(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

I whistled, impressed. Morte quirked an eye, then waggled his tongue as if
anticipating what those tough, callused fingers could do.
Upon noticing me, the woman straightened up. She was smiling politely, but
from her stance and the way her hand rested close to the hilt of her
weapon, I could tell she was ready for trouble. She was built densely, and
one of her eyes has a milky film over it. "That's close enough there, cutter...
what do ye need from me?"
"Er, I'm sorry. I just noticed you ripping out those nails. That’s pretty
impressive."
She pulled three nails from her sling bag, tossing them spinning into the air
and catching them in her palm. "Aye. Iron Nalls, they call me." She dropped
them back into the bag with a muffled clink.
I looked over the boards, riddled with rough holes. The wood inside many of
them were still a pale yellow color, as if freshly revealed, "Why are you
collecting the nails?"
"I sell 'em to a man, name a' Hamrys, in the Lower Ward. Maker of coffins,
he is."
"Tell me more of this Hamrys."
"There's not much to say... he's a bit chatty -- he'll rattle his bone-box 'til
ye're barmy, if ye let him."
I glanced at Morte, "I think I know what you mean."
"That’s harsh, chief. "
She smiled, "Aye. He’s a fair bargainer, though. He needs the nails, I need
the jink, an' that's about as far is it goes."
"Where's the Lower Ward? I’ve been wandering around the Hive for a
couple of days and I’d like to explore a bit."
Iron Nalls pursed her lips, "Eh... I used to know the way, I did, but the dabus
have changed the streets 'round again. Don't know how to get there, now --
I'll need to chart a new path -- but I figure the dabus'll straighten things out
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