Chapter 4: The Hunt Starts
50/Autumn/1666/ Hawthorne Manor
Enoch and Silas stood in the foyer, completely drenched from an unexpected downpour. Though there had been hints of rain when Enoch left, which he had chosen to disregard. Showing no concern for decorum, he disrobed and shed everything except his dress shirt, pants, and undergarments leaving the sodden heap at the feet of a well-groomed elderly butler.
"Lead me to the parlor, and after you do that, could you please deal with those," he pointed towards the pile, "put them next to the fireplace or something. I need them at least moderately dryer by the time I leave. Thank you in advance."
The butler wordlessly led the duo to the parlor. It was already occupied by a unique group of individuals. Among them, the most conspicuous figure was an almost inhumanly tall man, towering at over three meters and possessing an alarming thinness. He looked so emaciated that it was surprising that he had not died from starvation. Underneath his immaculately groomed black slick-back hair, his face looked unnaturally normal, as if you were to average every man's face you’d ever seen. Observing his face alone might mislead one to consider him as merely an abnormally tall and slender individual, were it not for the unsettling manner in which he moved. It was as though a swarm of carrion flies were led by puppeteer's strings just beneath his skin, causing his body to bulge and writhe unnaturally even with the simplest of actions.
The rest of the cohort while not quite as uncanny as the tall black-haired gentleman nevertheless possessed an unmistakable uniqueness. Sitting face far too close to the fireplace was an incredibly pale preteen, his gaze unsettling as he rocked back and forth. Leaning against the bar to the left was a young, athletic man, with the physique of a trained fighter, his long, red hair cascaded past his blue eyes. Last but not least a freckled young woman reclined on the couch, her brown hair tied up in a loose bun. Clad in a dress shirt, black tie, and khaki trousers, amidst the room of unique personalities, she appeared the most normal.
Enoch greeted casually "Hey folks. How are you all this fine morning?"
The brunette cracked open an eye. "Doing well, Boss. You?"
Wringing water out of his drenched shirt Enoch responded "Excellent. We have an intriguing case at hand today. You may be wondering why we've gathered all our field units for one case—"
"Isn't it just the clown making another escape?" the pale kid muttered, eyes still fixed on the fire.
The air hung silent for a moment while the butler, once again present in the room, discreetly began to deal with Enoch's rain-soaked garments, leaving the pile neatly arranged by the fireplace.
"Yes and no, Solomon did, in fact, escape house arrest again, it wouldn't warrant gathering all of us to apprehend one entitled manchild. No, apparently, some weird shenanigans are going on. The fellows at headquarters with their unique means are getting some strange results. Basically, it comes down to two interesting facts: one, he is definitively dead, and two, his body is still moving. Talking with Silas on the way over here, we came to a few hypotheses. First and most likely, we have a type S., E., G., or maybe L. person or creature. Each one of those could cause situations similar to what we're dealing with. That or our dear Solomon had some sort of unique physique or ability that caused some interesting results after his death. But we live in a bizarre world so don't rule out anything more unique. Nonetheless, our mission is to bring the target back to headquarters. Don't let your guard down; we're dealing with unknown variables here, and capturing him will be at least twice as challenging as neutralizing him. But if it comes down to a life-or-death situation you all are given the green light to prioritize your safety by any means necessary."
Enoch paused. "So, does anybody have any questions?"
Silas, seated on a bar stool, spoke up. "What is the squad composition for the investigation going to look like?"
"Glad you asked." Enoch pointed at the tall gentleman, the red-haired young man, and the freckled woman. "We will split into two teams of three. William, the Rookie, and Mary will form one team, while the rest will be under me. The first team will be under William and use his abilities to find and follow the target's trail. My team will stick around here question the Hawthornes and house staff for a bit then head back to town to pursue the investigation in the old-fashioned way. Both teams will meet at headquarters tomorrow morning but if you think that the trail could disappear if you waste time, send either Rookie or Mary back instead and continue the hunt. As long as nobody has any more questions, let's start moving." After a short pause and no questions, they wordlessly formed two groups.
The first team made to leave the room quickly. William moved with an eerie grace, his elongated limbs navigating the room as if detached from the conventional laws of motion. Rookie, the red-haired young man, and Mary exchanged glances before silently following along.
Enoch strolled across the room, settling onto the recently vacated couch still warm from its previous occupant. His voice carried a casual tone as he spoke, "We'll wait for my clothes to dry. Then, we'll have a chat with the Hawthornes and see where it leads," he declared, before settling into a relaxed position. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, seemingly drifting into slumber almost instantly. Silas, unfazed accustomed to Enoch's spontaneous naps, leaned casually against the bar, occasionally glancing around the room with an experienced eye. The preteen, still captivated by the flames, continued rocking back and forth, lost in his own world.
The minutes ticked by, the only sounds filling the room were Enoch's gentle breathing and the patter of rain against the windows. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a butler entered with a tray bearing a steaming teapot and an assortment of delicate cups. The butler, maintaining an air of quiet professionalism, set the tray on the table and spoke in a subdued tone, "Tea, gentlemen?"
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Silas nodded appreciatively, "Certainly."
The butler poured the tea, the fragrant aroma mingling with the warmth of the fire. Silas accepted his cup with a polite nod, taking a measured sip. Meanwhile, the preteen's gaze didn't shift from the flames yet he extended his hand toward the butler, silently requesting a cup, which the butler promptly provided before discreetly leaving the room. The duo settled into a calm routine, savoring the tea in silence.
Enoch stirred from his deep slumber, his eyes opening to narrow slits. "Ah, tea. Good choice," he remarked, reaching for a cup and taking a sip. Enoch sat up, stretched languidly, and downed his cup of tea. "Well, I suppose it's time,"
Silas followed suit, placing his teacup on the tray. The preteen, seemingly disinterested in the impending interaction, maintained his trance-like fixation on the flames as they left the room.
***
48/Autumn/1666/ Azure Retreat, Room 348
Lucas's senses were overwhelmed as the pungent scent of sweat, saltwater, and cheap tobacco invaded his nostrils. The trio of men entered his room with an air of familiarity, their demeanor surprisingly relaxed considering the intrusion. The leader cast a shifty glance around the space before settling into a plush chair, while his companions methodically scanned the room for any potential threats before leaning against the walls, their eyes fixed on Lucas. Despite their gruff and intimidating appearance, Lucas sensed no hostility from the men; if anything, they seemed... friendly?
Raising an eyebrow inquisitively, the seated man addressed Lucas, "So, what's the job this time, Solomon? Still on the hunt for a remedy for your... 'condition'? Or perhaps we're embarking on another smash-and-grab? Personally, I'd lean towards the latter; the boys are getting a bit restless, and a bita of extra cash in the pockets does wonders for morale."
Lucas wasn't exactly cut out for the stage; the closest he'd ever come to acting was assisting the guy who controlled the stage lights in a small musical production. He'd only been involved in the first place because his best friend had a leading role and wanted somebody to hang out with during the downtime. While not an actor, Lucas had always possessed a suspiciously exceptional talent for lying.
He had identified that there were three key elements to being a proficient liar and he was skilled at every one of them. Firstly, one needed to be quick on their feet, adept at conjuring convincing bullshit at a moment's notice, or at the very least, skilled at stalling until a plausible lie could be slapped together. Secondly, all lies should weave enough morsels of truth to withstand scrutiny, this can also aid the first and last element when one is good enough at it. The most crucial aspect was delivery. Lucas had always possessed a natural knack for controlling his facial expressions, but a brief obsession with poker and the subsequent countless hours spent honing his skills in front of the mirror had transformed his innate ability into a formidable weapon. His control over his expressions was so refined that his immediate family refused to play any form of game where a good poker face was necessary, deeming it "too unfair".
So it came as no surprise that Lucas took the sudden, unexpected questions in stride. His expression remained calm and confident, betraying none of the massive internal panic that was tearing through his mind like a fox in a henhouse.
With an air of casual nonchalance, Lucas sauntered over and casually took a seat in the chair opposite the man who had just spoken.
"Morale is indeed paramount. However, I regret to inform you that I have pressing business this time around. My schedule is simply too tight to entertain any extracurricular activities. But if you deem it necessary for morale, I see no major issue with proceeding without my direct involvement."
Lucas felt confident in his charade, choosing to employ more sophisticated language to maintain the facade of nobility. He crafted his words to avoid divulging any specific information, opting instead for evasive language. Unsure of his exact role in relation to the group of men, he adopted a tone that could be interpreted as both superior and collegial, ensuring he didn't inadvertently reveal anything.
The seated man leaned back in his chair, producing a small, crudely wrapped paper tube and a box of matches from his pocket. With practiced ease, he lit the cigarette and took a long drag before addressing Lucas.
"I don't suppose you remember the last time we went without you," he began, exhaling a plume of smoke. "We lost two good men." He took another puff, allowing his words to sink in. "I'm pretty sure it was even you who said, 'Don't you filthy unwashed plebeians fucking dare do a major job without me. If you ran into -one- without me, you'd all be fucking dead! Do you know how hard it is to get somewhat trustworthy subordinates for this kind of work, blah blah blah.' What's with the change boss?"
Lucas slumped slightly in his chair, feigning exasperation as he let out a sigh. "Of course I remember," he began, his tone weary. "I'm in deep water right now. It's simply impossible for me to do a job."
Readjusting his posture, Lucas met the gaze of the other men squarely. "But if you believe it's truly necessary, then you're going to have to do it without me."
The man grunted in response. "Deep water, huh? Due to your condition?"
"More or less," Lucas replied with a shrug.
"Need help?" the man inquired.
"The situation is under control. It just needs time. So if you don't have anything else, I'd like to be alone."
The man scrutinized Lucas's facial features briefly before letting out a sigh as he stood up dropping his cigarette to the floor. His thick leather boots smothered the smoldering embers and then with a quick gesture to the two men leaning against the wall, he left without a word.
After ensuring that the men had left the immediate premises, Lucas made his way to the front door. He carefully locked it and double-checked that it was locked. Satisfied, he stumbled over to the nearest couch, collapsing onto the plush cushions with a heavy sigh of relief. It felt as though he had just narrowly won a game of Russian Roulette.
As Lucas closed his eyes, the calming crackle of the fireplace enveloped him, soothing his frayed nerves. He began to process the events that had just unfolded when suddenly, a loud banging noise shattered the tranquility of the moment. Jumping like a cat with its tail stepped on, Lucas's hand instinctively reached for the rapier lying on the floor nearby, his resolve sharpening.
Then, a calm male voice cut through. "Room service"