The Lion's Mane

Author's Note: This short story is a continuation of The Bronze Setter.

It had been about two months since I'd gotten my hair trimmed by Falco back in The Bronze Setter. The sword duel mid the garden behind the barber shop had been such a surreal experience that I almost believed I dreamt the whole thing. However, if I ever needed a reminder that it had really happened, I didn't have to look any further than my bathroom mirror. Every morning after I awoke, my pompadour seemed to have grown more voluminous than before. That coiffure made me look so crazed that I routinely got called out to fight in public places. I'm not sure why exactly, but perhaps it was my hairdo's passive air of pomposity that set some people off rather violently! Very soon I began losing count of how many challengers I had to put in their place with the butt of my trusty Estoc. Although as Falco predicted, I didn't even have to draw the blade from its scabbard.

Unfortunately, these encounters began to attract unwanted attention, and soon enough the fuzz was searching after me as a 'person of interest'. Apparently a police sketch artist had done my portrait based on similar eyewitness accounts. Lucky for me, the face on the wanted poster resembled a hairy troll doll more than anything else. I tried to lay low or to go incognito beneath mon chapeau. Yet I could not remain so for long without pacing impatiently to-and-fro. Finally, I was caught leaving a bar around midnight—betrayed by my zoot suit and overgrown Latino Afro.

The cops shone their flashlights in my eyes and I was way too liquored up to do much except shield my blinkers with both hands. I heard them say my given Christian name, but I don't respond too well to that these days. Anyway, I was drunk, okay? Just want to emphasize that part because honestly, I don't remember precisely what I said to them (possibly a stupid remark about bacon). All I know is that it was provocation enough for two of them to begin cracking me in the legs with their nightsticks!

What they didn't realize was that I still carried the sheathed Estoc under my outer coat. This enabled me to instinctively defend myself, albeit to a minor extent. A third officer approached with a stun gun in hand; she would have probably zapped me and brought my Zorro phase to an abrupt end right there and then. Nevertheless, what happened next left everyone equally flummoxed. A fine mist descended on the scene and before we knew what hit us, we were pointing and laughing at each other like idiots. No joke, those pigs were splitting their sides while rolling on the grass!

I felt somebody yank me by the nape of my neck and drag me away into the shadows. From behind a red vixen mask, a female voice chastised:

"Raz must be mad to choose such a scoundrel as you to join our secret order. I should have let the boys and girls in blue take you."

She uncapped a tiny bottle of essential oil and wafted it 'neath my nose. I instantly became sober, asking her:

"Who are you then—and why help me if that's your opinion?"

"I my dear, am Zoraya. And you, I've been told, are Obsidian. I'm acting on direct orders from Captain Falco. He posted me to keep watch over you and he's wondering why you keep stalling, instead of seizing the cubic centimeter of chance that you've been graciously granted?"

I sighed at length prior to replying:

"I simply can't believe it. Knights of Verona? La criniera di leone?Seriously. I mean, come on!"

"You're not wrong; it's certainly a lot for common folks to process and 'off the deep end' as some might say. And yet, how many fights have you lost since Falco cropped your top?"

"Well, none. But I've also never had to defend myself so frigging frequently. It's kind of annoying actually."

"That's typical when one flaunts the lion's mane. Petty people can't stand the suave confidence it projects. They'll single you out and gang up on you at every turn. Which is why I've come to bring you into our fold, or you won't last here much longer on your own. Besides, your fledging talents are required elsewhere. Will you accede?"

"Alright. You've sparked my curiosity. Let's go."

Zoraya threw a dark cloak over my head and snuck me into an underground parking lot. A shiny black Bugatti Chiron chirped on when she pressed her key fob. We were across town and back at The Bronze Setter within fifteen minutes flat. A doorman (whom I recognized as Adamo Segundus) greeted us near the rear entrance. Zoraya asked:

"Has Captain Falco left?"

"I'm afraid so Contessa. He's gone on ahead to Spain."

"I'm not surprised," she reflected. "Is there another barber available?"

"Yes. The tailor is in from Milan."

"Perfect. Please introduce Obsidian to him. I must make my preparations."

In short order, I was taken to see a white haired man who stood by a leather-lined studio chair. His puffy do reminded me of Doc Emmett Brown from Back To The Future, except that it flowed far more elegantly. Adamo Segundus performed the formalities:

"Obsidian, it is my pleasure to present you to Il Fornitore — Enzo Rompibara."

"Ah, the neophyte," Enzo enjoined, tapping a wanted poster up on the wall. "I've heard a great deal about you. Although judging from your appearance, you're in dire need of a complete makeover. When I'm finished with you, you shall be unrecognizable!"

Adamo suppressed a laugh and excused himself before exiting the room. Over the course of a few hours, Enzo refashioned my hair and then proceeded to pick out a whole new wardrobe for me. He cut an Armani style navy suit down to size and gave me a sharp tie to go with it. Finally, he gifted me a pair of cufflinks in a box, explaining that they were customized for 'communication'. I can think of no better way of describing my updated do than to call myself a 'zed head'. When he was finally done, Enzo escorted me to an underground corridor, which he said connected The Bronze Setter with the Italian embassy. I followed it as he instructed, and reached a small lobby where I pushed a button for the elevator.

Having ascended to the ground floor, I stepped into a circular chamber attached to a large dining hall. Zoraya was there, though she too had undergone a costume change. She wore a wide brim hat with a purple plume. The rest of her getup had swashbuckler written all over it; down to her knee-high boots and burgundy britches. She approved of my attire and added:

"I hope you travel light, because my bags are fully packed. A limousine will take us to the airport, and then it's off to Southern Spain. A mission is underway even as we speak."

Everything was happening so fast that protesting hadn't really occurred to me yet. I told her that I needed to swing by my place to grab my passport, then prodded:

"Wait a minute now, what's all this mission business you're going on about? I'm not sure I signed up for any of that."

"It's true, Obsidian. You are no Knight of Verona. Nonetheless, you might soon have an opportunity to prove yourself in the field of battle. For the time being, consider yourself my Esquire!"

"Okay, but who the hay are we doing battle against? The last thing I want is to make enemies on either side of the ocean."

"Fear not, my dear. You will be provided with a mission brief once we board the plane. But you must let me get my beauty rest while we fly."

The in-flight reading was dreary, to say the least. All my worst fears regarding who ran things from behind the scenes on the world stage seemed to be justified. However, it's probably nothing along the lines of what you're thinking. This was no simplistic conspiracy theory. You see, according to this secret order of knights, the forces responsible for the chaos and deception running amuck in the material sphere originally stem from the spiritual dimension. Only none of them went by the old familiar names. I'll share a short snippet with you:

"During every epoch, a dyad of opposing forces arises. Nobody knows who came first, but the evil which the noble Knights of Verona seek to counteract is in all likelihood more ancient than recorded history itself. We have come to know its agents as Accelerators — whereas we refer to the agency behind their unsavory misdeeds as The Ravage. Solely those whom don the lion's mane can hope to vanquish these outré enemies."

I gathered that Accelerators were hellbent on catalyzing countless calamities across the globe. They were nefarious individuals afflicted with a serious soul sickness. A number of notable figures were listed, but one stood out above the rest: Fausto Azar—A.K.A. Il Fatalista. Recent reports indicated that he was currently running a human trafficking ring between Ceuta and Gibraltar. My head began spinning with factoids, then I dozed off alongside Zoraya, anxious of what further revelations tomorrow would bring.

To Be Continued...

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