After a moment: “No, one trip is all we can afford, and no, I haven’t checked.”
Rinmor lay dead on his back, eyes wide as his mouth. Werlyle tossed Morlia about like a sailor emptying his duffle. The gown ripped, her red hair an unkempt mess dripping cold soup, her face placid, like a doll’s. When he lifted her upside down, her head hit the floor stones. The sharp, crisp smack made my belly turn.
“Arhh,” Werlyle roared, “they got to be here!”
“You’re right,” flapping in exasperation, “there’s no other place they could be. Wait—some hiding place outside her door?” That corridor was so thin only one of us could check the tile or trim at a time, and I knew who should lead the file.
“Fuck!” Werlyle dropped Morlia like she had bit him. “I didn’t come for books.”
“Me either, friend. Let us at least concentrate on said books and decorations for the time being. Maybe our minds will re-stir. I have often found that—”
“What’s next?”
Small crates of wine, along with dozens of Black Monk, Spiritual Oppressor, and Bleeding Anna fit snuggly in the wagon that was starting to creak from the weight.
A hellish moan came up from somewhere behind us.
Werlyle screamed and flapped, pelting me with congealed blood and dropping a crate of Grest.
“I don’t know,” I said to Werlyle as if he’d asked me what made such an awful noise. And I didn’t know, not completely. But I wasn’t in complete denial either. The final result of my grim induction was that something stirred, and had stirred a long time, amid the tombstones. There wasn’t even the luxury for conjecture; this time the noise continued.
Many may condescend from their comfortable parlors the actions we then took. No bother, there is no way to make rational what was occurring, nor make rational our response. Without a word, we walked side by side. We walked toward the noise. I unsheathed my dagger as Werlyle wiggled the bloody sword out from his belt. I knew the source far faster than my mind would officially admit. Our walk toward what was now a series of grunts and thuds ended at the foot of Rinlot’s sarcophagus.
The wind had picked up to a near approaching storm. Thunder rolled in the distance. Lightning lit up the west. Maybe the weather was trying to mask our discovery. For the faintest of moments, I thought I saw a pale face between two obelisks, but before my eyes could strain further, Werlyle pulled me away.
“Snier, this is Ordrid work.”
“Maybe, maybe—but maybe some animal burrowed in from the bottom,” I said, trying to believe it.
“I have to open it.”
“What!? Whatever’s in there is better left in there. Remember why we’re here. Grave robbing is not an interest, or important.” My free hand clasped the keys in my pocket.