Chapter 17

With little care, they threw Seroin's body onto the cold kitchen tiles.

The orc brothers Roscha and Bescha examined the twisted body of the human woman, both of their expressions more annoyed than sad.

‘And who am I going to drink Shiverlips wine with now?’ Roscha pulled up a small stool, plopped down on it and began filing his lower teeth with his small file. “What a shame, Sero was one of the good ones. I thought she'd at least live longer than me.” White residue trickled from his teeth onto his lap, and Roscha wiped it off his body with a grimace.

‘Hopas tailoring, it suits you!’ Bescha stroked the two tufts of hair on his head and examined his brother's fine robes. ’What now? Shiverlip wanted her body, and now? I'm not staying here to do the washing up.’

The kitchen of Shiverlips restaurant wasn't particularly large, but it was generously furnished. A stone oven, grill and sink were huddled close together; if the cooks were working here right now, they would be standing shoulder to shoulder. The tiles under their feet were still dirty from the previous day's work, and the smell of various meals lingered in the air.

Roscha peered at the corpse's face. ‘Man, even in death, her features are empty. Poor Sero. She spent enough on it.’

With a freshly opened bottle of wine, Bescha settled down next to his brother. ’Yeah? She always told me she preferred a peaceful face.’

Roscha shook his head mischievously. ‘You should have seen her when she dared to come to us. Scars all over her face, all over her body. One ear was partly cut off. She had been an inspector, did you know that? And she served faithfully, I was told, always throwing herself into it. It wasn't cheap to get herself fixed up like that, to look so perfect.’

‘I'd spend my A.M.I.s on something else, but to each their own.‘ Bescha took a swig of wine and handed the bottle to Roscha.

‘Me too. I guess she couldn't look at herself in the mirror anymore, wanted a fresh start. I can understand that.’ The orc followed his brother's example and numbed his barely existent feelings with wine.

‘And our fresh start? What if it goes wrong? Dishwashers in Grandma Gomscha's shop? Proud orcs from the Steaming Dachshund?’

The two of them burst out laughing and slapped their thighs.

‘It's a joy to see you find laughter in death.’ An elegant elf with an angular face and long blue hair strolled into the kitchen and eyed the two orcs coldly. “And drinking my wine.’

The orc brothers were about to rush to their feet when the elf waved them back to their seats. ”Stay there. And drink. Everyone could use some right now.’ Mr Shiverlip grabbed the bottle of wine and took a hearty swig. He smacked his lips. ‘To Sero. And to all the A.M.I.s I'm going to lose. But also to dragon shit.’

He pushed the wine back into Roscha's hand and knelt down next to Seroin's corpse. ‘As inscrutable in death as in life. Oh yes.’ He stood up calmly, opened one of the cupboards under a sink and rummaged for a pot. “Roscha, get me a piece of bread, a big one. And some water and salt.” Mr Shiverlip placed the pot next to Seroin's corpse and chuckled happily.

The orc did as he was told, and Mr Shiverlip quickly took it and placed it next to Seroin's feet.

Bescha stared in amazement. ‘A ritual among us? I always thought we threw our dead away in other districts? Or is this an old Sagvi district tradition that I'm not familiar with?’

Mr. Shiverlip shook his head and snapped his fingers. ‘You and I need to set another table in the dining room and open some finer wine. I'm expecting a business partner. And you, Roscha, stay here until I send for you.’

The orcs looked at each other in amazement, but simply shrugged their shoulders and did as they were told.

Mr Shiverlip and Bescha left the kitchen, Roscha sat back down comfortably on his stool and swallowed a large mouthful of wine. The drink was already taking effect, the orc's eyes were slightly smaller than usual and his breath smelled of alcohol. He lifted the bottle again and considered forcing the last of it down in one gulp. At the thought, he began to grin and then...

‘AAAAAHHHHHHH!’ A deafening scream rang through the kitchen.

With a panicked gasp, the orc dropped the wine, the glass shattering on the floor, red drops immediately decorating the tiles. Roscha drew his dagger, his ears still ringing from the force of the noise, but he didn't know where it had come from.

Again, the scream tore through the air, this time with words. ‘PULL IT OUT!’

Roscha didn't need to take a breath to find the source of the screams.

Seroin's body still lay motionless on the floor, but her lips were babbling as if possessed by a cowardly ghost. ’PULL HIM OUT! IT'S BURNING!’

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Without a doubt, the screams were coming from Seroin's dead lips, sounding like the last sounds of a woman dying.

Overwhelmed, Roscha felt his way towards the corpse. He carefully stabbed the dead woman's leg with the steel, almost dying of fright himself.

A spray of vomit foamed from her mouth and Seroin jumped up, her eyes filled with tears, her ears bleeding. ‘AIR! I NEED AIR!’ The woman writhed in agony, jerkily finding a foothold on all fours, and another load of stomach contents spilled onto the cold tile floor. ‘MOLD! IT'S ALL MOLD!’ Seroin looked at Roscha with tear-filled eyes, then vomited again.

The orc didn't know whether to help her or stab her; his mind was torn between logic and superstition. ’Se... Sero?!’

Seroin staggered to her feet and looked around in panic, her face smeared with tears and vomit. ‘Water!’ As the orc handed it to her, Seroin tipped the entire bottle down her throat. Then she jumped to one of the sinks and vomited up the water she had just drunk. ‘Clean... it should all be out... it should...’

A spasm ran through her body and she screamed again in agony. ‘IT'S STILL IN THERE! GET IT OUT!’

Roscha waved helplessly through the air. “What... what must...” Then the orc's breath caught in his throat.

Seroin clawed at her shirt with her sweaty fingers and tore the fabric from her body. Her bare chest rose and fell heavily with her breathing, her skin looking sickly pale. There, in the middle of her upper body, around her heart, lay the 12 nails of a G.M.E., buried deep in her chest.

With a hissing scream, she grabbed one of the nails and slowly pulled the long metal out of her flesh. A disgusting slimy squelching sound rang out and the magical tool fell clattering to the floor.

‘By all the Bloodgins... Seroin... you were... you...’ Roscha staggered back.

‘I would have been before I stopped.’ Seroin fell backwards onto her buttocks and tried to catch her breath. A trickle of blood ran down from the small hole in her chest onto her trousers. “Bandage, do you have one?’

Roscha handed her a silk handkerchief from a respectful distance. ”They murmured that you were an inspector... but this far?’

‘I was loyal.’ Seroin stuffed the hole in her chest with the white fabric and wiped her face clean. “I forgot how much pain this causes... how... how long was I gone?’

The orc waved helplessly towards the kitchen door. ”They found you in the morning. Shiverlip paid the right people and you ended up here... Sero... what...’

‘Another time, Rosch, another time.’ The woman suddenly began to look around greedily, a gurgling sound coming from her stomach. “All the mouldy food is out of my stomach... I'm hungry.” She spotted the bread next to her and began to devour it.

Roscha sat down carefully on the stool again. Shiverlips... he knew... about this?’ Disgusted, he pointed to the remaining nails in her chest.

Seroin stared at her breasts, now covered in crumbs. ‘He must have... It's probably in my file with the inspectors. And Shiverlips knows a lot. Endless filth... now I only have one nail left to keep me from dying... one.’

The orc stared at her chest in disbelief, trying to comprehend the metal inside. ‘You've been... before?’

‘Magic-quarter, back when I was an inspector. I was already in the process of becoming a G.M.E., already had the nails in. We were surrounded and I drew attention to myself so that my troops could escape. A bolt of lightning struck my head and I died standing up.’ She shook her head in annoyance. ’As if it wasn't painful enough to have these nails implanted. Activating them is no better. And I only have one left...’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I'll die if it hits me again. Three nails are already a burden in themselves; more death magic, Fer magic, a body can't withstand. I can't have any more nails implanted. Three were dangerous enough.’ She stuffed the remains of the bread into her mouth and continued to munch. ‘I've got one left... one... damn it. Hope I don't get flutter sickness. That would be just great.’

Seroin tied her clothes back together. ’It'll have to hold for now. It has to. That nail took too much out of me. I need an A.M.I.’

‘Take one of ours.’ Roscha hurried to a corner of the room, where a wooden box the size of a tree stump rested on one of the sinks. The orc took out an empty cylinder and pressed it against a small needle on the side of the box. ‘Fresh and loaded, here you go.’ He tossed the A.M.I. to Seroin.

She applied the magical blood to her own vein and her body was instantly restored. ‘That works. Thank you, Roscha, really. But tell me, who was it?’

They both looked at the box and the orc snorted. ‘Marz, the dwarf and healer from the Ieswibe-quarter. And it's all thanks to you. Mr. Shiverlip quickly found out that the good man was giving a lot of A.M.I.s to the Young Harvest. You know how Shiverlip feels about such a breach of loyalty. So the good Marz was boxed up.

Seroin approached the box. ‘The usual, or did Shiverlip get creative?’

‘Open it up and take a look.’ Roscha chuckled maliciously and banged hard on the box once.

From inside, all that could be heard was the groaning of a voice and the faint writhing of a powerless body.

Seroin shook his head, rolling his eyes. ‘Yeah, thanks, no. Not after dinner. I was already feeling sick.’

Roscha nodded. ‘Nothing new, the usual procedure.’ His finger traced the wood as if reading a map. ‘Legs and arms were cleanly amputated. Lower jaw simply removed. Eyes and ears rendered useless, sense of smell taken away and vocal cords scratched. Tap and distillation apparatus laid out.’ The orc grinned cheerfully. ‘The traitor Marz is now blind, deaf, mute and a complete cripple for the rest of his days in this box, providing us with clean A.M.I.s. Typical boxed-in. Maybe Shiverlip will let him go after a year or two. Maybe.’

‘I told him about it, just so you know, in case there was a reward.’

Roscha's grin turned colder again. ‘Not a day back among the living and straight back to business. I know Sero, I know. Shiverlip has made a note of it, but I'll mention it to him again.’

‘I wasn't completely dead, my good man. The nail held me here like a ship in a river held only by a single rope. I don't even want to imagine how bad it would be to see the next life and then wake up here again, in Badazan.’

‘Who says the next life won't be just as dirty?’ The orc cackled happily again and Seroin smiled a little.

The kitchen door swung open with a loud bang and Bescha's stunned gaze fell on Seroin. ‘He... he said you... you would... Sero, I never believed it, you wanted to become a G.M.E.?’

‘And you used to be a dishwasher at Grandma Gomscha's, so calm down, Bescha. Get me a gin, I need something for my nerves. Where's my numbing powder, my things?’

The orc Bescha waved behind him through the door. ‘With him. He's already waiting for you, says you have a lot to discuss. It's about a lot of A.M.I.s.’

‘Now? Do I have a choice?’

A weary smile from everyone was answer enough.