If you ever had the misfortune of working under an intimidating boss, you could maybe recall that uneasy knot in the stomach you felt when they arrived at the office. That’s pretty much how everyone in the Otherworld felt in the presence of any Artisan.

Artisans were notorious in the Otherworld, widely respected and admired for their precise art and centennial wisdom. It was said that Artisans were the first kind created when the human Earth came to be, even before Life and Death themselves. Unlike Ankous, Artisans had never been human and they never retired. They opened their eyes in the depths of the Otherworld and kept their jobs for all eternity.

Artisans were in charge of the Reincarnation Affairs department, and they had proven to be so highly efficient and conveniently obedient that Lord Aita and Lady Ishtar put them in charge of the Chancegivers as well. Every time a soul had to reincarnate, the Artisans would set the date of their return and when the time was right, they’d craft them a new physical vessel and send them on their way.

They took their obligations very seriously and rarely meddled with the other agents of the Otherworld. A good Artisan was expected to be grave, quiet, and mind nothing other than their own business.

And then there was Andrew.

I looked at him with genuine dread, uncertain of what would come out of his mouth. Unlike his fellow Artisans, Andrew had developed a freakishly vivid curiosity and an unnatural fascination for things that were out of the ordinary. He had a sixth sense when it came to detecting anomalies, which was probably the reason he was reluctantly tolerated by the higher authorities. With the accuracy of an expert mad scientist of sorts, he would spot anything that was even slightly out of line and conduct all sorts of studies and experiments on them.

So, when the notoriously meek Spirit of Departure entered the Otherworld speaking in sounds and dragging a soul by the hand, Andrew was instantly on me, guided by that powerful inner magnet that always directed his nose into other people’s dirty business.

I bowed respectfully and pulsed my thoughts into his mind.

My respects, Elder.

“No, no, no way, forget that. Spare me the formalities, kid. If you use your mouth to speak, so will I. This is so deliciously different!” Andrew noted. “It’s been a couple of millennia since I actually heard my voice, and I’m certain I have never heard yours before. We both sound like idiots, it’s wonderful! Mine is particularly irritating. So! Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend here?”

I was so out of practice at interacting that I was completely unable to mask my worried expression, and Andrew noticed. He was getting more excited by the second. He was on to something big; he could feel it.

“I don’t know his name,” I muttered apprehensively. “He died.”

“I kind of guessed as much, Spirit of Departure,” mocked Andrew with a crooked smile. “And then?”

“He has to reincarnate. I was heading to the Reincarnation Affairs office.”

“Well, you must let me escort you there! You can tell me more about…this,” he said as he pointed at Gabriel’s hand, still stubbornly clutched to my claw, “on our way there.”

Gabriel, without letting go, moved back and hid behind my wings.

“Aw, a bit shy, aren’t we?” chanted the Artisan, cheerfully.

Fuck you.

“He insulted me!” shrieked Andrew, clapping his hands. “Oh boy, I certainly wasn’t expecting this much merriment anytime soon. Did you teach him pulse-speech?”

“N-no,” I stuttered, struggling to hide my anxiety. “He…well, he learned on his own. I suppose he imitated me.”

“Fascinating.”

Andrew’s eyes were sharply fixated on Gabriel, piercing and calculating, completely out of tune with his friendly demeanor. I could tell he wanted to take the poor soul to his private workshop and devote all his efforts to dissect the mystery, even if it meant tearing the subject apart.

I closed my claw around Gabriel’s hand a little tighter and started walking towards the exit of the Entrance Hall.

“Well then, we—we better be off. I’m on the clock, Andrew.”

“Well, let’s get our asses moving then! I’ll take care of this reincarnation myself, come on. You can’t be late. People must be dying to see you down there, right?”

I smiled faintly, pretending to be unaware of the gleeful sarcasm in Andrew’s voice.

When we were about to reach the entrance, the Artisan stopped me with a hand.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I think it would be wise to do two things before we go in. First, we should go back to pulse-speech. At least until we get to my workshop. You know folk around here are not very fond of…sound.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose so.”

“Second…as adorable as I find this sight,” he said, pointing at our hands, “you better go back to your usual routine, Ankou. You know, you walking ahead, the poor dead bastard following you as far away as they possibly can? And try to look a bit frightened, will you, handsome?” he added, winking at Gabriel.

He pulse-hurled an intelligible insult at the Artisan.

“I didn’t even get that one, but delightful still. So, shall we?”