Nothing said ‘Big City’ to Willem Martinovic so much as the grand square of the Rodolferplaz. He sat himself down on the ledge of the Königin Margarete Springbrünnen, the cascades of the fountain rushing and bursting behind him. He stared around at the shop frontages advertising the big names of European retailing, and then looked north to the long limestone frontage of the Residenz, which stared back at him from its many windows. The royal banner belled and curled over the palace, telling him that King Maxim was at home.
Tourists moved in large, chattering crowds all around him. Momentarily he found himself surrounded by a mob of Anglo tourists whose guide informed him in English along with them, that the fountain was installed by gift of Margaret of Tuscany, queen of Rudolf III, in 1746 on the site of the former City Conduit. They were invited to note the low-set basins intended to quench the thirst of passing horses, and advised not to throw coins in the main pool, which in Strelzen was thought to be bad luck. The fountain apparently had a resident spirit, called the ‘Strelsau Elf’ who resented people offering money for their wishes to come true, as he took it as a reflection on his own generosity.
Will obligingly took photos for a number of the tourists before being left alone. He checked his handij. Where was fucking Johan Toblescu? Will was coming to the sad conclusion that his temporary bed-partner was not the most reliable of men. He looked broodingly up the eastern frontage of the Plaz, to the arched entry of the Leuwen Pasacz, where he had an eleven o’clock appointment, for which he had hoped he would have had Johan’s moral support. But it was not to be, it seemed.
He sighed and made his way to the Pasacz entry, guarded by a pair of monumental stone Assyrian lions. Just inside was a panel next to a door, with a rank of labelled bell-pushes and adjacent speakers. Will singled out FALKEFILM AGENCIJ and pressed the button, which obligingly clicked and hissed. A voice called ‘Prosim?’
Will gave his name and the adjacent door buzzed and clicked open, inviting him to take the stairs beyond. Three long flights up he encountered another door beyond which was a middle-aged lady receptionist. ‘Willem Martinovic?’ she queried, and he confirmed his identity. She motioned to a line of seats and said someone would be able to see him soon.
Will had lost a good deal of his tension by now. Everything about this agency seemed matter-of-fact and unthreatening. Opposite him was a wall covered with artistically taken black-and-white male head shots. They were all very beautiful males, Falkefilm models he assumed. He had been contemplating them absently for quite a while when he realised that one of them, in the middle of the third row, resonated somehow with him. It was the shot of a young man with a head of blond hair, the fringe parted, the face very handsome and seductive. How did he know that guy? He could not recall, but the face was nonetheless familiar.
The appearance of a man in reception indicated his interview spot had arrived. He followed him into a neighbouring office, but was able to glance at the irritating photo as he passed. It was labelled MARC BENNETT. The man introduced himself as Radik Sparnomir. He was in his forties, but clearly took good care of himself, his hair showed no strands of grey. Will wondered if he dyed it.
‘Now Willem,’ he commenced. ‘Your form said you had some experience of modelling.’
‘Er … yeah. When I was a kid. My mum found a local agency down in Tirolen which took me on. Clothes catalogues were most of my shoots. I’ve got a portfolio if you want to see it.’
‘Not necessary. You are a grown up now, though I am sure you were a pretty enough boy back then. It is good that you do have some experience to draw on. You are seventeen, yes?’
‘Yes sir. Is that important?’
‘Not for the modelling,’ the man said abruptly.
‘Oh … but it would be for … other things,’ Will suggested.
Radik gave him a close look, before shrugging. ‘Once upon a time, kid, Falkefilm was famous for more than model shoots. Those days are gone. I was a talent scout for the firm back then, and looking at you I can say that I would have been keen enough to give you a try out.’
‘Why? Cos I’m sorta sexy?’
Radik laughed. ‘No, kid. Don’t flatter yourself. It’s cos you’re hungry and a bit desperate. But you’re not eighteen. Even if you were, the Falkefilm porn business ran into the sand years ago.’
‘The internet killed it, you mean.’
‘Those huge American combines cleaned up, pushing cheap product and riding the revenue stream from ads. Now they’ve gone too. Maybe there’ll be a time when quality gay porn will be profitable again, but who knows what sort of internet will develop after the reboot. Looking at you kid, I would say that I’d be willing to give you a trial shoot. If the management likes the result we’ll take you on to our books. Don’t get too hopeful if we do. We’re just taking out an option on your body, and contracts are few and far between at the moment.’
Will nodded slowly and gave an okay. ‘Do you wanna do it now?’
Radik shook his head. ‘We don’t do them that often, good cameramen charge a lot. We’ll text you when we line up a day. It won’t be more than three weeks. When you do get a date, get your hair neat, top up your tan in the parks, and before you ask, yes, nude shots will be part of the deal. So scrape off your body hair, including legs, though leave a puff of pubes over your dick. That okay with you?’
‘Er … yeah, Herr Sparnomir. Thank you for the opportunity.’
***
The Oecumene vessel CWS Nereid was more the size of a destroyer than a river gunboat. As a sign of respect to its passengers the Arsenal fortress fired a salute of 21 guns as the gunboat wove past barges and approached the new military river port on the banks of the Starel. The salute was ostensibly in honour of the Kurdish monarchy since Prince Afran was on board,. Afran had assumed his lieutenant’s uniform and borrowed some gold aiguilettes from a naval officer to add dignity to his turn out. The green white and red tricolour of Kurdistan was raised at the bow of the Nereid as she tied up, Afran saluting his national flag. The several Turkish princes also on board were not rated for any ceremony, as they were not members of any recognised national monarchy. They stood in a bewildered clump looking at the city across the river.
Colonel Krista Martinovica in full dress uniform escorted Afran to the gangway, where Rothenia’s one and only flag officer was waiting to welcome the prince to the port. The commodore gave a more perfunctory welcome to the Turkish delegates. While he was doing that, the colonel organised Afran into the leading limousine awaiting the delegations. She ordered the driver to take them to Strelsenern Anhöhen. She then applied herself to her handij to notify the Krals of her imminent arrival, and attempted to get her son to answer his phone. But he had blocked her now for three days. Herr Willem Kral had lived all his life on the bluffs above the Starel, and he had set his sights on buying one of the grand rambling Victorian villas on the higher slopes. This he had done and he and Della had turned it into a dream of a family home. They had three children, Jules the elder boy, a middle sister Maria, aged 13 and young Radek, aged 11. The whole family were out on the front porch awaiting the arrival of Krista and Afran. Maria ran down to the limousine before it had even pulled up, dancing round Auntie Krista as she emerged. Her father in the meantime shook the prince’s hand and welcomed him to his home.
Once bags had been dragged in, and everyone settled with drinks, Krista huddled with Jules Kral. She always prioritised intelligence-gathering before campaigns, and Jules was a reliable source.
‘How are you, Jules?’ she commenced.
‘Fine, Auntie Krista,’ came the reply, followed by ‘Your Will is enjoying Strelzen.’
Krista stared at the boy, whom she had always liked. He had his mother’s looks, rather than his father’s solidity. But it was the precocious mental alertness in him she had learned to admire, which was something neither of his parents possessed. It seemed his acuity was being deployed against her now.
‘Tell me more,’ she asked with a tight smile.
‘He likes the big city, auntie. He’s made friends with his dad, and er …’.
‘What, Jules? You can tell me. Is there something I should know?’
‘He’s found a boyfriend. Johan, son of Marek Toblescu.’
‘Is he unsuitable?’
‘They’re of an age, auntie. But if you ask me Johan is a bit of a dosser, and not to be relied on. There were rumours of drug use when he was in top year at Sudmesten Central’
‘So is that why Will wants to stay with his dad, because he’s afraid I’ll forbid his association with Johan?’
Jules shot her a sharp look. ‘You’ll have to ask Will, auntie.’
‘Not easy at the moment, Jules. He won’t pick up on me. But thanks for the information. You seem to have given me the missing piece in the jigsaw puzzle.’
***
King Maxim of Rothenia did not yet have an office of his own, being still only fourteen, but he perched on the edge of Duke Oskar of Husbrau’s desk as if he owned the place, which in one sense he did.
‘Uncle Oskar, Leo wonders if your Piotr can come round to play. It’s still school holidays and he’s bored. If you want the truth he’s gone nuts over the strategy game Risk. He’s beaten everyone in the Residenz, even mum. He wants new victims for his disturbing addiction to world domination.’
Oskar smiled. ‘Your majesty, it’s not a problem. Piotr’s sad that Leo is leaving Rothenia to go to England for his secondary education. He’d love a chance to play with his friend. He’s been bugging me and his other dad as to why he can’t go to England or America for his senior schooling. But we’re very happy with ISS and he knows that his hero, Damien Macavoy, was a student there, so that’s a good argument we can deploy.’
The king had a moment of abstraction at that reference to his lost friend, now world building as the king of an unimaginably distant planet circling an unknown star. When he came round from it, he asked the duke what was on the day’s agenda.
‘You have a private interview at teatime with Prince Afran, son of Queen Rozhin. He will brief you on his mother’s views on the Anatolian Question. That will take as long as it does. This evening is a formal dinner with the Turkish delegation, to give you a chance to assess each of the candidates for the throne of Rum.’
‘Hmm. I have an idea, Uncle Oskar. What if I get each of them to play Leo in Risk?’
The duke smiled. ‘A neat idea, your majesty. It may reveal some hidden traits in each.’
‘You agree?’
‘No sir, I’m winding you up.’
The boy and man laughed together. They had a very easy relationship, Duke Oskar being devoted to his young royal master, and respectful of his uncanny emotional intelligence. For all his wide political experience, Oskar always deferred to the judgement of the boy.
‘One thing, Uncle Oskar, can you bring Uncle Pete to the dinner tonight, if he’s free.’
Oskar narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s up, sir?’
‘It’ll be useful to have your husband with you, that’s all.’
‘Useful, how?’
‘Trust me, Uncle Oskar.’
The duke nodded and murmured his acquiescence.
***
Will decided to go round to Johan’s place to make a report on his interview at Falkefilm, that and to find out why his friend had not turned up in the Plaz to show his support. The two boys kissed at the front door of the Toblescu town house, and Anjelka Toblescu added her welcome. She asked if they wanted drinks brought up. She called Johan ‘Jo-jo’. Will was impressed by this act of parental indulgence. ‘I just can’t imagine my mum doing anything like that,’ he commented once they’d settled in front of Johan’s desktop, with the sandwiches and drinks his mum had left on a tray.
‘Let’s review these edits I’ve done of our porn shoots,’ Johan began. ‘Time to add other stuff to the porn vault too. Something for the foot fetishists, maybe?’
‘You’d lick my feet?’ Will was astonished, but a little turned on by the idea.
‘Gotta cater to all tastes, Will.’
‘You’re a bit of a perve, Jo-jo,’ Will pronounced. ‘Do you want to know about what happened at Falkefilm?’
‘Was that today? Oh fuck. Sorry man. I forgot. Tell me all about it.’ His interest in what Will had to say was not however apparent in his fiddling with his editing suite as Will talked, until that is he mentioned the strangely familiar portrait of the model, Marc Bennett.
Johan held up a hand and said, ‘The internet’s getting more active all the time, and the search function’s improving even though Google is dead and forgotten. I’ll try an image search for Falkefilm and Marc Bennett. He busied himself and then highlighted a head and shoulders portrait of a handsome blond young man. ‘That him?’
Will confirmed it. ‘Why does he look familiar? As if I’ve seen him in the past couple of days. But I can’t have seen that face. Marc Bennett must be in his forties by now.’
Johan stared at the face. Eventually he grunted, then returned to his search and summoned up another head and shoulder shot of a man, and set the two side by side.
Suddenly it clicked for Will. ‘Wow! Yeah! That’s an older Marc Bennett. But why do I …?’
‘Cos that is Oskar von Tarlenheim, duke of Husbrau, and husband of the billionaire genius Peter Peacher. You saw him at the election count.’
‘Does this mean …?’
‘Apparently yes. He had an earlier career in the Rothenian porn industry. Well, fuck me sideways.’
‘Maybe later, Jo-jo,’ responded a distracted Willem.
***
As he was returning home that afternoon, Will was running the foot session with Johan through his over-excited mind. He didn’t think that their first try had worked well as a video clip, for Johan had kept a mask on throughout. But it had still turned him on intensely, so much so they reversed positions, and Will had lavished attention on Johan’s bare feet, which had turned him on even more, and produced a very sexy video. He wanted to do it again, for fun not profit.
The memory of the scent and feel of Johan’s unsocked feet was still making him hard when he thought of them. He determined he was going to steal a pair of Johan’s sports socks when next he was there, and wank with them. Johan had some very kinky suggestions as to how and where they should do the foot worship next. He was beginning to realise that though he did not have romantic feelings for Jo-jo Toblescu, they were sexually very compatible at least. ‘Born to fuck’ as Johan had put it. The boy could effortlessly excite him.
His handij throbbed in his pocket. It was a text from his mum. She was at Bolo’s, and where was he? There was a follow up from his dad, urging him to get home quick ‘or she might do something I’ll regret’. So much for Will’s revenge strategy of non-engagement. Will sighed. Colonel Krista Martinovica was after all renowned as a tactical genius.
He had a key now for his dad’s third-floor flat on Lauerngasse, opposite the castellated Victorian bulk of the city police barracks. ‘Living over the shop’, as Bolo put it. The communal stairwell was currently filled with a mound of black binbags which Will had filled with the detritus of his father’s unkempt rooms, lying ready to shift to the dumpsters at the back. One pizza box lying around the flat had a receipt in it dated three years back. Thank God he had done it before his mum had turned up. She could not criticise Bolo now for living in squalor.
He found his parents sitting at the kitchen table and with them an unfamiliar boy his own age. The new boy was in military fatigues but clearly not Rothenian. His skin tone was middle eastern, and his hair long, black and lustrous. It was his eyes which first captivated Will, they were large and spiritual, strikingly fringed with dark lashes, almost as if he had applied eyeliner.
‘There you are at last, Will,’ said his mum, in English. ‘Remember I said you could help me out? This is Prince Afran of Kurdistan, a visitor to our city. He needs a native guide his own age during his stay. He doesn’t speak Rothenian, but your English is good enough.’
Will offered a shy ‘Hi!’ to the stranger, and got a nod back. Then he engaged with his mother. ‘What do you suggest we do, mum?’
She shrugged. ‘Introduce him to Rothenian life, Willemsczu. Jules Kral is a bit too young, or I would have asked him.’
Will could not resist a sour look at that. ‘Why don’t you adopt the little shit,’ he grumbled to himself in his head.
He eyed his dad, who winked back at him. ‘You might have a walk over to the Raathaus and the Stadtmuseum, son. Have a chat with Afran and see what his interests are.’
Will considered this, and then engaged with Afran, ‘A walk to the city museum. Would that suit, mate?’ The boy agreed.
‘And get him lunch in the museum café,’ added his dad. ‘It’s got lots of salads and stuff. Very healthy.’
Will smiled to himself. Bolo was making a play at being a responsible dad in front of mum. So he beamed at Bolo. ‘Great idea, dad. Diet is important.’
Once back out on Lauerngasse, Will got to work on this unexpected new acquaintance. ‘So are you in the military, Afran?’
The boy gave him another shy smile. ‘I am still in training, in theory, but my mother had me released from staff college for this mission.’
‘Uh … your mother?’
‘Oh was it not explained? My mother is the Queen of our people.’
‘So you’re a genuine prince?’
‘I suppose so. But our land is not like Rothenia, though my mother is trying to make it more so: a land of peace, order and justice. Kurdistan was a country which experienced the worst of the Horde’s attentions, and before then had an unhappy enough time of it. Genocide was the Horde’s intention. That they failed to wipe out the Kurdish people is down to my mother, a great and noble leader, undefeated in battle.’
Will suddenly grinned. ‘I’m beginning to see how I got involved in this. Are she and my mum good friends?’
Afran caught his grin, and returned it. ‘They are indeed very good friends. In fact mother observed to me that she wishes she could commission the colonel into our army as a general, as she is twice as good a soldier as the current best of our general staff.’
‘So you’re another teenage lad with a military hero as a mother. That’s why my mum decided we would get on. We have a lot in common, apart from you being a prince and all. Are you an only kid too?’
‘That is so, Will.’
‘So are you going to be King of the Kurds after her?’
Afran looked troubled for a moment. ‘That is not something that is decided, nor something I particularly want, if truth be told, Will.’
Will was a little reassured to find Afran was another kid apparently working at being a disappointment to his mother’s ambitions for him. ‘Okay Afran. Now what do you wanna do? Shops? MacDonalds? Sightseeing, or the Museum, like the Olds suggested.’
‘Olds? Oh, you mean the parents yes?’
‘Yep.’
‘I understand, though it is not a respectful word I think’.
Will rather liked the implied rebuke from the Kurdish boy, whom he was finding charmingly old-fashioned and indeed cute. Some brief discussion decided them on the shops, since the Rodolferplaz was only two blocks away.
As they were browsing the big Jack & Jones store, the biggest outside Denmark as it claimed, Will asked Afran if he had any clothes which were not military issue.
‘Er … no, friend Will. I must have a lot of jeans and tee-shirts somewhere, but my mother packed them away when I went into barracks, and anyway they’ll be getting too small now.’
Afran checked his available cash and the two boys went in search of what Will considered to be acceptable shirts, socks, trainers and trousers for wear around Strelzen, arguing that Afran’s present mission demanded casual clothing acceptable for someone keeping company with King Maxim II Elphberg. ‘Who is a very well-dressed teen boy, all no doubt selected by his mum, Harriet, the Queen Regent and international style icon.’
Afran’s nice grin turned cheeky. ‘Oh, and are you a style icon, friend Will?’
‘I have my admirers, friend Afran,’ Will riposted, thinking that he certainly had more idea about current teen fashion than Johan Toblescu and Jules Kral and anyway, who was the emerging male model here?
So they sat happily among a pile of bags when they grabbed lunch in the Mikhelstrasse MacDonalds, the first time Afran had eaten in the chain, he said.
‘None in Kurdistan?’ Will had to ask.
Afran laughed. ‘We have a fake one, called a “MaDonal”. The American chain didn’t award franchises in Iraq before the Horde. Just as well, they would have been burned down. But our Kurdish “MaDonal” tried to offer something like this menu, though no pork products of course. They even stay open in Ramadan.’
‘That’s a religious thing, yeah?’
‘Yes it’s a month of daytime fasting. It happens in springtime.’
‘So you’re Muslim?’
‘I was brought up that way, Will. Though Islam is changing these days.’
‘How so?’
‘The extremists and zealots of the early part of the century discredited the faith internationally, as the fundamentalism of the Saudi Sunnis and Iranian Shias brought terrible violence and misery to the house of Islam. Eventually they were turned out, and some elements of the Horde exploited that hatred in the Middle East and Turkey to exterminate any militant Muslim populations. Nowadays Kurdistan has chosen to be a secular country and embrace the ideals of the Oecumene, though the majority of us are still fairly conventional Sunnis I think. My mother is a modernist, and she has used her prestige to sideline Muslim political groups in national life and law.’
Will was rather interested in what this boy, so like him in some ways, and quite alien in others, had to say of his life. But his exploration of Afran’s life and beliefs came to a juddering halt as a third person squirmed into their alcove, took Will round the waist and kissed his cheek. It was Johan Toblescu.
‘Hey sweetie. Who’s this? New friend?’
Will gave a deep mental sigh at this unwelcome intrusion, which he visualised was going to have consequences.
‘Hi, Johan. This is Afran, I’m showing him around the city. Afran, this is a friend of mine, Johan. He lives in Strelzen where his father works in the media.’
Afran offered Johan a hand, with a serious look on his face. ‘Hello, Johan,’ he said, ‘it is a pleasure to meet you.’
‘So what brings you to our fair city?’ Johan asked.
‘I am here on a diplomatic mission.’ Afran checked his watch. ‘Friend Willem, I have to be at the Residenz in an hour or so, so I think I will make my way back to your father’s apartment and meet up with your mother, who is to take me to the meeting with the king and his cousin.’
He stood and gathered the bags, gave a rather cute bow to the Rothenian boys and departed.
‘Is he for real, Will?’ Johan said with arched eyebrows.
‘Very much so,’ Will agreed. ‘He is a royal prince from Kurdistan and he is here to conduct negotiations with the Oecumene.’
‘Hmph. Never knew you had such high powered connections, babe. That’s Jules Kral’s speciality. Good looking kid that Afran. You weren’t thinking of negotiations of your own with him, eh?’
It occurred to Will in that instant that he rather disliked Johan Toblescu, for all his sexiness and availability.
But an oblivious Johan carried on and derailed that thought. ‘Big news babe. AllmyFans is back on line. Wanna come round and do some exploring?’
Copyright © 2025 Michael Arram
Posted 23 August 2025