The moment they stepped out onto the street, they were slapped by the cold air. Warily they looked around, then Vrila noticed Hyacinth’s heavy breathing. His panic could neither be overlooked nor dismissed.
After Vrila had closed Seymour’s house, he protectively wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist and took him home. While doing so, he kept an eye on every shadow and listened to every noise, no matter how insignificant it seemed. It was as though he were in the war again, but for once in his life, this time there was something worth fighting for.
Relieved, Hyacinth struggled for breath as they entered their house.
Vrila caught sight of the circle of candles and black petals and clenched his teeth. That arsehole had been inside while his lad was sitting upstairs. A chill ran down his spine and gave him shivers. The thought of what might have happened was unbearable.
His husband had crossed his arms over his chest, his entire body trembling as he stared at the work of the insane individual.
Vrila hurried to blow out the candles and to collect everything with his bare hands. Hot wax trickled over his skin, but he ignored the pain. That was nothing compared to his anxiety for Hyacinth’s sake.
With a snarl, he tossed the stuff into a bucket and quickly wiped himself off with a towel before searching every room. He needed to be certain no one was here.
*
While Vrila was walking around the house, Hyacinth held steadfast to the same spot unable to move. Fear had clouded his senses. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. He just wanted to get away from here.
Yes, he was a coward. Of course, that night it occurred to him for the first time that his panic was justified. Someone had gained entry to their house and had struck terror into his heart while he was sitting only a few steps away. He hadn’t heard a sound. Not a thing.
So it was possible for those people to get into their house without making a sound. Then it would certainly be possible for them to quietly slit their throats.
Vrila came back. “No one here now.” Their eyes met. “Now I want you to listen to me carefully. I’ll order a coach for us.”
“You mean to leave me alone?”
“You will lock yourself in and pack our things. You’ll stuff everything you can get your hands on into cartons. We’ll take along whatever will fit into the coach. We can see to anything else later when the situation has quieted down and you’re safe.”
“What if those people come back?”
“They won’t,” Vrila replied and turned away to put the kettle on. “I want you to drink a cup of Seymour’s tea. It’ll calm and do you good.”
“What if they see you and...?”
“They won’t,” his husband replied with firm assurance, and he understood that it made no sense to haggle with him now. “Get away from the window.”
Hyacinth obeyed and joined Vrila in their small kitchen to be closer to him. He silently observed how he prepared the cup by putting sugar and a tea bag in it. When the water boiled, he poured it in and handed him the white porcelain vessel.
“Where’s your weapon?”
“Here,” Hyacinth muttered and pointed to the pocket of his coat that also contained Mr Lynnen’s wood carving. “Seymour needs to have the statue back. We need to tell him that Maurice loved him.”
“Surely he’s known that for some time now. We can’t risk any such thing.”
Tears welled in Hyacinth’s eyes. “But he needs to have the statue back. It meant so much to him.”
“Your safety would have meant more to him,” Vrila responded in a frosty tone of voice. He spoke dispassionately to contain his emotions; nevertheless, it hurt. “We simply can’t take the chance. Maybe… maybe Sergei can deliver it to him.”
A small glimmer of hope. He nodded and wiped his cheeks.
Vrila coughed lightly. “I’ll be back soon. Lock the door and leave the key in the slot.” He leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.
Without saying a word, Hyacinth accompanied him to the door. Vrila turned around once more and regarded him in a strange manner before he left the house. Hyacinth wrapped his arms around his own upper body and followed his husband with his eyes. Nothing would happen to him. Nothing must happen to him. He was the dearest thing he had. If he lost Vrila, his life would be worthless because it would have lost all meaning.
*
His fingers tightly gripping the handle of his pistol, Vrila rushed through the streets. He avoided glances from passers-by along his way. With stern resolution, he approached the municipal stalls where he planned to acquire a coach and two horses.
Periodically he turned around to see whether anyone was following him. His ears were pricked. Every fibre of his body tense. He attempted to suppress each thought trying to invade his consciousness. At the moment, he couldn’t concentrate on any thoughts. He needed all of his senses to guarantee he’d return safe and sound to Hyacinth and get him securely out of the city.
The world around made a peculiar impression on him, as though he were an outcast who’d become invisible. Everything he saw was so terribly vivid, the sounds he heard so frightfully loud, even if they were supposedly difficult for other people to hear.
What would happen if he failed? Would those bastards do something to his husband? Would they harm him?
No thoughts, no questions, he admonished himself and shook his head like a wet dog shaking off droplets of water.
*
After emptying his cup of tea, Hyacinth stopped staring at the locked door. He went into the bedroom.
Vrila had set some empty cartons next to the bed, and Hyacinth began to fill them. He tossed in some articles of clothing as cushioning before emptying the medicine cabinet to pack the bottles. In recent days Vrila had almost never used them, for he’d hardly been ill. After Seymour’s death, a cold and coughing had plagued him for a few days. It seemed as though his soul, rather than his body, had brought on those illnesses. Hyacinth wished he could shelter his husband from them. But at the moment he couldn’t even protect himself; how was he supposed to protect anyone else?
His throat tense with anxiety, he paused to listen. He heard nothing. Usually, that would have been reassuring, but as was now evident, it didn’t necessarily mean he was alone and safe.
After drawing a deep breath, he opened the cabinet doors and turned his attention to their shirts, which he carelessly threw into the boxes. Who gave a damn if they were wrinkled? They had other concerns than an impeccable wardrobe.
He reached for their properly hung trousers, snatched them off the racks and rolled them up to save space.
When he’d finished, he stood indecisively in front of his husband’s many coats. They definitely wouldn’t all fit into those few boxes. Why did he have so many and which ones did he want to keep?
Hyacinth decided on a dark-blue, ankle-length coat and a jacket he’d never seen on his husband.
His eyes were attracted to a black overcoat with gold-coloured, decorative needlework, one which Vrila had never worn in his presence. He grabbed it and pulled it off the hanger. What became visible under the garment caused him to pause and hold his breath. He then inhaled deeply to relax the constriction in his throat.
As if paralysed, he stared at the fabric, sensed his rapid heartbeats and the knots in his stomach.
With a tentative movement, he stretched his fingers toward the red jacket of Vrila’s uniform and when he touched it, a memory struck him like a slap in the face.
The punter who desired more from Hyacinth than he was willing to give grabbed him by the collar and threw him against the wall. His head slammed against the rough stonework, and the pain caused his head to spin. He was drunk, his senses clouded by a puff on an opium pipe. The languorous contentment people spoke about was always denied him, but the heavy fatigue, which usually afflicted him afterwards, made the torment easier to bear.
Along with the absinthe, each morning the opium at least darkened his memory of the previous night. Indeed, he knew what he
’d done and where he’d been, but he could remember neither the faces nor the terrible emotions and nausea he suffered from during those nights.
Hot breath grazed his cheek when he turned away from the coarse bugger. He raised his fists to direct them at the man. His defensive posture was ignored. He heard himself scream something, whereupon the bastard laughed and forced himself upon him with all of his weight. His erection pressed against Hyacinth’s abdomen, and in a panic, he tried to squirm from the man’s clutches.
“Let go of me, you damn swine!” he demanded as loudly as possible then rudely spat in his face. It earned him a blow to the chin that again bounced his skull against the wall. Dark spots danced before his sharply burning eyes. Warm blood dripped from his nose and ran over his lips. He was gripped with despair when filthy hands glided across his body and, as hard as he tried, wouldn’t let him push them off.
“Let go of me!” he repeated in a raw voice and with all the insistence he could still gather in that harrowing night. He was so horribly enraged and full of hatred for that nauseating bastard and… for himself because he’d come to that place once again. Now he’d pay with his innocence, with every remainder of it left to him.
In an instant, the brash punter was pulled off of him and thrown against the wall himself. “He said no, you filthy scum,” the stranger growled in a low-pitched voice but with even more discernible, intense anger.
Hyacinth drew back a few steps and took a sharp breath. Irritated, he looked at the man who’d come to his aid. Jet-black hair framed a remarkable face with a longer than usual nose gleaming in the glow of the lanterns. He wore a black beret. His upper body was enfolded in a red military jacket, his legs in white breeches and black, knee-high boots. They were exceptionally attractive legs. Slender. Long. Muscular but not excessively.
“Why are you interfering here, Your Hideousness?! Do you think the youngster wants you instead of me? How ridiculous! I’ll fuck the little slut as hard and as often as I want to, even if he says ‘no’ a thousand times! And you can’t do a thing about it, Ardenovic!” The fat man spit and grabbed Hyacinth’s rescuer by the collar then squeezed.
The soldier appeared unimpressed. With a kick between the legs, he freed himself from the man’s grip and forced his opponent to his knees.
A gasp escaped Hyacinth’s throat when his protector drew a pistol from his shoulder holster and held it to the punter’s temple.
“Lay your hands on him one more time and you’re a dead man!”
The bugger who’d nearly raped him grinned maliciously, but the uneasy flickering of his eyes betrayed his fear. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t provoke me,” the soldier in the unusual uniform retorted. His face took on the expression of a wolf with teeth bared. “Men who have nothing to lose are especially dangerous.”
Making a beastly sound, the loathsome man who didn’t accept a rejection rose to his feet. “Whatever you say, you ugly prick. I thought we’d get along better. After all, a defiler’s blood flows in your veins.”
“Fuck off now!” Ardenovic thundered so loudly that all of Ascot undoubtedly heard it.
Hyacinth cringed, and his tormentor slowly began to retreat and eventually disappeared into a side street. It wasn’t until that moment he noticed the trembling in his legs and how he could barely stand on his own feet.
With his back pressed to the wall, he was on the verge of sliding to the ground. Before that could happen, his rescuer darted to his side and seized hold of an upper arm.
Without uttering a word, the man pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his bloody nose – to his irritation, more cautiously than anyone had ever touched him before. He used the chance to scrutinise his protector more closely. The man’s grotesque appearance made him shudder and draw back. In disgust, he avoided a second look into his face. “Are you expecting a reward for your chivalry?”
“The concept of chivalry is characterised by the fact that one doesn’t expect any reward, don’t you think?” came the unexpectedly gentle reply.
“I don’t know, Sir,” he stammered instead of expressing a nimble-witted retort. Was this fellow always such a know-it-all? Certainly unpleasant company, if he makes all of his acquaintances feel stupid.
“No, I expect nothing from you. Others already fulfill that role,” he added with a hint of bitterness. He stopped wiping Hyacinth’s face and moved a step back. All of a sudden he seemed more embarrassed than self-assured. “Of course, I have a request for you.”
What could that man want from him? What they all wanted? “And that would be?”
“I suppose you don’t remember me, but we... we were introduced once. With your permission, I’d like to court you, Josephinian.”
“Hyacinth,” he quickly corrected without having considered what the man had just said.
“Hyacinth,” Ardenovic repeated after a fleeting blink. “Will you allow me to court you? In appropriate surroundings?”
In appropriate surroundings, Hyacinth angrily repeated in his thoughts. Was it necessary for the fellow to get on his high horse about being better than anyone else – or at least appearing to after having heroically saved him from harm? If he truly wanted to – court him – wouldn’t he start at that time and place? And what was it supposed to mean anyways? Couldn’t the man just say exactly what he wanted from him?
Instead of a straight or cordial answer, he exclaimed with the first response to come to mind: “You’re damn hideous.”
Over the soldier’s thin, pale lips flashed a fleeting amused smile, not at all as repellent as Hyacinth’s words had made them out to be. “I know that well.” The tip of his tongue darted forward and sent an unwelcome shudder through Hyacinth’s lower body. “Perhaps you could look beyond that. I’m not poor and would guarantee you a comfortable lifestyle.”
A comfortable lifestyle? Was this arse out of his mind? Did he think he could have everything he wanted for money? In that respect he’d made a mistake, because while Hyacinth did indeed give a part of his body, by no means his love and his heart! Those were things no amount of gold in the world could buy!
Although the soldier had protected him, he wasn’t any better than that punter. No, he was even worse because he demanded much too much and wasn’t prepared to pay him more than a few coins for his favours.
Did he look like he was in such urgent need of a comfortable lifestyle?
“How arrogant of you to think you could buy me!”
“I’m earnestly devoted to you, Hyacinth. I… I think about you often.”
Those hoarsely enunciated words made his heart accelerate, but he didn’t attribute any particular significance to it. “For instance, when you’re lying in your bed and doing it to yourself?” he bit back and made every effort to express scorn for the other man – who placed himself so high above him.
“That isn’t what I meant,” the soldier muttered. His dark eyes scrutinised Hyacinth, and for a moment he felt as though he could glance into the man’s soul. It wasn’t nearly as ugly as his exterior.
A peculiar sensation rumbled in his belly. He wanted to free himself of it and retreated a step while signalling rejection with his arms folded over his chest. “You’d better get that notion out of your head, Sir. I won’t allow you anything at all. I find you repulsive and don’t care to have anything to do with you,” he exclaimed bluntly and ignored his intense dizziness then turned away. He wanted to flee but stumbled light-headedly over his own legs.
Had the soldier not grabbed him, he would have fallen to the ground. Instead, Hyacinth was lifted by powerful arms. “I’ll take you home.”
“By God, that’s unnecessary,” he protested in irritation and pedalled with his legs to be let down. Ardenovic had no intention of doing so, and even a gentle shove against his chest couldn’t convince him to put him back down on his own feet. “What do you hope to gain from your idiotic actions?” In any case, someone like you must seem much too good for someone like me! This man merely wanted to r
ender proof of his integrity by rescuing him – a poor, filthy rent boy – from the streets!
“Nothing at all. I wouldn’t dare leave you here in the streets in your condition. You shouldn’t expect a man to whom you mean something to allow that.”
What was the fellow talking about? They hardly knew each other! Why did he need to say something of the sort? Good heavens, he was so dreadfully irritating! “You’re dressed like a man of war, but you talk like a fucking poet.”
“That’s nonsense, boy,” the soldier objected, and while he spoke, snow began to fall.
For that reason, Hyacinth conceded defeat and put his arms around Ardenovic’s neck. He tried to warm himself with the contact, but the man seemed to be ice-cold.
His anger evaporated as suddenly as it had overcome him. With a sigh he placed his chin on a shoulder of his enervating protector. If the guy wanted to carry him home, Hyacinth could at least enjoy it a bit. What difference did it make?
A pleasant scent of after-shave lotion invaded his nostrils and forced him to close his eyes. It was a new experience to lie in the arms of a man who hadn’t purchased any sexual services from him. Actually, even in those cases, he wasn’t lying in someone’s arms. Mostly he was kneeling somewhere on the cold ground at someone’s feet. He attempted to suppress the nausea mounting in him.
He succeeded as he stroked with the tips of his fingers across the military jacket’s material. Silky hair grazed his face, and his lips puckered to a grin because it tickled him. “Nice,” he muttered unintentionally.
Fortunately, the soldier didn’t have any inkling of his meaning. “What?”
Hyacinth laughed in embarrassment. “Eh, the snow, of course, fool.”
“You’re already assigning me a pet name. Are you certain you won’t change your mind?” Was he trying to sound like he was joking? If so, then he’d failed. His intonation had something imploring about it. Was it so important to him to show society what an honourable arse he was by treating someone like Hyacinth kind-heartedly? “Let me court you; perhaps you’ll like it. And if not, you can send me away. Give me a chance.”
A Hyacinth for His Hideousness Page 41