"No bathrooms on Hume?" Spliid grinned.
"Bath rooms, yes. Just bathing went on in there. And outside, where the little house in back ought to be ... nothing." Rowley tamped the ashes in his pipe, withdrew a blackened finger. "We take that sort of thing for granted, you know. We assume proper facilities are around someplace and don't give them a second thought. They weren't present in the stage setting because they weren't needed."
"Come, now...!"
"Fact. Another fact: grass growing in the streets. The way those kids played on it, it would have been worn away in a week. Slim evidence, but it's part of the picture."
"What I'm interested in," said Spliid, "is the death. Did you learn what they did with the body?"
"You were right," Rowley said. "There wasn't any. I saw Torl the next day, alive and kicking. That's what put me off on the immortality tangent."
Spliid grunted. "Another act in the play?"
"Yes, and badly directed. The director didn't understand death as we do."
Spliid shook himself. "Now, wait...!"