"I think there is something wrong with Mrs. Madorn," Eknie said.
They were enjoying mead on the porch, unbothered by the cold wind. In fact, it felt rather refreshing to be out in the freezing temperature. Ted had arranged a collection of nine different cups and glasses onto the table in a formation that - to him, at least - represented the peak of casual artistic talent.
"Sure there is," Ted replied. "She is a morbid woman with inclinations that should be considered as unnatural as the profession built around making the dead men speak. In fact, I would not be surprised at all to learn that she is a deadrouser herself."
Eknie sighed and raised her posterior so that she could sit on the table next to the precious tea cups.
