Free 2012-07-Misery's Mirror by Unknown Page B

pallid gray complexion. Although he was not fat, the skin of his jowls hung around his chin in loose, sagging folds. He carried himself hunched inward, as if perpetually cringing away from the unseen blows of fate.
    Isiem disliked him instantly. But the shadowcaller kept his manner neutral as he replied: “We are grateful for your welcome.”
    “The Over-Diocesan invites you to pay your respects at the Cathedral,” the woman said.
    “We are honored to accept,” Ascaros said.
    “I’ll have your belongings brought up shortly,” the boat’s captain called behind them as his passengers departed. Neither the shadowcallers nor the Kuthite clerics acknowledged his words as they crossed the rain-slick pier. All knew the captain would have been badly beaten if he had failed to observe the proper courtesies. Impoliteness was not tolerated in Nidal, least of all impoliteness to one’s betters.
    It was a thought that loomed large in Isiem’s mind as they approached the Cathedral of Bone. A single steep, narrow staircase led to the cathedral, slicing through the immense stone steps that supported the macabre edifice.
    Small shrines flanked the stairs, each attended by one to three black-clad Kuthite dedicants and an equal number of petitioners offering themselves up for a show of piety in pain. The oldest of the shrines were built entirely of human bone; the newer and poorer ones still had animal bones woven into their walls.
    The suffering that took place within those shrines was voluntary—mostly—but the screams and whimpers echoed in Isiem’s ears as he walked past, keeping his gaze fixed on the church’s doors so he would not have to see. Iron pincers, liars’ masks, thumbscrews, salt knives, branding by frost and fire… and those were the tortures people chose to undergo. There were worse things in the dungeons under the Dusk Hall, and Isiem did not doubt that there were worse yet in the depths of the cathedral. The ascent was a pointed reminder of what a breach of etiquette could cost.
    It was not the Over-Diocesan who met them at the cathedral’s ornate bone doors, however, but a younger priestess wrapped in a clanking mantle of chains. Deep red scratches covered every inch of her skin except for her face, creating the impression of a flayed undead creature wearing a perfect porcelain mask.
    “You will be Ascaros of the Dusk Hall,” she said. “Your companion?”
    “Isiem, also of the Dusk Hall.” Ascaros inclined his head slightly over his folded hands. Beside him, Isiem did the same. “We thank you for your welcome, but we are eager to begin our work.”
    “Yes. Of course. The death of Misanthe.” The cleric raised her bald eyebrows. “A member of the Midnight Guard, was she not? Remind me, please: what is the Dusk Hall’s interest in that?”
    “She was a Midnight Guard,” Ascaros said. “But she was also one of our masters. Assignment to the Midnight Guard is temporary; membership in the Dusk Hall is not. She had finished her assignment in Cheliax and was on her way back to us when she died. And,” he added, as though it were an afterthought, “she was my aunt.”
    The priestess dismissed that bit of information with a grunt. “I suppose the Dusk Hall does have some stake in it, then. Very well. She died while clearing the Hovels. The vermin were fighting back this time, so we asked if she would assist our own efforts. She kindly agreed to assist us. Unfortunately, it seems the vermin had a nastier bite than she realized.”
    “My aunt was slain by… paupers?” Ascaros sounded strangled.
    “Calling them paupers would be kinder than they deserve. They are wretches. Human filth. They cling to our city like barnacles to a ship, and like barnacles, they must be scraped off.” The priestess shrugged. “In any case, you are welcome to go to the Hovels if you like, although no guard can be spared for you. You may also collect her belongings. They are being held in storage at the cathedral.