Lang just laughed. "It only gets more complicated, you know." She told them, walking on. Something caught the corner of her eye and she stopped, looking back into an alley. "What is that?" She said, before walking toward it.

Curr craned his head to see around without actually walking into the alley, staying slightly apart where he had room to run (or fly, rather) if anything bad happened. "Uh, Lang? Might not be your best plan e'er to just go rooting around in other peoples' carts," he said nervously.

"Elo, with our luck it's exactly what'll leads us e'er deeper into a pile of mystery or some shite like that," he muttered.

Starling shrugged and hopped onto the back of the cart, light-footed enough not to joggle it. He bent down and raised the sheet, a little too long for a casual confirmation, then hopped off the back. "Dead bloke. He looks like of grey and drownded." His hand scetched a quick gesture to his own pocket.

Lang looked at Starling's pocket. "You're not the one descended from a raven." She said cooly, and walked around the cart, twitching the sheet down again. "No marks on his neck." She said. "Wonder if he's the one that they found earlier?"

The one descended from a raven kept himself steadfastly in the publicly visible alleyway and kept craning his head, watching to see what they were doing.

He hopped from foot to foot a little bit, not exactly impatient but dreading being neck-deep in horror and dead bodies again. In a kind of memory-sense he suddenly smelled the way that room full of bodies had smelled when he had found Emeline left in that awful cell and gagged, loudly, trying to play it off as just needing to spit or something.

"I'm more wonderin' who leaves a corpse in his barrow while he nips off and takes the pint at the pub," Starling said. "I don't want to wait for him to come out."

He whipped his head toward the younger boy. "Curr? Hey, Curr . . . " He wandered off after him. "You all right?"

"Curr, it's just a body." Lang called. She leaned over on the cart, trying to get a better look, making the horse snort.

"I'm fine," Curr all but snapped, but now he couldn't get the memory of the smell out of his nose. Maybe it was the hint of the actual body's smell drifting around, or maybe it really was all in his head, but it didn't stop him from trying to breath through his mouth, but then he seemed to taste it, and that was so much worse.

"I know it's a body, sie Verrückte!" Now he really -was- snapping, albeit at Babs. "Elo's teeth, of course I know! I feel like I'm feckin' knee deep in 'em everywhere we feckin' well go!"

Then the young man stuck his head outside and Curr froze in place, still out in the street.

"Crow's the wrong bird to be askin'," he muttered, then coughed again.