Page 5 of A Drop of Corruption

“Possible. But it’s more likely, I think, that he was fed to them to try to dispose of him.”

“Why?”

“Because of this,” she said, pointing to the outer edge of the shoulder, where the arm would ordinarily connect to the chest muscles.

I peered at it, fighting another rumbling in my stomach. Yet I saw what she meant: the bone and ligaments there were not torn and ragged, but queerly smooth.

“A cut,” I said. “Like sawing. He was cut into pieces before he entered the waters?”

“That is our conclusion,” said Malo. “Perhaps to better attract the turtles, or…perhaps the killer simply enjoyed butchery. I am unsure. Yet look closer at the hand.”

I leaned in and studied the preserved hand. There was a discoloration at the joint, I thought: a stripe of flesh both too dark and too pale in parts. I spied a hint of tiny lacerations in the stripe, in patterns that made me think of something fibrous.

“He was bound,” I said. “By the wrists.”

Malo nodded, slightly impressed. “Yes. Fibers in the wound, too. Looks like from a rope of some kind. Very dark, very coarse. Tar soaked.” She tapped her temple, beside her purpled, augmented eyes. “Canal-rigging rope, as far as I can see.”

“Canal rope,” I said quietly.

“Yes. He must have strained against them greatly to make those marks.”

“Was there anyone unusual seen at his lodgings?”

Malo shook her head. “There is the rest of the Treasury delegation, who come and go in their work with the Yarrow king. Then there are the servants—the maids, the cook, the footmen. And then, of course, the guards assigned by we Apoths. They all say they saw no one unfamiliar, nor strange.”

I pondered this, then sniffed at my vial again, anchoring the sight of the bruised wrist within my mind. “Can you turn over the other pieces for me, please?”

She did so, gingerly turning the jawbone and the fragment of torso like they were fine crockery I had a mind to purchase.

There was something on the back of the torso, I saw, on the shoulder blade: a circular patch of missing skin, excised from the flesh, about the size of a talint coin.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing.

“We don’t know,” said Malo. “Not a turtle bite, though, as that takes off more than skin. The skin was cut off or shorn away.”

“Did Sujedo have any identifying marks?” I asked. “Scar, blemish, or tattoo?”

“You mean,” said Malo, “could they have cut skin away to make it hard for us to tell who he was?”

“Yes. Did he?”

“No,” she grunted. “But if he was murdered, and if the murderer knew anything about the man, they would’ve been aware that identifying him would be simple.”

“Why’s that?” I asked. Then I frowned. “Wait. Howdidyou identify these body parts as belonging to Sujedo, given that they lack nearly all identifying features?”

She looked me over like I had just said something very foolish. “Because he was Treasury,” she said flatly.

“And what does that mean?” I asked.

Another prolific yet incredibly accurate spit. She squinted at me. “I thought you Iudex knew everything. Yet you don’t know the Treasury arts?”

“Treasury officers serve in civilized cantons,” I said tartly. “Which are not places I often visit in my duties.”

She grunted like she found this explanation wanting. “Treasury officers above the rank of captain have augmented blood. Comes from a little cultivated organ implanted in the armpit.” She tapped her own to show me. “Treasury banks handle all manner of protected materials. Safes, vaults, lockboxes…Like reagent keys. You know these things? The little trinkets that give off a pheromonal signal, telling a portal to open?”

I nodded, stone-faced, for I was indeed familiar with these.

“A Treasury officer’s blood is like the same,” said Malo, “opening protected things when they grow near, or at a touch.”