The Curious Case of Morgrim City

The Dead Tell No Tales

The headache had truly set in by the time Havok reached the station. Flanked by Laguna on one side and Terry on the other, he knew there was no getting out of doing what they had asked. He supposed that he took their retainer pay, so he should supply the services they required when they needed him to do so, but right now, the throbbing sting from the station lights was putting him off doing just that. To grumble about it would only invite ridicule, so he kept silent as he was escorted to the morgue.

A dead woman was laid in the centre of the room on a cold stone slab. The temperature down here was a couple of degrees lower than it was upstairs. Havok shivered but was glad to be in the cold. It would make his head less fuzzy, of that he was sure.

"Are you going to stay and watch?" he asked. If he succeeded in speaking with this woman, and there was no guarantee she would want to speak to him, she would not acknowledge them anyway.

"No," Laguna said. "We have to deal with the 'freedom of the press' and the chief," she said.

"Wait around after you are done," Terry said.

The both of them left him alone with the corpse, knowing he would do his job whether they were there or not. Havok groused under his breath before pulling out his spell book and flinging it on the table. It was a battered, well worn tome of his own creation. He'd not put anything new in it for years, and the spell he needed he knew better than his own hand. He had learned the hard way that it was always a good idea to have it close by just in case.

He flicked the book to the relevant page and absently fished a smoke out of his pocket. He'd get moaned at for smoking down here but he could pass it off as essential to the ritual. He pulled four candles out of the other pocket and placed them around the body. He lit them from the tip of his finger. Now that was a trick worth using. Once the candles were lit, he stood at the feet of the body and took a long drag of the smoke. The relaxing rush flooded his body, making his arms heavy. His headache evaporated as he let the smoke out his lungs. "Right then Mrs Stiff, let's see what you have to say for yourself!"

He pinched out the smoke and put it back in his pocket. Rubbing ash from his fingers, he closed his eyes and uttered the first syllable that would bring the woman's spirit back from where it had fled. The guttural, sibilant sounds flowed without thought. The room temperature dropped a couple of degrees, darkening with each utterance of sound.

Havok uttered the last word and opened his eyes. Nothing happened. He glanced at the candles, all were still lit. He drew a breath and let it out slowly. Patience.

The body drew in a deep breath, rattling and guttural. False life was not the same as living. The cadaver jerked upright and looked around, the movements janky and unnatural. "It's not permanent," Havok said. He had given up on zombie minions several years ago after the incident.

The woman's gaze turned to him and focused. "What happened?"

"You're dead." Havok said.

"I can't be dead!"

The necromancer pulled the smoke back out of his pocket, lit it on a candle and shrugged, "I'd not be needed if you were living, nor would you be on a slab in the morgue." He gave her a moment to let that get through her death addled brain. He hated those in denial, it made his job so much more difficult. His bedside manner was not improved by the headache he still had. He blew out smoke before continuing. "Now that we have that established. I got a few questions for you."

The woman tilted her head. When she didn't speak, Havok went ahead.

"Who were you?"

"Mary Sadler."

"Where did you live."

"I was..." The woman paused and rubbed at her jaw. "I lived in Karana, I was in Morgrim on business. I was supposed to meet the man in charge of Whitcomb brewery. I am a grain merchant."

"Were a grain merchant." Havok reminded. He grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down the name of the brewery. "What happened?" When she did not answer, Havok sighed, "What is the last thing that happened to you?"

Again, she paused. Damn the dead and their inability to focus on what had happened in life. It made this so much more difficult.

"You're not going to leave me in here are you?" she hissed.

"I am until you answer my questions, then you can go where you like."

"You swear!"

"All the time," he shrugged. "But in this case, yes. I won't keep you in this body longer than I need to."

Another pause. "I remember walking to meet Whitcomb. I don't remember the street name but it had a bar and a hairdresser opposite. I was looking at the bar when everything went black. Someone shoved a bag over my head and pulled me into a side street. They put some foul smelling cloth over my face and I don't remember anything else," Mary said.

Havok nodded. He also gave her a bit longer, in case she wanted to say anything else. She didn't. "You remember nothing of your attackers? Did they say anything at all?"

"It all happened so quickly. I remember a floral scent and rough hands. Who will look after my daughter now?"

It was not a lot to go on, but Havok knew there was not much more he could get from this spirit. Her mind was fading fast. The dead had concerns that had little to do with the living, relevant information became irrelevant when one died. It made them difficult to talk to at the best of times.

"Let me go," the spirit said. A cold wind breezed through the morgue, threatening the candles. It was almost time.

"Do you remember anything else? We are looking to find the people who killed you and why, anything you can remember at all might help." Havok took another drag of the smoke before exhaling, waiting for the answer.

"It was a soft sack, silken. Let me go!" There was more demand in the voice now, the tone deepening.

"Alright, alright," Havok said with a wave of his hand. "Don't get in a twist about it, it's your death not mine." He blew out the candle in front of him, not bothering to thank the cadaver for its apparent help. The moment the candle blew out, the body slumped. The temperature returned to normal and the light brightened. He extinguished the rest of the flames and stubbed out the last of the smoke too. The corpse had not been all that helpful, but he had written down a couple of details that might prove useful. He had no idea how, but then again, he wasn't the detective! Thinking of which, he should probably go and find her and give her the piece of paper before she had an aneurism of some sort, or worse.