Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Twenty Nine: A Key

Harkenn had finally agreed to get rid of the Unspoken killer's body in the crypt, on the condition that she took one more look at it. He didn't accompany her to do so, and it soon became apparent, as Nova descended the steps, both why he had finally conceded and why he hadn't come with her.

The decomposition process, once it had started, was both rapid and eye-wateringly foul. She had never seen any natural body rot so quickly, but supposed nothing about it was natural. The guard who brought her down escaped up the steps again with a groan of relief, leaving her in the cold, stinking murk on her own.

"I'm not touching that," she muttered, staring at the slab. She circled it instead, peering at it from all angles, trying to puzzle out its sudden and startling rot. If she had thought it was possible, she might have thought it engineered, someone trying to get rid of evidence; but the body had lain down here for weeks without interference, and surely they would not have left it here if that had been the case. There was one way in and out of the crypt, and it was guarded at all times. The Devils might have had a few successful runs at breaking and entering into the castle itself, but sneaking out with silverware was a different prospect to sneaking out with a decomposing corpse.

Unless it wasn't the only way in or out...but she knew it was. She had spent weeks down here in her first days as a slave, trying to find her way out. She had checked every wall for loose stones or hidden doorways, got lost countless times, and been to the darkest corners she could find. She hadn't found so much as an old scaffolding hole.

She looked at the body again, little more than discoloured meat and bones wrapped in a black cloak. Swallowing again the bread and cheese she'd eaten earlier in the day she peeled back the cloak, exposing sinewy shoulders and strings of sagging muscle fibre. She paused to retch, staggered several feet away to find a patch of air that wasn't heavy with death, then gulped some in and held it before trying again.

There were no more clues than before, even with the cloak peeled away, but as she made to replace it, a glint caught her eye. She might have thought it the sheen of the slab beneath but for the nature of the light; she had been left a single candle, and even the most polished stone surface wouldn't wink that brightly with such dim illumination. Through a gap in the flesh that hung between the cadaver's hip bones she saw a shimmer of metal.

It was a key.

She almost wept. Countless inspections of this awful thing, and she had only found something because it had gone foul. She didn't even feel particularly triumphant, only exhausted – a key was just a key unless one knew what it opened.

She inspected the scrollwork pattern at the head of the object. If it had been in the pelvis, then the thing must have swallowed it, must have been able to open its lips just enough to do so through the stitches that held them shut. It looked like a new key under the grime slicked onto it.

For the first time since Harkenn had first ordered her to carry out this job, she ascended the steps before the guard had to come and get her. He looked as stunned as she felt when she tapped on his shoulder. The smell and the darkness pressed at her back like a third presence and she was eager to get away; something of it must have shown her gaze because the man seemed to wilt under it.

"His Lordship didn't expect you to be done so soon," he said, clearly trying not to stammer, and it took all her effort not to laugh in his face. For a trained soldier wearing armour, frightened of a skinny slave girl who was chained up, half-starved and wingless, it was a poor show. "He's gone out on an errand."

Nova stared at him, and then shrugged. "Then you can tell him I found something when he gets back. He'll summon me the second he walks through the door anyway."