Morel climbed out of the maintenance hatch, only to find that it was already pouring outside.
Water cascaded from the eaves onto the stone pavement, mixing with mud as it ran into the drainage ditch. Shuto lay sprawled across his back, his head hanging to one side as rain washed over his hair and chin, carrying away the blood on his clothes.
Morel tore open the hem of his shirt and wrapped the severed arm in another layer, doing his best to keep it from losing warmth.
Three taxis were parked at the street corner.
He raised a hand to hail one. The first driver hit the brakes. When the window rolled halfway down, the driver first glanced at Shuto's empty left sleeve, then at the blood-soaked bundle of clothing pressed to Morel's chest and the place he had just emerged from.
The window immediately rolled back up.
The tires splashed through a puddle, and the car sped off even faster than it had arrived.
The second taxi did not even slow down.
The third driver did stop.
"Take us to the port. Triple fare."
The driver leaned over the steering wheel and scrutinized them several times.
"Is he dead?"
"Still alive."
"That's even more reason not to take him. If he were dead, I could at least say I was transporting a corpse."
The driver slammed on the gas and drove away.
Morel stood in the rain, his cigar already soaked through. He took off the remaining half and tucked it back into his pocket.
The grocer by the roadside packed up several wooden crates and casually pulled the curtain shut. Across the street, an assistant from the noodle shop stood in the doorway carrying a bowl, just about to come out and watch the commotion, when the owner