The Funeral

Dressed like a nabob in a red ermine fur coat and sitting comfortably in a padded armchair, Robert sipped on a glass of fruit juice. The tropical taste reminiscing of pineapple and coconut tenderly stimulated his palate.

He quickly gulped down the green liquid and gestured to the man on all four to get up. Caras, clearly uncomfortable in his new role as a footrest, slowly got to his feet and massaged his aching back.

"Break time is over, go get ready, we have a funeral to attend," Robert said, waving Caras away and then taking off the fur coat. Underneath, he wore a tailor-made butler's outfit complemented by white gloves and a pair of non-prescription squared black eyeglasses.

On the day of Guitierre's death, Robert had offered Caras a deal, teach him how to read, or join the paint in decorating the walls. And, if after everything, Robert was satisfied with his little servant, then he would consider letting him off.

While waiting for Caras to get ready, he flipped through the notes he made on the Lutianese language. Lutianese was a particularly complex language, with a 32 character alphabet closer to Arabic than Latin. He had 'asked' Caras to draw him a copy and had since memorized it and its phonetics.

Once he learned how to at least read the mess of lines and dots, the second step proved easier than expected. He would stand by Caras's side as he read him books in Lutianese. As he could hear the proper pronunciation and grasp the meaning through arcane methods, Robert's only task was to associate the words on paper with what he heard.

Caras quickly came back to the tearoom dressed to the nines. "Acceptable, remember, you say anything or act out of the ordinary and I'll gun you down like a dog, no warning and no second chances." Robert said escorting his 'master' to the door. He had found a chest holster for the revolver and wore it under his clothes, he would barely need three seconds to draw and fire.

The two of them then left the house, Robert accompanying Caras from behind like a loyal servant. Who would ever guess that Caras's clothes were already soaked in sweat thinking of the gun in his captor's possession.

A dozen ideas flashed through Caras's mind on how to alert those around him to the felon walking amongst them. However, by the time they got to the cemetery, he had ultimately tried nothing. Too afraid to die, he simply heeded Robert's warning.

A crowd of wailing people had gathered at the cemetery, watching coffin after coffin be delivered to the earth. Curious, Robert hinted Caras to head there and investigate.

They headed for a woman that wasn't crying with the rest of the crowd, she wore a white dress and looked amused at his husband's coffin going down. In fact, as they approached, they could hear her ask the funeral director if she could be in charge of the ropes. She wanted to let him down just like he had done to her many other times.

After a brief chat, Robert found out that a gas leak had occurred in a laboratory, causing an explosion that killed seven innocent bystanders. The whole blame was shifted to the young chemist working in the laboratory at the moment of the boom.

"How tragic. I'm so sorry for your loss." Robert said after his 'master' offered his condolences. However, inside he was calculating. "double, triple, quadra, penta… hmm, what comes after you kill six and seven people in one hit?" He wondered.

Confirming that his little prank had successfully destroyed his first scene of the crime, covering up his traces; AND, netted him quite a few extra kills under his belt. He felt his spirit rising and then sinking as he realized he missed the fireworks.

This confirmed why the night of the explosion, as well as when he killed Guitierre and the chemist, he had felt his horn bumps twitch and grow.

He was however disappointed, to discover he hadn't felt that same wonderful energy filling him as when he killed the chemist, if anything the energy he got from it had slowly decreased day after day; leaving a slight void that demanded to be filled back, but he didn't know how.

"Keep your condolences for the others, my husband was a good for nothing! I'm happy he is dead, and I hope he burns in hell!" the lady exclaimed before turning around and leaving. Robert's first instinct was to correct her on her assumption of hell being a fiery hot place. In his experience, it was more dry than burning. Then, he realized, "wait, did I just do her a favor? Should I ask for compensation?"

He gently shook his head, "A smile is already reward enough." In high spirits, he and Caras finally went to their destination, Guitierre's funeral.

A priest in a purple robe walked over with a ceremonial spade. Trailing behind him, clad in pure white Lucanite navy uniforms, a group of marines carried the coffin of dear departed Guitierre.

Robert had bribed a doctor to certify his death as a simple bathing accident. To make it easier on the doctor, he had simply delivered a washed Guitierre in his coffin attire, covering all the stab wounds. What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve.

The doctor just saw the blunt trauma to the head and sent the body to be buried, he wouldn't waste any time on a servant, especially when the master had offered a nice sum to keep si- facilitate the procedure.

Then it was a simple matter to request a closed casket funeral. Since Guiterre had no family, the only eyes they had yet to fool were a group of marines that had served with him. However, the bunch of green crayons munchers would never suspect they were burying their ex comrade in front of his killer.

The priest started his sermon that quickly bore Robert. And besides placing a hand on Caras' shoulder to warn him not to try and alert the soldiers, the whole thing proceeded fast.

Robert was the last to give a speech, not because he had to, but simply because it felt amusing.

"It's no secret that Guitierre and I didn't start on the right foot, we had a problem seeing eye to eye as he was quite a hard-headed man. However, I am glad that before his tragic accident, we could share a good bottle of Red Dorne, and he let his defenses slip once, allowing me to finally open his heart." Robert spoke tenderly, however, his choice of words left many people confused.

Not Caras though, Caras shivered as he understood the intent behind the speech, he was mocking everyone present, alive and dead.

Robert then took a small pebble from his pocket. It was a fragment of the bust he used to bludgeon Guitierre. "In my culture is customary to leave something dear to the deceased with him. In Guitierre's case, he once told me how this rock left a mark in his head, so I think he would like to keep it close." Robert dropped the pebble, aiming at the part of the coffin where Guiterre's head should be in.

After his speech, Robert and Caras walked away while the soldiers remained and chatted about.

On the way home Caras suddenly had a thought. "If Robert were to kill me, would he also mock me at my funeral?"

"I know what you are thinking about, but don't worry, if you ever cross me there would be no funeral or eulogy. But you would make many dogs happy." Robert said from behind him.