'Cain't say as he did.'
Makepeace smiled. 'I reckon if he'd had fur, I might have even petted him.'
'And there was a discernible difference between him and Ilsavont in terms of decay?'
Kamiskwa nodded. 'None of the lesser pasmortes had been fresh from the grave. Ilsavont was killed when they took Aodaga.'
Vlad's eyebrows knitted together. 'Would you have known Ilsavont was pasmorte if he had not mentioned it?'
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed for a bit. 'I don't reckon I would have. He was pink and warm, didn't have no bits fallen off.'
'Most peculiar, and yet I wonder…'
Gisella squeezed his shoulder. 'What is it, my lord?'
'Just a thought. I shall need to do some reading on it.' His left hand rose and covered hers. 'Your speculation about distance from du Malphias having an affect on his magic is also interesting. Enchantments have been known to diminish over time. Distance, then, would make sense, too-though the implication that he can work magick at range disturbs me.'
Vlad sighed. 'And to the other matter, there is no doubt Captain Strake is gone?'
'Him, someone who escaped with him, and seven Ryngians near as we can make out.' Nathaniel looked down, refusing to meet the Prince's gaze. 'Me and Kamiskwa should have gone after him. I was just scared. We lost him to the winding path.'
Gisella leaned forward. 'Please, what means this 'winding path'?'
'It's a place in the forest, many places, really. You see a path that goes on forever and you get lost in it.'
She nodded. 'We know these places. The forests of Kesse have them. Die Dunkelheitplatze. Children, they get lost. They say devils live there. There are stories of the children returning later, generations later, thinking they have been gone for no time at all.'
'Ain't no returning from the winding path.' Nathaniel glanced at Kamiskwa. 'Lessen you're Chief Msitazi.'
Kamiskwa's eyes tightened. 'My friend says he was afraid. This is not so. I told him we could not go. He was brave. I was not.'
'Now that ain't so, Kamiskwa.'
'You know it is.'
Vlad held his hands up. 'Gentlemen, your courage is not to be questioned. The three of you killed four times your number in pasmortes and killed at least three Ryngians. Had the trail ended at a deep crevasse, you would not have leaped in. Death on the winding path would be just as certain. The spirits here are not so kind as they are in Kesse-Saxeburg. And your mission was not to rescue Captain Strake, but to gain information, which you have done admirably.'
He stood. 'Mr. Bone, I shall require from you a complete inventory of what you lost when your canoe was destroyed. I will replace everything. I shall even have Temperance Bay's finest gunsmith make a gun to your specification.'
Makepeace smiled. 'Well, Highness, if you make that Queensland, I been fancying-not coveting, mind you- fancying that there gun Nathaniel's been toting around.'
'Done. Until it is finished, I shall offer you the lend of any piece I own.' Vlad smiled. 'Though I know it is an imposition, I should ask the three of you to remain here, as my guests, for however long you wish. A week at the minimum. I am certain there are questions I shall have, and details I wish to confirm.'
Nathaniel nodded. 'I reckon we can do that, though my fancy clothes are in Saint Luke.'
'I promise you, gentlemen, you'll have no need for such. We'll not be having other guests any time soon.'
'I need to begetting word to the Frosts.' Nathaniel sighed. 'I done promised them I'd bring Owen home. It's on me to deliver the truth.'
'Agreed, but your trip can wait. I will need you, and the information we compile will make his sacrifice worth it.'
The next day Vlad interviewed each man separately. He teased out extra details about pasmortes, which he compiled in a notebook. The idea that they could be killed by crushing the skull or shooting them in the head suggested du Malphias was stimulating something in the brain to animate the creatures. He carefully chose that word so as to avoid thinking of them as alive.
He'd torn through his library and found an interesting collection of treatises by a Tharyngian surgeon who had traveled with the army during the Tharyngo-Alandaluce War two decades earlier. He described, in clinical detail, the nature of head wounds in a variety of patients and the symptoms his patients exhibited. He coupled this with highly detailed descriptions of brain dissections where he purported to identify the structures that governed certain functions.
One, which lay lodged deep in the brain, above the stem, but not in the higher brain, he identified as the Gland of Miracles. He indicated that it, deeply set as it was, was the portion of the brain which enabled one to access magick. He included some tables that purported to show that magick users had larger Glands of Miracles than others, but his statistical sample had been ridiculously small. He so believed his thesis, however, that he had openly advocated inserting a needle through the ears of criminals to destroy that gland, assuring readers it could be done with minimal impairment of other functions.
Vlad's study led him to divide pasmortes into two classes. One were low-functioning creatures who were converted after an extended postmortem period. Their outer brain had decayed to the point where they were not capable of much more than following orders. If the Gland of Miracles, set deep inside, was one of the last portions of the brain to decay, it would allow for this sort of pasmorte.
The other pasmortes clearly had been brought back before much, if any, decay had set in. The Prince caught himself thinking about their being alive and not just reanimated. The fact was that very few people died instantly. Death was a process that look a long time, and ample were cases of people who had been believed dead and had later awoken to find themselves in a casket or being lowered into a grave.
What if du Malphias did not reanimate these people, but brought them back from the very brink of death? Some impairment consistent with their injuries made sense. The Laureate could have mistaken that for symptoms of brain damage, hence his belief they were actually dead. It could be that they were returned to life through magick healing, which was not unknown, but was rare and never before conducted so thoroughly.
But that can't be true. While Ilsavont's palsy was consistent with spinal cord injury, none of the three explorers had mentioned his being in pain or bleeding from the wound. That, coupled with the low-functioning pasmortes moving sluggishly in the cold, suggested a depressed metabolism. The things really were just reanimated corpses.
Or, at least, Ilsavont was.
A savage storm blowing in from the east prevented Nathaniel from heading into Temperance. Vlad did not envy his having to deliver the news and resolved to go with him to visit the Frosts. Given the nature of that visit, neither was anxious for the storm to end.
The storm did require the boiler to be fired up around the clock and Make-peace volunteered to help man it. 'Well, now, I done some praying and thinking. Seems if Mugwump wanted to make a meal of me, I'd long since be et. I reckon God has plans for him and me, so this is God's work I'll be doing.'
Mugwump, for his part, remained silent on matters of theology, but took to Makepeace's presence easily. He never splashed him and always looked up when the man came to relieve the Prince. Baker reported that Mugwump seemed sulky when Makepeace left and, as nearly as Vlad could figure out, he was hoping the big man would be bringing him another pasmorte as a snack.
Exactly why Mugwump had gone after the reanimated corpse remained a mystery. None of the Prince's books explained that behavior. Mugwump had resumed his normal diet and ate with his usual enthusiasm.
Three days after the storm had begun to blow, it broke. As the stablehands were hitching a team to the Prince's coach, a lone rider, his horse steaming, galloped into the yard. He leaped from the saddle, tossing Nathaniel his reins, and dropped to a knee. 'Forgive me, Highness. I've just come from Temperance.'
Vlad flicked a finger. 'Up, please. You're Caleb Frost.'
'I am, Highness.' Caleb caught his breath. 'Please, sir, I have a message. It's Captain Strake, sir.'
The Prince nodded. 'We know.'
Caleb blinked in surprise. 'You do?'
