Prince, a name given
to all of Hop’s boys. Prince, because it
was a name that cut easily through the occasionally raucous din of the patrons
of the bar and through the thick smoke of the den. A name that carried to all corners of the
building, up into the draughty attic, down into the stocked cellar, and outside
into the stables when necessary. A name recognized
and respected by any who frequented The Horse You Came In On saloon, desired
and envied by all of the boys not lucky enough to be dubbed such.
Every two years, Hop
came to the boy’s orphanage for a new Prince. Despite his insistence that there be no pomp
and circumstance surrounding what he considered such a trivial matter, as to Hop
it was merely a meager, humble attempt to help elevate a single soul to greatness,
all eyes would watch. All manner of
person would nonchalantly vie for a discrete view of the selection while pretending
an air of casual insouciance.
The boys, of course,
would suffer no such pretense amongst themselves and proceeded to primp and
preen. And, while the mood was generally
congenial, none of them would go so far as to ruin their own chance by helping
the others. Small pranks, never anything
unforgivable as they knew only one boy would be chosen and friendships were
expected to persist between those that remained, left an assortment of cowlicks,
missing shoelaces, turned collars, knotted ties, and once, a rather humorous limerick
scrawled in kohl upon the face of a boy that had slept in.
Despite their efforts,
whether at success or sabotage, it never seemed to matter to Hop. His requirements changed each selection, the
current boy could have nothing in common at all with the previous selection or
he could be so similar as to be mistaken for a twin. There was no sense to it, and so the boys did
their best to present themselves as who they wanted to be. In that discovery of self, regardless of who
was ultimately chosen, all felt the benefit of a clarity of ambition.
“Prince,” Hop would
say, overdramatic in his booming rich baritone, “I name thee,” as he took in
the newest boy. “Prince,” Hop would say,
genuine tears of joy dappling his eyes, “because a new life begets a new name,”
as he embraced his latest charge. “Prince,”
Hop would whisper, genuflecting as much as his bulk would allow, “because all
of Hop’s Princes become Kings.”
The speech was
always the same, filled with the same emotion, met with the same rapturous
applause. Hop always gave the newest
Prince time to say his goodbyes, to be tousled and hugged and slapped on the
back in congratulations. He would listen
to the unabashed adoration through the doors of the Headmaster’s office as he
signed the paperwork that legally bound him as Prince’s guardian.
And Hop would wait
by the street for the boy to join him.
He never waited long. An
unassuming carriage brought them to the saloon, to their home. On that first day, Prince’s new life began. In two years’ time, with Hop’s promise
fulfilled, Prince would be a proper gentlemen.
Trained in the ways of society and trade, strengthened and humbled by manual
labor, a small fortune to his name as he was allowed to keep the gathered tips
given by customers, a vast network of Princes and Kings to call an apprenticeship
upon when he finally struck out on his own.
Prince reflected on
all of this as he wiped the brown poppy residue from the windows. Cold winter light poured in through the streaks
of clean glass his rags revealed. Morning
shone in, bright and cloudless. A bitter
wind blew outside, but the fire he built before beginning his daily chores
suffused the whole of the saloon in a comforting warmth. A full year had passed since his life began,
and a year from now he would begin again.
Nervous excitement
crept in at the thought. Prince was happy and could hardly imagine being done
with all of this. His future was laid out before him, he knew, which was its own
kind of contentment, but a year away did not seem away enough at all. Here, Prince was well seen after. Hot meals he was taught to cook by generous
chefs. Lively patrons that tipped his
service and sometimes purchased his drink, though Hop only encouraged drinking
to the extent that he was still able to work.
A warm bed. Writing and reading
lessons given by men whose life work was just that. Even mucking the stables had adorned him with
not only a respect for those that carried the job, but a musculature he never expected
to have seen on his body.
Prince was happy,
and his happiness was bought as such a small price. Hop asked for so little in return. A smile, a touch. A warm body to hold at night while he
slept. Sometimes, when the sickly-sweet
smoke of the den crept into every inch of the saloon and made Prince’s head
slightly fuzzy and his pupils dilate, he would seek out Hop.
Hop, his jolly face
entertaining customers at the bar, laughing at his own silly jokes. Hop, the force of his personality drawing people
in droves to pack the saloon. Prince
would swim through the treacle of his opium induced fugue to find Hop and kiss
the man. Prince was ashamed this first
time this happened, but Hop met his affection with a soupcon of
expectation. As the year slowly
progressed, it became a normal thing.
Prince was loved,
and loved freely in return. He did not
want to leave, though he knew it must happen.
Was a condition of the contract between them. In the preparation for their separation, to
become a Gentlemen, discipline was also a condition. Strength of character as much as body and
mind a prerequisite for success. Prince
understood that a broken glass, or spilled ale meant brutal retaliation after
the saloon emptied. As money drove society,
a loss because of carelessness or drunkenness must be dealt with lest standing
be lost as well. A harsh, painful lesson
to learn and relearn, but an imperative lesson to impart.
Those lessons could last anywhere from several
minutes to several hours. Those lessons always
ended with Hop’s tender ministrations to whatever injuries he may have
inflicted. The pain was always temporary,
and the attention Prince received after made the anticipation of its end
agonizing in its pleasure. Even the pain
held a measured amount of enjoyment.
Possibly due to the
change of season from late fall to deepening winter, Hop had become melancholy
of late. Prince knew, though, that sessions
of discipline inflamed his passions.
Perhaps, he thought, tonight may bring a purposefully dropped plate. Perhaps Prince could pull him out of his
somber mood.
The clatter of iron
shod on cold cobblestone setts interrupted that thought. Peering through the now clean window, Prince
looked down at the street, watching as a drawn carriage pulled to a stop before
the saloon entrance. Simple black wood,
its only adornments being wrought iron greyed with age, it was pulled by two
unhealthy looking Clydesdales.
It was far too early in the morning for hansoms
to be operating, much less customers to be calling upon a saloon for
drink. Prince stared in wonder as four
figures of indeterminate sex exited. All
were suitably businesslike, clad in flowing black greatcoats, impressive top hats,
steel tipped canes, and faces covered by expensive looking scarves.
They were not here
for Prince, that much was obvious, so he bade for Hop to wake and dress.
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