Completed Body Bag

[Inoadar]

OOC - continued from here.

2nd day of Summer, 513, AV

Inoadar left The Spot with a grin. He had gotten one of the upscale jobs! Even his limp was not going to ruin his mood. In fact, it struck him as ironic that the need for his cane/blowgun/stiletto was now legitimate for all three functions. His lower right leg had been savaged by a wolf and was in an odd condition due to the mutagenic properties of the water that percolated up from the Glistening Geyser near the Talderan border. It was not bleeding, but he was not sure if it was healing either.

At any rate, he no longer had to FAKE his limp to account for his cane. But his leg weakened far too quickly for his liking. Not that he was given to seek kick fighting competitions or anything, but mobility was paramount in much of his work outside of the shop. He considered flagging down a Ravosala, but he needed to work the leg, try to get some strength back in it. His main concern was that the affected area had been altered to the point that the muscle was unable to be developed more than it was. Well, time would tell.

The second concern was that the limp would mark him and make his disguises less effective. He would basically have to always be in the guise of someone who limped. An old man with a limp, a drunk with a limp, a fancy boy with a limp, a street walker with a limp. One of his best and most useful disguises was as a courier, but what dispatch service hired a man with a limp to be a courier? It would give the victims and their security personnel cause to be wary. Or more wary than usual.

He reminded himself he didn't HAVE to limp at the crucial time. He could go maybe an hundred yards before he'd have to start limping. It was the limping that spared it enough to keep that hundred yards of regular use in reserve. He'd make it work. He always made it work, no matter what was wrong. Adaptability, Versatility, Resourcefulness. His calling cards...and a sore leg...

He got to the designated location on the Docks and sat down, massaging his ankle and working his way up and down to and from his knee. He still had the weals in his flesh from the tourniquet. He should be glad he didn't lose the damned thing. He WAS glad...damned wolves.

A man approached. He looked uncertain of both his location and his mission. "Nice night for a walk, eh?" Inoadar remarked conversationally.

The man jumped, startled, "What? Who is -..." he collected himself. "Oh, umm...yes and it will be nice for a swim to...a nice day for a swim...tomorrow." he finished as he sat next to Inoadar, who wondered yet again why people demanded coded phrases for identification, when they could never remember them.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar stifled a scowl as the man sat next to him. He was hooded and looking all around in a very uneasy manner. "Relax." Inoadar advised him. "There is no law against sitting on a bench by the docks. If you don't want to attract attention, quit behaving as though you fear that you have."

The man slumped in a way that heralded a heavy sigh, but none was forthcoming. Inoadar was immediately on guard, anything that came as a surprise tended to do that. This was compounded by the sudden, clumsy drawing of a breath, as though the man didn't use his lungs very often. "Yes, you're right. I just need to be sure you're here for the right reason. I can never be sure that my...needs...will be accepted. Even by someone that takes such under-the-table jobs routinely. You've probably only worked for humans before...possibly Kelvics."

Inoadar had only just stifled the sense of having been mildly insulted, when he found himself having to stifle a sense of mild revulsion. "What the petch does THAT mean? What are you? You seem human enough." His hand coasted towards his belt, where is dagger was ever-present.

The man slipped his hood down enough to reveal his face. "Yes, I WAS human enough, once. And this body I now wear was human once as well." Inoadar's hand relaxed on his dagger, thinking this was some extraordinary creature formed of Rhysol's will, come to give him some test of devotion. Perhaps a Druvin, something he'd heard of, but not learned details of. His interest waned slightly as the man announced himself as a 'Nuit', another subject he'd heard of, but knew little of.

The man took a few chimes to give a rudimentary account of what a Nuit was. Inoadar found himself slightly disgusted, but not enough to refuse the job. He could not deny, the thought of potential immortality was appealing to him. 'Ohh, the toxins I could design and perfect, given such limitless time,' he thought to himself, considering also the fact that he would be rid of his inconveniently maimed and mutated leg. But somehow, it seemed too much of a trade off, to have this need for a new body every couple of years. 'Maybe when I get older, I'll think differently. There's plenty of time. besides, he stinks, despite the cologne.'

He also had to consider that the man had given no indication that he had the means to turn him into one of these...Nuits...anyway. On closer examination, the man's condition was fairly obvious. Bags under the eyes, the tongue darkened noticeably, the skin pasty. 'Why, he looks as though he is wearing facial disguise putty right now.'

Inoadar commented that he didn't know of any place to keep a body preserved, since most bodies were simply dumped in the lake to be devoured by marine life, whose place in the food chain was tailor made for that function. The man looked at him in confusion for a moment then seemed to come to a realization. "No, no, my good man. I don't need this body for myself. I need a woman's body. It is for my wife! She is also a Nuit. And I can assure you, she is very much in need of one right away."

[Inoadar]

Inoadar's surprise was short-lived. While he HAD assumed he was expected to obtain a male body for this job, the points he had just raised were still valid. Male or female, there were no body-storage sites in Ravok. And he could hardly guarantee that he'd come across a freshly deceased body on schedule.

"Just how 'right away' are we talking, anyway?" He asked.

"Tonight, preferably. certainly no later than tomorrow night." The Nuit responded. "And of course, she doesn't want to be installed in a body that is offensive to look at. But neither does she want to draw attention by being some ravishing vision of glamor and seduction. It is not a help to a Nuit to draw looks wherever we go."

"I guess I can understand that. So you want what? Brown hair, five six, a little pudgy, but still having a figure, say a hundred forty, one fifty?" Inoadar was ready to take some notes once the details were confirmed.

"That is what SHE would say, I suspect." came the response. Inoadar halted with a sidelong glance, noting the uncertain wording. "However, she is not here. Nor is it her mizas paying for this contract." The Nuit settled back on the bench, suddenly much more sure of himself. "You see, She and I don't get out to spend much time among the populace anyway, so I don't see that there's much need to worry about drawing an eye or two. It's really only the face that needs some touching up, and she's quite good at that."

"You're the boss." Inoadar remarked agreeably.

"Ahh...If only SHE looked at it that way." he chuckled and made a dismissive wave. "Oh, she will probably whine a bit at first, but she'll be glad soon enough. Besides, she won't have time left to do anything but accept whatever I provide her."

"So, what are YOUR preferences, then? Five eight, one hundred twenty? Redhead? Twenty to twenty five? Blue eyes? High cheekbones? Fancy hair?"

"That all sounds quite acceptable, but if you can find it in Blonde...with green eyes...Oh, and forget the hair. Just something simple. I don't want it to be cut in such a way that it MUST be up in some elaborate coif. If you can do that, I believe we will have a deal." His eyes were predatory as he extended his hand to seal the agreement.

Inoadar made a last few notes and gripped his hand. "Should be simple enough...I can find you here then, when I locate your...goods?"

The Nuit stood, patting and smoothing himself down. "I will be watching for you." He smiled again, "Until then." He flipped his hood back up and walked off.

Inoadar regretted that he'd not taken the opportunity to try to talk up the prospect of an alluring, shorter, dark haired girl with some talent for exotic makeup and dress and a gift for play-acting. Most of the rest of the description would fit. He would track down Amolina Moletta. He'd already seen her around a time or two, but he'd been too pressed for time to do more than fantasize about her screams and futile apologies.

'Oh well, some other time.' he muttered to himself.

[Inoadar]

It seemed to Inoadar that The House of Immortal Pleasures was a good place to find a tailor-made woman. One fitting a particular description, a particular bill. 'Isn't what they are in business FOR?' He had not been there in all his time in Ravok. He would have told himself early on that he was too busy building his contact list to dally in such endeavors. Then, of course, too busy working his contact list. Then too busy adding to his skill. Then too busy practicing his skill. 'Business before pleasure.'

Even to himself, he would not have dared admit that he was intimidated by women. Of course, this only applied to relationships intended to result in bed games. He had little skill in that regard and he knew it. Where interrogations, intimidation, subterfuge or murder were involved, men and women were all the same to him. But the thought of trying to bring pleasure, rather than pain and death, made him all too aware of his ineptitude.

But now, the fact that he'd never been there served him well. No one would know him or recognize him. He went back to his room to prepare a disguise. He would plunge into the brothel, track down his particular woman, drug her, drown her, deliver her. 'Piece of cake!' There was no anxiety in playing the part of a rowdy young man, confident in his ability to bring any woman to a thrashing, gasping climax. He knew that he was not going to actually have to succeed at it. As soon as he got close and private, in goes the poison, clamp goes the hand over the mouth until she falls in a swoon. Then the play-acting, the crisis, the hush-hush.

He got back to Tarsin's and slipped up to his room. He got out a blond wig and used some colored talc and charcoal to add a ruddy tone to his skin, as well as to smooth the blemishes and mask the scars. He slipped some small shards of stone into the insoles of his shoes to prompt a clumsy walk with a sight bow-legged appearance. Then, as usual he put on two layers of clothes, both to bulk up and to give him a quick change option and he pocketed his bird tongue. No messenger disguise this time. No Tamo daggers. No cane/blowgun, no garrotte, no whip. He still needed to get a disguise set of dark shoes. He had thrown his last set away during a quick change and had not yet replaced them. So he would have his bladed boots. But with his ankle so weak, he had no great confidence in kick-stabbing.

Done up as well as he could right now, he made his way across the Dock district to the House of Immortal Pleasures.

[Inoadar]

From the outside, it was at best, a nondescript building, at worst, a dive. Dingy whitewashed plaster, patching missing bricks in numerous locations, the patches yellowing to a convincing imitation of urine stains. The door displaying many features of dry rot and poor seating, as well as mismatched paint, a difficult accomplishment where the color black is concerned, But streaks of gloss shown against dull flat in clumsy strokes, peeling to display an ugly hunter green beneath.

It was hard to describe the window ornamentations as anything other than "bars". Sure, they had a twist and a scroll work incorporated into them, but the rusty reality was the heavy bolts and reinforcements that were anything but decorative. Puttied holes showed where these bolts had been inset in years past, causing the bars to be ill-centered over the window jambs and sills.

Where the exterior was rundown, the interior was luxurious. Silken embroideries covering upholstered settees with polished, exotic-grained wooden frames. Satin cushions and hanging censures of narcotic incense hazing the room with ethereal fragrances and beaded partitions allowing shadowed hints of the writhing, moaning seductions beyond.

He walked in, a wide-eyed and overwhelmed young novice. Smooth of skin and high of voice, thanks to the installed bird-tongue at the back of his throat. Insisting he wasn't a virgin, with a crack of the voice for effect, brought an indulgent, disbelieving smile to the barely clad woman at the table and loveseat set that served as a clerk base for payments and scheduling.

His shying away from her touch was for twin effects. The first, of course, to add to the act that he was completely inexperienced with women and was nervous about letting it be known to his first one. To let his fear of exposure as a man of no practice, in either technique or endurance, be obvious. The only practice Inoadar was concerned about was the practice with the bird-tongue to perfect the voice crack on demand.

The second effect was the less obvious need to prevent the woman from feeling the hard wiry strength beneath the soft clothes. Such a woman would have knowledge of the sort of smooth contours a boy would possess, as opposed to the hard, scarred, leathery hide of a man of extremes, such as he was.

She played the condescending grin towards this inexperienced young pup into a salacious lip-licking invitation to the world of pleasure. Inoadar squirmed as though he might not make it to his room before he "finished", but managed to give his "order". Here came his coup-de-grace. He held his breath and generated some quick inner pressure to blush his face, and took out a piece of parchment! The clerk girl's eyes widened in amused disbelief that he was so naive, that he wrote down what kind of woman he wanted!

"Let me see..." his voice cracked, "Five foot, eight, one hundred twenty pounds, green eyes, blond hair, not..." his voice cracked again. "...Not too fancy, cut straight if you can." He found his place on the paper again, "...Umm...twenty three years old. Is that okay?...yes?...um, then it says something about 'high cheek bones'...is that right?...Ma'am?"

The woman stared in charmed disbelief. Oh he was precious! Inoadar could tell that she wanted to just grab him and make a man of him right then and there, he was so cute! "Oh, you sweet young babe! Did 'daddy' write those instructions down for you? Would he mind if I gave you a 'Special Deal?' A two-for-one?"

He hadn't counted on this. She looked serious. It could upset everything. But as he stammered in genuine indecision, her smile broadened, and she laughed merrily. "It's okay, you dear boy. One thing at a time, eh? I'll give you a rain check on that threesome." She winked and rose to step around a corner to call to someone named Dirk to see if Sharina was ready.

[Inoadar]

Everything went so smoothly that he should have suspected he'd pay for it later. But for now, Sharine arrived, matching the description in every way and seducing the entire room as she slinked her way up to Inoadar and let her arms trail across his belt and buttons as she slipped by him, all lips and lashes. She somehow got his first layer of clothes to seemingly drop from him of their own accord as she snaked her way out of most of her own.

As she eased back into a very "accessible" pose on the end of the bed, she suddenly choked just a bit. She started to make a sultry comment about what she would soon be choking on when it got worse. She tried to hide her alarm, expecting it to pass, and not wanting to lose any tips she would make off this naive looking young innocent. Her eyes flew wide with real alarm as she read something in Inoadar's eyes, something that indicated that he was very well aware of what was going on and intended it to run its full course.

She tried to scream, but her tongue had swollen to the point of limiting her voice to a gurgle. Inoadar dropped a small empty squeeze bladder on the bed beside her, citing the spent contents as an 'inhalation poison'. She stared in fear at the little rubber bubble with the spout on it and looked back up to find it replaced by a dagger in the young man's hand.

"Now don't worry, this will only put you to sleep." he cooed softly, dropping on top of her, taking a moment to get her thrashing under control. "This doesn't have to hurt," he hissed more viciously, "but it will if you don't stop kicking, honey. I DO have to prick you with it I'm afraid, but after that, I promise no one is going to torture you or anything. I just need to be a doctor for a bell, and that means I need a sick patient. It's just an act, and I'll let you go when it's over."

The terror in her eyes let him know that she was not so stupid as to think that his last promise really meant anything. He gave her just a prick, apologizing with enough feeling an observer might have thought he truly meant it, and before long, she slumped into unconsciousness. Inoadar immediately dabbed some dye from his disguise kit on her thighs and under her breasts. he descended the stairs to the clerk and informed her that there was a very serious problem with Sharine.

After a few questions, her got her convinced that Sharine was showing symptoms of a newly reported disease. He promised her it lacked a serious degree of contagion, but was still able to be spread while the spots were prevalent. It was a simple matter to get her to agree to keeping it very quiet and making a back exit available to remove her so he could get Sharine to the Healing Hand, where she could possibly be saved.

There was a cart waiting with a driver, Dirk, who helped dump her in the back and handed Inoadar the reins as he climbed over the buckboard into the bed of the cart. Inoadar gave the horse a light slap on the rump and they trotted off. Inoadar noted how the man beside him didn't appear the least bit concerned or inclined to hurry.

"Where to, 'Doc'?" Dirk asked, his tone suggesting he did not think Inoadar was in any way connected to the medical profession. Inoadar turned to ask what that was supposed to mean, since it should have been obvious he would answer "The Healing Hand", when he saw a crossbow in Dirk's hand, leveled at his back.

"S'okay, Doc, just take her where ever you need to go. We'll take care of your business first, then we'll see about mine."

[Inoadar]

Inoadar eased the cart down to the docks area. He stopped and half turned his head. "My business is not going to occur with your presence, pal."

Dirk appeared to consider this for a moment. "Okay, I guess we can get to my proposition first. You're obviously going to kill the girl. Or worse. I never liked Sharine, myself. Oh, she's a good enough piece o' tail, but I always thought she was stuck-up, you know what I mean?"

Inoadar shrugged, "I wasn't intending to get to know her. Get to the point, okay?"

Dirk laughed roughly, "Fair enough. I've seen you, and I know who you are, Mr. 'Tyrell'. Yeah...so you know the name, don't you. You can't fool me!" His eyes grew sick with greed. "But I'll tell you what you CAN do...you can leave 300 gold rims out back o' the 'House' once every season. And in return I won't turn you in for killing Mr. Galatos' young nephew's best friend's mistress!"

Inoadar feigned great difficulty in preventing himself from attacking Dirk. He held his breath and generated inner pressure to make his face turn red. In fact, he was laughing inside. This muscle-brained fool should not have said what name he thought would expose Inoadar. The name 'Tyrell' was one he used around a bounty hunter that he had been at odds with. But the real telling detail was that this was the same name that the thugs from Nyka had heard the guy call him.

So, it appeared that Dirk was getting his information from a Nykan source. That could be valuable to know. But for now, image was everything. He leaped to his feet. "THREE HUNDRED? Are you crazy? I have expenses that I already can barely make. Why do you think I have to take these odd jobs."

Dirk sneered, "not my problem pal, but I'LL be YOUR problem if you don't pay up." he beat his fist into his palm a few times for emphasis. "But I'll tell you what, I'll be generous and give you thirty days to come back with the first payment. Come to the back of the 'House'. Ill be watching for you. if you don't show, you better be watchin' for me."

'Time for one last act' Inoadar thought as he launched himself at Dirk, deliberately leaving his gut exposed. Dirk bit, and though Inoadar crumpled gasping, his face now seeming to grow pale as the effects of his 'reddening' effort wore off, he had twisted with the punch and it had not hurt all that much.

Dirk though, crowed with malicious satisfaction. "Lesson learned, beanpole. Thirty days...Don't forget."

Inoadar laid there moaning, watching until Dirk was out of sight, jumped up, quickly drowned the sleeping girl in the canal, dragged her back, his mauled ankle aching anew, and packed her now dead body back in the cart to deliver to the Nuit waiting three blocks away.

[Inoadar]

The exchange of the dead woman's body was uneventful. The client examined the body's features, found them "quite satisfactory", and handed over a scrap of paper. It had been torn from a larger one and was blank save for some flourishes Inoadar could not identify.

Inoadar leveled a very frank look at the man. "I was actually anticipating mizas as payment, sir." he said with a tone that said a very convincing explanation had better be forthcoming. "And, on miss Sharine's behalf, I think she'd feel her life was worth more than a scrap of paper."

The man laughed. "I'm sorry, I realize you are to be paid handsomely for this effort. I would have it no other way. But Mr. Adams and I agreed that it was not advisable that I carry such a sum, in coin, on my person, in an area with the reputation that is carried here. What I have just given you will be lined up with it's complement back at The Spot and, when it is found to be the perfect match I know it to be, both in shape and signature, you will receive your payment."

Inoadar raised his eyebrows in understanding and appreciation. "So the other half of this torn paper is in his hands?"

"Precisely." The Nuit crowed, his expression indicating his assessment of his cleverness. For his part, Inoadar could not disagree with him. "Then, if we are finished, and I could impose upon you to help me transfer this body to MY cart, we can be on our respective ways."

The poisoner shrugged and took the upper portion under the arms and they swung her out of the one and into the other in a few surprisingly coordinated strokes. The Nuit made his farewells and clopped off into the dark with his "purchase". Inoadar turned on his heel and made his way back towards The Spot. He would collect his payment and then he would see about "Dirk" and the fantasy the big idiot clung to that he was going to blackmail 'Mr. Tyrell'.

The real beauty was that the incident where he had given his identity as 'Mr. Tyrell' had occurred a good thirty or forty days before he even opened his shop. And, if memory served, he had not made use of poisons in that little confrontation. The chances were very good that "Dirk" would not even know that his blackmail target was, in fact, a poisoner, as well as being fairly well schooled in the fine art of blackmail himself.

Inoadar grinned. 'In another thirty days, he'll get his first...and last...lesson.'

OOCAt this point, Inoadar returns to The Spot to get paid, I will attach that to the end of the thread, I just don't want to break continuity

[Inoadar]

It didn't take any thirty days to resolve the issue. Inoadar was familiar with the two schools of blackmail where you either go hard on the target and crush their resistance, or you go easy and give them enough hope to think they can actually pay without going under. Dirk wasn't going to succeed with either, because there was nothing Inoadar cared enough about to be blackmailed for. And he intended to make this a bitter pill for the big oaf to swallow.

His indiscretions were already known to the Ebonstryfe. They were the only ones he could truly be said to have "betrayed" and that was all behind them. He had betrayed the young fool that thought he was going to poison Mr. Barton and instead, set Barton up as boss man in his business domain. He'd made enemies that someone could threaten to deliver him to, but that was "extortion", not true "blackmail", and he would like to see them try anyway.

It only took twelve days for Inoadar to establish Dirk's visitation pattern, and with whom they took place. The girl was named "Lotta", or at least that was her 'House' name. He rolled his eyes, imagining a host of tired-out innuendo stemming from that name. But, he supposed that was about Dirk's speed. He could almost hear the guy saying "You're a 'Lotta' woman!...Hyuk, hyuk...get it? a 'Lotta' woman?" And she would pop her gum and tell him how clever he was.

He caught them coming out of the 'House of Immortal Pleasures' right on schedule, and approached with a bag of gold mizas, three hundred of them, in fact, just as if he was going to pay. He had his gloves on and hailed them. "Hey Dirk, I'm here ahead of schedule, let's get this over with."

Dirk was, to his credit, immediately suspicious. "What? No one pays ahead of schedule!" He realized he was too loud and hissed, "What are you up to? I'm not stupid, beanpole!"

"Well, that remains to be seen." Inoadar sneered. "If you're going to turn down three hundred Mizas in front of a good-lookin' woman like that, I'm not so sure I'd agree."

Avarice gleamed in 'Lotta's eyes, also right on schedule. "Three hundred? Dirk, baby, take it! Who cares if he's ahead of schedule." She gave Inoadar an appraising look that brought a scowl to Dirk's face. He knew that Inoadar's seeming disregard for money had piqued her interest.

"I don't like it! And stop looking at him like that! He's just using you to get to me." Dirk growled. Inoadar had to admit, the big moron was absolutely right.

Inoadar gave Lotta his most rakish and suggestive leer. "Then again, maybe I'M using YOU to get to HER." his eyebrows emphasized the innuendo. Lotta put her hand in front of her lips to hide a grin. "Oh fine, I'll give it to her!" Inoadar said, starting towards her.

"You're not givin' nothin' to NObody!" Dirk barked, stepping in front of him and bumping him back. Inoadar dropped the bag as if the impact had dislodged it from his grip. There was the kind of musical tinkle that brought sighs to greedy lips and tears to greedy eyes.

Lotta rushed forward, sweeping the bag up into her hands and pulling it open. Dirk spun around and snatched it away. Inoadar started to laugh. "Ahhh, you're first argument." he said with an exaggerated tone of romance. Then it turned cold. "And your last..."

Their dispute was instantly forgotten as they both turned, as one, to glare with narrowed eyes at Inoadar. He stood casually, with confidence in his pose, murder in his eyes and a vial of liquid in his hand. He smiled, pointed at the vial and silently mouthed the word "antidote".

[Inoadar]

"Did you say 'antidote'? To what? We didn't eat nothin', we was just goin' out for that!" Dirk insisted, trying to convince himself, as Lotta put her hands to her mouth with a gasped chirp of horror.

"Not every type has to be eaten, Dirk..." Inoadar said the name like a village idiot's grunt. "...or inflicted through a wound. There are such things as contact poisons. They are designed to be catalyzed by the salt in your skin, especially when the skin is oversalinated by the skin's need to breathe, due to excessive application of cosmetics." He had no idea if this was true, but it sounded good, and was intended to panic the girl. He looked at her with mock sympathy. "I'm sorry Lotta. This DOES mean you will be feeling it first. I'd say within...oh...another ten or twenty seconds you will start feeling short of breath...Oh...already?...Then of course the lack of air will start to make you feel dizzy."

Lotta was in a desperate state, already gasping for air and weaving on her feet in terrified certainty of having mere seconds to live. Dirk, seeing her so affected, began to believe as well. She was alternating between screaming at him to pay him back or take the antidote or "DO SOMETHING!"

Dirk was in a cold sweat, his own mind playing short-of-breath tricks on him. In between deep, forced breaths he was shouting at Lotta to shut up and let him think. She, of course, was in a frenzy, her heart racing, compounded by Inoadar's follow-up mention of chest pains, and how they would leave her about thirty seconds.

He was just beginning to wonder if either of them were going to have the wit to do the obvious thing and attack him outright for the antidote, when Dirk did just that. Inoadar put on a quick show of resistance but let the "surprise" attack succeed as Dirk knocked him to the ground, holding the vial up in triumph. Lotta ran to him, her screaming broken by hysterical laughing. and begging him to hurry. She stopped in stunned disbelief and all the color drained from her face as Dirk downed the whole thing himself.

She went mad. Restraint was an unknown concept as she assailed him with hysterical kicks and scratches and shrieks of hatred. He tossed the vial to the stone with the tinkle of broke glass and dealt her a backhand that sent her to the ground as well. "Petch Off, you stupid loudmouth whore. You think I care anything more for you than how cheap a lay you are. You were good lookin' in your day, but your mouth is more than your ass is worth. Now be a good girl and die quietly, and I'll say nice things about you at your send off to the bottom of the lake."

Utterly defeated and doomed to die in the next few seconds, Lotta simply lay there whimpering, waiting to die. Inoadar got to his feet and started to laugh. Lotta looked up with a wretched expression as if to curse him for this last indignity, her eyes red, wet crescents of misery and fear.

Dirk got a look of vengeance and took a step towards Inoadar. "You son of a bitch! You tried to kill me. I don't need your petching money, I..." He suddenly stopped, waiting. Then he grunted in pain and doubled over with a gasp. He looked up with sudden horrified understanding at Inoadar, who laughed even harder.