I sat there and tried to face it that I had almost certainly caused this. Or instigated it. Someone else had caused it. I would find out who that was and I would do bad things to him. Whatever was going on, this shouldn't have happened.
The shadow of the tree had shortened considerably when Loiosh said, "I think someone's coming" A minute or so later, I heard footsteps. I stood up and dusted myself off. The peasant had a pair of shovels over his shoulder.
He walked up to me and nodded, handed me one of the shovels.
"My name is Vaski," he said. "I'm a free farmer."
"All right," I said. "Where should we dig?"
"Under the maple. They always liked that maple."
See? I knew it was a maple.
"All right. How big should the holes be?"
"About as deep as a man's height. We lay them on their backs."
"All right," I said. I took off my cloak and folded it, then removed my shirt. He pointed to a spot and we started digging.
Ever heard someone tell you that hard physical labor can be soothing? Can take your mind off your problems? Can leave you feeling better? I'd heard that. In my opinion, hard physical labor gives you blisters, and the only real distraction I got was trying to remember the spells I'd once known for curing them. He was much better than me, by the way; turns out there is even skill involved in digging holes. Who knew?
We were partway into it when a wagon drawn by a small cream-colored horse pulled up with the son and someone who introduced himself as Father Noij. He was short and fat, with brown curly hair around his ears.
"Merss Vladimir," I told him.
"I'm sorry for your loss, sir," he said. "What, exactly, was your relationship to the family?"
"My mother was a Merss. I took her name. I'm not certain beyond that; I was young when she died."
"And your father—?"
"He's dead too." I left it at that, and he nodded.
"You came here to find them?"
"Yes. Did you know them well?"
He nodded.
"Tell me about them."
He did, but a lot of it I'm not sharing with you, whoever you are. Some things should stay private, and it wouldn't help you understand what happened anyway. He talked, mostly about Vilmoth, whom he described as sour and stubborn, but a loving father. As he spoke, Vaski's son looked through one of the outbuildings and found another shovel.
The digging went faster with three of us.
When Father Noij had at last finished, he said, "What of the stock?"
"Who inherits?" I said.
He shrugged.
Vaski said, "If there were a will, it's burned up by now."
"No other family?"
"There were once; they've moved away to get away from—" He broke off and glanced at Father Noij. "—from things," he concluded. "Or changed their name."
"Changed their name?"
"That means they disinherit themselves."
Yeah.
"You may be the nearest relative," said Father Noij. "Perhaps you should decide what to do with what is left."
"Pretty casual about this stuff, aren't you?"
"Anyone who wants to object can always see the Count."
"Not the Guild?" I said.
He stiffened a little, then relaxed. "It would fall under the purview of the county, not the town."
"All right. I'll look things over; see if there are any documents or keepsakes that have survived. Other than those, if it's up to me, these people can have the stock."
Vaski grunted a thanks.
It turned out there needed to be seven holes, not six; one of them very, very small. It made me sick. If I had still had my Organization, it would have been the work of a day to confirm that the Guild was behind it, and two more days to demolish the Guild so that no trace of it remained. I thought about that as I worked my shovel and sweated.
The shadows had grown short and then long again when all the holes were dug; neat rectangles, each with a pile of dirt next to it.
"All right," said Vaski. "Let's get the bodies."
That's something else you don't need to hear about. Let's just say that most of them were no longer recognizable, and it was as bad as you'd think. I'd spent a lot of my life around death, and seen my share of corpses, also your share, and your uncle's share; but Vaski handled it better than I did. By the time we were done, it was all I could do not to show how badly shaken I was.
We filled in the holes one at a time, while Father Noij intoned softly in a language I didn't know, but from which I could occasionally pick out a name; usually Verra's but sometimes that of a corpse. He passed his hands over the holes, making cabalistic gestures, and from each picked up some dirt which he whispered over before replacing. I didn't feel any magic, but with the amulet I was wearing, I probably wouldn't. I wondered if the Demon Goddess was actually paying attention.
Partway through the service, we were joined by three more people, who proved to be Vaski's wife, daughter, around twelve, and youngest son, I'd guess at six or seven. His wife was carrying a basket, which made me realize that I hadn't eaten since I broke my fast that morning, and it was now late afternoon. With everything, all the different emotions warring in my skull, my stomach was still demanding attention. It's enough to make you laugh or cry or something.
Eventually, the last hole was filled in, the last of the rituals completed. It was still late afternoon. It seemed like it should have been much later.
Vaski and I went through the charred remains of the house, then briefly through the outbuildings, but didn't find anything of interest. When it was time to eat, Father Noij insisted we draw water and carefully wash our hands. There was a touch of ritual about that, I guess because we'd been handling dead people. There was still some light when the basket was opened, and we ate chewy, sweet dark bread, a harsh goat cheese, dried kethna, and a white liqueur that tasted of cherries but was oddly refreshing. I found I was eating slowly, in spite of my hunger. No one spoke while we ate; it was like that was part of the ritual, too. Maybe it was.
It had become pretty dark by the time we finished. I nodded to Vaski. Father Noij said, "I can drive you to your inn, if you wish."
"I'd like that," I said. "Ah, is it customary to pay you for such services?"
"The burial or the ride?" he asked, then chuckled. "A pittance as a gesture would not be improper."
I gave him a few copper pennies, and he nodded. He went over and said a few words to Vaski and his family, then climbed into the wagon. The horse shook its head and made some sort of horse sound as I climbed up next to Father Noij. He turned the wagon around and started us back to town. I'm no judge, but it seemed that he knew how to handle the horse and the wagon.
It was a long ride back to town after a long day. I started to drowse off, and I might have fallen asleep if he hadn't said, "Feel free to rest; I will wake you when we reach your inn." I hadn't told him which inn I was staying at. No, that didn't really mean anything, but it made me nervous enough that I stayed awake for the rest of the journey.
"Thank you for the ride," I told Father Noij as we reached my inn.
"You are welcome, Merss Vladimir," he told me. "And I am sorry that this happened."
"Thank you," I said. "Someone else will be, too."
He shook his head. "That is no way to think."
I stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Revenge is self-destructive."
"I thought you were a priest of Verra."
"And if I am?"
"When has the Demon Goddess frowned on vengeance?"
"I do not speak for the Goddess, Merss Vladimir. Though I serve her, and the people of this town through her, I cannot make such a claim. I speak as one man to another. Your desire for vengeance will—"
"You're bloody serious, aren't you?"
"Yes," he said.
"Amazing."