Sandor’s annoyed scowl didn’t fade as Ilan considered. That was the best argument for keeping the dog.
‘He’s my dog now, and he will stay with me.’
The dog seemed to understand, stopping when his new master did and thumping his tail in confused happiness. Hopefully he continued to behave and didn’t chase the cats.
Abe shrugged. ‘It may prove useful to have a hound about. As long as he stays clean and you feed him, he’s welcome to live out with your horse. Besides, he’s likely to know where he found the corpse. Makes for quick work.’
Ilan smiled, but it was the smallest of victories.
It would be a blessing if the owner of the hand was the only body outside.
23
Ilan
The dog pulled at the leash, nose alternating between the ground and the air. As he dragged Ilan and Mihály off the road and through brown brush tangle, his ears were pricked and his steps quick and sure.
At least one of them knew where they were going.
The Izir was uncharacteristically silent, trudging behind without a single comment about the ridiculousness of Ilan being forced to rely on him for protection. He should be grateful that the man wasn’t picking over the scabs of their failed plan or Ilan’s treatment of his followers, but the tense quiet was fertile ground for stewing over thoughts of being sent out here alone, as if his very rational plan was something Sandor was only humouring. At least Csilla had agreed to stay in the city, writing to Elmere’s family. The Church wouldn’t let her do anything else for him, and it meant one less person and her feelings to worry about.
The dog stopped, the short fur of his ruff raising. His barks echoed off the trees as he paced at the base of a knobby oak.
The ground was like any other part of the forest, grey and brown leaf litter with curls of hopeful vines springing through in spots, but there were broken branches, the pale and stringy rootsof bushes knocked over. Signs of a struggle that were more than damage from old snowfall or passing badgers.
Mihály moved in front, kicking at the underbrush, then bending over to pull some aside. When he turned back, his face was pale.
‘He’s here. Partially.’
Ilan breathed a prayer.
The woods hadn’t been kind to the body. Fresh meat was hard to come by before litters were born, and the animals, possibly even humans, had left the man in scraps. His eyes had been picked out to hollows, the meat of his cheek shredded to bone and the cords of his throat sharp and pale. A few early flies crawled over the blackening gash where the hand had been attached.
There was no clothing, not even tatters. A human had to have been involved somehow, if only to rob the man and leave him for dead. Animals wouldn’t have stripped him.
Ilan pulled the straining dog to heel and offered the lead to Mihály.
‘Well, we shouldn’t leave him. Let’s take him to your barn. It will be easier to examine him there.’
Carrion birds cast slow scythe-winged shadows, waiting for a chance to steal a few more bites. Bigger, hungrier things might be pacing out of sight. Ilan glanced over at Mihály. The pair of them would be no match for a winter-starved wolf pack or a ravenous bear just out of hibernation.
One good thing about travelling with Mihály: he was big enough to carry the man’s body and barely look winded, and he’d held his tongue about the smell. Within the hour they’d gotten an old tablecloth from the farmstead, one moulded with disuse, and wrapped the body. They pulled it onto the table, scattering the stiff animal corpses like so many children’s game tiles. Mihály straightened the corpse, laying him out withscientific precision. If he didn’t look pleased, neither did he look sick, and that was all Ilan required.
Most of the damage had been done by nature, which was, if cruel, at least not evil. The person was of average height and what was left of the hair was mussed and dirty blond over the patches of scalp. The breadth of him, though... He’d had plenty of weight on him before he was attacked. Not like someone living on the outskirts of society or who would be begging for a spot in the Brilliant City. A man who had wealth enough to eat like that was a man who would be missed.
And yet there had been no reports.
‘You can see souls,’ he said, looking at Mihály. ‘Allegedly.’
The Izir paused from where he was straightening the corpse’s legs. ‘If they’re here. This one is long gone, may it rest wherever it is now. There weren’t any ghosts in the woods.’
That was only to be expected. It would have been all too convenient if Mihály could simply tell them who the man had been, or if a ghost was lingering to answer their questions.
He wanted to snap bones. A frustrated scream lived in his throat, pushed deep, but always waiting.
Perhaps Sandor had been right. What did it matter if the man was in the woods or in the grave? There were bites on his chest, the print of carrion birds and opportunistic things, but no marks.
‘Do you have incense?’ he asked. Mihály nodded and went to collect it as Ilan probed the corpse.
