Back at the Nightshade, Marney stood next to Denton in a corridor, and together they stared through a tinted window into a quarantine room. They watched as Hamir studied Betsy, the young bargirl from Chaney's Den, who was now thawed and struggling weakly against the thick straps that secured her to a metal gurney.

Two other agents of the Relic Guild had been called in to assist Hamir: the apothecary Gene and the healer Angel. The three of them wore grey protective suits, though the hands of Angel and Gene were not covered by gloves.

Behind them, the back wall of the quarantine room was lined by five tall glass tanks. Three were filled with preservative fluid in which the remains of the dead floated. The skeletons of the Aelf and the alchemist were curled into the foetal position, slowly turning in the fluid. But the lifeless eyes of Carrick the treasure hunter seemed to stare out of the tank, across the room, through the tinted window, almost to glare accusingly at Marney. The bullet wounds in his chest and forehead were dark and ugly.

Next to Marney, Denton ran a hand through his silver hair. His expression was pensive and, although his emotions were shielded, she could tell he was troubled by the way he began crumpling his hat in his hands. Samuel was absent, having been summoned to see Gideon, the Resident. Marney felt tired, drained, but she had come to accept in recent months that sleep was often a luxury the Relic Guild could not afford. Besides, the events at Chaney's Den played heavy on her mind, and she was in no hurry to discover what dreams they might inspire.

On the gurney in the quarantine room, Betsy's skin, mottled with ice burns, had turned a sickly, clammy grey. There was a crude bite wound on her neck from the teeth of the tavern landlord. Black veins slithered out from the wound, snaking across her face and body and limbs. As the last of the effects from Samuel's ice-bullet thawed from her, she struggled against her restraints with increasing strength, gnashing her teeth at the agents around her; but the tight strap across her forehead ensured she could bite no one. Her eyes, a dirty yellow colour, rolled in their sockets as if she had no control over them.

Hamir watched impassively as Angel touched her hands to the bargirl's chest, and then felt down her torso. Angel was in her late forties, a doctor at Central District Hospital by day. Seen through the clear visor of her protective suit's hood, her face was lined with concentration. Wherever Angel touched the girl's body, her hands gave off a light flare, her skin tone brightening with the soft radiance of healing magic.

After a few moments, Angel said, 'As best I can tell, her internal organs have stopped working.' Angel's voice seeped through the walls of the quarantine room and sounded as clear as if she stood in the corridor next to Marney. 'How her body can still be functioning is a mystery,' she continued. 'It just doesn't make sense. Her heart's not beating. Her brain isn't conscious. She's not even using her lungs.'

Hamir looked at the other Relic Guild agent in the room. 'Gene?'

Gene was a slight, elderly man, around the same size as Hamir. Not quite as old as Denton, but not far behind, the apothecary wore small, round, wire-framed glasses and a serious expression. He always presented a bedraggled and put upon appearance. He walked to the head of the gurney where he pressed his hands to the patient's neck. Slowly, carefully, he pushed both his index fingers through her skin as easily as if they were sharp needles.

Marney was disturbed by how young Betsy was; perhaps even younger than her. Marney looked to the dead bodies in the tanks at the back of the room. The terracotta jar they had found with Chaney was now with Gideon, and Marney found it hard to believe that such a simple looking artefact could be responsible for such terrible things.

'This is strange,' Gene said as he extracted his fingers from Betsy's neck. 'I'm pumping her full of antitoxins, but this virus is killing them before they can enter her system. I can't get a handle on what it is.'

Hamir nodded. 'She is petrifying.' The necromancer's normally unreadable expression became resigned. 'However, the process is incomplete. While the virus is still active, there is a slight chance we could reverse its effects.'

Hamir took off the gloves of his protective suit. 'Angel, if you would, please focus your magic around her heart and try to restart it. Gene, concentrate your efforts there also. I will try to hold the virus back and give the heart a chance to pump your antitoxins throughout what's left of her bloodstream.'

As Hamir and the two agents started to work, Betsy screamed, and the sound was amplified through the very walls of the Nightshade. It shredded Marney's nerves. She felt Denton's empathy encouraging calmer emotions within her. It felt like a comforting arm around her shoulders.