The morning arrived gray and appropriate for funerals, as if the weather had checked the Temple's schedule and dressed accordingly. Meredith Baer stood beside her husband's prepared body with the composure of someone who'd already done their crying in private and refused to do it again in public.

  ?He looks peaceful,? she said, adjusting a fold in his burial shroud with careful precision. ?He always did sleep like the dead. Now I suppose he's just being thorough about it.?

  The funeral was small but somehow perfect for Jarek. Reyn and Venn stood with Erma, Marcus, and a handful of others from the Temple who felt that anyone who died fighting a beast deserved witnesses to their farewell. The burial ground was on the Temple's east side, where morning light would reach first, though today the clouds made that detail irrelevant.

  ?Jarek Baer,? Erma intoned, reading from a ledger that probably had specific columns for funeral rites, ?died in service to others, fighting the Beast of Valemark. His ledger is balanced. His debts are paid. His story is complete.?

  ?Except for the vegetables,? Meredith added quietly. ?He never did get to grow those terrible vegetables.?

  Venn stepped forward, still pale from her Trial. ?In the Temple's garden, there's a patch no one uses. Too much shade, terrible soil. The healers have been trying to grow herbs there for years with no success.?

  ?Perfect,? Meredith said, and for the first time, she almost smiled. ?He would have loved that. Probably would have been proud of how poorly they grew.?

  They planted turnip seeds in the terrible soil after the burial. It became an oddly ceremonial event. Meredith threw the first handful of dirt with the same excellent aim she'd once used for throwing the vegetables themselves. Marcus contributed some carrot seeds he'd found in a dusty drawer that were probably too old to germinate. Even Erma added a few beans that looked questionable at best.

  ?A garden of disappointment,? Meredith said, watching the sad little patch of disturbed earth. ?He would have given them names. Probably talked to them. 'Now listen here, Turnip Theodore, if you grow at three percent monthly...'?

  The impression was so accurate that Reyn heard Venn suppressing a laugh that wanted to become a sob.

  As the small gathering began to disperse, Temple workers returning to their duties with the satisfied air of obligation fulfilled, Meredith pulled Reyn and Venn aside.

  ?The baker came by this morning,? she said conversationally. ?Asking about Jarek's recipes, pretending to offer condolences. Said he wanted to 'preserve Jarek's memory' through his grandmother's bread techniques.?

  ?What did you do?? Venn asked.

  ?I threw a turnip at him. From my second-story window. Got him right in the ear.? Her smile had edges sharp enough to cut. ?Jarek taught me. Said if you're going to throw vegetables in anger, you might as well be accurate about it. The turnip was one he'd saved, actually. Seemed appropriate.?

  ?Good aim,? Reyn noted with approval.

  ?The baker won't be back. But that wizard...? Meredith's expression hardened. ?When you find him, make him pay. Not for justice or nobility or any of that philosophical nonsense. Just make him pay because he ruined good people who were trying to be better.?

  ?We will,? Reyn said, laying a hand on the widow’s shoulder. Which made the shoulder look small and frail in comparison.

  Meredith nodded once, sharply, then turned back to the freshly planted garden patch. ?Grow badly, you stupid vegetables,? they heard her mutter as she knelt to adjust the soil. ?Grow badly and be terrible, just like he would have wanted. I'll water you with cheap beer and complain about the weather.?

  They left her there, talking to seeds that would probably never sprout, and somehow that seemed like the most appropriate memorial Jarek could have asked for.

  As they left, Reyn couldn’t help but notice a familiar figure who detached himself from where he'd been waiting respectfully by the Temple gates, far enough away to not intrude on private grief but close enough to be noticed.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Reyn wiped her eyes. ?Rast???

  ?I heard about a massive excuse for a woman taking on the Beast,? Rast said, grinning. ?Figured it might have been you. The description was fairly specific. 'Unreasonably tall barbarian with a sword too big for sense,' I believe Lord Pemberton said.?

  ?It is you?? Reyn stared at the former brigand, now wearing the dark blue uniform of a King's Man, complete with the silver badge that suggested someone thought he was responsible enough for authority. The uniform actually fit, which was more than could be said for his previous attire. ?What are you doing here??

  ?Told you there’d be work up north. Turns out, experience as a scoundrel translates well to keeping peace between nobles who act like children with too much money and not enough sense.? He gestured at his uniform with obvious pride. ?The King's Men needed someone who could handle Valemark's particular brand of noble stupidity without being bought, bullied, or bored into compliance.?

  ?And they chose you?? Venn asked, somewhat incredulously.

  ?I know, surprising. But I don't take bribes, I hit everyone equally hard regardless of their house name, and I can count past ten without removing my boots. Besides, with my injury I’m more likely to fix disputes with words rather than force. That makes me overqualified for Valemark's nobility management division.? He paused. ?Also, I'm one of the few who actually reads the reports. You'd be amazed how many problems that solves.?

  ?It’s good to see you, Rast,? Reyn said. ?The Beast, what have you heard about it??

  ?Effective as always, huh? Well, I've been filing contradictory reports about traumatized nobles all morning. Lord Pemberton claims he drove it off single-handedly after an epic battle. Three other houses are disputing who actually found it first. House Goldmeadow is demanding compensation for emotional damages sustained by viewing a violent rabbit.? He shook his head in disgust. ?The Beast of Valemark is a rabbit, and somehow that's made the nobles worse, not better.?

  ?It escaped,? Reyn said. ?We're going to track it down.?

  ?After we visit Skyrise Tower,? Venn added, absently turning her new ring on her finger.

  ?We have a lead about the Crimson Hand there,? Reyn said.

  Rast's expression turned serious, the jovial guard disappearing behind professional concern. ?Skyrise? You'll have to pass through Greenlake. I should come with you.?

  ?We can handle ourselves,? Reyn said, though not dismissively. ?You’re welcome to join, however.?

  ?I know you can. I’m the one limping, remember. But those wizards and their experiments...? He lowered his voice, glancing around as if the wrong ears might be listening. ?They created something in Greenlake. Not sure what exactly, but three King's Men have gone missing trying to investigate. The locals won't go near the lake anymore. Even the ducks have left, and those bastards usually don't fear anything. Have you ever tried to scare a duck? They're basically made of spite and feathers.?

  ?Another monster??

  ?Maybe. Or maybe just rumors that got out of hand. But the fishermen swear they've seen things in the water. Fish swimming backwards, shadows that don't match anything above the surface, that sort of weirdness.? He adjusted his sword belt, a gesture Reyn recognized as nervous habit. ?Having a guide might keep you from becoming another report I have to file. And I'd rather not file a report about you. The paperwork for 'heroic barbarian lost to lake monster' would be a pain in my buttocks.?

  Reyn considered. Rast had been reliable before, and having someone with local authority could be useful. Plus, if there was another creature lurking about, an extra sword never hurt. Even if the sword came with a newly official uniform and a tendency toward commentary.

  ?Fine,? she said. ?But we're leaving now. No stops for official, or unofficial, King's Men business.?

  ?Wouldn't expect anything else from you.? Rast fell into step beside them as they headed toward the College district, matching Reyn's purposeful stride with practiced ease. ?So, this wizard. Any idea who they are??

  ?No name yet,? Venn said. ?Just someone who works or have worked with the Crimson Hand that might’ve come from there. We have a room number, not much else.?

  ?Darn wizards. Last week, someone tried to sell enhanced carrier pigeons that could lift small packages. Claimed they were magically augmented. Turns out they were just regular pigeons tied to sparrows. The sparrows were very upset about the whole arrangement. Filed a complaint, actually. Well, they attacked the merchant, but I counted it as an official complaint.?

  They walked through increasingly pretentious streets, Rast providing commentary that was actually useful beneath the humor. Which merchant houses were feuding (most of them), which nobles had been caught in scandals (all of them), which streets to avoid after dark (several, but for different reasons than expected).

  ?House Silverwood controls this district,? he explained as they passed a fountain featuring water sprites that looked suspiciously like the Lord's daughter. ?They made their fortune in 'import and export,' which everyone knows means smuggling but no one can prove. That bakery there? Front for a gambling ring. That innocent-looking bookshop? Sells banned texts hidden inside romantic bindings. Very popular with the nobility.?

  ?How do you know all this?? Venn asked.

  ?I read the reports nobody bothers with. Also, I drink at the right taverns. You'd be amazed what people tell a King's Man after enough beer. They think we're too stupid to remember or too corrupt to care.?

  They were passing through the market square, dodging vendors who seemed to think everyone needed whatever they were selling, when they all heard it.

  A soft sound, almost lost in the crowd noise. But unmistakable once you'd heard it before.

  Chittering.

  All three of them stopped, turned slowly, hands moving instinctively to weapons.

  ?Is that...?? Venn started, her voice barely above a whisper.

  ?It can't be,? Rast said, hand already on his sword hilt, eyes scanning the crowd.

  ?It is,? Reyn confirmed, recognizing the tone of of the chitters.

  The Beast of Valemark sat beside a vegetable stall, a purloined carrot in its paws, watching them with pink eyes that held far too much intelligence for comfort. Blood still stained its white fur in places, though whether from its last victim or a more recent encounter was impossible to tell.

  The vendor, oblivious to his customer's identity, was haggling with someone over cabbage prices.

  The rabbit took another bite of carrot, maintaining eye contact with them the entire time, as if daring them to do something about its theft.

  Reyn’s hand reached over her shoulder toward Good Deeds. The Beast of Valemark tilted its head.