Diana asked
together, genuinely surprised. I was caught at a crossroad between
amusement and offense.
"I like women, thanks."
"I'm part woman," Duck said, pointing to his
forearms. "See how dainty the wrists are?"
"Sorry," I smirked. "Only the natural kind for
me."
Duck shrugged. "I tried. Hard to find good men
around here. They're either taken or got one foot in the
grave."
Oh the irony.
"Topic of sexuality of aside, when are you
going to tell me about the Eyes of the Leviathan? What's a
universal soul?"
Diana stared at the bar top for a long
minute.
"The Eyes of the Leviathan are the heart of
the Moor. They keep the undead here from decaying much longer than
they would otherwise."
I looked around at the tavern.
"So does that make everyone our
enemy?"
"On the contrary," Duck interrupted. "This
isn't any kind of life we wanted. Most of us never had a say in
getting revived. Waiting around until you rot isn't exactly the
most glamorous aspiration in the world."
"You want to die?" I
asked.
"We want freedom from death." Duck smiled
crookedly. "Or the undeath, if you prefer. Sad thing is, we're all
mortal on the inside. We're too scared to hack ourselves off, else
we would've done it a long time ago."
"So what supplies do we need?" I turned to
Diana.
"Fire retardants."
"Fire..." My voice trailed off.
"Fun thing, that," Duck explained.
"The Eyes are in a part of the Moor we call the Salamander Nest.
Lots of lava. Wear fireproof clothing or nothing at all. If you
choose the latter, lemme know; I wanna see."
He winked.
I rocked my face in the palms of my
hands.
"I see why the Crone wants it."
The Eyes of the Leviathan were a power
reservoir.
Being underground wasn't enough to store
bodies properly. There were oils and other techniques involved, but
none quite as effective as temperatures below freezing.
Necromancers earned their living
by going topside and healing important officials in tribal
communities, and farther west in the High City of Isoviel. Our fees
were hefty due to our skill, but they were almost nothing once we
took out a monthly fee for cooling costs from Thermal
mages.
We've really got to stop outsourcing this
shit.
But of course, the Crone goes for the
convoluted path of sending me and Diana to get this power source.
If we die, she gets rid of a mass-murdering Doll, and if we don't,
then she gets a brand, spanking new tax deduction.
On the one hand, I could appreciate the
pragmatism behind her reason.
On the other: why me?
13: The Harpy Den
Diana left once she'd finished applying the oil. Uhh
followed after her just as silently, leaving me and Leo alone at
the bar.
Angrily, I shoved the last morsel of dinner
into my mouth, swallowed, and faced Duck, the zombie inn keep, as
forcefully as I dared.
"Where are the fighting pits?"
He didn't look up at me, but he did raise an
eyebrow as he took my empty plate.
"Diana wouldn't be happy if I told
you."
"Who says Diana has to find out?"
"You any good at sneaking, Rook?" he asked,
leaning across the table. "Dolls have sharp senses, you
know."
I thought about the years I'd
spent avoiding necromancers and their minions through the servant
tunnels in Nethermount. My paranoia was a hard-earned skill, one
that I'd practiced religiously to mitigate the times anyone saw me.
Diana may have superhuman senses, but she wasn't an exception to
the rule.
"Just tell me where the pits are,"
I said, confident in my lack of presence.
Duck smirked. "I'll do you a favor, Rook." He
reached under the counter and brought out a dark coat. "Those pits
have a name: The Harpy Den. If you don't want to be mistaken for
monster kibble, you'll need to act like a local."
"The Harpy Den," I repeated, freezing a bit on
the inside. "Anything else?"
"Just follow the road to the left once you
walk out the door," said Duck. "All streets in Krisenburg lead
there. The place is neutral ground for us undead, but don't make
the
together, genuinely surprised. I was caught at a crossroad between
amusement and offense.
"I like women, thanks."
"I'm part woman," Duck said, pointing to his
forearms. "See how dainty the wrists are?"
"Sorry," I smirked. "Only the natural kind for
me."
Duck shrugged. "I tried. Hard to find good men
around here. They're either taken or got one foot in the
grave."
Oh the irony.
"Topic of sexuality of aside, when are you
going to tell me about the Eyes of the Leviathan? What's a
universal soul?"
Diana stared at the bar top for a long
minute.
"The Eyes of the Leviathan are the heart of
the Moor. They keep the undead here from decaying much longer than
they would otherwise."
I looked around at the tavern.
"So does that make everyone our
enemy?"
"On the contrary," Duck interrupted. "This
isn't any kind of life we wanted. Most of us never had a say in
getting revived. Waiting around until you rot isn't exactly the
most glamorous aspiration in the world."
"You want to die?" I
asked.
"We want freedom from death." Duck smiled
crookedly. "Or the undeath, if you prefer. Sad thing is, we're all
mortal on the inside. We're too scared to hack ourselves off, else
we would've done it a long time ago."
"So what supplies do we need?" I turned to
Diana.
"Fire retardants."
"Fire..." My voice trailed off.
"Fun thing, that," Duck explained.
"The Eyes are in a part of the Moor we call the Salamander Nest.
Lots of lava. Wear fireproof clothing or nothing at all. If you
choose the latter, lemme know; I wanna see."
He winked.
I rocked my face in the palms of my
hands.
"I see why the Crone wants it."
The Eyes of the Leviathan were a power
reservoir.
Being underground wasn't enough to store
bodies properly. There were oils and other techniques involved, but
none quite as effective as temperatures below freezing.
Necromancers earned their living
by going topside and healing important officials in tribal
communities, and farther west in the High City of Isoviel. Our fees
were hefty due to our skill, but they were almost nothing once we
took out a monthly fee for cooling costs from Thermal
mages.
We've really got to stop outsourcing this
shit.
But of course, the Crone goes for the
convoluted path of sending me and Diana to get this power source.
If we die, she gets rid of a mass-murdering Doll, and if we don't,
then she gets a brand, spanking new tax deduction.
On the one hand, I could appreciate the
pragmatism behind her reason.
On the other: why me?
13: The Harpy Den
Diana left once she'd finished applying the oil. Uhh
followed after her just as silently, leaving me and Leo alone at
the bar.
Angrily, I shoved the last morsel of dinner
into my mouth, swallowed, and faced Duck, the zombie inn keep, as
forcefully as I dared.
"Where are the fighting pits?"
He didn't look up at me, but he did raise an
eyebrow as he took my empty plate.
"Diana wouldn't be happy if I told
you."
"Who says Diana has to find out?"
"You any good at sneaking, Rook?" he asked,
leaning across the table. "Dolls have sharp senses, you
know."
I thought about the years I'd
spent avoiding necromancers and their minions through the servant
tunnels in Nethermount. My paranoia was a hard-earned skill, one
that I'd practiced religiously to mitigate the times anyone saw me.
Diana may have superhuman senses, but she wasn't an exception to
the rule.
"Just tell me where the pits are,"
I said, confident in my lack of presence.
Duck smirked. "I'll do you a favor, Rook." He
reached under the counter and brought out a dark coat. "Those pits
have a name: The Harpy Den. If you don't want to be mistaken for
monster kibble, you'll need to act like a local."
"The Harpy Den," I repeated, freezing a bit on
the inside. "Anything else?"
"Just follow the road to the left once you
walk out the door," said Duck. "All streets in Krisenburg lead
there. The place is neutral ground for us undead, but don't make
the
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