“An excellent question. The only thing I can think of right now is that the place is both a different plane and a different time, one that predates Third Orëska magic. In that time and place, my magic did not exist, but hers did and does.”

“But you’re not certain of that.”

“How can I be?”

Alec rubbed his forehead. “All this is giving me a headache.”

Thero sighed. “Me, too.”

Seregil and Micum waited until well after sundown, then changed into dark clothing and found a spade. The governor’s watchmen were not paid to question noble guests and gave them no more challenge than some curious stares after Micum asked them for directions to a good whorehouse.

There was a half-moon in the sky and it lit their way as they rode along the waterfront and out to the burial ground.

“I’ve never liked these places,” Micum said as they dismounted on the edge of it. “How do the souls get free if you don’t burn the bodies?”

Seregil shouldered the spade. “Apparently they do. Come on, our thief is over this way.”

“I just hope you’re right. This is my least favorite sort of work.”

At the grave they both tied vinegar-soaked cloths across their noses and mouth and Micum took charge of the spade and started digging. The sandy soil moved easily, and fortunately for them the sexton here didn’t bother to bury his charges very deep. A few feet down the stench of decay wafted up and grew stronger as Micum unearthed the shroud-wrapped body. Even the vinegar masks didn’t help much.

“There you go,” Micum grunted, climbing out of the grave. “He’s all yours from here.”

Seregil stepped gingerly down, careful not to tread on the putrid body. The handkerchief was definitely nowhere near enough under these circumstances, and he held his breath as he cut through the cheap muslin with a dagger and exposed the bloated belly of the corpse.

He stood up and caught a fresh breath. “You’d better stand back,” he warned.

Bending down again, he inserted the tip of the dagger just below the breastbone, keeping as far back as he could while doing so, and punctured the corpse. As expected, foul gases and matter shot up.

“Bilairy’s Balls, that’s vile!” Micum swore.

Seregil wasn’t about to open his mouth to agree and risk breathing in any more than he had to of the stench. As he’d hoped, however, the dead man’s belly slowly deflated as the fetid humors escaped.