With a sigh, he rolled the parchment up and tied it with coarse thread. He reached over the bandaged corpse and tucked the deathscroll firmly in its crossed hands. His sigh was echoed by Asper as they glanced at the pile of scrolls on the bench next to him. With solemn shakes of the head, they plucked them up and walked about the tables, delivering the deathscrolls to their silent owners.
She hesitated as the last one was deposited in stiff, swaddled arms. Dreadaeleon’s listless shuffling echoed in the mess.
‘Dread.’ The shuffling stopped. ‘Thank you for helping me.’
‘It’s not an issue.’ He took another step before pausing again. ‘I suppose I was duty-bound, being one of the few literate aboard.’
She smiled at that. ‘I just. . hope you don’t begrudge me anything after what I said to you earlier.’
‘I said things just as bad,’ he replied. ‘We all do. It’s not that big a deal.’
She felt him look towards her with familiar eyes: big, dark and glistening like a puppy’s. It would have felt reassuring to see him look at her that way, she reasoned, in any other situation. Amongst the library of bandages and scrolls, however, she resisted the urge to return the gesture and waited until she heard the shuffling of his feet once more.
‘So, what was it?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Pardon?’
‘The creature,’ he said, ‘that thing. Was it some unholy demon sent from hell? Or an agent of a wrathful god? What?’
‘What makes you think I know?’ She scowled at him. ‘Is there nothing in any of your books that explains it?’
‘I have only one book,’ he replied, patting the heavy leather-bound object hanging from his waist, ‘and it’s filled with other things.’ He tucked a scroll into the arms of another corpse. ‘Nobody knows what that thing was.’ He looked up at her suddenly. ‘But the Lord Emissary seems to have a better idea than anyone else.’
‘What are you insinuating?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing as she drew herself up. ‘Lord Miron would never consort with such abominations.’
‘Of course not,’ Dreadaeleon said, shaking his head. ‘I’m just curious as to what that creature was.’ He sighed quizzically. ‘It’s certainly not something I’ve ever seen in any bestiary.’
‘You’re as likely to have an answer as I am,’ Asper replied with a shrug. ‘I’ve never heard of anything that can drown a man on dry land, have you?’
‘There are spells that can do such things. But if it had been using magic, I would have known.’ He paused and thought for a moment. ‘I wish that ooze hadn’t dried off Moscoff-’
‘Mossud.’
‘I wish it hadn’t dried off his face so easily. I could have studied it.’
The priestess chuckled dryly and he turned to her, raising an eyebrow.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I shouldn’t be laughing, I know. But. . you’re the only man I know who would face something so horrible and wish he could have been closer to it.’ She stifled further inappropriate laughter. ‘Denaos has sent no word yet?’
‘No,’ the wizard replied, shaking his head. ‘The captain and he have been down there for hours.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows what they’re doing to Rashodd?’
‘I’m not certain I want to know,’ Asper replied, frowning. She cast a glance to the companionway leading to the hold below and shuddered.
‘And what do you intend to do about him?’ Dreadaeleon asked, pointing to the far side of the mess hall.
Asper cringed; she had purposely avoided glancing at that particular section. Swallowing her anxiety, she turned and glanced at the cold, limp corpse of the frogman lying on the table under a sheet, eyes wide open and glazed over as they stared up at the ceiling. She hadn’t even ventured near enough to close his eyes, she realised, cursing herself for such disrespect. Still, it was difficult for her even to glance at the corpse. Without the rush of combat, the man’s appearance unnerved her greatly.
Anxiety was not a word that Dreadaeleon recognised, however, and she gasped as she saw the wizard take a seat next to the corpse and poke it curiously.
‘Dread!’ she cried out, hurrying over. She skidded to a halt about halfway, cringing, but forced herself to come alongside the boy. ‘Foe or not, have some respect for the dead!’
‘Look at this,’ the wizard said, ignoring her. He held up the corpse’s limp arm and she cringed again. He held the arm a little closer to the light and pointed to the skin. ‘His skin is still wet and he’s been down here for hours and. . my, my, what’s this?’
He didn’t have to point it out to her, for Asper saw it as clearly as he did. The boy gently pulled the man’s fingers apart, stretching the flaps of skin between the digits.
‘Webbed hands,’ he said, examining the digits. He dropped the hand and spun in his seat, lifting up the man’s leg. ‘Look here. . he has them between his toes as well.’
‘Fascinating,’ Asper replied. ‘Do you really have to do this now?’
‘And if he has webbed appendages. .’ Dreadaeleon trailed off as he inched closer to the frogman’s head.
Asper reeled back, cringing as he lifted the corpse’s head and pulled back his ear. She nearly retched when she saw the thin red slits hidden behind the earlobe.
‘Interesting,’ Dreadaeleon remarked, sharing none of her disgust. ‘He has. . gills.’
‘So. . he really is a frogman?’
‘It’d be more accurate to call him a fishman, I think.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Asper replied, intentionally avoiding looking at the mutated man. ‘It’s. . good that the captain didn’t order him tossed overboard. Otherwise you might never have found this out.’
‘Why does Argaol want him, anyway?’ Dreadaeleon asked, examining the webbed toes again. ‘Weren’t the others tossed overboard after they were executed?’
‘I suppose he believes the frogmen have some connection to the creatu-’
Asper stopped short, staring in abject horror as Dreadaeleon dropped the man’s leg and began to pull the sheet covering him down. Able to stand no more, she stamped her foot and reached for his hands.
‘Even if he is a loathsome creature, I won’t let you desecrate him like-’
‘Do you have any tattoos under your shirt?’ he interrupted.
‘What?’ Asper asked, pulling back with a shocked expression on her face.
‘You know, like on your belly or chest?’
‘I most certainly do not!’
‘Really?’ Dreadaeleon asked. With one swift jerk, he pulled the sheet from the corpse. Asper reeled back at the sight as Dreadaeleon leaned forwards to get a closer look. ‘Our friend here has an interesting one. .’
Emblazoned on the man’s chest in ink the colour of fresh blood was a symbol of a pair of skeletal shark jaws, gaping wide and lined with hundreds of sharp teeth. The other frogmen had worn the symbol on their biceps, she recalled. Did they all have them on their chests, too?
‘What. . do you think they mean?’ At his curious glance, she cleared her throat and continued. ‘In your opinion, that is?’
‘I’m at a loss. Symbols are really more the dominion of priests, aren’t they?’
‘Well, maybe I-’ She hesitated, suddenly aware of the edge in his voice.
Or rather, she noted, the lack of an edge. He’s doing it again, trying to appear nonchalant and enquiring while secretly smugging it up in his own head. She felt a familiar ire creep behind her eyes, her hand clench involuntarily. Not this time, runt.
‘What do you mean by that?’ she finished tersely.
‘I. . didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘You leapt straight to linking those symbols to some manner of priesthood. Religious orders are hardly the only organisations to use sigils, you know. What about thieves? Assassins? Merchants? Argaol himself carries his own sigil.’
‘Not tattooed on his flesh.’ He held up his hands before she could retort. ‘Listen, I’ve neither the time nor inclination for a debate right this moment. I’m simply posing theories regarding a mystery that no one else seems to be thinking about besides you and me.’