Time seemed to freeze, suspended between the sound of my water droplets falling on the floor and the stranger's silence. My heart, already racing from the shocking revelation in the shower—Zarel, the child, the promise—skipped a beat. I instinctively tightened my grip on my white towel, this piece of cotton being my only shield against the outside world.
I took a deep breath to calm the trembling in my limbs and finally had the courage to lift my eyes to examine the one standing before me.
I expected a soldier, an assassin, or that enigmatic nobleman. But what I saw nailed me in place.
It was a young woman. She was beautiful, with a simple but striking beauty that clashed violently with the grime and violence of the South Tavern. She wore classic servant's clothing, a spotless white apron over a dark dress, but the fit was perfect, as if she attached capital importance to her dignity despite her function. Her hair was pulled back in a strict bun, not letting a single rebellious strand escape. She was clean, well-groomed, a flower growing in the middle of a field of ruins.
Still shocked from the collision and my near-nudity, I looked at her without managing to say a single word. My mind was a battlefield where two images of women overlapped: the one from memory, laughing and pregnant in the bath, and this one, real and tangible, staring at me with wide eyes.
She took the first step, breaking the ice with professional ease. She bent her knees slightly, a graceful and respectful curtsy.
"Good evening, sir."
Her voice was soft, polite, devoid of any threat. She bowed as if I were a prince in his palace, and not an amnesiac in a bath towel in the middle of an inn room. This undeserved respect unsettled me further.
I cleared my throat, seeking composure I didn't have.
"Good evening..." I answered in a hoarse voice. "What are you doing here?"
She straightened up, smoothing her apron with an automatic gesture.
"I'm the housekeeper, sir. I came to clean. It's my job."
The answer was confoundingly banal, but it only added to my confusion. I stood there, looking dazed, shocked by this mixture of bizarre emotions. There were now two women occupying my thoughts within five minutes. One was a ghost from the past, the other a reality of the present.
I cast a worried glance toward the front door, then fixed on her again, a hint of suspicion piercing my voice:
"How did you get in here? I locked it, if I'm not mistaken. I heard the lock turn."
I distinctly remembered the clicking of the mechanism. This room was supposed to be my fortress, my only place of safety in this hostile world. If anyone could enter...
The woman didn't seem disturbed by my suspicion. She dipped her hand into her apron pocket.
"Yes, sir, you did lock it. But I have the duplicate key."
She pulled out a small metal object and jingled it softly. It was a brass key, identical to the one the nobleman had given me.
"You see, sir, I didn't lie to you. Here's the master key."
The tinkling of metal echoed unpleasantly in my ears. I felt a wave of heat, not anger, but vulnerability.
"How is it that someone can enter an occupied room like this?" I asked, my voice rising slightly in pitch. "You could have seen me... exposed. I just got out of the shower. That wouldn't have been the most... proper thing."
I was mostly thinking about my own safety, my fear of being caught defenseless, but I tried to rationalize the situation through modesty.
The woman seemed genuinely surprised by my reprimand. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she froze for a moment, processing my remark. Here, in this quarter, modesty or privacy didn't seem to be priorities. She quickly regained her calm, however, her mask of perfect servant falling back into place.
"Sorry, sir," she said, lowering her eyes. "It won't happen again. I didn't know you were inside. I was told the room was available for cleaning."
I sighed, the adrenaline beginning to subside to make way for fatigue. I couldn't blame her. She was just doing her job.
"Anyway, it's not serious," I breathed, running a hand through my wet hair. "Uh... can you leave me alone, please? You can come back to clean the shower and room tomorrow morning. Right now, I need... quiet."
The woman raised her head, a gleam of professional obstinacy in her gaze.
"But sir, tomorrow is my day off. That's the only reason I insisted on coming to clean the house now, so everything would be perfect for your stay."
I was surprised by her answer. A day off? In a place like this, where people struggled to survive, the notion of "time off" seemed almost luxurious, incongruous.
"Oh, OK, I understand," I said, disarmed by her seriousness. "Sorry to prevent you from doing your work. I don't want to be a burden. You can continue, but make it quick. Where will you start?"
She smiled, satisfied to have won, and took a step toward the room I'd just left.
"I'll start with the bathroom, sir, since you just came out of there. There must be water everywhere."
Blood froze in my veins.
"No!"
The cry left my throat before I could hold it back. It was a pure, animal reflex.
"No, no, don't go there!"
I leaped forward, putting myself between her and the bathroom door. In my troubled mind, this room wasn't just a tiled bathroom. It was the place of memory. It was where I'd seen Zarel again. It was where the scent of lavender and my phantom wife's voice still floated. If this maid entered, if she scrubbed, if she cleaned, she would erase the invisible traces of my memory. She would chase away the ghost I'd just barely found again.
In my haste, I'd raised my hands to block her way. I'd almost touched her, almost shaken her in my irrational panic. I saw her step back abruptly, her eyes widening in fear, her hands rising to protect her face.
This defensive gesture struck me like a slap.
I froze. I realized what I'd just done. I, an unknown man, half-naked, had just rushed at a woman alone.
I stepped back hastily, raising my hands in surrender, horrified by my own involuntary violence.
"No, sorry... sorry!" I stammered, shame flooding me. "I... I'm sorry. Sorry, I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean to scare you."
The servant slowly lowered her arms. She didn't run away. She didn't scream. She simply looked at me, and her expression changed. Fear faded to leave a sad resignation, a habit that hurt my heart.
"I understand, sir," she said softly.
I blinked, dumbfounded.
"You understand?" I repeated. "What do you mean? I just... I was just rough, almost attacked you, and you say you understand?"
She smoothed an invisible crease on her dress, a nervous gesture.
"You know, sir... around here, in this quarter, it's very common. It's frequent to see men attack ladies, or be rude, or angry. We're used to keeping our heads down and waiting for the storm to pass. I just thought... you were like the others."
Her words pierced me. "Like the others." Like those brutes from the tavern who laughed watching a man get beaten. Like those soldiers who'd taken away the girl from my memory.
A dull revolt rose in me.
"No, no, no!" I cried vehemently. "I think you're wrong. I'm not like that. I didn't attack you out of meanness... I just wanted to protect... well..."
I got tangled up, not knowing how to explain that I wanted to protect an invisible memory. I planted my gaze in hers, imploring.
"I'm not like those people. I swear it."
The woman held my gaze, a gleam of intelligent defiance suddenly shining in her hazel eyes.
"Oh yes?" she said.
She took a small step toward me, finally daring to question me.
"How can you be so sure, sir? You say you're not like them... but you haven't even introduced yourself. I don't know your name. You appear out of nowhere, you occupy the Master's guest room... Who are you, exactly?"
The question. Again and always that cursed question. It came back like a boomerang to hit me in the face.
Who are you?
I felt my legs give way beneath me. All the energy I'd deployed to defend the bathroom evaporated, leaving me empty and exhausted.
I turned away from her and let myself fall heavily onto the velvet sofa that sat in the center of the room. I placed my elbows on my knees and buried my face in my hands, feeling the dampness of my hair against my palms.
"If only I could answer that question..." I murmured, my voice muffled by my fingers. "If only I knew myself."
A heavy silence fell in the room. I remained like that, prostrate, waiting for her to leave, to mock, or to call the guards to say the madman in room 7 was whimpering.
But I heard no footsteps moving toward the door. On the contrary. I heard the rustle of her dress approaching.
"What do you mean, sir?" she asked gently. "I don't understand."
I lifted my head. She was there, very close. She no longer looked at me as a servant looks at a master, nor as a victim looks at an aggressor. She looked at me as one human being looks at another human being in pain.
With infinite delicacy, she sat on the edge of the chair facing the sofa. She hesitated a second, then, seeing the abyssal distress in my eyes, she crossed the social barrier. She reached out and took my hand.
Her palm was warm, a bit rough from manual work, but incredibly comforting. This physical contact, simple and pure, without violence and without demand, had the effect of a balm on a live burn.
"You know," she said in a reassuring voice, "no matter what happens in this city... no matter where you come from or what you've forgotten. I've lived here a long time. I've seen terrible things, but I've also seen miracles."
She gently squeezed my fingers, anchoring my drifting mind.
"I'm sure we'll find a solution to everything. You're not alone here. You can confide in me. I'm just a cleaning woman, but I know how to listen."
I looked at her, tears rising to my eyes. For the first time all day, someone wasn't asking me for anything. Someone was simply offering me a bit of humanity. I felt the tension leave my shoulders. I opened my mouth to thank her, to tell her how much this simple gesture saved me from the abyss.
But fate, or chance, decided otherwise.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Three knocks. Sharp. Authoritative.
The sound echoed against the wood of the front door like gunshots, instantly breaking the bubble of intimacy that had just been created.
The woman quickly withdrew her hand, jumping up, her servant reflexes taking over. I froze on the sofa, my heart racing again.
Who could it be? The nobleman returning? Kenis? Or worse... someone who knew who I was, and who wasn't coming to talk?
I stared at the closed door, holding my breath, as the echo of the knocks faded into the heavy silence of the room.
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