Captain Lazarus dies for the sixth time, swinging from the noose like a common thief (he is, in fact, an uncommon thief, a fact which slips the attention of his gaolers). His hair, once billowing and fine, like the silk he imports (and often pirates), is lank and greasy, and his face has long since been creased and burnt by the touch of the Church's brand some years ago.
No fools they, the wardens of the Seventh Moon Precinct Gaol watch the body for five days and nights with a guard of a hired Church godsman and a somewhat sleepy and novice guardsman of the City Watch. After the fifth night, bored of the swarming flies and assured that the good Captain shall not climb down off the gallows or exhibit a bit of captive breath in his lungs, they remand his corpse to the outer wall of the compound, wash their hands, and proclaim a clear victory over the Jasperites and their corrupt, criminal instruments.
Mandrake grows in profusion below the rotting body. On the seventh night and the seventh month since the execution, a widow in a hooded cloak bends low over the patch with a flashing knife.
Flies continue to accumulate, buzzing about the mouth of Captain Lazarus.
On the eighth night, a strange sleep comes over the Gaol, lingering in the cups of the wardens. Into this silence, the witchwoman creeps, her hooded cloak trimmed with the ears off a freshly-slaughtered wolf, and the sign of the Jasperites flashing at her neck.
They bind the corpse with silk, then, and take him to Amberton Deep, to a boat bought by some minor lord. The fact that the ship was formerly the Captain's raises no eyebrows: the boats of criminals are often sold like horses from horse thieves or stolen goods by the watch. One man's pirate may be a loyal scion of the Church, after all.
Captain Lazarus is not a loyal scion of the Church.
They set him naked upon the deck of his ship, and set the mandrake atop, carved into the form of a doll. Two Jasperite coins are slotted into his eyes, and the witchwoman cuts his veins and mutters over his corpse as she presses and curses and lies beside him, sucking at long-congealed blood. When she rises, mouth black and brown with blood, she spits thrice: first upon the mandrake, second within the corpse's mouth, and lastly, on the deck of his ship.
The waves set the boat to shuddering. The mandrake sets to glowing. The stars dim briefly, clouds shuddering like rags over the waning moon. Somewhere, a dove begins cooing rather frantically.
Panting, the witchwoman, the widow, bends to kiss his mouth.
With a triumphant gasp, Lazarus comes to life. With a triumphant gasp, she collapses dead beside him, withering swiftly into the corpse of a long-dried wolf.
The good Captain quietly disposes of the body into the harbor, washes the scars and the rot from his skin, and goes in search of his crew.
Later, he seeks out the stars.