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

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

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Dak'kon and Grace nodded respectfully <strong>be</strong>fore we left.<br />

Going out in<strong>to</strong> Inner Curst during the day was like pulling the burlap sack <strong>of</strong>f<br />

the head <strong>of</strong> a Hive-born hooker: all the scars and warts and flavors <strong>of</strong> ugly<br />

are there <strong>to</strong> <strong>be</strong>hold, with a shock that would've given you second thoughts.<br />

Worse really, <strong>be</strong><strong>cause</strong> when it came <strong>to</strong> Curst I couldn't exactly dim the lights<br />

<strong>to</strong> get through the ordeal.<br />

A ramshackle guillotine had <strong>be</strong>en proudly set up at the <strong>to</strong>wn square, blade<br />

and basket stained with smears <strong>of</strong> scarlet. There was a rankness in the air<br />

about it <strong>be</strong>tween the coppery tang <strong>of</strong> fresh blood and the scabby must <strong>of</strong><br />

old, and flies were fattening themselves on the callous justice <strong>of</strong> the people.<br />

The Gate <strong>to</strong> Carceri squatted in the middle <strong>of</strong> the ward like a great<br />

four-legged insect, black razorvine twined around its s<strong>to</strong>ne arches. Each one<br />

was fes<strong>to</strong>oned with various skulls along its length, some spiny, others<br />

horned, none <strong>of</strong> them human. They moaned quietly through their<br />

eyesockets in the breeze.<br />

In one alley, a ring <strong>of</strong> civilians pared away the hours by forming a circle<br />

around a pair <strong>of</strong> trichas that snapped at each other with vicious <strong>be</strong>aks and<br />

clawed with feet bound with plaits <strong>of</strong> bar<strong>be</strong>d wire. In the corner a pair <strong>of</strong><br />

bleeding tricha corpses lay, necks slashed open and heads laying at odd<br />

angles. More flies danced over their filmed-over eyes and entered and<br />

exited their gaping <strong>be</strong>aks, ghostly silent against the background <strong>of</strong> cheers<br />

and gamblers placing <strong>be</strong>ts. In the evening the dead would <strong>be</strong> gutted and<br />

carved for their meat.<br />

Then there was Wernet.<br />

He was burly, with a <strong>be</strong>stial strength <strong>to</strong> him like that <strong>of</strong> a rabid <strong>be</strong>ar. His face<br />

was scarred and creased with countless tales <strong>of</strong> violence, and his voice came<br />

like gravel scraping over a sea<strong>be</strong>d. "Wha' d'ya want, <strong>be</strong>rk?"<br />

"I've come <strong>to</strong> talk <strong>to</strong> you about Kyse, the dump caretaker."<br />

"Aww, has the poor li'l man heard we was coming for his money?" He<br />

scratched himself. "You go back and tell him he's givin' it up or he's a dead<br />

man. Go on, now."<br />

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