The workshop smelled of spilled chemicals and ozone wards, of dried blood and rotting tissue. It was broken and stained and crooked, with three sets of shelves bent at the middle and two more ripped in half, the bright, blue-white metal supports sheared near shoulder height and the tops tumbled down amongst the refuse of their former contents. The workbench, solid and unflappable, was strewn with bits of broken glass, odd crystals, tools ripped from their wall slots, and the offal left from the ruins of Belmun’s once-extensive collection of preserved organic… samples.