Jean thought this was a vile jest. In any event, the individual seemed to have paid the proper sum. Jean was maturing into manhood, and plans were underway at the duke’s estate to release him soon. Just at the opportune moment, someone bought the catamite for a hefty sum. Without delay, they began gathering Jean’s belongings.
“Fritz, it’s all healed now.”
Jean possessed few belongings he could claim as his own. Packing his luggage consumed scarcely a day. However, the cheeks that Johnny Erhardt had hit swelled, and they needed time to heal. That was the matter that took several days to settle. One of the maids attended to Jean’s injuries, looking after his cheeks and rubbing balm once a day, once a night. Her name was Maria.
“You’d be able to leave tonight, I heard. They’d be sending you a carriage.”
She chirped, opening the windows. It was the afternoon of the day Jean left. The curtains rippled in the cold wind. Jean threw a glance. Maria turned around to look back. When their eyes met, she blushed. It was something that happened regularly. Jean moved his gaze away.
“An entire coach all to yourself... Your new owner must be very fond of you. That’s all everyone’s been talking about these days. And the duke and duchess have allowed you to reside in this guest chamber for a number of days already... Rumors have it that your new mistress is filthy rich.”
Maria rambled on, trying to mitigate her unease. Jean smirked. He had just finished gathering his possessions, readying his luggage.
“No matter, for the task will remain the same.”
Maria shrugged at Jean’s words. No matter, for a task is the same everywhere, spoke Maria lively and tied the curtains. The winter’s cold breeze blew in, carrying its frost inside through the windows. Along with it, the sound of horses neighing and a coachman’s voice was carried into the chamber. Jean stole a glance out of the pane. Two horses were moving a modest coach into the house of the duke.
Jean’s farewell with the House of Erhardt was simple. The lord father and son did not come to see Jean off. The duchess merely summoned the catamite to her chamber and bade him simple words of goodbye. The stable hand and some servants who were quite fond of Jean saw him off. Yet, it was nothing more than a shaking of the hands before he got into the carriage. However, the coachman was so very polite in opening the door for him, as if he were in the presence of a noble son.
Jean was taken aback. He flinched. Then, he tightly clutched the handle of his luggage as he climbed up on the coach. Unlike out in the open, it was warm and cozy inside. On the seat, there was a pristine white coat of fur lain.
“A present, sir, from the patron.”
When Jean did not take his seat but stalled, the coachman spoke. His manner of speaking was identical to the steward of the duke. The man continued.
“The patron has made a dear request that you shield yourself with the garment, for the weather is much too cold.”
The words seemed subtly odd. Jean blinked his eyes, looking down on the coat. Yes, the cold was enough to bound the cheeks in frost. However, Jean was already wearing the coat he had received last time. He had been of the mind that this was the most and, perhaps, the last luxury he would have the privilege of indulging himself with. But here was another coat before him, a fur one...
While Jean was lost in his thoughts, the coachman closed the door. In an uncomfortable stance, Jean was left with no choice but to lift the fur and take his seat. The moment the garment draped over his lap, he sensed a comforting warmth, accompanied by the unmistakable weight of winter coverings. For some mysterious reason, Jean felt thirsty.
The coach soon began moving. No covering adorned its window pane. Both the outside and the inside were observable from each other’s view. The garden of the Erhardt was under the smart care of its caretaker. The horse-drawn carriage quickly left it behind. Jean passed by the paths and people he was accustomed to. They looked like paintings. Jean gazed at the scenery. A piece of memory rose and sank in his mind. It was of the day he first arrived at the duke’s residence. He boarded the Duchess of Erhardt’s carriage, feeling the weight of her scrutinizing gaze upon him.
While the coach traveled, Jean recalled all the memories that were in his head, from his first night in the house of the duke until the night he received the pearls from his new master. Jean repeated it in his mind, savoring each piece of reminiscence. And the piece that was summoned the most was, of course, the one that had happened several nights ago on the bed of the guest chamber. Jean vividly remembered his new master’s writing.
You bear the semblance of a tiger cradling a pearl in its mouth.
Whilst Jean thought it was a vile jest, he still gently folded the napkin and placed it among his possessions.
Hone it and polish it.
Mere polished words deserve not my hopes. Jean laughed at himself, touching his palm against the window. The cold glass was stealing from the palm its warmth when the coach came to a halt. A knock followed.
“We have arrived.”
Jean opened the door, and came the coachman’s voice. The man held his hat by his chest, as though demonstrating courtesy toward Jean. Jean felt the man’s upturned stare as he slowly stepped down from the vehicle. He had expected to be brought to an aristocratic residence. However, what lay before his eyes was an inn. Jean blinked.
“Is the patron... here?”
The inn was not in a poor state. Nay, it was in an excellent state. Indeed, had Jean been by himself, he would not have been able to seek its service. Nonetheless, it seemed no proper place for a patron of such wealth who had graced Jean with lavish fur coats, and even pearls, before they had met—especially since Jean was a catamite.
“No,” the coachman made an answer.
Did the patron not care of the eyes of others? Jean wondered to himself. He looked at the man, unable to conceal the confusion in his eyes.
“I ask that you ascend the stairs. Your chamber awaits you.”
The man merely smiled in a puzzling manner. Jean had left the fur coat in the coach. The man brought it and draped it over Jean’s shoulders. Jean stalled before entering the inn. He pushed the door, and the door chime rang.
It seemed to also serve as a restaurant. The first storey of the inn was laden with tables and chairs. When Jean entered, all gazes gathered first before slowly dispersing, returning to their places. Jean explained himself to one of the servers. The man led Jean up the stairs. He need not reveal his false name, Fritz, nor his true name, Jean. All Jean had to do was mumble that he was told that a room was readied for him.
“I bid you good rest, young master. I shall send someone before the meal. Please let the servant know what you wish to have. The food will be brought to the comfort of your room.”
The server said, opening the chamber door for Jean. The chamber was at the end of the corridor of the second storey. The fireplace must have been lit ahead of Jean’s arrival. Cozy warmth swirled inside the chamber. Jean put down his luggage with caution. A vast carpet colored the entire floor with red. A bed occupied a corner of the chamber. A round table stood across the slant from the bed. And above the table, there lay a single flower.