Hellflower — Rosemary Edghill

Somebody had nailed Moke Rahone to his Desk. . . . Moke Rahone’ d been human, and someone had butchered him open. It was dainty-like. Real bodysnatcher work, done with something sharp— something that didn’ t burn like a pocket laser or chew up the meat like a vibro. And there was one other thing. It was sticking up out of Rahone’s insides and it hadn’ t been part of his original manifest. It might tell me who killed him, and who might be interested in taking over the cargo I had for him. I pulled off my glove and yanked out the optional extra somebody’ d left with Brother Rahone. What I got for my trouble was long and thin, pointed at one end and with feathers at the other. It was mostly red, but where it was dry it was a kind of blue animal bone with carving on it. I’ d seen bone like that before. Hellflower work! I’ d just shut the door on the inner room behind me when the outer door opened. The hellflower standing there wasn’ t Tiggy, but he looked real pleased to see me anyway. “Ea, higna,” the hellflower said. Then he went for his heat. . . .