María Florentina: «She said what?»
Nearchus – the circling red ovenbird – on hearing María Florentina’s raised tone, returns to perch on her outstretched arm – his talons padding gently with the hard-learned knowledge that she is not a woman to be crossed, nor indeed to be prodded with pointy toes.
The messenger trembles as the bloodthirsty bird of prey eyes him up.
Messenger: «That.. that.. Gordnauld Fortuna is still alive..»
María Florentina: «How!? The plane went down – we know that much.»
Messenger: «Yes but.. they apparently made it to an islet in the Mid-Atlantic, and then they were rescued by future versions of themselves who had travelled back in time after capturing the yacht.»
María Florentina: «An islet in the Mid-Atlantic? Weren’t there any vampires?»
Messenger: «Uh…… I.. I don’t know..»
Nearchus licks it’s bird lips with it’s hungry bird tongue, in anticpation of the coming meal. The moment stretches…
María Florentina: «…No matter. The plan will go ahead. It seems that Gordnauld Fortuna wont be killed as easily as his brother was…»