Free Brown River Queen by Frank Tuttle Page A

navel and then from shoulder to shoulder. The dead don’t bleed. Much.
    Stitches stood a pair of paces from us, her hood concealing her ruined face, her sleeves hiding her pale hands. She’s been standing there when Evis and I arrived, watching through the glass wall that separated us from the body. She hadn’t spoken or otherwise offered a greeting.  
    Evis hid his eyes behind dark glasses. The light in the autopsy room was noonday bright. None of the Avalante doctors were halfdead, and I wondered if that was because the blood would prove too tempting or the light was too intense.
    I looked away as they peeled back the corpse’s skin.  
    Evis frowned. The doctors on the other side of the glass wall pointed and peered and moved about, poking and prodding at the dead woman’s insides like schoolboys finding a cache of new marbles.
    “I’ll be damned,” said Evis.
    “That’s the consensus of modern religious thought.”
    Evis snorted. “That creature isn’t human. I’ll bet you two cigars.”
    “Why? What did you see?”
    “It’s what I didn’t see. But let’s hear what the good doctor has to say.”
    As Evis spoke, one of the white-coats headed for the door. Evis opened it for him and the doctor joined us.
    “That’s no woman,” he said. His hands were covered in blood. “No stomach. No intestines. No reproductive organs, no bladder, nothing. Doesn’t even have vocal cords.”
    Evis spoke first. “What does it have?”
    The doctor wiped his long nose, leaving it smeared with red. “Extra muscle. Solid bones, no marrow. Thought we’d never get the sternum cut. A third lung. And a lifespan of two days, maybe three, before it died of dehydration.” He shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever saw. You say it came at someone?”
    “Me. Nearly got me. Took a pair of Ogres to put her down.”
    He grunted. “Not surprised. We want to open the skull, see how much of a brain it had. You’re a lucky man. If I had to guess, I’d say that thing was created to go out and kill someone and then just sit there until it fell over dead a day later.”
    Evis crossed his arms over his chest. “Open the skull. Learn what you can. When you’re done, Stitches will take over. I want to know who made that thing and how they did it, and I want to know by tomorrow morning.”
    “I’ll do what I can.” The good doctor failed to exude confidence. He did wipe more blood on his nose before returning to his fellows and the still body on the slab.
    And behold, there is no new thing under the sun. No, not one.  
    “Nice to see you again too,” I said. “Is that scripture you’re quoting?”
    Stitches laughed softly in my head. Indeed, though it is not a scripture native to the church you know. Evis. The good doctor will discover nothing of value, other than what he has already divulged. Neither, I suspect, shall I.
    Evis frowned behind his glasses. “Your quote made me think you knew something already.”
    Indeed I do. That creature was once called a bentan in a tongue that predates the Kingdom. They are the product of a potent magic and they are indeed designed to kill and then quickly die. Stitches turned to face me, though her cowl kept her face concealed. You have attracted the malice of a powerful sorcerer, Markhat. Doubtless one of the Corpsemaster’s rivals.
    “Me? Why waste perfectly good malice on me? Hell, I never even knew the woman’s real name. I’ve got less political pull than Evis’s right boot. Why me?”
    The way her hood tilted, I got the impression Stitches was giving me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding stare.
    “Markhat. You walked with the huldra. More than once. Do you not remember?”
    I groaned and settled against the wall.
    The huldra. Just thinking the word had nightmarish memories flooding back. I remember holding the cursed thing, right after the Corpsemaster tricked Mama into giving it to me.  
    I remembered walking, guided by the huldra’s whispering. I remembered growing, towering