Calvin shrugged at the question. "Oh, it depends on the day. Sometimes none." There weren't really other routine tasks to fill the time when they didn't have bodies coming in, the way there had been at the hospital, but there really wasn't much to be done about it. If people weren't dying, it wasn't as though anyone was going to go out and start making them die faster. And the majority of people who did die did not require an autopsy, either; he only got the ones that were suspicious, or that were involved in a criminal case, or who died without any way to identify them from their belongings.

"We had twelve the day of the sinkhole," he added almost cheerfully, as though this were a fun trivia fact one could pull out at dinner parties. Most of those deaths had ended up being rather mundane — crushed by things, bleeding out, the usual — but they hadn't known that at the time, and with the Padmore Park pit preventing magical methods of healing in its vicinity everyone had been very jumpy about it for the subsequent weeks. Everyone had wanted to know whether there were traces of anything magical — or anti-magical, as the case may be — lingering in the corpses, and when he and the other coroner hadn't found anything the directive had been to check again. The funerals for the affected persons had been delayed for weeks with all the back-and-forth. "I moved here just after the London dragon incident, but I heard that was even worse." That one less because of the potential for mysterious circumstances and more because most of the bodies of dragon victims had been... difficult to identify.

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