“First off, Nyllmas’s bards leave a lot to be desired. Second, I haven’t let myself go all that much, have I?” Head cocked, Sikras faced the grand mirror hanging askew on the wall beside him, but a hefty coating of dust robbed it of its primary function. He raked his fingers through the tangled mess of his loosely curled hair, as if that would somehow make him more presentable.
Benjamin tapped his chin in consideration. “I bet it’s the dark circles beneath your eyes. Or the lifeless tone of your skin. Your unnaturally gray hair, perhaps? Wait, no, the atrophied muscles. Oh, or the gaunt face.” He rounded on the client. “It’s his face, isn’t it?”
“All that, yes.” The man nodded, his throat bobbing from a hard swallow. “And you look so ... average. You’re much taller in the portraits painted by local artists.”
Sikras smirked. “I’ve a pair of boots that bolsters me to five foot eleven. Shall I put them on before or after I resurrect your dead wife?”
“N—no boots necessary, sir.”
With his elbow, Benjamin gave Sikras a gentle nudge. “I’m sure he means no offense. Folkloric men are meant to be godlike, glistening things. You know I adore you, but, in your current state, you do look a bit like a corpse that someone left in the sun too long.”
“Your poetry knows no bounds, Benjamin. That’s why you’re the musician, and I’m just the dancer.” Absent of any insult, Sikras regarded his patron and bent into a sardonic bow. “Contrary to appearances, yes, I am the great necromancer you seek, and I will provide you with nothing but the utmost quality whilst rendering my services. Now, slide the trash off our dining table and toss your beloved up there, will you?”
The man lingered, slack-jawed, indecisive. With a surrendering grunt, he stepped past the threshold, followed Sikras and Benjamin into the dining room, and hoisted his wife’s corpse atop piles of loose parchment and empty plates. “You were right about what you’d said earlier,” he muttered, shuffling away once he had positioned her. “T’was a pack of crowned gremlins what killed her when she was out gathering herbs.”
Sikras spun on his heels to capture the man in his stare. “Vile way to go. I’m impressed you weren’t gutted alongside her.”
“I was able to run and hide, sir. Adalin blessed me well.”
“Adalin worshipper, aye?” A shudder rattled Sikras’s shoulders. “She must’ve missed your wife’s prayers for mercy. Lost to the blood-curdling screams, perhaps? Tell me, uh—what’s your name again?”
“Bilsby, sir.”
“Bilsby. For how long has your wife been dead?”
“About eight hours.”
Sikras nodded his approval. “Fresh. Good. It increases the odds that her soul remains in Enos and that Goddess Adalin hasn’t whisked it away to whatever afterlife she created for her venerators. Before we begin, I need you to sign some paperwork. Benjamin?”
Benjamin pried open a drawer and removed a prewritten parchment. After struggling to find room for it on the cluttered table, he grabbed the deceased’s arm. “Pardon me, miss,” he said, then scooted her limb out of the way.
“Quill and ink pot are over there,” Sikras mumbled, pointing. “I’d tell you to read the parchment, but we both know you won’t.”
The statement seemed to ruffle Bilsby, evidenced by his puffing chest and reddening cheeks. “I don’t need to read it. It doesn’t matter what it says. I’d give—”
“Anything to have her back. Yes, where have I heard that before? As noble as it is original, I assure you.” Nonchalance padded Sikras’s words as he tapped the parchment. “This contract states I did, or at least attempted to, review the risks associated with the resurrection of a dead loved one, including but not limited to nausea, vomiting, lightheadedness, intense regret, mental and emotional turmoil, cursing me, cursing the gods, and any damage to your person or personal belongings should you drop to your knees, wail, rend your garments, et cetera, so on and so forth. In addition, please note that signing this parchment relinquishes me from any liability regarding your satisfaction or dissatisfaction with the services rendered.”
“Gimme the damn quill,” Bilsby snapped, hastily jotting his signature.
Sikras crossed his arms. “Don’t forget to initial. I’ll need payment up front, please and thank you.”
Bristling, Bilsby reached into his vest pocket. With a trembling hand, he set the leather satchel of coins atop the table. “You keep an awful lot of paperwork for someone who does this outside the law.”
“The paperwork isn’t for the courts. It’s so when you inevitably return later to complain about my services, I can shove proof of your blatant disregard for my cautions in your face.”
“Any cautions you’d utter are irrelevant,” Bilsby huffed. “I just want my wife back.”
“Of course you do. And while I can bring her back, the divine thread that weaves her memories, her personality, her mannerisms to her body, will only last for as long as—”
“Just return her to me!” The force of his tone failed to match the stout, quivering patron who had cowered on the doorstep moments prior. “I wouldn’t have hauled her all the way here against the laws of Nyllmas, dodging the Red Sentinel, marinating in her blood, if I wasn’t damn well sure I wanted her back. I paid your price, I signed your paper, now do whatever it is you people do.”
“My people? Necromancers are hardly a—you know what? Never mind.” Stifling all outward signs of emotion, Sikras pocketed the money and blew on the ink to dry it before handing it to Ben. “File these with the others for me, would you?”
Benjamin’s eyeless sockets gawked at the papers for only a moment before he tossed them on the floor with the other disorganized contracts that Sikras had collected over the years. “All filed.”
“Perfect, thank you. All right, then.” Sikras cracked his knuckles and rotated his shoulders. “Stand back. Time for the fun part.”
Arthritis, or carpal tunnel, or some other irritating affliction unbefitting a man in his midthirties made perfecting the necessary hand gestures required for the spell the most annoying part of a resurrection. Nevertheless, Sikras powered through, twisting wrists and fingers in a flurry of memorized movements.
