Dawn was just barely breaking on the Cania coast. The wind was chilly during this cloudy period halfway between the winter chilblains and the first signs of gentle spring… The facetious Fax Mysther and the phlegmatic Nada Skelet had been on the road for several hours already. They'd had to travel across the continent to solve what was clearly not a very cold case…
Spanish Version
"Skelet, I don't know about you but my back is killing me. This Dragoturkey's got a rump about as soft as a cutting board!"
"Are you sure it's not your butt that's as bony as a Nocturnowl Spike, my dear Mysther?" teased the young woman.
"Go ahead and laugh… You won't be laughing long. According to the file sent by the Bureau of Not Very Cold Cases, what's waiting for us here is serious stuff…" said the Xelor, pointing at a small ramshackle tavern.
The two partners tied their mounts to a tree and headed for the inn. The neighborhood seemed about as lively as the Cemetery of the Tortured. And yet...
"Look discreetly to your left…" whispered Mysther under his breath, without stopping.
Inside the surrounding houses, which were so dilapidated that they seemed to be holding each other up, the neighbors were glued to their windows; some clumsily hidden behind lace curtains and others brazenly stuck to their windows, eyes full of impatience. Impatience to see something sensational happen. Something that would, finally, pull them out of their oh-so-boring daily grind…
"Apparently, not much happens around here," said Skelet, almost annoyed.
"They're like flies stuck on a Gobballpat… They give me the creeps."
"Whatever went down in this seedy pub must have shaken them up… The owner claims he hasn't set foot in the tavern since."
"We've got first dibs on finding out what really happened!" said they young Twelvian, smiling mischievously and giving her friend a nudge with her elbow.
When they reached the door to the building, the Sram and the Xelor saw an ax stuck in the door as a welcome sign.
"Nice… That's not at all encouraging…"
"Once again, your insight could knock me over with a feather, Mysther…"
He gently pushed on the already partially open door, asking if someone was there. No answer. The two of them entered cautiously, their swords clutched firmly in their hands.
"We can't see anything in here! It's as dark as the inside of a dragoturkey's rump!"
"Clearly, you've got a real thing for dragoturkey rumps…"
Mysther didn't respond to his partner's comment, and just pulled a glow-worm out of his pocket and shined its light around the room. The inside of the tavern was as dilapidated as the outside. Stools, pint glasses, and broken glass were scattered around the floor. Arachnees had made themselves at home, and Wabbit droppings covered every surface.
"The owner wasn't lying when he said he hadn't touched anything since it all went down."
"Either that or he's one heck of a Lousy Pig… In any case, there's not a living soul anywhere to be found. Everything seems to have been deserted for some time. I wonder what the Bureau expects us to find here.
"Let me read you Skinter's message," said Mysther: "On Maysial 7 at 7:07 p.m., an extremely hairy individual hardly bigger than a Dopple carrying an ax larger than him entered the bar and ordered a beer – a Grinness to be exact. Seven minutes later, a second individual who was nearly identical to the first entered in turn carrying a hammer bigger than him; he sat down next to the first individual and ordered a Noggin Splitter. They spoke a strange dialect and were laughing raucously. The other patrons started to complain when they started singing and burping simultaneously. Then one spilled his beer on the other. The silence that followed was as frigid as the mistral wind in Frigost. The hairy individuals stared at each other for a few interminable minutes before throwing themselves at each other, screaming insults in which their respective mothers, fathers, sisters and ancestors had the starring role. The innkeeper noted that one said he was part of the Hard-Head clan and seemed to go by the odd name of Beard Barb. The other yelled that the Freezammer clan wouldn't hesitate to set sail to restore the honor of one of their members. He answered to the even stranger name of Beard Ah-Q'. They both pulled out their weapons and started turning the place inside-out, forcing the patrons outside. The neighbors say they heard the sound of fighting throughout the night. And then things got weird. Some glimpsed shadows that looked like a large number of small creatures had joined the party. Ever since, nighttime grunts and snickering have become more and more frequent. It's been going on for months… The neighborhood inhabitants are losing it, and starting to tell absolutely insane stories."
"Don't you get it, Skelet? A small, unidentified individual… They might not be wrong. Remember what I've been telling you for years about my sis…"
"Be serious, Mysther! Look at this mess… There's no doubt about it. All it was was a fight. Let me tell you, this place is no more than a Rogue flophouse… And you know what liars they are! They've twisted the facts, that's all. That's the most plausible explanation I can think of."
Mysther wasn't listening to his friend. He concentrated and sniffed loudly.
"There's a strange odor in here. Do you smell it?"
"You're right… now that you mention it… it smells like feet."
Skelet shot Mysther a judgment-filled look.
"Don't look at me like that! I took a bath this morning!" he said, pretending to be outraged.
"Maybe you did, but you still have that bad habit of eating Clakoss toast for breakfast, from what I can see. Or rather, smell…"
Mysther didn't answer. He bent over to pick something up.
"What the wha'!" he said, grabbing a huge tuft of stiff red hair with the tip of his claws. "Look at this, Skelet!"
She looked at the hairy mass with disgust.
"Don't make that face, you've got the same on your head!"
Stiff lipped, the young Sram hit him lightly on the arm, which made the Xelor laugh. Then he sniffed the tuft of hair.
"Ugh! Yours smells much better, I promise." he added, shoving his precious discovery under Skelet's nose.
Disgusted by the smell, she took a step back and covered her mouth with her hand.
"Always that same stench of Clakoss…" she said, holding her nose.
"Believe me, Skelet, nothing from the World of Twelve is that hairy. There was a visitor from elsewhere here. Maybe even from outside the Krosmoz! I'd bet my right hand on it…"
Skelet rolled her eyes.
"Enough, Mysther!"
"And that smell? Can you really say there's nothing supernatural about it?"
"What's supernatural is your stubbornness in believing that the truth is out there. You've got to stop believing that cr…"
While moving carefully forward, Skelet bumped into something. A small pile of dirt.
"A drheller, maybe?" suggested her colleague.
Skelet tapped her index finger against her mouth mechanically and started thinking.
"Hmmm... Not sure."
She knelt down next to the pile of dirt, picked up a small handful and rubbed it between her fingers.
"The dirt isn't loose enough… It's packed densely. A Twelvian did this. But why?"
"Or an extra-twelvian…" said Mysther.
"Yes, or an eight-legged Striche," teased Skelet.
"Truth be told, I think we're facing something much worse, my dear," said Mysther, looking seriously perturbed.
The Sram nodded toward a huge puddle of blood on the floor. Something serious happened here.
"Can you take this and shine light over here, please?" he asked, handing his glow-worm to his partner. Then, he pulled a magnifying glass out of his bag and used it to examine the puddle.
"Hmm… Still fresh. Look."
He took a pen out of his inside coat pocket and dipped the tip into the puddle of blood.
"It hasn't had time to coagulate."
Suddenly, without warning, Skelet squatted down and dipped her finger into the puddle and put it in her mouth.
"You're insane! Why did you do that?? That's disgusting!"
"It's beer."
"What?"
"Its thick consistency comes from Arkastone powder added during the brewing process. That's what gives it the amber color…" she said, shooting an amused look at her friend.
Mysther was mystified.
"It's beer, Mysther. Not a crime scene… More like a fight between two clans."
While she was speaking, Skelet pointed the glow-worm a little further away, at a pile of empty glasses and broken beer barrels. Her partner seemed disappointed.
"Still… For all we know, whatever started this quarrel between two clans could be extra-twelvian in origin."
Skelet sighed with exasperation. Suddenly, her eye was drawn to an even darker patch in the ambient gloom. A hole dug in the ground seemed to lead even deeper underground. The entrance to a tunnel, or so it seemed at first glance.
"Where does that thing go?" wondered Mysther.
"No idea, but you'd have to be pretty slim to fit in there!"
"You said it. I should never have had that second helping of Amaknian Chips last night…"
While Mysther was putting his magnifying glass back into his bag, Skelet was contorting herself like a flexible cord to try to fit into the tunnel.
"Uhh… Do you really intend to go in there?"
But Skelet was already in. His partner's daring and determination could be as much a good thing as a bad thing… But what was there to do? Let a young woman head into a dark abyss alone, in the middle of a lost village where the inhabitants seemed as welcoming as a prisoner in Brakmar Prison? Mysther sighed and forced himself into the opening in turn.
"If that's what you want, Skelet. With a little bit of luck, the truth is somewhere behind this crack…"