He wrapped her in blankets and propped her in a corner. The coachman had no trouble getting her into his vehicle. Any abuse she had suffered was not obvious. The rain had freshened the water, so her brief immersion did not gift her with the sewer perfume she might have acquired on another night. He pulled the girl from the canal carefully. Momentum brought it to the surface where the coachman waited. He now held that tool like it was a pole arm.Ī corpse made a small plop as it hit the water. He assumed a stiff parade rest at the canal’s edge, but after a brief wait he turned, opened the coach door, and retrieved a boat hook. A waste chute debouched into the canal just yards upstream from the coach. The black coach stopped, its right side wheels a yard from an unguarded drop-off into a moatlike canal that existed to carry off wastes rather than to present a defensive barrier. It was not yet late enough in the season for many insects. A hint of corrupting flesh tainted the air of imperial Dusk. The air was still and nearly chill now that the rain had gone away. No light shone anywhere from that fortress. A sliver of moon winked at the world from behind straggler wisps of cloud, silhouetting the grim spires of Grendirft. The night was silent but for the clop of hooves on wet cobblestones.
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