Dead Man's Money

Part Four

****

The next morning dawned gray and misty, autumnal with cool and damp. Aurian and Jin made a sparse breakfast, tucked the boy away comfortably and securely with all the leftovers in one of the Inn's empty rooms, and headed into town to observe the funeral procession.

It wasn't much of a procession. It was, in fact, a large and ornate mahogany coffin drawn by a donkey cart. The Commonwealth Collector, who was both the head and only member of the procession, drove the cart--he wore white robes with a deep peaked hood, all in the traditional style of Borderlander mourning.

He didn't seem happy to be there, and the townsfolk didn't seem particularly happy to see him. Aurian and Jin slipped in amongst them, adding two nodes to the great warm knot of folk huddled against the chill in the middle of the town square. The cart creaked and ricketed into the center of the square and parked. The Collector descended. He began the mourning chant without saying a word.

Aurian found himself adding his own voice to the Collector's, filling in when the other man's voice faltered, or the townsfolk descended from chanting into halfhearted mumbling. His father had, after all, passed only six months ago--the words of the chant were still fresh within him.

Besides, he felt strangely sorry for the dead man. Chevril Dorm, elected in all the strength of youth and cocksurety to a lifelong position of power--a man who had aged badly, turned to drink, died drunk and alone in a fireplace. He had maybe deserved what happened to him. Hell--he probably had deserved it. But that didn't make it any less of a terrible end.

Jin elbowed him. "Stop that," she hissed. "The last thing we want right now is that man noticing you."

She was right, of course. Aurian tried to trail off his chant as discreetly as he could: luckily, there wasn't much more of it to go.

The Collector rummaged in a canvas sack on the passenger side of the cart, came up with a tin collection plate. He passed it around through the crowd--Aurian was surprised to see many of his fellow citizens reaching for their wallets. He was even more surprised to find himself reaching for his own.

Jin raised an eyebrow at him. "Really?" she said. "You won't pay an extra copper for non-moldy hops, but you'll donate cash to a corpse?"

"There's a tradition, here in the Borderlands," he murmured. "A coin for a dead man, two for a dead friend. These are the coins that pay a corpse's way to the halls of Aithar Everlasting on his multifaceted throne. The copper won't do me much good one way or the other. Him, it might help to peace."

"Besides," he added. "Those hops weren't moldy. Just...spotted."

"Sure," Jin said. "Spotted hops. You're the expert." When he passed the collection plate to her, she palmed three of the coins. "One each for the living," she said, tucking them in a pocket. "Man, woman, and hunted boy."

The Collector dumped the contents of the plate back into his canvas sack, once it was returned to him. Though his deep hood shaded his face, Aurian got the feeling he was looking out at the crowd. Staring, almost--certainly he wasn't staring at them.

"The Collecting Agency reminds you," the man said, in a voice curiously high, "that there is a young boy on the run, wanted for connection in the death of Lord Chevril. Should any of you see him, I recommend bringing him directly to me for the quickest reward--I shall be staying the night at the Cat and Cable, across the market square. Thank you all for your last attendance on our Sovereign Leader. Good day."

"Hmph," Jin said, as he climbed back into the cart and trundled away. "We might as well've stayed at the Inn and saved ourselves some sore legs. We don't even need to follow him now."

But she was watching the cart recede, a speculative look in her eye. Her arms were crossed, and her shoulders were raised. This, Aurian was beginning to realize, was Jin's thinking stance. And when Jin felt the need to think about something, there was something worthy of thought going on.

"However," she said slowly. "We've learned a few things, eh? This funeral procession was a rush job, I can promise you that. That donkey cart's been modified from an old work cart to fit another donkey, and it was done in a hell of a hurry. There're nails sticking out of it all over the place, that poor bastard's having to perch on the edge of his seat to avoid coming down on one. The carving on the coffin's slapped on, likely from an ornate mirror or some fancy wainscotting. The mahogany look to it is just in the varnish, or that rinky cart wouldn't be able to bear the weight of it. Oh. And that Collector isn't getting paid nearly enough to be out here."

Aurian blinked. "How on earth d'you figure that?"

Jin smiled, horribly. "I wasn't the only one to snitch from the collection plate. Seems our man shares my views on the productivity of giving coin to corpses."

"Well," Aurian said slowly. "Impressive and slightly terrifying as all that deduction-work was....what does it mean?"

"I'm not sure," Jin said. "Not yet, at least. But there's a mighty fine puzzle presented here, and if this weren't about getting the boy to safety and getting our pockets lined I'd enjoy picking it apart. I don't know how you do it in this country, but in mine, our dead nobility tends to travel in state. There's incense and hired mourners and things. Why was there such a hurry to trundle out Lord Chevril's corpse? And why, if there's so much gold in there, is there only one guard?"

"Maybe he was starting to stink," Aurian ventured.

Jin sighed. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just overthinking. Either way, I see no reason not to go ahead with it--odds could hardly be more in our favor. Pop back to the Inn and bring the boy, lovey. Make sure he's covered up--I wouldn't want to lose our chance at a hundred pounds of gold to idle eyes. I'll follow our corpse-bearer and make sure he isn't going anywhere funny. Meet you in this spot three hours after sunset. Oh, and Aurian. Bring some sacks."