Strange Aeons [Book 1]

4.Staccato [part II]

Vopros, Chico and Banshee took a sudden step back, when a black and dense liquid poured out from the box with a dirty blobbing noise. A violent stench of corruption and putrefaction filled the room, forcing everyone to hold their breaths, while the fluid stopped pouring and collected to a strangely regular pool on the floor. It was black and vile, like contaminated mucus, and it smelt of rotten souls and rancid anger. 

Then, slowly, from the centre of the pool something emerged with a blobbing sound. It was a golden treble clef pin. Around it, the pool started boiling and twitching, with ripples lining the liquid, as it started rising in a tubular form.

Garaham was already preparing a forced Dispel spell right into the palm of his left hand.

The liquid mass gently solidified into a silhouette, more human every moment. Until in front of them stood a hooded figure, covered from head to toe with a long, black buttoned jacket. The only visible thing under it were the combat boots, not so dissimilar from Banshee's. His face was invisible but for a tuft of extremely blond hair peeking over where could have been a forehead. He wasn't taller than five feet.

«Greetings, gentlemen. And woman.» said a husky, deep and gentle voice from somewhere under the hood. «Let me express my regret to inform you that, no, you didn't find the Music box.» he paused, slightly raised his head. This didn't expose his face but let the four of them see the glimpse of an unsettling smile. «I found you.»

Nobody moved for what it felt like an eternity. The air in the room was still heavy with the pestering smells coming from the now gone liquid. The tiny figure, though, wasn't smelly per se. He stood there, moving his invisible gaze on each and every one of them, apparently unfazed by their shocked gazes trying to understand what happened, and who the hell was he. The only one to have shown a small movement at all was Vopros, who had brought his left hand up to his coat's upper front pocket, right on his heart. Slowly and gently.

«I was expecting Mariposa.» the figure exclaimed, suddenly, with the deepest puzzled voice. «Who the hell are you lot?»

This sentence didn't help the already perplexed ambience of the room.

«I beg your utmost pardon? The only possible question in this paroxysmal situation is who the bloody hell are you, sir!» Garaham was, of course, the first one to properly react to the situation. Partly because Vopros's movement hasn't gone completely unnoticed.

The figure took a half turn and faced the tall figure of the Enforcer, his squared traits now painted with a quiet fury. The small man seemed to take a deep breath and then, as if he was taking up a well-rehearsed script, he took a ceremonious bow.

«But of course, where are my manners. It would be extremely indelicate on my part to leave you without the name of the man who beat you. I'm Staccato, how do you do?»

His voice was marvelous. It had a delicate and velvety deep tone, with a very gracious modulation and a soothing sound. The kind of voice someone would listen to for hours, talking about anything, or even better singing.

«Staccato? Man, now we accept Italians, too?» asked Banshee, with an acid tone in her voice. The hood stopped looking at her.

«Sorry to disappoint, but I happen to be Österreicher.» he corrected her.

«Gesundheit.» was Banshee's prompt answer.

«It means que es Austrian, Banshee.» whispered Chico, discreetly.

«Austrian? Aw man, nay, Austrian are mad! Ye know, being an island so far from everything.» Chico chose not to correct her. He was focused on Staccato, whose movements had completely stopped since Banshee had started with her usual nonsense.