The necromancer’s life became far more interesting the day she met the talking skull.

Lady Vizla strolled through the marketplace at a calm and focused pace. She was not particularly interested in individual meat hooks or pulsating, disembodied hearts, but she considered the whole of the market to be greater than the sum of its offerings.

Vizla had completed her shopping efficiently, which let her take one and one-quarter hours to browse whatever was on display. She was not expecting to be impressed, so she was not disappointed with her lackluster findings.

Then, as she passed an unremarkable table with a seemingly unremarkable skull sitting atop it, the skull called for her attention.

“Hey, boss lady! You gotta help me out here.” A rough, raucous, and vaguely male voice issued cleanly from between the skull’s teeth. From the depths of his eye sockets shone an ambient orange glow, an almost supernatural light that persisted despite the rays of sunlight that broke through the overcast sky.

“How quaint. A talking skull.” Vizla tilted her head at it and poked a spindly finger in one of its glowing sockets.

“Hey! How’d you like it if I started sticking fingers in your eye holes, eh?”

“You have no fingers. You are a skull.”

The skull grumbled at her incoherently and Vizla removed her finger from its facsimile of an eye. She examined the skull from a distance, scanning its surface in search of any identifying marks or symbols of necromancy. She found nothing.

“You intrigue me, skull. Why do you want my help?”

“See that dolt over there with the crummy fashion sense? The guy at the till?”

A portly zombie in the throes of decay was placing coins into a rusty lockbox. His sense of style incorporated far too much mustard yellow for one with such flaky, jaundiced skin. From the sign overhead, he was the Elbert of Elbert’s Oddments.

“That guy owns me, and he’s a bigger bore than any other lout for a mile around. I’d know. I know lots of things.”

Vizla arched an elegant eyebrow. “Do you desire freedom, or simply a more interesting master? I can provide you only one.”

“Can provide, or will provide?”

Lady Vizla smiled thinly.

The skull chuckled. “You’ll do, boss. You’ll do.”

Vizla tapped the table to get the zombie’s attention. He lurched over, grumbling with each step. When he looked up at her, his crusty eyes went wide.

“Lady Vizla! You honor my stall with your presence.” Elbert’s voice had a toad-like quality that remained no matter how many times he cleared his throat. “What can a humble merchant do for such a prestigious necromancer?”

“I wish to purchase goods. This amputation saw, that sprig of conium maculatum, those pickled adrenal glands, and the skull.” She pointed at a few items she knew to be mildly valuable, and then at the talking skull.

The merchant’s jovial expression faltered when she pointed at the skull. One sallow, flaky-skinned hand rested on it protectively. “That’s a high list, Lady Vizla. Are you sure about all those items? Not to question you, of course,” he simpered while questioning her.

“A reasonable concern. Just the skull, then.”

The zombie winced, clearly hoping for a different outcome. “The skull really isn’t for sale, though. I keep it out here to watch for thieves. It talks, you see. Never shuts up, more rightly.”

Vizla glanced at the skull doubtfully, which obliged her by keeping quiet. “It seems well-behaved enough. I want it, merchant. I will pay a more than fair sum for it. You can’t have paid much for such a useless object.”

The mixture of greed and guilt in Elbert’s eyes suggested that he had not, in fact, paid anything at all for the skull. “Well… I suppose I can’t pass up an offer like that. 115 Stygian marks. In coin, please.”

“Patently ridiculous. 85.”

“I have bills to pay, necromancer. 110 would be a generous price.”

“100, and my continued patronage.”

He hesitated, but she knew his capitulation was inevitable. “Deal.”

They shook hands, traded coin for skull, and Vizla walked away with her prize. She placed the skull face-up in her satchel, atop her other purchases.

“Nice haggling, boss. But you could have just stolen me and slipped away.”

“100 marks is a steal. It’s not every day I find a puzzle like you.”

Vizla and her acquisition drifted through the crowd. The sun was winding its way down toward the horizon, the cloud cover was breaking up, and the less dedicated customers and vendors were packing up to leave.

Lady Vizla had decided her skull needed a name. Since he refused to provide one, she had to get creative.

“Tibbs?”

“I’m not a shinbone.”

“Crane, then? For cranium.” She gave a thin-lipped smile to her own pun.

“Ha. Ha. Never heard that one before, boss. You come up with it yourself?”

“I shall cease if you tell me your name.”

The skull sighed, and if it had eyes to roll it would have. “You say that like I was given one, which I wasn’t. I was made to help necromancers, that’s it. Names are for people; don’t need a name when you’re a glorified library.”

Vizla frowned. “Then tell me of your creation. What are you?”

There was a long pause. When the skull spoke again, his words were eloquent and measured, a complete departure from his usual speech. “’As a zombie is stitched of flesh and blood, you were stitched of thought and memory.’”

“And?”

“And that’s it. That’s all I know, boss. My maker didn’t give me details. She didn’t want the process repeated, maybe, or didn’t want me changing myself.”

“Curious. You still need a name.”

The skull chuckled. “You can try, boss.”

Their afternoon stroll continued, chatting idly and examining what the market had to offer. Nothing interested Vizla as much as her new assistant did, but she still bought a vial of putrefied jackal’s blood and a pair of vulture eyes.

“There it is! Seize that thief, minion!”

An indignant shout ended Vizla’s shopping. A goliath of stitched flesh emerged from the crowd and lumbered towards her with clear intent. A corpse golem, the ideal bodyguard and henchman of any well-to-do necromancer.

From his perch, the skull muttered, “Oh, great. These chumps again.”

Vizla took a few cautious steps back as the golem approached. “Friend of yours?” She kept her voice low and even.

“That oaf works for the guy Elbert stole me from.” For a moment, the skull sounded almost sheepish. “I guess my old owner thinks you’re the thief. Whoops.”

The corpse golem drew closer and flexed its fingers. Though its mottled, stiff face struggled to show emotion, somatic signs of aggression were unmistakable: hunched shoulders, outstretched arms, and heavy stride.

Vizla plucked the skull from her satchel and held it in her hands. She smiled at the golem and said, “I suggest you halt, unless you’d like to explain to your employer why his precious property is in pieces.”

The creature hesitated and twitched in place. It reached for her, then pulled back, then repeated the motion, caught between conflicting orders.

As the golem struggled, the skull laughed nervously. “Pieces? How many pieces we talkin’ here?”

“Quiet.” Vizla silenced him with a word, her attention focused on the creature.

Two more golems pushed through the crowd, and Vizla sighed, letting a hint of frustration show on her face. She was going to be late for evening tea with her sister.

Between the corpse golems shambled a hunchbacked necromancer with gold eyes that shone like greasy coins.

The arrival rudely jabbed a finger at Vizla. “Thief! Give me back what you stole, and I won’t sic the rest of my servants on you.”

Vizla frowned. “No.”

The necromancer’s face became puffy and red. “You stole my belonging. Admit it, fiend! I am Kazrezar the Constructor, fleshsculptor magnate, creator of the renowned Kazrezar golems. Everyone in Stygia has heard of me.”

He puffed out his chest. When the crowd did not immediately cheer, he glared at them until a few people half-heartedly affirmed his statement.

Kaz turned his glare back on her and sneered, “And who are you, thief?”

“I am Vizla.”

Kaz deflated visibly and the crowd oohed at the name. “Oh.” He scratched his head. “I, uh, I apologize for the disrespect, Lady Vizla. I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.”

Lady Vizla did not look impressed. From her satchel, her assistant muttered, “Misunderstanding, yeah.”

“See, that skull you have there, that’s mine. If you could return that I would deeply appreciate it and be happy to get out of your way.” He offered her what was most likely meant to be an assuring smile. She was not assured.

“This is my assistant, Skull. He is in my employ.”

Kaz stared at her. “You gave it a name?”

“Yes.”

Skull asked her incredulously, “You named me ‘Skull’?”

“Also yes. I think it suits you.”

The wind in Kazrezar’s sails had dropped from its initial gale to a light, ineffectual breeze, but desperate greed still lurked in his eyes. “It’s still mine by right.”

“He won me in a game of cards,” muttered Skull. “And almost lost me on dice the very same night.”

“Silence, servant!” snarled Kaz.

“New management, jackass!” shouted back Skull.

Vizla enjoyed their bickering for a few volleys before stepping in. “Enough. I have taken him, so he is mine now.” Vizla saw no reason to implicate the true thief, Elbert; she would have to fight to keep her prize either way, so blaming the merchant would gain her nothing and waste precious time.

Kaz tensed. There was still wariness in his posture, but there was no denying the value Skull offered to an employer. Someone like Kazrezar would be prone to overestimating his own abilities, and he might even think he could take her on.

Vizla weighed outcomes. Killing the golem maker was certainly an option, and the blood would wash out of her cloak, but Kaz did have the most legally sound claim to Skull. Killing him out in the open would be gauche.

Vizla held up one hand in a placating gesture. “I propose a wager.”

Kaz blinked awkwardly. “Huh? A what?”

“A contest of skill, for possession of the skull. Whoever creates the more impressive corpse golem wins. Standard terms and conditions. We are both professionals, yes?”

Kaz hesitated, but only briefly. Relief flooded his eyes and was swiftly replaced by the confidence of a gambler. He accepted.

A market square was cleared for the contest. A golem contest was not as exciting as bloodsports, but the market-goers were still more than happy to watch a bit of skillful competition.

Twin workspaces were set up, with a large medical table in the middle of each. Parts were easy to acquire, and every item was carefully selected to be of similar quality.

As was law and custom in Stygia, the proceedings were watched over by an impartial judge selected from the local roster. Vizla and Kazrezar fiercely debated the available candidates, with Vizla not giving an inch until Kaz suggested a very particular judge, one well-known for her experience and fair dealing. As if waiting for the name, Vizla almost immediately agreed to the choice.

The judge was ten feet long from chitinous mandibles to quilled tail, and her needle-teeth were freshly cleaned. Her black-pit eyes oversaw everything with keen sight, and her feathered claws clicked against the cobblestones at a steady pace to mark the time. Her name was Nancy.

Vizla smiled warmly at Nancy when she arrived, then set to task. The necromancers worked at a fever pitch. Kaz ordered his golem servants to reshape flesh to his will, while Vizla carefully measured, marked, and stitched severed limbs together.

Kaz used a strong dose of magic in his construction, pouring power and energy into bone and gristle. Runic symbols carved into ribs, muscle added in careful layers, incisions in the flesh sealed with a press of his hands. Glands, nerves, and raw meat were broken down into component parts and reshaped by the will of the fleshsculptor.

Vizla worked coolly and professionally, only using magic when scalpel and sinew would not suffice. Excess growth was removed with clean slices and deposited in labeled containers. Joints were carefully tested and then loosened or strengthened accordingly. Measure, mark, stitch. Bone to bone, attached with metal. Skin to skin, sealed with thread.

The two golems slowly took form. Thread ran out and needed to be refilled, then embalming fluid – preferred by Kaz – and black blood – the choice of Vizla.

Skull proved himself to be of considerable use. He stopped Vizla from stitching over a frayed nerve and was able to tell from sight alone which of three rib cages had the greatest structural integrity.

Vizla spent time on the golem’s hands, jolting them with electricity to check the dexterity and response time. They were subpar and she considered replacing them, but decided it wiser to focus her efforts on completing the construct’s spinal column. Skull alerted her to a weak point and she carefully reinforced it with resin.

Once all body parts were secured, only detail was left. For someone who specialized in mass production, Kazrezar had a surprisingly good eye for detail. He was efficient and economic with his creation, but also very precise. Vizla considered his golem-making skills impressive, and quite possibly superior to her own on a mechanical level. She checked her stitching again.

As she finished up her golem and observed her adversary’s work, she addressed Skull. “Kazrezar’s necromancy is artless, but he displays mastery of craft. Why do you wish to stay with me instead of him?”

Skull scoffed. “Makin’ the same thing over and over again, schematic after schematic? That’s not what I was made for. I help necromancers make wonders, not product. Kaz never got that.”

“He lacks vision?”

“Yeah, something like that. Now let me ask you a question: why’d you say I needed a name? And what’s with this assistant thing?”

Vizla furrowed her brow. “You are my employee, and employees need names. Unless you are not interested in the job? I suppose there must be better offers elsewhere in Stygia.”

“Thought you said you couldn’t provide freedom. Changing your mind?”

Vizla did not meet his gaze, instead focusing on the pattern of the corpse golem’s skin. “Simple pragmatism. An employee who is given a choice will work harder and possess more loyalty than one forced into the role.”

“Uh huh.” There was a pause. “Y’know, boss, I think you’re lying about your motives. And I think you’re a better person than you pretend to be.”

For once, Vizla had nothing clever to say.

At last, the time came to present their creations. Kaz went first, gesturing at his hulking brute and extolling its virtues.

“This golem is a variation on a classic. Solid, dependable, and with enhanced strength and endurance, this servitor can perform manual labor hours – nay, days – at a time without rest. What it lacks in fine motor control, it makes up for in combat capability. With fire-resistant skin and subtle regeneration, this golem has nothing to fear from pitchforks and torches.”

The golem grunted. The crowd murmured, and many clapped appreciatively.

Vizla commanded her golem to rise, and Kaz frowned. “Why doesn’t yours have a head?”

Vizla smirked and retrieved Skull from her satchel. She placed him atop the exposed spinal column of the construct and heard bone snap into place. Skull flexed the muscles of his new body and posed for the audience.

“The physical power of a corpse golem and the intellectual acumen of a necromancer. No more brutish lab accidents. No more bemoaning the hardship of being the only genius in the room. Why work harder when you can work smarter?”

The audience clapped with much more enthusiasm, and many nodded in agreement. Kaz fumed.

“This is crazy. Completely against the rules! You can’t just bring in outside material like that, you can’t just toy with the rules of the contest. Judge! Judge!”

Nancy slithered over on her soft underbelly and inspected the two golems. Her mandibles chittered thoughtfully and the crowd tensed, awaiting her decision. Screams of the damned issued authoritatively from her hell-maw, and Kaz’s shoulders slumped as the verdict was delivered. Nancy pointed a claw at Vizla, declaring her the winner.

Vizla gave a polite bow and smiled at her opponent. Kaz cursed Vizla’s name and promised that he would not forget this slight, but he assented to the judge’s decision and stalked off with his golems. The crowd dispersed soon after, and Vizla collected her things.

Vizla made Skull carry her satchel as recompense for her hard work, and they traveled home to her lair.

After putting away her purchases in various cubbyholes and freezers, he turned to her and tilted his head, staring as much as an expressionless skull could stare. She gestured for him to speak.

“You got real lucky slipping that flimflam under everyone’s noses.”

“Did I?” The necromancer’s face was mostly expressionless, but mirth glittered in her eyes.

“I mean, I’m not criticizing your work, boss. Golem’s great. But c’mon, we both know you cheated. Everybody could see it, plain as day. That was a huge gamble, and I didn’t take you for the gambling type. So how’d you pull it off?”

Vizla smiled, like a magician revealing the smoke and mirrors behind a clever trick.

“My sister was the judge.”