Orb is Quiet, but Vermon is Unhappy (Ch4 - Part 1)

Orb opened his eyes to a terrible pain in his back; someone was touching his sore wounds and pressing them with a rag saturated with a burning liquid. His face, wet with sweat and tears, rested on a pillow that had not been there before.

Orb felt the bitter taste of medicine in his mouth, and after a while, he felt a large, warm hand wrapping continuously strips of cloth from under his stomach. Someone was bandaging his wounds and treating him with kindness at last.

He closed his eyes without turning around; tired and feverish, he wanted nothing but to sleep and rest. However, he felt a new pain in his feet, and when he raised his head and looked over his shoulder, he saw with one eye the silhouette of a man of great build holding one of his feet.

“I see you’ve regained consciousness. Relax, and don’t worry.”

While Luba, the personal physician of Vermon, prepared to disinfect the wounds on Orb’s feet, he skillfully inserted a small needle into the fluid-filled bubbles of his foot. Vermon sat behind him, watching intently and feeling excitement at the sight of the holes Luba made in those bubbles and the liquid coming out of them.

“Let me do it, Luba.” Orb heard him say.

“No,” the physician replied indifferently, engrossed in his work and without looking at him.

“Don’t worry, I will sterilize the needle every time, just as you do,” Vermon eagerly exclaimed.

“No.”

“Don’t you know any word other than ‘No?” Vermon complained.

Orb relaxed again and closed his eyes, surrendering to fatigue and ignoring the presence of the two. While their argument continued, he heard Luba say bluntly and without worrying about Vermon’s reaction, “You can change the bandages every day if you like, but I must do today’s work.”

“I don’t want to change the bandages; I want to get the pus out,” he demanded.

Vermon’s hand reached out to interfere with Luba’s work, but the physician shrugged it off with his shoulder.

“I thought pus disgusted you, my lord,” Luba looked at Vermon quizzically.

“Not today. Not with this slave,” Vermon eagerly replied, his eyes still fixed on Orb’s feet.  

“I also thought you were sympathetic to this poor young man, my lord,” Luba sounded reproachful this time as he went about his work. “It seems I was wrong.”

“Huh?” Vermon did not seem to understand Luba’s intent, and he never had the idea of sympathizing with Orb in particular. At that point, he only saw him as a source of entertainment; he enjoyed provoking him, chasing him, and seeing him physically and mentally in pain.

To Vermon, interfering with the physician’s work was amusing, and he never intended to help Orb.

“I’m done. I’m drying his feet now. I will put some ointment on them. You can help me bandage them.”

“I don’t want to! Do it yourself!” Vermon spoke with his arms crossed in apparent displeasure.

“Good,” was all the old physician could say.

“Good! How dare you, old man? Are you, by any chance, related to him? Are you his father?”

The physician remained silent before Vermon’s rage and loud voice in that quiet part of the house. He felt he was in the presence of an angry, spoiled child. So, trying to please him or explain himself would be pointless.

* * *

As for Orb, being uncomfortable with Vermon’s presence and constant monitoring, he tried his best not to react to his foolishness. Yet, he heard the physician’s voice calmly instruct him. “Young man, avoid walking on your feet as much as possible, and if you must go out of the house, you should ride a cart or a horse. You must change your bandages every day and keep your feet dry.”

“...”

Orb remained silent and kept his eyes closed in an apparent refusal to engage in a conversation with the two Arkosians.

“Say something, damn you!” Vermon fumed.

The physician gently took Orb’s sealed hand, and even after examining it, Orb did not open his eyes or move his limbs.

“I will prescribe you a balm to ease the peeling of your skin, along with a painkiller,” he decided.

This irritated Vermon, who stood up in objection. “You over-indulge him, Luba! Is it not enough for him to get medicine for his sick lungs? Why should you prescribe him another one for the seal?” Vermon pointed at Orb’s hand, “The seal has never been a problem for slaves!”

The physician straightened himself up, intending to leave. “But you seal your slaves roughly, my lord. I have never treated dermatitis caused by a seal except in your house!” he asserted.

“WHAT?” Vermon snapped.

While Orb was thankful for the bravery of old Luba, he acknowledged in his heart the roughness and lack of kindness in Vermon’s words and actions. Then, he heard Vermon order old Luba to leave the isolation room, shouting, “GET OUT, YOU SENILE!”

“I’m done anyway,” Luba assured the angry master while gazing at his bandaged palm. “How is your wound?” he plainly asked.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER; GET OUT!”

“Have a good day, my lord.”

Luba was in a positive mood and tended to behave in a rather relaxed manner, for he had become accustomed to Vermon’s temper and blunt reactions that never frightened nor worried him. 

Vermon childishly grabbed Orb’s medicine as soon as the physician left. “I’ll take the medicine!” he snarled in defiance.

Vermon, who held the medications in his hands, expected Orb to object, but he did not. When Vermon started talking, Orb turned his face toward the door where Vermon stood. He struggled to see Vermon’s distant silhouette, who was dressed in a blue uniform and black knee-high boots.

What an annoying idiot, Orb sighed.

“When I summoned the old man for your treatment, I did that not because I pitied you but because I wanted you to recover so I could discipline you properly. I won’t—”

Vermon stopped abruptly when he saw Orb’s feverish, wet face, and his blemished red, sleepy eyes.

“You are not allowed to, er—use any—until you, er—beg me. Do you understand?” Vermon faltered.

These were the last words Orb heard from Vermon before he closed his eyes in weariness and lapsed into a long sleep that lasted until the next day.

* * *

When Orb woke up, he found himself still lying on the bare floor; other than the cold wooden surface beneath him, there was nothing except the pillow that had appeared during his illness. He felt the busy but unkind hands of the servant changing his bandages; he was rough like his master, but Orb said nothing.

When he looked to his left, he found that Vermon had not confiscated his medications as he had threatened and that they were set on a small low table, which was another addition to the place.

In the days that followed, Orb stayed confined to his corner, abstaining from any unruly behavior. He appeared weary and sad. Vermon, disliking the shift in his slave’s demeanor, began to intrude upon his space day and night. Thus, he would materialize in Orb’s room at various times, or sometimes stealthily enter the room in his invisible form. Despite Orb’s ability to sense his presence, he opted to endure the annoyance in silence. Alas, Vermon’s foolishness did not wane; Orb believed he caught glimpses of him lurking behind the door when servants entered the room. Even though Vermon possessed the ability to disappear and teleport, Orb thought he spotted his silhouette peering through the outside window. Sometimes, Vermon would slip out of the main house, circle around the courtyard, and position himself outside the isolation room’s open window just for a peek.

Vermon then ordered the servants to serve Orb meals and to preserve his pride; he would feign anger and audibly admonish the servants around those times to leave the room. His servants did not understand the reason behind his foolish acts, and he never cared about what they thought.

Vermon also spent the nights that followed the physician’s visit watching Orb’s room over the outer wall of the yard, thinking that Orb would try to escape, as he had done last time, but he did not, which left Vermon with a hidden disappointment.

He longed for some confrontation with Orb, who had spent most of his time lying down with his back to the door. Not knowing what Orb was thinking exasperated Vermon.

I’m bored. If only I knew what this devil was thinking.

* * *