“Don’t be a baby,” he responded to himself. “It’s not a doctor, but a mortician is going to be able to stitch you up better than you can yourself. Get in there.”
Reluctantly, he obeyed his own promptings. There was an empty reception desk and little else but a stairway that led down into the plateau, so Michel followed it down, thankful for the gas lamps that lit every landing. The air grew cool, and he soon picked up the butcher-like smell of corpses and the harsh, chemical scent of embalming fluid. The staircase finally ended, leaving him in a long, wide hallway cut into the rock. Open doors led off either side of the hall, and as he passed them, he saw dozens of bodies in various states of undress and of obviously diverse deaths laid out on marble slabs.
He had yet to spot anyone living, when he heard the gentle sound of humming coming from the final doorway on the left.
Michel approached the open door and took a moment to examine the man standing inside. He was an albino, tall and slim with a receding hairline in a shock of fine white hair. He stood straight, chin lifted, peering down his nose through a pair of green-tinted glasses at a body laid out in front of him. As Michel watched, the albino painted black dotted lines on the corpse with a tiny brush, stopping occasionally to examine his work and rub out one of the lines with his thumb before correcting it.
Michel cleared his throat.
The albino looked up at him, blinking in surprise behind those green-tinted glasses. “Ah, hello? I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. If you’re dropping off, we’re almost out of space, but you can put up to three more bodies in room seven.”
“I’m not dropping off,” Michel responded. “I’m looking for someone.”
“I see.” The albino spoke in clean, crisp Adran, and Michel immediately pegged him as well studied. It was the accent of someone with the best education. “I am the only one here, unfortunately. Unless you’re looking for me, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to go. The morgue is not open to the public.”
“Are you Emerald?”
The albino examined Michel for a moment before making a gentle hmm sound and setting down his paintbrush. He tapped his green-tinted glasses. “Emerald is a nickname. My real name is Kevi Karivenrian, and I am the chief mortician at the Landfall City Morgue.”
“Right. You’re the one I’m looking for.” Michel took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve to reveal blood-soaked bandages. “If it’s not too much trouble, I need you to stitch this up for me.”
Emerald looked taken aback. “You want a doctor, sir. I think someone has sent you to me as a joke.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, who gave you that name? Emerald? Only my friends know me by that.”
“Look, I don’t know you, but we have a mutual friend. His name is Taniel.”
Emerald made that hmm sound again. “I see. And you are?”
“Michel Bravis, at your service. Or rather, I’m hoping you’ll be at mine.” Michel indicated his wounded arm with a hopefully charming smile.
“Do you have a password?”
“ ‘Touch the noontime bells,’” Michel responded. It was the last password he’d used with any of Taniel’s people. He hoped it was current.
“ ‘And listen to them ring,’” Emerald finished. “Well, then, Michel Bravis, give me your arm.” He took Michel gently by the shoulder and led him to a workbench in the corner, where he quickly began to unwrap Michel’s bandages. “I was told you’d only contact me in the event of an emergency,” he spoke as he worked, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. “Taniel left town just five days ago. Has it all gone wrong so quickly?”
Michel considered how to answer. Taniel had expressed complete trust in his contacts, but he hadn’t actually told Michel how much information they knew. Emerald knew both Taniel and Michel’s real names, so that was a start. “It hasn’t gone … well.”
“I would say it hasn’t.” Emerald finished unwrapping the arm and turned it one way, then the other, to examine the three cuts. “I have seen rheumatic blind men make tighter stitches than these.”
“Thanks,” Michel said flatly. “Can you fix them?”
“I have doctorates from four different medical colleges. If I can’t do a better job than this, I should kill myself now.” He rummaged through his workbench before coming up with a needle and thread. Without warning, he began to pick out Michel’s stitches.
“Ow.”
“Oh, yes. This will sting a little. Tell me, Michel, does Taniel know that the Blackhats have turned on you? Or was that after he left?” Michel tried to pull his arm away, but Emerald snatched him by the bicep with his free hand. “Hold still, please.”
Michel swore under his breath. “How much do you know?”
“You don’t know whether to trust me,” Emerald stated. He finished pulling the stitches from one cut and began to redo them, working quickly and precisely.
“That’s about the size of it.”
“I know a lot,” Emerald said. “I have been friends with Taniel and Ka-poel for about eight years now. Ka-poel uses my spare mortuary rooms to practice her blood magic. I know about the Red Hand and your infiltration of the Blackhats—though he only filled me in on that last week. I do not know why you are still in the city, and I will not ask.”
Michel didn’t know how to respond. He winced as Emerald tightened a stitch. “Well. That’s … a lot more than I expected.”
“I am Taniel’s eyes and ears within Landfall.”
“You’re a spy.”
“Indeed I am.”
Michel processed this information. He had expected to be sent to “a guy who knows a guy,” not directly to Taniel’s spymaster. He realized immediately how dangerous it was for them to meet directly like this and why Taniel had instructed to only meet his contacts in an emergency. If either Michel or Emerald were caught and tortured, they could reveal the whereabouts of the other. “He didn’t tell me,” Michel said quietly.
“He wouldn’t have.”
“You were the only contact on his list that he said could be trusted implicitly.”
Emerald paused his stitching and rested his elbows on the workbench before looking at Michel over his glasses and letting out a soft sigh. “I apologize for being cold. You’re not a stupid man, so I’m guessing you’ve already realized the risks you took coming here.”
“I have.”
“But since my job is to know things, I am well aware of your break with the Blackhats.”
Michel hesitated. Every bit of information that Emerald shared could be a weapon against either of them. “You have eyes in the Blackhats?”
“I do.”
“I’m not sure myself how bad it is,” Michel admitted. “My companion—Hendres—followed me to my meeting with Taniel. Then the Dynize found our safe house, and she assumed that I’m working for both the Red Hand and the Dynize.”
“Sloppy.”
“I know.”
“No, I meant these stitches.” Emerald paused. “But yes, allowing her to follow you was sloppy as well. I know this: There is a Gold Rose remaining in the city.”
“Taniel told me.”
Emerald went on as if he’d not been interrupted. “I’m not sure which Gold Rose was left behind, but they are attempting to re-form the Blackhats as a spy network to funnel information back to Lindet. Hendres has made contact with them. Most of the Blackhats are now on the alert, and know to look out for you.”
“Shit.” There went Michel’s possibility of creating a schism within the Blackhats. He couldn’t risk using their caches or safe houses now, either. One chance meeting could get him killed—or worse, captured. “Do I have any chance of getting back in with them?”