He cut away the clothing, soaked with mud from the canal, examined the external wounds, took measurements, and noted the bone age.
Just like last time, when he reached the chest cavity, he cut off the external port and quickly burned it.
Next were the limbs. He lifted the deceased’s left arm from the muddy water and wiped it down from the shoulder with a damp cloth.
He wiped past the crook of the elbow, over the forearm, and down to the inner wrist.
He stopped.
On the skin of the inner wrist, there was something.
Two small dots above a curved arc. A smiley face.
The gas lamp’s wick burned steadily. The flame stood tall, without a single draft.
Old Big stared down at the smiley face on the wrist. He looked for a long time.
He put down the damp cloth and turned the deceased’s left hand over, then back again.
The hand was small, the wrist delicate. It was a woman.
On the outer wrist, near the ulna, was a slight, raised bump from a healed wound.
Old Big pressed his thumb into the bump, applying firm pressure.
’Over a decade ago... that young waitress from the teahouse in the Southern Imperial City District.’
She had taken a shove for a drunken patron, her wrist cracking against the corner of a table.
He’d just become a coroner back then. He knew a little about bones, so he’d splinted the wrist of the girl he liked for two weeks.
The day he set the splint, she’d laughed and teased him for wrapping it too tightly, saying her fingers had gone numb.
Old Big gently laid the small hand back on the table.
He straightened up, took off his reading glasses, and wiped them on his sleeve.
The smiley face was still there. He’d drawn it back when he found out she had consumption.
The girl had said to him, "Don’t look so grim all the time. With that long face, it really does feel like I’m about to die."
He’d been at a loss. He picked up a piece of charcoal from the stove, one that hadn’t quite burned through, and drew a smiley face on her inner wrist.
He’d told her, "See? Now you have someone to smile for you. Whenever you feel like crying, just look at it."
And she had. She’d smiled.
Old Big stood before the table, motionless.
’The broken threads in his mind began to connect, one by one.’
This was, after all, his life’s work.
The evidence couldn’t speak for itself. He had to piece it together, case by case.
The Echo Society preyed on the dying.
And in a city, there were always plenty of people on their deathbeds.
Just before they took their last breath, a hand would reach up from below and catch it.
Once caught, they became tools.
In this state, neither living nor dead, she had served as an Anchor for the Echo Society for over a decade.
Old Big’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
’After more than a decade adrift, she had still found her way back to him.’
"...You knew where to drift back to, didn’t you."
He reached out and gently brushed a strand of muddy hair back from the dead woman’s forehead.
As was his custom, Richard went to the Branch Office on Sunday, but the man he was looking for was nowhere to be seen.
He asked the young clerk on duty, who flipped a page in the logbook.
"Ah, Old Big," the clerk said without looking up.
"He’s been holed up downstairs. It’s been like this for the past few days. Goes down first thing in the morning and doesn’t come up until evening."
"The morgue?"
"Yep."
Richard didn’t ask any more questions. He headed down.
The heavy wooden door to the morgue was ajar.
Richard knocked. Old Big’s voice answered from within, more muffled than usual.
"Come in."
He pushed the door open and entered.
There was no body on the worktable, only a tall stack of death registries, messily flipped through.
Old Big sat behind the table, wearing his reading glasses and holding a yellowed old file. His gaze was distant.
The copper penny he usually twirled between his fingers lay perfectly still on the tabletop.
"You’re here," Old Big said, briefly lifting his eyes before lowering them again.
Richard found a stool and sat down. "These past few days... you’ve been down here the whole time?"
"Mhm."
"What are you looking through?"
Old Big’s hand rested on the old file.
"Just digging up some old things," he replied vaguely, closing the file. "It’s nothing."
Richard watched him.
In the six months they’d known each other, Richard had always known Old Big to be a chatterbox.
He could spin a copper penny with dazzling skill and had a mouth with no filter.
Quotations from Lady Mary, old stories from his apprenticeship, the ins and outs of performing an autopsy—he’d talk about it all at the drop of a hat.
But today, Old Big was abnormally quiet.
His copper penny lay motionless on the table, and his gaze wouldn’t settle, constantly drifting toward the stack of registries.
"Old Big," Richard said, lowering his voice. "What’s wrong?"
"It’s nothing." Old Big waved a dismissive hand and poured himself a cup of tea.
"It’s just... when you get old, you start dredging up the past. It’s easy to get lost in old memories."
He took a sip of tea and mentioned casually,
"By the way."
"A couple of days ago, by the small river East of Waste Rock Lane, I saw a Black Hound."
Richard’s heart sank.
’The Black Hound... he’d read about it in books.’
’Nemesis had also spoken of it at the Divine Pantheon Salon.’
’A creature native to the Imperial mainland, an omen of misfortune on the level of a natural phenomenon.’
’Those who see a Black Hound are destined for a major upheaval within three days to three months.’
’Those it follows for an entire night rarely survive the month.’
"The Black Hound?" Richard’s voice was tight. "What... what did it do?"
"It just squatted there, watching me for a good while."
Old Big gave a dismissive laugh.
"Its coat was jet-black, gleaming. It gave me a look and then took off."
He shook his head, mocking himself.
"Even a Black Hound would find a guy like me too unlucky to bother with."
Richard sat on the stool, a chill running through him.
’The Black Hound had watched Old Big for a good while.’
’That wasn’t just "giving him a look and taking off." It had targeted him.’
"Old Big," Richard said, sitting up straight. "The Black Hound... you know what it signifies, don’t you?"
"I know," Old Big said, sipping his tea. "Old folklore. What, you believe in that stuff too?"
"This isn’t about belief."
Richard’s expression was grim.
"Whoever a Black Hound fixes on, that person is headed for trouble. Have you... gotten yourself mixed up in something recently?"
Old Big’s hand paused.
"Old Big!" Richard’s voice rose. "What exactly were you looking at in those files?"
"It’s nothing." Old Big slid the old file under the stack of registries.
"I told you, it’s nothing. Just a lonely old man digging up the past and feeling nostalgic. Don’t go getting wild ideas."
"Come with me to the Imperial Capital," Richard suggested suddenly.
Old Big looked completely bewildered. "The Imperial Capital? What would I do in the Imperial Capital?"
"I’m leaving at the end of May," Richard said, looking at him.
"Come with me to Lady Mary’s. You can go stay with your old teacher for a while, lay low."
"Lay low from what?" Old Big laughed. "Just because a Black Hound gave me a look?"
"It wouldn’t hurt to be careful."
"Kid."
Old Big finally picked up his copper penny, but he only held it between his fingers. He didn’t spin it.
"My hands don’t shake when I work. And if something were to happen to me, no one’s going to lose sleep over it."
"Don’t talk like that," Richard said with a frown.
"I’m telling the truth."
Old Big set the penny back down on the table.
"Don’t bring up the Imperial Capital again.
"The number of dead has been piling up lately. This pile of autopsy work needs someone to do it."
"You just worry about yourself," he said with a wave of his hand.
"Your summer studies are what’s important. Getting into university is a major event in your life. Don’t get distracted by an old man like me."
Richard wanted to press the issue, but Old Big had already dragged the stack of registries toward him and put his reading glasses back on.
"Go on," he said, not looking up. "Go do what you need to do. I’m busy here."
Richard stood where he was, saying nothing more.
’He could feel that Old Big was hiding something from him.’
’But the old man wouldn’t talk, and he wouldn’t leave.’
"Old Big," Richard asked one last question before he left.
"If you change your mind, let me know anytime. I’ll buy you a ticket to the Imperial Capital."
Old Big didn’t look up, only waved his hand.
"Got it."

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