Caj’s back hurt, and so did his arms. And his hands, and his legs. Everywhere ached, even his face. He thought Narm might’ve cracked his nose, despite the man’s insistence that he hadn’t. Narm’s practice sessions were brutal, his quarterstaff unerring as it shot past Caj’s defensed to thwap him on the thigh, or the ribs, or, occasionally, Caj’s nose. Caj could swear that his nose felt crooked. At least Narm actually needed a quarterstaff now. For months, Narm went unarmed in their daily practice sessions, and consistently beat Caj nine out of ten matches. It had taken three months for Caj to get that down to fifty-fifty, and another four to get it to 8 out ten, one more month after that Narm started using a staff. He felt a sharp thwack across his back and he yelped, Narms voice boomed from directly behind him.

“Did I give you permission to stop digging, Journeyman?” Narm was looming over the half dug grave that he had assigned Caj to. That was the other change in his routine, he was a journeyman now.

“No, Undertaker!” Caj wheezed through gritted teeth. Narm shouted again, somehow even louder this time.

“What did you say, Journeyman!” Narm grinned his wolfish grin and then continued in the same bellow, “Come to attention when you speak to me!” Caj climbed out of the grave, pulling his shovel with him. He clapped his feet together, and his hands to his sides, with his right hand holding the butt of his shovel, and the blade resting up his forearm and behind his shoulder.

“Yes, Undertaker!” He yelled. It was like a normal speaking voice in comparison to Narm’s bellow. Narm had taught this movement and several others to all the journeymen, under the excuse that it would be useful if the Bone Yard was ever visited by a Duke. Caj was relatively certain that it was simply for use on him, though, for two reasons. The first was that the Duke of the Sea that had replaced Duke Dougal and Duchess Sherin following their death was not yet even 40 years of age, so a visit was unlikely. The second, more telling thing, was that he was the only one they were ever used for. On an hourly basis.

“Why did you stop digging Journeyman!” Narms face was inches from his own, and spittle flew from the man’s mouth. He had taken to wearing an old cap that reminded Caj of the beret’s that some members of the Royal Dragoons wore. He really was getting too self-important, not that Caj was going to be the one to tell him such. He realized that he hadn’t answered yet, and hurriedly did so.

“This Journeyman was distracted Undertaker!” Narm loomed even closer.

If he gets any closer, I’ll get my first kiss. Caj thought wryly.

“What distracted you Journeyman!” Narm spat. His tone was one of question, but so loud that he seemed to just be yelling words.

“This Journeyman was thinking of how poor he is with a quarterstaff, Undertaker!” Narm looked momentarily surprised, and his angry expression slipped for an instant, but only for an instant, in a moment it was back, although his voice might have been a slightly softer bellow, as these things go.

“Have I given you permission to think you are bad with a quarterstaff Journeyman?” Caj was momentarily taken aback, but leaped to cover his hesitation,

“No, Undertaker!”

“Therefore!” Narm bellowed, back to full volume now, and getting some looks from a memorial for a fishing vessel captain that was happening about a quarter mile away, “The only one who is able to make a judgement on your quarterstaff ability is me!”

“Yes, Undertaker!” Caj screamed, doing his best to match Narm for volume. His throat was aching now, in addition to the rest of his body.

“Have I told you that your quarterstaff work is miserly, Journeyman!” Narms voice somehow got even louder. A runner had been dispatched from the service, a young boy of about 7, but rather than requesting silence, he was staring in awe of the volume that this strange old man’s voice could reach. Caj yelled a gurgling reply that was more than slightly raspy,

“No, Undertaker!” Narm leaned back. Caj realized that his ears were ringing from the volume of their two voices. All of the Journeymen who were under Narm’s supervision were staring at them, something between amusement and pity written across their dirty faces.

“Well then,” Narm said in a voice that seemed a whisper after the yelling, “I will tell you what to think about your quarterstaff work, Journeyman. Your staff work is exceptional, considering your age and size. I’ve known recur-” he coughed, “Ahem, I’ve known men twice your age who would like to do half as well. Do I make myself clear Journeyman?” Caj managed a stunned,

“Yes, Undertaker.” Even at fourteen, he knew that grizzled Narm did not give false praise or recognition. Something about the older man’s previous sentence tickled at his mind, a word he had said, or maybe one he had almost said. Caj shook off his thoughts, he was too tired to think about it right now. Narm still hadn’t dismissed him.

“In the future Journeyman,” Narm said evenly, “You will confine thoughts of weapons to the times you have weapons drill, or your free time. To ensure you remember this, you will be sleeping outside for the next month. Rain or shine. Do I make myself clear, Journeyman?” Caj stopped himself from groaning, that would only make it worse. He had been forced to spend a night outside once or twice, and on one occasion a full week. Narm would attack him in his sleep without warning, making every night in the open a nerve-racking, restless experience.

“Yes, Undertaker!” He said, stamping his right foot to give emphasis to his words and stance. Narm grinned wickedly.

“Alright then. Now get back to digging.” Narm turned to the boy who was watching, and his voice abruptly changed from the coarse, bellowing one he used to dictate orders, and into what Caj secretly referred to as ‘The courtier’s tone’. The voice he used when he was practicing manners. Even his accent seemed to change slightly. “What can I help you with young Master?” The lad stammered something about noise, and Caj turned back to his hole with a sigh.

He didn’t understand why all the other journeymen got to share their workload and he didn’t, or why he was forced to do the most difficult duties, like digging a proper grave in bad weather, or installing a particularly large or intricate tombstone. On those more demanding duties, he was sometimes given one or two journeymen to work with, but they invariably were new, and without any idea of how to be helpful. He, Caj, was to see to their education in the matter. If they did not remember it sufficiently to explain it in detail to Narm, then he was given some creative punishment for his failing to teach them. He would be tasked to standing on one foot while balanced on a fencepost, holding a full pail of water in an outstretched hand for an hour, or he would be hung upside down from his ankles until after the evening meal. On one very memorable occasion he had been forced to sleep in a coffin intended for a child half his size. In the morning Narm, showing a particularly cruel streak, had allowed him to think he was being buried alive.

Caj had absolutely no desire to live through that again, so he started digging faster. His body complained as he started digging, but he ignored it, focusing on the fact that Narm had said that his Staff work was exceptional. Not the fact that he would spend the next month losing sleep.

***

The snapping of twigs woke Caj. He was three days into his thirty day “camping expedition” as Narm had taken to calling it. Every night there had been some sort of incident involving Narm. There had been two attacks, one ending with him running half naked through the section of the bone yard called “WickedVale”. The next night he had slept fully clothed, in a hollow created by the roots of a pine. It was a cold night, and it turned out that his choice to wear clothes had been a poor one, as Narm led four first day junior undertakers to dump buckets of water on him. He had spent the next several hours trying to walk himself dry, then run himself warm. Tonight, he had climbed a tree, as far up as he could get off the ground. He was about a half mile into the woods bordering the far side of the Bone Yard, far enough through open ground that it should’ve been impossible to track him. However, Caj was fully aware of Narms uncanny ability to find him. How Narm came by it, he had no idea, but he had no doubt that the cracking branches were the result of Narms booted feet.

Sure enough, a moment later, Narms deep, rich voice rang out.

“Well, Caj,” he chuckled, “I applaud your ingenuity, you are more committed to this than I thought.”

Caj was confused, in the past year or two, Narm had only ever called him Caj in private, when he was attempting to teach him some lesson regarding economics, or some obscure portion of politics.

I hate economics. He thought to himself. Of course, I would gladly exchange a month of economics in place of a month of this. Maybe. He shook his head to bring himself back to the present. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly thought better of it. For all he knew, Narm was bluffing, and talking would give him away. Of course, if Narm wasn’t bluffing, which Caj had to admit, was far more likely, not speaking wouldn’t accomplish anything. He kept his mouth shut anyways. Narm spoke again.

“Good lad.” After that, Caj could hear Narm moving away, and could just barely see the dappled moonlight reflecting off his bald head.

As soon as Narm was gone, Caj was too. The forest was thick here, and he chose to take the risk of jumping from tree to tree, rather than leaving Narm a clear trail. He didn’t know for certain if Narm knew he was there, but it would be foolish to fall into complacency now. Narm leaving him now did not mean that he wouldn’t be back. It seemed like something the old bastard would do. Leave him behind, thinking he was completely safe, then come back with some unpleasant punishment. He wondered as he moved how it was that Narm could always find him. Caj knew that he was a good woodsman, he had been told as much by several of the younger junior undertakers who had taken him hunting with them on occasion. Caj also knew he wasn’t the best woodsman in the world, but Narm had taught him a fair bit, and he had even learned some on his own, particularly in his games of hide and seek with Ally and Marci. Marci was quite the tomboy and was good at finding someone’s trail. He continued thinking and jumping between trees for as long as they were close enough together to do so. After about an hour, he decided that he was far enough away to be safe and settled down for the night.

***

Narm watched, unseen by Caj, as the boy began moving. He smiled. The boy was learning. He had spent the last three nights attacking him because he made mistakes, not to be cruel. So far tonight, the boy was not making mistakes. Tomorrow Narm would have to talk to him about his original mistakes, and what he did differently tonight. He grinned wolfishly when he thought of the look of dejection on Caj’s face when he realized that Narm could’ve caught him. Narm shook his head, it wasn’t fair to expect the boy to be able to avoid him. No one knew avoidance like Narm. He had been at it for nearly the past two decades. Avoiding his death. Avoiding Caj’s questions about his parents. Avoiding his family. Avoiding his responsibilities.

“Careful,” he murmured with a dark chuckle, “Those are dangerous thoughts.” He turned his mind to the task at hand, and the boy. Avoiding yet again, a distant part of his mind seemed to whisper. He ignored it. He didn’t know why he was teaching the boy everything he was. It was only going to make the boy’s life difficult. Caj had been stripped of his rank and was unlikely to ever get it back. The only remnant that he had of his rank was his family name and crest, and he didn’t even know about either. As far as Caj knew, he was just some orphan that Narm took in. He would never hold noble office, and his knowledge of social customs, dueling rights, economics, politics, and fighting were a strange combination, especially for a commoner. Not that the boy carried himself like one.

Caj was the image of his father, save that he had amber eyes instead of blue. The boy acted, without realizing it, as though he was in charge. He didn’t push for authority, but if he told any of the other junior undertakers to do something, they would do it without question, despite being five to ten years older. Caj was never rude to the men, and he rarely gave direct orders, but when he spoke, he did so with assurance, and they obeyed quickly. Narm had little doubt that by the time the boy was thirty, he would be all but running the Bone Yard. That thought made him sad, he felt that the boy was destined for something greater, but that was all but impossible with his given circumstance.

Narm made his way back to the main building slowly, meandering with his feet as much as his mind. He was going to have to raise the boy to full undertaker within the next few years. Narm smirked, Caj was already a senior undertaker in all but name, and he had done some jobs that Narm knew that a couple of the senior undertakers were less than good at. Narm was still mulling it over when he entered the building that held his and the Count’s apartments. The Count and Countess were sharing a glass of wine in the dining room, and they both looked up and smiled at him as he came in.

“Narm,” Isabelle said warmly, “We were just talking about you and Caj, would you care to join us?” Narm smiled in response and grabbed himself a chair.

“That would please me greatly Isabelle, thank you kindly.” Narm replied. Isaac did not comment on Narm’s presence, as per his custom, but simply thumbed a bit more tobacco into his pipe. After lighting it and taking a long draw and producing several smoke rings, offered it to Narm. Narm grunted acceptance and appreciation as he took a puff. He made a smoke ring within a smoke ring, just to show Isaac that he would not be outdone, and then he and the count grinned at each other. Isabelle muttered something about men, but said out loud,

“You are back early tonight, is that a good or bad thing?” Narm had pulled out his own pipe now and was lighting it. He placed it between his teeth before smiling and replying.

“He didn’t make any mistakes tonight.” Isaacs’s brows shot up.

“Really?” He asked, impressed, “I would’ve thought that it would be at least a week before that happened.” Isabelle elbowed her husband as a reminder to use manners, but neither he nor Narm paid it any mind.

“I know,” Narm said, “He did everything right. If he continues to do so, he will just have too completely perfect it. Right now, I doubt many people in the city would be able to find him if he wanted to hide. I even had a little trouble tonight.” Countess Isabelle looked surprised at that.

“You had trouble?” she asked, amazed, “He has improved so much?” Narm nodded vigorously.

“The boy always had a natural talent for woodcraft, he just needed to use his head a little more.” He puffed on his pipe, “I really think we made a breakthrough tonight.” Isaac and his wife looked happy, and Narm felt that way too. Murphy family was one of the few that knew the entirety of his past. He was sure that Caj had his suspicions, but hopefully he just assumed that Narm had been a soldier. Narm had been fostering that image for years, and to an extent, it was true. He had been a soldier once, long ago. He sat in silence with the Murphy’s for some time, before voicing his concerns.

“Isaac, Isabel,” he said softly, “I am… concerned. I am concerned about Caj.” Isaac’s tenor voice was cautious when he spoke next,

“What exactly is it that concerns you, Nor—” He coughed forcefully, “Ahem, I mean, what concerns you Narm?” Narm smirked behind the cup of water he had fetched for himself. He appreciated the Count’s care; it wouldn’t do to relax vigilance, not even here. Isabelle had only ever known him as Narm, so she had an easier time remembering the name than her husband. Narm sat down his cup after he was sure his face was blank and replied to Isaac’s question.

“I am concerned about what he is going to do with his life.” Isaac understood immediately, but his wife seemed confused,

“Whatever do you mean Narm?” She exclaimed, “Caj is one of the most well-mannered young men I have ever met!” Narm opened his mouth to speak, but Isabelle continued before he could reply, “If he and the girls were not like siblings, I might consider making a marriage contract between one of them and him!” Narm was waiting patiently for her to finish, and Isaac was too focused on fiddling with his tobacco pouch to join in the conversation. Narm spoke, his voice heavy.

“That is exactly my point. We know his parentage, he does not. He carries himself like a noble because that is what we taught him to do.” Narm sighed and ran a hand over his bald head and down his face, ending by pulling firmly on his mustaches and taking a puff on his pipe. Isabelle took his pause as a signal to speak.

“What is so terrible about that?” she asked, almost indignant. Isaac answered this time, giving Narm some time to smoke his pipe.

“The problem, Love,” he said quietly, “is that Caj is not a noble. We all know the reason his parents died, and the punishment that was laid upon him for their sins.” Narm grunted disparagingly through the pipe in his teeth.

“So called crimes.” He emphasized. Count Murphy simply nodded. Isabelle seemed to be grasping the situation now.

“So,” she said hesitantly, “What you are saying is that it is dangerous for him to act like a Noble because of his parentage? If he will never be a Noble, it seems that the least we can do is give him the dignity of one.” Narm looked pointedly into her eyes as he removed the pipe from his mouth.

“That dignity of his might well get him killed. Especially considering the way his parents met their end. You and I both know who was responsible for that. Perhaps if the Donovan’s were not so dignified, they would still be alive, and have more than one child to carry their crest.” Isabelle gasped at his callous words, but Isaac just took a long draw on his pipe before saying.

“You may have a point, ah, Narm. The Duke and Duchess did not consider who they were dealing with properly. Personally, I think we are putting the boy in danger by not informing him. I have always said so and will continue to until it is done.” When he got blank looks from both his wife and friend, he continued indignantly, “I’m right and you bloody well know it.” Isabelle gasped at his language, “Scythe and Sickle! Caj doesn’t even know anything about the Headsman, let alone that his parents were killed by the man!” Count Isaac realized that he had been shouting at the last. Two teenage heads were poking out of the girl’s room. Marci stepped out and asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice,

“Papa, is everything okay?” Her nightgown was characteristically undecorated, little more than a sheet really, and her hair hung in a rough braid that looked like it had been thrown together haphazardly. It probably had been. Marci continued.

“Ally and I heard you yell… Is something wrong?” Isaac looked around the room. His chair was on the floor, and his wife was staring at him with worry and surprise. Narm sat as still and solid as always, puffing on his pipe as though nothing abnormal had occurred. Ally took his silence for a sign of curt dismissal and shuffled forward to grab Marci by the hand and pull her back to the room. Ally, in contrast to her sister, wore a nightgown that was so intricately embroidered that it might’ve been a dress, and wore her hair in a nightcap. Isaac realized that he was scaring his daughters and quickly reassured them.

“Nothing is wrong girls,” he replied, searching for an excuse or lie that could explain his anger. Narm was faster though, his dry tone slicing the air like knife.

“Your father was just ranting about the price of Tobacco,” he said, “He was saying that if they didn’t start producing better product, he will have to take their heads.” Narm puffed contentedly at his obviously falsified excuse for the Count’s outburst.

Marci wasn’t at all sure that what Narm said was accurate, she was sure that she had heard Caj’s name and something about his lack of knowledge, but the look on her mother’s face, and her sisters hand pulling on her arm urged her to leave the room. She nodded and backed away with Ally. Narm smiled when they left.

“Have you forgotten my lessons so quickly Isaac?” He asked innocuously “I seem to recall that holding your anger was a particularly important one. For you especially.” The last was said pointedly, but with the patience of a teacher repeating something. The Count couldn’t help chuckling ad he pulled his chair back to the table. Isabelle brought the conversation back to its origin.

“Isaac is right you know,” she said, “We have to tell him at some point, we really should’ve already. He deserves to know.” To her surprise, Narm simply nodded his agreement,

“I plan to tell him of it on his next name day, along with a few other things.” Isaac and Isabelle looked surprised, but Narm continued before they could cut in, “I want to give him a black vest, and start him on the sword and ax. Knives to if I'm able.” He looked at the Count and Countess.

Narm didn’t really need their permission to do any of those things. As the most senior undertaker of the Bone Yard, he could do all of those things so long as they did not disrupt the work of the mortuary. However, he, Isaac and Isabelle had long ago agreed to be completely up front with each other when it came to Caj. Isabelle’s jaw was hanging open in shock. Isaac recovered first.

“That’s…” he sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair, “That’s a lot. Reapers Harvest that’s a lot.”

“Why so much so fast?” Isabelle asked, looking unsteady.

“I don’t know.” Narm stated, “I just have a feeling… I think it is important. I think he is going to need it. No, I know he is going to need it. I can feel it.” If it were any other man, Isabelle would’ve scoffed, but the man who called himself Narm’s feelings were not to be discounted. She had learned that lesson well and didn’t need to be taught it again.