Seamus sat atop a large crypt, lazily directing his Undead minions as he looked down on the City. He smiled as he beheld the sprawling ruins of an ancient, forgotten people, and then, squinting, held one thumb over them, as a child might before he crushes an ant. Malifaux had been called the greatest discovery in the history of mankind, and Seamus had to agree. Everyone sought relics and treasures, wonders beyond their wildest dreams, but he had actually found one. In an old library, long abandoned by its collector, Seamus had found the dust-covered book containing science unknown in the world he was born to – the secrets to raising the dead. He brought down his thumb with a gleeful snigger.
"Oh hey, Molly-girl, pay attention." Seamus drew out a watch from his breast pocket and noted the time. Springing to his feet, he looked toward the outskirts of the City. There he could easily make out the flicker of The Breach, the portal that connected this world to Earth. On his watch, the second hand clicked away until it struck the hour, and just then, a powerful locomotive burst through the great opening, a black surge of smoke billowing into the distant sky.
"Right on time, Molly-girl. The whole thing's one well-oiled machine, it is. Thing's a wonder." Seamus snapped close his pocket watch and tucked it away before turning his head toward Molly Squidpiddge who was seated beside him on the crypt. Reanimation didn't seem to agree with her as she was hunched over, throwing up another mouthful of blood onto the ground with a sickly cough.
"Damn, Molly, you're a disgusting creature." Seamus didn't understand where all the blood could come from. It had been several months since her death, and he'd thought the girl would dry out eventually, but she continued to bubble with an unending river of red ooze. It was almost enough to disturb even his morbid thoughts. Almost.
Jumping down from his perch, he took a moment to adjust his top hat and smooth his latest tailored citycoat with his hands. Nearby, his cadre of Undead harlots labored at digging up a grave. They had been the entire working staff of Madame Sybelle's Saloon, and since his arrival in the City, he had developed a deep affection for them. He was certain they were just as lovely in Undeath as in life. They weren't quite as smart, however. Only one of them had kept the shovel he had given her. The others resorted to clawing the earth with their hands. Despite their inefficient technique, the crack of the lone shovel against wood proved they had reached their goal. He darted over to peer down into the grave, curious to see what state Phillip Tombers was in. One of his girls prised open the casket lid with a strength she certainly hadn't possessed in life, and he saw the desiccated corpse of the late Mr. Tombers. Its time in the dry dirt had stretched the skin over the skull and high cheekbones, and darkened it, too. It looked like a mannequin made of boiled leather.
"Uncle Seamus wants to know what you know, old boy. Come out and talk with me a bit, won't you?" he cackled as one of his harem struggled to haul out the body. As the girl worked, he noticed a white speck land on her red dress. Blinking his eyes, thinking he was imagining it, he turned to look into the sky where he saw a swirl of clouds overhead and a dusting of snow beginning to accumulate around him.
"Snow? Isn't it July?" Seamus asked of no one in particular. He was surprised when Molly answered him.
Wiping her bloody mouth on her arm, Molly turned her eyes up to the sky. With a voice that sounded quite certain, she said, "It’s December."
As if responding to the sound of her voice the wind churned with sudden force, a blizzard springing up tight on its heels. Seamus drew his coat around him, feeling the chill in his bones. He watched, amazed, as drifts built up around him, blanketing the cemetery with fresh powder. Where the City had been clearly visible only moments ago, the swirling snow now hid it from sight. The whole world had shrunk around Seamus and only the graveyard existed.
Just a few yards from where he stood, a slope of snow formed against the side of a crypt. To Seamus' astonishment, the slope lurched. It was still for a moment, then the snowdrift shuddered again, and a giant figure began to rise. It shook the snow from its body, revealing a titan, the ice of its body as blue and dead as the heart of a glacier.
Seamus, amazed but unshaken, whispered a soft, "Thing's a wonder," before flinging open his coat. Holstered beneath was an ornate pistol, which he drew and levelled at the creature. The gun held only a single bullet; Seamus had never needed any more. With an eargouging blast the golem was slammed against the crypt behind it. Molly, still seated on the crypt's roof, toppled to the ground as the structure crumbled beneath her. Seamus took no notice as he pulled Phillip Tombers’ corpse from the ground, ordering his Undead harem out of the hole. All around him, the accumulating snow began to shiver and shake as tiny demons, smaller versions of the titan, appeared.
With a curt gesture, Seamus sent his Undead ladies to contend with the creatures. The monstrous women hissed like feral animals freed from their leashes and launched themselves upon the icy creatures, clawing them back to the ground. For every one rent to shards more of the creatures appeared, and soon his Rotten Belles were overwhelmed.
"Sybelle!” Seamus snapped, reloading his pistol. “Carry this body. Graveyard's getting a mite feisty."
Unlike the rest of his Undead entourage, who had been curvaceous and attractive in life, Sybelle was round and fleshy. Undeath had gifted her already sturdy frame with additional strength, and she easily hefted Phillip's body from the ground as she slung him over her shoulder. About to abandon the battle behind him, Seamus glimpsed the silhouette of a woman through the swirling snow. And what a silhouette. He would be the first to concede he was not the most focused of men, but what red-blooded male wouldn't take time for a profile like that?
"Miss, you're Mr. Tombers’ sister?” he called out. “Lover? Fascinating family, to be true."
The tempest stilled; the veil of snow falling away to reveal the woman. She wore a long coat, striped stockings and boots with narrow heels. On her head - a warm, furry hat and a pair of goggles, although he didn't care much for the goggles. Her voice was just as cold as the frigid wind.
"No, but Phillip Tombers’ legacy belongs to me. Leave his body and go."
“Now keep your thermals on, love,” Seamus smirked. "Let's not be hasty. Tell you what, I'll ship him to you when I'm done with him. I swear it, I do. You have an address in the City?" He didn't wait for her answer, lifting his pistol to fire on her. With a motion of her hand, though, the wind slapped a sheet of snow across her and she was gone. He didn't have much time to laugh at his own wit for behind him, he heard a hoarse grunt. Turning, he saw Sybelle held aloft by the ice titan. It had somehow survived not just Seamus' elephantstopper but also the collapse of the tomb, and now its cold fist was wrapped around Phillip's torso. The creature attempted to shake Sybelle's grip on the corpse, the fat madam hanging gamely from Phillip's failing trousers.
Molly, too, had managed to clear herself from the ruined crypt. After coughing a lungful of blood into the snow, she climbed to her feet and began to stagger toward her Master. Lifting an arm weakly, she called out for him in a faint voice, but the howl of wind drowned out her words.
At any other time, Seamus would have been amused at the sight of Sybelle flailing in the air, her fat legs swinging like stolen sausages in the mouth of a stray dog. His patience, however, had run short. Reloading his pistol, he fired directly into the chest of the blue golem, sending it staggering backwards. The golem's grip and Sybelle's, too, remained true, and Phillip's body lost the tug of war, pieces of him scattering into the snow. Sybelle rolled away with a full set of legs while the golem held grimly onto the torso as it toppled backwards, arms flailing.
Behind it, the tiny form of Molly Squidpiddge stood motionless in the snow, the shadow of the construct completely eclipsing her. She was helpless as the giant teetered above her, lifting her arms to shield herself. The giant crashed down, just missing her, and the tremendous weight of its body broke through into the sunken tombs beneath. The cracked earth heaved as the creature vanished and Molly's already unsteady legs lost their footing. Her arms windmilled awkwardly and with a cry, she tipped backward and fell into Phillip's open grave. Her misfortune had not concluded as a drift of snow shifted and spilled over into the grave, burying her.
The corpse of Phillip didn’t fare much better. As the monster fell, Phillip's head struck one of the gravestones and popped off like a cork from a bottle, spinning into the air in a high arc. Seamus held his breath as the lifeless head traveled through the air. His heart stopped as it plummeted to the earth, disappearing into the snow covering the ground. Directly across from him, an equal distance from where the head had landed, Seamus saw the woman with the fur hat. He narrowed his eyes, locking onto her icy gaze before he took off like a dart, racing toward his prize.
The woman, too, rushed toward the head, but Seamus was the victor, diving forward and sliding through the snow. The head slipped through his fingers, as did his gun. Expecting an attack from the woman, he was dumbstruck as she sped past him. Sitting up, he dusted the snow from his face and watched as she bent over the dismembered torso, still in the clutch of her ruined golem. Reaching inside the man's jacket, she drew out a small object and held it aloft as if it were some great trophy.
Seamus squinted, trying to identify the object. "There was a book? I thought you were after his hat-stand." He cradled the severed head with one arm and pointed his gun at the woman.
The woman frowned, and for a second time, a swirl of snow snapped like a sheet in a gale to obscure her presence. When it cleared again, she was gone. Overhead, the angry clouds of the storm began to dissipate, and the snow relented. Dusting himself off and rising to his feet, Seamus saw that the creatures his Rotten Belles had struggled with had become lifeless mounds of snow, and his girls seemed no worse for wear. Heaving a sigh, he went to check on Sybelle. Kicking her sharply but, he was certain, tenderly in the ribs, the morbid creature stirred and regained her feet with her usual grace. With a gesture, he summoned his grotesque companions to his side.
“Ok, let's go. I've got what I came for." Starting off toward the west, he held Phillip's head before him. "I hope you are worth all this effort, Mr. Tombers."
As the group headed off, Molly lay forgotten and lifeless in Phillip Tombers’ grave.
"Yes, sir," the junior officer said with some disbelief. He’d never met a member of the Witch Hunter Task Force, but Deputy Samael Hopkins didn't seem to look the part. The dusty old poncho and ragged, widebrimmed hat didn’t live up to the mix of mystical and stately the young officer had expected. He did see the heavy six-shooter that hung on the man's hip and the round shield the man was holding in his face, emblazoned with a ram's head. “Guild” was spelled in gold letters across the bottom. It was proof that the man was who he claimed to be, the legendary Samael Hopkins.
Samael tucked the badge beneath his poncho and ducked under the rope that marked the crime scene. The broken earth in the graveyard looked as if it had been upset by an earthquake, with upturned gravestones and crypts smashed to rubble. A light dusting of snow remained visible in the few small drifts undisturbed by the morning's events. Several officers busied themselves around the site, searching for evidence.
"There's quite a lot of damage and only a single casualty, an innocent bystander from the looks of it. I suspect that it was some low level turf war. On the outskirts of the City, this sort of gang violence happens frequently." The officer paused. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why was a Witch Hunter sent to investigate a simple case of vandalism?"
"The snow didn't seem out of place to you, officer?" Samael asked bluntly before hunkering down next to a cluster of footprints in the mud. He noted the direction of their travel and lifted his head, looking to the south, into the City itself. Taking a small stick, he drew a square in the mud around one of the footprints. It was a slender print with a narrow boot heel. "I want a cast of this print. I think we'll find this footprint matches those found outside the Sanitarium last month."
The officer knelt next to Samael, looking curiously over the man's shoulder. "The Sanitarium?"
"There was an unseasonable snow storm on the day of Phillip Tombers’ murder too." Samael responded, rising to his feet "Phillip Tombers?" The officer asked.
"Familiar with the case?"
"No, but there’s a Phillip Tombers buried in this graveyard, sir. His grave’s been dug up."
"And gang fights generally involve the digging up of graves, do they? These are the sorts of details that would have been helpful when I asked you if there was anything significant earlier, officer," Samael responded.
The two men walked over to the gravesite. Two other officers were already there, one scrawling notes on a clipboard. It was obviously not Phillip Tombers in the grave. The female body wore white burial clothes and her long dark hair was tangled around her neck. A wide wound, slick with fresh blood, drenched her chest. Samael dropped to one knee and frowned. "Hoist that body out of the grave!"
When none of the men moved Samael stood and grasped a gaping officer by his collar, pulling him close. "Guild. Now. Fetch the Death Marshals."
"The Death Marshals? Really?" It sounded more like a plea than a question.
"That is Molly Squidpiddge,” Samael said. “Seamus will come back for her."