The Acolyte

XII

This time, a man answered their summons. His dress suggested some level of wealth, as did the softness of his face, which sat on the fringes of your memory the deeper he walked into Ringo's chamber with vacant eyes. The sirens surrounded him as they reached the climax of their serenade, but he looked past them to lock eyes with you from the larder. To your shared surprise, he knew you. He knew you so well the sight of you broke the song's spell, and he scampered your way.

"It's you!" he cried. "By the stars, it's you!"

Again, you were not as familiar, so this reunion was very one-sided. Nevertheless, he stared in horror when he noticed your eyes. "No...No! You poor soul!" He glared back at the sirens, who were unsure of how to proceed. "You monsters!"

Then he grabbed your shoulders and shook you roughly. "Look at me!" he begged. "Fight it! Resist their evil charms! You are the child of Sir Bloodvessel! He misses you! He loves you!"

To say you were unmoved by the thought of Sir Bloodvessel would be a severe fib, but your annoyance at the man's roughness weakened your sympathy. Unamused, you took his hands off your body. "I know."

The sirens rejoined the drama, heralded by Paul's laughter. "You waste your breath, good sir!" he jeered.

John and Ringo stalked the man, cutting off his escape as they prowled like jungle cats. "Our friend is beyond saving," they intoned.

A border of mist appeared, and with it, George, his back acting as your protective barrier. "As are you."

John appeared as suddenly as George behind the man, and they both restrained him. They laughed as he thrashed in their grip.

"Feisty, is he not, George?" John asked, displaying his pointed lower-eye teeth.

George brandished his fangs. "And so full of life."

John put on a show of mock concern. "It's dangerous to have so much vim."

"A hazard to the humors, John."

"Lucky for you we have a personal surgeon."

George tightened his grip on the man's arm. "Physician Paul is one of Fortune's great blessings."

Then they forced him to the ground. You sidestepped around the spectacle and ran to Ringo's side. Paul was nowhere to be seen, but his voice and the squeaking of wheels filled the cavern, drowning out the man's struggles.

"Rig and slit. Rig and slit. Rig and slit and drain..."

You pressed yourself into Ringo's side as a leviathan of wood and metal rolled into view. It looked like a trebuchet frozen mid-launch, with a large hook hanging from a length of rope dangling from its outstretched arm. "What on earth is that?" you whispered.

"Paul's hook," Ringo whispered back. "He built it himself. He's very handy."

Paul grabbed an extra rope from a second hook jutting out of the structure's side and walked to the man, reciting his mantra with a dissonant smile. "Rig and slit. Rig and slit. Rig and slit and drain..."

The man gasped before redoubling his escape efforts, but the sirens were too strong. After a final strain, he went limp and let the trio bind him. "Fine!" he snarled. "Do what you will to me, I care not! But spare your unfortunate guest! Are you not young adults yourselves? Do you not have families where you're from, who would be saddened by your disappearance and death?" They turned him over and used the rope around his feet to attach him to the hook. Once he was set, he continued his tirade. "A man, a father grieves, and you will let your greed stand in the way of his relief—?"