Excerpts fantasy Read an Excerpt From Mortedant’s Peril by RJ Barker In a city of ancient automata, strange spirits, and sleeping gods, a cleric of death finds his own life on the line… By RJ Barker | Published on April 8, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Mortedant’s Peril, the first volume in a new fantasy trilogy by RJ Barker, out from Tor Books on May 19th. Irody Hasp is a Mortedant, a cleric tasked with reading the last thoughts of the dead—though no one thanks him for it. No Mortedant is popular, but Irody is scarcely tolerated even by the other members of his own guild, and rarely selected for anything but the lowliest of jobs.This impoverished existence would be dismal enough—but after reading the corpse of a low-level records keeper, Irody’s troubles quickly multiply when his own apprentice is murdered, and all fingers point to him as a suspect. The only way to save his own skin is to find the real culprit himself, an investigation that quickly attracts powerful enemies with few scruples, and draws him into a plot that threatens the entire corrupt yet wondrous city he calls home. Chapter 1 Ventday As a Mortedant, the dead speak to me. It is a pity they rarely say anything useful and there is little coin in it. Dirrivan Murser had been a simple downtier record-keeper and now he was dead. It was as plain as the black robe, floppy hat and kohl rings around my eyes that marked me as a Mortedant. He lived, or had lived, in the second secant on the eastern side of the first tier of Elbay city. The eastern side had always been the most disreputable place to live, though truthfully, anything below the third tier was less than reputable and I would not have been here unless I had no other choice. It appeared to me that Dirrivan Murser had died of exactly the sort of unpleasant disease that lowtier types so often did. The body stank of vomit and I had no desire to touch the corpse and end up with whatever had killed him. I have always had a healthy fear of disease and was in a poor mood as I like to keep Ventday for myself, but work was scarce on the ground for Mortedants. And especially me. My unwillingness to touch him was unfortunate given that the laying on of hands was an important part of my services. Not all Mortedants touched their charges, but that was because some of us were frauds who got by on family name and reputation rather than ability. I was not a fraud. In fact, I was more talented than most of those who left the Mortedants’ Priory. Therefore, I knew that the laying of hands was absolutely necessary. Still, I did not have to like it. Mortedants rarely attended lowtier deaths like this; to do so was seen as a punishment within our priory. Though that was not why I was here. My neophyte, Malkin, lowtier himself and put upon me as I was unpopular, had found this job and assured me there was coin in it. Much-needed coin. Apparently this man, Dirrivan, had put away a large amount of money but the family did not know where. If I could find a clue to its whereabouts in the last thoughts of the deceased, I would receive a percentage. Hopefully it would be enough to head off my fearsome landlady before the month’s rent became due. I did not ask how Malkin had come across the work – sometimes it is better not to know when dealing with the lower tiers. ‘Do you have the deceased’s last will and testament?’ I asked his woman. She was a hard-bitten-looking piece with a face that might have frightened off death had it looked her way. In her hand she had a cabbage and a short knife for chopping, which she brandished in a way that made me nervous. ‘I thought it was your job to get it, from the records people,’ she said. Suspicious too. I did not like suspicious people. They were difficult to deal with and often tried to get out of paying their bills. Though she was technically correct. However, the queues at the records hall could last for hours and the clerks were often incredibly rude and expected a hefty bribe. ‘Sivver Murser.’ My neophyte, Malkin, stepped forward. A skinny boy of no more than fifteen years, Malkin understood downtier people and their ways, which was useful. ‘What Mortedant Hasp is trying to say is that as the priory turned you away’ – he had not told me about that – ‘he cannot use the usual channels, like, not without a lot of delay, and we need the will to complete the paperwork. So we can make it all official after the fact an’ all.’ He gave her a shrug. ‘You know what Elbay’s like. This city loves a bit of paperwork.’ Sivver Murser nodded slowly and Malkin continued in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘We have to pay to take a will out of the records office too, and of course that cost is passed along to you. But Mortedant Hasp is thoughtful like that, of costs and stuff. So he thought we could get the will off you instead.’ Malkin gave me a nod and the woman chewed on her bottom lip. ‘Well, I suppose any saving is good,’ she said. ‘Howling Lord knows death crows like him are a greedy lot.’ She nodded towards me as if there was any doubt about who in the room may be greedy. ‘It weren’t right, you know,’ she said to me. ‘What is it,’ I said after a lengthy pause, ‘that weren’t right?’ ‘How he died.’ ‘Death comes in many forms,’ I told her. ‘One minute, he were filling in his journal, which he were obsessed with, the next he’s sick on himself and dead. Ain’t right.’ ‘Well—’ I began, but she cut right over me. ‘And my old Dirrivan, he would never have left us with nothing. So you find whatever he had hid away.’ With that she put down the cabbage, but not the knife, and left us, going into a back room from which I could hear the crying of children. Many children. ‘Why you putting this off?’ said Malkin. ‘And I told you that you should have checked the will up at the records office.’ Buy the Book Mortedant’s Peril RJ Barker Buy Book Mortedant's Peril RJ Barker Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget ‘You did not tell me the priory had already turned this job down,’ I whispered. ‘They take a dim view of Mortedants going freelance. If we had gone to the records office I may have been censured.’ Malkin shrugged. ‘As long as they get their coin they don’t care. Same the city over.’ ‘If there is any coin,’ I hissed. ‘If you’re wrong about him having money hidden away there’s nothing but the standard fee in this for us, and that wouldn’t even cover a bribe.’ He shrugged. Despite coming from the first tier, the lowest, Malkin was often surprisingly free with coin. My coin anyway. ‘Well, get this over with quickly then, Mortedant Hasp, and we can get back to the rooms and have some soup.’ ‘Soup?’ I tried to give him my best withering stare, but street crows like Malkin are, in my experience, very hard to wither. ‘I asked you to get us meat.’ ‘But only gave enough money for knuckle bones. You’re lucky I know the butcher and he picked out a few still had meat on ’em.’ Another shrug. ‘If you look carefully in the broth you’ll find some. Probably.’ ‘You,’ I said under my breath, ‘are the worst neophyte I have ever had.’ ‘I’m the only neophyte you’ve ever had,’ he said. He could be a very rude and dislikeable child on occasion. ‘And I was the cheapest to employ too. So don’t pretend you’re about to send me packing. Who’ll carry your bags then? Not you with your arms like sticks.’ He was wrong in that. I was quite capable of carrying my bags and was surprisingly strong despite my slender frame. And handsome, but in a very refined way few could recognize. However, what he said about money was true. The role of a Mortedant was a fabled and honoured one in the many-tiered city of Elbay. Most still thought that Mortedants made fine money. Even though the priory had somewhat fallen from grace it was still expected that a Mortedant would attend the deaths of the better families, for show if nothing else. There to delve into the ebbing mind of the corpse, see what secrets they wished to be known. Or if a death was suspicious then a Mortedant would be called to unmask the killer. For our services, we received a share of the estate. Of course, you only made fine money if the priory gave you fine work, such as reading the last thoughts of the dead from families with money. I very rarely got fine work. I rarely got any work. The work I did get was mostly downtier, so I was forced to grub about in places which are far below my station in life. ‘We will not need the full ritual and set-up,’ I told him. ‘There’s barely room in here for us, the woman and the corpse box. The spirit tent will only get in the way.’ ‘She might expect it,’ said Malkin. ‘Us downtier types like a bit of theatre.’ ‘I don’t pay you for sarcasm, Malkin. We’ll blow out the lights. Make it dim.’ ‘Already pretty dim in here.’ The woman returned with a rather scabrous looking sheet of paper which turned out to be Dirrivan Murser’s will. She pushed it into my hand. ‘Here it is,’ she said, ‘and I know what’s in it. Barely enough for your fee.’ Malkin had not told me this woman may not even be able to cover the basic fee. I gave him a look, which he returned quite insolently. ‘But he was always on about how he had a big payday coming, and before the festival he’d have us out the city and into a better life. So that payday is mine now. I want it.’ ‘You don’t sound like you cared about him very much.’ I gave the will to Malkin, and he scanned through it, quickly filling in the mortedancy forms before putting the will in the tent bag. It was frowned upon to take jobs that were not specifically allocated to us by the priory, but I also frowned upon not being able to eat. As long as the paperwork was done and my percentage paid, I would most likely be forgiven a small breach of protocol. Probably. If not I could always blame Malkin. ‘He never did much for me alive, so I hope he is of some use now he’s dead.’ She could not have had much of a life, I supposed, stuck in these small rooms with all these children and a man she did not like. But life in Elbay was hard for most, and unfair to most too – myself included. In fact, it was particularly unfair to me. Having said that, my next words were, I admit, a little unprofessional. However, in my defence, that small room did smell very bad. Whether it was the corpse or the living occupants I am not sure. ‘I’ll knock ten per cent off my fee if we don’t bother with all the ritual.’ She eyed me up suspiciously. Wrinkled her nose. Perhaps she disliked the smell of her rooms too. ‘Will it still work?’ she said. ‘You’ll still be able to read his mind?’ ‘The ritual is more for the mourners than the mourned.’ She looked from me to the corpse, then back to me. ‘Alright then,’ she said. ‘Get to it.’ ‘I shall. Malkin, the lights please.’ He folded away the forms and doused the candles around the room while I moved over to the body and took off my gloves. I felt the woman hovering expectantly behind me. ‘Some room, please, Sivver Murser.’ She backed off a little and I prepared myself. Of the three great priories – the Worshipful, the Spurriers’ and the Mortedants’ – there is little doubt we are the most talked about, and the most disliked. Such a close association with the dead brings few friends, but I believe our work is valuable. Words of intended apology from the deceased, via a Mortedant, have healed feuds that have run for generations. Hidden fortunes have been unearthed, long-lost family members found and terrible murders solved by our skills. In fact, everyone knows someone whose friend has had a remarkable experience with the Mortedants. Even now, when we have fallen far from grace, the richest and the most powerful of Elbay cannot have a distant relative die without the full ritual of spirits, and even the lowly, such as Sivver Murser, bring us in to unearth the secrets of the dead. Tradition ploughs deep furrows through our city. Yet our skills are widely misunderstood. What Mortedants see in the minds of the dead is rarely more than a few seconds’ worth of their end. And even that can be very blurred and confused. No one tells you this, of course. Not even other Mortedants. The start of my neophancy had been mired in misery because of it. I had thought I was a very poor Mortedant indeed. It was only when I met a student named Kuridan Satury, and he recruited me into a mischievous campaign of diligent snooping and listening in at keyholes, that I realized I was probably better at it than most of the faculty. I could even see far deeper than a few seconds if I pushed myself. No, lack of skill had never held me back. That most other people are jealous of that skill is my real problem. Nonetheless, whether Dirrivan Murser had coin or not, I suspected his sivver was about to be disappointed. I was not one to delve deep any longer; all it had ever brought me was trouble and a headache that hung around for days. If the man had coin and it was important to him – and it is important to everyone in Elbay – I would surely find it drifting at the top of his mind. I laid my hands on his forehead. The corpse was as soft and ineffectual as he had probably been in life. Maybe as cold too. Nothing came to me immediately. The slow movement of decay filtered into my mind, the ebb of what he had once been as it moved away from the world of flesh and to wherever it is we go afterwards – to the arms of the Howling Lord, if you believe the Worshipful. Though most of them are quite mad. I felt a sense of sadness from him, and maybe there was a hint of a secret, but everybody has secrets. Still, I worked, I dug a little, I sifted and sorted in the murk of a dead mind until the final words came, clear as clear could be. ‘Not sure them berries were good.’ And that was it. His last thoughts. I remained touching his forehead for a bit longer, making sounds of effort because it always does to put on a good show. For a fleeting moment I thought there may be something else, some deeper worry. But people were often worried when they were dying and the depths hold dangers, so I did not pay much attention. An errant word floated up – ‘festival’ – but probably meant nothing. It was soon to be the Festival of the Last Siren and every downtier layabout was looking forward to nearly a week of free food and drink. I stepped away. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘I am sorry.’ I pulled my gloves back on. ‘No sign of any hidden fortune.’ I noticed that Malkin had already stacked my bags by the door and was using one foot to hold it open. He had the woman’s cabbage in his hand. An odd boy. I hoped he was not intending to steal it. ‘He was thinking of buying you a ribbon,’ I said. It was the sort of thing I believed downtier women very much liked to hear and hoped would give her a little solace. ‘A ribbon?’ she said. ‘Yes.’ I gave her my best smile. She did not seem impressed. ‘At the festival. A red one.’ ‘He wanted away before the festival,’ she said. ‘I reckon you know what he ’ad, and you’re going to keep the money for yerself. You death crows are all the same.’ She stepped forward, knife in hand, and I had the distinct impression I may be in danger. ‘Now, you tell me where my coin is, crow, or I’m gonna skin you piece by piece until you do.’ She moved closer, knife glinting. I tried to speak but the ability had momentarily fled. Then a cabbage hit her in the face. ‘Run, Hasp!’ shouted Malkin, and the boy was already half out of the door with my bags. I followed at a speedy lope. Excerpted from Mortedant’s Peril, copyright © 2026 by RJ Barker. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>Mortedant’s Peril</i> by RJ Barker appeared first on Reactor.