Casket of Souls

Dodging nimbly between shacks at random, they quickly left their pursuers behind.
    “Bilairy’s Balls!” Alec gasped as they took cover in a deserted shanty and collapsed side by side against a wall, panting. Looking Seregil over, he let out a short laugh. “You’re a mess.”
    Indeed he was, covered in mud and blood, and Alec wasn’t much better. Seregil wiped his hands on his muddy jerkin in a futile effort to clean off the worst of it. Alec had managed to avoid the mud, but his left shoulder was covered in blood. Blood that was running down to stain the arm of his filthy tunic. Too much of it.
    Seregil pulled the oilskin cloak away from Alec’s shoulder and found the sleeve of his tunic cut open just below the seam, along with the flesh underneath. It was a shallow cut, fortunately, but it was still bleeding.
    “It’s just a scratch, Seregil.”
    “A bleeding scratch. Come on.”
    The cleanest thing they had for a bandage was the scarf holding down Seregil’s hat. Somehow that had stayed free of mud. Seregil wrapped it tightly around Alec’s arm and tied it. “That takes care of that, but you’re still a bloody mess.”
    “I’m fine,” Alec insisted, standing up. “As long as I keep my cloak on, no one will see. You, on the other hand—”
    “Look like I live here now.” Seregil ripped a piece from the tail of his shirt to try to wipe away the worst of it.
    They hunted a few hours more, but had no luck. As shadows began to lengthen across the slum they made their way back to the gate and headed for the Stag and Otter.
    Ema and Tomin were in the steamy kitchen, helping the girls get the evening meal ready.
    “I just scrubbed that floor!” Ema complained as they came in, dripping rain and mud.
    “Sorry.” Seregil untied his cloak and tossed it onto the woodpile by the door.
    “What happened to—” Tomin broke off, knowing better than to ask any questions. “Do you want the tub filled?”
    “The sooner, the better!” Seregil exclaimed wearily, pulling off his sodden, cracked old shoes. “Alec, you stay here and have Tomin look at your arm. I’ll go fetch some clothes.”
    Alec’s wound didn’t need stitching, so Tomin cleaned and dressed it with stinging horse salve and wrapped it in clean linen.
    Leaving their filthy clothing for Ema to deal with, they washed and went up to their rooms. It was early dark and raining hard again, but the air was still too muggy for a fire. Everything in the room felt damp.
    “I’d say it’s pretty clear that the raven people have something to do with the sickness,” said Alec, sitting down in his accustomed chair by the empty hearth to comb the knots from his wet hair.
    “Yes, I think we can assume that.” Seregil stretched out on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Ruetha appeared from under the sofa and curled up between his bare feet, purring as she began to wash. “How they’re causing it is the nextquestion, and why? It’s not like they’re gaining anything of value for their trades, except to hurt someone else.”
    “But the hair? Whoever these raven folk are, they could be using some sort of necromancy on whatever they’ve traded.”
    Seregil raised an eyebrow as he considered this. “Or something like it. It’s interesting, this trading. What does that suggest to you?”
    “That something stolen won’t work? That it has to be freely given?”
    “Exactly. And the fact that the old woman could get close enough to those slum children to trade with them when we couldn’t means that she and whatever other folk of her tribe there are around aren’t seen as threats or outsiders by those they trade with. Our little friend who led us into the ambush pegged us as outsiders, and knew better than to get within arm’s reach of two strange men.”
    “But an old woman would seem safe enough. We have to go back! Myrhichia—”
    “I know, talí, but there’s nothing more we can do tonight. We’ll start again early tomorrow. And this time as something more harmless in appearance. We need to get our hands on some of those traded items.”
    “We can’t just—just
relax
!” Alec exclaimed. “There must be something we can do tonight. A week at the most. That’s what that drysian woman down below said.”
    Seregil sighed and sat up. “Hand me my boots.”
    It was not late when they arrived at the Orëska, but they found Thero in his dressing gown.
    The wizard frowned as he let them in. “How is it you always know when I’m about