A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  Whose idea had it been to come here? Ah yes, his…

  A few metres beneath them, the Meln flowed toward the centre of town. Hyacinth stopped briefly to look down at the river. Somewhere here Genwood must have leapt into the water if his theory was at all valid.

  Not very pleasant imagining the old man jumping in despair. He must have known he couldn’t survive a leap from that height. Everything below was shallow and full of stones which could split open the head of anyone who hit the surface wrong.

  A shudder ran down his back. Good heavens, it was so damn cold, and the wind was freezing the tip of his nose.

  When he turned around, he saw Vrila and Sergei waiting on him. His husband was examining him with a piercing glare and appeared curious as to what might be going on in his head. Hyacinth attempted to assume an indifferent expression. He didn’t want to show how profoundly he was affected by the death of a man whom he had not ever met. However, something touched him deeply.

  “Sergei, do you have any new acquaintances in Elwood who could make our investigations a bit easier?” Vrila asked when they reached the island.

  Even the pavement was damaged, torn up in places, grass growing in its cracks. Nobody there took the trouble to repair the streets.

  “Most people I know keep their distance from this place. You have the contacts in this scary village,” Perkovic responded and glanced around warily. “A true ghost town. The silence here is spooky.”

  Hyacinth wondered what the man meant by that. What contacts could Vrila have in dismal Elwood?

  Diagonally behind them, beside the first pylon of the bridge, lay the remains of a coach. The carriage rested on its side, but only one wheel remained on an axle. Its windows were shattered; the wind made its tattered curtains wave as if moved by the hands of ghosts. A sudden noise and a shadow caused Hyacinth to gasp and grab for the folds of his husband’s overcoat to direct his attention toward the shadow – or, more likely, to seek protection.

  His embarrassment couldn’t have been greater when he saw a rat dash out of the coach in search of a new refuge.

  As he encountered Vrila’s dark gaze, he loosened his hold and quickly turned aside. He expected a mocking comment, but to his astonishment, Vrila remained silent.

  Hyacinth himself knew he was a shameful coward, but he could hardly do anything about it. Maybe with some additional years he would become a bit… well, braver, but at present he was merely a fearful boy who wished he could hang onto Vrila’s coattails.

  Now he just needed to conceal this embarrassing conduct as much as possible. Therefore he arched his back and squared his shoulders to glance around with demonstrative curiosity.

  After wandering slowly through several streets, they were surprised by a rush of water that nearly splashed onto their heads.

  When he saw a woman looking out of a window after emptying her chamber pot – how old-fashioned – Hyacinth knew it wasn’t just water… He turned up his nose and was glad all three of them had remained dry. “I thought nobody lived here anymore.”

  “Not officially,” Vrila replied. “But a lot of people who have no other recourse would rather live in these houses than on the street.”

  Sergei shook his head. “My spot under the Pecan Bridge is a thousand times better than Elwood.”

  “Surely you’re not shying away from the Devil?” Vrila responded with a hint of a teasing undertone.

  Perkovic didn’t reply to that and, ill-humoured, only mumbled.

  “We ought to be looking for Tornwauld. If anybody knows anything then that little bastard will.”

  “You’re giving me goose bumps, Gavrii. That fellow is downright crazy.”

  “Was it my idea to come here or yours?” Vrila responded roughly and cast a fleeting glance at them over his shoulder. “You two wanted to find out something, and we’re going to do that now.”

  Hyacinth looked up again at the window where the woman had stood. She was gone. In a hurry, he followed the others who were already taking the next bend to the right.

  Behind him he suddenly heard the sound of crunching gravel and wheeled around with a start. Immediately Vrila grabbed him by an arm and pushed him behind his back. Hyacinth didn’t object.

  “Ardenovic...vic...vic.” Standing in the middle of the street, a young man in a partially torn coat grinned at them. His eyes were a bright blue, and their gaze had a piercing, almost painful effect.

  “Tornwauld, it seems you found us first,” Vrila growled with an expression of grim joy on his face.

  “You were search…search…searching for me?” With a strange movement, Tornwauld put a hand over his mouth and giggled like a girl. “What an honour…honour…honour.”

  Was he trying to imitate an echo with that repetition of words and syllables, or what did that idiocy mean?

  “In fact, I was looking for you. I must ask you something.”

  “Yes?” Tornwauld drew out his reply and stroked through his dishevelled, brown hair. “Once again about the other Ardenovic…vic…vic?”

  By that he must have meant Dimitri. So that’s why Vrila knew the fellow. He should have thought about that sooner.

  Vrila gently shook his head. “This time it’s about an old man.”

  “An old man…man…man.” Tornwauld tilted his head to the side and scratched his cheeks with a childish gesture. “Maybe my friends know more…more…more.”

  As if on command, some men came sneaking out of their hiding places to join their insane leader. Five in all, the lot in tattered clothes with dirty, haggard faces. One of them was missing an eye, another had several scars on his face and a third one was playing with a knife in front of his nose. The gentlemen seemed anything but friendly. They were young men, tall, slender and strong. And they gave the impression of being willing to do anything Tornwauld ordered.

  Hyacinth wondered why these fellows obeyed him. They had to be just as crazy, but how had it turned out they accepted lanky Tornwauld of all people as their leader?

  ”For Heaven’s sake,” Sergei muttered next to him and furrowed a brow with visible anxiety before wiping his face.

  The men came closer and Hyacinth required all of his strength not to stumble backwards. Vrila stood between him and the strangers, was able to calm him with his mere presence even though six enemies stood facing them.

  “A few days ago an old man threw himself from the bridge. Did you see or hear anything about it?” Vrila asked with a steady voice, revealing he wasn’t the least bit afraid.

  “The Elwood Bridge…Bridge…Bridge.” Tornwauld regarded Gavrila with a peculiar look that seemed coquettish. It brought Hyacinth to the point of clenching his jaw. “I saw the old man. He stood for a while at the guardrail…rail…rail.”

  Vrila nodded curtly but with satisfaction. “What happened then?”

  Tornwauld gave him a sugary-sweet smirk and blinked his eyes a few times. “I’ll tell you for a kiss,” he whispered in a high pitch then giggled like an idiot.

  “Now listen, you…” Hyacinth interjected and took a step forward but was hushed by a hand laid over his mouth.

  It was Sergei who placed grimy fingers over his lips and his right hand on Hyacinth’s back. His fingerless gloves smelled of earth and dust – fortunately not of anything worse.

  Vrila cast an admonishing gaze at Hyacinth, as though he didn’t have the right to intervene! Although he had every right in the world when someone else came and demanded a kiss from his husband! Hell, who did this bugger think he was?!

  Under Hyacinth’s distrustful glare, Vrila kissed his fingertips and extended them toward Tornwauld – as if he were trying to get a shy squirrel to eat out of his hand.

  That fucked up Tornwauld took a step forward, was surprisingly – almost inhumanly agile – and brushed against Vrila’s fingers with his own to receive the kiss. He then pressed it onto a cheek as he sighed with contentment.

  Hyacinth jerked loose and regaled Sergei with a tense glare while straightening the collar
of his coat. He was enraged enough to smash everything nearby to pieces!

  “Well, now I’ll tell you what I saw,” Tornwauld twittered after he’d received his bribe. “So, there was the old man and he stood on the guardrail…rail…rail. There he was completely alone…lone…lone and cried and made me feel sorry for him.”

  “He was alone, you say?” Vrila enquired in disbelief.

  So much for Hyacinth’s theory. Then Genwood jumped of his own free will? How could that be? He was so sure that he’d done it because they had driven him into a corner.

  “Just alone…lone…lone. He was so sad,” Tornwauld remembered and gazed misty-eyed in the direction of the bridge.

  “You’re quite certain nobody was with him?”

  “Quite certain. He mumbled to himself for a while, like he wanted to pray…pray…pray. Then he jumped.” With each word his voice became softer.

  “Nothing else caught your attention? Nothing strange? If that’s so, I need to know.”

  “Hmm…” Tornwauld pondered and finally nodded. “He kissed his hand before he jump...jump...jumped.”

  “The poor bastard kissed his hand,” Sergei repeated in a whisper.

  Didn’t he have the necklace in a hand when they found him?

  He must have held on to it with all his might as he drowned. So, the piece of jewellery must have meant something to him. Then he wasn’t a victim but rather a member of the secret society? But why did he jump to his death? None of that made any sense – so maybe it was all a lie that this lunatic told them. Tornwauld wasn’t in his right mind. What did he know?

  “Thank you very much; you’ve helped us a lot.” Vrila inclined his head as though he intended to bow.

  But it was Tornwauld who actually did, then purred: “It was pure joy for me. I hope you come back soon to look…look…look for me.” With that he batted his eyes and gestured his subordinates to make their exit.

  “So, our theory was...” Vrila began as he turned to them, only Hyacinth didn’t let him finish his sentence.

  “So? Concerning me you rant and rave when I see Sergei naked, and you apparently distribute kisses here in Elwood regularly?!” he exclaimed bitterly while crossing his arms over his chest, glaring angrily at Vrila. That mild display of affection – even if it supposedly wasn’t one at all – made him livid. Above all, because he had never received such a token from his husband and most likely had no reason to expect one!

  “There was an argument? Because of me?” Sergei seemed quite pleased that someone had had an altercation on his account and beamed as if gifted with a villa and garden.

  “Shut up, Perkovic,” Vrila hissed in anger and appeared tense. “And you as well, boy! There’s no comparison between the two!”

  “No, there certainly isn’t! I saw something by accident while you quite intentionally kissed your fingers for that maniac!” Gruffly he pointed to the side street where Tornwauld and his retinue had disappeared.

  “Enough of that! We’re not discussing it anymore! Not here and not now!” Vrila shouted so loud his words echoed off the partially collapsed walls of the surrounding buildings.

  In his fury, Hyacinth wanted to take to his heels and leave the accursed man standing there, but his husband thwarted him. Roughly Vrila grabbed him by an arm and jerked him to his chest. Hyacinth slammed against it with a gasp. For a moment he sensed a peculiar warmth.

  “You aren’t running away from me, by hell!” Vrila screamed into his face before his expression changed and became so damn cold Hyacinth had to suppress a shudder. “As long as we’re on this island, you don’t leave my side, whether that suits you or not! Do you understand me?”

  After a brief hesitation, Hyacinth nodded – not because he felt intimidated, but because he was aware he’d be better off staying with his husband. When he was released, he secretly rubbed his upper arm.

  Sergei stared at the toes of his shoes. It appeared the scene was damn uncomfortable for him. He wasn’t the only one.

  “I suggest we look around before we leave this damned place,” Vrila muttered. “Genwood’s son said he hadn’t seen his father for a week. Perhaps he hid out somewhere near here.”

  “Maybe he was ashamed to live with his son and daughter-in-law and fled,” Sergei suggested but seemed unconvinced.

  “That would be odd but entirely possible. I should have asked Tornwauld if he’d seen Genwood more than once.”

  “For another little kiss, huh?” Hyacinth responded caustically. “You seem generous with those.” Except, of course, if it has to do with me, he added irately in his thoughts. Not that he longed for a kiss from this ugly, old vulture, but if Vrila’s kisses were anyone’s due, then surely his!

  “Will you stop trying to provoke me?!”

  “I’ll consider it as soon as you stop handing out gentle favours!”

  Sergei’s mouth turned up sceptically: “As if our ruffian knows what a gentle favour is.”

  “Well, if it has nothing to do with me, he does seem to know!” Hyacinth exclaimed in frustration and watched Vrila’s shoulders raise tensely and his head droop – as if the words had affected him.

  That was how it ought to be. He should be hurt, Hyacinth thought spitefully, why should it be any different for him than for me?

  Shrouded in silence, they continued their investigation, and all at once their surroundings became immaterial to him.

  *

  Immersed in self-reproach, Gavrila walked ahead of the others and had lost all interest in Genwood and Elwood. Now, even Dimitri was a matter of indifference – perhaps for the first time in his entire life.

  Hyacinth was right. He had acted disgracefully toward the lad but couldn’t figure out how to make it up to him. Especially since nothing could be undone. He’d turn back time if he could.

  It was then he remembered the night many weeks ago – eighty-three days ago, to be exact - when he had met the young man in one of the city’s seedy absinthe bars. Hyacinth hadn’t recognised him, and the alcohol had expunged this encounter from his memory. Perhaps it was for the best. It would embarrass him terribly if Hyacinth were to remember what had transpired.

  Vrila had to clear his throat and wiped his right cheek, which felt unusually warm. For heaven’s sake, had he blushed? Good thing his husband and Sergei let him lead the way, otherwise one of them would have noticed him blushing like a bashful school boy.

  “Take a look at that.” Sergei pointed to odd-looking splotches on the gravel in front of an entrance door.

  “Blood stains,” Hyacinth confirmed, breathless.

  Vrila bent over and examined the specks, which didn’t appear fresh but not very old either. Behind the threshold they became more pronounced.

  “Perkovic, go and see where they end. Boy, you’re coming with me. We’ll look for their origin. Maybe we’ll find leads to Genwood and his mysterious fate.” Though, in actuality, those splotches may have had nothing to do with the baker, however, no one could know for sure.

  “As you order, Sir,” Hyacinth said between clenched teeth.

  “Yes indeed, my Lord,” Sergei also countered with a mocking tone while setting about to follow the trail.

  “Stay close to me,” Vrila muttered to Hyacinth as they entered the dilapidated house.

  “Can you stop issuing me orders at least for a while? Damn it, I’m not your dog!”

  Wisely he made no reply. The mood between them was miserable enough, therefore it seemed prudent to avoid pushing the matter to the point of causing Hyacinth to bear the brunt of his wrath.

  The interior of the building was just as run-down as its exterior. Window panes had been broken from their frames, lying in shards in front of drafty openings. Absolutely no items of furnishings had been left. Everything had been carried away – likely stolen and used to heat the other ruins where the homeless lived. Probably the inhabitants of these dwellings had owned very little anyhow. For ages, Elwood had been the island of the damned, of those without means. Even before that h
orrible fire when countless workers had perished, the only people living here wouldn’t have been treated in the city with any amiability or civility. Looking at it from that perspective, Elwood would have also been a place for him. Vrila’s lips contorted into an ironic smile.

  Most of the walls had been torn down, thus creating the semblance of a hall, although other remainings, which they found themselves repeatedly stepping over, revealed that individual apartments hat once existed here.

  “The stains lead upstairs.” Hyacinth nodded toward a staircase that looked to be on the verge of collapse.

  “Those steps don’t look especially secure to me,” Vrila offered for consideration and felt unwilling to go there.

  “There’s probably no other way. I can go by myself if you’re too afraid.”

  “Will you stop that now,” Vrila exclaimed weakly – much more like a request than a command. He cast a fleeting glance at Hyacinth and observed indignation in his sparkling, green eyes, whereas Gavrila merely felt the desire to cease arguing with the young, blond-haired man.

  With caution they set one foot before the other to mount the stairway leading to the upper floor. This level was completely different from the one downstairs.

  They stood in an elongated anteroom which housed several doors. At the end of it was an entrance to a room submerged in total darkness next to which staircases headed farther up.

  The bloody patches appeared to lead upwards to a dark opening over which an iron trapdoor stood half open. Like the mouth of a predator.

  “What the hell is that?” Hyacinth asked while shaking his head.

  They approached hesitantly, cast a quick glance inside and made out a large, windowless room.

  Vrila continued to search for traces of blood because they didn’t lead into the strange room but instead into the next door apartment.

  He ventured a few steps inside.

  A dresser stood next to the entrance; a few pictures atop it were not as dust-covered as one might expect. Someone must have placed them there a short time ago, but who would do such a thing? Genwood?

  Curious, he reached for a picture frame. The portrait showed two boys and a young woman. A small family – perhaps a mother with her sons.