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

Chapter 13
Odd how simply dressing up and acting like something else can give you
such a unique perspective on things. I shuffled, let my limbs flop about, and
wavered back and forth like one of the walking dead. There was a certain
monotony to it, dull yet peaceful, even as Morte whizzed past and clicked
his tongue in annoyance.
“Come on, chief. You’re slower than molasses at a Frost Fair.”
At the pace I was going, the stitches were already tugging at my skin and
threatening to break. Shuffle, walk. Shuffle, walk.
Yu wunt out, go tuh arch on firzzt fluur, nurthwezzt ruum... Yuh need
fungur-bone, shape of crook... the anarchist had said. Finger-bone in the
shape of a crook. Got it. An idle hand on one of the stiffening corpses’ digits,
a little tug, a snap, and there was my key.
Morte was right. Of the guests that milled about all of them were in the
finest of clothes. Blue and red silks lit up the Mortuary as far as the eye can
see, with splashes of green here and there. The Dustmen’s eyes must’ve
ached terribly after being so used to the dull grays and browns.
I ambled past, circling about them and headed to the northern chambers.
Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step.
Morte floated next to the arches. His jaw widened in an exaggerated yawn,
showing me how annoyed and bored he was. I really have got to meet other
people.
I pondered silently for a few moments, wondering how this was supposed to
work. Ingress had implied that all I needed to do was carry the key with me,
but I took the fingerbone in hand anyway, holding it up to the arch. The
embalming fluid was drying. The stiches began to tug at my flesh a little
harder.
I shuffled a little more quickly to the next arch, and a soft susurration
emanated from the hollow space in the wall. The space there twisted with a
low roar of wind, warping into a spiral of blue and violet to reveal a dark,
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