"ME?" Haught scowled. "But ..."

"You," Ischade ordered firmly. "Now."

Haught started to reply angrily, then apparently thought better of it and slammed out the door into the night without another word.

"Now then. Officer," Ischade purred, focusing hooded eyes on Zalbar. "While we wait, perhaps you can tell me what you think of the Beysib-Nisibisi Alliance."

In the next hour, while anxiously awaiting Haught's return, Zalbar became firmly convinced that Ischade was insane. The silly woman seemed to have some idea that the arrival of the Beysib in Sanctuary was somehow part of a Nisi plot ... this opinion apparently based on the observation that both cultures were snake-cults. Zalbar's efforts to point out that the Beysib used small vipers, while military reports indicated that the Nisibisi were into man-sized constrictors, fell on deaf ears. If anything, his arguments seemed to reinforce Ischade's conviction that she was the only one who could see the true ramifications of what was happening in Sanctuary.

He assumed her mental imbalance was the result of her profession. If she was indeed a necromancer, constant involvement with death and corpses was bound to be unsettling to the mind. After all, look at the effect that dealing with one dead person was having on him!

As much as he dreaded viewing his friend's remains, Zalbar's conversation with Ischade was so unsettling that he was actually relieved when a footstep sounded outside and Haught appeared once more in the doorway.

"I had to steal a wheelbarrow," the necromancer's assistant said in a manner that was almost an accusation. "There were two corpses in the grave."

"Two?" Zalbar scowled, but he was talking to thin air.

Haught reappeared in a moment carrying the first moldering body, which he dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and turned to fetch the second one.

Ischade bent over their prize, beckoning Zalbar to move closer.

"Is this your friend?"

Zalbar was still shaking his head. "I don't understand it," he said. "How could there be two bodies in the same grave?"

"It's not uncommon," Ischade shrugged. "Gravedig-gers get paid by the body, and if you don't watch them, they'll dump two or more bodies into the same grave rather than going through the trouble of digging several ... especially if there are two graveyards involved and they don't want to have to drag the second corpse across town. Your friend was probably buried with someone else who died about the same time. The question is, was this him?"

The corpse was almost beyond recognition. What skin and flesh was left was dried and mummified; bone showed in many places. There was a gaping hole in the abdomen, and the internal organs were not in evidence.

"N ... No," Zalbar said carefully. "I'm sure this is someone else ... maybe Kurd."

"Who?"

"Kurd. He was a butcher ... a medical researcher he called himself, but he performed his experiments on the bodies of living slaves. He died the same day as Razkuli, disemboweled by ... a dissatisfied customer. I saw his body at the charnel house when I went there to identify my friend. They were the only two there at the time, so if you're right about the gravediggers' negligence, it stands to reason that his would be the second body."

He was babbling now, trying to avoid examining the corpse more closely.

"Interesting," Ischade murmured. "I could use a repairman. But you're sure it isn't your friend?"

"Positive. For one thing, Razkuli was ..."

"Here's the other," Haught announced from the doorway. "Now if you don't mind, I think I'll retire for the night. A little of this type of assisting goes a long way."

"That's him!" Zalbar said pointing at the new corpse.

"I think I see the problem," Ischade sighed. "You could have saved us all a lot of trouble if you had been more specific. Why didn't you tell me he had been beheaded?"

Sure enough, the corpse which Haught had propped against the wall noticeably lacked its hatrack.

"I didn't think it was important. Is it?"

"Certainly. One thing that will always hold a spirit in limbo is if its physical body has been dismembered ... particularly if an important piece, like its head, has been denied a burial."

"What? You mean his head hasn't been buried?"

"Apparently not. As I said earlier, gravediggers are notoriously lazy, so I doubt they would dig a separate hole just for the head. No, my guess is that that portion of your friend's body has somehow gone astray. The reason the spirit hasn't been able to instruct you in more detail is because it can't tell which part is missing, much less where it is."

She turned to Zalbar with a smile. "This will be simpler than I thought. Bring me the head of Razkuli, and I can put his spirit to rest for you. Do you have any idea where it might be after all this time?"

"No," the Hell-Hound said grimly, "but I know someone who might. Don't bother going back to sleep. If I'm right, this won't take long at all,"

Innos, one of several grooms who watched over the military barracks and stables, awoke from a sound sleep to find lights ablaze and a swordpoint at his throat.

"Think back, Innos!"

It was Zalbar. Innos had watched his degeneration into a brothel barfly with no interest other than that there would be one less bunk for him to police. Now, however, the Hell-Hound's eyes were blazing with a savagery that spoke of old times. Innos looked into those eyes and decided that he would not lie, whatever question was asked ... just as the street watcher had decided not to laugh at the Hell-Hound when he stalked back from Ischade's.

"Bu ... but Zalbar! I have done nothing!"

"Think back!" Zalbar commanded again. "Think back several years. I was coming out of an audience with the Prince ... so upset I was nearly out of my mind. I handed you something and told you to dispose of it properly. Remember?"

Innos did, and his blood ran icy.

"Y ... Yes. It was the head of your friend Razkuli."

"Where is it?"

"Why, I buried it, of course. Just as you ordered."

The swordpoint pressed forward, and a small trickle of blood made its way down Innos's throat.

"Don't lie to me! I know it hasn't been buried."

"But ... if you knew ..."

"I just found out tonight. Now where is it?"

"Please don't kill me! I've never ..."

"Where!? It's important, man."

"I sold it ... to the House of Whips and Chains. They use skulls in their decor."

Innos was flung back, and he closed his eyes as Zalbar raised his sword to strike.

After a frozen moment, he risked a peek, and saw the Hell-Hound standing with the sword hanging loose at his side.

"No. I can't kill you, Innos," he said softly. "I could expect little better from anyone else in this town. If anything, the fault is mine. I should have seen to the head myself."

He fixed Innos with a stare, and the groom saw that he was smiling.

"Still," he continued in a friendly tone, "I'd suggest you pack your things and leave town ... tonight. I may not be so understanding the next time I see you."

Zalbar did not even bother to knock, but simply pushed his way through the door of the House of Whips and Chains. It was his first visit to this particular brothel which catered to tastes bizarre even for Sanctuary, but his anger outweighed his curiosity. When the madame rushed wide-eyed, to confront him, he was brief and to the point.

"You have a skull here as part of your decorations. I want it."

"But Officer, we never sell our decorations. They're too difficult to replace ..."