Serving Lant Agriche

Chapter 6 - The New Baphomet

They were in one of the Agriche laboratories. The stone-cobbled walls were wet and stank of mildew. The chamber was really one of the larger rooms in the dungeons that had been converted into a surgical operating room.

Dion stood next to Lant Agriche and stared at Wally's body on a gurney. He had thought the mortician would be called for to preserve the corpse.

Lant Agriche had not called for the mortician. Instead, he had called for the physician and Griselda.

Dion had not met his older sister often, but was aware that Griselda was a prodigy in orthopaedic biomechanics.

In other words, she specialised in amputating human prisoners.

A boy a few years older than Dion was also present. He had canary-blond hair and a tic in his eye that made him look to be perpetually on edge. In the past forty hours, the guest named Noel had flitted around Wally's corpse, imbuing magic into the stomach and chest area by drawing invisible runes on the body. Repeatedly, he stopped midspell to shout a frenzied command at his assistants to get a utensil or necessary bobble. Lant Agriche and Dion had only arrived in the past hour because a servant had been sent to them with a message from Master Noel saying: THEY MUST COME. RIGHT NOW. NO MATTER WHAT! THANKS!

With some aplomb, Noel raised his voice to finish the last spell. He jabbed the dead man's chest with his finger and then slumped to the ground.

"Cherry, get me a glass of water," Noel said melodramatically. He managed to take the glass and slop half the water down his front before falling asleep. His unflattering posture on the dingy floor reminded Dion of a drunkard.

Noel's servant, nicknamed "Cherry," dragged his master's body by the armpits to a dark corner where the other nobles would not have to see him.

Griselda was still elbows deep inside the corpse, sewing the new hindquarters by connecting muscle tissue.

Wally's body used to be entirely human, but during the surgery, its lower body had been replaced with a goat's hindquarters and hooved feet. Its arms had been replaced with a Doberman's forelegs. Only the head and torso remained human.

The once-dead body was also breathing. After Noel had collapsed, the chest had begun to rise and fall of its accord.

"Nice doggy, doggy. No claws, please," Noel said dreamily. The half-full water glass slipped from his hand and clinked against the floor.

Griselda wiped her sweaty forehead with a bloodstained hand. When she looked up to her father and smiled, a wet, red streak was drying on her forehead.

"Father," Griselda said. "Since Noel is out, I request permission to provide Wally's status."

"Send it," Lant Agriche said.

"Noel really is the Gold Crest prodigy," Griselda clasped her hands together, enraptured by her new friend. It was easy to tell that she was developing a small crush. "With your advice, he attempted to drag the late Wallace's soul from the dead and implant it back in his physical body." Griselda pointed at Wally's chest where the crux of the hex laid. "It worked, partially. We're fairly sure at least a part of the soul was transferred back due to the violent reaction of soul merging with flesh, but the pull was not strong enough. Since the soul transfer had taken a great toll on the body, the limbs began decaying at a faster rate. I had to amputate all of them and replace it with whatever I had on hand. One day, I would like to utilise mechanical prosthetics—," Griselda shook her head. Now wasn't the time to go off on a tangent. "Anyway, we will have to see how mentally stable the patient will be after waking up. Undoubtedly, father, Wally is alive though."

"The children worked wonders," the white-haired physician looked at Griselda fondly. As Griselda's mentor, he had been supervising the experiment, but had not been hands-on the operation at all. "You have nothing to fear after you retire, My Lord. The next generation is quite proficient."

Lant Agriche looked at Wally's face coolly.

Dion did not know if his father had the power to awaken the dead, but it was unmistakable that when the eyes of Lant Agriche focused on the corpse's colourless face, the corpse's head began to stir.

Tears flowed from Wally's eyes as it gave a feral growl. It rocked himself off the gurney and landed on its dog paws and goat hind legs. Its lustrous, shoulder-length hair looked like thin, oily ropes. If it had horns, the new and improved Wally would have been the spitting image of Satan in Dion's old picture books.

Dion remembered that only a few days ago, this he-devil had laid dead at his feet.

 

I'm not that good at killing people, was Dion's first thought before the beast attacked him.