A New Confrontation (Ch 5 – Part 1)

Meanwhile, Orb repeatedly pounds on the isolation room door so the servants overseeing him outside can hear him. However, they ignored him, as they feared violating their master’s orders and instructions.

Orb finally slumped by the door, feeling discouraged after hoping someone would come and ask him what he needed.

When it was time to serve dinner, Riecho[1] entered the room and saw him leaning against the wall. 

She left the plate on the small table and spoke impartially, “Orb, on the table, is a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. I added more vegetables to nourish you and help you recover quickly.”

“Could you help me, madam?” Orb asked politely.

Riecho stood before him, clasping her hands in front of her.

“My name is Riecho, and I do not betray my master,” she stated firmly.

“I won’t ask you to help me escape or kill him because it won’t work. I know I don’t have the strength to do it.”

Riecho noticed that Orb was not looking at her. She did not know that at that moment, he immensely despised himself because of his weakness and defeat, but his trembling voice sounded desperate, so she asked him in genuine concern, “So, what do you want?”

Orb raised his head, feeling a little hope in her willingness to listen. “I want a piece of paper, a pencil, and one stick of incense, the kind which was used to put me to sleep.”

“And what do you intend to do with them?”

“I won’t lie. I want to study the incense composition to change it,” he cautiously replied.

“Why do you want to change it?”

Orb was silent for a moment, hesitating out of lack of trust, but he found no harm in explaining his purpose, which might be a good reason for her to answer his request.

“I would like to make an improved kind that helps me sleep well. I—I lately have broken nights because my heart keeps pounding,” he explained.

“Are you going to study its composition to make a kind that helps you sleep?”

“Yes.”

Riecho sighed. “But those sticks are...”

“I know that they already serve the purpose, but they suck my energy and weigh me down. I wake up exhausted and weak. That’s why I will make a kind that doesn’t affect me like that.”

He paused.

“I am constantly anxious, spending my day expecting all kinds of punishments and torments. I can only find comfort in sleep, and I want to sleep comfortably, at least,” He whispered. “Please, if you help me, I promise to keep it a secret.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Please finish your soup this time. I’ll be back in a little while,” Riecho spoke in the same clear and neutral tone, then quickly left the room.

* * *

Orb fixed his eyes on the door, which was hastily shut. He was about to despair, for it was the third time he had asked a servant for that kind of help, and his request was either met with outright rejection or disregard.

I thought this time was different. I hoped so. Orb stood up and returned to his corner, where he slept and ate. He sat facing the bowl of soup where the vegetables were in unusual abundance.

Orb raised the spoon to his mouth cautiously, fighting back an urge to shed tears and a feeling of disappointment and resentment by swallowing the food without chewing.

At least that woman was willing to listen to me patiently—she was interested—maybe—maybe if I tried one more time, she would agree, he thought to himself.

After some time, Orb heard Riecho’s voice from behind the door, “I’m coming in, Orb.” The door then opened and closed quietly. 

Riecho was the only woman who, of all the servants, had shown him sympathy since he came. He could sense from her clear and strong voice when arguing with the servants outside that she was a well-respected woman of presence and power.

Because of how her warm, plump hand felt every time she held his hand, for no apparent reason other than pity and sympathy, Orb thought she was a tender and patient mother. Yet he could not give her his complete trust, feeling everyone’s strong loyalty to Vermon without understanding the secret behind it.

At that moment, Riecho sat on both knees in front of Orb to clear the table. With her right hand, she held the plate which contained the unfinished meal while with the other, she took out from under the folds of her apron a roll of paper, a pencil, and one stick of incense and placed them quietly on the table.

Orb could faintly discern what she was doing, yet he allowed her to gently grab his right hand and place it on the table for him to feel what rested on its surface. She admonished him loudly the entire time, making sure the servant guarding the room could hear.

“What? You didn’t finish your soup, even though I doubled the vegetables for your good! Are you going to refrain from eating whenever your request is not answered? You and my master are alike in this matter! How childish!”

“Riecho, — thank you,” Orb whispered in gratitude.

* * *

That night, Vermon entered Orb’s isolation room and found him seated before the small, low table, rubbing a stick of incense that Vermon had used to put him to sleep for the last few days.

Carefully examining its powder between the fingers of his right hand, Orb seemed too focused to notice Vermon’s presence.

Orb then raised the stick to his nose for some time, trying to sniff and discover its scent. However, his frown revealed his failure because he had not yet recovered his sense of smell.

Orb picked up the pencil and jotted something on the paper before him. Seeing all that and the servants’ leniency with Orb had angered Vermon.

“WHO GAVE YOU THE INCENSE STICK? WHO GAVE YOU THE PAPER AND PENCIL?” He angrily shouted. “I WILL CUT HIS HAND!”

Vermon’s threats did not alarm Orb. On the contrary, he remained passive and said nothing, which drove Vermon to stand opposite him.

“ARE YOU NOT GOING TO ANSWER ME?”

Not wanting to reveal Riecho’s secret, Orb raised his head to his tormentor quietly and responded calmly, “I don’t want to.”

“ARE YOU PROTECTING YOUR ACCOMPLICE? THAT WHO CONSPIRED AGAINST ME?”

“This is not a conspiracy. I also do not protect servants who betray their masters,” Orb shook his head. “I just do not want to give you an answer.”

Vermon’s eyes shone with excitement as he stood with his arms akimbo. Orb’s answer was strange, suggesting he was a rude young man of principles.

Therefore, Vermon did not insist on knowing who gave Orb the items but was thankful deep down for having made an occasion to talk to him.

“Huh! I could extract a confession from you or them if I wanted!” he challenged.

“ …”

A few seconds passed, then Vermon leaned toward Orb.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a less strident tone while intently examining the table.

“Analyzing the composition of the incense.”

“What?” Vermon did not try to hide his curiosity, and sat cross-legged in front of Orb. “Why?”

“...”

Orb stole glances at Vermon and saw him, at close range, childishly bending his broad shoulders and staring with wide eyes at what rested on the table.

I can’t believe that he is the same monster who tortures me every day, Orb marveled.

“I see you take short notes. So you can see?” Vermon questioned.

Vermon’s comment did not bother Orb, who was holding the pencil with his right hand and drawing the letters nimbly after carefully calculating the distances.

“I only list the incense components to be read by someone other than me, for the vision in my left eye is blurry, and I can’t see my handwriting clearly,” he admitted.

“Yes, your handwriting is ugly,” Vermon claimed, intending to annoy Orb. Looking straight into his pale eyes, he added, “Why don’t you cover your eyes? Did nobody tell you how ugly and disgusting they look?”

Orb paused for a minute. He felt the sting of Vermon’s hurtful words, the intended malice behind them, and the pain of losing his sight and inability to defend himself.

“My handwriting is so beautiful. I don’t know who’s the blind one here!” Orb gave a nonchalant shrug even though his heart was aching.

“Hah! You know how to ridicule!”

Vermon picked up the incense stick from the table and began to twiddle it for a while. “What? Are you going to use it against me?” He questioned as he narrowed his eyes.

“I want to develop its composition.”

“Why?”

“To send you to your grave?” Orb fearlessly sneered.

Vermon froze for a moment, then chuckled. He felt excited and confident that this was a new confrontation with this defiant man.

“How impudent of you! You can’t do that; I’m immune to poisons and toxicants!” he proudly confirmed.

Orb said nothing.

* * *