By Mark Lennon
From Goblins & Galaxies #2 Winter 2026
The prevention of the onset of rot is the most guarded secret amongst those who preserve the dead. It is the foundation upon which the trade is built, however it alone will not suffice. There must also be the touch of a craftsman, the vision of an artist, and utmost of all the roaring fire of an inspired mind. It takes all of that, and no less, to stay death’s hand.
Rain drummed against the basement windows of Madelien’s Mortified Menagerie. Beneath the stairs was a vinegar bath and apothecary’s cabinet, its drawers occupied with tools and ointments necessary to the trade. And cinnamon, nothing masks the smell of decay better. Atop a bench veneered with patchy olive leather was a mouse and sparrow-hawk. Both killed neatly, both killed today. Madelien’s would only accept the most unblemished game and as such, only the most skilled trappers bothered to bring their wares there. The creatures stared with glazed eyes across the room where Franz Madelien hunched over his workbench.
His back pain had settled into numbness, as it always did during a long session. Hours’ worth of it stored up, no doubt it’ll cripple me once I finish. Taxidermist found dead after attempting to rise from chair… not the death I’d dreamed of… at least I’d have plenty of company, wouldn’t I? In his hand was a long whiskered dormouse. People seem to love the whiskers on these wretched things. With a harpist’s grace he sewed the creature’s stomach closed, its insides stuffed with a mashed ointment of a long forgotten mushroom, the dimidumvitae nostrum. Its magical preservative was the secret ingredient to the Mortified Menageries’ renown. He rubbed down the seams of his sewing, disguising it amongst the animal’s fur, and let out a bored sigh.
He reached past his jilted mug, and grasped a spool of wire. With a practiced touch he fed wire down each of the mouse’s limbs, starting at the foot and finishing with the torso. When finished he posed the body, feeling the wire hold the creature in his desired contortion. If the thing wasn’t turning unwieldly. Damned rigor mortis. Intricately as his stiff fingers would allow, he threaded wire through its neck and jaw, giving him full autonomy over the mouse’s stance.
The effects of the mushrooms were already becoming visible. The fungus seeks out the brain like tree roots seek water. Within seconds he saw the tension leave the mouse’s body, and it took a single laboured breath before fading to a vegetative state. Odd to see a breath… I must ask Aedelle to lessen the dose for vermin. He stood the mouse upright and placed a mouse-sized basket of blushing, mouse-sized apples into its awaiting arms.
Finally, he raised its head high, pulling back its jowls into an adorable smile and set it down beside the other animals. A pair of finches carrying a bushel of grain and a hedgehog eating a blackberry, violet juice running down its velvety paunch. His harvest scene was complete for the festival tomorrow. I hope they enjoy you lot more than I did, you little turds. As he climbed out of his seat, Franz yelped, his back shooting with pain like he’d been pricked with hot knives.
*~*~*
“I know you’re not going to ask, but the ladies of the harvest festival committee just loved the diorama. Folnya Gornier giggled like a child when she saw the hedgehog,” said Aedelle. She looked across the bed at her husband. The cosy light of the oil lamp deepened the lines of his face, making him look older than he was.
“Then I sincerely suggest she have her head examined,” Franz grunted. His eyes were closed as he spoke, both inviting and fighting sleep. “Either that or she’s been sampling the harvest wines a little… enthusiastically.” Aedelle laughed, drawing a wolfish grin from Franz’ lips. All these years, and that never fails to make my heart skip.
“You’re as cold as a bucket of ice,” she said, nestling into his shoulder. “And I’m a fool, but I can’t stop trying to thaw you.” Franz opened his eyes a crack to see her rosy face. I hope you never stop. “But I feel like you’ve been frostier than ever. There was a time when you used to enjoy your creations.”
Franz turned to his wife. “You’re right. That feels long ago.” He rubbed the gathering sleep from his eyes. “It’s… different now. I suppose there are only so many woodland creatures you can pose before it loses meaning.”
“You put smiles on faces. That’s worth something.”
“It is. But I can’t help but feel I’ve upturned every stone… what more can I do with taxidermy? I think about the rest of my life, with nothing left to reach for… Every time I enter that basement my heart falls into my shoes.”
“Well firstly, there’s always another stone to upturn.” She squeezed his arm, which he acknowledged with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Someone once told me that we all tell ourselves a story in our head, about what we are, and the worth of what we do. Every day, a conversation about why we’ve not done enough, why things aren’t what they should be. If you keep telling that same story to yourself, you’ll end up believing it. It’ll become who you are. It’s funny really, we often save the cruellest lies for ourselves.”
“And what if that story is the truth?”
“And what if it isn’t?” She kissed him on the cheek and leaned over to blow out the lamp.
*~*~*
“Oh come now Franz, that’s a specimen lion,” growled the trapper from the opposite side of the counter of the Mortified Menagerie. His sunken eyes were nestled in hammock-like bags that told a tale of how long he had spent stalking the beast in the Gladdarpines. “I came to you because I knew you’d appreciate it.” He leaned over the table, hulking over Franz in an attempt at intimidation. Think you can bully me like you do Kretcher from down the street?
Franz met the man’s eye, his mouth twisting as though an invisible hook yanked his cheek. “It’s true, the markings are beautiful. The teeth are prime, paws perfect, and his size is impressive.” He gestured to the well-proportioned beast, before creeping his fingers round his chin in appraisal. “By all standards you’re right, it’s an exceptional specimen. However…” With effort he rolled the cat onto its belly. He spied a smirk creep across the trappers face as Franz struggled with the animal. Let’s see how long that lasts. “The lacerations across the neck have made such a mess that it would be impossible to mend them properly.” He gestured toward the wounds that had slain the cat, flesh and fur torn where the trapper had made his kill. “A dart or an arrow would have been much cleaner. You used those damned toothed cross-bolts, didn’t you?”
The trapper scoffed. “A dart? You expect me to kill a lion with a dart? What’s next? Kill a boar with a mousetrap?”
“No. However, Crexley, if I did expect you to kill a boar for me with a mousetrap then I certainly wouldn’t accept anything less. Just as I wouldn’t dream of accepting this cat in the sorry state you’ve brought it to me in.”
The trapper’s face twitched. “You and I both know there’s nothing wrong with this lion.” He hauled the beast over his shoulder, and marched toward the door.
“I suggest you try the butcher down the street,” said Franz in retort. “He’s less demanding when it comes to condition. He may even give you a special rate, from one butcher to another.”
The trapper slammed the door so loudly behind him that the whole shop rattled. Franz grinned. Not a bad cat by any means. I’ll pick it up from the butcher for a third of the price I’d have to have given Crexley.
He busied himself a few minutes dusting shelving and lighting lamps before loading his pipe with looseleaf, throwing his feet upon the counter, and basking in a miasma of smoke. There’s no better part of the day than this. The quiet before the drudgery returns. Franz tilted back in his chair, ignoring his impending work like a child that knows bed time is approaching.
The bell of the shop tinkled as the door opened. “The store isn’t open yet I’m afraid,” said Franz, his feet retreating back to the floor. With a frantic wave he dispelled the pipe smoke. “You’ll have to come by later, my wife will be happy to show our wares.”
“I would rather speak to you privately, Mr. Madelien.”
Leave me to my pipe for God’s sake. “Well, as I said, my wife will arrive shortly. You’ll really need to wa—,“
“My employer has stipulated that you hear of this project directly, it won’t take a minute.”
Franz leaned back in his chair again, and pulled on his pipe. Just nod along until she leaves. He waved his hand irritably for her to talk.
“My name is Konria Kurn. My employer has seen your pieces on display in many a wealthy lord’s home. It is with admiration that he comes to you with his proposition, in the hopes you may create some of your finest work for him.”
Franz’ eyes started to glaze over. I’ve heard this preamble before. What’s it going to be this time..? A rabbit baking a pie? A yodelling elk? A damned pig on horseback firing snakes from a bow? “Enough foreplay, Konchia.”
“Konria.” she replied.
“Out with it then, Konria. What would your master have me make?” he said, doing his utmost to keep hostility from his voice.
“A hybrid creature, Mr. Madelien. Two, or even three creatures, joined into one.”
Franz’ pipe fell from his mouth, clattering on the slate floor.
*~*~*
Franz couldn’t find the will to work. Once Aedelle arrived, he’d moved to the basement and set to work on today’s commission, a group of crows playing Crux. He hadn’t finished the first bird, a monocle wearing raven, before his mind became consumed.
A hybrid creature, Mr. Madelien.
After composing himself, he had dismissed the woman. The very idea. It’s something suited to the mind of the mentally bankrupt. No wonder she’d kept her employers name private. He couldn’t think of a soul who would approve of such a thing, let alone want to part with gold in exchange for it.
Despite this, it was the most utterly compelling thought to enter his head in his career in taxidermy.
He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind. But as he opened his eyes on the half-finished raven, its eyes watching him like beady black coals, all he found within himself were the strangling vines of apathy. The Mortified Menagerie has been my life. He looked upon the monocle perched over the crow’s eye, his heart aching for how little desire he had to carry on making it. Why does every day in this place take something from me? He looked at the miniature pipe he had yet to prop into the scavenger’s beak. I wanted to make art… Something that mattered. He looked at the other ravens awaiting their cards and champagne flutes. This was never what I wanted…
The day drifted along, the warm afternoon surrendering to a brisk autumn chill that seeks out the gaps in loose sleeves and skirts. The sounds of the harvest festival began a couple of streets over. Music, the clinking of mugs, dancing and games of pinch the penny echoed across town, and in his basement Franz wrestled with his desires. Though he knew what needed to be done.
“I’m going to make something that matters.”
Franz climbed the stairs. He found Aedelle behind her desk, humming to herself as she scribbled in a ledger. “Is that my husband I hear?” she said, her head focused on her work.
He stepped behind her, planting a kiss on her head. “I’m afraid so.”
“Are you ready to leave? I’d like to be home tonight before things get rowdy.”
“I’ve something interesting to work on. Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll follow later.” He hoped that sounded casual.
Aedelle stared at him a moment longer than felt comfortable. “Of course, I’ll close up here and see you at home.”
Moments later he heard the thrum of her footsteps make their way across the shop upstairs. He heard the door close, then waited a moment, scarcely daring to breathe. She’s gone.
Franz swept the unfinished birds from his workbench, the sound of them clattering to the floor filling him with intoxicating joy. With a shaking hand he drew a roll of parchment from his desk and scribbled ideas and drawings. So much to consider, so much to attempt.
*~*~*
By the time he finished, the oil lamp had petered down to a pitiful flicker, the revelry on the streets long deadened.
He had never used his scalpel to this extent before. He had failed to consider bone joints that would not meet flushly, or the incompatible structure of muscles that were severed by his hasty slicing, and in no condition to be rebound. His work had been too impulsive to allow for anything resembling natural symmetry. He had failed at a great many things.
But he had also succeeded.
The creature had the torso and hind legs of a river skink. The reptile was a forearm long, its scales the earthy greens that hid it on a riverbank. Its head had been replaced with that of the raven he abandoned earlier, its black eyes now twinkling in appreciation. The raven’s wings had been attached in place of the reptile’s forearms. The midnight black feathers reaching a new level of elegance when draped over reptilian scales.
It’s a grotesque thing… Yet like the mother of an ugly child… I cannot help but love it. The next one will be better. Much better.
He towelled up the semi-coagulated blood that was smattered in viscous splotches on his desk. With a washbasin he cleaned his tools, apron, and hands. Then, with gentle hands, he stowed his creation in a sack with the dirtied cloths.
He held the bundle close as he made his way through the city, pacing briskly by the taverns still open for business. He crossed the bridge toward home, the river Soethe spuming underneath, and nodded to a passing city watchman. The sight of the musket slung on his shoulder sent a chill down Franz’ spine. No doubt the watchman has seen more suspicious characters tonight, relax.
When he was halfway across, Franz peered around, making sure he was alone, then dropped the bundle over the side of the bridge into the river Soethe. I’m sorry little one, but the world isn’t ready to see you yet.
He whistled the rest of the way home.
*~*~*
“Franz, it’s awfully late…” said Aedelle, her words rolling out in a mumble. She squinted at Franz’ silhouette.
“Sorry,” said Franz, leaning against the doorframe. “I was kept late, I wanted to take my time with those ravens, really make sure I’d done a fine job of it.” That’s a lie… when’s the last time you lied to her? Have you ever lied to her?
“Whoever you are, that’s a terrible impersonation of my husband. He wouldn’t be caught dead working so late.” She beckoned him over with a gentle wave.
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” said Franz, stalking toward the bed. “Franz Madelien has passed away I’m afraid, dreadful tale. Someone told him there’s always another stone to upturn. He was crushed to death trying to upset a boulder.” He dove onto the lumpy mattress, tugging at the blankets his wife covered herself with. “And you, are the number one suspect!”
Aedelle giggled, batting him away with feigned terror as Franz slinked close and kissed her. “What’s gotten into you? Have you been to the alehouse?” she said.
He held her in his arms, smiling a grin of ivory teeth that he couldn’t have restrained if he’d wanted to. “I just feel like I did a good job today.” For a moment his mind wandered back to the basement. And it’s only the beginning. “But enough from you, I’m the one asking questions, and I have ways to make you talk!”
Franz lit his pipe in bed as Aedelle opened the window and let some cool night air in. She took a comb and ran it through the birds’ nest her hair had become over the last fifteen minutes. After five painful strokes she gave up, returned to bed, and squeezed close beside him. A long moment of silence drifted by.
“You were right, you know…” he said, lips working around the pipe.
“Right about what?”
“About the story I’d been telling myself. About there always being another stone to upturn. You were right, I’d been looking in the wrong places.” He tapped the ash from the pipe and was about to lay back to close his eyes, but thought better of it. You can lie to the whole world if you want to… but don’t lie to her. “I need to tell you something.”
Aedelle didn’t judge him as he’d feared. She didn’t steer him back to his safer projects. Maybe she was happy to see her husband smile again, maybe she saw the beauty in this new work as well as he did. One thing was certain.
She encouraged him.
*~*~*
The days that followed were a blur. Each night there was a creature to assemble, a lesson on the merging of quarrelling limbs, a more natural way to pose the unnatural. Aedelle had helped in her own way. Making excuses for delayed work and preparing concentrated doses of the dimidumvitae nostrum, all while he worked behind the locked basement door. She had collected Crexley’s lion from the butcher. Its body lay in the vinegar bath, waiting. Too beautiful to waste as an experiment. Each night, another oddity was cast off the bridge into the river Soethe. There were five of them now. The sixth would be different…
It was late, even by Franz’ standards. The basement was dim, the lamps ensconced on the wall struggling to hold against the darkness. Shadows stretched dark figures across the room.
The creature was a hybrid fox, wolf and great-bat, and it was near perfect. The way the rusty fur of the fox blended to the sleety greys of the wolf into the black, delicate skin of the wings was nothing short of breath-taking. He had transplanted the bats head onto the base of the wolf’s throat, which he imagined the creature would reveal in predatory display. It’s curved, flesh-rending teeth beckoned curiosity, like a well-placed necklace on a woman’s cleavage.
There was one issue. Though he had sewn them more times than he’d like, the wings were not symmetrical. On the third attempt, he pushed a finger clean through the wing, tearing the flesh of the creature.
“Damn!” In an instant he became aware of the strain his eyes were under, of how tired he was from these late nights. He rubbed the balls of his palms into his eyes and approached his tool stand, taking the dimidumvitae nostrum.
With a gloved hand he smeared the ointment onto the wings. He massaged it in until he saw it disappear, leaving nothing but a greasy sheen on the hairy black skin. He waited a moment, and as expected, he saw the body become limp.
Franz snatched up his needle, and leaned over the beast to stitch the flap of broken wing. He threaded the needle, positioned it over the broken wing and breathed in. As he exhaled, he pressed the needle into the leathery flesh, and smiled. Right on target.
Then the wing twitched, flinging the needle from Franz’ fingers.
His chair scraped the slate floor as he sprung to his feet, sending tools tumbling from the table. Franz leaned over the creature. Just a trick of the light you fool. Its sleep tha-. The wings twitched again, and Franz’ mouth gaped as he saw a wing roll down the creatures flank. The skin of the wing stroked against wolf fur, making a sound like his fingers through his wife’s hair.
He saw the slow but undeniable rise and fall of its ribcage. It’s breathing. God’s blood, it’s breathing.
Franz backed away, but instead of the slate floor his foot met one of his tools. His ankle twisted, and he collapsed, his head meeting the corner of his apothecary’s table. He reached behind his head and his hand returned damp with blood. Swimming shapes filled his vision which only became stronger as he tried to blink them away. Before his sight failed, he saw the bat head on the creature’s throat blink with white eyes and draw its lips back in a blood freezing grimace. It chittered, and everything faded to black.
*~*~*
With a pitcher of icy water thrown over him, Franz came to. The blinding pain from his head put pressure behind his eyes, making the dimmest lights merciless, forcing his eyes closed. He licked at the moisture in his stubble before a second flagon of water was thrust into his hands.
“Drink” came a familiar voice.
He gulped from it, relishing the icy feeling in his throat. He opened his eyes, and found Crexley the trapper stood over him. Crexley’s stare bore down into Franz with such intensity he wished to fall back unconscious.
“Franz, what have you done?” He stood back, revealing the rest of the room. The basement door hung precariously on its hinges at the top of the stairs. Crexley must have knocked the door down… His eyes travelled down the stairs. His sixth creation lay on the workbench, right where he’d left it. There was a hunting knife buried in its midriff, pinning it to the table.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I came to sell you my wares this morning. Only instead of you and your pipe I found your wife in sobbing tears trying to get this door open. Said you didn’t come home last night. When I knocked the door down, and she saw you bleeding, she fainted. When I saw that thing—” Crexley gestured toward the wolfbat without looking at it. “—I damn near fainted too. What have you been doing, Franz?”
Franz squeezed his eyes shut, then looked down at the floor. “Aedelle, where is she?”
“That… thing. It was drawing breath. You carved it with your own hands, didn’t you?”
He knew shame had been the trapper’s intention, but Franz couldn’t stop a little smile forming. “I made it, yes.”
Crexley’s nose crinkled. “This is necromancy.”
“Necromancy would imply I’ve brought something back from death. I’ve given life to something new.”
“I’d like to see you explain that to the city watchmen. They’ll hang you for this!”
The stair behind Crexley creaked, and both men turned toward it. Aedelle was there, her eyes red, relief all over her face.
Crexley’s eyes were drawn under the stairs where the vinegar bath was set, a feline paw dangling over the edge. He walked over to investigate.
“That’s my lion…” he said, incredulous. He turned to Franz, his face burning magenta as his eyebrows came together in a snarl. “You told me it wasn’t good enough… I had to sell that cat to the butcher for twelve measly silver.” He rounded on Franz. “I always knew you were a miserable bastard, Madelien, but I thought you were honest.” Franz felt violence coming, but was too weak to do anything about it. “And now I see that thing… what you’ve been doing…” He spat on Franz. “I hope you hang for this.”
Crexley stormed up the stairs, past Aedelle and out into the street.
*~*~*
It was mid-afternoon, and the Soethe Bridge was busy as they made their way home. Franz leaned against Aedelle, his ankle doubled in size, the pain stinging unbearably. As they hobbled closer to the residential district, Franz noticed a commotion on the river bank. That’s an awful lot of fishermen. He pointed it out to Aedelle, and they made their way toward the parapet for a look.
There were a lot of fishermen. And not just fishermen, but troopers of the City Watch. Some watchmen took accounts from the fishermen, others were hauling sacks onto the scatty mud of the riverbank. One sack was torn open, the contents laid out in plain view. The remains of Franz’ first creation lolled in the hands of a watchwoman. He had no doubt what would be found in the other sacks they were pulling ashore.
“Aedelle, we need to get home right now.”
*~*~*
“They must have pulled one up in a net.” said Franz, readjusting himself in his chair, his ankle propped on a stool.
“Either that or it washed ashore,” said Aedelle.
“If Crexley hears about this… he’ll tell them everything. He could be talking to them right now.”
Aedelle stood staring out the window. Her mind is elsewhere.
“I’m sorry… I did this to us. I should never have dumped the bodies so carelessly… I’ve ruined us both.”
Aedelle was silent. The longer their conversation lapsed the more despairing Franz’ mood became. Finally, his wife sighed. “Don’t apologise to me Franz,” she said, her eyes still directed out the window.
“Once the authorities become involved… this will become a case of necromancy. We won’t be able to escape unless we act now. If we can pack quickly then perhaps we can rent an escort wagon or… We could—”
Aedelle raised her hand, cutting him off. “We’re not going anywhere,” she said, her lips tightened into a thin line. “Running would make us seem guilty, and besides. “ She turned toward him. “Now that you’ve found your spark again. You’ll never be able to stop. I know you Franz.” For a fleeting second she met his eye, then turned back to the window. “I wasn’t sure at first… but you’re on the verge of something. Something important. Perhaps more important than either of us.” Outside the window was an orchestra of yelling shop merchants and screaming gulls. “So forget about Crexley. Forget about what any of those miserable fools think of you, or of me. And never apologise to me for being the person that you are. That’s the person that I fell in love with. And I won’t abandon the man I love over mushrooms. Or necromancy.” Franz’ heart sang in that moment. “Now, how long do you need to work on that masterpiece of yours?”
“Just another night, maybe two.”
“I won’t leave this town until you’ve finished it then. And you won’t get very far without me. So you have no choice.”
“I love you too.”
Aedelle cleaned his head wound, and before the sun crept back into the sky, they hobbled back to the Mortified Menagerie. As they trooped through the streets, they spied letters pinned to the noticeboards around the town. The imperial seal was stamped to each, in thick rouge wax.
Citizens,
Creatures of a concerning nature were pulled from the river Soethe of late. They are being treated with grave suspicion. Any animal experts, or those feel they may be familiar with these creatures should attend their nearest watch hall without delay.
Aedelle made sport of tearing down and pocketing each one they passed, laughing as they went.
*~*~*
Franz carved. For a night and a day he carved Crexley’s lion with a grace like Mother Nature herself was guiding his hand. To it he affixed the head, wings and talons of an alabaster eagle. It stood over twenty hands tall, its head proud, its body powerful. As lethal as it was beautiful.
Upstairs, Aedelle was mashing the mushroom with her oils. The sound of thunderous hammering began on the shop front door and she appeared in the basement stairway, the ointment nestled in a mortar under her arms.
“They’ve found us! We need to hurry!”
“We won’t need long. It’s ready,” said Franz, gesturing like a proud parent.
She closed the tattered basement door, then bounded down the stairs. Passing a pair of gloves to Franz, they both took handfuls of the ointment and applied it to the animal.
“It’s beautiful Franz… I challenge anyone to deny it.”
It was true. “Perhaps everything crumbles around us… But I’ve never been more proud.”
“What will you call it?”
“The Griffin. King of the earth and sky.”
They jolted as they heard the clattering bang that could only have been the front door giving way, followed by the sound of boots and the raised voices of watchmen. The basement door was slammed open, its hinge finally breaking, sending the door clattered down the stairs.
“Stop what you’re doing! Franz and Aedelle Madelien, you are under arrest for suspicion of necromancy,” boomed a bristly moustached Sergeant. Behind him stood a squadron of armed watchmen. “Stay your hands or I will put you both down.”
The troopers made their way down the stairs, muskets drawn. Franz watched with glee as each watchman laid eyes on the Griffin, their faces awestruck. He squeezed Aedelle’s hand in his.
Then all of the movement in the room was drawn away in a great intake of breath. The city watchmen froze as the Griffin’s golden eyes flickered open and it breathed deeply. It shook its head and leaned into a long stretch, bristling its feathers and shaking its head as though waking from hibernation.
The Griffin roared. A shrieking noise that erupted out of the Mortified Menagerie and rang out all over the city. The sound exploded in Franz’ brain, overwhelming his senses with its power. But he did not flinch. Tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.
The men of the city watch opened fire.
*~*~*
Mark Lennon lives in Dublin, Ireland with his wife and incredibly opinionated cat. He writes dark fantasy where he attempts to solve his own life problems via scheming and magic.
*~*~*