“I can assure you, there can be little doubt about the time of death. Despite the . . . damage caused to the body, enough of it remained intact for me to note that life finally extinguished no later than the seventh bell."

Lowe had never liked this . There was something about a person who had dedicated every aspect of his Class to focus on dealing with the dead which was . . . weird. It didn't help, of course, that Penarth Lant was, by any measure, a creepy motherfucker.

He was short, barely five foot tall, and was that curious mix of both skinny and fat: his arms and legs being stick-thin, but with an enormous pot belly that he massaged as if soothing a kicking baby. Adding to his unattractive vibe, he was also completely hairless – in a naked mole rat, kind of way - and had incongruously thick glasses perched on the end of his giant nose. To Lowe's certain knowledge, Lant had no need for any vision correction and wore them merely to give himself an excuse to press his face into the personal space of pretty young .

Creepy. Motherfucker.

"You seem unusually confident in that assertion, Penarth."

Despite his desire to call on Gravalk, Lowe had recognised that a little bridge-building was required with Latham first. The had saved his life this morning (of course, he'd then absolutely kicked his arse a few moments later), and he’d probably earned a little bit more consideration than Lowe had shown him thus far.

He'd therefore agreed with Latham's suggestion that before bothering a Fire Demon or even interviewing any further suspects, it would be sensible to give the a visit and see how the land lay.

"Mr. Lowe . . ."

"Inspector," Lowe corrected.

Penarth blinked, then ran the word around his mouth as if it were a peculiarly unpleasant piece of fruit. "Inspector. To my certain understanding, after the unpleasantness of last year, you had been stripped of rank, Skills and your position. Has there been a reversal of that . . . calamity?"

Lowe chose to ignore that the emphasis on that final word sounded uncommonly like ‘joyous and much celebrated circumstance.’ “I have been re-activated to investigate the demise of the High Priestess.”

"No other sucker wanted the job, I presume?" Penarth cackled.

Lowe shrugged. "Perhaps. But I'm more interested in a time of death right now. You have no doubt, no doubt whatsoever, that Gianna d'Avec was a dead body by the seventh bell? You understand this is likely to be reasonably important?”

Penarth gazed owlishly back. “No. This is, after all, my first day on the job, and I am, of course, profoundly stupid. We have discussed - many times, if I recall correctly, Mr. Lowe - that Deathcalling is not in the exact sense. My apologies, Temporarily Reactivated, Inspector Lowe. However, on this occasion there is enough evidence that the High Priestess was beyond this vale of tears by the time I have indicated for me to make that statement with confidence.”

"And that evidence is?" Lowe was doing an impressive job of keeping his temper under control. Penarth sighed and reached for a scroll lying on his messy desk. He pushed his glasses to the top of his bald head and peered at his crabbed handwriting.

"There is no evidence of residual mana in any of the subject’s channels. You will know, with all your years of experience in the business, of course, what that signifies?"

"Assume I have not been keeping up with my reading of ‘Mortuary Monthly’.”

Penarth's voice took on - if possible - an even more supercilious tone. “It has been determined that Mana usage has a half-life of three-quarters of a bell, with it becoming untraceable within ten hours. At that stage, channels go through a process called ‘lamination’ for the next three bells. Gianna d'Avec's channels contain no mana and only minor lamination. This would indicate that the last time that the High Priestess used her mana was, at most, thirteen bells ago. As I am sure you will agree, it is unlikely a of her talent would not have used her mana in her defence, then it stands to reason she fought - and died - no later than the seventh bell."

Latham clicked his tongue, and Penarth pulled down his glasses to peer at the corner of the room. "Do you have a comment ?"

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"Only that it sounds to me like you have identified the last time the High Priestess used her mana, not when she died."

"Your point being?"

"Only that you seem rather certain the two events are linked."

Penarth cackled his high-pitched laugh. "It would, of course, be easier to determine a time of death should the have been, oh, what is the word? Ah, yes. ‘Warding’? Tell me, I presume you have conducted your own investigation into these events. How was someone able to gain access to the Priestess's floor without crossing your esteemed compatriots? Moreover, it is my understanding that this particular avatar was rarely to be found within the Temple after the sixth bell. Has there been any explanation for why she was working out of hours?"

Lowe took a step backwards to be outside splatter range should Latham take umbrage at the words. He was unsure what defences the Level 39 had, but he severely doubted, if Latham made an issue as things, he had much to keep that ugly dome intact.

Oddly, though, Latham's reaction was more shamefaced than Lowe would have expected. “We are looking into the failings of our systems, as you would expect. But that has no bearing on whether you are accurately noting the High Priestess’s time of death."

Penarth pushed his glasses up onto his forehead again. “For clarity,” his voice had taken on the hectoring tone again, "I can say with certainty that Gianna D'Avec did not use her mana after the seventh bell. If you want to argue that she died after that - without any use of her Skills in her defence - then that is entirely up to you. In the absence of a witness to argue differently, I will confidently sign the Death Certificate to that effect.”

"Even if you make my life more difficult?"

"My dear Temporarily Reinstated Much-Maligned Inspector, the only way I could care less about your life would be if you turned up on my table."

"Well, fuck you too. Is there anything useful you have to add besides a somewhat questionable time of death?"

Penarth went to snap back an answer, then paused as if reconsidering. "Okay. Being as how you have been such a joy, why don’t you have a look at her?"

He waddled over to the table in the centre of his room, holding his belly in a protective cradle. Lowe had been doing his best to ignore its presence, as well as what was presumably lying under the blanket that rested on top of it.

With little ceremony, the < Deathcaller> whipped the covering back, exposing the body that lay beneath. Despite having seen the corpse in situ, there was something more impactful about seeing Gianna d'Avec like this. Someone, presumably Penarth, had reconstituted the body, sewing each of the detached parts back together. The effect was to bring home the humanity of the victim in a way that seeing the blood-soaked chamber had not.

Lowe found himself looking upon the face of a woman much younger than he had anticipated. Without the drama of the Third Floor setting, with the aftermath of violence exacerbating everything, he realised Gianna d'Avec had been barely into her twenties.

Thinking back to Aintra Weber describing serving her for the last ten years and Mylaf's stories of years working for her, he had expected her to be much older. It occurred that the High Priestess had entered the Temple as little more than a child.

He was about to ask Latham how common that was when he realised, he'd missed what Penarth was saying.

" - which I am finding hard to explain."

"Sorry, < Deathcaller>, I did not catch that. What was the point you were making?"

Penarth made much of sighing and rolling his eyes at the Inspector. "I will repeat myself once more for those in the cheap seats, at which stage I will ask you to remove yourself from my mortuary and await my report like every other member of the Security Services.”

The strange little man paused and cleared his throat for effect. "It is somewhat interesting, considering the element with which the High Priestess was most familiarly associated, that the level of water within her blood is exceptionally high."

Lowe thought back to the water that covered the floor of the High Priestess' chamber. He had assumed something was leaking - a burst pipe, perhaps - but now he was not so sure.

"When you say ‘exceptionally high’ . . ."

“A level that, for a normal being, would have demonstrated an incompatibility with life. I am, though, happy to note that this particular victim is the highest level that has ever made an appearance on my table. I have made enquiries of my peers across the continent as to whether it is normal to see such a phenomenon in those approaching the upper threshold, and there has been little consensus. The only true thing that can be said is that everything and anything is possible."

Lowe found himself looking at the stitching at the neck and at the sockets of her arms and legs. This had been a brutal death. "So, to summarise, you have identified that the last time Gianna d'Avec accessed her mana was shortly before the seventh bell. On top of this, you note that there is an unusual concentration of water - an element which is the antithesis of her fire mana - within her blood. I guess I need to ask, do you think those two factors are connected?"

Penarth's head was nodding like a child's toy. "I have no idea."

Latham chimed in. "Do you think it is likely that the two are connected? "

"I couldn't possibly comment. There is such a lack of information available about those post-65 that I would simply be guessing."

Lowe ran his hands through his hair. "Just thinking aloud, here. If we assume that it was not normal for the High Priestess to have an overbearance of water in her blood, and we further consider that the reason she was unable to make use of her mana was this particular condition, how could this state of being come to pass?"

Penarth threw his hands up in the air. "I am not in the business of blind guessing! That is, I may suggest, what you are supposed to be doing."

"Gravalk," Latham said with certainty. "The Fire Demon must have forsaken her."

Lowe nodded. "I'm afraid, mate, I rather think we're going to need to make that call on a god after all."