Bone Palace, The - Amanda Downum Page 0,61
her profession, if she crippled herself doing something stupid. She kept her left hand—ungloved for fine control on the dissection knives—from twitching, but couldn’t stop the wry twist of her mouth.
“The squid must be fresh,” she said, lifting her forearm-length specimen carefully by the mantle and shaking it so the spotted flesh rippled. Her magic spread through the corpse, lending shape and animation where it would otherwise be limp and gelatinous. One tentacle twitched, groping cold and wet for her fingers, and someone in the upper tier hissed in revulsion; Isyllt didn’t try to control that smile. “If the meat has turned pink or smells like a fishmonger’s gutter, throw it out.” Half the class leaned back in their seats, grimacing, while a few leaned forward. Some days her purpose was to mark those with strong stomachs and curiosities, but today she wasn’t hunting baby spies.
“There are two places from which to extract ink—the main sac in the body, and smaller deposits behind the eyes. To reach the primary sac, pull the tentacles and head away from the body cavity—the intestines will come with them. You’re looking for a narrow silvery bag.” The squid came apart in her hands, easier for her than it would for the students. With the tip of a knife, she teased the brighter piece out of the gelid white guts and held it up.
Movement at the top of the room caught her eye. There were always stragglers slipping in late, and students from the University or Lyceum trying to sneak glimpses of sorcery—rarely finding it as exciting as they hoped—but this thin, dark-clad skulker was familiar. Isyllt didn’t comment as Dahlia eased the door shut and slipped into the shadows of the farthest row, or even give the girl a second glance. The school employed runners, most of whom were children, but in theory any urchin shouldn’t be able to walk in from the street.
“The ink can be mixed with any number of media, depending on your purpose. Linseed for writing or painting, vinegar for cooking, blood, wine, ashes, grease or oil for unguents, and so forth. For today’s purposes, we can simply puncture the sac and squeeze it into a dish.” Blue-black ink seeped under her fingernail as she did so, and the pungent ocean-smell of iodine cut through the air.
She had the attention of the whole class, but she still felt Dahlia’s gaze, interest sharp as needles on her skin. Whatever reason had brought the girl here, curiosity held her now. Isyllt remembered being in the girl’s place all too well, and found herself standing a little straighter and brightening her witchlight.
“Next, the ink behind the eyes. First squeeze the head to remove the beak. Perhaps I could find a volunteer?”
After her demonstration, Isyllt summoned the students down to the floor and set them on a squid of their own. When they were engrossed with the task—or slumped in chairs breathing shallowly and trying not to vomit—she scrubbed her hands on a towel and waited by the lower door for Dahlia to join her. The girl moved soft as a mouse, not taking her eyes off the dissections in progress. Isyllt studied her torn stockings and tattered gloves out of the corner of her eye and tried not to frown.
“You said to find you if I learned anything about Forsythia,” Dahlia murmured, her lips hardly moving. Now she looked at Isyllt, and her wide slate-blue eyes were hard and serious. “Do you still want to know?”
The citizens of Elysia were long used to Vigils nosing around and quickly losing interest in deaths and disappearances. Isyllt imagined that Forsythia’s body had already been shipped to a pauper’s grave on the edge of the city, to free the slab for someone with family to miss them.
“I do,” she said, just as quietly. “Walk with me.” The girl lingered for a moment on the threshold, staring almost wistfully at the slabs of ice and dead squid and softly cursing students.
“Do you enjoy dissections?” Isyllt asked as they maneuvered through the halls, already clogging as instructors released their students to lunch.
Dahlia gave her another measuring look. “I enjoy learning how things work,” she said. “And what they’re good for.”
An underclassman stumbled out of their way, wide eyes trained on Isyllt’s ring, and held the door for them. She gave him a smile for his attentiveness and nearly laughed as he blanched and scurried away.
The day’s chill was pleasant after the bite of refrigeration spells. Brown leaves rattled