[ WP ] A grave digger meets a body snatcher . Describe their exchange and conflict .

A sharp spade into the ground. A handful of dirt out of the earth. A sharp spade pierce the earth. A mouthful of dirt, out of the ground. 
 
 
 So much for loyalty. I suppose this is what I get for twenty years of servitude to the late Lady Marmei. 
 
 
 My small spade was the tool of trade for the lonely and dark work of the night. Three graves per night, seven days a week, every day of the year for the next thirteen months. 
 
 
 A reward they said, for my services rendered. 
 
 
 I stopped to catch a ragged breathe in the cold. The misty fog of winter did n't help my earthly sickness. I opened up a swig from my flask and drank the bitter moonshine Colins had brewed. Nasty stuff, but my jacket was n't going to keep me warm. 
 
 
 I kept at it, hands aching, back breaking. 
 
 
 *shuffle* 
 
 
 I peered up. It came from the northern part of the house, by the dashwood trees... 
 
 
 Grave robbers. 
 
 
 While, typically only given a meager weapon such as a cane or blunt sword, the current owner and master of the LaGourge Mansion had become accustom to grave robbers. Seeing the need for both graves and protection, I was allowed a weapon of choice. Mine, of course was a whopping hunting shotgun, meant to maim and kill waterfowl. 
 
 
 Humans were close enough. 
 
 
 I took the shotgun from the ground, punched the spade into the ground beside me. One handledly, I took another swig of the dark stuff. A warmth surrounded my innards as I raised the rifle. 
 
 
 `` Who goes at this time of night? Name yourself, lest you become a permanent occupant of these here holes.'' 
 
 
 *shuffle, rustle* 
 
 
 I cocked the trigger. 
 
 
 `` I should warn you that I have become very familiar with my friend here, the shotgun. Lock, stock and two smoking barrels would only find one of us in happy spirits.'' 
 
 
 Finally, a small figure emerged. Poorly dressed, his coat was strewn with twigs, dirt and sand. His face matched that of his attire, rugged. His boots, thick black things that old townsmen or miners used to wear. 
 
 
 He gave a loud coughing fit. `` I bring no ill tidings to your being. Please lower the rifle.'' 
 
 
 He approached with no weapons, no utensils of grave robbing, not even a spade. Perhaps he was a vagrant, eager for a pint. 
 
 
 He continued in a hoarse, musky deep voice. `` My master wishes not the riches of those who have past, but their bodies.'' 
 
 
 `` To what end, would your master required the dead?'' I shook my head. My entire existence was predicated on creating bodies, or creating the holes that were eventually filled by them. 
 
 
 `` My master's business is one of discretion. I would have you know that I come to purchase a recently deceased body, no intention of harm.'' 
 
 
 `` I still fail to see the importance of such bodies. What does your master need with them? Tell me now before I let my friend do the talking.'' 
 
 
 He threw a rough bag on the ground by my feet. I immediately raised my shotgun. `` What is the meaning of this? What's in the bag?'' 
 
 
 `` Twelve gold coins, for services rendered.'' 
 
 
 Services rendered. That's what the current owner had always said. I was about to contemplate further when the vagrant said, `` The late Lady Marmei was a dear friend of my master. He would have you know that your current occupation is ill fitted to you. If we were to arrange an exchange, I believe it would be most beneficial to both parties. By the nature of this exchange, we would require a degree of discretion.'' 
 
 
 `` Right.'' 
 
 
 He glanced at the recently filled graves. 
 
 
 `` Are there any fresh corpses?'' 
 
 
 `` None tonight mate. The ones I buried passed a week ago. Vagrants, the lot of them.'' 
 
 
 I lowered my shotgun and picked up the bag. It had a heft to it, a sort of *ding* to the clinking of coins. I opened the bag carefully to reveal the twelve said coins of gold. 
 
 
 `` The payment of tonight's... incident is forgotten perhaps, over this adequate amount of payment?'' 
 
 
 `` Of course. Such an incident has never crossed my mind. My regards to your master.'' 
 
 
 I pocketed the bag and took out my flask. I offered it to the man, who refused. The swig was bitter. 
 
 
 `` I will return, come the second night after the full moon. Perhaps, a corpse might appear?'' 
 
 
 `` Of course mate. I have one quick question for you though.'' 
 
 
 `` Naturally.'' 
 
 
 `` What is your master's name?'' 
 
 
 `` Sir Martyn, Dr. Lowinski of Amber road. Good evening.'' 
 
 
 He bowed his head and made his way back into the cover of the night. I stole a last glance as his figure disappeared into the woods. 
 
 
 Fingering the bag in my pocket, I said aloud quietly, `` A body eh? I know of someone.'' 
 
 
 I chuckled to myself, hearing the echo as the crows awoken.
