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With a dull thud, the Chasset man’s corpse was tossed into the rear of the hearse.
Alfred stepped down, shut the rear door, and then pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket that he offered to the Chasset woman who had helped him to create a diversion and carry the body.
She was still holding the lockbox she had worked so hard to pry open, but the rupi within did not amount to what Alfred was offering.
She pushed his hand away. “This is what I was supposed to do.”
Leaning back against the hearse door, she turned her head and asked, “Got a cigarette?”
“I do.” Alfred did not smoke, but the first time he had encountered Karon, the Great One himself had laughed and smoked with Ms. Molly, and that scene that had shaken Alfred to his core.
From that day on, he always kept cigarettes on him, ready to offer one whenever his Young Master felt like smoking. If one day a mural depicted him handing a cigarette to the Great One, Alfred would be deeply satisfied, and any believer gazing upon it would surely think their relationship was extraordinarily close.
The woman lit the cigarette, took a drag, and said, “I prayed to the gods, and the gods answered me.”
Alfred smiled. “Maybe it wasn’t the gods who heard you.”
She shrugged. “Whoever heard me is a god to me, isn’t that right?”
“You are not wrong.” He paused, then added, “But do you really not want the money, even though your husband just died?”
“You don’t understand the Chasset.” Leaving only that sentence behind, the woman hugged the lockbox to her chest and walked away.
“We don’t love poverty,” she continued, not turning back. “But wandering...
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