《The Necromancer's Ledger》


 At the End of the Road

    Rhea Mortis tapped a coin on her desk, keeping in time with the ticking clock hung in the corner of her tiny office. Her grey eyes flickered over to the clock itself and a small sigh escaped from her nostrils. She was looking forward to meeting up with her friends for a few drinks at the tavern, but she could not leave until her business was done for the day. Unfortunately, her line of work tended to ignore traditional working hours and she had to be flexible with working at odd times of the day.


    The sun dipped down below the horizon outside the single window next to their door and long shadows began to cloak the room in darkness. With practiced movements, Rhea blindly pulled open the top right drawer of her weathered desk and took a pale, creamy candle from the drawer, plucked the sooty remnants of an exhausted candle from the iron holder and replaced it with the fresh one. She struck a match and held it to the fresh wick until it sputtered to life. Her hand went to her side and she almost thoughtlessly rubbed the oily, waxy residue from the candle onto her pants, but remembering her plans to end her night at the tavern around others, she instead wiped her hand on the rag she kept on a nail next to the drawer.


    She had become quite accustomed to the faint, sickly smell of the candles made from human fat, but she fully recognized that it was a very off putting smell to everyone else. Had the candle maker not been so insistent his body be used in a final act of devotion to his craft, using a human body in such a way likely would have never crossed her mind. But since the candle maker, a few others had been willing to agree to have their remains used in the same way. As most of her lifestyle, it was a morbid task of converting human fat into candles and soaps, but it was practical and certainly saved money keeping her workshop lit and tidy.


    Candle light now driving away the shadows from her office, Rhea leaned back in her chair and admired the macabre, yet subtle decorations in her office. A single bookcase was stuffed full of books on all things relating to medicine and necromancy, though the smart, professional covers in dark tones of leather with gilded edges made them appear to be nothing more than a rich academics collection at first glance. Most of the books were a study on some part of medicine, a hold over from her start as a medical student, but much like the path her life took, necromantic overtones had slowly made their way into the collection. The only other decorations the small room had space for were the collection of pens and ink used to sign the countless contracts over the years and a well preserved skull from one of those to first sign the contracts.


    A decade ago she could have never seen herself sitting in such an office so comfortable with death. She had started her young adult life dedicated to the idea that she would fight against death, save people that other doctors had given up on, but it had all quickly become too obvious that death was too powerful and too inevitable. Once a soul was set on the path towards death it was like trying to save a wild animal from a tar pit. Sometimes possible, but even in doing so both the rescuer and the saved were often much worse off from the effort. It seemed much kinder to Rhea to embrace the relentless march and instead focus on how meaning could be found even after the soul left the body behind. This sentiment was not common and necromancy very taboo, but it seemed that many people when faced with their own mortality, realized that there was a grim practicality and found themselves willingly making the appointment with her to sign their body away for the sake of those they would leave behind.


    The sound of pained, shuffling feet on the earthen path outside the door preceded a weak knock on the door. Rhea could hear his pained, heavy breathing through the door. It was a rattling, wheezy inhale followed a bit too quickly by a whooshing groan.


    ¡°Come in,¡± Rhea said loudly.


    A pallid man with stringy blonde hair plastered to his damp forehead entered, his brown eyes deeply hollowed. Even the candlelight directly facing him could not penetrate the depths to drive away the dark shadows that rimmed his eyes. The rest of his face mirrored the sunken appearance of his eyes with his cheekbones sharp and angular and the skin stretched over his jaw and teeth having long lost any fat or muscular tone. It was the visage of a man who was more skeleton than person, mortality reduced to a husk that was likely only holding on out of commitments or unfinished business. It was a sight that Rhea had seen so many times. Though it had become easier to put on the polite business formalities while dealing with people in such pitiful condition, it still stirred something deep in her heart and she had to suppress rising guttural emotions.


    ¡°Please, take a seat,¡¯ Rhea invited, rising slightly in her chair to gesture towards the empty seat before her desk. ¡°You must be Mr. Hughes.¡±


    The man made no indication whether he was indeed Mr. Hughes. It seemed to take all of his physical and mental strength to put one foot in front of the other as he crossed the room. Rhea could not imagine how he had made it all the way up the pathway behind her home to reach the out of the way office, let alone however far he may have traveled prior to arriving at her property.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    With a loud groan of pain he seemed unable to contain, he gripped both sides of the chair and plopped himself down onto the cushion with a brief expression of agony crossing his features. Rhea did not need to use any of her particular talents in diagnosing illness or predicting death to understand that this was a man whose borrowed time had long expired.


    ¡°I am him,¡± the man finally said after taking a moment to catch his breath.


    He extended his right arm to offer a handshake and as soon as the arm raised his left arm reached to hold onto his right side as the movement seemed to shoot immediate pain through him. A cursory glance revealed that the right side of his torso was distended and very asymmetrical from the left. There were a multitude of ailments that could be causing the malformation and pain, but there was no use trying to diagnose at this point.


    ¡°Lovely to meet you,¡± Rhea said while accepting his handshake. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get down to business so that I don¡¯t take too much of your time.¡±


    ¡°I- I¡¯m sorry for being late,¡± Mr. Hughes said with another soft gasp of pain as he lowered his arm once more. ¡°I tried to leave on time, but I don¡¯t know what strength I have anymore and it seems I have even less than I anticipated.¡±


    ¡°Think nothing of it. Truly. I would rather we get this piece of mind taken care of so you can be at peace.¡± Rhea turned the piece of parchment on her desk around to face him and scooted over the bottle of ink and pens to be easily within his reach. ¡°The terms of the contract are quite simple. They should have been outlined in the letter I sent to prepare you for what to expect. Did you have a chance to read it?¡±


    His eyes had glazed over and his mind seemed far away. It was typical near the end of the gravely ill to start fading out of being able to keep their thoughts together and in their present mortality. Rhea believed that as mortality waned people began to be able to see through to other realms of existence, perhaps even what afterlife awaited them. At least that was the most comforting explanation she could accept as truth. Regardless, Rhea sat quietly and waited for his mind to return.


    After a long moment of silence, a sputtering spark returned to his eyes and he uselessly tried to wet his cracking lips with a dry tongue. ¡°They will be okay- my- my family?¡± he asked. ¡°You will make sure they are- are¡­¡± he trailed off and tears welled in the corners of his eyes. ¡°Taken care of?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mr. Hughes. They will receive their monthly stipend for as long as your contract states. I believe you specifically wanted until your son is married,¡± Rhea assured. ¡°You did not mention anything specific you wanted done with your body or any restrictions on how I can use it, but we can quickly amend any in if you have any requests.¡±


    A slight smirk appeared on his lips, causing the severely dehydrated corner of his mouth to crack and bleed. ¡°It does not matter to me what happens to my body.¡± The light seemed to fade from his eyes once more, but he continued speaking. ¡°I¡­. have not been a good man. I- I leave nothing of note behind in either wealth or memories, only pain and sorrow. I only want to have done one thing positive for my family, even if it has to happen after my death. My son is still so young, barely old enough to remember me and my wife is young and beautiful, perhaps she can find someone to marry¡­ and my son will-¡± he cut himself off with a choked sigh of intense sadness. ¡° Will find a far better father in him.¡±


    It was difficult to see past the pained, pale countenance that had been twisted by pain and illness, but it soon washed over Rhea just how young the man in front of her was. He was likely younger than her and should have been in the prime of his life. While death is rarely kind to anyone, it always seemed particularly cruel when it knocked on the door of the young.


    ¡°I assure you that I will see they are taken care of and your body will be treated with dignity and respect. Let¡¯s go over the terms of your contract to see if you agree as it is.¡± Rhea said gently, putting her finger to the first line on the parchment before him.


    Ignoring the normal structure of the meeting, Mr. Hughes picked up a pen from the jar, dipped it in the ink, and signed his name at the bottom of the parchment and began to stand up.


    ¡°It is done,¡± he rasped out. ¡°I want to go home.¡±


    ¡°As long as you¡¯re satisfied with-¡±


    ¡°If they are taken care of, then I am satisfied, the rest does not matter.¡±


    The man did not turn around again as he shuffled from the office and disappeared into the rapidly chilling early night air. Rhea sat and listened to his struggling steps until they faded away and she exhaled a deep sigh.


    Those who came to the end of their lives with burdens and regrets were always the hardest, it was even harder when it was someone young who had assumed that they would have much more time to find their way and atone for their misdeeds before the end. Rhea thought that was why so many people thought of the march of death as so unfair and evil. Death was the great equalizer. It did not care how pious or how wretched someone was, only that the flame on the candle of their life was sputtering at its end. It came for everyone, despite the many attempts to defy and delay the inevitable. The stark reality was simply too much to accept and people placed the realm of death in the same circle as the realm of evil, despite even those the most foul and wretched fearing death the same as those the most holy and sanctified.


    Knowing better than to continue to sit and wallow, Rhea rolled up the parchment and placed it in her satchel before slinging it over her shoulder and pulling on her jacket in preparation to make her walk to the tavern. Life and death were sometimes harsh, but much more palatable with a frothy pint in her hands.

 The Broken Flask

    True darkness had fallen by the time Rhea rounded the corner to The Broken Flask, a tavern that had become her refuge during the last decade of her work. It was a typical working class level establishment with little frills or excessive luxury, but the owner had long made it silently clear that she was welcome regardless of her chosen occupation. The owner¡¯s brother had arrived at her door shortly after she had started spreading word of her services in the village and for several years Rhea had adhered to the contract and paid his widow monthly. While the tavern owner had never directly spoken with her about what she had done, he had made a point to quickly take aside and speak to any tavern patron who tried to give her too much trouble.


    On the walk over, the meeting with her new client kept replaying in her mind. Though she had made these contracts countless times, they never were just thoughtless business. The young ones, especially those younger than her, always felt especially unfortunate. While the idea of her own mortality did not particularly scare her, they still created an uneasy feeling that was hard to shake. She much preferred to see an older person in her office, sad about what was to come, but feeling like they had at least lived and experienced with warm memories to leave behind for their families. However, since death was not picky she could not be either.


    Warm light spilled out onto the damp cobblestone and the gentle din of the conversation of travelers and work weary customers murmured through the heavy wooden door. Just putting her hand on the brass handle, shiny and bright from the hundreds of hands that touched it each day, made the stress from the day melt farther into the distance. Inside, her eyes scanned over the tavern until they fell on the curly haired waitress who gave her a knowing nod before delivering the steaming tray of stews she was carrying. Without considering if her friends might be sitting anywhere else, Rhea made a sharp turn to the left and ignored the few sneering stares that were cast her way as she pushed past the packed tables to the alcove next to the fire where she met her companions every evening.


    Oliver and Cedric had been her friends since she had arrived in the town shortly after leaving her medical training. They had been initially hesitant about Rhea¡¯s work, especially Cedric, but the three of them had come to a sort of truce to agree to disagree about the finer, more delicate points. Rhea was certain that without Oliver¡¯s more open minded approach to necromancy that Cedric would have long ago become one of those silently staring daggers at her from the opposite corner of the tavern.


    Oliver¡¯s fingers were wrapped around his tankard of beer, slowly nursing the single drink he would allow himself for the evening. Though a talented mage who showed a lot of promise in his magical growth, a childhood accident had permanently damaged his memory and alcohol only made his forgetfulness worse. He could muddle through life and had found ways to cope, but when it came to making large magical mistakes he simply couldn¡¯t afford to take the chance.


    At thirty years old, Oliver was the youngest of the trio, though often mistaken as the eldest. A silver streak starting from his left temple was prominent against the rest of his black nest of hair, a permanent reminder of the head injury that nearly killed him. Further proof of his near demise was a jagged, pink scar the width of his thumb that traveled down from that same streak of hair, narrowly missed the outer corner of his mahogany eyes, went down his cheek, and stopped just before meeting the corner of his lips. The scar stood out prominently from his bronze skin, it had faded little over time. Combined with the fact he stood on average a foot taller than his peers and tended to wear clothing adorned with arcane symbols, many on first glance thought him some sort of dangerous, mercenary mage for hire. Locals no longer paid the scar any mind and he was perceived as a gentle giant prone to wandering around the village market square with a bewildered look on his face as he tried to recall what exactly he went to the market to purchase.


    Seated across from him was Cedric, sitting stock straight, a hesitantly accepted second tankard of beer sitting before him. Cedric had no physical or mental reason to restrict his drink, but over indulging felt uncomfortably against his self-imposed sense of morality. The glinting golden angel wing pendant that hung around his neck was a symbol of his fervent reverence towards a so-called deity that he believed he had beseeched and had answered his call to save Oliver those many years ago. Despite Oliver¡¯s, and much later Rhea¡¯s, insistence that this deity may not be as they claim, Cedric¡¯s devotion never wavered and over time he had built himself up as a cleric of sorts to a god that no one else had heard about.


    Cedric was a year older than Oliver and though stood a foot and a half shorter than his friend, he very much tried to live out the role of an older brother figure. Cedric¡¯s stormy blue eyes and curly straw colored hair had always turned heads towards him, their eyes often filled with desire, but those that dared approach him were let down time and time again. He had, through his own choice of showing piety, decided on the path of celibacy early in his teen years. He did not want to divide his attention and devotion to his god. It was not that he did not feel the draw to temptation, but he took pride in the fact that he was able to ignore such mortal desires and forsake to bask in the glory of the divine.


    ¡°A late evening for you,¡± Oliver greeted with a soft smile and a nod.


    ¡°It was not supposed to be,¡± Rhea replied, ¡°the client was scheduled earlier in the evening, but it seemed to have been a difficult journey for him.¡±


    Oliver let out an empathetic sigh, but a different, more judgemental sniff escaped from Cedric. Rhea ignored the sound and instead slumped heavily into the chair left for her after placing her coat and satchel around the back. She was glad to see her beer was already waiting for her on the table and she took a long gulp, draining a quarter of the glass in her first drink. It was a bit flat from sitting so long, but it was still very welcomed.


    ¡°It is a shame at all a man in such a state should feel the need to sell his mortal body,¡± Cedric said with another distasteful sniff.


    Rhea flicked her tired eyes up to meet his, hoping that he would be able to read her worn expression and realize that perhaps it was not the best night for his needling at her line of work. He stared back with steely determination, a glint of holy fervor in his eyes.


    ¡°It is a shame that anyone need to worry about their family after death,¡± she agreed, ¡°but unless you think the Baron or perhaps even the King of the land will open their coin purses to pay his young widow and child from the goodness of their own hearts, then I think my services are very necessary in this case.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    She kept her voice as even as possible, but she could not hide the bit of razer edge that threatened to peek through. There were nights where she could entertain nearly endless debates about the good or evil of necromancy and not let any of the judgement touch her heart, but tonight was not one of those nights.


    ¡°Cedric,¡± Oliver interjected before another word could be said by either, ¡°perhaps this is not a good topic for this evening. Rhea has obviously just had a hard day, not the best time to bring up some sensitive topics.¡±


    ¡°On the contrary, I think it may be the best time.¡± His nostrils flared slightly with his convictions. ¡°A man has sold his mortal body and perhaps even his immortal soul tonight out of desperation. It is a vile idea that he traded his very soul to a mere mortal for them to twist for their own desires.¡±


    Silence fell between the friends as Rhea took another deep drink that drained the beer entirely. Oliver shook his head and cast her a look of pity and support. She clanked the tankard heavily on the table and again met his gaze, though this time with a hard look.


    ¡°I do not twist any soul for my own desire. We have gone over this many times before. Nothing in my magic binds the soul to the body. I merely reanimate and repurpose, not trap people against their will for all eternity. Do you think the gods would allow my magic to exist if mere mortals could achieve such a thing?¡±


    ¡°Dark and evil gods would see nothing wrong in doing so, no, and that is exactly who empowers you.¡±


    Cedric spoke with utter certainty, as though he had directly spoken with the gods and they had told him everything. He was prone to bouts of unfounded confidence in his opinions, and was maddeningly stubborn. It got a measure worse any time he had been contacted by his divine patron who seemed to revel in lighting the divine fire in his soul and watching whom or what he would end up burning with it.


    ¡°You have spoken directly with the gods, have you?¡± Rhea questioned with a sarcastic laugh. ¡°Has your angel friend been whispering in your ear again? Surely you must start to see at some point that it does nothing but stir up feelings of righteousness and point you in the direction of whatever ambition it has.¡±


    His eyes narrowed and he pushed away the rest of the tankard in front of him, as if cutting himself off now meant to punctuate his devotion.


    ¡°My angel is the direct tongue for my god and I will not have anyone question the divinity I feel flowing through me. My questioning of your deeds is my own, I only wish to prevent you from continuing such a dark path.¡±


    Oliver leaned forward and broke Cedric¡¯s gaze that had been locked on Rhea. ¡°We cannot deny that she ensures the families of the departed are well cared for and do not fall into abject poverty, unlike countless others. We have both seen those who lose the breadwinners in their houses and end up cast on the street, dirty, sick, and begging for scraps of food not even fit for dogs. Let us say for even a moment that she does accidentally bind the souls of the dead, she still does immeasurable good for those living and that must count for something.¡±


    Cedric looked like he wanted to argue more, but the waitress arrived and plopped a steaming bowl of stew in front of Rhea. Rhea thanked her and handed her a coin from her pocket and motioned towards her empty tankard to signal for another. Begrudgingly, Cedric held his tongue as she ate and by the time she had finished and her second beer had arrived his fury had tempered and he had again picked up and sipped at his remaining alcohol.


    ¡°My angel did contact me early this morning,¡± he finally said, though in a much more conversational tone. ¡°They told me to prepare my ritual instruments and anticipate an opportunity to be presented to me.¡±


    Rhea resisted starting another fight by pointing out that the angel often repeated this exact line and it seemed much more of a way to keep him strung along rather than any sort of prophecy. Instead she nodded and feigned a low level of interest.


    ¡°I spent the first part of today praying for guidance and the later refilling ritual reagents, I would suggest that you do so as well Oliver in case your expertise is necessary for the coming crusade.¡±


    ¡°My pouches are always full unless I¡¯ve forgotten something, which is highly probable.¡± Oliver lightly laughed. ¡°I think we are well prepared for anything that may come our way.¡±


    As if waiting for such a cue, a well dressed man who had been failing at pretending not to be eavesdropping for their entire conversation stood up from the next table over, smiled at the companions and bowed before them.


    ¡°If I may interrupt for a moment of your time, I have an offer for a Miss Rhea Mortis and her companions to meet with Baron Greene at his estate at your earliest convenience.¡±


    A look of triumph and divine ecstasy washed over Cedric¡¯s face as he looked to the sky with thankfulness and devotion, clearly taking the Baron¡¯s summons as the exact situation the angel had vaguely predicted.


    ¡°What does the Baron want with a necromancer?¡± Rhea asked with confusion. ¡°My line of work is usually something he would prefer to ignore happens in his village.¡±


    The man inclined his head slightly to acknowledge that it did indeed seem like a strange request. ¡°I have been told no more, only to offer that it is not in regards to what you may or may not do for your career, but instead to present an offer of work that he believes you may prove useful and to sweeten the deal with the promise of good coin.¡±


    ¡°How much coin?¡±


    Rhea was feeling suspicious, but he would not be the first person of high class to make use of her particular talents. Though usually they sent more secretive summons, not a request in the middle of a crowded tavern where everyone was stretching their necks to hear just what the Baron wanted with the town necromancer.


    ¡°I¡¯m not at liberty to say right here, but you can be assured that the Baron intends to make it well worth your trouble.¡±


    The trio exchanged glances, Rhea and Oliver were always more than happy to earn a bit of extra coin, it was usually Cedric who found some reason or another to find a moral quandary. Tonight though Cedric smiled back at them, ready to accept the summons, sure in his mind that this was direct divine guidance.


    ¡°We¡¯ll meet with him, when would be the earliest he can receive us?¡± Rhea asked.


    ¡°Tomorrow over breakfast.¡±


    With a final bow and then, turning to plop several coins on the table he had been sitting at, he exited the tavern having completed his mission.


    Oliver let a small chuckle escape his lips and he raised his tankard in a gesture of cheers.


    ¡°To gold!¡±


    ¡°To gold!¡± Rhea replied with a clink of her on tankard.


    Cedric raised his own tankard and with a satisfied sigh, added ¡°To prophecy!¡±

 Passing in the Night

    The crisp night air was a sharp contrast against the overwhelming heat inside the tavern. Rhea pulled her coat around her closer and tied the long wool belt to keep in as much warmth as possible. Not long after being summoned to the Baron¡¯s manor the three had decided it was in their best interests to make it an early night. These days they rarely made an allnighter out of their daily meetup, though Rhea had intended on dawdling a bit that evening. She couldn¡¯t really be upset about her loose plans being cut short, the promise of a good amount of coin would be a necessary windfall.


    There were a lot of ways to use necromancy to make money, but most of them were clear cut immoral or downright evil. It was the magic of choice for crazed cult leaders and dark liches alike simply because if you threw all respect for other beings aside you could be near unstoppable. Raising an entire village¡¯s cemetery to rampage it through the town looting and killing could make a single necromancer very, very rich and powerful in just one night with just a bit of preparation                                       and careful strategy, which made it appealing for the magically inclined who also lacked ethics.


    Rhea found using necromancy in the ¡°traditional¡± manner abhorrent. Any type of magic, regardless of origin could and had been used for ultimate evil, just some forms of magic either seemed to attract the wrong kind of person or it was just easier to use for evil purposes. She exclusively used necromancy to carry out the final wishes of the dead and to benefit the living. Unfortunately those wishes usually involved her needing a decent amount of coin for her ledgers and little opportunity to make a profit. Even if she could get enough people to agree to have their bodily fats rendered to make soap, she was certain the town would not look kindly on the opening of a new boutique soap shop with their loved ones being an integral ingredient.


    Her money making ventures were much more mundane. The biggest asset in her business was the abundance of free labor that never tired, but it came at the cost of the presence of such labor distressing the living. It would have been simple to perhaps send a few of the undead to work a normal job in a shop or the back room of a butcher, but no normal shop owner would ever risk their customers seeing an undead snipping the loose threads on a tailor¡¯s final creation or kneading the bread for the day¡¯s loaf orders. She had standing arrangements with a local farmer to have two undead workers muck and clean the barn in the dead of night, a couple others at the same time went off to their jobs doing basic pest control for warehouse, and another who cleaned out the back of the wagons that transported the dead to the cemetery. She had negotiated decent ¡°wages,¡± but the agreements were all tenuous and could end on any single night. All it would take is rumors to start or one of the workers being identified as undead for the employers to cut ties and call off the deals.


    Most of the money earned by the few that went out at night was sent right back out to the families still under contract. What very little was left was added to the savings, but there had been times    where that had required money to come out every day instead and at least once where she had very carefully considered doing some less than ethical necromancy to be able to make the monthly payments out to the families, but she had been able to make it work by the skin of her teeth. She had learned to be much wiser in how she saved money and had streamlined most of her own needs to be covered by her free labor, but even still some months were shaved much closer than she would like.


    ¡°Going to rain soon,¡± Oliver remarked, then took in a deep breath of night air. ¡°I love the smell of the impending rain in the air.¡±


    Rhea breathed in deeply, closing her eyes to really take in the scent. There definitely was the clean, yet deep scent of rain in the air.


    ¡°Hopefully it will hold off until we make it home,¡± Cedric commented. ¡°Though the sound of gentle rain on the roof and the wind through the trees makes prayer and meditation all the more peaceful.¡±


    Rapid footsteps down the alley next to the tavern revealed a harried teenage boy who looked uncertainly between the companions before his eyes fell on Rhea.


    ¡°Miss Mortis?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Rhea answered. She barely kept the sigh held in her chest. A panicked person sent to fetch her at night always only meant one thing and she already knew who it would be.


    ¡°Oh thank goodness, Mrs. Hughes sent me to fetch you.¡±


    The boy did not stick around after giving her the news and with a small bend at the waist he disappeared back down the alley. By the grimace he had been struggling to keep off his lips when she confirmed who she was, Rhea was certain his swift exit had a lot to do with her being the town necromancer.


    ¡°Well so much for getting some rest tonight,¡± she sighed.


    ¡°Would having some help make it go a bit faster?¡± Oliver offered. ¡°I had no other plans other than a book to keep me company.¡±


    Rhea smiled and nodded. ¡°It would, but it is not pleasant work. I understand if you¡¯d rather not know what my career entails.¡±


    ¡°I fully intend to never find out.¡± Cedric said with a sniff. ¡°I will pray for you both.¡±


    Without another word, Cedric turned away from his friends and disappeared down a side street towards his home.


    With a roll of his eyes, Oliver turned to Rhea and said ¡°Don¡¯t pay him any mind.¡±


    ¡°I never have and never will,¡± Rhea dryly replied while motioning for Oliver to follow. ¡°Follow me if you¡¯re joining, I anticipate this will be a short death at least.¡±


    Rhea pulled the newest contract from her satchel and unfurled it under the glow of the streetlamp outside of the tavern. Her mind lingered over how cruel it was that the ink had barely time to dry, but it was tempered by the follow up thought that at least he had been able to make it long enough to sign the contract and secure his family¡¯s future. She checked the address written into the contract, then they began to make their way together towards the poverty stricken neighborhood, the street lamps slowly becoming far and few between.


    The stone buildings with tiled roofs gave way to more flimsy wooden houses with thatched roofs, then finally to little more than shacks thrown together with whatever scrap materials people had found laying around. Occasionally they heard hushed voices, groans, and other less than savory sounds as they passed the tight and unsightly homes and makeshift alleys. People did what they had to on this side of the village to survive.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve really explored this side of the village,¡± Oliver commented as he flicked his fingers together and a small glowing orb appeared between them with just enough light to make the walk more comfortable. ¡°It¡¯s very.. Austere.¡±


    ¡°Destitute is the proper term,¡± Rhea corrected. ¡°I find myself here quite often. Sometimes I think those that sign my contracts are a bit grateful for their upcoming death as it may be the only viable way their family gets a way out of their circumstances¡±


    It was obvious which house was their stop by light spilling out of the open door and the little boy, likely no more than five sitting against the splintered wood wall next to the door drawing aimlessly in the dirt with his finger. His expression was a mask of confusion and sadness, the turmoil of uncertainty that often plagued children during their first experience with death. He did not raise his head as the pair approached, though his aimless drawings ceased.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Without prompting, the sphere of light Oliver had summoned flickered into darkness and he approached the child slowly, kneeling down to sit in the dirt before him. The child looked up in surprise and his eyes immediately darted over to the scar on Oliver¡¯s face, his eyes widening slightly.


    ¡°Hey there, having a rough night?¡± he asked the child in a gentle, low tone.


    ¡°Umm¡­¡± the little boy said uncertainly, eyes never leaving the scar. ¡°My dad is sick.¡±


    Oliver nodded his head solemnly. ¡°I heard that, why I came to give you a toy to cheer you up. What¡¯s your favorite bug?¡±


    While the boy was distracted, Rhea stepped back into the shadows just out of the glow of the candlelight from within and pulled on the leather strap that held a small carved bone pendant that hung around her neck. She had carved it herself from a small portion from a rib of one of her most used undead, Elias. With a surge of magical energy rising from the center of her chest to her fingertips she filled the pendant with her intent and it glowed a soft blue in response. In a few minutes Elias would arrive to help prepare and move the body. Until then, it would be the hardest part of her job, facing the grieving family.


    ¡°In-inchworm,¡± the boy replied. ¡°Um, did you fall down and get that?¡±


    Oliver laughed softly at the boy¡¯s inability to prevent himself from pointing out his scar. ¡°Something like that. I didn¡¯t listen to my mom when I was little and played where I shouldn¡¯t have, so remember to always listen to her, okay?¡±


    The little boy¡¯s eyes widened again, but he nodded. Oliver stuck a hand under his jacket and fumbled through the many small pockets sewn on the inside. After a moment he pulled out a small block of wood about the size of a thimble. With an incantation spoken so softly that even the boy next to him couldn¡¯t make out any of the words, the wood elongated and wriggled into the shape of a small worm. He placed it on the dirt between them, then gently tapped it with his fingertip causing it to start to wriggle itself upright and inch along like a real inchworm. The boy let out an excited gasp as his attention snapped to be fully on the new toy.


    ¡°Time to go in,¡± Rhea whispered behind him.


    He stood and dusted himself off. The boy seemed to be content to be lost in something other than what was happening inside. Rhea was relieved that he would not be underfoot and around to see everything that would happen. Death was a fact of life that the child would have to come to grasp, but the finer details would only unnecessarily haunt him. It was always best in her opinion for small children to have a grace period to have a sun and roses view of the world.


    Inside the pair was greeted by the deep, rattling wheeze of someone near death and his soon to be widow replacing cold rags on his forehead with shaking hands. The wife¡¯s long brown hair was haphazardly thrown up in a bun to be out of the way while her dress was stained with vomit and other unfortunate messes that came with the end of life. Her eyes were dull, but glassy from the tears she had long cried out.


    There was very little in the home aside from the deathbed, a few cooking implements, a makeshift stove, a dilapidated table and chairs, and the candles that illuminated the space. His desperation to make it to Rhea and sign a contract made sense seeing how little his family was being left with. Without help, they seemed to have nothing to sell and would likely have been pushed towards begging very swiftly.


    ¡°Thank you for coming,¡± the wife said in a shaky, hoarse voice. ¡°He said he needs to speak with you before¡­¡±


    Her words trailed off and she shook her head and looked away, letting fresh tears fall.


    ¡°I understand,¡± Rhea comforted. ¡°I am here now and will take over. Please let my friend here help you go have a seat and make you a cup of tea.¡±


    Oliver sprung into action and put a hand on the woman¡¯s arm, taking the wet rag from her and placing it in the bucket by the bed. He led her to a chair next to the stove and set to work figuring out tea. Rhea approached the bed and was surprised to see Mr. Hughes¡¯ eyes open to a slit as she knelt down. She had thought that surely she was too late, but it was often surprising how hard the near dead fought to complete their last request.


    ¡°They¡­ they¡­¡± He was struggling to get air through this throat and his mouth and tongue was so dry that his words sounded like the wind through dry autumn leaves. ¡°Will¡­ be¡­ taken care of?¡±


    ¡°I will make sure they will survive,¡± Rhea said with comforting conviction. ¡°I will not let them starve.¡±


    With no other sound or movement, the man¡¯s eyes bugged in their sockets and his mouth fell open. The ragged breathing abruptly ceased and a soft wail escaped his wife¡¯s lips. Oliver stopped his work getting the water ready to boil and placed a hand on the woman''s shoulder and murmured his sympathies.


    After a cup of tea and time to quiet her sobbing, the woman tried to rise to her feet to go prepare her husband¡¯s body, but Rhea stepped between her and the corpse.


    ¡°I would not advise helping with this part,¡± she said softly, leading the woman back to the chair. ¡°You have likely been tending to him tirelessly since he¡¯s gotten sick and you are exhausted. Seeing what happens next is not pretty and not something you want to keep in your mind. It is best to try to keep the memories of him alive and healthy as fresh as possible. I won¡¯t stop you if you insist, but I do think it¡¯s best if you go have a quiet moment with your son while this part is taken care of for you.¡±


    She looked toward the bed for a drawn out moment, then rose onto shaky feet and stumbled out into the night to find her son. Oliver and Rhea went to work assessing which bedding was soiled beyond saving and found that pretty much the whole lot would need to be replaced. That was often the case and while some doctors and undertakers would advise that linens and blankets could be boiled and used again, she felt it best to get rid of them and start fresh. No one wants to pull a death shroud over their face before sleep.


    They wrapped all the bedding around the body and tucked it in tightly so that all of it could be carried as one bundle and perhaps not be overly gruesome if anyone ran into the scene on a late night walk. Rhea felt the pendant on her neck tremble as Elias arrived, his head down in a sign of respect. She had never instructed him on how to react during this part, but he seemed to have retained a good bit of his sense and humanity, knowing instinctively how to react in these situations. While still obvious that he was of the undead, he was perhaps the best preserved of all the bodies at her disposal and given a dark enough room and a hood pulled tight enough around his face he could pass as perhaps just sickly. With little effort, Elias gathered up the body and placed it over his shoulder, then nodded wordlessly to Rhea to indicate that he would place it in the preparation area.


    Once Elias left, the wife and son returned, both of their faces wet and puffy from crying. She looked to the bed and was dismayed to see all of the bedding gone.


    ¡°It will need to be replaced, the mattress as well,¡± Rhea instructed. She dug through her satchel and pulled out several coins. ¡°Take this and get them replaced, consider it a gift for my condolences. Did your husband explain the contract he signed?¡±


    The woman looked at the coins in her hand and fresh tears spilled over her cheeks. It was likely the most money she had held at one time in a long time, if ever. She shook her head and put the coins in the pocket of her dress.


    ¡°I am sure you¡¯ve heard my name whispered around town, much of which is exaggerated, I assure you. The only part you need concern yourself with is at the first of every month you and your son will receive a small payment directly from my accounts to help with your upkeep. It should be enough to keep the both of you fed and clothed until your son is married.¡±


    ¡°He did that?¡± Her mouth went slack in shock and her eyes darted back and forth as if combing through her memories of him. ¡°I didn¡¯t think he cared what would happen to us.¡±


    Rhea sighed in sympathy through her nose and clasped her hands over the woman¡¯s to steady their shaking.


    ¡°Knowing death is coming changes people. Their deeds weigh heavy, even if they remain stubborn to the end. Many want to make right their wrongs in the only ways they know how.¡±


    The woman nodded and looked up at Rhea with sincere gratitude in her eyes. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Wordlessly, Rhea drew the woman into a hug, then gave her a soft smile and stepped towards the door. Oliver bowed, then turned to the boy and quickly produced a second inchworm from within his coat which was met with less enthusiasm, but the boy managed a half-smile through his sniffles as he took the toy.


    Outside the rain had started falling, quickly wetting the pair as they walked towards the general direction of the village center where they would part ways to their own homes. Many times each glanced at the other, considering starting some conversation, but every time they thought better. There was much to be said, but nothing felt worthy of breaking the solemn patter of the rain on the cobblestone. It felt a fitting end to such a night.