Graveminder

Chapter 44

NICOLAS HAD BECOME MAYOR AFTER THE LAST GRAVEMINDER AND UNdertaker were already in place, so the protocol for dealing with the new ones was somewhat unclear to him. He’d never had to answer questions, fill in blanks, or explain anything.

“Sir?”

“Show them in,” he said.

The words were barely out of his mouth when they came into his office. Menace all but radiated from the new Undertaker, but the Graveminder—like her predecessor—was far more sedate. Rebekkah Barrow hadn’t been born in Claysville, nor had she spent her life here. Some unexamined part of him wondered about the life she could have known, about the possibilities among which anyone born outside of town could choose, but he pushed those thoughts away. He was Claysville born and bred, like the generations of men before him. Whittaker men left town only for the acquisition of an education or a spouse.

Nicolas came around the desk and gestured to the sofa and chairs. “Please.”

“We have questions,” the Undertaker said.

His partner put a hand on his wrist. “You know who we are?”

“I do.” Nicolas walked over to the bar in his office. “Drink?”

The Undertaker frowned. “It’s a bit early in the day for that.”

“Alcoholism is a disease; ergo, as with every other disease, Claysville natives are safe from it until we are eighty years old. After that, all protection expires. So ...” Nicolas poured a generous measure in a glass. “Miss Barrow?”

“No, thank you.” She sat on the sofa, and her Undertaker followed her lead.

Nicolas carried his drink over and sat in one of the chairs. “You know about the contract?” he asked. “The ... situation here?”

“Some,” the Graveminder said. “We know there is one.”

“And we know that the thing killing people isn’t an animal,” the Undertaker added.

The mayor shook his head. “ That remains to be seen. It might not be an animal the way that most of us would use that word, but any creature that savages humans ... I’d say ‘animal’ is a fine term. One of my council members was killed. Your grandmother”—he nodded at the Graveminder—“was murdered. I’ve seen enough to say that it was more animal than person.”

The Undertaker didn’t say it, but the slight curve of his lips revealed his accord. The new Graveminder, however, frowned and said, “It’s not their fault. If the dead are minded—”

“The animal doing this obviously was not minded, so you find it and you fix it.” Nicolas didn’t raise his voice, but the thought of Bonnie Jean dying made his stomach clench.

“That’s all you’ve got to say? Find the dead and fix it?” The Undertaker scowled. “Do you know what we’ve been through this week? Who we’ve lost? And we’re just to step in and fix everything? How about a little help? Information? Sympathy?”

“Byron,” the Graveminder murmured. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, and then she looked at Nicolas. “What can you tell us?”

Nicolas looked directly at them. “The first death was Mrs. Barrow; the most recent death was Bonnie Jean Blue. Why? I don’t know. Bad luck on Bonnie Jean’s part, I suspect. There have been a lot more attacks, but they’ve been ... smoothed over. Not deaths, of course. Those are harder to keep contained. More than a dozen bites, though.” The mayor paused, took a gulp of his whiskey, and then continued. “Folks don’t tie it all together. Won’t because of the contract. Unless they’re on the council, they just can’t put it all together. From what I know, it’s always been that way.”

“And there’s no contract here that we can read?” the Graveminder asked.

“No. It’s all passed down verbally. Outsiders might not understand if they were to read it, and ... it’s just not how we do things.” He felt oddly guilty as he spoke, as if he was being disloyal to his position. Claysville was a good town. “We go years without issues. If anyone wakes, Mrs. Barrow always handled it. No one was the wiser.”

“Why?” the Graveminder asked. “ Why agree to this? Why do people accept living like this?”

And, for a moment, Nicolas let the truths he didn’t usually admit come to the surface. “It’s not like we can leave. The deal the founders made, the people that made it, they’re all long gone. We are here. We are born and die here, and in between those two moments, we try to make the best of the lot we drew.” He walked away and refilled his glass. “It’s not all bad either.”

They didn’t answer, so he continued. “Think about your lives here. No one gets sick. We die, but only from accidents or when we reach an age for it ... or choose to die so as to make room for someone else.”

At that, the Graveminder and Undertaker exchanged looks.

“For most folks, having a baby means waiting until there’s a death. Some families get exemptions.” He looked at them pointedly. “Others earn them by community service, or they can get another person’s allotted birth if the one giving it up has sterilization surgery. We can only support so many bodies. The founders made some rules so we didn’t exhaust our space. They wanted to be sure there was enough space for food and for the resources for those who live here.”

“But that was a long time ago. We can get food and other things from outside town now,” the Graveminder objected.

“Maybe, but there are still only so many jobs. We have some poverty now because we have more people than jobs.” Nicolas gave them a strained smile. “There’s a lot of good, but keeping it good takes managing. Part of that is relying on the resources we have—including you two.”

The Undertaker spoke up then. “I’m not sure I agree with all of that.”

“Why don’t you do your job, and I’ll do mine.” Nicolas looked at each of them. “Unlike the rest of us, you are the only ones qualified for your ... unique positions. The rest of us will handle the town. You need to resolve the animal problem.”

The Graveminder stood; she was still holding the Undertaker’s hand in hers, so he stood when she did. For a moment, Nicolas felt a surge of envy. They weren’t ever alone.

Of course, they also had a higher likelihood of violent deaths than anyone else born in Claysville.

It’s not worth the trade-off.

Nicolas stood. “You should also know that you will have no bills. Ever. I doubt that anyone’s thought to tell you, but you don’t pay for anything. Once you become this , your needs are”—he waved his hand—“handled, for all intents and purposes. It doesn’t make up for what you are asked to do, but you will have your needs met. And when you’re ready, you don’t need to enter the parenting queue. You are allowed to have as many children as you want, whenever—”

“That’s not going to be an issue,” Rebekkah said firmly.

“Right.” Nicolas gestured toward the door. “I’ll see you at the meeting, but I would appreciate it if you let me know when the animal is contained.”

The Graveminder tensed, but the Undertaker nodded.

And then they were gone.