Yes, he was very much the old Vrila. His brother’s presence seemed forgotten and of no concern to him. For the first time, Hyacinth recognised he was more important to his husband than Dimitri ever could have been.
Compelled by an invisible power, he flung his arms around Vrila from behind. If they should leave this warehouse alive, he’d be even more attentive to Vrila’s wishes than before.
Gentle fingertips danced along his arms, forming a tangible contrast to the rest of the rigid body pressed against his.
“If you refuse to go willingly, Perkovic, we’ll have to shoot you,” Bartholomew threatened after a curt nod.
Dimitri laughed like a madman so loudly that it echoed off the bare walls. The man was a monster. He was the disgusting monstrosity he’d repeatedly cursed Vrila for being.
“No!” Laurent tried to shake himself free, but his master had him firmly under control and jerked him closer.
“Behave yourself, Laurent, or you’ll pay!”
“Release him! He’s not your dog, you damn bastard!” When Sergei tried to rush the fat son of a bitch, more enemies appeared out of the darkness and blocked his way, one of whom shoved him vigorously against the chest. He stumbled backwards.
Laurent began to sob: “Let him go!”
Sergei called out his name and once again attempted to force his way to him. But before he could, he was gruffly knocked to the floor where he stirred up dust.
“I’ll make the decision for you, gentlemen!” Dimitri screamed into the confusion of voices and flashed a self-satisfied grin.
From the corner of an eye, Hyacinth saw the devil had raised his pistol and aimed at the man holding the explosives in his hands. “No!” With a forceful tug, he pulled Vrila backwards.
A shot rang out through the air, and a second later Sergei’s revenge exploded with a deafening blast. A glittering flash of light hurt Hyacinth’s eyes. Then flames shot up.
A scream could be heard, no, several – dull, as though he heard them through cotton balls in his ears.
Rubble flew through the air while a shock wave flung them farther back. The wood creaked. The column, next to which the henchman had stood, gave way under the weight of the roof, allowing half of it collapse.
Vrila had twisted around to face him, throwing him to the floor beneath himself. Or had it been the power of the explosion that caused it?
Additional shots rang out in the night. His husband rose to his feet and pulled him up. He said something, but Hyacinth could barely hear him. The ringing in his ears drowned out everything else, made his head ache.
Vrila stroked his cheeks and, breathing heavily, turned his gaze from him.
*
Vrila scanned his surroundings. The air was filled with dust and smoke; he could barely make out his hand before his eyes. Steadily growing flames flickered up the walls. Everywhere lay rocks, tiles and beams. Men were fleeing in every direction. Petticoa had disappeared; Vrila supposed the shots he’d heard through the ringing in his ears were meant for him. Dimitri had leaned on a beam and stared into the flames. As if noticing Vrila’s fleeting glance, he cast a triumphant one over a shoulder. He seemed pleased by the destruction he’d caused.
“Go outside,” Vrila ordered Hyacinth, but the stubborn young man shook his blond, dust-covered locks.
“Not without you!”
“For once in your life will you do what I tell you?”
“Not very likely! Get used to it.”
With a glance sideways, Vrila perceived a movement, causing him to wheel around with weapon drawn. It was the obnoxious fat man who got up with effort and lumbered toward the exit. Vrila didn’t hesitate. He aimed and shot the bastard straight through the heart. The man fell to the floor and remained lying there.
“There’s Sergei!” Hyacinth tugged on his sleeve and pointed to the middle of the hall. The smoke was becoming thicker, the flames hungrier.
Vrila hurried to his friend who was being supported by Laurent. “Out of here! The way out is back there!”
Hastily they headed for the exit from that hell. Sergei was coughing in cramped breaths, had taken in his lungs too much of the dust-infested air. Hyacinth opened the door and let them pass through first.
One last time, Vrila turned around and spotted Bartholomew lying under a pile of rubble. A beam was resting at an angle across his body. He wasn’t moving, apparently having lost consciousness.
Swallowing hard, he stared at the man he had thought a friend. The betrayal he’d committed wounded Vrila, although he’d never admit as much. Bartholomew was one of his enemies, he’d lied to them for months, heard their plans and spied on them. Perhaps here was the site of his ultimate fate.
He tried to turn away but couldn’t. Hyacinth, who’d appeared like an angel out of the darkness to protect him from his brother, had softened his heart. It served him right ...
With a growl he shoved his dearest one in the direction of the door and freedom. “Go, I’ll be right behind you!” But instead of following he turned back.
Running and leaping over barriers, he overcame the distance between Bartie and himself, kneeled beside him and felt his wrist. He was still alive. Against his will he felt a sense of relief.
With determination he tried to lift the support beam Bartholomew was trapped under. It seemed too heavy for him to manage alone. Unable to admit defeat, he heaved against it with all his weight.
Persisting in desperation, he pressed against the beam that, as if by a miracle, suddenly moved from the spot.
Irritated, he opened his eyes and saw Hyacinth standing beside him and heaving against the beam as well. Their eyes met. “Never the one without the other,” the young man muttered.
Vrila’s profoundly moved feelings seemed out of place and he closed them off deep within. While Hyacinth saw to it that the beam wouldn’t tumble back on them, Vrila dragged Bartholomew out from under the pile and lifted him by his arms.
At that moment Vrila heard screams that set his teeth on edge. Dimitri stood amid flames and raised his hands toward the night sky as he yelled bitter accusations and screamed in agony.
Vrila’s eyes filled with tears, and he couldn’t move. Time suddenly stood still, and he shuddered as Dimitri turned to him a final time and bored through him with a piercing glare. He screamed something, apparently a curse and reproaches about some betrayal Vrila had never committed.
A gentle but strong hand grabbed him on the upper arm and jolted him out of his trance. It was Hyacinth, his beloved, his rescuer. “Let’s go.”
Vrila obeyed the young man his pounding heart belonged to and did not look back again.
*
Wheezing and coughing, Vrila drew fresh night air into his lungs. He spotted the men of the secret society gathered around Petticoa’s corpse, but not looking down at it, rather staring up at the burning warehouse. Soon only the ashes of it would remain.
Would those people allow them to go? Or did they intend to strike them down so that no one could utter a word about this incident?
“Wait here, please,” he instructed his young husband, who for once listened to him. Well, at least halfway. He trotted a few strides behind him, but for the most part remained in the background.
Still holding Bartie, Vrila went over to the men and without comment lay before them their leader, who in the meantime had opened his eyes and examined him half-awake.
“I’m sorry, Gavrila. I never wanted it to end like this,” he whispered with effort and raised one of his white eyebrows. “I knew we couldn’t be friends. The villain and the hero. Nevertheless, I’ve grown fond of you both.” His wrinkled, flayed fingers tapped against his chest, and a weak smile crossed his lips.
Despite the tightness in his throat, Vrila swallowed. Bartholomew had promised to let them go. He didn’t let his men shoot when Dimitri attacked Hyacinth. And Vrila hadn’t left the man to his fate. “Indeed, it always depends on how you define friendship.”
They gazed at one another. Only as
long as Vrila needed to realise the old man’s eyes had become glassy. Then he left him to his subordinates and turned away.
For a moment he expected someone would shoot him in the back, but nothing of the sort happened. They were allowed to leave. The nightmare was over.
Epilogue
On that very day two years ago they had left Ascot behind. Two years ago today they’d stood at Seymour’s grave on a horridly cold night to bring him Lynnen’s statue. Including the love letter that he’d never read. Now his soul was eternally united with Maurice Lynnen’s.
Only vaguely could Vrila remember all of the snow, the icy cold and the dark streets of that unwelcoming city. Anyone accustomed to the Levonian sun could easily forget such a place. And, in the meantime, he had become accustomed to it.
At that moment the sun was slowly pushing its way below the horizon to bathe everything in a magnificent light. The orange trees in the groves belonged to them. The terrace on which they were sitting to take dinner together. The broad landscape beyond the trees belonged to no one, allowing him to feel like they were completely alone in the world. A pleasurable thought. Each morning he relished walking that pathway with Hyacinth and breathing in the fragrance of the orange blossoms and the multitude of white hyacinths in their garden.
In their efforts to preserve Seymour’s memory, they had found their home in Levona. And every day they sensed anew the presence of his kind soul. A smile crossed his lips. Who would have thought he’d ever be happy?
He caressed his husband’s hand, which rested upon his thigh. Hyacinth responded to the affection with a tender, unconscious pressure as he laughed at something Sergei had said.
Laurent puffed on the slender cigarette he held between his fingers and grinned broadly. “I have no idea what he means by that,” he parried and earned a scolding glare for the contradiction which no one took seriously anyhow.
The two ran a printing shop in the middle of the city. Business was excellent, and they never had complaints about their customers.
The ambiance felt so different here than in the far north of the Wywarrick Empire. The people, the atmosphere, simply everything. None of them would willingly go back. That wasn’t solely due to the secret society’s hold on the entire city but also due to their present lifestyle.
However, they still followed events there. By chance Haggard had crossed paths with them that night. It was then they reconciled their differences. But he declined their invitation to go away with them. Nevertheless, he stayed in contact through letters.
Correspondence from him arrived at least once a month. On one occasion, Sergei had jokingly commented on how the old guzzler had found healing for his soul through those letters. Perhaps that was true. And perhaps he’d also found healing because the men who’d robbed him of his family had lost their lives.
On that night two years ago, Bartholomew was arrested. He and his people didn’t disappear from Elwood quickly enough. The police and fire department arrived at the scene even though they weren’t generally interested in the island of beggars. Perhaps they’d suspected some illegal activities were taking place at the warehouse. But it was much more likely Howard or Hathaway had been keeping them under surveillance.
In any event, Bartie was put behind bars.
For a duration of two weeks. He’d then been released along with an apology and acquitted of any wrongdoing. It only demonstrated how far the Wesselin influence had reached.
Regardless, since then the old man had been confined to a wheelchair. The heavy beam falling on the small of his back had robbed him of his ability to walk. Sometimes Vrila wondered whether what had happened had seriously affected him. Anything about it at all. Of course, he didn’t know the answer, and it was more or less of no great importance to him.
His smile returned when he remembered how Haggard was always reporting with considerable amusement about Tornwauld. They had left Seymour’s antique store and his house to the young man. He in turn made every effort to live up to the expectations placed on him by maintaining a normal lifestyle. He had lived up to them well – surprisingly well – and they all felt a sense of relief.
Hyacinth laughed once again, and the lovely sound caused Vrila’s heart to melt. “Yes, I know that. Vrila sometimes has such peculiar moods. It must be his advanced age.” The young man poked him teasingly in the side, and Vrila chuckled quietly then lost himself gazing at his husband’s fine profile. A gentle, warm breeze wafted through the blond curls perfectly framing his face. His regard followed the line of his sweet nose and stroked the slightly flushed cheeks and finally followed his sensually formed lips, which awakened his longing for a kiss. He swallowed and concentrated on the glimmer in his husband’s deep green eyes. That sparkle hadn’t always been there but had only come with time. If he remembered correctly, it turned up first when Vrila had confessed his love to the lad. Since then it seemed to deepen with each passing day. How could his husband constantly become more beautiful?
Was it merely Vrila’s feelings moving him to think so, or was it due to the Levonian sun?
No. No, it had to be something within him or else he should have also become more beautiful. But he was still the same old ugly guy as always – even if the people here in Levona refrained from calling much attention to it. Actually, it was no longer important to him how he looked. Hyacinth saw something inside him, something beautiful, something loveable. He let him feel it every single day, every minute, every second. What more could he wish for when he had his young husband’s heart?
Regardless of their present company, he lifted Hyacinth’s delicate hand, bent over it and stroked its warm skin with his lips. He owed everything to this man. His happiness and his life as well.
Hyacinth regarded him with a surprised smile and leaned over to kiss him. Their mouths met softly, though only briefly, but their desire for more was immediately awakened. Vrila tried to chase it off by clearing his throat and attempted to divert attention with conversation. The fact that Hyacinth studied him with delight made him nervous. The young man seemed to know exactly what he’d set off in him. They had now been married long enough to know the other one so well… A thought that moved him. Once again he had to clear his throat before he finally could speak: “Sergei, you said you have a new apprentice?”
“Oh, you heard that?” his friend teased him with a broad grin on his face. “It almost seemed to me you were too distracted today to hear us at all.”
“As you can see, I’m listening attentively,” Vrila lied and displayed an expression that froze on his face when Hyacinth’s fingertips explored the inside of his right thigh. Hastily he grabbed for his lad’s hand and enclosed it in his to prevent it from continuing.
Hyacinth suppressed a smile and pretended he hadn’t noticed Vrila’s warning glare. “Yes, tell us a little about the new machines you bought. Vrila can’t wait to hear everything about them. We have all night.”
Sergei laughed cheerfully and took a swig of wine before he actually began his narrative about the art of printing. Once again.
For him, his profession was a passion. They’d only noticed it after Laurent had stepped back into his life and had retrieved him from his morass of sorrow.
Hyacinth inched closer and nestled his head on Vrila’s shoulder. With his free hand the lad explored his loins, provoking them to flare with desire. But that time he didn’t even have the strength to stop him. His gentle touches were far too pleasant and promised more. As soon as they could be alone. Vrila swallowed hard and reached for a glass of water to soothe his throat.
The sun had set completely, and it had become dark.
Heavens, he didn’t know how long they’d sat there, but he’d forever be grateful to Laurent, who with a few kisses enticed his talkative spouse to finally head for home.
“That’s all for today, my darling,” he interrupted Sergei in the middle of a sentence and closed his lips with his own. “We should go and give our hosts the rest of this beautiful night to themselves
, hmm?”
“But I haven’t even told them about the cleaning process. It’s the most interesting part, how we remove all of the ink. You had said so yourself!” Sergei protested and seemed almost indignant about the interruption.
“Yes, I say that because I love you more than anything else, and it’s so important to you,” Laurent admitted with a slightly wrinkled brow, an indulgent twinkle in his eyes.
Sergei was beyond confused. “Yes? Okay, whatever you say, then let’s leave, but they’ll have to listen to me some other time.” He cast a glance at them as he uttered the threat.
Hyacinth laughed subtly while Vrila could only sigh.
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to,” Laurent reassured him, pulling him by an arm, because Sergei hadn’t even begun to stand up.
“Okay, fine, whatever you say,” he repeated and scrunched his face as he pushed the chair back and rose. “Will we see each other for Sunday coffee? Then we can discuss how we’re going to reprint Seymour’s volume of poems.” He slapped Vrila on the shoulder as he walked past.
“As always, Sergei. As always.” He nodded with a smile and looked up at his friend, who was hard to get rid of on such evenings.
“Don’t worry, we can find our way out.” Laurent beamed and clasped Sergei’s hand to drag him outside.
Hyacinth hid his face in Vrila’s neck and laughed quietly. Vrila made every effort to restrain his amusement. He lost the struggle when he heard Sergei mutter on the staircase: “Why are you suddenly in such a hurry? I’m sure they would’ve liked to hear what I had to say.”
*
The night sky was clear and full of stars, as it always seemed to be in Levona. The curtains in front of their bedroom’s open balcony doors billowed in the mild breeze.
A Hyacinth for His Hideousness Page 44