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would never do such a thing. Henry treated Martin as a friend, as a person with rights, a person with likes and dislikes. If Martin’s friends minded being summoned like faithful animals, they never said so, but having known different treatment, Martin was quite sure he would find it insulting. Really, Henry had spoiled him. These last few sullen weeks were a definite aberration.
    The masters were bored of the arcade and wanted to go for ice cream. At the ice cream parlor, Martin stood behind Henry’s chair with his strawberry ice cream and thoughtfully licked caramel sauce off his spoon. He’d always enjoyed being allowed to sit down with Henry for meals and treats, and he certainly hadn’t thought he’d be asked to do so with these other young masters present, but he could admit that he wanted to be asked. He wanted more now. He expected more. He liked being treated as a friend, an equal. When it was appropriate, of course. When it was possible.
    Henry laughed at something one of the others said and pushed his empty dish away from him. His joyful face was so handsome that Martin wanted to bend over and hug him from behind, but there were so many reasons he couldn’t do that. It was unfair, and he did understand Henry’s desire to find a place where their love would be accepted and allowed, but Martin balked at the idea of voluntarily living a life restricted to a few queer blocks, a paltry few sordid streets, when the entire city was Henry’s by right. Martin was a snob, and he liked that the Blackwell name would open doors everywhere—Henry could walk through them, and Martin would be right behind him, serving with loyalty and devotion. Neither his own true nature nor Henry’s was anyone’s business, after all. Besides, it wasn’t as though they were in any position to reshape society to their own liking. Even powerful Mr. Blackwell wasn’t capable of forcing such dramatic change.
    Despite his indulgence in transgressive romance and dirty games, Martin was a cautious person, a conservative slave, fond of both traditions and the status quo whenever he stepped outside Henry’s bedroom. As soon as Martin had understood that Henry intended to run away, there was never any question that he would leave word for Mr. Blackwell. Regardless of what Henry thought, Martin had been quite sure Henry was not ready to leave home—and neither was he. For Martin, who had not even fully explored the city, the idea of traveling to an entirely different part of the country—and then pretending to be free once he got there—had been a terrifying prospect.
    Running away had seemed fraught with peril. Henry’s safety was paramount; he was infinitely precious to Martin, but certainly Henry’s parents cared what happened to him, too, as did most of the other Blackwell slaves, and responsibility for him weighed heavily on Martin. Not only was there the risk of physical harm, but Martin had also worried about the damage to Henry’s reputation should Mr. Blackwell have to resort to police involvement to bring him home. Even as he was packing his case to leave the Blackwell house, Martin had been determined that Henry should end up back under his father’s roof. They were ill-equipped for independence, and not meant to be on their own, not yet.
    The amount of money Henry had taken might have lasted a regular person several years, but a young man such as Henry would likely have gone through it in a matter of months, and when the money ran out, they’d have had to find work. Martin certainly wasn’t afraid of work, but he’d have had to do it in the guise of a free man, and the idea of living a life of complete subterfuge was daunting. He hated to admit it, but he’d doubted Henry’s ability to get and keep a job, as well. Martin was quite sure that their life in a new city would not have been the gay frolic Henry had imagined.
    Mr. Spence pointed his spoon at Henry and then Mr. Briggs. “I’m glad you two are friends