“We really must stop meeting like this!”

“To be honest, I would rather we didn’t meet at all, Penarth. But you know how it goes: people will keep killing each other. Although, this seems a little below your pay grade. Don't you have an assistant or something like that for this sort of thing?”

"I do, I do. But they seem to quit on me faster than I can break them in, as it were. Or maybe they quit because of me breaking them in. Who can tell the minds of young women nowadays? Just seemed quicker for me to come out of here."

Lowe grimaced with disgust. He had heard tales of what those who worked in Penarth's office had to endure from their boss. If he didn't suspect the goblin-like man would enjoy a kicking, he'd have long since taken it up with him. Cenorth, his previous boss, had said the long lists of HR complaints were a "price worth paying" for the expertise of someone as good at his job as Penarth. Lowe hoped Cuckoo Houses' new Commander would take a different, more retributive view.

“I must say, though, I'm glad I made the effort for the day out. I rarely get to see anyone killed in as interesting a way as this poor fellow,” the said, kneeling over the liquified remains of the . “I will tell you this for nothing, this fucking rug has absolutely had it!”

As Penarth triggered his various Skills, Lowe left him to it and took the opportunity to further inspect the office in which the body had been found. He thought it was a nicely appointed space, the window opening out onto the museum's inner courtyard. Standing at it and gazing down at the grass below, Lowe could see roving gangs of Security Service personnel exploring the grounds. It seemed Pernielle was sparing no expense in terms of manpower.

Turning back to face the inside of the room, Lowe triggered Grid Search and let his eyes slide around space. He did not try to focus on anything over much at this stage of things; from experience, it was much better for him to use these initial moments to gather as much evidence as possible and then review things at his leisure once he returned home. The beauty of his Skill - especially since he had raised his Intelligence and Wisdom to Level 2 - was that it captured not just a visual representation of the crime scene but also the sounds and smells. When he returned to this memory this evening, it would be as if he was standing here right now, but crucially without the distracting presence of Penarth Lant grunting and squealing like a pig at a trough near him.

"Well, he's dead alright," the said, dismissing his Skills and standing up, running his hands through his thinning hair.

"Thank all the gods that you were here," Lowe said, "I was about to attempt mouth-to-mouth."

"Be my guest, Inspector," Penarth replied, "though I imagine it will not be quite as satisfying an experience as sucking on the face of delectable Ms Telut. I hear the two of you are the hot and heavy item again?"

Ignoring the question, Lowe knelt down to get a closer look at the goo himself. " Do you have any idea what might have caused him to . . . is the correct word 'melt'?"

"Of course I do. That is why they pay me the big bags of gold, after all. This young man has been covered in necrotic slime. You know what they say about necrotic slime, don't you?

Necrotic slime, it eats away,

It melts the bones by night, by day,

It turns the flesh to dark decay,

But takes the heart's pure beat away.

"Well, thanks for the little poetical interlude there, Penarth. I'll be sure to pass that on to the lad's family. I've often thought a good rhyme scheme eases the suffering. So, what, it's your professional opinion that he walked in here and, boom, there was a bucket of necrotic slime suspended over the door? This isn't a murder, just one of those classic museum japes gone wrong?"

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Fuck knows, Inspector. Fortunately, I do not get paid to work out the whys and the wherefores of these things. No, my sole domain is the world of the 'what', and I can tell you that this unfortunate gentleman has been covered head to toe in necrotic slime."

"Instantaneous death?" Lowe asked, more in hope than expectation.

"Oh my word, no. In fact, I'll let you into a little secret here," Penarth leant in close, and the fetid smell of his body odour nearly made Lowe gag, "he's actually not technically dead."

"What!" Lowe jumped back, looking down at the body. "He's still alive?!"

"Well, obviously not. I mean, look at the fucker. And yet, well, technically, yes. Necrotic slime has a somewhat unique property that allows it to selectively dissolve organic tissues while temporarily keeping certain critical systems intact. This selective dissolution is governed by the various unpleasant properties infused within the slime, which can be controlled or influenced by the being who created it."

"Being?"

"Well, I don't want to be too leading for your investigation here, but if you were to discover that this lad really pissed off a Necromancer I would not be too surprised. That or, of course, some sort of ancient mythological beast rose from the dead and decided to snack on him. That'd do it too."

Lowe made a mental note. It was pretty annoying when Penarth was actually helpful. It made despising him a touch more difficult.

As if sensing Lowe's internal conflict, the gave a huge sniff and then spat a darkly green globule down onto the body. And then, helpfully, he did something like that. "The slime targets the body's structural and superficial tissues—skin, muscle, and non-vital organs—gradually breaking them down into a gelatinous, liquefied state. However, it avoids completely destroying the nervous system and major blood vessels. This allows the heart and brain to continue functioning, though in a highly compromised and, I hope it goes without saying, agonizing state. What we see here is still, I suppose, alive. However, he is more slime now than person. And what little humanness remains is certainly entirely out of its gourd due to the pain."

"Fuck me!" Lowe murmured.

"I will freely admit that in your current shaved, showered and appropriately coiffered state, I find you slightly more attractive than has hitherto been the case, but even so, I will have to decline. Yes, I am afraid it is all sadly true. The necrotic magic within the slime sustains the essential functions of life. The slime can infuse the remaining organs and tissues with necromantic energy, which keeps the victim alive despite the extensive physical destruction. This state is excruciatingly painful, as the victim remains conscious and aware while their body dissolves. The slime has a peculiar affinity for preserving neural tissue. It coats the neurons and synapses with a thin layer of itself, preventing them from being dissolved. This ensures that the victim's brain and spinal cord remain intact, maintaining consciousness and the ability to experience pain."

"But you say he's still not dead?"

"That's the funny thing, really. I mean, not funny 'ha-ha', but perhaps darkly amusing? Whichever, it is certainly noteworthy that this level of decomposition via the application of necrotic slime should take days, if not weeks, to occur. I will, however, assume that it might have been noted if he had been lying here for that length of time."

"Indeed. The whose office this was left the museum grounds around midnight. Of course, she's missing, too, so we cannot say for certain that the body was not there then, but I think we can assume she might have mentioned it to someone if it were. I guess he could have been moved here after she left?"

Penarth shook his head. "No, this has to have happened in situ. The nature of necrotic slime is that it is essentially unstable. Once active, you wouldn't want to be anywhere near it. Of course, nothing is impossible in the world of Soar, but I cannot conceive of someone applying the slime to their victim and then moving what would be, for all intents and purposes, viciously toxic sludge. I mean, how would you even begin to transport it? I will have to burn through this month's budget to get the little squelcher here back to my lab. No. Whatever happened, it happened here."

Lowe nodded. Well, he supposed that was helpful. "I don't suppose you have a ballpark time frame for me, do you?"

"Nothing I would want to bet my massive set of cock and balls on, but from what I can tell, the slime started to feed no later than eight bells ago and no earlier than twelve. I might know more when I open the blob up, but I doubt it. That's probably the most exact I can be."

About the time the woman who owned this office was last seen, Lowe thought. Finding Martha Culloden was looking like a reasonably significant priority.

"When you are quite finished gawping, Newly-Reunited-Probably-Eager-To-Get-Home-And-Fuck-Your-Girlfriend Inspector Lowe, I will arrange for this poor chap to be removed back to Cuckoo House. I'm sure there are all sorts of exciting experiments I can do on this much necrotic slime.

"I'm sure," Lowe replied, slipping out of the office and into the corridor beyond.