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    A Chain of Beads
    A Chain of Beads
    A Chain of Beads
    Ebook30 pages30 minutes

    A Chain of Beads

    By M. Arbon

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    About this ebook

    In the middle of the hall there’s this kid standing. In one hand he’s got a knife—the kind all the students keep to sharpen their nibs and carve their names wherever it’s the most pain in the ass to sand them out—but that’s not what’s got everybody frozen, because in his other hand the poor mad kid is holding all his beads.

    Goodman Stone fled tragedy at home to build a new life doing odd jobs at a school in Frael. When one of the students does something unthinkable, Stone comes to his aid. He is helped by schoolmaster Caerel, and as the relationship between the two men deepens, Stone contemplates a decision that will once again reshape the life he's strung together.

    This 7,800-word story was previously published in Shousetsu Bang*Bang.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherM. Arbon
    Release dateOct 8, 2018
    ISBN9781989089088
    A Chain of Beads
    Author

    M. Arbon

    M. Arbon writes stories, mostly queer, often sexy, about people who try hard not to be jerks. M. lives and works in Toronto, Canada. M.'s stories have appeared in the anthologies His Seed and Best Gay Stories 2017, as well as being published as stand-alone volumes.

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      Book preview

      A Chain of Beads - M. Arbon

      A Chain of Beads

      M. Arbon

      Thirteen Flowers Press

      A Chain of Beads

      So it's one of them crystal mornings of early summer, and the sunlight coming in through the clerestory like it was poured from a pitcher. And I'm sort of thinking what to do about that one drainpipe on the eastern students’ dormitory that keeps coming loose at the same damn spot, but mostly I'm thinking that Frael is a beautiful country but you’d be hard-pressed the long and the wide of it to find someone don’t make a cup of tea tastes like they waved the leaves over the pot and put them away again for later.

      I miss the commotion of him running in, but then there’s Master Caerel breathless at my elbow, saying, Goodman Stone, I don’t mean to interrupt your breakfast, but there is a situation in the entry hall in which we could use the assistance of someone like yourself.

      Right off I figure it’s the damn cistern cracked again and they’re ankle-deep in water like happened at Midwinter. But his eyes are kind of wide, and it ain’t that far from the entry hall to the refectory so he must of really galloped to be out of breath. And when I stand up he takes off in a hurry, his master’s robes flapping out like festival day flags because he never tied them shut yet this morning, so as I run I’m still thinking something big broken or maybe somebody hurt bad, but if the second, why’s he come for me?

      The entry hall’s meant to show how much they all know, if their knowing was made out of Rastary marble. It’s bigger than most of the lecture halls, and the floor’s all these little bits of stone making patterns, and there’s coloured glass, and the place echoes like some of the corners were built just to throw voices back. Right now it’s got to have thirty people in it, and so help me they’re all still as the statue of Sheela of the Library that you got to creep past to get to the stairs. And they all got their eyes on the floor, and the big doors, and all that pretty glass, and everywhere but the middle of the hall. And I guess I lived here too long

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