It could be dangerous. Very dangerous. Dig too far and we might be digging our own graves. “No. We’d better leave off. For now. Keep your ears open though.”
“My ears are always open, chief. So who do you like for the Contest?”
Glokta glanced across at the Practical. “How can you think about that with this in front of you?”
The Practical shrugged. “It won’t do ’em any harm, will it?” Glokta looked back at the mangled body. I suppose it won’t, at that. “So come on, you should know, Luthar or Gorst?”
“Gorst.” I hope he carves the little bastard in two.
“Really? People say he’s a clumsy ox. Lucky is all.”
“Well, I say he’s a genius,” said Glokta. “In a couple of years they’ll all be fencing like him, if you can call it fencing. You mark my words.”
“Gorst, eh? Maybe I’ll have a little bet.”
“You do that. But in the meantime you’d better scrape this mess up and take it to the University. Get Frost to give you a hand, he’s got a strong stomach.”
“The University?”
“Well, we can’t just leave it here. Some fashionable lady taking a turn in the park could get an awful shock.” Severard giggled. “And I might just know of someone who can shed some light on this little mystery.”
“This is quite an interesting discovery you’ve made, Inquisitor.” The Adeptus Physical paused in his work and peered over at Glokta, one eye enormously magnified through his glittering eyeglass. “Quite a fascinating discovery,” he muttered, as he returned to the corpse with his instruments: lifting, prodding, twisting, squinting down at the glistening flesh.
Glokta peered round the laboratory, his lip curling with distaste. Jars of many different sizes lined two of the four walls, filled with floating, pickled lumps of meat. Some of those floating things Glokta recognised as parts of the human body, some he did not. Even he felt slightly uncomfortable in amongst the macabre display. I wonder how Kandelau came by them all? Do his visitors end up dismembered, floating in a dozen different jars? Perhaps I would make an interesting specimen?
“Fascinating.” The Adeptus loosened the strap of his eye-glass and perched it on top of his head, rubbing at the pink ring it had left behind around his eye. “What can you tell me about it?”
Glokta frowned. “I came here to find out what you can tell me about it.”
“Of course, of course.” Kandelau pursed his lips. “Well, er, as to the gender of our unfortunate friend, er…” he trailed off.
“Well?”
“Heh heh, well, er, the organs that would allow one to make an easy determination are…” and he gestured at the meat on the table, harshly lit under the blazing lamps “…absent.”
“And that is the sum of your investigation?”
“Well, there are other things: a man’s third finger is typically longer than his first, not necessarily so with a woman but, heh, our remnant does not have all the digits necessary to make such a judgement. As to gender, therefore, without the fingers, we are quite stumped!” He giggled nervously at his own joke. Glokta did not.
“Young or old?”
“Well, er, again that is quite difficult to determine, I am afraid. The, er,” and the Adeptus tapped at the corpse with his tongs, “teeth here are in good condition and, heh, such skin as remains would appear to be consistent with a younger person but, er, this is really just, heh heh—”
“So what can you tell me about the victim?”
“Er, well… nothing.” And he smiled apologetically. “But I have made some interesting discoveries as to the cause of death!”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, look at this!” I would rather not. Glokta limped cautiously over to the bench, peering down at the spot the old man was indicating.
“You see here? The shape of this wound?” The Adeptus prodded at a flap of gristle.
“No, I do not see,” said Glokta. It appears all to be one enormous wound to me.
The old man leaned towards him, his eyes wide. “Human,” he said.
“We know that it is human! This is a foot!”
“No! No! These teeth marks, here… they are human bites!”
Glokta frowned. “Human… bites?”
“Absolutely!” Kandelau’s beaming smile was quite at odds with the surroundings. And with the subject matter, I rather think. “This individual was bitten to death by another person, and, heh heh, in all likelihood,” and he gestured triumphantly at the mess on his table, “considering the incomplete nature of the remains… partially eaten!”
Glokta stared at the old man for a moment. Eaten? Eaten? Why must every question answered raise ten more? “This is what you would have me tell the Arch Lector?”
The Adeptus laughed nervously. “Well, heh heh, these are the facts, as I see them…”
“A person, unidentified, perhaps a man, perhaps a woman, either young or old, was attacked in the park by an unknown assailant, bitten to death within two hundred strides of the King’s palace and partially… eaten?”
“Er…” Kandelau gave a worried glance sideways towards the entrance. Glokta turned to look, and frowned. There was a new arrival there, one that he had not heard enter. A woman, standing in the shadows at the edge of the bright lamp-light with her arms folded. A tall woman with short, spiky red hair and a black mask on her face, staring at Glokta and the Adeptus through narrowed eyes. A Practical. But not one I recognise, and women are quite a rarity in the Inquisition. I would have thought…
“Good afternoon, good afternoon!” A man stepped briskly through the door: gaunt, balding, with a long black coat and a prim little smile on his face. An unpleasantly familiar man. Goyle, damn him. Our new Superior of Adua, arrived at last. Great news. “Inquisitor Glokta,” he purred, “what an absolute pleasure it is to see you again!”
“Likewise, Superior Goyle.” You bastard.
Two other figures followed close behind the grinning Superior, making the glaring little room seem quite crowded. One was a dark-skinned, stocky Kantic with a big golden ring through his ear, the other was a monster of a Northman with a face like a stone slab. He almost had to stoop to cram himself through the doorway. Both were masked and dressed from head to toe in Practicals black.
“This is Practical Vitari,” chuckled Goyle, indicating the red-haired woman, who had flowed over to the jars and was peering into them, one at a time, tapping on the glass and making the specimens wobble. “And these are Practicals Halim,” the Southerner sidled past Goyle and into the room, busy eyes darting here and there, “and Byre.” The monstrous Northman gazed down at Glokta from up near the ceiling. “In his own country they call him the Stone-Splitter, would you believe, but I don’t think that would work here, do you, Glokta? Practical Stone-Splitter, can you imagine?” He laughed softly to himself and shook his head.
And this is the Inquisition? I had no idea the circus was in town. I wonder if they stand on each other’s shoulders? Or jump through flaming hoops?
“A remarkably diverse selection,” said Glokta.
“Oh yes,” laughed Goyle, “I have picked them up wherever my travels have taken me, eh my friends?”
The woman shrugged as she prowled around the jars. The dark-skinned Practical inclined his head. The towering Northman simply stood there.