4. Chờ người trừng phạt nhân từ của tôi

4. Waiting For My Kind Punisher

When Aeroc opened his eyes, his first thought was that even hell had sheds. But he revised that quickly. The place where he lay was not the shed he had been using. It was a small cottage, and he was lying on something crude but recognizably a bed, covered in clean bedding.

Slowly he sat up. The last thing he remembered was cold water. But the place where he had woken was unmistakably dry. He could not make sense of it. As the blanket slid down, it revealed a body wearing nothing at all.

The skin that had clung to grime too deep to scrub away — where had it gone? Though still mottled with bruises and wounds, the smooth, clean flesh no longer looked like it belonged to a street beggar. He pressed his nose to his arm and caught a sweet floral scent. It seemed someone had bathed him in water laced with fine bath salts.

He set both feet neatly on the floor and climbed down from the bed. Relying on the thin light that leaked between the tightly shut shutters, he searched for the table. There should be a sturdy, large table somewhere nearby.

There it was.

On its surface, his fingers found soft fabric that smelled of sunlight. Aeroc pulled it to his chest and breathed deeply. There was not a trace of gutter stench. His chest swelled with something he could not name. Not the mask-like smile he had been forcing — this was laughter that escaped from genuine joy. He buried his face in the fabric and stayed like that for a long time. Then, slowly, he put it on.

As expected, the length was a little short. But he was so thin it did not matter much. He simply left the cuff buttons and collar button unfastened. His wrists and ankles jutted past the hems, but there was no one here to mock him.

Dressed, Aeroc ran his palms over the soft texture and opened the shutters. Bright light poured in, and he had to shield his eyes. After a few blinks, his vision adjusted. The view beyond the window came into focus.

Not far away, beyond a wall of boxwood standing like bars, the manor he had seen yesterday revealed itself in all its grandeur. On the far side of the great house, the tops of the cedars — pushed small by perspective — peeked above the roofline like clustered saplings.

He did not know what had happened last night, but he knew Kloff had brought him here. His encounter with Kloff yesterday must have produced yet another bad result. The man possessed a genius for inflicting pain, and Aeroc feared whatever terrible ordeal he had prepared. It seemed he was not permitted to die as he pleased.

Even so, what was fortunate was that Kloff had not thrown him back onto the streets. He had kept him here, in this cottage. As long as he was here, he would not starve. He would not freeze to death. He would not be gang-raped. In return, there would be no conversation — not even the worthless arrangement of sounds — and no human warmth. But compared to the gutter, this was paradise. Not because there was less beating, less cold, less hunger.

As long as he remained in this cottage, Aeroc could wait. Wait for Kloff to come and see him.

He spent the first day sitting blankly on the bed, passing the hours. It simply did not feel real. After what had seemed an eternity of horror, he could not believe he had returned to this place. He went in and out of the cottage again and again. Peering through the boxwood, hoping someone might come, he circled the small wooden house. Nothing had changed since Aeroc had last used it. When hunger finally arrived, he came to his senses.

Beyond the main room — which served as bedroom, sitting room, and parlor all at once — a small kitchen was attached around the corner. During his previous stay, he had never once gone inside. He pried open the long-unused door, which creaked on its hinges, and a thick cloud of dust billowed up. Cleaning first seemed wise. He picked up a bucket and a half-rotted rag from the corner and went to the well outside.

The well had a hand pump. He remembered the first time he had encountered one on the streets — he'd had no idea how to use it and panicked. Fortunately, someone had already brought a full bucket of water and left it beside the pump. A thoughtful gesture. Aeroc carefully poured half into the pump's intake and worked the handle vigorously. After a few gurgling coughs, clear water came gushing out.

With hands that were not particularly deft, he crawled on his knees until they ached, wiping away the dust. He rubbed the rag over anything that caught his eye. The result fell well short of a housekeeper's practiced care, but by the time the space was clean enough to call a home, beads of sweat dotted Aeroc's brow. He had been hunched over so long that blood had rushed to his pale face, flushing it faintly pink.

His empty stomach, already complaining, had grown louder with the labor. On the table where the clothes had been, he found a few root vegetables — potatoes, carrots — along with green vegetables like asparagus and cabbage, and some salt. Unfortunately, nothing could be eaten raw.

He found a small knife in the kitchen and decided to try cutting a potato first. He set the round potato on the table and brought the knife down. The blade skidded off. The potato was not soft — it was hard. He had never imagined potatoes could be this resistant. He tried the carrot. Also hard. The cabbage too. The asparagus was tough. How did anyone cook things this strong? Aeroc thought it over carefully. He was hungry, but this was going to be rather enjoyable.

It was late at night before Aeroc finally conquered the potato. What remained was considerably smaller than the original, and reaching this point had cost him three cuts on his fingers and one burn from the stove. The stove itself — even with the firewood from outside and the matches provided — had refused to light properly, and he'd spent a long while puzzling over it before accidentally singing a bit of his overgrown hair. The half-raw, half-charred roasted potato was blown on to cool before he ate it. Then Aeroc folded the clothes he was wearing neatly over a chair and climbed naked into bed.

The day's labor had left him very tired. Unfortunately, there was no lamp, so once the sun set there was nothing to do. In truth, even with a lamp there would have been nothing to do. But the body's exhaustion pushed aside the painful memories that came every night, and he fell fast asleep without a single thought.

In his sleep he thought he felt a cool breeze on his cheek. He should have woken to check, but he was too tired to open his eyes. Had he been in the shed or on the street, he would have snapped awake before any breeze and crawled into the deepest shadow — but this was the cottage. No one came here except that man. Surely he had not come. It was just the garden breeze slipping through the gap in the shutters. The cool current of air felt pleasant. Even in his sleep, Aeroc seemed to smile a little.

He woke suddenly in the grey dawn. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and reached for the clothes — and something else caught his eye. On the table sat a lamp, soap, clean towels, and other supplies. Someone had clearly come and gone. As far as Aeroc knew, only one person ever entered this cottage. Other servants would leave things outside the door, but none ever came inside. Aeroc bolted from the cottage without a stitch on.

"Kloff!"

He ran straight to the boxwood wall. Along the wall, to the path leading toward the rose garden on the other side. But he dared not go further. If he left this boundary, there would be trouble. If Kloff happened to be nearby and saw him set foot toward the manor, he might throw him out again. To want anything beyond what was given was forbidden. All that was permitted to him was the cottage. Aeroc rose on tiptoe and searched for the shadow of a tall, broad-shouldered man. No matter how many times he craned his neck, there was nothing to see. He called again.

"Kloff!"

No answer came. Truly, no one seemed to be there. When a gust of wind reminded him that he was completely naked, he returned quietly to the cottage.

The ember he had not managed to extinguish — the one that burned too hot to bear, the one he'd tried to drown in the river — Kloff had pulled him out and worked the bellows until it blazed again. There was no flesh left to fuel it. Now this searing thing was heating even his bones red, and Aeroc could not help but hope once more.

He had saved him, so if he stayed alive, surely Kloff would look at him — just once. So he must not act recklessly as before and lose what might be his last chance. Whenever Kloff wanted to face him and speak, he would come and wake him. Until then, all Aeroc could do was wait — looking as presentable as he could manage.