“No, no, no,” Vish said, shaking his head vigorously.

The mind-mapper skittered up the stairs on all fours, his butt waggling in the air like the lure of an anglerfish. He rattled the gates with what might he possessed. They didn’t budge.

“No, no, no, no,” he added.

“Yes, thank you, Vish. Way to keep a calm head,” Gabriel called from where their expedition had halted, “Figo, light, if you please. Lydia, see if you can’t help that muppet with the gate, if you’d be so kind.”

Figo dutifully squatted on the step and fetched out a tinder box.

Lydia plonked Alrbight down on the steps, “You’re surprisingly calm,” she congratulated the captain as she breezed passed him and ascended the stairs.

“Honestly, Lydia, I feel like there is very little that could phase me now.”

A clicking sound emanated from the deaths. It sounded like the teeth of cogs clacking against one another, that, or perhaps the sound of bone rattling against bone.

“Very little, but not nothing,” Gabriel amended to himself, “How’s it coming, Figo?”

“Almost there.”

“Good, Lydia?”

The warrior pushed and pulled at the iron barrier, and then shouldered it for good measure, “Stuck tight. Looks like the only way is down,” she said, drawing her sword, which glinted in the waning moonlight.

“Gods. Don’t worry, Natasha, everything is going to be okay,” Gabriel said, reaching out to hold her hand and finding nothing.

“Okay!” Bling chirped back from down the stairs, much further down the stairs.

“Natasha, don’t wander off! Can you even see anything down there?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… What?”

“Dead,” she replied casually.

“Lovely.”

A spark from Figo’s flint caught the wick of the lamp and they were once again enshrined in the device’s much welcome orange-yellow glow.

“All better,” Figo said, smiling unconvincingly, “What do we do now?”

Gabriel took a deep breath, “We go down.”

Vish sat down on the step at Lydia’s feet like her pet labradoodle, “Great suggestion, captain. Just one question… Why?”

“I don’t believe Screamer wants us dead. Well, not yet. I think he sent us down here for a reason, and whatever reason that is,” he swallowed hard, “it lies down there. Besides, if Natasha’s not scared, then I’m not scared.”

“Convincing. We’ve literally caught your sister trying to tie a snake into a bow. Whatever emotions fly around in that cooky little head of hers, fear is rarely one of them.”

“It’s down there with us, Vish, or up there by yourself. Your choice,” Gabriel said.

“Nuh-uh, it’s down there with you and your suicidal sister, or up here with my good friend, the war machine,” Vish said, patting Lydia’s iron greaves.

“Not a chance. Red said there were dead people down there, and I much prefer their company to yours. You’re on your own, ‘good friend’,” Lydia snorted, sweeping down the steps two at a time.

Vish watched them descend without him, “Well obviously I can’t let you go alone, you’ll get yourselves killed without me!” he called after them, quickly scurrying to catch up.

The staircase was obscenely long. Whoever had dug the crypts was obviously paid by the meter. Gabriel estimated that they descended the equivalent of four to five stories before they reached the bottom. On the way down, as Bling had promised, the walls of the staircase transformed into tight nooks and ledges, upon which were lain or strewn the bodies and bones of Jandrirans past.

“These look ancient,” Figo said, leaning in close to one of the more intact corpses, “the clothing has almost completely decayed.”

“Awesome, naked zombies,” Vish sighed.

“They’re quite dead, Vish,” Gabriel said, wrinkling his nose and shuddering as he peered over Figo’s shoulder, “Aren’t they?”

Figo smiled, “By my estimation, yes.”

“Yeah, of course. Obviously,” Gabriel cleared his throat, “Shall we?”

As they moved further down the stairs there were fewer and fewer intact corpses. Some of the nooks had a jumble of body parts on them, whilst others had neat stacks of femurs and skulls, as if someone had started creating an itinerary and eventually grown bored. This was the norm for the duration of the descent, and was a practice that carried on into the chamber at the base of the staircase. It was a chamber with a few quirks.

“That,” Vish said, chewing on his lip, “is macabre as fuck.”

Here the piles of bones were not just grouped and stacked together, they formed large structures that pushed the boundaries of balance, and human decency. Columns were made from ribs, struts from scapulas, and arches from craniums, their jaws interlocked across the top like ribboned icing on a cake. It was an amusement park of the dead, a grim monument to the ultimate end.

“Okaaay,” Gabriel said into the echoing hall, “I’ll admit I’m having second thoughts.”

“I think it’s actually kind of beautiful,” Figo said.

“You worry me sometimes, Figo,” Gabriel informed the archer, eliciting a blush.

Some of the arches were purely decorative, others gave way to tunnels beyond that, if their information was correct, would lead to an entire network of crypts just like this one. There were at least a dozen exits from the main room, which itself was as large as any arena. Towards the back of the hall were several large stone slabs, akin to altars. Instinctively, the party ventured towards them.

“What do you suppose these are?” Gabriel asked, mostly just for something to say.

“Big ol’ slabs of rock,” Vish answered.

“Yes, thank you, Vish.”

“I think the bodies used to be prepared here, or perhaps autopsies were carried out,” Figo said, running a hand across the smooth stone, “there are grooves in the rock, probably for blood to drain, and they are worn in the middle.”

The others stared at Figo with various degrees of concern.

“I was a hunter,” he reminded them, “There are some very unglamorous aspects to the job.”

“Hmm, I’m going to have to accept that answer,” Gabriel looked around from one exit to the next, “Well then, which way?”

Vish sat down on the edge of one of the funerary tables, “You mean, which corridor of death do you want to wander into? Leading us deeper into this subterranean city - also of death.”

“Uuuh, yep.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I say this one. I like the way the skull at the top of that arch seems to be winking at me.”

“Perhaps I should have insisted on a few extra details,” Gabriel admitted.

“Perhaps.”

As they bickered, a mouse scampered up the side of the table Vish was sitting on. It sniffed the air experimentally, curling its little pink nose at the mind-mapper.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Hey there, buddy, which way do you think we should go?” Vish asked the mouse.

“I’m afraid that depends very much on why you are here,” it responded.

“Aaah!” Gabriel and Vish said in unison.

Vish almost hit the ceiling.

“Merciful, fucking gods!” Vish squealed as he darted behind Gabriel, reassessed, and then hid behind Lydia instead, “Kill it, kill it with fire!”

“Mouse!” Bling said excitedly.

“Did that mouse just speak?” Gabriel was holding a shaking finger in accusation.

“No,” Lydia said calmly.

“Thank the gods.”

“The skeleton behind it did,” she said just as calmly.

“Oh.”

“Aaaaah!” Vish and Gabriel said in unison.

On cue, a very much intact skeleton, draped in a luxurious orange robe that must once have been truly exquisite, dislodged itself from the wall of bones and shuffled towards them. Its movements were slow, like it had all the time in their lives. Its feet rattled on the bare stone like the sound of cogs clacking against one another. It was an unencouragingly familiar sound.

It reached the table and regarded the mouse thoughtfully. After some time, it dunked a hand into a pocket of its flowing robe, and fished out a biscuit. It crumbled the morsel in its fingers, raining crumbs before the small creature. The mouse instantly started to scoff down the bountiful feast, completely unperturbed by the hand that feeds it.

“Run little buddy, run!” Vish called from Lydia’s armpit.

The skeleton cocked his head. He stared at his guests for the first time. He held forth a hand, palm open, clearly expecting something. The fingers were long and slender, the joints held together by the memory of cartilage. The hand did not look human, it was too claw like for that, and it was too long even to be elven.

The group leant forward as one to peer into the upturned hand. They looked back at the skeleton, equally expectantly.

“I hope for your sake that you have something for me,” the skeleton said in a grating monotone.

Its jaw did not move when it spoke, and it had few mannerisms by which to gauge its emotions. In fact, when it was not moving, it was easy to believe the creature to be, well, just a skeleton. There were no blue or purple orbs lighting up the sockets of its curiously elongated head, no tongue wagging in its pointed jaw, or rippling of magic or strings of aether tying its bones together. Only the fact it was standing upright was any indication that the being ‘lived’.

Bling went to shake the skeleton’s hand, prompting Gabriel to quickly pull her arm away.

“I don’t think that’s what he’s after, Natasha.”

“What are you waiting for, Gabriel? Pay the man!” Vish piped up.

“Money is not especially useful to me down here,” the creature of the crypt droned.

“Appreciated. What then?” Gabriel asked, trying to keep the quaver from his voice.

“Oooh, maybe he wants to weigh your heart to see if you are worthy!” Vish suggested, “You are screwed, my man.”

“Don’t give him ideas, Vish,” Gabriel groaned.

“Gentlemen,” the skeleton grated, “I may have all day, but I assume you do not.”

Then Gabriel had an idea. He placed the letter Screamer had given him into the undead creature’s hand, and prayed to the gods.

The skeleton broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, holding it before his eyeless face.

It was an odd thing, watching the skeleton read. There were no pupils to dart form side to side, or dilate in interest. His head did not flit from left to right, following the words of the page. He just held the letter before him, deathly still, and studied it for what was a painfully long time for all living occupants of the room.

The mercenaries waited with bated breath.

Finally, the skeleton spoke.

“Ah, Screamer. How is my young friend?”

Gabriel jumped when the being finally responded, “Oh, uh, I guess that depends how long you’ve known him,” he said, not too enthusiastic about the prospect of having to describe the crime lord’s mostly removed face.

“He pays me a visit from time to time. He brings me offerings in exchange for my services, services I assume you are now in need of.”

“Offerings?”

The skeleton gestured to the far side of the chamber, where rows of books were piled on top of one another, mirroring the skeletal spires around them.

Gabriel borrowed the lamp from Figo and went to investigate Screamer’s gifts. There were more books here than Gabriel ever imagined had been written. The titles and genres varied wildly, from great discourses on etymology, to entire histories of races long extinct, to fables and tales of heroism, real or imagined. Most of the books near the tops of the piles, and those most thumbed, were trashy romances.

“You, uh, have very discerning tastes,” the mercenary said.

The skeleton’s spine straightened with a series of pops. He was bloody tall.

“Mine is a somewhat… lonely existence.

“I can imagine,” Gabriel said apologetically.

“You really cannot.”

“Fair.”

“Distraction can be found in unlikely places,” the skeleton said, by way of explaining his unorthodox taste in reading material, “Besides, I enjoy their rib-ald jests.”

Gabriel coughed politely, “Anyway, I assume we are supposed to give you this,” he gestured for Lydia to place Lance Albright’s body on the table, “I guess Screamer wants him buried or something.”

The skeleton carefully removed the makeshift shroud and extended the body so that it was outstretched. The limbs resisted, but he forced them into place mercilessly, his obvious strength belying his frail form. Gabriel shuddered to think what that grip could do to a living being.

“Fairly fresh,” the undead observed dispassionately.

“Yeeeah. Well, um, you look like you have things handled here so, uh, we’ll just be going, if you don’t mind.”

“Not so fast, fleshling.”

The skeleton’s words were not shouted or heated, but Gabriel felt compelled to obey his commands, “I really think we must be off.”

“I doubt Screamer wanted you to bring this gentleman here for a burial. From what I understand my old friend is rather more fond of consigning his enemies to the depths of the Malin than having them interred on consecrated ground.”

“Okaay, what are you going to do with it then?”

The skeleton looked at Gabriel as impassively as he did everything, but something about his bearing suggested a hint of humour, “My dear boy, I am a bone-a fide necromancer.”

Gabriel blinked, “You can bring him back to life?”

Vish looked at Lance, “Man, he is going to be pissed,” he said, sucking in air through his teeth.

The crypt master shook his head, “Not to life, no, he is too far gone for that, but I can call him for a visit. Enough remains.”

The mind-mapper frowned, “That’s not possible. There’s nothing left.”

The skeleton turned on their red-robed loudmouth, “Oh? What makes you so sure?”

“His mind is gone. I can see that,” Vish hesitated before adding, “I’m a mind-mapper.”

The skeleton studied the other man for a time, not moving a lack of muscle, “I know of your kind. I have seen you in my books. You are rare.”

“But not extinct! I would really like to keep it that way,” Vish said, once again cowering behind Lydia.

“No, not yet,” the skeleton turned back to Albright, “His soul has departed, but tendrils of the aether link fragments of his former being. There are memories of him, so to speak, and I can draw these memories together long enough for questions to be answered.”

“Oh, good! We have those,” Gabriel perked up.

Vish was troubled, “I still don’t get it. I can’t sense anything.”

“Young one, I have studied the aether for more lifetimes than all the residents of this crypt combined have lived,” he looked over his shoulder once more, “I consider it a matter of skull-astic interest.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, “So Screamer brings you books and, in exchange, you revive those he’s killed long enough for him to question them?”

“Those he’s killed. Those who have died in the line of duty. Anyone with a final story to tell that may be of use. They talk. If what they tell us is satisfactory, I make their passing easier. Think of it as a say-ance.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and shook a thought from his head, “But he keeps you locked up here?”

The skeleton raised his head, “Keeps me? I think perhaps you underestimate the degree of my abilities. I am a necromancer, one as old as the stones of these halls. There are few forces in your world today that could keep me. But alas, my kind is not welcome on the surface in the way we once were, and I have long since grown tired of fighting that. If death teaches you one thing, it is patience. I am content to wait for the tides to change again. I stay down here willingly. In truth, I do not have tomb-any options.”

“There it is again!” Gabriel blurted.

“What?” Figo asked, startled by the outburst.

“He did it again! Didn’t you hear it?”

“Yeah, no, I heard it too,” Vish agreed.

“What?” Figo asked, more exasperated this time.

“Puns! Flipping puns!”

The skeleton seemed to be smiling, even though nothing about his skinless face had changed, “Do you like them? Wordplay is something of a hobby of mine.”

“You spend all eternity, sitting in a crypt… thinking up puns?”

“Aether, no. I have had many hobbies over the generations, this is simply my new favourite. It would be frightfully boring if I spent each of your lifetimes doing the same thing. No, each century I learn a new craft, and there have been many centuries. I am obviously an avid reader, I can juggle rather well, I play thirteen instruments, and I’m rather good at crocheting, to name but a few of my talents.”

“Crocheting?” Gabriel repeated.

“Well, more like sewing and stitching, but I don’t wish to knit-pick.”

Gabriel shook his head, “Do you actually do those things, or were you just setting up another pun?”

“You may never know,” the skeleton said in the same flat voice, that was still somehow cheeky.

“Perhaps we could just get on with the say-ance. The séance!” Gabriel quickly corrected.

The crypt-keeper moved to stand at Lance Albright’s head, “As you will. Best you stand back, though, sometimes they come back coffin.”

“Stop it.”

“Fine,” the skeleton’s shoulders seemed to sag, “Perhaps my jests need a few more centuries’ work. Let us begin.”

There was very little in the way of theatrics to the procedure. The crypt-dweller simply placed a hand on Lance’s forehead and concentrated for a time. There were no sparks or motes of aether dancing from one lifeless body to the next. The air did not hum, and specters did not march from the dark halls to claim the empty corpse. However, totally unseen, piece by piece the skeleton drew parts of Lance back to himself. He reeled in stray strands of the aether that had carried the deceased’s signature, and wrapped them around the lifeless husk that they had once animated. He called, commanded and beseeched the undone to become one, and bound them loosely together one last time.

Lance Albright opened his eyes.

The noble blinked at the ceiling like he had woken from a night of heavy drinking, and was now slowly regaining himself. He tried to flex his arms and legs but the dead limbs were like concrete, and when he tried to speak it looked as if his tongue were swollen like a sponge in water.

“Wh-where am I?” the deteriorating man mumbled helplessly.

Lance looked like he would cry if only his dead eyes would produce the tears. It was a heart-wrenching sight.

Gabriel and Lydia came forward to stand over Albright once again.

“Heeey, Lance,” Gabriel said, “sorry to bother you, but we have a couple of questions we’d like to ask.”

Lance looked at them uncomprehendingly.

Then he remembered.

“FFF-”