I followed his gaze—to where three dark shapes hung suspended from the monument (they were small enough in comparison that we hadn’t even noticed them earlier), then quickly fished out my binoculars.
“They are,” I muttered, adjusting the lenses. “People, I mean.”
I focused on the figures’ faces: on their blue, lolled tongues, their blank, bulging eyes. “What’s more, I’ll characterize them. Hanged people. Just kids, really. Teenagers. All boys. They hanged them from the windows.”
I handed the binoculars to Mortigen.
“Weird that the vagabond didn’t mention it,” said Black Duncan.
“They probably weren’t here then,” I said. “The decay hasn’t set in.”
“He’s right,” said Mortigen. “They’re too fresh. Probably hasn’t been a week.” He ground the eyepieces. “Their clothes are clean—casual.
