Bloodrush (Scarlet Star Trilogy #1)

Chapter 17 - A Dying Art

'Merion's growing fast. It was his birthday, whatever that is, today. My my, what a productive afternoon of sneaking. Harker Sheer was packed with guests, and such informative guests. Lord Karrigan wants to move against Lord Longweather and his referendum. Lord Dizali is not so convinced. Lady Knutshire wants to ensure her place at the new table. Karrigan has other promises to keep, it seems. Secrets are a wonderful business.'

19th May, 1867

'Well, Mister Khurt, here we are,' Lilain muttered to herself as she propped the cart's handles upon the steps. The body upon its planks did not utter any sort of complaint. It just lay there, gawping at the sky with a mouth that was in serious lack of a jawbone. This was the third railwraith attack in a week.

Rubbing her sweaty palms on her smock, Lilain went to unlock the door. Her heavy ring of keys chimed. The air inside the house was cool, so she shut the door to keep it in. It was not as though the late Mr Khurt was going to wander off, nor was it likely anybody would be stealing him. The dead never fetch a good price. She felt her way down the curving stairs to the darkened basement. The air down here was even cooler, cold even. Lilain sighed at the touch of it on her grimy neck and hot, wood-chafed hands.

Moving through the darkness, she reached for a lever and opened a door with it, exposing a little alcove. Then, with a few tugs of a rope, a trap door slid open and blinding daylight poured in. A table sat at the bottom of the alcove, repurposed as a lift for the dead and the fallen. There were ropes and pulleys hanging above each corner, and Lilain set to them with a dogged determination. The table inched upwards with every grunt. It was hot work now that the sun was on her once more. The cool of her crypt was no match for the midday desert sun. Maker if it wasn't hot today.

Once the table was at ground-level, she tied off the ropes, rubbed her hands, and wandered back up the stairs to her new client. He was right where she had left him.

'Let's get you in the cool, before you smell even worse, shall we?' she chatted idly to the corpse as she wheeled it around the side of her house. 'If that's possible.'

Mister Khurt had followed in the footsteps of many of Lilain's visitors to her table; he had soiled himself in his last moments. Lilain didn't blame him. She highly doubted she'd perform any differently, if she were to spend her last few breaths in the arms of a railwraith. Lilain sighed, as she always did. Such is the life of an undertaker.

As Lilain rested the handles of the cart on the ground, something caught her eye. She straightened up and turned to see two figures treading the dusty path, their forms dancing in the heat haze. Lilain mentally checked where her rifle was.

In the kitchen.

Underneath the table.

Where it had been since Lord Serped's arrival.

Lilain bided her time to let the two figures come closer. One was on horseback, she could tell that much through the heat. The other walked. The hills were dark behind them, the ground a rough patchwork, making it harder to see their faces. Lilain reached for her tools, balanced on the tip of the cart. A knife found its way into her hand. If things turned ugly she could jump down into the basement. All she had to do was cut the ropes of the table ...

The strangers came on slowly. They seemed weary and their heads were bowed. Definitely not the look and feel of bandits or rogues. The one on horseback wasn't riding a horse at all, but a pony. A piebald one at that. It was then that she noticed there was something perched on the shoulder of the walking stranger. Something like a bag, or a bird, or ...