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

I caught on quick, and began running my hands along the frame, "The bed.
It's not a matter of comfort..."
"Habits often hide an agenda... one must know how to sift these patterns
from chaos," Dak'kon intoned.
Upon closer inspection, the bed frame was constructed from one of those
strange substances you only find in Sigil. It wasn't cold to the touch, yet the
clang of knocking against it was hollow. The rippled pattern gave the illusion
of a wooden surface- likely the product of spiral methods of annealing two
metals. I ran a dagger along the crevices, careful not to scratch the surface
too badly as I explored.
Wedging it in one spot I nudged the blade a little. The panel creaked. A little
more force and it popped free, revealing a hidden compartment and a book.
I skimmed through it. The scribbles were messy from the outset, and in
spots here and there the ink was blurry, as if tears had been shed during its
writing. While much of the journal was illegible, there were enough details
for me to piece together a little of what happened, and of what Soego really
was.
"Chief! He's coming back!"
Immediately I placed the journal back, and clicked the panel back into place
gently, silently, and picking up a Dustman book I scurried to one corner and
pretended to read. Ugh. A Discourse on The Four Stages of Necrosis.
Soego was frowning when he returned, "It seems that the skeleton requires
more time to think."
I nodded, "I hope you didn't mind I borrowed one of your books. It gets
terribly dull here."
He shook his head, "Not at all. I've been here a few weeks myself. I find this
solitude to be peaceful, but I can understand the sentiment."
I handed the book to him, "Well, if you need me I'll be talking to Hargrimm.
Perhaps I can convince him to release me."
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