I stand in front of the gallows eating an apple I purchased from a stall only a short walk away. A crowd of loud unruly working men and women stand behind me and Terrence, maintaining a safe distance from us. The wind cuts through my thick fur cloak like a knife while Terrence stands beside me wearing nothing but expensive dress clothes yet somehow he's unbothered by the cold. Seven men stand upon the platform, two women, one boy who's no older than twelve and the hooded executioner who looms behind them ominously.

"Why are we here, cousin?" Terrence asks.

"I'm here because these people have wronged this city in some way thus wronging the kingdom thus wronging me," I reply through a bite of my apple, "you're here because I presume you thought I was going to some social occasion though what social occasion you believe I'd attend at eight hour of the morning is a mystery to me."

"How could they have wronged you enough to warrant such attention at this hour?" Terrence asks, "Look at that one," pointing at a skeletally thin one-armed man who had a long vertical scar on the right-hand side of his face, "he isn't even able to steal food surely he's not-"

I cut Terrence off by yelling, "you!" and pointing at the cripple.

Terrence sighs and buries his head in his palm while the condemned man looks my way.

"You!" I repeat, "what have you done to deserve such a punishment?"

The condemned man mumbles something that's drowned out by the rowdy citizenry behind.

"Louder man!" I yell.

"Murder!" He bellows, he doesn't look very pleased to say it, in fact he looks like he's on the verge of tears.

"That's how he wronged me, dear cousin," I say to Terrence, "and I believe such a wrong warrants my attention."

The cripple erupts into tears which in fairness most men tend to do when rope is wrapped around their neck. His sobs don't sound all that dissimilar to a man choking on a fishbone and needless to say they irk me.

"And what about that one?" Terrence asks in a mocking tone, pointing at the boy, "is he a cold-hearted murderer too?"

"Your crime boy!" I demand.

"Piss off!" He yells in response.

"He's a-"

"I didn't ask you!" I yell at the executioner who had taken it upon himself to answer.

"You face the rope boy," I continue "face your crimes like a man and I may deem you worthy of a pardon, face them like common scum and you'll die like common scum."

"Piss off you royal prick!" He repeats.

I just shrug and yell to the executioner, "On with it then!" loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

The executioner's expression is hidden behind the black hood but he seems rather content with his task as he approaches the condemned. The first man stands tall and proud with his arms restrained behind his back, wearing tattered prison rags.

"Your final words?" The executioner asks.

"None," the condemned responds.

With a single shove the executioner sends the man straight off of the platform's edge and into the open air where the noose chokes him. Terrence looks away, most of the crowd laugh, clap, point and spit insults at the man as he convulses while I just continue to watch silently.

The next prisoner isn't as stoic, he begs and weeps for the allowed five minutes before the executioner shoves him too. Eventually, the executioner decides five minutes is too long for him to wait and the condemned conveniently start 'slipping and falling' only a minute or two into their speeches. The one-armed murderer is still weeping when the executioner reaches him, when the rope crushes his windpipe he tries to continue his pathetic sobs creating a sound so off-putting it finally pushes Terrence over the edge and he vomits rather violently.

When the executioner reaches the boy and asks for his last words the boy responds with a torrent of profanities, heathenisms and insults some of which even impress me.

I look the grubby child in the eye as he's pushed off the platform, he tries to continue screaming offences at the crowd but only chokes. Eventually, everyone who dangles from their rope swings lifelessly, blue-faced, bulging eyes and the contents of their bowels emptied. I cast the core of my apple aside, silently turn around and walk off, leaving the crowd to continue their bellowing, Terrence hesitantly trails behind me.

I cut into the bloody meat with Terrence staring at me wide-eyed from the other side of the table. Castle Black's dining hall has a rather poor appearance, the walls are a dull grey except for the one southern wall which is ink black. There's a single large window in that wall which allows sunlight into the room and a view of the warren that are the residential districts surrounding castle black. Two other nobles occupy the room with us, one is the fat Lord Vincent, a merchant lord who owns two very profitable stone mines and is known for his prodigious appetite. The other is Lady Abigail who made most of her fortune by investing in the foresters and other mercenary groups. A servant stands in the corner clutching a notebook and pen.

"How can you stomach that?" Terrence asks, appalled by my appetite.

"It's quite delicious," I reply through a mouthful of venison, "the hunters killed the thing this morning, you should try some."

"We watched ten people die," he hisses, "one was barely younger than you!"

"Six years does not qualify as barely and they would have died had we not watched them" I state, "our presence merely gave them a greater audience."

"You could have pardoned them!" Terrence exclaims, "no one had to die!"

"I'm still prince Harold not king-"

Terrence cuts me off before I can finish by yelling, "Do you think that fucking matters! Do you think that executioner would be dumb enough to-"

"Do you know what they did?" I ask, taking another bite.

"Do you!" He yells.

"Yes," I say calmly pulling a small black leather notebook out of my cloak, "it's all recorded in here, the executioner's creatively named 'black book' which is shockingly easy to get. The first one burned an apartment with two dozen people inside, the second one bludgeoned his apprentice to death with a hammer, third one pushed a beggar off the bridge, the two women murdered their father, the cripple broke his wife's neck and I'm sure I don't need to go on."

"What about the boy?" Terrence asks, slowly regaining his composure.

"Gouged out a man's eyes," I say, taking another bite, "and then crudely castrated him resulting in a mercifully swift death from extreme blood loss."

Terrence remains silent.

"Want some?" I ask, offering him a slice of venison.

"No," he replies, "no thank you."

I shrug and say, "Two hundred and fifty people were hung all around this city today, one thousand one hundred and twenty round the kingdom, will they too affect your appetite dear cousin?"

"No, no of course not it's just-"

"Then don't let the ten in this district affect it either," I say, "eventually you'll be the lord of somewhere or perhaps even a duke and what use is a duke who can't stomach a hanging?"

Terrence doesn't respond and I finish my meal in silence.

When night fell I found myself restless and decided to explore the streets of Griaz. Even the district where Castle Black resides isn't particularly pleasant, one can see the smoke being belched from factories two districts away, a man screams in agony, a woman cries with joy and I wander aimlessly. I did not bring the royal guard with me, I'm more than capable of defending myself with the long stiletto dagger I brought with me. However it appears I needn't have even bothered with that and my reputation has preceded me. A grimy man with dried blood caking his boots, ankles and hands approaches me with a wicked-looking knife but when he's close enough to recognize my face he promptly turns around and flees into the darkness. A man in a fine suit and stylish hat passes me by, when he was fifty feet away he was smiling so widely I could see each and every one of his teeth reflecting the moonlight now however he merely scowls in annoyance as we pass each other by. I meet several other such undesirable or just simply off-putting individuals in the streets of my city but they all behave much the same. Eventually, the poorly designed streets and back alleys lead me to the gallows where only seven of the ten dead still swing. The missing three have been moved into a cart that appears to have been crudely crafted by hand and pulled along by two donkeys. Someone is cutting down the fourth man. I cannot discern much about the cutter in the darkness, they're a small figure but little else is obvious to me.

"You there!" I yell at the figure causing them to jump.

"What do you want?" He spits, returning to cutting the rope.

"Well I just couldn't help but notice you happen to be stealing corpses," I say intrigued as to how this conversation will go.

"It's not thievin'," he says as the fourth corpse falls to the ground, "a man's carcass is not legally considered property thereby it cannot be stolen so I'm not paying for your silence boy."

"Participating in degenerate activities with a corpse is illegal however," I point out, "has been for over two hundred years."

"And what are considered degenerate activities?" The figure grunts hauling the corpse to his cart.

"Fucking one, cannibalism, using one for occultism and this list stretches for two pages," I say recalling all Tutor Ronaldo's lessons.

"But is the sale of one on that list?" The figure asks, heaving the body into the cart atop the others.

"I don't believe so."

"Then I'm a law abidin' citizen, now fuck off."

"Who would want to buy a mouldering criminal's corpse?" I inquire.

"Necromancers," the figure answers plainly, moving back to the gallows, "the mountain ones pay good prices for good corpses."

I stare at the man for a few seconds before asking, "Need any help?"

"A two coppers if you help get the rest in the cart," the figure declares, "twenty if you help get it to the mountain tribes."

I sigh and head towards the gallows. When closer to the figure I can fully appreciate his filth, he's a head smaller than me, rather thin and practically caked in all manner of grime and when coupled with the darkness it makes features such as his skin tone and hair colour impossible to distinguish. He wears a cloak that's more dirt than cotton and emits a foul odour that seems to be a mixture of rotting meat and soil. He clambers on top of the platform, saws through the rope and the one-armed man's corpse falls at my feet. I don't believe he's a local man as he doesn't recognize my face in the moonlight. The body snatcher hops down and looks at me expectantly, I grab the corpse's feet, the snatcher takes the remaining arm and we begin to haul.

It's around the third body we haul when the snatcher begins to make conversation.

"So what are you?" He asks, "some noble's son?"

"Son of a pimp," I lie, not wanting to arouse an adverse reaction just yet.

"And your whoremongering daddy could afford that fine cloak for you?" The snatcher inquires.

"It's a very popular brothel," I grunt heaving the corpse into the cart, it was that of one of the patricidal daughters.

"And yet you're here in the gutters working for coppers?"

"Indeed I am."

"Might I ask why?"

"Work deters boredom," I sigh as we move back to the gallows, "and I was so very bored."

"I'm sure your father's whores can help with idle hands just fine," the snatcher says, climbing onto the platform.

"They also have the most exotic breeds of pox."

"Horseshit," he snorts.

"Half the profits go to medicines," I continue to lie, "sailors and soldiers from-"

"I don't doubt that,' he says as the next carcass hits the floor, "it's just not the reason you're here."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because if idle hands were your issue you'd go to a whorehouse with a cleaner workforce or the fighting pits," the snatcher grunts, grabbing the arms while I get the feet, "not corpse larking."

"Why do you suspect me to be here then?"

"I can see the reason in your eyes," he claims, "you're a dark little whoreson you are, bet these corpses are like a fine book to you, fascinating your bright little mind like a flame fascinates a moth."

I remain silent, the snatcher takes this as an invitation to continue.

"So I'm right!" He exclaims, flashing me a smile as we heave this corpse on the pile, I wish he hadn't, that mouthful of rot looks like it's a home to maggots and mould. "You'd do well in this business boy, thousands are killed every day in this hole of a kingdom, only a few months travelling south there's a war going on over some fucking trees, you should see the fields! Piles upon piles of corpses all waiting to be shipped to the necromancers, occultists and surgeons."

I don't respond and we continue to work silently. Eventually, we reach the final corpse, it's that of the boy. He falls and cracks his face against the flagstones when hitting the ground, there's a sickening crunch as his skull splits but conveniently there's little blood.

"That's a small one," the snatcher declares, "you may bring him to the cart yourself while I rest a moment."

I sigh as I pick the boy up and sling him over my shoulder like a sack of flour. He weighs more than he looks and I can hear a small plop every now and then indicating that something has fallen from his opened skull. I place the boy atop the nine other corpses, the snatcher hops off the platform and walks beside me.

"Fine work boy," he sighs, fishing through his pockets, "here are the two coppers as agreed," he drops two rather filthy copper coins into my hand, "and here's a third as you were such a good boy."

"Thank you, Mr…" I trail off.

"Silver," he supplies.

"So all these will go to the necromancers?"

"Each and every one," Mr Silver says, "and there are twenty more coppers if you help me get them there. You'll also probably get to kill a man, consort with necromancers, hells you're a pretty boy maybe you'll even get to fuck one."

"That is a very tempting offer," I say, "very tempting indeed."

Mr Silver offers me a grimy hand and says, "it's got much more corpses and excitement than your whorehouse boy. Necromancer feasts are a sight to behold!"

I smile and grip his grimy hand with my gloved one. Then in one swift movement, I pull out my stiletto dagger, pull him close and drive the blade between his ribs.

He stares at me blankly for a moment while I inhale his foul stench fighting off the urge to retch. He coughs like he's trying to clear his throat, little specks of blood fly from his mouth and into my face. I wrench the blade free and take two steps back, blood flows out of the wound and Mr Silver spits out a mouthful of the stuff staining most of his lower face red.

"I won't lie, your offer was an interesting one good sir," I sigh wiping my dagger clean on the leg of my breeches, "and your argument was rather sound, corpses aren't property thereby cannot be stolen."

Mr Silver gags and falls to his knees, I gently push him onto his back with the tip of my boot.

"If I wasn't what I am I'd probably accept your offer however I am what I am and that's more than a well-educated whoreson and my responsibilities extend further than what most would expect," I sigh. "Had you been selling these corpses to the hungry or lusty deviants that would have been fine."

Mr Silver spits up more blood, staining his grimy face with it.

"But you supply the necromancers and the necromancers hunt and kill the trade caravans, butcher hamlets and villages that feed this kingdom and on top of that they are just a general nuisance."

"H-h-hel-"

I presume Mr Silver is trying to say 'help' but he makes more gurgling and choking sounds before he can finish.

"And supplying these nuisances makes you guilty of treason. Now normally the punishment for such a crime would be having your eyes gouged, tongue ripped out, hands severed, then you would be hung, gutted and your corpse would be hurled into the nearest river but fortunately for you, I am a merciful man."

Mr Silver weakly reaches towards the sky as if he's trying to touch the stars.

"Gods aren't going to come for you yet," I inform him, "you got two, maybe even three minutes left before you drown on your blood. After that, you'll be tossed with all these criminals and burnt till only ash and bone remains."

"N-n-n-n-"

Mr Silver spits up a spurt of blood with each attempt to speak, I almost pity the man.

"Not to be rude Mr Silver but you don't seem overly eager to contribute much to the conversation," I say calmly, "I believe I shall go procure some oil for the burning, you'll most likely be dead when I return."

"D-d-d-da-"

I turn around and walk off leaving Mr Silver to die with only his corpses for company.

It isn't very easy to find a merchant willing to open their doors at this late hour, even harder to find one soliciting the oil I seek but after two hours of searching I find the shop of a thin woman who's willing to give me two barrels of the stuff, she also gifts me a cart to transport the stuff in on account of my royal blood. I thank the woman, promise to pay her back and drag the oil back to the corpses. It appears Mr Silver has finally ceased his choking so I push him till he's lying right next to the cart but I'm unwilling to pick up the man. I then heave the barrel over, I empty the one hundred and sixty litres onto the corpses trying my best not to spill any on myself. I repeat the process with the second barrel before taking six paces back and withdraw my lighter. It's a crude thing and it could quite easily explode in my hand. I ignite whatever gas they crammed into the device and quickly toss it at the oil-covered corpse cart. For a brief moment, nothing happens, then bright orange flames erupt from the cart. The corpses blacken at an impressive rate and all the grime covering Mr Silver's corpse burns away, the skin leaves soon after. Within two minutes the cart collapses while the corpses continue to burn in a twisted pile of tangled, misshapen limbs. The fire dies out ten minutes after the collapse and all that remains is a steaming pile of charred meat and bones. I sigh and begin the journey back to Castle Black. I'll explain this partial cremation to the city watch at a more reasonable hour but now I finally feel weary.