The package that Narm had purchased did indeed contain clothes, including two sets of expensive looking blue and black hose and shirt followed by a sharkskin belt with a silver buckle embossed with three cresting waves that nearly made him cry. Following this were two black vests that finished the job. One vest was that of a standard senior undertaker, dyed black wool sized a couple sizes too large to give some room for growth. The second black vest was a work of art, made of mostly black shark leather, with a ray skin collar.

Caj looked at the clothes on the table, at the auburn bun that sat beside them, where it had been put after Narm cut it away from his hair, declaring Caj a man. Tears were in Caj’s eyes, and he fought not to sob. A comically timed snore from Bietre Noblis’ slumped form on a couch in the corner turned his sob into a wet chuckle. He sniffed,

“Narm…” he said seriously, “This is too much. I can’t even imagine where you found the money for this but-”

“Caj, you don’t need to worry about it.” Narm cut him off, somewhat drunkenly.

“Are you kidding? Reapers Harvest Narm! You spent more than you likely make in three years’ time in one day alone! If that isn’t something to worry about, I don’t know what is.” Narm held up a hand to stop Caj’s concerned tirade. Caj very nearly continued anyways, his concern for his guardian overriding all else.

“Look, Caj” Narm sighed, running a hand over his face, “You aren’t stupid. You have to know that I haven’t always been an undertaker.” Caj snorted derisively at this,

“No,” he drawled sarcastically, “I thought you lost that eye and got all of those scars of yours by falling into a grave during a rainstorm.” Narm didn’t laugh, instead just nodding.

Probably too drunk to recognize sarcasm, Caj thought bitterly. If Narm recognized the look on his face, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“You’re right.” The old man said instead, “I didn’t get these by accidentally falling in a grave, I got them from people trying to forcibly put me there. Luckily, it didn’t take.” Caj’s eyebrows rose. That was the most he had ever heard Narm explicitly say about his past. Most of the time Narm would just dodge any question about it, normally by looking at the sky and saying ‘It’s a poor day for digging graves’, followed by any reason he could come up with. Including-but not limited to- ‘it’s too sunny’, or ‘wet’, or ‘cold’ for it.

Caj opened his mouth to comment on Narms words, but the one-eyed man pre-empted him.

“I’m not going to tell you any more than that, for your own safety.” The look in his eyes stated that the subject was very firmly closed. “Suffice to say, my name wasn’t always Narm, and my previous… profession,” he hesitated, “Was rather lucrative. The funds come from that time in my life, and are not nearly exhausted.” Caj’s eyebrows went higher and higher with every word, nearly disappearing beneath his hairline. Narm’s one-eyed glare dared him to ask anything further on the subject. Caj very wisely chose to take a long pull from the still mostly filled flagon that sat beside him on the table, hiding a smile while doing so. Narm snorted at that. When Caj set down the mug, he pushed it firmly away from him, not planning on drinking any further that evening as he had told the servants before they left not long ago. He had snuck into a bottle of elderberry wine a few years before, and he could still vividly remember a hangover that he wanted no part in reliving. He and Narm sat in silence for a few seconds before Caj finally broke the silence.

“I still think that it is a little much to be spending on an orphan.” His words hung in the air like a lead weight. Caj was rather obviously prodding Narm for answers regarding his own history. He had long wondered why Narm would bother teaching him the myriad things he had, things that were incongruous with his presumed peasant status. Narm sighed, rubbing his shiny bald pate, and chewing on the pipe he had just put in his mouth. After a tense moment where Caj stared pointedly at Narm and Narm tried to pretend not to notice, the grizzled warrior finally relented.

“The Reaper take Isabelle for teaching you to be analytical. And Isaac too, for teaching you that stare of his.” Caj chuckled lightly, and Narm smirked around his pipe, before sighing again. “Well, I suppose you have earned an answer.” Caj nodded agreement, but kept his tongue to himself. Knowing Narm, the old codger would probably use it as an excuse to give him a tongue lashing and then ignore the original topic of conversation. Narm smiled wryly at Caj’s tightlipped countenance. “Ha, smart lad. Well, I might as well get it over with. I knew your parents. Rather well actually. I owed your mother my life several times over, and your father at least once, that I know of. Their names were Dougal and Sherin Donovan, the last Duke and Duchess of the sea. That belt buckle on the table holds their crest… your crest.” He looked at Caj, anticipating surprise. Caj cocked an eyebrow, and rolled his right hand in a circle.

“Go on…” he drawled. Narm’s eyebrows shot up this time, in unspoken question. This time Caj sighed before answering the silent query. “Really Narm, how could I not know? The facts all point to it,” he lifted his index finger. “One, Dougal and Sherin meet a mysterious fate at almost the exact same time as I arrived at the Bone Yard. Two and three,” he ticked up two more fingers “Their son also disappears around the same time and his name just happens to be Caj? And you and the Murphy’s have talked about it at least once a week for the past decade when you assumed I was asleep.” Narm looked about to cut in, but Caj continued before he could, coughing somewhat embarrassedly. “Also, I asked Jeremy years ago.” Caj shrugged, basking in the stupefied look on Narm’s face before looking at the elder with a reproachful eye. “Really? Jeremy? You trusted Jeremy with that secret? Narm! The man couldn’t keep a secret if the Reaper himself told him to keep quiet. The poor bloke practically spilled as soon as I asked about the day I arrived.”

Narm was scowling now, a fearsome expression that was somewhat ruined by the fact that his bottom lip stuck out like a pouting toddler. A particularly drunken, pouting toddler.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“Fine.” He pouted moodily. “Rub it in why don’t you.”

Caj laughed out loud at that, which put Narms face in an even more twisted expression of mourning. He reached for his tankard, but found it empty. Caj helpfully shoved his half-full one over, getting a grateful nod in return. Narm was the first one to speak.

“No wonder you act so damned noble. Here I thought it was something genetic.” He sniffed, taking a draw from Caj’s drink. Caj grinned at him cheekily, unaware that his time around Narm was already turning his smile into a predatory thing. Narm returned it with one of his own, and they both chuckled, somewhat darkly it would seem to an observer, given their creepy smiles. They sat in silence for a long while after that, until the sun was starting to rise, both lost in their own thoughts, before Caj finally shattered the silence with his last question, asking in a soft, dangerous voice,

“Who’s the Headsman?” His voice rasped like a blade on a whetstone. If Bietre Noblis was still awake, he would have shivered to hear such a sound come from such a young throat. Narm coughed before looking at Caj carefully.

“A Man by the name of Dean Rankin.” Caj didn’t say anything, so Narm continued, “He serves as the Kings executioner, and works closely with the Duke a Wisdom, who serves as the King’s advisor and head of spy network. Although,” he said somewhat ruefully, “The current Duke’s wife does most of the work. I believe that their youngest daughter was just married to Rankin.” Caj spoke up, before Narm could derail any further.

“There’s more. I know there is. There’s too many gaps in my understanding of politics for there not to be.” Narm grimaced. He’d been caught red-handed. He was silent for a moment.

“Do you remember the War of Restoration, when the King Fredrick was overthrown by the Dukes, and the Council of Barons was formed as a balance to his power?” Caj nodded and started reciting from memory.

“‘And the council of Barons was created formed from the nobility as a council of equals, given the means and responsibility to oppose the unjust King.’ Sound about right?” Narm nodded assent.

“You are only missing one thing.” He replied “The appointment of the Headsman. The Headsman is charged to hold no loyalties to any faction within Whoid Stria, to hold no loyalty to any but the people of Whoid Stria as a whole. They were to enact this as thus: in the event that a king was found to be unjust by a council vote where 25 or more were in agreement, the Headsman would send the King unto the harvest, and let the throne fall to the next in line for it.” Caj raised an eyebrow at that.

“That sounds like a very flawed system, with a lot of loopholes.” Caj said. Narm chuckled darkly.

“So it is.” He agreed, “Primarily because the Barons wanted power rather than justice, and they used the assumption that only a moral man would ever accept such a position as a cover. The Headsman basically just acts as the king’s executioner and trusted advisor. For the most part, he just sits at court and gives regular reports to both the King and the Barons.” Narm gulped slightly. “He is also basically untouchable, since to attack him is viewed as treason to not just the crown but the country of Whoid Stria as a whole. Which is how the current Headsman gets away with what he does.” Narm left the rest unspoken, and Caj was intelligent enough to realize the connotations. There could be no revenge, not without becoming a fugitive. They were quiet after that, until Bietre started to stir, and Caj stood up grabbing his bundle numbly and said two words before walking out the door.

“Thank you.”

***

The sun had long since set, and Natalia was starting to wonder if her father or his guests ever intended to sleep. She had seen no less than 7 bottles of various types of liquor be brought to her father’s rooms, although she had ordered the last three to be mixed with water. All of her father’s officers had left hours ago, leaving him with the two undertakers. The old one, whom she had heard called Narm, seemed to hold his liquor remarkably well, his expression of extreme seriousness the only signal that he had drank anything at all. The younger man, Caj, had been steadily refusing drinks for the past few hours, stopping as soon as he began to feel the effects, and she suspected that he was mostly sober now. Her father had protested his abstinence at first, speaking on how it was a tradition for a young man coming of age to drink himself silly. According to the servant that had been spying on the proceedings for her, Caj had quipped that Narm called him silly enough times in the day that he didn’t need much drink to achieve it. Her father had laughed uproariously at that, already considerably drunk, and Narm had nodded approval to Caj’s response. She found that curious.

Natalia’s servants were trained to repeat all details, regardless of their seeming unimportance. Natalia demanded this because she knew that subtle details could say much about a person. Caj’s polite but humorous response, for instance, had the sound of nobility in it, and his restraint had the discipline of a foreign dignitary who was unsure of their footing. That deepened the conundrum of a young grave-digger whose accent had both traces of Goldstern and Greatriver in it, the hairstyle of a young noble, and the bearing of a soldier. Narm’s response to Caj’s deflection, however, was even more intriguing.

Narm had been drinking, slowly but steadily, for most of the evening, so Natalia doubted that his nod of approval had been for Caj’s restraint. That would seem to indicate that he approved of Caj’s deflection, bearing, and manners. That made him even more of a conundrum than his young charge. Narm did not look like a man who would know anything about manners. He was big, standing at just under two meters in height, with broad shoulders, and he was surprisingly fit despite his obvious age. In addition, he was covered in about a dozen obvious scars, not the least of which were the two that formed an X through his left eye. But despite his mud-stained clothing, his scars, and the pipe that perpetually was hanging out of his mouth, he spoke like a castle noble of Greatriver.

The sky in the east was starting to yellow when Narm an Caj finally left the Noblis Estates, and Natalia watched them go, still deep in thought, running through suspicions and theories. Her curiosity was piqued so she would quest for information regarding the two of them, but somehow, she doubted that she would find all that much information. When they left, Caj’s hair had been cropped, the bun at the back cut away, and he wore a black vest instead of a white one. She knew that he had also been gifted with noble dress wear from the last reports her servants had made before she let them sleep, in the colors of blue green and black. Narm walked as steadily as though he had drunk nothing but water, and Caj seemed to be sober also, and wore a troubled expression. It was almost pained. She wondered about that, but she didn’t ask, simply ushering them out, and then going upstairs to check on her father. He was passed out on his sofa, jacket undone, bottle of brandy hanging loosely from one hand. He would wake in an hour or so, and prepare for his day as though he didn’t have a splitting headache, and as though he had actually gone to bed the night before. She reached out to put a blanket over him, and smiled softly as he stirred and mumbled in his sleep. She left the room to go prepare for her day. Natalia had questions to ask, business to conduct, and a household to run.