By common consent, the companions filed into the drawing room. Patricia looked at Anomen. “I know we’re both thinking the same thing. Didn’t anything about Tirdir’s story strike the rest of you?”

Keldorn, Minsc, and Nalia shook their heads at once. Jan considered for a moment, then brightened. “Yeah, I think I know what you’re getting at now, Tisha. How are we going to prove it, though?”

“First of all,” replied Anomen grimly, “we’re going to see what the gravekeeper has to say for himself. I don’t think the local clerics of Kelemvor are going to be any too thrilled with his antics.”

“No, they certainly won’t appreciate the mockery,” agreed Patricia. “This wasn’t exactly how I’d hoped to spend my last day in Athkatla, but we’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot. Jan, would that friend of yours in the pastry shop be likely to know anything about the gravekeeper?”

“You mean my cousin Jakob’s wife Annika? Mmmmmm, she might. It depends or whether or not the guy’s got a sweet tooth. Or whether he’s picky enough to turn up his nose at the food offerings mourners leave. A guy who’d look the other way while somebody else decided to plant Great-aunt Grietje a little early couldn’t be trusted around cookies. I bet the rats don’t get a whole lot of free pickings while he’s on duty. Say, that reminds me of the sad tale of my own Gramma Jansen’s un-funeral.”

“Un-funeral?” Keldorn asked incautiously. Patricia and the others groaned. The paladin hadn’t yet learned to dread the phrases “that reminds me” and “did I tell you”. They were in for it now!

“Yes, we never did get to hold a proper wake for her. You see, we’re very proud of our dead, and don’t like leaving them far away from us. It’s easier to go have picnics at the family tomb at Midsummer if the tomb’s in the same village, not half a continent away. Anyhow, I was just a tiny nipper when the whole family decided to pile in the wagon and go visit Uncle Ernie, who at that time ran a horse-trading business in Trademeet. Well, we were about eight days into a tenday-long family reunion when Gramma just up and died on us. Cousin Anemone always blamed it on Uncle Ernie’s turnip and radish homebrew, but the rest of us think it was probably the smell of Anemone’s year-old turnip kimchi that did her in. Anyway, we couldn’t just leave her in Trademeet, so we bundled her into a big old trunk, wrapped it in oilskins, corded it up tight with rope, put in the back of the wagon, and rode home again. It didn’t help any that the rainy season had just started, and half the creeks were in flood. They kept making me sit on the trunk as we forded the streams, so I’d have something to perch on for a raft if the wagon overturned. Not real pleasant, wondering if your Gramma’s gonna turn into a fish. Well, after days of that, we were within two hours of the city when we stopped at a village to get something to eat. We came back out of the inn and found nothing. The wagon and Gramma were gone with the wind. We never did find either of them again. It’s horrible bad luck to lose a body, too; worse than breaking a mirror. I just wish I could have been a fly on the wall when the wagonnappers opened the trunk.”

Dead silence followed the end of Jan’s story. Patricia was afraid to say anything at all. As usual, Jan’s delivery had been so deadpan that you couldn’t be sure if he was telling the truth or merely trying to get you to laugh at his tall tale. Everyone else seemed to feel the same way. Someone had to break the silence, though. A complete change of subject seemed to be the least dangerous course. “Nalia, would you ring for the carriage, please, while I run upstairs for my blade? I’ll bring your quiver and bow back with me. We’d best be prepared.”

Twenty minutes later, they had managed to wedge themselves into the narrow confines of the closed carriage and were clopping along the city streets. Traffic kept them from going any faster than a walk, however, and Anomen began to chafe at the delay. “Milady, we could have been there by now if we’d gone on foot. All these great wains are doing nothing but slow us down! Why did you insist on the carriage?”

“Because there wasn’t any point in running,” Patricia replied. “The gravekeeper will be there all day, unless he’s gotten wind of Tirdir’s escape already. If we have to fight someone later, I’d rather not be tired out from tromping from one side of town to the other. Besides, I’m not planning on keeping it all day; the horses can’t stand that long. We’ll send them home once we’ve reached the graveyard.”

Anomen gave a disgruntled snort, but subsided into silence. Patricia was glad; she’d had a rough enough morning already, trying to explain who she was to the others. And fie on him, for falling so readily in with Delcia’s plans and absenting himself with Nalia for half the morning! She almost wished that his Test would come soon, so Delcia would be able to unleash her full powers on the Watcher. She was fairly sure now that Nalia would never care two pins for Anomen, but watching the squire evade her great-aunt’s attempts to bring them together might be amusing…. Patricia halted that train of thought instantly, appalled at her own callousness. It wouldn’t be fun at all. The sooner Delcia was made aware that the attempt was futile, the better. She just hoped her own judgment was equally flawed where Nalia’s feelings were concerned, or there might be a truly nasty scene in the offing at some distant date.

Finally they arrived near the cemetery gates. They all piled out and walked towards the pastry shop. Annika was more than ready to tell Jan all about the gravekeeper. “He’s this old human named Sethle. I know for a fact he got the job on a low bid, subcontracting from a landscaping firm owned by the Roenalls. He’s supposed to sleep in a little shack built near the main gate, but you won’t catch him within half a mile of this place anytime close to dark. He’s none too bright, but not dumb enough to spend the night in that graveyard. Of course, I don’t exactly blame him for that. I have to be up before dawn myself in order to light the ovens and set dough to rise, but we live over the shop here, and keep everything wizard-locked tight. You won’t catch me walking the streets around here before first light; too many weird things have been happening lately. You see that monument firm two doors down? Well, last tenday the owner’s apprentice was found sprawled lifeless in the street two blocks from here, his lunch pail still clutched in his hands. He’d a goofy grin on his face, but something had bled him white. I mean that literally--- Mr. Radubt, the embalmer, said there wasn’t a drop of blood left in that poor boy’s body.”

“So Sethle’s not a member of the Silent Shroud, then?” asked Patricia.

“No, he’s no trained mortician or anything. I’m not sure he’s smart enough to do anything more than dig the graves and backfill them. The Roenalls and Farrahds have a long-term joint contract to maintain the walls and gardens in the cemetery, and so far they’ve been able to hold on to that. The Kelemvorites have been trying to win control of the graveyard, but so far the Council’s kept renewing the old contract every year,” replied Annika.

Aha! Patricia thought. Those two families again. Why do they keep cropping up? I don’t like it. But now I know where to look for allies, anyway. All we need to do is take any evidence we find to the Kelemvorites, and they’ll handle the rest for us in hopes that it will be their ticket to earning sole control over the cemetery. I don’t have a problem with that, as long as they let other faiths perform their own funeral rites. Kelemvor won’t allow his priests to gouge the bereaved in their hour of need, and even paupers will get a decent burial.

Aloud she said, “Thanks, Annika. How about packing up another dozen of those Chiktikka cakes for us? We may be walking a lot today, and I like to carry a snack. The ones Jan bought the other day looked delicious.”

“Sure thing,” Annika agreed cheerfully. “I’ll make it a true baker’s dozen for you. Two apiece, plus one for that cute little hamster.”

Boo squeaked. “He says thank you,” said Minsc proudly.

Relying on the gnome’s description, they searched among the large vaults of noble families until they found a skinny, wizened man with dull brown eyes. He was sprawled on a stone bench carved into the entryway of one of the biggest crypts. Patricia saw Anomen’s shoulders tense, and wisely kept everyone else back as the cleric approached the gravekeeper alone.

Sethle looked up as the tall man approached. Slowly, he rose to a sitting position. Scratching himself negligently, he said, “You got business here, or you just like walkin' on the graves?”

Anomen gave him a dark look and spoke with heavy sarcasm. “Busy day for you? Find yourself a little rushed?”

A wary look sprang into the man’s eyes. “A little. Why you ask that, friend?”

Patricia had never heard anyone spit a sentence through clenched teeth, but Anomen managed the feat now. “Thought you might have cut a few corners, like burying a man alive!”

The wary look turned into outright terror as Sethle cried, “I don't know what you are talkin'... I... I ain't done anything wrong! I just dig graves, ain't no crime here!”

Unexpectedly, Jan came up to stand before Sethle. “Well, perhaps we should let the guards determine that. I'll go find some,” he remarked in his trademark deadpan voice. “Unless, of course, you’d like to volunteer a little more information. It’s amazing how one’s memory can improve with just a little encouragement.” He negligently nocked a bolt on his crossbow.

“Hey, you not supposed to have weapons here!” Sethle cried. “Oooh, this is getting complicated! I didn't do anything! Almost nothing! He would have killed me if I didn't help good!”

“Tell me everything about the man that was buried alive!” Anomen demanded, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I don't know nothing! I just lets them bury what they want when I fill in the graves! It's a man in red what I see! He's the one. He pays gold and I turn my head! You want him!” Sethle was practically babbling now in his anxiety to provide information.

“You must see him to get payment,” Jan observed. “Where do you meet?”

“I don't know where he is, he comes here. Look, I help you. I think I see him sometimes by Bridge District. There, I help good! You're not going to tell anyone, are you? Are you?”

Patricia nodded to Nalia, who began reading from a scroll, and to Keldorn, who loped off. As the sonorous phrases filled the air, Sethle searched desperately for an exit, but he was trapped between the crypt, Jan, and Anomen. Nalia finished her incantation, and the spell sped towards the hapless old man. A mist swiftly formed around him, then swirled away in the next breath, leaving Sethle unharmed but incapable of movement.

Patricia approached him. “You aren’t going to be able to move for at least ten minutes. Sir Keldorn has gone to the shrine of Kelemvor. You are going to tell the priests exactly what you told us. IF you tell the truth, they may choose to be lenient, but they will know if you lie.”

A few minutes later, a woman dressed in a dark blue robe came hurrying along the path in Keldorn’s wake. “I’m Priestess Tafomi. So, this wretch has been betraying the trust of the dead, has he?”

“Not of the dead,” corrected Patricia. “He has instead been looking the other way while others sent people to an untimely demise.”

“Just as bad in Kelemvor’s sight,” Tafomi snorted. “Well, I think we’ll just let the Council hear all about this! I expect they’ll call for a swift hanging.”

“Nooo! Gotta run! Gotta get away!” The cry from Sethle was evidence that the Hold Person spell was fading.

Patricia did feel just a hair sorry for the man. By his speech, he had even less mental function than Minsc. He deserved to be punished, yes, but execution seemed a tad harsh given all the circumstances. Her conscience compelled her to do what she could to mitigate his punishment. “Priestess, my friends and I feel just as outraged by this as you, but in spite of his weak will, Sethle does not bear the main brunt of guilt in this affair. We will search for this other man in the Bridge District, and let you know what we find out so that you may make a report to the Council and the Guards. In return, will you stop short of demanding Sethle’s execution? Assuming, that is, that he makes a proper penance and does all he can to help locate and convict the real murderers?”

Tafomi paused for a few moments, considering the offer. “Well, I suppose so,” she agreed grudgingly. “But I’ll make sure he spends the rest of his life hauling wreaths around from one funeral to another. Pathetic creature!”

“Not--- not gonna kill me?” asked Sethle hopefully.

“No untimely death, even in the name of justice,” said Tafomi. “But you heard the lady. If you don’t tell everything you know, or don’t do a good job for us, it’s prison for you!”

“No prison! I’m old, Sethle too old for prison! I work good, tell truth always!”

Patricia gave the others a resigned look as Tafomi and Sethle walked away. “Anybody else want a mid-morning snack? I think it’s going to be a long day, and the Bridge is a fair piece away.” They all decided to join her in consuming the Chiktikka cakes, and spent a few minutes lining up their strategy for searching for the mysterious man in the red cloak.