Writing and Stuff by Anthony Chatfield

He limped back to the table where he had dropped the unopened package with the Inscription copies and found it missing. The desk was pulled sideways, probably from when they burst into the room and he checked behind it. Heaving a sigh of relief, he fished a partially torn and muddied package, complete with a swarm of fire ants on it, out from behind the desk and dropped it down on his bed. He tore open the wrapping and scanned the first inscription, a vivid image of the crime scene Sarina had described.

The man she had originally described to him was nowhere to be seen. In his place was the crumpled remains of a human body. The body had been carved into a dozen different pieces but still somehow left in one solid whole chunk – a marked part of the Rituals. The eyes had been removed and his scars had all been split open with a surgeon’s precision. The right side of his scalp was missing, his limbs were splayed in a cross with chains wrapped around each ankle and wrist, pulled taught so that bones were sticking out at the elbows and knees – in at least one case bursting through the skin.

Brutus pulled the second inscription out. There should have only been one inscription of each shot. But, the package contained two of each – for a total of eight inscriptions. Usually, the magii would only do a single inscription and then have it verified before printing. There were two completely different sets here and each one had slightly different details in it.

Whereas the first set had the bright red circles of the Rituals littered across the skin of the dead man, the second did not show those circles. In fact, the second still contained the amulet Sarina had described and her promissory note was still held in the man’s right hand. He had been altered. Whomever had found his body had changed the scene to make it look like he was killed by the Salmites. It was not a ritual killing – the man had been tortured to death. Whether it was by the Salmites or not did not matter. How Steadman had gotten the original inscriptions was a mystery in itself. Usually the magii would not have let something like this remain in existence. It was embarrassing for them.

Brutus tossed the pile of inscriptions down on his bed along with the notice from Ausmasann. It was a red letter day already – he had a murdered blackmailer, an angry gang boss, someone impersonating his dead partner, and one hell of a bloody headache. Shaking his head at first gently and then more viciously, he almost reached for the second whiskey bottle he’d bought the night before. Instead, he grabbed his jacket, folded up the inscriptions and stuffed them in his inner pocket. Trying to wipe as much blood as he could from his face, he straightened up, took a deep breath and made a decision that he knew he was going to regret. There wasn’t much of a choice any more though – things had just gotten a whole lot messier. 

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