A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  Without saying another word, they went home, and Hyacinth was thankful when the door behind them was shut.

  Had anyone spied on them while on their walk home, he hadn’t noticed it. Did that mean the blond man had given up?

  *

  “Now tell me what was so important that you couldn’t leave a message for me,” Vrila demanded with suppressed rage. His young man seemed completely exhausted, therefore he wouldn’t give him a severe lecture, although he truly deserved one!

  Hyacinth sat down at the table where Seymour had placed the book and quickly paged through it.

  “Would you care for a hot chocolate?” Vrila asked as sternly as possible, considering the appearance of his corpse-pale husband, and received a nod in response. What in hell had happened? Could someone finally explain something to him?!

  He warmed some milk and poured it over a few pieces of chocolate. At the same time he heated water to make Seymour a weak herbal tea.

  “There it is,” the old man muttered with wonderment and took a seat by falling into it as if he’d nearly fainted.

  Vrila set the cups in front of them, and Hyacinth reached for his to warm his fingers. He scrutinised his lad sharply, still afraid something had happened to him. However, he appeared unscathed, just somewhat frightened.

  Seymour turned to him. “Hyacinth drew for me the pendant you’ve been seeking information about. I knew I’d seen it once before. We spent the entire morning looking for this book. During that time, something happened you should know about.”

  Hyacinth slid deeper into his chair, and Vrila felt those ominous words cause his heart to skip a beat.

  “Someone was watching us,” Seymour explained. “Hyacinth wanted to confront the man, but it went awry.”

  “You wanted to do what?!” he thundered in anger and caught Hyacinth’s seemingly timid gaze that wanted to avoid his.

  “It was a blond man resembling the one the beggar told us about. I thought we could get information from him if I just…”

  Vrila grabbed his husband by the collar so roughly Hyacinth nearly spilled his chocolate. “You tried to confront that lunatic, that suspect? By damn, are you serious, boy?!”

  Hyacinth freed himself and endeavoured to cast an evil eye at him. “I’m not a boy; I’m your man!”

  What was he more surprised by? By that gruff tone or by the your preceding the word man? He drew back and cleared his throat. Then he made an effort to get his emotions under control. Lord God, what kind of fool had he taken as a husband?!

  He sat down opposite Seymour and stared at the open book. It was a volume on the history of the empire. What could it contain that would help them further?

  “I did it for you,” Hyacinth whispered abruptly. His head was bowed so he wouldn’t have to look at Vrila. “I wanted you to be proud and finally realize I can help.” He let out a joyless laugh, and his facial expression darkened while his mouth continued to crease. “I thoroughly messed it up because he got away from me.”

  Vrila didn’t know how to reply. Hyacinth had been in danger. He was completely dismayed by the thought – together with the admission that touched him and to which he was unable to react. Everything in his stomach was in a pleasant upheaval, and he averted his eyes from Hyacinth to calm his feelings. No, hell, no! The lad had acted in a hot-headed and foolish way! Why was something inside him rejoicing about it? This was completely ridiculous!

  Seymour appeared uneasy about listening to such a much too personal, almost intimate, conversation. “Let’s concentrate on history for a while. Look at this. It’s that symbol.“ He pointed to an illustration.

  “What does it mean?“ Hyacinth asked and bent forward to observe and contemplate the drawing.

  “It was the distinguishing sign of an old order. It symbolises unity and cohesion. Back then, as it says here, they branded their members with a mark behind the right ear.”

  Hyacinth grimaced. “What kind of order was it?”

  “A secret society which called itself the Order of Wesselin, since it was founded under the aegis of a lord named Theobald Wesselin. Its express goal, as written here, was to influence the politics of all countries.” Seymour repeated those words then shook his head. “What is it intended to signify? Hmm, perhaps it indicates these Wesselins wanted to achieve some kind of world domination.” He laughed softly. “That sounds like a conspiracy theory, but at least it’s certain this society actually existed.”

  “How or why was it dissolved?” Hyacinth asked after he’d taken a sip and licked his lips.

  “If you can believe this book, a ban was decreed because things had gotten out of control. The Wesselins, mostly noblemen and wealthy bourgeoisies, called for protests against the leaders of the country. Provoked by such diatribes, there was an uprising that had to be put down with bloodshed. All the leaders of the order were arrested and executed to eradicate the problem as thoroughly as possible. Allegedly, that year the Wesselin Order was forever extinguished and forgotten. Well, I don’t doubt it was forgotten, but I wonder whether those who escaped might have regrouped underground and continued their activities.” With a sigh, Seymour leaned back and reached for the tea he’d ignored until then.

  “What are we going to do now?” Hyacinth enquired.

  “You aren’t going to do anything for the time being,” Vrila declared. “As foolishly as you’ve acted, you’ll keep yourself out of this unspeakable affair.”

  “Had I done so, we would have never found out about all of this!”

  “I know, and I’m grateful to you,” he confessed to take the wind out of Hyacinth’s sails. “But starting today, you keep yourself in the background! We aren’t going to risk anything concerning this matter! I don’t want you attracting any more attention to yourself.”

  “Mr Wiplay, tell him he needs me!”

  In response to that request, Seymour supported Vrila. “Gavrila is right. It’s too dangerous. We have to be cautious.“

  Hyacinth clamped his teeth, turned to Vrila once more and protested: “You need me! I can help you!”

  “Of course I need you, dammit, but I need you alive!” With an irritable gesture, he wiped across his perspiring forehead. “We are all going to take a step back for a bit. The man is closer to us than we are to this cursed secret society.”

  Time passed while they maintained a dogged silence and the tension in the air was palpable – just as much as his young husband’s vexation.

  At last, Seymour spoke quietly: “I’ll do some ancestral research. Perhaps Mr Wesselin or one of the members of his order has descendants who have an interest in continuing his life’s work. Maybe we can find out whether a Wesselin in our vicinity is engaged in nefarious activities.”

  That conjecture sent a cold shudder down Vrila’s spine, and he glanced at the glassed-in front of his house. Outside a dark figure went by. Likely only a pedestrian, but Vrila growled at him in his thoughts: You keep your hands off my lad, you damn son of a bitch.

  Good God, why had he dragged Hyacinth into this?! He angrily tousled his hair and pursed his lips together.

  “Fine, Seymour, do your research, but be careful.”

  “Oh, of course, I’ll be careful and treat the affair like fine porcelain.” The old man nodded enthusiastically, notably excited about being able to conduct some research on family history.

  On the contrary, Vrila was anything but delighted. The thought of how near the enemy had come to his precious dearest one awakened a cold fright in him. What would have happened had the bugger decided to do something to Hyacinth? At once he felt chilled as if someone had poured ice-cold water on him. Secretly he observed his husband contemplating his hot chocolate. He was so lovable, so innocent and… God, the young man meant everything to him! With a slight cough he jumped up. “I’ll fix us lunch,” he murmured gruffly and walked into the kitchen.

  Hyacinth followed him and silently pulled utensils from the cabinet to set the table while Vrila heated the soup.

  “
If it’s all right with you, I’d like to use your lavatory for a few minutes. I have a feeling a few drops of cold water would do me good,” Seymour said and stepped in the bathroom. Subtly he closed the door behind him, and the two were alone with one another.

  Hyacinth stepped up beside Vrila and watched as he stirred the pancake dough in a bowl. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

  “Stop talking like that,” Vrila hissed between his teeth, because he sensed the urge to tell Hyacinth he was anything but disappointed in him. But since such a confession would surely encourage his husband’s foolishness rather than discourage it, he preferred to be reticent.

  “Had I not acted so stupidly, we’d know more now. Maybe he’d have admitted what he wanted and if someone had planted him…”

  “Maybe he’d have stuck a blade between your ribs,” Vrila interrupted impatiently and turned to Hyacinth who reeled back and looked at him through half-closed eyelids. Even the vague image of how he would have suffered, if something had happened to his husband, hit him like a bullet in the chest. He seized Hyacinth and closed his slightly open lips with a rough kiss. Their bodies slammed together, and Hyacinth gasped into his mouth before he flung his arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the desperate passion Vrila also experienced. Longingly his hands searched for his husband’s slender back, sensed the tensed muscles and heated skin under his shirt.

  Hyacinth cautiously grasped him by the hair and submitted so willingly to the kiss that it was frightening. How could this enchanting being act so affectionately with someone like him? The young man should have made a run for it long ago… Instead, he rubbed himself against him and stoked his inappropriate arousal by abruptly shoving his tongue between Vrila’s lips. He reacted by moaning and opening his mouth. Hell and damnation, suddenly it was so hot in here! He pushed Hyacinth against the counter and pressed his hard manhood against his body to rub on him and to prove unnecessarily how much he desired him.

  Instead of putting him in his place, Hyacinth allowed his kiss to become more demanding and reached under his jacket.

  “So, that’s it. I already feel much better.” When Seymour stepped into the living room again, they backed away from each other in shock.

  Good God, how could he have forgotten that the old man was freshening up in their bathroom? Well, he had succeeded to an alarming extent.

  “Excuse me, children. I didn’t mean to disrupt you,” Seymour mumbled with simultaneous discomfiture and amusement. He again sat at the table and appeared to be highly satisfied with the events that had taken place during his brief absence.

  Hyacinth had turned away, keeping his head lowered while he removed three plates from the cabinet. Vrila wondered if he’d annoyed him with his undignified conduct but then noticed the grin on the young man’s face.

  Self-consciously affected, he knelt to reach for the frying pan.

  To his astonishment, Hyacinth did the same and placed a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from standing up. With a smile on his lips, he leaned forward and kissed a corner of his mouth. “I swear to everything high and holy that I’ll thoroughly see to your needs as soon as we’re alone, Sir,” he whispered with a raw, seductive voice and affectionately stroked across his cheek with the tip of his nose. Immediately afterwards he stood up and joined Seymour, whom Vrila – despite his fondness for the old gent – wished most of all to throw out of the house right away.

  *

  At some point during the meal Hyacinth managed to suppress his arousal and pull himself together. After all, Mr Wiplay was sitting at their table, and for that very reason it was necessary to minimize his desirous looks in Vrila’s direction. It wasn’t easy. At last he completely avoided observing his husband so he could concentrate on their guest’s stories.

  The empty dishes still rested on the table, but the cosiness kept each one from taking them into the kitchen.

  Hyacinth had pulled a leg up, placing his stockinged foot on the edge of the chair and nestling his chin on a knee. That way he listened to Mr Wiplay – sometimes more, sometimes less.

  The man was shaking his greying head. “… a burden knowing that my name will die with me.”

  “Was there never a girl you were interested in?”

  “No girl.” Vrila smiled with a tightly closed mouth, and that sight alone caused Hyacinth to break out in goose bumps of longing for those pale, kissworthy lips.

  “No man either, my dear boy,” Mr Wiplay scolded him gently, but the brief gleam in his eyes gave a lie to those words. Quickly, to prevent further enquiries, he changed the subject: “The winter is surely going to last for a while yet, but I’m already looking forward to spring... The scent of warmth and melting snow in the air, a few blossoming flowers, and I’m happy.” His smile took on a dreamy appearance. “In Levona, the hyacinths are sure to be blooming now.” He laughed quietly before sighing from deep within his heart. ”I wish I could see my homeland once more before the end comes.”

  Hyacinth tensed while Vrila rolled his eyes: “You’re talking as if your heart could stop beating at any moment now.”

  Just as his teacher was about to respond, there was a knock at the door.

  It was Sergei wanting to be admitted. Vrila got up and with a light moan acceded to that request. But instead of coming in, Perkovic remained in the doorway and signalled a short greeting to them accompanied by an agonised smile.

  The two men were discussing something, and Hyacinth pricked his ears. To his dismay he couldn’t understand a word since they were whispering. They were doing so on purpose! Annoyed, he crossed his arms.

  Finally, Sergei took his leave. Hyacinth watched him until he could no longer be seen.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked when Vrila sat down again. With a knitted brow he appeared upset, which caused the same reaction in Hyacinth, as though their souls were bound to each other by an invisible connection.

  “Someone attacked Timothy Fowler. He’s been taken to a hospital for the poor. Sergei is going to stay with him until he wakes up. If he wakes up.”

  “No, not Mr Fowler.”

  “I told Sergei about the man who was watching you at the library and about our latest discoveries. He wants to meet with us later; we’ll then go to see Fletcher and confront him.”

  “You’re taking me along, aren’t you? I want to hear what he has to say!” Hyacinth exclaimed and braced for Vrila to argue with him.

  Instead, his husband merely nodded weakly.

  Mr Wiplay shook his head. “Pierce Fletcher is a peculiar man but surely he has nothing to hide that would be of any significance. Give him cordial greetings from me. Perhaps he’ll remember me.”

  “I agree with you, but my impetuous husband thinks we need to interrogate the poor man. And Perkovic is red-hot to do it because he couldn’t stand Fletcher the first time he laid eyes on him.”

  In response, Hyacinth poked him in the ribs and elicited a laugh from him. His heart beat faster but seized up when Vrila followed his usual custom of placing a hand in front of his mouth.

  “It can’t hurt to at least ask him what he thinks of the rumours that his marriage was reputedly none all too agreeable,” Mr Wiplay stated. “Most likely he will dispute the gossip and will defend his wife to his last drop of blood.”

  “We’ll see,” Hyacinth interjected and for a moment he could hardly wait to question Fletcher. Then he directed his attention to more pleasant matters. “If we’re lucky and smart about it, by spring we’ll have long ago forgotten what happened to us this winter. And in addition to that, have solved the case.”

  “Let’s not get too boisterous,” Vrila admonished him and gave him a glare that appeared more concerned than rebuking.

  “As you order, Sir. No boisterousness, Sir!” Hyacinth rapidly signalled a salute while sitting up straight in his chair.

  Mr Wiplay erupted in loud laughter. Vrila, by contrast, raised an inquisitive eyebrow and flashed a derisive facial expression which couldn’t hide his amusement.
When Hyacinth grinned, Vrila let himself be provoked into a smile that would have turned Hyacinth’s head had Vrila not seen to that long ago.

  Hyacinth could feel his pulse beating in the muscles of his neck and turned to Seymour to divert his attention with a jest: “Did you have as firm a hold on your pupils as Vrila has on me?”

  “Surely you mean, how I’d like to have on you,” Vrila corrected him amusedly.

  His mentor laughed again, emitting a very pleasant sound despite his scratchy voice. One could hear the good-naturedness and friendliness in it as well as the fact that he enjoyed laughing. It suited him well. “I made an effort to keep the children from Ascot under control. They weren’t as simple to handle as the young people whom I taught in Levona.”

  Hyacinth wrinkled his brow. “Really?”

  “Of course I didn’t like the children from Ascot any less, but you can get a feel for how Levonians carry the sun in their hearts,” was his dreamy, smiling reply. Mr Wiplay tapped himself on the part of his chest under which his own heart was beating.

  “People here prefer to carry a chill in their hearts,” Vrila murmured and added with bitter mockery: “And the Staks have none at all.”

  “But you do,” Hyacinth contradicted without a second’s hesitation.

  “Perhaps, but if so, then it’s of stone,” his husband growled. His dark expression and those words revealed he was haunted by an unpleasant memory – likely about his brother.

  “What a piece of nonsense!” Mr Wiplay protested, though not in a mean-spirited but concerned tone of voice.

  Hyacinth refrained from a retort. It wouldn’t have reached Vrila anyhow. Instead, he leaned over to him and placed a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. It sped up as though Vrila’s heart wanted to prove it most certainly was not made of stone, but Hyacinth had already known that for quite some time now. “How strange it’s knocking so fiercely against my fingers. Don’t you think a heart of stone ought not to thump at all because it wouldn’t be able to?” Unwillingly he released his hold and leaned back.