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«No,» Wolfe squinted and lifted a bowl of leftover brew. «Here. Just the way it should be. Hearts and livers. I’ll eat it all and be done with it. Well, maybe I’ll have a tummy ache. Would you like a piece?»

Hunter almost twisted.

«No. Thank you,» he managed to squeeze out and spat the thick saliva that had accumulated: it smelled surprisingly good.

«Anyway, all you have to do is clean up. Burn the trash and bury it somewhere far away,» the magician waved his hand at the remnants of the bodies. «They won’t come up again, I give you my word.»

«Thank you, Mage-Commissar, from our whole village and district. You have saved many lives with this.»

«Yeah, yeah…» Wolfe ruminated again, taking a sip of gravy over the stew, he was no longer interested in the sheriff.

Hunter staggered for a while, then made up his mind.

«Uh… Wolfe, but how did you get them?»

The man reluctantly pulled himself away from his food and sighed.

«How? As it should be. Look,» he looked toward the door where a long-handled axe stood propped against the wall, under the cape, its ragged surface darkened against the sharp, glistening blade. «Locks? They messed up there, of course, notably. Like real spiders. But if you pull the right string…»