Michael

  “What happened?” Milton asked. "Is everyone alright?"

  “Nothing serious happened," Michael said. "It was just a pack hunting a braskar not far from home. The continuous howls worried Grandpa, so he went to take a look. It was a huge male. He had to take it down himself ‘cause the wolves couldn't handle it, and he didn’t want the beast to flee towards our lands.”

  “Bloody hell. By himself?” Milton laughed. “I remember I needed a squad just to bury one of those things. But I’m glad that everythin’ went well.”

  "You didn't tell me about the bodies they found in the woods," Michael said, looking Milton in the eye.

  “Is this what you wanted to ask me?

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Did Eric tell you?”

  “He did, though he didn’t want it. We had a little argument about the wolves last night. I told him it was a stupid idea to go into the woods just ‘cause some wolves were howling. But he insisted on going. I decided to go first and explore on my own, then report back to him what I may find, hoping he'd change his mind. I told him about the braskar and the wolves, but he still ordered Natalie and Victor to get ready to go out. I thought it was strange. Next day I asked him what was going on. He told me about the bodies. They were traders from Cromfield.”

  “And very well known; they had been trading here for over twenty years. They shouldn’t have ended up like that,” Milton said somberly.

  “Was it as gruesome as Grandpa described it?

  “Aye, lad. The four bodies were dismembered,” Milton said, while looking at his cane. “All of them had their heads and limbs ripped off; only the torsos were found. They looked as if a huge animal tore ‘em off with a single bite. The constables believe it was a silda that killed ‘em, but the poachers that found ‘em, some who knew the victims, say otherwise. They have never seen a silda inflict such wounds. And I agree with ‘em. I have never in my life heard of a silda doin’ that—killin’ its prey and leaving the torso behind. That’s impossible.”

  “Grandpa told me that one of the bodies was different from the others. That it was covered in something sticky, like glue or slime.”

  “That’s what the constables said. The slime was not only sticky, but it was also dissolvin’ the torso. It was turnin’ the skin soft, like jelly, and the bones just popped out without any problem, like the ribs in a long-cooked stew. And the whole thing stank to hell. Poor family.”

  “Gods, now I’ll have that image in my head when I go to dinner,” Emma said, clutching her forehead.

  “How were they identified?”

  “They found the merchant’s carriage not far away. It was intact. It still had the merchandise on it, except for the horses. Those never turned up.”

  “Did you know about this?” Michael asked Emma.

  “Lieutenant David told me yesterday morning. I remember him saying he would go and speak with your grandfather immediately. Didn’t he go to your house?”

  “He went in the afternoon. That explains grandpa's sudden change. And how are the constables going to proceed?”

  “I understand the case has been referred to the city. We’ll see what they discover about all this,” Emma said.

  “It’s best if you don’t go into the woods alone, laddie. Make sure you go with your grandfather or your aunt,” Milton said.

  “I will. Grandpa and I already made plans to go on a long trip around the forest. Walk a couple of miles and see what turns up. Natalie even decided to join us. I don’t know why, but they both seem excited about it.”

  Milton laughed heartily. “Others would turn white at such an idea, but not your family. You were made with different blood and bones than ours.”

  “Either way, be very careful, Michael,” Emma said.

  “Don’t worry.” Michael stood up and went to the door. “It’s time for me to go. I have to go to the library for Julie. Take care, you both.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  ?“Michael, please wait a moment,” Emma called to him.

  “What?” Michael asked, with one hand on the door.

  “Our talk about Iberia made me recall the past. Next time you visit Ernest, tell him to get me some good alcohol from there, and a box of turrones as well, no, make it two boxes.”

  “Why don’t you tell him yourself? Just send him a letter.”

  “I could, but he works faster when it is your family who asks him to.”

  “Who’s this Ernest?” Milton asked.

  “The most wonderful person who has ever walked this world,” Michael cried to the ceiling, with a hand on his chest. “He is the epitome of perfection, generosity, and holiness. I firmly believe that he is an Enlightened one in disguise, posing as an ordinary man. He is my Bonhomme.”

  “What’s wrong with the laddie? Did he hit his head?” Milton asked.

  “He has a crush on the man.”

  “It’s not a crush,” Michael said. “It’s just the respect and admiration I feel for him. He is my best friend.”

  Milton laughed. “Naw, I don’t believe you. You hate everybody.”

  "He likes Ernest because he always brings gifts for him and his family. Don't be deceived," Emma said. "That man is exceptional at acquiring imported goods. Thanks to him, the Hunters have their pantry full of ingredients from all over the world."

  "Lies. You're just jealous of him, as always," Michael said, glaring at Emma.

  “I can’t even stand his presence. Why would I be jealous of him? Thanks to Esliana's blessing, he decided to make his lair in the city and not here. I don’t think I could have endured having him on my back every single day.”

  “What did he do to you to hate him?” Milton asked

  “He is the shrine's accountant. He and his team manage the account books of all the shrines and temples in the county. He’s a blue dog,” Emma said the words with bitterness.

  “Don’t call him that,” Michael protested. “He doesn’t deserve that name.”

  “He’s from the blue branch—they all deserve that name, particularly accountants. Anyways, give him my request next time you see him, and tell Eric to cover my tab.”

  “I shall, and I shall also tell him how you just named him.”

  “I don’t care, as long as I get what I want. Now get out! Shoo. Shoo," Emma said, waving a hand.

  Michael let out a long, exaggerated grunt. He opened the door and left.

  ?The library was as lonely as he had left it. Julie had moved from the cushions near the windows to the table in the middle. She had a book open in front of her, a different one, but she wasn't reading it, for her gaze was lost in a corner of the room. She sat motionless, barely blinking; she seemed possessed, her thoughts wandering in another world, the world that the book had managed to show her with words alone.

  The love for reading was not unique to Michael, nor was Eric's appreciation for the peace and quiet that solitude brings. Everyone in the family possessed these qualities. It was in their blood. They inherited it from a man with a thirst for knowledge, of a gentle heart, and with a love for tranquillity. The difference lay in the fact that no one read more than Michael, or defended their right to peace more than Eric. They were all unique, yet similar at the same time.

  Michael sat down next to the little girl and stroked her golden hair. Julie came to her senses and looked at him with her big green eyes. He asked her if she had liked the book. Julie didn't say anything; she just nodded. The book was a collection of short stories for children. Julie loved it. She had already read it dozens of times, and he had read it to her dozens of times more. He then asked her if anything had happened while he was gone. The little girl told him that nothing of interest had occurred.

  They left the library and headed back to Mary's bar to get their horses, but first they stopped at the bakery. Debts must be paid. Michael bought everything Julie wanted, and some extra items to take home to the rest of the family. He stuffed everything he bought into a linen bag he always carried, making an enormous bundle that he hauled like a sack of wheat. The baker and his wife smiled with delight. The Hunters always emptied everything whenever they showed up.

  Michael and Julie retrieved their horses and set off on their way home. Not long after leaving the village behind them, as they paced near some fields belonging to a farm, Julie, who was riding ahead of Michael, suddenly stopped her horse and dismounted. She led the animal by the reins to the side of the road, where there were some bushes and thickets. Michael dismounted from his steed and followed the little girl.

  Julie seized a long branch from the ground and began to hit something in the bushes. She made a disgusted face and began to gag. Michael pulled her aside to see what she had found.

  There, hidden among the bushes, with its belly torn open and bloodied, guts spilling out over the dirt, lay a dead cat. Flies swarmed over its face and body, crawling into its open mouth and eyes. It hadn't been dead long, for there were no maggots. Someone had killed it, but not there, or more blood would have been on the ground. It was starting to smell.

  Michael mounted his horse and ordered Julie to do the same. He told her they had to leave soon before someone saw them, or they might be blamed for what happened to the animal. Julie obeyed and mounted her pony, taking the lead once again, and this time with a hurried pace.

  Michael followed a few steps behind her. After a while, he glanced back at the cat's corpse lying in the distance. There was no one around to falsely accuse them. They were safe. But still, something bothered him. The image of the disemboweled animal haunted his mind, giving him a bad feeling.

  He shook his head and resolved not to think about it anymore. He spurred his horse on and rode up alongside Julie.