Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 26 by Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant Page B

which still stood in the center of the room. “My vessel is filthy. Another failure.”
    Aldram withdrew a cloth and began to dab at the corpse’s face. He wiped away the make-up along with the caked layers of ash, revealing the scars underneath.
    “What is wrong with its face? I will not limp through this life in a cracked vessel.”
    “There was a war in the human world,” Aldram said. He had gone through too much to let Reva heap new indignities upon him. He continued to clean the corpse, rubbing away the scabs and baring the raw skin underneath. “This is all there is. Better than you deserve.”
    “That is not acceptable,” Reva said. “You will have to find an unscarred vessel.”
    Aldram turned to face Reva, looking him in the eyes for the first time. “The humans blasted their world to pieces,” he said. “There are no unscarred vessels.”
    “Do not contradict me,” Reva said. He sucked in his breath and exhaled sharply. “What about that human that was skulking around here? He seemed in fine shape.”
    “He’s gone,” Aldram said.
    “You will direct my men to him.”
    Aldram began to inscribe the runes in the body’s scarred and blackened face. He did the work with his fingers, enjoying Reva’s horror at each pass. The skin came off under his nails, coating his fingers. “The body is nearly ready for you, my Lord.”
    “Tell me where the human went!”
    Aldram waited until he had drawn the last rune on the body’s forehead before he said. “Now all you have to do is take my hand.” His blackened fingertips stretched towards Lord Reva.
    The guard closed in, but Reva waved him away. “Fine,” he said. “If this is all that you have been able to find, it will do for the short term. Get on with the procedure.”
    “Take my hand,” Aldram said, moving closer.
    Reva continued to back away. “That is not required. I have already prepared myself.” He spoke a few words, and glowing runes appeared on his face. “Finish the transference and we will leave you.”
    Aldram struggled with the words he needed. But all he could choke out was, “This time you will take my hand.”
    Reva’s back touched the wall. A tear fell from his contorted face. He barked a single syllable, and his retinue disappeared. Then he grabbed Aldram’s hand. Fingers snapped in Reva’s grip, though Aldram couldn’t feel anything until Reva began to grind the fractured bones. Aldram cried out from the pain lancing through his body from a dozen points of pressure.
    “I won’t tolerate your games. You don’t have any power! You will stay here from now on, and you will obey me,” Reva shrieked. He dragged Aldram back to the corpse.
    Aldram screamed the words, pretending the edge in his voice came from elation, and reached out to touch the corpse’s forehead. His broken hand was freed, releasing new agonies, when Reva’s old vessel fell to the ground and began to fade away.
    The corpse sloughed its imperfections. Clothing tore as limbs elongated. The skin paled and the burn scars faded to near-invisible creases. Its face tightened, losing the crust of age and care, showing sharply defined cheekbones. Its hair became fine and silvery; the eyes twisted to life, flitting over Aldram.
    Reva, now fully inhabiting his body, whispered a few words and disappeared, leaving Aldram alone to nurse his pain and triumph.
    Aldram healed, eventually. The fingers became hooks that twisted at strange angles and, unless he exerted himself, his hand fell into a claw. The floor went unswept, and he was content to wear the same clothes until they fell to tatters. He didn’t dress the corpses anymore. Or bother to hide their burns.
    They left him alone. Except when they came for their vessels, standing erect and spotless in the dirt of the transference room, and nodded through his warnings of impending collapse as they gritted their teeth for the distasteful ritual to come. But when he reached for them with the broken hand, they took it.