00’s, Anthony was a rookie agent assigned to be my liaison. But he was more like my sidekick. We got into more than a few scrapes with bad guys over the years. He was a fresh-faced young father who doted on his baby boy who was eager for adventure and showed great potential. But he was more interested in action than history. Not like Sean, who shared my passion for learning and respect for ages past. When his wife died, we got closer on a personal level, beyond just the professional, and had an on-again/off-again relationship for years. When I settled down to teaching and my “adventuring” career slowed down, he was reassigned to major investigations, but we remained close.
The last call from Anthony that I got was two months ago. He told me he was being assigned to go undercover and investigate a right-wing survivalist compound that was supposedly planning a terrorist attack. Zack had just enlisted in the FBI and was assigned with him on the case as a trainee. He gave me the location of the compound in case he needed my help, but assured me that everything would be fine. When contact ended abruptly, I knew he had been compromised. When Sean and I escaped our original captors, I knew we were close to where Anthony was and I needed to see for myself if he was OK. Good thing my instinct turned out to be right or else he and Zack would still be laboring as slaves to the Sovereign Citizens.
The chains that held me were beginning to chafe my ankles and wrists and the strain from the stretched position was taking its toll. If I didn’t get out quickly, I’d be too weak to attempt an escape later. Looking around and making sure I was completely alone, I coughed up the key that Anthony had hidden in the food he served me. I guess Queer Eye's control wasn't as solid as he thought. Holding it in my mouth, I summoned all the strength I had. I felt my brand burning as I drew power from it. Using the divine-boosted strength, I bent my arms, lifting my body in a pull-up, using the chains and the ring as a fulcrum. It hurt like the blazes, but I managed to pull myself up.
The stress on my arms was agonizing, but I managed to hold on long enough to get the key in the lock and release it. One hand now free, I lowered myself back to the floor and unlocked my ankles. When I could stand, I freed my other hand and cast the shackles aside before removing the damnable vibrating device and smashing it against the stone wall. I looked down at the brand on my chest. It had been slightly fading for some time, but now it was noticeably lighter. I had been using too much power. If I wasn’t careful it would burn out completely soon.
But I didn’t have time to think about that now. I had to find some clothes and a vehicle. If Anthony’s intel was true, there was no time to collect Sean. He and the others would be safe for now. Queer Eye wouldn’t harm them yet. Not until they found the tomb, at least. I unlocked the door with Anthony’s key and crept out into the compound.
Coming Soon: Part 12 – Project Runway
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DeeperThanRed
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- Joined: 6 years ago
It's amazing learning more about Jack's past but I must say that Queer Eye stole the show here. He has the best taste in henchmen, especially with that elite four. 
Really looking forward to learn more about Bjornson's Tomb and why everyone wants it so much.
Really looking forward to learn more about Bjornson's Tomb and why everyone wants it so much.
25-year-old bondage enthusiast who likes cute guys, underwear, and bondage, preferably together.
You can reach my list of written work here: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38808#p38808
You can reach my list of written work here: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38808#p38808
I agree, it's absolutely fascinating to see more of Jack's history - and finding out Anthony and Zack weren't just your average sexy hunks in the wrong place at the wrong time was fabulous! As was Jack and Anthony's romance...
And, oh, Queer Eye, you are bold as brass! Perhaps not all of the decor was to my taste, but I'd always appreciate a hypnotized hunk in a Speedo. And I appreciate his... subtle puns in his henchmen names. Bondage, hypnotism, and punnage - the true marks of a great villain. (Teach me your ways, O Magnificent Magenta Malefactor!)
And, oh, Queer Eye, you are bold as brass! Perhaps not all of the decor was to my taste, but I'd always appreciate a hypnotized hunk in a Speedo. And I appreciate his... subtle puns in his henchmen names. Bondage, hypnotism, and punnage - the true marks of a great villain. (Teach me your ways, O Magnificent Magenta Malefactor!)
I really liked Dr. Calamity as a character and a villain, but I think Queer Eye is my absolute favorite in both categories. He's amazing (except maybe in his carpeting choices)! This story hooks me in more and more with each chapter! the twists feel natural, and I love the growing depth with all these relationships!
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Muscle-Flex
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- Location: USA
Just finished Chapter 10. Sean’s out-of-body time travel is a dream come true for an archaeologist! The incorporation of Baldur’s story and update on what happened after we last saw those characters was fun. Of course, Jack and Sean in their padded boxes was a delight. Queer eye always delivers and has great taste in, er, crotch contraptions!
Part 12 – Project Runway
After a quick look left and right to make sure there were no guard patrols nearby, I stealthily moved down the hall. The air was warmer than my cell had been, but it was still fairly cold, and I was sans clothing of any kind. My first step was to change that. But it would do me no good to just wander the halls. Queer Eye surely had cameras everywhere and if I ventured too close to his parlor his super senses would detect me. Spying a maintenance access port in the wall, I removed the grating, careful to make no sound, and slipped inside the ventilation shaft. After closing the grating behind me, I made my way through the ducts, safe from spying camera eyes.
I had to crawl in the ducts, as they were only about 2 feet high, so it was slow going. My wrists and ankles were chafed and my arms and chest were sore from being stretched in my chains previously. But I endured. I had to... for Sean. As I moved, I heard the sounds of conversation to my left, so I made my way there, hoping to overhear some useful information. I peered through the slats of the vent opening and saw some sort of break room below me. Two henchmen were seated at a table watching TV and drinking coffee.
“I tell you, Ru,” one of the henchmen said. “There’s something special in that tomb besides just gold and history junk. No way the boss would go through such effort if it was just basic crap like that.”
“Very true, Lorca,” the other said. “I wonder what it is. The Bejeweled Dildo of Genghis Khan perhaps?”
Lorca chuckled. “We got that from a private collector in January. Hey, did you see the hunk in Cell 9? Hubba hubba. Apparently he and the boss used to be a thing back in the day. I’d like to get my hands on that Silver Fox for some one-on-one interrogation.”
“Mmmm, yeah,” Ru said. “He's a snacc. But I like the new serving boy. The one renamed 'Elton.' Did you see when they brought him in with his dad all roped up? Struggling and defiant before the boss zapped em both? Yummy.”
So I was right! There was something hidden in the tomb. But what could it be that would pique Queer Eye’s interest in this way? He preferred city jobs and would never trek out into “the boonies” like this unless the prize was worth it. I was even more determined to get out there now. I waited for my moment and silently dislodged the vent cover. When the henchman called Ru walked under me to put his coffee cup in the dishwasher, I made my move. I dropped like a ninja on top of the unaware henchman and got him in a tight headlock.
“What the?” he cried. “Hey! It’s the hunk from Cell 9!”
I looked over at Lorca and was surprised to see a wide rapturous grin on his face. He shot his hands into the air in surrender with blinding speed. “Ooh, Daddy,” he said coyly. “Don’t worry about me, I surrender.” His eyes were firmly aimed at my exposed manhood, but I couldn’t cover myself without releasing Ru. It was awkward, but I had more important things to think about right now.
“Uh, good,” I said, a bit confused at Lorca’s willingness to give up so quickly without a fight. “Now, let’s…”
“Hey,” Ru said. “Can you let me go? You’re going to wrinkle my wig and it took hours to style it right. You got us. We’re not gonna try anything, daddy.” Slightly confused, I released my hold on Ru, who stood up and walked over next to Lorca with his hands up.
“Now’s the part where you tie us up, right?” Lorca asked eagerly. “That what the hero always does when he gets the drop on the henchmen.”
“Settle down,” Ru said, giving Lorca a quick slap in the chest. “First he’s gotta strip us. He needs some clothes and he can use our uniforms as a disguise. Although I certainly don't mind the scenery right now.”
“Right!” Lorca said. He immediately started unzipping his Bowie-esque bodysuit. Ru did the same. Both were giddy as schoolgirls the whole time. I just stood there confused. I had never seen henchmen actually excited to be stripped and bound, but I guess Queer Eye selected his henchmen with certain interests in mind, so I really shouldn’t have been THAT surprised. Within seconds, both men stood buck naked in front of me. They were folding their uniforms carefully and placed them on the table before raising their hands again. Big smiles on their faces.
“Mine will fit you better,” Lorca said. “Ru is too tall.”
“Shut up!” Ru said. “You’re too skinny. My build is more like his. Mine will fit better!” The two men began to argue, only stopping when I snapped my fingers a few times.
“Hey! HEY! Focus, boys. I’ll figure that out on my own,” I said. “Now, let’s get you two tied up so I can get out of here.” Both men’s faces brightened.
“There’s a supply locker to your left,” Lorca said. “It has everything you need! Ropes, cuffs, gags, chains... Oh, can you use the leather buckle cuffs on me? Those are my favorite. PLEASE????”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the locker and took out a box with various bondage implements. As Lorca said, it had all the essentials. Fishing around, I found the buckle cuffs Lorca was talking about. They were leather, and held shut by buckled straps and a small padlock. A short chain connected one cuff to the other. “Are these them?” I asked, getting an excited nod from Lorca. I walked behind him and fastened his hands behind his back with the cuffs. He offered no resistance and moaned happily as I locked his wrists.
“You can do tighter than that,” he said. “In fact, can you? Please?” With a sigh I cinched the cuffs one position tighter and locked them closed. Lorca gave a pleased squirm and I saw that he had grown to full arousal when I came back around to the front. “Sorry,” he said, feigning sheepishness. But he wasn’t sorry. Not at all. “There’s matching ankle cuffs in there, too,” he said. “Be a pal?”
Shaking my head, I retrieved the ankle cuffs. I laid Lorca on his side and secured his feet, hearing a soft “Mmmmmm, yes daddy,” in response. I took a leather plug gag, like the one I had been forced to wear in the crate, and sealed Lorca’s mouth with it. He seemed to approve and writhed on the floor happily when I was done. I moved on to Ru.
“Any requests?” I said sarcastically.
“Daddy’s choice,” he said with a grin. I decided to make them a matched pair and retrieved a second copy of the devices used on Lorca. Soon, Ru was cuffed and gagged on the floor next to his partner. Confident they would give me no trouble, I slipped into Ru’s uniform (which elicited an unhappy grunt from Lorca and a chuckle from Ru). It was blue and gold spandex with shoulder pads. Very Ziggy Stardust, but it would do for now. I grabbed a few zipties from the box, just in case, and crept towards the door.
Behind me, I saw Lorca and Ru wriggling over to each other. They started rubbing against each other’s bodies as I slipped out into the hall. “Enjoy yourselves, boys,” I said with a small smile as I strode out into the hall. But I knew they would.
I needed to find something more. The henchman uniform would do as a disguise in case I was spotted moving around the compound, but it wouldn’t help me on the outside. It was made of a strange polymer, and fended off the chill inside the building, but wouldn’t be enough insulate against the cold Norwegian air out there. A few twists and turns through the hallways and I came to a room labeled “The Bob Mackie Room.” Because of course it was. I opened the door and went inside.
The walls were lined with racks containing henchman uniforms, but the main focus of the room was six lockers, each with a different outfit on bedazzled hangers. A sailor uniform… a highway patrol unfiorm… a feathered headdress and fringe pants… Of course. Why should I be surprised?
“Can I help you?” an obsequious voice said, and a bored-looking henchman with perfectly groomed hair emerged from a side room. I gave a quick shout in surprise, which was returned by the attendant in a mocking fashion, complete with sarcastic jazz hands. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I figured you’d be here sooner or later.” He looked my uniform over. “So you ran into Ru and Lorca? They must be having a grand old time right now. Never got into frottage myself, but they seem to like it. Ah well.”
I just looked at him confused. “Now,” he said, seeing the cable ties in my hand. “Let's get this overwith. But before you tie me, let’s dress you. You’ll need layers.” He went over to the hangers and started grabbing various pieces from each one. I watched in silence as he assembled a functional outfit for me. “Not much here is good for the cold, but we can make do.”
When the attendant was finished, the table was covered with various items; The sailor’s pants; the cowboy’s jeans, vest, and bandana; the construction worker’s tank top and flannel shirt; the cop’s gloves and boots; and the biker’s chaps and jacket. “That should do,” the attendant said. “Now get dressed. You can leave the uniform on for extra insulation if you want. It will help retain body heat.” He tossed a Queer Eye knit cap on the table alongside the other clothes and then dragged a high-backed from against the wall to the middle of the room and sat down impatiently.
I quickly slipped the sailor pants over the henchman uniform, then pulled the jeans on over them. Next I put on the tank top, flannel, and vest. I already felt warmer. After I slipped the boots on, I decided the rest could wait until I took care of the attendant. He had a bored look on his face as I ziptied his hands behind the back of the chair and his ankles to the chair legs. I grabbed the bandana from the table and started rolling it into a gag, but the attendant stopped me. “No! You’ll need that as a face shield from the wind out there. If you’re going to gag me, use the sailor’s neckerchief.” I nodded and grabbed it. “The garage is two rights and a left from here,” he said as I doubled the long fabric over itself, knotted it in the middle and rolled it into a strip.
"Thanks," I said, before the stuffing the cloth in his mouth and knotting it off behind his head. He muttered in response, but gave me no trouble. With him now secured and out of the way, I finished dressing. After slipping on the chaps, leather jacket, bandana, gloves, and hat, I left the attendant and slipped into the hall. The garage was just where he said it was and it was unguarded. Hmph, how convenient. I grabbed a set of keys from the office and selected a sturdy-looking off-road vehicle. Firing up the engine, I drove out into the night and headed for the tomb.
-----
Queer Eye looked up from the monitor. “He’s away,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sure he’s suspicious about how easy it was, but it can’t be helped. I don’t have the late Doctor’s gift for subterfuge. Whatever, he’ll still lead us to the tomb.”
Zack and Anthony knelt before Queer Eye. They were tightly bound with pink ropes around their wrists and chests. The ropes formed an ornate Shibari-style harness over their bare torsos. They were intricate and quite beautiful in their craftsmanship. Sean, unfettered, stood at Queer Eye’s side. Anthony looked up with anger, “What is this about?” he protested. “I did everything I was ordered.”
“Yes, you performed admirably,” Queer Eye said. “But Jack slipped up. I knew you were FBI, but he mentioned your training featured resistance to mind control. That means I can’t fully trust you. I can never be sure that you’re completely under my control. Not a good thing for a slave. And that goes for your son, as well. He’s a rookie, but he still got the same training. So, unfortunately, that means I have no further need of you two. Goodbye, boys.” Queer Eye raised a Calamity Disintegrator, but Sean lightly touched his hand, stopping him.
“Wait,” Sean said coyly, rubbing Queer Eye’s bald head. “No need for that. Let me have Zack. He’s a real cutie and I kind of fancy him. Let him be my pet. If we keep him under guard, Anthony will be forced to do what we say. If Anthony betrays us, THEN we disintegrate them. But I think he'll behave just fine if his son's life is at stake.”
“Hmmm,” Queer Eye said, mulling over Sean’s suggestion. “I can see the truth in that.” He lowered the disintegrator ray. “Well, boys, it’s your lucky day. Henchmen, prepare a cell for Zacky boy here. Looks like you’re coming along for the ride, Anthony dear.” Anthony scowled, but was secretly relieved. “And you better perform to my expectations or Zack will regret it. But we have some time before Professor Mills gets to the tomb. Can’t follow him too closely, after all.” Sean and Queer Eye walked slowly towards Zack and Anthony, each starting to undo their pants. “Now let’s see how grateful you both are for your lives.”
Coming Soon: Part 13 – The Tomb of Baldur Bjornsson
After a quick look left and right to make sure there were no guard patrols nearby, I stealthily moved down the hall. The air was warmer than my cell had been, but it was still fairly cold, and I was sans clothing of any kind. My first step was to change that. But it would do me no good to just wander the halls. Queer Eye surely had cameras everywhere and if I ventured too close to his parlor his super senses would detect me. Spying a maintenance access port in the wall, I removed the grating, careful to make no sound, and slipped inside the ventilation shaft. After closing the grating behind me, I made my way through the ducts, safe from spying camera eyes.
I had to crawl in the ducts, as they were only about 2 feet high, so it was slow going. My wrists and ankles were chafed and my arms and chest were sore from being stretched in my chains previously. But I endured. I had to... for Sean. As I moved, I heard the sounds of conversation to my left, so I made my way there, hoping to overhear some useful information. I peered through the slats of the vent opening and saw some sort of break room below me. Two henchmen were seated at a table watching TV and drinking coffee.
“I tell you, Ru,” one of the henchmen said. “There’s something special in that tomb besides just gold and history junk. No way the boss would go through such effort if it was just basic crap like that.”
“Very true, Lorca,” the other said. “I wonder what it is. The Bejeweled Dildo of Genghis Khan perhaps?”
Lorca chuckled. “We got that from a private collector in January. Hey, did you see the hunk in Cell 9? Hubba hubba. Apparently he and the boss used to be a thing back in the day. I’d like to get my hands on that Silver Fox for some one-on-one interrogation.”
“Mmmm, yeah,” Ru said. “He's a snacc. But I like the new serving boy. The one renamed 'Elton.' Did you see when they brought him in with his dad all roped up? Struggling and defiant before the boss zapped em both? Yummy.”
So I was right! There was something hidden in the tomb. But what could it be that would pique Queer Eye’s interest in this way? He preferred city jobs and would never trek out into “the boonies” like this unless the prize was worth it. I was even more determined to get out there now. I waited for my moment and silently dislodged the vent cover. When the henchman called Ru walked under me to put his coffee cup in the dishwasher, I made my move. I dropped like a ninja on top of the unaware henchman and got him in a tight headlock.
“What the?” he cried. “Hey! It’s the hunk from Cell 9!”
I looked over at Lorca and was surprised to see a wide rapturous grin on his face. He shot his hands into the air in surrender with blinding speed. “Ooh, Daddy,” he said coyly. “Don’t worry about me, I surrender.” His eyes were firmly aimed at my exposed manhood, but I couldn’t cover myself without releasing Ru. It was awkward, but I had more important things to think about right now.
“Uh, good,” I said, a bit confused at Lorca’s willingness to give up so quickly without a fight. “Now, let’s…”
“Hey,” Ru said. “Can you let me go? You’re going to wrinkle my wig and it took hours to style it right. You got us. We’re not gonna try anything, daddy.” Slightly confused, I released my hold on Ru, who stood up and walked over next to Lorca with his hands up.
“Now’s the part where you tie us up, right?” Lorca asked eagerly. “That what the hero always does when he gets the drop on the henchmen.”
“Settle down,” Ru said, giving Lorca a quick slap in the chest. “First he’s gotta strip us. He needs some clothes and he can use our uniforms as a disguise. Although I certainly don't mind the scenery right now.”
“Right!” Lorca said. He immediately started unzipping his Bowie-esque bodysuit. Ru did the same. Both were giddy as schoolgirls the whole time. I just stood there confused. I had never seen henchmen actually excited to be stripped and bound, but I guess Queer Eye selected his henchmen with certain interests in mind, so I really shouldn’t have been THAT surprised. Within seconds, both men stood buck naked in front of me. They were folding their uniforms carefully and placed them on the table before raising their hands again. Big smiles on their faces.
“Mine will fit you better,” Lorca said. “Ru is too tall.”
“Shut up!” Ru said. “You’re too skinny. My build is more like his. Mine will fit better!” The two men began to argue, only stopping when I snapped my fingers a few times.
“Hey! HEY! Focus, boys. I’ll figure that out on my own,” I said. “Now, let’s get you two tied up so I can get out of here.” Both men’s faces brightened.
“There’s a supply locker to your left,” Lorca said. “It has everything you need! Ropes, cuffs, gags, chains... Oh, can you use the leather buckle cuffs on me? Those are my favorite. PLEASE????”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the locker and took out a box with various bondage implements. As Lorca said, it had all the essentials. Fishing around, I found the buckle cuffs Lorca was talking about. They were leather, and held shut by buckled straps and a small padlock. A short chain connected one cuff to the other. “Are these them?” I asked, getting an excited nod from Lorca. I walked behind him and fastened his hands behind his back with the cuffs. He offered no resistance and moaned happily as I locked his wrists.
“You can do tighter than that,” he said. “In fact, can you? Please?” With a sigh I cinched the cuffs one position tighter and locked them closed. Lorca gave a pleased squirm and I saw that he had grown to full arousal when I came back around to the front. “Sorry,” he said, feigning sheepishness. But he wasn’t sorry. Not at all. “There’s matching ankle cuffs in there, too,” he said. “Be a pal?”
Shaking my head, I retrieved the ankle cuffs. I laid Lorca on his side and secured his feet, hearing a soft “Mmmmmm, yes daddy,” in response. I took a leather plug gag, like the one I had been forced to wear in the crate, and sealed Lorca’s mouth with it. He seemed to approve and writhed on the floor happily when I was done. I moved on to Ru.
“Any requests?” I said sarcastically.
“Daddy’s choice,” he said with a grin. I decided to make them a matched pair and retrieved a second copy of the devices used on Lorca. Soon, Ru was cuffed and gagged on the floor next to his partner. Confident they would give me no trouble, I slipped into Ru’s uniform (which elicited an unhappy grunt from Lorca and a chuckle from Ru). It was blue and gold spandex with shoulder pads. Very Ziggy Stardust, but it would do for now. I grabbed a few zipties from the box, just in case, and crept towards the door.
Behind me, I saw Lorca and Ru wriggling over to each other. They started rubbing against each other’s bodies as I slipped out into the hall. “Enjoy yourselves, boys,” I said with a small smile as I strode out into the hall. But I knew they would.
I needed to find something more. The henchman uniform would do as a disguise in case I was spotted moving around the compound, but it wouldn’t help me on the outside. It was made of a strange polymer, and fended off the chill inside the building, but wouldn’t be enough insulate against the cold Norwegian air out there. A few twists and turns through the hallways and I came to a room labeled “The Bob Mackie Room.” Because of course it was. I opened the door and went inside.
The walls were lined with racks containing henchman uniforms, but the main focus of the room was six lockers, each with a different outfit on bedazzled hangers. A sailor uniform… a highway patrol unfiorm… a feathered headdress and fringe pants… Of course. Why should I be surprised?
“Can I help you?” an obsequious voice said, and a bored-looking henchman with perfectly groomed hair emerged from a side room. I gave a quick shout in surprise, which was returned by the attendant in a mocking fashion, complete with sarcastic jazz hands. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I figured you’d be here sooner or later.” He looked my uniform over. “So you ran into Ru and Lorca? They must be having a grand old time right now. Never got into frottage myself, but they seem to like it. Ah well.”
I just looked at him confused. “Now,” he said, seeing the cable ties in my hand. “Let's get this overwith. But before you tie me, let’s dress you. You’ll need layers.” He went over to the hangers and started grabbing various pieces from each one. I watched in silence as he assembled a functional outfit for me. “Not much here is good for the cold, but we can make do.”
When the attendant was finished, the table was covered with various items; The sailor’s pants; the cowboy’s jeans, vest, and bandana; the construction worker’s tank top and flannel shirt; the cop’s gloves and boots; and the biker’s chaps and jacket. “That should do,” the attendant said. “Now get dressed. You can leave the uniform on for extra insulation if you want. It will help retain body heat.” He tossed a Queer Eye knit cap on the table alongside the other clothes and then dragged a high-backed from against the wall to the middle of the room and sat down impatiently.
I quickly slipped the sailor pants over the henchman uniform, then pulled the jeans on over them. Next I put on the tank top, flannel, and vest. I already felt warmer. After I slipped the boots on, I decided the rest could wait until I took care of the attendant. He had a bored look on his face as I ziptied his hands behind the back of the chair and his ankles to the chair legs. I grabbed the bandana from the table and started rolling it into a gag, but the attendant stopped me. “No! You’ll need that as a face shield from the wind out there. If you’re going to gag me, use the sailor’s neckerchief.” I nodded and grabbed it. “The garage is two rights and a left from here,” he said as I doubled the long fabric over itself, knotted it in the middle and rolled it into a strip.
"Thanks," I said, before the stuffing the cloth in his mouth and knotting it off behind his head. He muttered in response, but gave me no trouble. With him now secured and out of the way, I finished dressing. After slipping on the chaps, leather jacket, bandana, gloves, and hat, I left the attendant and slipped into the hall. The garage was just where he said it was and it was unguarded. Hmph, how convenient. I grabbed a set of keys from the office and selected a sturdy-looking off-road vehicle. Firing up the engine, I drove out into the night and headed for the tomb.
-----
Queer Eye looked up from the monitor. “He’s away,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sure he’s suspicious about how easy it was, but it can’t be helped. I don’t have the late Doctor’s gift for subterfuge. Whatever, he’ll still lead us to the tomb.”
Zack and Anthony knelt before Queer Eye. They were tightly bound with pink ropes around their wrists and chests. The ropes formed an ornate Shibari-style harness over their bare torsos. They were intricate and quite beautiful in their craftsmanship. Sean, unfettered, stood at Queer Eye’s side. Anthony looked up with anger, “What is this about?” he protested. “I did everything I was ordered.”
“Yes, you performed admirably,” Queer Eye said. “But Jack slipped up. I knew you were FBI, but he mentioned your training featured resistance to mind control. That means I can’t fully trust you. I can never be sure that you’re completely under my control. Not a good thing for a slave. And that goes for your son, as well. He’s a rookie, but he still got the same training. So, unfortunately, that means I have no further need of you two. Goodbye, boys.” Queer Eye raised a Calamity Disintegrator, but Sean lightly touched his hand, stopping him.
“Wait,” Sean said coyly, rubbing Queer Eye’s bald head. “No need for that. Let me have Zack. He’s a real cutie and I kind of fancy him. Let him be my pet. If we keep him under guard, Anthony will be forced to do what we say. If Anthony betrays us, THEN we disintegrate them. But I think he'll behave just fine if his son's life is at stake.”
“Hmmm,” Queer Eye said, mulling over Sean’s suggestion. “I can see the truth in that.” He lowered the disintegrator ray. “Well, boys, it’s your lucky day. Henchmen, prepare a cell for Zacky boy here. Looks like you’re coming along for the ride, Anthony dear.” Anthony scowled, but was secretly relieved. “And you better perform to my expectations or Zack will regret it. But we have some time before Professor Mills gets to the tomb. Can’t follow him too closely, after all.” Sean and Queer Eye walked slowly towards Zack and Anthony, each starting to undo their pants. “Now let’s see how grateful you both are for your lives.”
Coming Soon: Part 13 – The Tomb of Baldur Bjornsson
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KidnappedCowboy
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 971
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: USA
- Contact:
WOW! What a chapter!
Just love how the henchmen instruct Jack/Daddy on how to bind and gag them!
Just love how the henchmen instruct Jack/Daddy on how to bind and gag them!
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DeeperThanRed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 960
- Joined: 6 years ago
Ru and Lorca are hilarious, I can relate how much they wanted to be tied up by Jake. I wasn't expecting Sean to use his manly charms to buy some time for Anthony and Zack so that was a nice surprise.
Looking forward to finally learn about what's about with the titular tomb.
Looking forward to finally learn about what's about with the titular tomb.
25-year-old bondage enthusiast who likes cute guys, underwear, and bondage, preferably together.
You can reach my list of written work here: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38808#p38808
You can reach my list of written work here: https://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?p=38808#p38808
Adorably hilarious how Queer Eye's henchmen are so willing to be bound, and how easily Jack just accepts this!
I can't wait to see what's happening with that tomb! (But also, I love the image of Zack and Anthony in their pink shibari bondage!)
I can't wait to see what's happening with that tomb! (But also, I love the image of Zack and Anthony in their pink shibari bondage!)
I could honestly read an entire spin off story just about Queer Eye and his henchmen. Everyone loves a good villain and he is racing to the top of my favorite villains! I also loved Zack and Anthony in their shibari! Such great bondage scenes in this chapter.
I can't wait to learn more about the tomb!
I can't wait to learn more about the tomb!
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george_bound
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 330
- Joined: 3 years ago
- Location: Ontario, Canada
Haha the henchmen were way too much fun, as is QE's decor choices... but I have to caution him that equating Sweden to Norway will have the rath of both countries against him, lol 
... which I'm sure he can handle, but still...
... which I'm sure he can handle, but still...Part 13 – The Tomb of Baldur Bjornsson
Queer Eye looked over at the pile of discarded fur coats on the bed. They were nice, but inadequate. Too long, to delicate, too Cruella de Vil… “I have to rob another high-end department store,” he thought. Finally he settled on a knee-length white number with lined hood. “That’ll do, I guess,” he said semi-contentedly.
Sean stood impatiently by the door. He was already dressed in black outdoor winter gear with the Single Eye symbol emblazoned on the back. “Are you done yet?” he petulantly groaned. “Jack is probably already there.”
“Zip it, eye candy,” Queer Eye said, putting on his ski hat and oversized goggle. “He didn’t find all the tracking devices. We won’t lose him. Is the Cadre Elite loaded and ready?”
“They’ve been ready for an hour,” Sean said. “They had to take Oscar for a second walk it’s been so long.”
“You don’t rush genius,” Queer Eye said. He turned to the chair in the corner. Zack was seated with his hands cuffed behind his back. Still clad only in his silver speedo, his mouth was gagged with a leather bit, buckled behind his head and locked tight. Leather straps across his chest and abdomen pinned his arms to his sides. His feet were unfettered, but stuffed into silver boots that matched his trunks. He wriggled in discomfort and frustration as he watched his captors bickering. “You should be glad I’m letting you bring your pet along.”
“I told you, we need to keep him close so daddy doesn’t do anything stupid,” Sean said. He felt a flash of dissonance in his brain. Not too long ago he was in a similar position as Zack – helplessly bound to a chair before Queer Eye. He was defiant and stood his ground, but then Queer Eye dropped a bomb on him. A piece of information that Jack had held back.
“Now you can see why he was so interested in you all this time,” Queer Eye had said. “He’s been using you since the beginning. I bet you thought he genuinely cared about you. He’s good at making people think that. Anthony there can attest.” Sean seethed with anger. Why would Jack lie to him like that? He sat processing, his thoughts swimming with this new information, but when Queer Eye came over and stared straight into his eyes, everything became clear. Jack was his enemy. And what did you do to enemies? Crush them.
Sean looked over at Zack. “Besides,” he said, “I don’t see you complaining about the scenery.”
“True,” Queer Eye said. “But I’m ready now.” He took out a gunlike device and bade Sean to lift Zack from the chair. When the captive was standing, Queer Eye fired the nannites. Zack was encased in a silver membrane that flowed over his body, conforming to every contour. It covered him from neck to toes, trapping the leather straps and cuffs underneath it. He was totally encased in a tight silver rubbery cocoon, one that left his legs apart to allow movement. Zack squirmed at the odd sensation against his bare skin, but escape from the superscience polymer that encased him was quite impossible. “There,” Queer Eye said. “He’s all wrapped up, insulated from the cold, and ready to go. Onward!”
Sean slipped a knit henchman cap over Zack’s head and hooked a collar and leash around his neck. Giving a tug, he dragged Zack along after Queer Eye towards the transport.
-----
I had long since giving up searching for the tracking devices. I already found several, but there were no doubt countless more. Since Queer Eye had the original, I pulled up the map to the tomb mentally, using my perfect memory, and drove silently through the Norwegian wilderness. I tried reaching out to Sean telepathically, but there was too much static... too much interference. Whatever was happening to Sean, it was out of my hands now. I only hoped Sean could keep his mind clear and hold out. I drove in silence, brooding, for about two hours, before the partially excavated site appeared in the distance.
The tomb was in a cliff face overlooking the sea. Its entrance faced England, hundreds of miles away. Scaffolding and ladders had been installed to allow access, which otherwise would have required a dangerous barehanded climb down the cliff face. On the way here I radioed ahead and told the excavation crew to vacate the area. It would take them several hours to return with help from the authorities, so I was on his own for a while. I parked the transport near the cliff face and quickly descended the ladders.
Standing on the scaffolding in front of the entrance, I thought, “Wish you were here with me, Seany. But you’ll be along soon.” After stepping through the threshold I saw a torch on the wall to my left. There was a zippo lighter in the inside pocket of my biker jacket, so I fished it out and lit the torch. As it illuminated, it ignited a hidden stream of oil in the wall and each torch, in sequence, lit on its own down the hallway. Very ominous. I cautiously walked forward, keeping an eye out for traps.
As the hall sloped slowly down into the cliffs, I followed the light and noticed paintings on the walls. The paintings depicted the life of Bjornsson. First were scenes of him smithing at Castle Bamford. Then his battle on the wharf and capture. One that stood out was a scene of Bjornsson, shirtless and defiant, standing strong and being inspected by his Viking captors. There was great detail in the musculature and the ropes that bound him in the relief were real, not painted. They were woven from gold threads and probably worth a fortune. Further scenes depicted Bjornsson’s life as a thrall (with more golden-thread ropes and chains) and his ultimate victory over Farl that secured his place in legend. These were not painted by a common artist. They were masterworks, clearly done by a hand that had a deep caring and understanding for the subject.
My musings were cut short as he entered the burial chamber. A stone mound rested on an altar in the center of the room. It was adorned in Runes, but they were not the usual Viking ones. They were an altogether new script. I concentrated and started to analyze them, feeling my brand glow with power as the magic translated them. Around the room were exquisitely preserved artifacts of late Viking life. Pots, furs, weapons, tools… a motherlode of archaeological wonders. When I felt my brand flare and the magic translation complete, I eagerly looked at the Runes on the mound, and got the shock of my life.
“Figure it out yet?” I heard from behind me.
Standing in the doorway was Queer Eye. And he wasn’t alone. Sean stood beside him, a look of fury on his face. He still held Zack’s leash. The cocooned rookie FBI agent thrashed wildly, trying to articulate a warning through his bit gag. Anthony, still with the dreamlike glow of mind control about him, stood behind them with a pulse rifle in his hands. And behind them were the four members of the Cadre Elite.
“Queer Eye!” I instinctively shouted.
The pink villain repeated his own name in a mocking tone. “Gods above, is that all you can do? Yell my name when I walk into a room? Sheesh! When I finally enslave you permanently maybe I’ll use you as an announcement boy. Send you into places before me so you can squawk like an idiot.”
I balled his fists and took a step towards the invaders, ready to fight, but Anthony raised his pulse rifle. “It’s set to stun,” Queer Eye said, “but I understand the blast is still quite agonizing. Better you give up now and save yourself a lot of pain.” With no other options available, I cursed under my breath and raised my hands in surrender. I couldn't risk endangering Sean and the other hostages anyway.
Queer Eye handed Sean a few bales of rope. “You do the honors, boy,” he said to Sean. “You’ve earned it. Sean handed Zack’s leash to Queer Eye and advanced on me with a wicked grin in his eye. So Queer Eye had already worked his magic on him, I see.
“You lied to me,” Sean said. “You withheld a key piece of information all this time.” He spun me around and roughly pulled my hands behind my back. There was real anger in his voice.
“I was going to tell you,” I said, grunting as Sean began to apply the ropes to my wrists. “When you were ready. It’s not something I can just spring on you.” Sean was using techniques derived from the escape lessons he had been given, no doubt augmented with some tricks from Queer Eye. They bindings would be proof against any escape tactics I could draw on. He always was a quick learner. When the knots were secured I realized I was stuck, and good!
“Spare me the Obi-Wan Kenobi bullshit,” Sean said, cinching off the ropes extra tight. “You never cared about me. It was only what I can do for you that you cared about.”
“That’s not true!” I said, squirming as Sean looped more of the rope around my chest. The leather of my biker jacket creaked and groaned as the ropes tightened around me in a very alluring way.
“Enough!” Sean said. “No more lies.” He threaded the rope tightly across my chest and through the space between my ribs and arms, forming a tight net of rope that completely immobilized my upper body. “And don’t even think about using your escape tricks. That rope is a special polymer. Designed by Dr. Calamity to be completely escape-proof. Even Diesel couldn’t bust out of it.”
That was a real kick in the balls. I wasn't expecting him to bring the hard stuff. I lowered his head in defeat. Mentally, I could sense that Sean was still in there, but there was too much of Queer Eye’s influence for me to be able to reach him. I would have to bide his time and wait for a better opportunity. For the time being, I was their prisoner.
“But you did give me one thing,” Sean said. He turned me around, bound and defeated, to face him and unzipped his winter coat. He lifted his shirt and showed the brand of Nishaba on his chest, which had filled out considerably since our time at the encampment. Sean and the brand had fully bonded and he was reaping the physiological benefits that came with it. “Looks like the goddess has found a new champion,” he taunted. “Yours has been fading recently, hasn’t it ‘prof?’”
My eyes widened. “So it happened already,” I thought. “I had planned to pass it on to Sean when all this was over, but it looks like the decision was already made for me.” I had been feeling the connection to the goddess weakening recently, but now I wondered how much power I had left.
Queer Eye strode into the room, gesturing around. “Love the paintings,” he said. “Not so keen on the rest of this junk, but that’s not why I’m here anyway.” He stopped at the mound. “Seany boy, come here and take a look at these Runes. You should be able to translate them now. Give Jack to Anthony for safekeeping. We may need his services soon.”
Sean shoved me over to the waiting group of armed men in the doorway. There was a slight slip in Anthony’s expression, but nobody but me saw it. How much control did he have? Or was that orchestrated by Queer Eye to give me hope? No way to tell. Sean walked over to the mound and read the Runes.
“Here lies… Olaf. Once known as Henry. Devoted thrall and favorite of my First Wife,” Sean read aloud. “What? I thought this was Bjornsson!” he shouted.
“Hush, my boy,” Queer Eye said. “Keep reading.”
“As he guarded my home in life, so he guards my home in death,” Sean read. “When one of my own blood pays him the homage he is due, the way will open.”
Sean smiled. “Now I see,” he said.
“You remember the tales, son?” Queer Eye said.
Sean nodded and said aloud, “I am Sean Anderson, descendant of Baldur Bjornsson through his second wife, Frida of Svalbard.” A rumbling was heard in the tomb.
“So he knows the truth,” I thought. "I wanted to be the one to tell him. Damn it!"
Sean started to recite a passage from the Saga of Bjornsson, a long-told tale about the raider’s life. It was an obscure passage, detailing the heroism of a young thrall named Olaf, who saved the life of Bjornsson’s unknown first wife in a raid of the clan’s village by the Danish king in an attempted purge of the Vikings. Suddenly, the far wall began to shake. A portion of the stone slid away, revealing a staircase that went farther down.
“Excellent!” Queer Eye exclaimed, clapping his hands together in glee. “You did good, Seany boy. You broke the seal and opened the way to the REAL tomb.” Sean beamed with pride. “Now, let’s do some excavating. Bring Zack and Anthony. Rock and Oscar, you stay here and guard the other prisoner. When I need you, or him, I’ll radio in. But one thing is for certain, he’s not going to be the first to lay eyes on what’s down there. That will be OUR honor.”
I grunted and cursed as Rock grabbed me in his vicelike grip around the shoulders. I thrashed and fought with all my might, but the giant’s hold was unbreakable. Sean took up Zack’s leash and followed behind Queer Eye as he approached the door, Anthony, John, and Tim close behind. All I could do was feebly watch as the discovery of a lifetime was being taken from me.
Queer Eye’s eye lit up like a floodlight and he aimed the beam of illumination down the stairs. “Ooh, I see something shiny down there!” he said joyfully and walked through the threshold. When the group had gone, I composed my thoughts and looked at my captors. Oscar sat on his haunches a short distance away, snarling and panting while Rock stood cold and motionless.
“I’ve got to get out of these ropes and go after them,” I thought. “But how?”
Coming Soon: Part 14 – The Gauntlet
Queer Eye looked over at the pile of discarded fur coats on the bed. They were nice, but inadequate. Too long, to delicate, too Cruella de Vil… “I have to rob another high-end department store,” he thought. Finally he settled on a knee-length white number with lined hood. “That’ll do, I guess,” he said semi-contentedly.
Sean stood impatiently by the door. He was already dressed in black outdoor winter gear with the Single Eye symbol emblazoned on the back. “Are you done yet?” he petulantly groaned. “Jack is probably already there.”
“Zip it, eye candy,” Queer Eye said, putting on his ski hat and oversized goggle. “He didn’t find all the tracking devices. We won’t lose him. Is the Cadre Elite loaded and ready?”
“They’ve been ready for an hour,” Sean said. “They had to take Oscar for a second walk it’s been so long.”
“You don’t rush genius,” Queer Eye said. He turned to the chair in the corner. Zack was seated with his hands cuffed behind his back. Still clad only in his silver speedo, his mouth was gagged with a leather bit, buckled behind his head and locked tight. Leather straps across his chest and abdomen pinned his arms to his sides. His feet were unfettered, but stuffed into silver boots that matched his trunks. He wriggled in discomfort and frustration as he watched his captors bickering. “You should be glad I’m letting you bring your pet along.”
“I told you, we need to keep him close so daddy doesn’t do anything stupid,” Sean said. He felt a flash of dissonance in his brain. Not too long ago he was in a similar position as Zack – helplessly bound to a chair before Queer Eye. He was defiant and stood his ground, but then Queer Eye dropped a bomb on him. A piece of information that Jack had held back.
“Now you can see why he was so interested in you all this time,” Queer Eye had said. “He’s been using you since the beginning. I bet you thought he genuinely cared about you. He’s good at making people think that. Anthony there can attest.” Sean seethed with anger. Why would Jack lie to him like that? He sat processing, his thoughts swimming with this new information, but when Queer Eye came over and stared straight into his eyes, everything became clear. Jack was his enemy. And what did you do to enemies? Crush them.
Sean looked over at Zack. “Besides,” he said, “I don’t see you complaining about the scenery.”
“True,” Queer Eye said. “But I’m ready now.” He took out a gunlike device and bade Sean to lift Zack from the chair. When the captive was standing, Queer Eye fired the nannites. Zack was encased in a silver membrane that flowed over his body, conforming to every contour. It covered him from neck to toes, trapping the leather straps and cuffs underneath it. He was totally encased in a tight silver rubbery cocoon, one that left his legs apart to allow movement. Zack squirmed at the odd sensation against his bare skin, but escape from the superscience polymer that encased him was quite impossible. “There,” Queer Eye said. “He’s all wrapped up, insulated from the cold, and ready to go. Onward!”
Sean slipped a knit henchman cap over Zack’s head and hooked a collar and leash around his neck. Giving a tug, he dragged Zack along after Queer Eye towards the transport.
-----
I had long since giving up searching for the tracking devices. I already found several, but there were no doubt countless more. Since Queer Eye had the original, I pulled up the map to the tomb mentally, using my perfect memory, and drove silently through the Norwegian wilderness. I tried reaching out to Sean telepathically, but there was too much static... too much interference. Whatever was happening to Sean, it was out of my hands now. I only hoped Sean could keep his mind clear and hold out. I drove in silence, brooding, for about two hours, before the partially excavated site appeared in the distance.
The tomb was in a cliff face overlooking the sea. Its entrance faced England, hundreds of miles away. Scaffolding and ladders had been installed to allow access, which otherwise would have required a dangerous barehanded climb down the cliff face. On the way here I radioed ahead and told the excavation crew to vacate the area. It would take them several hours to return with help from the authorities, so I was on his own for a while. I parked the transport near the cliff face and quickly descended the ladders.
Standing on the scaffolding in front of the entrance, I thought, “Wish you were here with me, Seany. But you’ll be along soon.” After stepping through the threshold I saw a torch on the wall to my left. There was a zippo lighter in the inside pocket of my biker jacket, so I fished it out and lit the torch. As it illuminated, it ignited a hidden stream of oil in the wall and each torch, in sequence, lit on its own down the hallway. Very ominous. I cautiously walked forward, keeping an eye out for traps.
As the hall sloped slowly down into the cliffs, I followed the light and noticed paintings on the walls. The paintings depicted the life of Bjornsson. First were scenes of him smithing at Castle Bamford. Then his battle on the wharf and capture. One that stood out was a scene of Bjornsson, shirtless and defiant, standing strong and being inspected by his Viking captors. There was great detail in the musculature and the ropes that bound him in the relief were real, not painted. They were woven from gold threads and probably worth a fortune. Further scenes depicted Bjornsson’s life as a thrall (with more golden-thread ropes and chains) and his ultimate victory over Farl that secured his place in legend. These were not painted by a common artist. They were masterworks, clearly done by a hand that had a deep caring and understanding for the subject.
My musings were cut short as he entered the burial chamber. A stone mound rested on an altar in the center of the room. It was adorned in Runes, but they were not the usual Viking ones. They were an altogether new script. I concentrated and started to analyze them, feeling my brand glow with power as the magic translated them. Around the room were exquisitely preserved artifacts of late Viking life. Pots, furs, weapons, tools… a motherlode of archaeological wonders. When I felt my brand flare and the magic translation complete, I eagerly looked at the Runes on the mound, and got the shock of my life.
“Figure it out yet?” I heard from behind me.
Standing in the doorway was Queer Eye. And he wasn’t alone. Sean stood beside him, a look of fury on his face. He still held Zack’s leash. The cocooned rookie FBI agent thrashed wildly, trying to articulate a warning through his bit gag. Anthony, still with the dreamlike glow of mind control about him, stood behind them with a pulse rifle in his hands. And behind them were the four members of the Cadre Elite.
“Queer Eye!” I instinctively shouted.
The pink villain repeated his own name in a mocking tone. “Gods above, is that all you can do? Yell my name when I walk into a room? Sheesh! When I finally enslave you permanently maybe I’ll use you as an announcement boy. Send you into places before me so you can squawk like an idiot.”
I balled his fists and took a step towards the invaders, ready to fight, but Anthony raised his pulse rifle. “It’s set to stun,” Queer Eye said, “but I understand the blast is still quite agonizing. Better you give up now and save yourself a lot of pain.” With no other options available, I cursed under my breath and raised my hands in surrender. I couldn't risk endangering Sean and the other hostages anyway.
Queer Eye handed Sean a few bales of rope. “You do the honors, boy,” he said to Sean. “You’ve earned it. Sean handed Zack’s leash to Queer Eye and advanced on me with a wicked grin in his eye. So Queer Eye had already worked his magic on him, I see.
“You lied to me,” Sean said. “You withheld a key piece of information all this time.” He spun me around and roughly pulled my hands behind my back. There was real anger in his voice.
“I was going to tell you,” I said, grunting as Sean began to apply the ropes to my wrists. “When you were ready. It’s not something I can just spring on you.” Sean was using techniques derived from the escape lessons he had been given, no doubt augmented with some tricks from Queer Eye. They bindings would be proof against any escape tactics I could draw on. He always was a quick learner. When the knots were secured I realized I was stuck, and good!
“Spare me the Obi-Wan Kenobi bullshit,” Sean said, cinching off the ropes extra tight. “You never cared about me. It was only what I can do for you that you cared about.”
“That’s not true!” I said, squirming as Sean looped more of the rope around my chest. The leather of my biker jacket creaked and groaned as the ropes tightened around me in a very alluring way.
“Enough!” Sean said. “No more lies.” He threaded the rope tightly across my chest and through the space between my ribs and arms, forming a tight net of rope that completely immobilized my upper body. “And don’t even think about using your escape tricks. That rope is a special polymer. Designed by Dr. Calamity to be completely escape-proof. Even Diesel couldn’t bust out of it.”
That was a real kick in the balls. I wasn't expecting him to bring the hard stuff. I lowered his head in defeat. Mentally, I could sense that Sean was still in there, but there was too much of Queer Eye’s influence for me to be able to reach him. I would have to bide his time and wait for a better opportunity. For the time being, I was their prisoner.
“But you did give me one thing,” Sean said. He turned me around, bound and defeated, to face him and unzipped his winter coat. He lifted his shirt and showed the brand of Nishaba on his chest, which had filled out considerably since our time at the encampment. Sean and the brand had fully bonded and he was reaping the physiological benefits that came with it. “Looks like the goddess has found a new champion,” he taunted. “Yours has been fading recently, hasn’t it ‘prof?’”
My eyes widened. “So it happened already,” I thought. “I had planned to pass it on to Sean when all this was over, but it looks like the decision was already made for me.” I had been feeling the connection to the goddess weakening recently, but now I wondered how much power I had left.
Queer Eye strode into the room, gesturing around. “Love the paintings,” he said. “Not so keen on the rest of this junk, but that’s not why I’m here anyway.” He stopped at the mound. “Seany boy, come here and take a look at these Runes. You should be able to translate them now. Give Jack to Anthony for safekeeping. We may need his services soon.”
Sean shoved me over to the waiting group of armed men in the doorway. There was a slight slip in Anthony’s expression, but nobody but me saw it. How much control did he have? Or was that orchestrated by Queer Eye to give me hope? No way to tell. Sean walked over to the mound and read the Runes.
“Here lies… Olaf. Once known as Henry. Devoted thrall and favorite of my First Wife,” Sean read aloud. “What? I thought this was Bjornsson!” he shouted.
“Hush, my boy,” Queer Eye said. “Keep reading.”
“As he guarded my home in life, so he guards my home in death,” Sean read. “When one of my own blood pays him the homage he is due, the way will open.”
Sean smiled. “Now I see,” he said.
“You remember the tales, son?” Queer Eye said.
Sean nodded and said aloud, “I am Sean Anderson, descendant of Baldur Bjornsson through his second wife, Frida of Svalbard.” A rumbling was heard in the tomb.
“So he knows the truth,” I thought. "I wanted to be the one to tell him. Damn it!"
Sean started to recite a passage from the Saga of Bjornsson, a long-told tale about the raider’s life. It was an obscure passage, detailing the heroism of a young thrall named Olaf, who saved the life of Bjornsson’s unknown first wife in a raid of the clan’s village by the Danish king in an attempted purge of the Vikings. Suddenly, the far wall began to shake. A portion of the stone slid away, revealing a staircase that went farther down.
“Excellent!” Queer Eye exclaimed, clapping his hands together in glee. “You did good, Seany boy. You broke the seal and opened the way to the REAL tomb.” Sean beamed with pride. “Now, let’s do some excavating. Bring Zack and Anthony. Rock and Oscar, you stay here and guard the other prisoner. When I need you, or him, I’ll radio in. But one thing is for certain, he’s not going to be the first to lay eyes on what’s down there. That will be OUR honor.”
I grunted and cursed as Rock grabbed me in his vicelike grip around the shoulders. I thrashed and fought with all my might, but the giant’s hold was unbreakable. Sean took up Zack’s leash and followed behind Queer Eye as he approached the door, Anthony, John, and Tim close behind. All I could do was feebly watch as the discovery of a lifetime was being taken from me.
Queer Eye’s eye lit up like a floodlight and he aimed the beam of illumination down the stairs. “Ooh, I see something shiny down there!” he said joyfully and walked through the threshold. When the group had gone, I composed my thoughts and looked at my captors. Oscar sat on his haunches a short distance away, snarling and panting while Rock stood cold and motionless.
“I’ve got to get out of these ropes and go after them,” I thought. “But how?”
Coming Soon: Part 14 – The Gauntlet
I LOVE the way Zack is bound, and even though I worry for poor Sean, I do hope he ends up keeping the FBI rookie as his pet. The boy rocks a collar and leash!wataru14 wrote: ↑3 years ago Zack was seated with his hands cuffed behind his back. Still clad only in his silver speedo, his mouth was gagged with a leather bit, buckled behind his head and locked tight. Leather straps across his chest and abdomen pinned his arms to his sides. His feet were unfettered, but stuffed into silver boots that matched his trunks.
I'd love to take a better look at those amazing bas-relief ropes! Sounds like the bondage-enthusiast's ideal tomb!
Queer Eye, you Sinister Salmon-Hued Scoundrel, you have the best lines ever!wataru14 wrote: ↑3 years ago “Queer Eye!” I instinctively shouted.
The pink villain repeated his own name in a mocking tone. “Gods above, is that all you can do? Yell my name when I walk into a room? Sheesh! When I finally enslave you permanently maybe I’ll use you as an announcement boy. Send you into places before me so you can squawk like an idiot.”
-
KidnappedCowboy
- Centennial Club
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Queer Eye may have the sardonic wit, [mention]Volobond[/mention], but to me Jack has all hunky, heartthrob homilies!“I was going to tell you,” I said, grunting as Sean began to apply the ropes to my wrists. “When you were ready. It’s not something I can just spring on you.” Sean was using techniques derived from the escape lessons he had been given, no doubt augmented with some tricks from Queer Eye. They bindings would be proof against any escape tactics I could draw on. He always was a quick learner. When the knots were secured I realized I was stuck, and good!
So much to love with this story! The amazing villain, the hunky guys in bondage, the growing revelations and mysteries! It'll be interesting see how Jack escapes... or how he next ends up bound and gagged!
Part 14 – The Gauntlet
Rock just seemed to stand there, unmoving. I wouldn’t even think he was alive if it weren’t for his occasional slow breaths. Oscar, however was eying me intently. “Such a pretty one,” he howled. “That’s why master likes him so much.” Rock didn’t respond.
Bored, the feral man bounded across the room on all fours and lept at me. He extended his claws and slashed at my face, stopping a hairbreadth away. He seemed impressed that I didn’t flinch. “Brave one, too,” he chuckled. “He knows I won’t. But maybe I will. Maybe master likes scars on his men. Maybe an eyepatch will make him more rugged. Master likes rugged.” He held claw up near my eye.
A low, gravelly voice echoed through the room. “Stop playing,” Rock said. “We are to guard, not to play.” While the two were engrossed in conversation, I twisted my wrists in an attempt to slip my bonds. The ropes seemed to adjust to my movements, retightening in response to my struggles. Almost like they were a liquid and not fibers. Disheartened, I stopped my fruitless squirming.
“You never let me have any fun,” Oscar pouted. He slunk off into the corner and preened himself. After some time passed, I knew I had to make some kind of move. Fighting Rock was out of the question, but maybe I could get somewhere with Oscar.
“Hey, stinky,” I said. “Can you lick yourself somewhere else? It’s kinda gross.”
“I not stink!” Oscar said. “John stinks. Filthy water. Not good to drink.”
“You do stink,” I taunted. “And you have fleas.”
“Grrraaaggggh!” Oscar lept at me, claws bared. An instant before he connected, Rock’s hand interposed itself. Two of Oscar’s nails made contact with his stone palm and broke off.
“Away!” Rock bellowed. Oscar shot me dagger eyes and returned to his corner. Neither one saw me twist my body before the hand went up and catch the broken claws in my hands as they fell to the floor. Oscar pouted in the corner, facing away from me while Rock stared straight ahead. I had to be careful not to catch the attention of either of my captors while I attempted escape. Using the claws, I started to saw away at the ropes binding my hands behind my back. I didn’t know if the claws would cut through the superscience polymer, but I had to try. It was my only chance. It was slow going, but eventually I felt the cords fraying. One good tug and they would pop apart.
The ropes on my arms, however, were unreachable. Not without being seen, at least. I would have extremely limited movement when my hands were free, but it was my only shot. “Hey, Rock,” I said. “I need to piss. It was a long trip here and the transport didn’t have a bathroom. Can you help me out?”
“No,” Rock said. “Soil yourself. Your comfort is not my concern.”
“I could do that,” I said. “But the rug on the floor is over 1,000 years old and priceless. If it got ruined, your master would be angry. There’s a chamber pot in the corner. I can use that.”
Rock thought for a moment, his thoughts as slow as his movement. “Fine,” he said. “Oscar, retrieve it.”
“No,” Oscar pouted. “Let him wet himself. Then we’ll see who’s stinky.”
Rock gritted his teeth and pushed against my back. “Walk,” he said. “I will take you.” As soon as we started walking, I felt Rock’s grip on my shoulders loosen slightly and took my chance. I did a tuck-and-roll and tumbled across the chamber behind Henry’s tomb. I made sure to keep it between me and the giant to slow him down. He wouldn’t risk damaging any of the artifacts in an attempt to recapture me.
As I stood up, I burst the ropes around my wrists. My arms were still pinned tightly to my sides, but it was better than nothing. Oscar grinned and said, “Playtime at last!” before diving at me.
Now, this wasn’t my most graceful battle, what with my arms still bound to my sides, but I didn’t have the luxury of a timeout to fully free myself. I dodged and rolled this way and that, lashing out with kicks when I could, but I was getting nowhere. Oscar was clearly the superior fighter. Plus, I had the added distraction of keeping Rock away from me while I dodged Oscar. But I would tire long before they did, so I had to be smart about it.
Lining myself up, I made the risky decision of opening a clear path between Rock and me. I just hoped that he was too slow to close the distance before I could pull of what I was planning. Continuously taunting Oscar, I held my position as both he and Rock approached from opposite sides. Rock was just a foot out of arms’ reach when Oscar took the bait and lunged for me. I jumped up onto Henry’s tomb and Oscar sailed past me, crashing headfirst into Rock and knocking himself out cold.
Phase 1 was complete. All that remained was the hulk of marble shambling towards me. I stood my ground, but was surprised at the sound of footsteps running back down the hall towards me. Damn it! The sounds of battle alerted the others! Trusting in my divine senses, I jumped and rolled to the side as an orb of energy whizzed through the room. It passed through the space I had occupied until just a second ago and struck Rock square in the chest. The orb began to grow and enveloped the stone giant in an impenetrable energy bubble.
“This has me greatly concerned,” Tim’s silky voice said from the doorway. I crawled behind the tomb, out of his sight, and started using the unconscious Oscar’s claws to awkwardly saw away at the ropes that held my arms. Energy tether cables launched around the room from Tim’s gun arm. They lashed out, wrapping themselves around the various objects they hit and encasing them in energy bands. If one of them hit me, they would entwine me completely and it would be game over. I wouldn't be able to use discarded claws to cut myself loose.
I emerged from my hiding place, fully freed from my bonds, and tried to get close enough to Tim to deliver a knockout punch. He was good with ranged attacks, but I’m guessing he wasn’t trained in close combat. Understanding my aim, he fired suppressing shots in rapid sequence. The damned tethers fired at such a rapid pace kept me at bay. I'd never get anywhere at this rate. I needed to think. There! That’s it!
I grabbed a jug from the offering table and removed the stopper. It was full of 1,000-year-old mead. Pity to waste it, but I had greater needs right now. I hurled the jug at Tim, who rolled his eyes and aimed his gun arm. Then I threw a stone from Henry’s cairn directly at the jug. The stone hit the brittle clay container and shattered it, raining the viscous liquid all over Tim’s gun arm. I saw sparks fly as the moisture shorted it out and the released voltage was enough to put Tim down for the count. He slumped against the wall, unconscious.
Wasting no time, I grabbed a set of heavy chains from a chest against the wall and dragged Tim over to Oscar. Rock would be trapped in the bubble for hours, so he was of no concern right now. I put the two metahumans back-to-back and secured them together with the chains. Then I grabbed the smoking gun arm and pulled it off of Tim, revealing his real arm beneath, still clutching the ruined controlling mechanism. I pulled his arms behind him and secured them together with manacles in front of Oscar’s abdomen. Then I did the same with Oscar’s. The two were chained together in an awkward position that they wouldn’t be able to escape from once they awoke. I manacled their ankles for good measure. Didn't want them working together to stand up and follow. I didn't know if Oscar was capable of following instructions well enough to accomplish that, but I couldn't risk it.
After admiring my handiwork for a second, I picked up a discarded flashlight and silently crept down the hall. There were no torches here, but the walls bore the same paintings and carvings as the previous corridor. At least I thought they were the same at first glance. A more careful inspection revealed that they depicted someone other than Bjornsson. They showed a young dark-haired man, not as muscled as Bjornsson, but just as handsome in face and body. He was depicted first in knight’s armor battling Viking warriors. Then it showed him as a slave of the Vikings. He was often bound in various ways, often alongside another young man with blonde hair, but always seemed happy with that arrangement. The paintings were of lesser quality than the ones outside, however. Clearly they were painted by a different hand, and one that was not skilled in art. The last one depicted him being carried by Bjornsson like a bride through a meadow. What was this all about? Who would let an amateur create tomb reliefs like this? I had the odd notion that these were painted by Bjornsson himself. Interesting.
My musings were cut short as an oily voice wafted through the darkness. “Good job in getting past those three yahoos.” The liquid form of John oozed into view. “But I’m something altogether different. You won't find me quite so easy.” Before I could retort, a spray of foul-smelling ooze launched through the room. It splashed on my biker jacket and stunk to high heaven. If any of that got on my skin it would be very bad news.
“You don’t like my filth?” John cackled. “The critics never do. They say it’s embarrassing and derivative, but I say ‘revel it what makes you special, no?’” More spray fired out and barely missed me. It left a pungeant odor and steamed when it hit the floor. The fumes made me slightly lightheaded and I saw he had surrounded himself in a dense, stinky mist. How was I going to beat John? I couldn’t touch him without probably getting poisoned or drugged from the contact with the ooze that composed his body. And the mist was almost assuredly a sedative of some sort, designed to knock me out if I breathed it in. I quickly pulled the bandana around my neck up over my face to block out the vapors.
“At a loss?” John smirked, advancing towards me. “It will be much easier if you just give up. I’ll just drug you and bring you along. Your mind will work, but your body won’t obey you. Only me. You’ll get to witness the boss’ ultimate victory over you and will be unable to do a thing to stop him. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
John had me backed up against the wall. The relief showed the battle of Bjornsson and Farl in the background, but the main focus was the young man, thoroughly and expertly hogtied and gagged, laying on his stomach in the crowd on onlookers. Why would a depiction of a slave at the fight be here? And shown in such prominence? The epic battle itself was just set dressing. But I had no time to ponder that as John approached closer and closer. His hands were extended and inches from my face, secreting a foul liquid through the membranes. Even through the mask, the fumes were making me weak. John sneered as he approached.
“Nighty-night, prof,” he said… then promptly disassociated into a pile of bubbling goo on the stone floor. Anthony stood in the doorway, a faint smell of ozone wafting from the end of his pulse rifle.
“Are you OK, Jack?” Anthony asked. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” I said, catching my breath. “You got him just in time.” I fanned the mist away with my gloved hand and pulled my mask down.
Anthony rushed over to me, careful not to step in the goo, and pinned me against the wall. He planted a powerful kiss on my lips. “Just like old times,” he said. “Me saving your ass at the last second.”
I patted his ass playfully. “That’s not how I remember it going, buddy,” I said, chuckling. “Looks like my psychic distress call made it through Queer Eye’s control of your mind.”
“And not a minute too soon,” Anthony said, looking down the corridor. "He’s mindfucked Sean something fierce. Zack’s still OK, but who knows for how long? We need to get going.”
“You said it!” I said. “Now let’s go save Sean and Zack and show that sonnafa…” The stungun in Anthony’s hand connected to my neck and I went down immediately. My muscles spasmed involuntarily a few times, then froze up completely. I was paralyzed.
“Sorry, Jack,” Anthony said sadly. “He knew you’d get past the guards. He said he would free Zack if I took you down and brought you to him. I… I had to.”
“Oh, Anthony,” I thought. “I don’t blame you. You had no choice. Any father would do the same.” But my mouth was unable to form the words. I hoped Anthony could tell I forgave him.
Anthony shouldered his rifle and bent down, pulling me up into a sitting position. He moved my arms behind my back and placed a strange bracelet on each wrist. The bracelets were drawn together magnetically with a force that no human could possibly break. Then he put a metal box on my chest. When he switched it on, an energy field enveloped my upper body, immobilizing my arms and torso. He stuffed a rag in my mouth and used the cowboy’s bandana, hanging limply around my neck, to secure the gag in place.
“Freddie to boss,” Anthony said into his wrist communicator. “Target acquired. Cadre Elite defeated, but will be OK.”
“Good,” Queer Eye’s voice said through the com. “Bring him.”
“What about Zack?” Anthony demanded.
“In due time,” Queer Eye responded. “You’ll get him back after we get to the inner chamber. And we need the professor for that. Now hurry up and bring him before I decide our deal is tiresome and void it altogether.”
Anthony shut off the com and hoisted me to my feet. My muscle functions had begun to return, albeit slowly. “I’m so sorry,” Anthony said again, then he shoved me along down the darkened corridor.
Coming Soon: Part 15 – The Inner Chamber
Rock just seemed to stand there, unmoving. I wouldn’t even think he was alive if it weren’t for his occasional slow breaths. Oscar, however was eying me intently. “Such a pretty one,” he howled. “That’s why master likes him so much.” Rock didn’t respond.
Bored, the feral man bounded across the room on all fours and lept at me. He extended his claws and slashed at my face, stopping a hairbreadth away. He seemed impressed that I didn’t flinch. “Brave one, too,” he chuckled. “He knows I won’t. But maybe I will. Maybe master likes scars on his men. Maybe an eyepatch will make him more rugged. Master likes rugged.” He held claw up near my eye.
A low, gravelly voice echoed through the room. “Stop playing,” Rock said. “We are to guard, not to play.” While the two were engrossed in conversation, I twisted my wrists in an attempt to slip my bonds. The ropes seemed to adjust to my movements, retightening in response to my struggles. Almost like they were a liquid and not fibers. Disheartened, I stopped my fruitless squirming.
“You never let me have any fun,” Oscar pouted. He slunk off into the corner and preened himself. After some time passed, I knew I had to make some kind of move. Fighting Rock was out of the question, but maybe I could get somewhere with Oscar.
“Hey, stinky,” I said. “Can you lick yourself somewhere else? It’s kinda gross.”
“I not stink!” Oscar said. “John stinks. Filthy water. Not good to drink.”
“You do stink,” I taunted. “And you have fleas.”
“Grrraaaggggh!” Oscar lept at me, claws bared. An instant before he connected, Rock’s hand interposed itself. Two of Oscar’s nails made contact with his stone palm and broke off.
“Away!” Rock bellowed. Oscar shot me dagger eyes and returned to his corner. Neither one saw me twist my body before the hand went up and catch the broken claws in my hands as they fell to the floor. Oscar pouted in the corner, facing away from me while Rock stared straight ahead. I had to be careful not to catch the attention of either of my captors while I attempted escape. Using the claws, I started to saw away at the ropes binding my hands behind my back. I didn’t know if the claws would cut through the superscience polymer, but I had to try. It was my only chance. It was slow going, but eventually I felt the cords fraying. One good tug and they would pop apart.
The ropes on my arms, however, were unreachable. Not without being seen, at least. I would have extremely limited movement when my hands were free, but it was my only shot. “Hey, Rock,” I said. “I need to piss. It was a long trip here and the transport didn’t have a bathroom. Can you help me out?”
“No,” Rock said. “Soil yourself. Your comfort is not my concern.”
“I could do that,” I said. “But the rug on the floor is over 1,000 years old and priceless. If it got ruined, your master would be angry. There’s a chamber pot in the corner. I can use that.”
Rock thought for a moment, his thoughts as slow as his movement. “Fine,” he said. “Oscar, retrieve it.”
“No,” Oscar pouted. “Let him wet himself. Then we’ll see who’s stinky.”
Rock gritted his teeth and pushed against my back. “Walk,” he said. “I will take you.” As soon as we started walking, I felt Rock’s grip on my shoulders loosen slightly and took my chance. I did a tuck-and-roll and tumbled across the chamber behind Henry’s tomb. I made sure to keep it between me and the giant to slow him down. He wouldn’t risk damaging any of the artifacts in an attempt to recapture me.
As I stood up, I burst the ropes around my wrists. My arms were still pinned tightly to my sides, but it was better than nothing. Oscar grinned and said, “Playtime at last!” before diving at me.
Now, this wasn’t my most graceful battle, what with my arms still bound to my sides, but I didn’t have the luxury of a timeout to fully free myself. I dodged and rolled this way and that, lashing out with kicks when I could, but I was getting nowhere. Oscar was clearly the superior fighter. Plus, I had the added distraction of keeping Rock away from me while I dodged Oscar. But I would tire long before they did, so I had to be smart about it.
Lining myself up, I made the risky decision of opening a clear path between Rock and me. I just hoped that he was too slow to close the distance before I could pull of what I was planning. Continuously taunting Oscar, I held my position as both he and Rock approached from opposite sides. Rock was just a foot out of arms’ reach when Oscar took the bait and lunged for me. I jumped up onto Henry’s tomb and Oscar sailed past me, crashing headfirst into Rock and knocking himself out cold.
Phase 1 was complete. All that remained was the hulk of marble shambling towards me. I stood my ground, but was surprised at the sound of footsteps running back down the hall towards me. Damn it! The sounds of battle alerted the others! Trusting in my divine senses, I jumped and rolled to the side as an orb of energy whizzed through the room. It passed through the space I had occupied until just a second ago and struck Rock square in the chest. The orb began to grow and enveloped the stone giant in an impenetrable energy bubble.
“This has me greatly concerned,” Tim’s silky voice said from the doorway. I crawled behind the tomb, out of his sight, and started using the unconscious Oscar’s claws to awkwardly saw away at the ropes that held my arms. Energy tether cables launched around the room from Tim’s gun arm. They lashed out, wrapping themselves around the various objects they hit and encasing them in energy bands. If one of them hit me, they would entwine me completely and it would be game over. I wouldn't be able to use discarded claws to cut myself loose.
I emerged from my hiding place, fully freed from my bonds, and tried to get close enough to Tim to deliver a knockout punch. He was good with ranged attacks, but I’m guessing he wasn’t trained in close combat. Understanding my aim, he fired suppressing shots in rapid sequence. The damned tethers fired at such a rapid pace kept me at bay. I'd never get anywhere at this rate. I needed to think. There! That’s it!
I grabbed a jug from the offering table and removed the stopper. It was full of 1,000-year-old mead. Pity to waste it, but I had greater needs right now. I hurled the jug at Tim, who rolled his eyes and aimed his gun arm. Then I threw a stone from Henry’s cairn directly at the jug. The stone hit the brittle clay container and shattered it, raining the viscous liquid all over Tim’s gun arm. I saw sparks fly as the moisture shorted it out and the released voltage was enough to put Tim down for the count. He slumped against the wall, unconscious.
Wasting no time, I grabbed a set of heavy chains from a chest against the wall and dragged Tim over to Oscar. Rock would be trapped in the bubble for hours, so he was of no concern right now. I put the two metahumans back-to-back and secured them together with the chains. Then I grabbed the smoking gun arm and pulled it off of Tim, revealing his real arm beneath, still clutching the ruined controlling mechanism. I pulled his arms behind him and secured them together with manacles in front of Oscar’s abdomen. Then I did the same with Oscar’s. The two were chained together in an awkward position that they wouldn’t be able to escape from once they awoke. I manacled their ankles for good measure. Didn't want them working together to stand up and follow. I didn't know if Oscar was capable of following instructions well enough to accomplish that, but I couldn't risk it.
After admiring my handiwork for a second, I picked up a discarded flashlight and silently crept down the hall. There were no torches here, but the walls bore the same paintings and carvings as the previous corridor. At least I thought they were the same at first glance. A more careful inspection revealed that they depicted someone other than Bjornsson. They showed a young dark-haired man, not as muscled as Bjornsson, but just as handsome in face and body. He was depicted first in knight’s armor battling Viking warriors. Then it showed him as a slave of the Vikings. He was often bound in various ways, often alongside another young man with blonde hair, but always seemed happy with that arrangement. The paintings were of lesser quality than the ones outside, however. Clearly they were painted by a different hand, and one that was not skilled in art. The last one depicted him being carried by Bjornsson like a bride through a meadow. What was this all about? Who would let an amateur create tomb reliefs like this? I had the odd notion that these were painted by Bjornsson himself. Interesting.
My musings were cut short as an oily voice wafted through the darkness. “Good job in getting past those three yahoos.” The liquid form of John oozed into view. “But I’m something altogether different. You won't find me quite so easy.” Before I could retort, a spray of foul-smelling ooze launched through the room. It splashed on my biker jacket and stunk to high heaven. If any of that got on my skin it would be very bad news.
“You don’t like my filth?” John cackled. “The critics never do. They say it’s embarrassing and derivative, but I say ‘revel it what makes you special, no?’” More spray fired out and barely missed me. It left a pungeant odor and steamed when it hit the floor. The fumes made me slightly lightheaded and I saw he had surrounded himself in a dense, stinky mist. How was I going to beat John? I couldn’t touch him without probably getting poisoned or drugged from the contact with the ooze that composed his body. And the mist was almost assuredly a sedative of some sort, designed to knock me out if I breathed it in. I quickly pulled the bandana around my neck up over my face to block out the vapors.
“At a loss?” John smirked, advancing towards me. “It will be much easier if you just give up. I’ll just drug you and bring you along. Your mind will work, but your body won’t obey you. Only me. You’ll get to witness the boss’ ultimate victory over you and will be unable to do a thing to stop him. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
John had me backed up against the wall. The relief showed the battle of Bjornsson and Farl in the background, but the main focus was the young man, thoroughly and expertly hogtied and gagged, laying on his stomach in the crowd on onlookers. Why would a depiction of a slave at the fight be here? And shown in such prominence? The epic battle itself was just set dressing. But I had no time to ponder that as John approached closer and closer. His hands were extended and inches from my face, secreting a foul liquid through the membranes. Even through the mask, the fumes were making me weak. John sneered as he approached.
“Nighty-night, prof,” he said… then promptly disassociated into a pile of bubbling goo on the stone floor. Anthony stood in the doorway, a faint smell of ozone wafting from the end of his pulse rifle.
“Are you OK, Jack?” Anthony asked. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” I said, catching my breath. “You got him just in time.” I fanned the mist away with my gloved hand and pulled my mask down.
Anthony rushed over to me, careful not to step in the goo, and pinned me against the wall. He planted a powerful kiss on my lips. “Just like old times,” he said. “Me saving your ass at the last second.”
I patted his ass playfully. “That’s not how I remember it going, buddy,” I said, chuckling. “Looks like my psychic distress call made it through Queer Eye’s control of your mind.”
“And not a minute too soon,” Anthony said, looking down the corridor. "He’s mindfucked Sean something fierce. Zack’s still OK, but who knows for how long? We need to get going.”
“You said it!” I said. “Now let’s go save Sean and Zack and show that sonnafa…” The stungun in Anthony’s hand connected to my neck and I went down immediately. My muscles spasmed involuntarily a few times, then froze up completely. I was paralyzed.
“Sorry, Jack,” Anthony said sadly. “He knew you’d get past the guards. He said he would free Zack if I took you down and brought you to him. I… I had to.”
“Oh, Anthony,” I thought. “I don’t blame you. You had no choice. Any father would do the same.” But my mouth was unable to form the words. I hoped Anthony could tell I forgave him.
Anthony shouldered his rifle and bent down, pulling me up into a sitting position. He moved my arms behind my back and placed a strange bracelet on each wrist. The bracelets were drawn together magnetically with a force that no human could possibly break. Then he put a metal box on my chest. When he switched it on, an energy field enveloped my upper body, immobilizing my arms and torso. He stuffed a rag in my mouth and used the cowboy’s bandana, hanging limply around my neck, to secure the gag in place.
“Freddie to boss,” Anthony said into his wrist communicator. “Target acquired. Cadre Elite defeated, but will be OK.”
“Good,” Queer Eye’s voice said through the com. “Bring him.”
“What about Zack?” Anthony demanded.
“In due time,” Queer Eye responded. “You’ll get him back after we get to the inner chamber. And we need the professor for that. Now hurry up and bring him before I decide our deal is tiresome and void it altogether.”
Anthony shut off the com and hoisted me to my feet. My muscle functions had begun to return, albeit slowly. “I’m so sorry,” Anthony said again, then he shoved me along down the darkened corridor.
Coming Soon: Part 15 – The Inner Chamber
Can't blame Anthony for his actions, but goodness me the devious sciency ways they keep Jack restrained make me giddy! Also seeing more seeds of the Anthony/Jack romance is always great!
And Baldur having done art of his true love!!!! Heart eyes! No words!
And Baldur having done art of his true love!!!!
Heart eyes! No words!-
KidnappedCowboy
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I patted his ass playfully.
There's nothing like patting the butt and playing tonsil hockey with the guy who's about to get the drop on you!
Well Done, as usual, [mention]wataru14[/mention]
Part 15 – The Inner Chamber
My energy bonds emitted a low humming sound as Anthony led me down the inclined corridor. I tried to talk to him through my gag, imploring him to help me and fight Queer Eye alongside me, but he wouldn’t remove it. He was too scared for Zack to risk it. I would have to find some other way to enlist his aid for real. I was certain that once Zack was safe, he would help, but first I needed to get an idea of what I was up against.
We entered into a high-ceilinged chamber deep inside the cliffs. It had clearly not seen fresh air in over 1,000 years. But there was more treasure than I could have imagined. Gold, jewels, art, you name it. The personal hoard of Baldur Bjornsson. But no grave. The room reached a dead end where Queer Eye, Sean, and Zack stood in a group by the far wall. They were inspecting it for some kind of opening or mechanism that would allow further access.
“This can’t be the end of it!” Queer Eye bellowed. “I know it’s here! It has to be!”
“Maybe there is no grave,” Sean said. “Maybe he was given a true Viking funeral and this place is just his treasure vault.”
Queer Eye slapped Sean upside the head. “Then why did the Runes on the tomb upstairs say ‘As he guarded my home in life, so he guards my home in death?’” he said. “Or did you forget that part already?”
“No need to be rude about it,” Sean said. “Just offering ideas.”
“Shut up!” Queer Eye snapped. In all my years of knowing him I had never seen him so angry. But why? If he took the treasure from the room, he’d be set for life. What else did he want? “If you had any idea how important that tomb is…”
“Why is it so important?” Sean said. “The historical information we can get from the paintings and artifacts already makes this place the find of the century. And the treasure is beyond appraisal. Finding the body is just icing. Why is finding Bjornsson’s corpse so important?”
Queer Eye slapped Sean hard across the face. “You don’t understand anything,” he said. “Fuck Bjornsson’s body. That’s not what I’m after. There’s something far more important to me… to all of us… in there with him.”
Just then I felt the mental connection with Sean open up again. I guess Queer Eye’s outburst caused his concentration to lapse just enough to cause his control over Sean to break. Sean tried apologizing to me through our shared mental bond, but I told him he didn’t need to. What happened was my own doing and I took full blame for keeping him in the dark.
Sean rubbed his jaw with a puzzled look on his face. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s what you want. But we’re not getting anywhere at the moment.”
“That’s why I brought Professor Mills down here,” Queer Eye said. “Three genius intellects are better than two. Freddie… or Anthony… whichever one you are right now. Bring the professor over here and remove his gag. We may have need of him.”
Anthony pulled the bandana out of my mouth and let it hang limply over my chest. I spit the stuffing into his hand as he walked me over to where Queer Eye, Sean, and Zack stood. I could see there were three empty shelves on the wall as we approached. Zack was still cocooned in his silver membrane, gagged, and leashed. He was still struggling valiantly. Tough kid. Like his father. I was shoved next to Sean and we looked at the three empty shelves. They were the key to moving on, I was sure of it.
When the five of us were together, something strange happened. The doorway to the upper levels slammed shut, trapping us in the dead-end room. Glowing Runes appeared on the bare stone wall near the shelves. I focused my energies into translating them, and Sean did the same.
“Ye who enter here be warned. Only when three of those with my blood come together will the door open. Secure thy slaves and place thy offerings on the mantels. If the proper tribute be paid, entry will be granted. Only then will ye gain access to my True Prize. If improper tribute is paid, ye shall never leave this room again. Scions three of Baldur Bjornsson, state thy claims.”
“Scions three,” I thought. Well, Sean is one. And I know I am, as well. That means the last one must be Zack on his mother’s side. If it was Anthony, the Runes would have said “Scions Four.” I turned to Sean and said, “Go ahead.”
“I am Sean Anderson, descendant of Baldur Bjornsson by Frida of Svalbard.” Runes glowed over one of the shelves. Then I stepped forward.
“I am Jack Mills, descendant of Baldur Bjornsson by Morwen of Wales.” There was a dull rumbling. The Runes glowed red. I stepped back, abashed.
“Quick,” Sean whispered to Queer Eye, “release him. A descendant of Baldur Bjornsson should not be presented bound like a thrall!” Queer Eye angrily pressed a button on his watch and the energy field and bracelets imprisoning me deactivated. He stood scowling as I stepped forward again. When I re-stated my claim, free of the restraints, the Runes over second shelf illuminated. “Now free Zack so he can…”
“I am…” Queer Eye winced as he interrupted. “Luther Harris. Descendant of Baldur Bjornsson by Ermagarde of Frisia.” Sean and I both stood agape. HIM??? Of course! How could I be so dense? That’s why he was so interested in the tomb!
The Runes glowed again. “Secure thy slaves and place thy offerings.”
Seeing chains on the floor, Sean brought Zack over to them and lowered him to his knees. “Sorry, bro,” he said. “Gotta do what the Runes say.” He gave Zack a quick wink as he placed a heavy iron collar around Zack’s neck. The collar was attached to the wall by a short chain. When locked, the chains glowed with an eerie blue radiance that quickly faded.
Queer Eye looked at Anthony and pointed to the other set of chains. Anthony didn’t move. “Of course,” he sighed. “Why am I not surprised? Look, Agent Testosterone, either you get with the program and take your place in the corner or we’re all going to run out of air soon.” Anthony scowled and put down his rifle. He walked over to the corner and knelt down.
“I’ll do it,” I said, stopping Queer Eye from going any closer.
“Whatever,” Queer Eye said dismissively. “Just get it done. And if you skimp on the tightness I’m sure the Runes will know. So make it good.”
I walked over to Anthony and shackled his hands behind his back with a pair of heavy iron manacles. They glowed blue and locked of their own accord. Queer Eye gave Anthony an appraising look. “Probably wouldn’t have worked for me, anyway, since he’s not my slave anymore, is he?. Interesting that it worked for you and Sean, though. Hmmmm?” Queer Eye grinned. I took a collar, like the one on Zack, and fastened it around Anthony’s neck. When it locked of its own accord, I paid Queer Eye’s jape no mind and walked back to the others.
“My guess is we each have to choose an object from the room and place it on a shelf,” I said. “And the objects need to be significant. Something valuable.”
“No,” Sean said. “Not necessarily valuable. They need to be something personal. Something important to Bjornsson and related to… whatever is in there with him.”
Queer Eye gave an unreadable look and scanned the room with his ultra-vision. Sean and I started rummaging through the piles of treasure, looking for an appropriate tribute. Queer Eye’s face lit up and he started digging through a pile of gold coins on the floor. He retrieved a well-built sword.
“I offer the Sword of House Bamford,” he said, placing the blade on the shelf. “Symbol of Bjornsson’s final victory over the cruel master of his youth. The victory that changed him from man to legend.” Queer Eye stepped back and the shelf glowed blue. “I guess that’s a good one,” he smirked.
Sean and I kept digging. Over my shoulder, it looked like Sean had something in his hands, but I couldn’t see what it was. He looked like he was thinking very hard about something. Deciding to continue my search I went back to the pile of riches. My fingers closed around a chalice and I felt a shock. That was it! I grabbed it and walked to the second shelf.
“I offer the Chalice of Bjorn the Father,” I said, placing it. “Stolen by a foe, it was the catalyst that started Bjornsson’s holmgang, raising him up out of thralldom.” The shelf glowed blue.
“Your turn, sweetcheeks,” Queer Eye said to Sean. “No more dallying. With five of us sucking up the limited oxygen in here, there isn’t time to go searching again. It’s now or never.”
I looked over at Sean. In his hand was a tattered white rag. It was stained with ancient sweat and blood and had been mended several times. It looked awful. No way that could be a fitting tribute. It looked like cast-off garbage left by a stonemason 1,000 years ago. “No Sean,” I said. “It can’t be that thing. Where did you find that? Look over there. It’s the crown Bjornsson wore when he was made Jarl. That’s much better.”
“No!” Sean said furiously. “I know what I’m doing.” He walked over to the third shelf and placed the tattered rag on it. “I offer the token of the First Wife. Given to Bjornsson on the eve of the holmgang by his true love. Worn during the battle and stained with the blood of Farl. Carried with Bjornsson during every raid he executed.”
I was aghast. History made no such mention of such a thing. There was almost no information at all on Bjornsson’s first wife. How did Sean know that she gave that thing to him? The shelf glowed blue and a deep rumbling was heard all over the room. The wall with the shelves slid away and a passage was revealed. The Runes changed to read, “Enter Scions Three. Enter and behold the grave of Baldur Bjornsson.”
Sean and I shot each other a quick look of excitement while Queer Eye’s back was turned. We were here! The tomb at last! The chains binding Anthony and Zack detached from the wall but the manacles holding Anthony’s hands behind his back did not. Realizing they were partially freed, the father and son FBI agents rose to their feet, but didn’t get far. The chains, glowing with the same blue radiance as the Runes, entwined their bodies. Within seconds, the two “slaves” were tightly manacled over their entire torsos with enchanted fetters.
“Looks like slaves must know their place,” Queer Eye chuckled. “I guess that means they are allowed to come with us.” I turned to get a look at Anthony, and instantly realized I was making a HUGE mistake by showing my back to Queer Eye. I felt a light impact against the back of my biker jacket and then heard the whirring sound of thin steel cables wrapping themselves around my upper body.
My arms were pinned to my sides with hydraulic force and secured. The cables wrapped around from collarbone to waist, trapping my arms underneath. I heard a “What the…?” from Sean and saw him being similarly encased out of the corner of my eye. We both spun around and saw the triumphant grin on the villain’s face.
“You dropped your guard, professor,” he cackled. “Getting rusty in your old age. Maybe it IS time to retire.”
Coming Soon – Part 16: A Viking’s True Prize
My energy bonds emitted a low humming sound as Anthony led me down the inclined corridor. I tried to talk to him through my gag, imploring him to help me and fight Queer Eye alongside me, but he wouldn’t remove it. He was too scared for Zack to risk it. I would have to find some other way to enlist his aid for real. I was certain that once Zack was safe, he would help, but first I needed to get an idea of what I was up against.
We entered into a high-ceilinged chamber deep inside the cliffs. It had clearly not seen fresh air in over 1,000 years. But there was more treasure than I could have imagined. Gold, jewels, art, you name it. The personal hoard of Baldur Bjornsson. But no grave. The room reached a dead end where Queer Eye, Sean, and Zack stood in a group by the far wall. They were inspecting it for some kind of opening or mechanism that would allow further access.
“This can’t be the end of it!” Queer Eye bellowed. “I know it’s here! It has to be!”
“Maybe there is no grave,” Sean said. “Maybe he was given a true Viking funeral and this place is just his treasure vault.”
Queer Eye slapped Sean upside the head. “Then why did the Runes on the tomb upstairs say ‘As he guarded my home in life, so he guards my home in death?’” he said. “Or did you forget that part already?”
“No need to be rude about it,” Sean said. “Just offering ideas.”
“Shut up!” Queer Eye snapped. In all my years of knowing him I had never seen him so angry. But why? If he took the treasure from the room, he’d be set for life. What else did he want? “If you had any idea how important that tomb is…”
“Why is it so important?” Sean said. “The historical information we can get from the paintings and artifacts already makes this place the find of the century. And the treasure is beyond appraisal. Finding the body is just icing. Why is finding Bjornsson’s corpse so important?”
Queer Eye slapped Sean hard across the face. “You don’t understand anything,” he said. “Fuck Bjornsson’s body. That’s not what I’m after. There’s something far more important to me… to all of us… in there with him.”
Just then I felt the mental connection with Sean open up again. I guess Queer Eye’s outburst caused his concentration to lapse just enough to cause his control over Sean to break. Sean tried apologizing to me through our shared mental bond, but I told him he didn’t need to. What happened was my own doing and I took full blame for keeping him in the dark.
Sean rubbed his jaw with a puzzled look on his face. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s what you want. But we’re not getting anywhere at the moment.”
“That’s why I brought Professor Mills down here,” Queer Eye said. “Three genius intellects are better than two. Freddie… or Anthony… whichever one you are right now. Bring the professor over here and remove his gag. We may have need of him.”
Anthony pulled the bandana out of my mouth and let it hang limply over my chest. I spit the stuffing into his hand as he walked me over to where Queer Eye, Sean, and Zack stood. I could see there were three empty shelves on the wall as we approached. Zack was still cocooned in his silver membrane, gagged, and leashed. He was still struggling valiantly. Tough kid. Like his father. I was shoved next to Sean and we looked at the three empty shelves. They were the key to moving on, I was sure of it.
When the five of us were together, something strange happened. The doorway to the upper levels slammed shut, trapping us in the dead-end room. Glowing Runes appeared on the bare stone wall near the shelves. I focused my energies into translating them, and Sean did the same.
“Ye who enter here be warned. Only when three of those with my blood come together will the door open. Secure thy slaves and place thy offerings on the mantels. If the proper tribute be paid, entry will be granted. Only then will ye gain access to my True Prize. If improper tribute is paid, ye shall never leave this room again. Scions three of Baldur Bjornsson, state thy claims.”
“Scions three,” I thought. Well, Sean is one. And I know I am, as well. That means the last one must be Zack on his mother’s side. If it was Anthony, the Runes would have said “Scions Four.” I turned to Sean and said, “Go ahead.”
“I am Sean Anderson, descendant of Baldur Bjornsson by Frida of Svalbard.” Runes glowed over one of the shelves. Then I stepped forward.
“I am Jack Mills, descendant of Baldur Bjornsson by Morwen of Wales.” There was a dull rumbling. The Runes glowed red. I stepped back, abashed.
“Quick,” Sean whispered to Queer Eye, “release him. A descendant of Baldur Bjornsson should not be presented bound like a thrall!” Queer Eye angrily pressed a button on his watch and the energy field and bracelets imprisoning me deactivated. He stood scowling as I stepped forward again. When I re-stated my claim, free of the restraints, the Runes over second shelf illuminated. “Now free Zack so he can…”
“I am…” Queer Eye winced as he interrupted. “Luther Harris. Descendant of Baldur Bjornsson by Ermagarde of Frisia.” Sean and I both stood agape. HIM??? Of course! How could I be so dense? That’s why he was so interested in the tomb!
The Runes glowed again. “Secure thy slaves and place thy offerings.”
Seeing chains on the floor, Sean brought Zack over to them and lowered him to his knees. “Sorry, bro,” he said. “Gotta do what the Runes say.” He gave Zack a quick wink as he placed a heavy iron collar around Zack’s neck. The collar was attached to the wall by a short chain. When locked, the chains glowed with an eerie blue radiance that quickly faded.
Queer Eye looked at Anthony and pointed to the other set of chains. Anthony didn’t move. “Of course,” he sighed. “Why am I not surprised? Look, Agent Testosterone, either you get with the program and take your place in the corner or we’re all going to run out of air soon.” Anthony scowled and put down his rifle. He walked over to the corner and knelt down.
“I’ll do it,” I said, stopping Queer Eye from going any closer.
“Whatever,” Queer Eye said dismissively. “Just get it done. And if you skimp on the tightness I’m sure the Runes will know. So make it good.”
I walked over to Anthony and shackled his hands behind his back with a pair of heavy iron manacles. They glowed blue and locked of their own accord. Queer Eye gave Anthony an appraising look. “Probably wouldn’t have worked for me, anyway, since he’s not my slave anymore, is he?. Interesting that it worked for you and Sean, though. Hmmmm?” Queer Eye grinned. I took a collar, like the one on Zack, and fastened it around Anthony’s neck. When it locked of its own accord, I paid Queer Eye’s jape no mind and walked back to the others.
“My guess is we each have to choose an object from the room and place it on a shelf,” I said. “And the objects need to be significant. Something valuable.”
“No,” Sean said. “Not necessarily valuable. They need to be something personal. Something important to Bjornsson and related to… whatever is in there with him.”
Queer Eye gave an unreadable look and scanned the room with his ultra-vision. Sean and I started rummaging through the piles of treasure, looking for an appropriate tribute. Queer Eye’s face lit up and he started digging through a pile of gold coins on the floor. He retrieved a well-built sword.
“I offer the Sword of House Bamford,” he said, placing the blade on the shelf. “Symbol of Bjornsson’s final victory over the cruel master of his youth. The victory that changed him from man to legend.” Queer Eye stepped back and the shelf glowed blue. “I guess that’s a good one,” he smirked.
Sean and I kept digging. Over my shoulder, it looked like Sean had something in his hands, but I couldn’t see what it was. He looked like he was thinking very hard about something. Deciding to continue my search I went back to the pile of riches. My fingers closed around a chalice and I felt a shock. That was it! I grabbed it and walked to the second shelf.
“I offer the Chalice of Bjorn the Father,” I said, placing it. “Stolen by a foe, it was the catalyst that started Bjornsson’s holmgang, raising him up out of thralldom.” The shelf glowed blue.
“Your turn, sweetcheeks,” Queer Eye said to Sean. “No more dallying. With five of us sucking up the limited oxygen in here, there isn’t time to go searching again. It’s now or never.”
I looked over at Sean. In his hand was a tattered white rag. It was stained with ancient sweat and blood and had been mended several times. It looked awful. No way that could be a fitting tribute. It looked like cast-off garbage left by a stonemason 1,000 years ago. “No Sean,” I said. “It can’t be that thing. Where did you find that? Look over there. It’s the crown Bjornsson wore when he was made Jarl. That’s much better.”
“No!” Sean said furiously. “I know what I’m doing.” He walked over to the third shelf and placed the tattered rag on it. “I offer the token of the First Wife. Given to Bjornsson on the eve of the holmgang by his true love. Worn during the battle and stained with the blood of Farl. Carried with Bjornsson during every raid he executed.”
I was aghast. History made no such mention of such a thing. There was almost no information at all on Bjornsson’s first wife. How did Sean know that she gave that thing to him? The shelf glowed blue and a deep rumbling was heard all over the room. The wall with the shelves slid away and a passage was revealed. The Runes changed to read, “Enter Scions Three. Enter and behold the grave of Baldur Bjornsson.”
Sean and I shot each other a quick look of excitement while Queer Eye’s back was turned. We were here! The tomb at last! The chains binding Anthony and Zack detached from the wall but the manacles holding Anthony’s hands behind his back did not. Realizing they were partially freed, the father and son FBI agents rose to their feet, but didn’t get far. The chains, glowing with the same blue radiance as the Runes, entwined their bodies. Within seconds, the two “slaves” were tightly manacled over their entire torsos with enchanted fetters.
“Looks like slaves must know their place,” Queer Eye chuckled. “I guess that means they are allowed to come with us.” I turned to get a look at Anthony, and instantly realized I was making a HUGE mistake by showing my back to Queer Eye. I felt a light impact against the back of my biker jacket and then heard the whirring sound of thin steel cables wrapping themselves around my upper body.
My arms were pinned to my sides with hydraulic force and secured. The cables wrapped around from collarbone to waist, trapping my arms underneath. I heard a “What the…?” from Sean and saw him being similarly encased out of the corner of my eye. We both spun around and saw the triumphant grin on the villain’s face.
“You dropped your guard, professor,” he cackled. “Getting rusty in your old age. Maybe it IS time to retire.”
Coming Soon – Part 16: A Viking’s True Prize
So much going on here! I'm pleased that my prediction a few chapters ago bore fruit! (Ouch for poor Queer Eye having to use his Dead Name to enter the tomb, though)
Mmmmm, when I go, I definitely want the magical tomb with the enchanted chains package. Queer Eye said exactly what I was thinking when he mentioned how the chains worked for Anthony as Jack's "slave." I'm rooting for it!
Also - Queer Eye's emotions are causing him to slip a little - methinks even though he has the upper hand, our heroes can still triumph! (although part of me is definitely rooting for the villains - these four hunks just look so good bound and gagged in my head.
Mmmmm, when I go, I definitely want the magical tomb with the enchanted chains package. Queer Eye said exactly what I was thinking when he mentioned how the chains worked for Anthony as Jack's "slave." I'm rooting for it!
Also - Queer Eye's emotions are causing him to slip a little - methinks even though he has the upper hand, our heroes can still triumph! (although part of me is definitely rooting for the villains - these four hunks just look so good bound and gagged in my head.
The plot continues to thicken! Loving the magical chain bondage!
How will our four heroes manage to escape? (and do we want them to at all?)
How will our four heroes manage to escape? (and do we want them to at all?)
Part 16: A Viking’s True Prize
“What the hell is this?” I demanded. “Getting us out of the way so you can steal the tomb’s riches?”
“The fact that you think my plan is so simple absolutely WOUNDS me,” Queer Eye said with mock overdramatic grandeur. “If I just wanted to steal, I would have raided the previous room and been done with it. We’re all going in there. My plan requires you both. I just need to confirm my suspicion first.”
I gritted my teeth. The exit door was still closed, so we had no choice but to follow. Holding my head high, I started to walk along after Queer Eye. The others fell into step behind me, but with much less bravado. Satisfied we were going to be complacent, Queer Eye stepped through the threshold into the Inner Tomb.
The room was far more adorned than the outer chamber. It looks like Bjornsson stored his most prized possessions here. Priceless works of art, the Rune carved pole from his lodge, the anvil from Castle Bamford’s smithy… but the main focus was the tomb itself.
Most decidedly un-Viking, there was a marble casket on a raised dais in the center of the room, adorned with Runes etched in gold. A carving of Bjornsson’s likeness emblazoned the lid. It was carved with master craftsmanship. The paintings didn’t do his beauty justice. But beyond even that, something more amazing laid right next to it.
A second tomb, slightly smaller than Bjornsson’s, but placed on the dais at equal height, was before us. It was carved from the same material, and with the same expert craftsmanship. It must have been the tomb of the First Wife! But the effigy was something altogether unexpected. It did not depict a woman at all. It was a handsome man in the prime of his youth. He was beardless, which was unheard of in Viking men. “Who was this?” I said aloud. “Perhaps a favorite son of Bjornsson’s who died before he reached manhood?”
Queer Eye had a rapturous expression on his face. “So it IS true!” he exclaimed, ignoring my question. “A lifetime of following dead ends and old wives’ tales has paid off!”
I looked at him, completely puzzled, but Sean had a knowing look on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“Behold the tomb of the First Wife!” Queer Eye said, placing his hand on the sarcophagus.
“You don’t mean…?” I said, incredulous.
“Damn skippy I do,” Queer Eye said. “Entombed here is Roderick Bamford. Youngest son of the last Earl of Bamford, who was slain by Bjornsson’s own hand. His other brothers are footnotes in history, but HIM! He is the find of the century.”
“Roderick Bamford was killed in battle,” I said. “He was interred on the estate. His grave still stands untouched.”
“No…” Sean muttered. “That’s not true. I saw it.”
“What do you mean ‘you saw it?’” I asked.
“While we were in the crates, I had a flashback,” Sean said. “Only I wasn’t living your life, I was living Bjornsson’s.” I was astounded. If that was true, Sean was accessing the power without my help and in ways even I couldn’t! “He said to the earlessa that her son lived when he destroyed the House.”
“Yes, yes,” Queer Eye cooed. “I figured sensory deprivation would turn something on inside you. And it all paid off splendidly. I love it when I win.” He patted the tomb contentedly. “I’m sure, professor, you understand the significance of this find.”
“Yes,” I said. “If Bjornsson’s First Wife was a man…”
“What a victory that is for US!” Queer Eye said with a smile. “The symbol of manly perfection. The ultimate Alpha Wolf. Living in a committed same-sex relationship, in defiance of all norms and traditions, and over 1,000 years ago!”
“But Vikings often kept male thralls as sexual slaves,” Sean said. “Nothing unusual about that.”
“But this one was more than just a thrall,” Queer Eye said. “Ever wonder why he’s been called ‘The First Wife’ ever since the skalds started singing about Bjornsson? Bamford wasn’t just a slave. They were legally married.”
Queer Eye took a small box out of his coat pocket. “Several years ago I came across some documents in a storage unit left to me by an old Nordic millionaire I had been shagging,” he said. “Lots of boring historical junk that you’d love, Jack, but the thing that stood out was a complete and detailed family tree of Bjornsson’s dating back to the beginning. It traced his lineage down from each of his five wives. That’s how I found out about all of our legacies. But the first wife bore Bjornsson no children. I was intrigued by that. The documents listed her name only as ‘R of England.’ Now, if she were infertile, a marriage to one with as high status as him would have been annulled. The fact that it remained meant that there was a story there. Amirite, Jack?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Preserving Bjornsson’s legacy through heirs would have been of paramount importance. If the marriage was allowed to stand…”
Queer Eye cut me off. “Digging through the rest of the papers,” he said, “I found records of their marriage. It was performed on the first anniversary of Bjornsson’s ascension from thralldom by a priestess of Freya. Witnessed by the jarl himself. Completely legit under Viking law, baby! But the best part is this.”
Queer Eye took a dramatic pause to let the anticipation build.
“When the Vikings finally bent the knee to the Danish King several generations after Bjornsson’s death, one of the provisions of the treaty was that the Pope recognize Bjornsson’s marriages as legitimate. ALL of them,” Queer Eye said. “Bet your history books don’t mention THAT! The Pope agreed, grudgingly, because it meant converting the Vikings as well as disarming them. Most of the evidence of that part of the treaty has been snatched up by the Vatican and locked away forever in a vault somewhere, but guess who has an authentic copy, bitches?!?!?”
My eyes widened. This was big. VERY big.
“Can you imagine what will happen when this information gets out?” Queer Eye said. “All those neo-Nazi fucks that have been co-opting Viking symbols and culture will shit glass shards when they find out that their hero was a Friend of Dorothy all along. And that old man on his Golden Throne in Rome refusing to sanction our marriages will get a big surprise when it is revealed that the church already did it 1,000 years ago. Oh, what fun it will be to watch them all implode! But more than that. This is history. OUR history. This is a vindication of all of us!”
Sean and I sat motionless. I was stunned with the revelation. Silence hung in the air until Anthony finally spoke up. “So what happens now?” he said. “You kill us and take all the historical stuff on a world tour?”
“No, my dear,” Queer Eye said, pinching Anthony’s cheek. “Why are the cute ones always so dumb? If I come forward with this news, it will be discounted as a fiendish villain plot. No one will believe it. But if YOU unveil it all, dear Jack, the world will take notice. There will be backlash, but the truth will OUT, as they say. It always does.”
“What if I refuse?” I said. “As important as this find is, why should I reveal this secret? Maybe I’ll keep it secret just to crap in your cereal.” My brand flared up. My entire body was wracked in pain.
“That’s the best part,” Queer Eye said. “You can’t. Your patroness won’t allow it. The goddess of preserving history will absolutely not allow you to keep this discovery hidden. Don’t toy with me, Jack. I know what you’ll do.”
Queer Eye placed the box on the floor. “Inside you will find the key and directions to the storage unit where all the documents are,” he said. “It’s all yours.” I stared at it, my heart racing with excitement. “But there is one thing before I go.”
I was so engrossed in looking at the box I didn’t notice Queer Eye slipping on a gas mask. “Goodnight, boys!” The room filled with green smoke and within seconds, Sean, Anthony, Zack, and I fell unconscious.
I slowly came to some time later. I had no idea how long it was. The door to the inner tomb was open and Queer Eye was gone, along with the Cadre Elite. I found myself lying face-first on the floor in a tight hogtie. My hands were secured behind my back with the special polymer rope in a complicated and very effective knot. More rope encircled my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. My ankles and knees were tightly bound and my feet were pulled back and roped to the bonds around my arms. I was bent into an uncomfortable bow-shape. My mouth was stuffed with three layers of cloth, muffling all sound.
Looking around the room, I saw all the artifacts were untouched and that Sean, Anthony, and Zack were all mercilessly hogtied like I was. All three were still unconscious. Looking straight ahead down the hall, I saw the relief of the hogtied thrall (who I now realized was Roderick Bamford) in the other chamber. I was positioned like this specifically, so I would see it when I awoke, I realized. The fact that I was bound in exactly the same fashion as Bamford did not escape me.
Escape. That’s what I needed to do! The excavation team was on their way back with the authorities and they couldn’t find us like this. I drew upon all my experiences escaping from ropes and began to wriggle and struggle. I twisted my wrists and contorted my body until I thought the strain would break me. But I finally felt a hand slip free from the ropes after what felt like an eternity. After that, it was just a matter of time and perseverance to free myself from the remaining bonds.
When I was finally free, I stood up and saw that the others had awakened. They grunted and squirmed, begging me to release them from their bonds. But I just smiled and said, “No dice, boys. Anthony and Zack, I’m sure they teach escape techniques in the FBI. And Sean, I know we didn’t get too many lessons in, but you’ve learned enough to free yourselves. Now get at it, fellas.” I leaned against the wall and folded my arms.
It was quite alluring to watch the three hogtied men at my feet squirming and grunting in their ropes. I felt a stirring inside as I watched Anthony straining with all his might against the bonds. Perhaps it was time to rekindle something between us. After all, he was my “slave” now. Officially sanctioned by the Runes. I could have some fun with that. I let my mind wander for a while, thinking of the possibilities, but then Anthony stood up and removed the gag from his mouth. “Still got it!” he said with a smile.
Sean was free next, but Zack was having a fair bit of trouble. He had managed to pry the gag loose, though, and was begging us to release him. “Come on, dad,” he said. “I didn’t do too well in escape class, you know that. Let me outta here.” Anthony chuckled.
“Nope,” he said. “You’ve got to do it on your own. Unless…” he looked over at Sean with a devilish grin. “Unless your new master says it’s OK for me to release you.”
Sean smiled back. “I’ll do it,” he said. “After all, the Runes decreed he is MY thrall now.” Sean bent down and started undoing the ropes that hogtied Zack.
“And I am yours,” Anthony said to me before pulling me in close for a kiss. Zack was free in a minute or two and he and Sean retreated to the far side of the chamber to talk.
A half hour later the Norwegian police arrived. Queer Eye’s involvement was left out of all the reports to preserve the integrity of the operation. I hate to admit he was right about the harm his name would do to the perceived validity of the finds, but he was. There was a media firestorm, of course, but it all worked out in the end. Presented with the evidence of their endorsement of Bjornsson’s marriage, the church was forced to reverse their previous position on the subject. The four of us faced a good deal of both personal and professional backlash from that from certain segments, but we were heroes to countless others at the same time, so it pretty much evened out.
After we returned stateside, I decided to formally retire from adventuring and devote my life to academic pursuits. But Sean was eager to take up the mantle, so I agreed to provide technical support for his new career, but only after he finished his Master’s. Zack was assigned as his FBI watchdog and the two have been happily globetrotting ever since. The brand on my chest still functions, but only passively. The bulk of the powers had been transferred to Sean and I could only draw upon the memory and translation abilities now. Sean was upset by this, but that was good enough for me. I reminded him that at the time Nishaba was worshipped, most people barely lived past 35 and someone of my age would have been considered venerable. It made sense that she would choose a new host of a more appropriate age.
Anthony and I settled down together in my house. I continued teaching, but spent my free time working on my book. “The First Wife,” was published six months later and shot to the top of the bestseller lists. It was banned by many MANY venues, (and had several public burnings to boot) but I considered that an honor. Death threats followed, of course, but after surviving decades of battling Queer Eye, forgive me if I wasn’t threatened by “Y’All Queda.” Bjornsson’s legacy had forever changed, and for the better. He was no longer the hero to neo-Nazis and alt-righters. He and Roderick had become queer icons. I’m not sure if they would have been pleased by this or not, but regardless, their story shook the academic world to its core.
I put down the pile of research papers I had been grading and rubbed my eyes. Sean had called me about a mysterious business proposition before he and Zack flew off to Mexico, chasing the legend of a lost temple of Macuilxochitl. He was a minor Aztec god of sports and games, but was also a patron of homosexuals and male prostitutes. I just hoped they didn’t have TOO much fun on this adventure. A subject like that was sure to attract the attention of a certain pink villain, but Sean and Zack could handle themselves.
Sean said he was sending two men over to discuss a “profitable financial arrangement,” but didn’t give any more details. Only that it would be worth my time to listen to them. I was a little leery, but agreed to meet them. Anthony had tons of questions, but I didn’t want to be disturbed. Before they were due to arrive, I brought Anthony to the playroom and mercilessly tied him to a straight-backed steel chair. A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling of the gray-bricked room, right above the chair. There was no window and only one heavy wooden door.
“Ah, the Sarajevo treatment,” he said with a smile. “I remember when you and I were tied together like this.” His legs were tied separately to the legs of the chairs, and his knees and lap were both tightly bound by my expert knots. An intricate web of rope was woven around his torso and through the slats in the chair, pinning him to the seat. His muscled upper arms were lashed to the chair’s sides and his hands were secured behind the back of the chair with the knots tantalizingly out of reach.
“Yes,” I said, placing the fake bomb and setting the clock. “We made it out with seconds to spare. Let’s see if you still have the old magic. If you make it out before the timer goes off, you can join us in the meeting. Anthony smiled happily as I stuffed his mouth with socks and sealed them in with several layers of tape. I took a few moments to play with him, pinching his nipples through his FBI t-shirt and cupping his crotch through his jeans. When the doorbell rang I gave him a kiss and applied the blindfold, before answering the door.
Standing on my doorstep was an impeccably dressed African-American man in his late 20s carrying a briefcase. I didn’t recognize him but he looked like a real no-nonsense kind of guy. Lawyer perhaps? Or some kind of executive? With him was a slightly frazzled blonde muscle himbo in rumpled jeans and a “world’s greatest dad” t-shirt that was two sizes too small. He was carrying a day bag stuffed with papers. I was slightly taken aback by the contrast between the two.
“Good afternoon, professor,” the first man said, shaking my hand. “My name is Jahlil and this is Chris. We represent Brute Squad Films. I’ve read your book and we are very interested in purchasing the film distribution rights.”
“We understand you might be a little reluctant to allow your work to be adapted by Hollywood,” the second man said. “But we have an A-list director interested in the project who is known for his integrity and devotion to realism. I assure you that we would do your book complete justice. We also have a top-class stunt team lined up and an up-and-coming star who’s dying to play Roderick.” Chris seemed a little less enthusiastic when talking about the actor. Jahili slapped him in the chest.
Anthony slipped in behind me, rubbing his wrists and stuffing some rope in the back pocket of my pants with a satisfied grin. The tape used to gag him was hanging limply around his neck. Both of our visitors saw that and shared a knowing look. “Come in, gentlemen,” Anthony said. “We have a lot to discuss. Starting with creative control and script approval.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I said, but Anthony put his finger on my lips to silence my protests.
“Gentlemen, have a seat in the office and I will be more than happy to iron out the details with you,” Anthony said. “Jack is a famous adventurer and an even better academic, but he’s not the best when it comes to business matters. I’ll speak on his behalf.”
I began to argue, but Anthony interrupted me. He took me by the hand and lead me to the playroom. “Besides,” he said, “he has some business in Sarajevo that needs attending. Come along, Jack.”
THE END
“What the hell is this?” I demanded. “Getting us out of the way so you can steal the tomb’s riches?”
“The fact that you think my plan is so simple absolutely WOUNDS me,” Queer Eye said with mock overdramatic grandeur. “If I just wanted to steal, I would have raided the previous room and been done with it. We’re all going in there. My plan requires you both. I just need to confirm my suspicion first.”
I gritted my teeth. The exit door was still closed, so we had no choice but to follow. Holding my head high, I started to walk along after Queer Eye. The others fell into step behind me, but with much less bravado. Satisfied we were going to be complacent, Queer Eye stepped through the threshold into the Inner Tomb.
The room was far more adorned than the outer chamber. It looks like Bjornsson stored his most prized possessions here. Priceless works of art, the Rune carved pole from his lodge, the anvil from Castle Bamford’s smithy… but the main focus was the tomb itself.
Most decidedly un-Viking, there was a marble casket on a raised dais in the center of the room, adorned with Runes etched in gold. A carving of Bjornsson’s likeness emblazoned the lid. It was carved with master craftsmanship. The paintings didn’t do his beauty justice. But beyond even that, something more amazing laid right next to it.
A second tomb, slightly smaller than Bjornsson’s, but placed on the dais at equal height, was before us. It was carved from the same material, and with the same expert craftsmanship. It must have been the tomb of the First Wife! But the effigy was something altogether unexpected. It did not depict a woman at all. It was a handsome man in the prime of his youth. He was beardless, which was unheard of in Viking men. “Who was this?” I said aloud. “Perhaps a favorite son of Bjornsson’s who died before he reached manhood?”
Queer Eye had a rapturous expression on his face. “So it IS true!” he exclaimed, ignoring my question. “A lifetime of following dead ends and old wives’ tales has paid off!”
I looked at him, completely puzzled, but Sean had a knowing look on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“Behold the tomb of the First Wife!” Queer Eye said, placing his hand on the sarcophagus.
“You don’t mean…?” I said, incredulous.
“Damn skippy I do,” Queer Eye said. “Entombed here is Roderick Bamford. Youngest son of the last Earl of Bamford, who was slain by Bjornsson’s own hand. His other brothers are footnotes in history, but HIM! He is the find of the century.”
“Roderick Bamford was killed in battle,” I said. “He was interred on the estate. His grave still stands untouched.”
“No…” Sean muttered. “That’s not true. I saw it.”
“What do you mean ‘you saw it?’” I asked.
“While we were in the crates, I had a flashback,” Sean said. “Only I wasn’t living your life, I was living Bjornsson’s.” I was astounded. If that was true, Sean was accessing the power without my help and in ways even I couldn’t! “He said to the earlessa that her son lived when he destroyed the House.”
“Yes, yes,” Queer Eye cooed. “I figured sensory deprivation would turn something on inside you. And it all paid off splendidly. I love it when I win.” He patted the tomb contentedly. “I’m sure, professor, you understand the significance of this find.”
“Yes,” I said. “If Bjornsson’s First Wife was a man…”
“What a victory that is for US!” Queer Eye said with a smile. “The symbol of manly perfection. The ultimate Alpha Wolf. Living in a committed same-sex relationship, in defiance of all norms and traditions, and over 1,000 years ago!”
“But Vikings often kept male thralls as sexual slaves,” Sean said. “Nothing unusual about that.”
“But this one was more than just a thrall,” Queer Eye said. “Ever wonder why he’s been called ‘The First Wife’ ever since the skalds started singing about Bjornsson? Bamford wasn’t just a slave. They were legally married.”
Queer Eye took a small box out of his coat pocket. “Several years ago I came across some documents in a storage unit left to me by an old Nordic millionaire I had been shagging,” he said. “Lots of boring historical junk that you’d love, Jack, but the thing that stood out was a complete and detailed family tree of Bjornsson’s dating back to the beginning. It traced his lineage down from each of his five wives. That’s how I found out about all of our legacies. But the first wife bore Bjornsson no children. I was intrigued by that. The documents listed her name only as ‘R of England.’ Now, if she were infertile, a marriage to one with as high status as him would have been annulled. The fact that it remained meant that there was a story there. Amirite, Jack?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Preserving Bjornsson’s legacy through heirs would have been of paramount importance. If the marriage was allowed to stand…”
Queer Eye cut me off. “Digging through the rest of the papers,” he said, “I found records of their marriage. It was performed on the first anniversary of Bjornsson’s ascension from thralldom by a priestess of Freya. Witnessed by the jarl himself. Completely legit under Viking law, baby! But the best part is this.”
Queer Eye took a dramatic pause to let the anticipation build.
“When the Vikings finally bent the knee to the Danish King several generations after Bjornsson’s death, one of the provisions of the treaty was that the Pope recognize Bjornsson’s marriages as legitimate. ALL of them,” Queer Eye said. “Bet your history books don’t mention THAT! The Pope agreed, grudgingly, because it meant converting the Vikings as well as disarming them. Most of the evidence of that part of the treaty has been snatched up by the Vatican and locked away forever in a vault somewhere, but guess who has an authentic copy, bitches?!?!?”
My eyes widened. This was big. VERY big.
“Can you imagine what will happen when this information gets out?” Queer Eye said. “All those neo-Nazi fucks that have been co-opting Viking symbols and culture will shit glass shards when they find out that their hero was a Friend of Dorothy all along. And that old man on his Golden Throne in Rome refusing to sanction our marriages will get a big surprise when it is revealed that the church already did it 1,000 years ago. Oh, what fun it will be to watch them all implode! But more than that. This is history. OUR history. This is a vindication of all of us!”
Sean and I sat motionless. I was stunned with the revelation. Silence hung in the air until Anthony finally spoke up. “So what happens now?” he said. “You kill us and take all the historical stuff on a world tour?”
“No, my dear,” Queer Eye said, pinching Anthony’s cheek. “Why are the cute ones always so dumb? If I come forward with this news, it will be discounted as a fiendish villain plot. No one will believe it. But if YOU unveil it all, dear Jack, the world will take notice. There will be backlash, but the truth will OUT, as they say. It always does.”
“What if I refuse?” I said. “As important as this find is, why should I reveal this secret? Maybe I’ll keep it secret just to crap in your cereal.” My brand flared up. My entire body was wracked in pain.
“That’s the best part,” Queer Eye said. “You can’t. Your patroness won’t allow it. The goddess of preserving history will absolutely not allow you to keep this discovery hidden. Don’t toy with me, Jack. I know what you’ll do.”
Queer Eye placed the box on the floor. “Inside you will find the key and directions to the storage unit where all the documents are,” he said. “It’s all yours.” I stared at it, my heart racing with excitement. “But there is one thing before I go.”
I was so engrossed in looking at the box I didn’t notice Queer Eye slipping on a gas mask. “Goodnight, boys!” The room filled with green smoke and within seconds, Sean, Anthony, Zack, and I fell unconscious.
I slowly came to some time later. I had no idea how long it was. The door to the inner tomb was open and Queer Eye was gone, along with the Cadre Elite. I found myself lying face-first on the floor in a tight hogtie. My hands were secured behind my back with the special polymer rope in a complicated and very effective knot. More rope encircled my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. My ankles and knees were tightly bound and my feet were pulled back and roped to the bonds around my arms. I was bent into an uncomfortable bow-shape. My mouth was stuffed with three layers of cloth, muffling all sound.
Looking around the room, I saw all the artifacts were untouched and that Sean, Anthony, and Zack were all mercilessly hogtied like I was. All three were still unconscious. Looking straight ahead down the hall, I saw the relief of the hogtied thrall (who I now realized was Roderick Bamford) in the other chamber. I was positioned like this specifically, so I would see it when I awoke, I realized. The fact that I was bound in exactly the same fashion as Bamford did not escape me.
Escape. That’s what I needed to do! The excavation team was on their way back with the authorities and they couldn’t find us like this. I drew upon all my experiences escaping from ropes and began to wriggle and struggle. I twisted my wrists and contorted my body until I thought the strain would break me. But I finally felt a hand slip free from the ropes after what felt like an eternity. After that, it was just a matter of time and perseverance to free myself from the remaining bonds.
When I was finally free, I stood up and saw that the others had awakened. They grunted and squirmed, begging me to release them from their bonds. But I just smiled and said, “No dice, boys. Anthony and Zack, I’m sure they teach escape techniques in the FBI. And Sean, I know we didn’t get too many lessons in, but you’ve learned enough to free yourselves. Now get at it, fellas.” I leaned against the wall and folded my arms.
It was quite alluring to watch the three hogtied men at my feet squirming and grunting in their ropes. I felt a stirring inside as I watched Anthony straining with all his might against the bonds. Perhaps it was time to rekindle something between us. After all, he was my “slave” now. Officially sanctioned by the Runes. I could have some fun with that. I let my mind wander for a while, thinking of the possibilities, but then Anthony stood up and removed the gag from his mouth. “Still got it!” he said with a smile.
Sean was free next, but Zack was having a fair bit of trouble. He had managed to pry the gag loose, though, and was begging us to release him. “Come on, dad,” he said. “I didn’t do too well in escape class, you know that. Let me outta here.” Anthony chuckled.
“Nope,” he said. “You’ve got to do it on your own. Unless…” he looked over at Sean with a devilish grin. “Unless your new master says it’s OK for me to release you.”
Sean smiled back. “I’ll do it,” he said. “After all, the Runes decreed he is MY thrall now.” Sean bent down and started undoing the ropes that hogtied Zack.
“And I am yours,” Anthony said to me before pulling me in close for a kiss. Zack was free in a minute or two and he and Sean retreated to the far side of the chamber to talk.
A half hour later the Norwegian police arrived. Queer Eye’s involvement was left out of all the reports to preserve the integrity of the operation. I hate to admit he was right about the harm his name would do to the perceived validity of the finds, but he was. There was a media firestorm, of course, but it all worked out in the end. Presented with the evidence of their endorsement of Bjornsson’s marriage, the church was forced to reverse their previous position on the subject. The four of us faced a good deal of both personal and professional backlash from that from certain segments, but we were heroes to countless others at the same time, so it pretty much evened out.
After we returned stateside, I decided to formally retire from adventuring and devote my life to academic pursuits. But Sean was eager to take up the mantle, so I agreed to provide technical support for his new career, but only after he finished his Master’s. Zack was assigned as his FBI watchdog and the two have been happily globetrotting ever since. The brand on my chest still functions, but only passively. The bulk of the powers had been transferred to Sean and I could only draw upon the memory and translation abilities now. Sean was upset by this, but that was good enough for me. I reminded him that at the time Nishaba was worshipped, most people barely lived past 35 and someone of my age would have been considered venerable. It made sense that she would choose a new host of a more appropriate age.
Anthony and I settled down together in my house. I continued teaching, but spent my free time working on my book. “The First Wife,” was published six months later and shot to the top of the bestseller lists. It was banned by many MANY venues, (and had several public burnings to boot) but I considered that an honor. Death threats followed, of course, but after surviving decades of battling Queer Eye, forgive me if I wasn’t threatened by “Y’All Queda.” Bjornsson’s legacy had forever changed, and for the better. He was no longer the hero to neo-Nazis and alt-righters. He and Roderick had become queer icons. I’m not sure if they would have been pleased by this or not, but regardless, their story shook the academic world to its core.
I put down the pile of research papers I had been grading and rubbed my eyes. Sean had called me about a mysterious business proposition before he and Zack flew off to Mexico, chasing the legend of a lost temple of Macuilxochitl. He was a minor Aztec god of sports and games, but was also a patron of homosexuals and male prostitutes. I just hoped they didn’t have TOO much fun on this adventure. A subject like that was sure to attract the attention of a certain pink villain, but Sean and Zack could handle themselves.
Sean said he was sending two men over to discuss a “profitable financial arrangement,” but didn’t give any more details. Only that it would be worth my time to listen to them. I was a little leery, but agreed to meet them. Anthony had tons of questions, but I didn’t want to be disturbed. Before they were due to arrive, I brought Anthony to the playroom and mercilessly tied him to a straight-backed steel chair. A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling of the gray-bricked room, right above the chair. There was no window and only one heavy wooden door.
“Ah, the Sarajevo treatment,” he said with a smile. “I remember when you and I were tied together like this.” His legs were tied separately to the legs of the chairs, and his knees and lap were both tightly bound by my expert knots. An intricate web of rope was woven around his torso and through the slats in the chair, pinning him to the seat. His muscled upper arms were lashed to the chair’s sides and his hands were secured behind the back of the chair with the knots tantalizingly out of reach.
“Yes,” I said, placing the fake bomb and setting the clock. “We made it out with seconds to spare. Let’s see if you still have the old magic. If you make it out before the timer goes off, you can join us in the meeting. Anthony smiled happily as I stuffed his mouth with socks and sealed them in with several layers of tape. I took a few moments to play with him, pinching his nipples through his FBI t-shirt and cupping his crotch through his jeans. When the doorbell rang I gave him a kiss and applied the blindfold, before answering the door.
Standing on my doorstep was an impeccably dressed African-American man in his late 20s carrying a briefcase. I didn’t recognize him but he looked like a real no-nonsense kind of guy. Lawyer perhaps? Or some kind of executive? With him was a slightly frazzled blonde muscle himbo in rumpled jeans and a “world’s greatest dad” t-shirt that was two sizes too small. He was carrying a day bag stuffed with papers. I was slightly taken aback by the contrast between the two.
“Good afternoon, professor,” the first man said, shaking my hand. “My name is Jahlil and this is Chris. We represent Brute Squad Films. I’ve read your book and we are very interested in purchasing the film distribution rights.”
“We understand you might be a little reluctant to allow your work to be adapted by Hollywood,” the second man said. “But we have an A-list director interested in the project who is known for his integrity and devotion to realism. I assure you that we would do your book complete justice. We also have a top-class stunt team lined up and an up-and-coming star who’s dying to play Roderick.” Chris seemed a little less enthusiastic when talking about the actor. Jahili slapped him in the chest.
Anthony slipped in behind me, rubbing his wrists and stuffing some rope in the back pocket of my pants with a satisfied grin. The tape used to gag him was hanging limply around his neck. Both of our visitors saw that and shared a knowing look. “Come in, gentlemen,” Anthony said. “We have a lot to discuss. Starting with creative control and script approval.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I said, but Anthony put his finger on my lips to silence my protests.
“Gentlemen, have a seat in the office and I will be more than happy to iron out the details with you,” Anthony said. “Jack is a famous adventurer and an even better academic, but he’s not the best when it comes to business matters. I’ll speak on his behalf.”
I began to argue, but Anthony interrupted me. He took me by the hand and lead me to the playroom. “Besides,” he said, “he has some business in Sarajevo that needs attending. Come along, Jack.”
THE END
WOW! I didn't see that coming! But I do love when a "dastardly" plan comes to fruition. Truly, this was a caper worthy of the great Doctor Calamity! And I'm very glad Anthony and Jack ended up together...