Anapa settled back into work as if he’d never left. He wondered, at times, whether anyone would have cared if he’d continued to come during his brief stint as an outlaw. The three other morticians at the Rock Dragon Funeral Services – Magda, Sal and Nish – reacted to his return with more warmth than they’d ever shown him: that is, they largely ignored him, but Sal gave him half of his lunch when he sat that Anapa had none. Being ingored because he wasn’t of interest to others – rather than because no one really wanted to talk to him – was a breath of fresh air. Anapa returned to his old station, cleaned the dust from his instruments and quietly dissected a corpse alongside Nish all morning. It was only after lunch that Magda, the most senior mortician, actually came up and spoke to him.

“Body at the castle,” she said, staring at him with bulbous blue eyes.

She said nothing else. Anapa, who had worked alongside similar people since he was first classified as an adult aged twelve, was able to make the inference immediately. He nodded, Magda returned to her station, and he headed back out into the lobby. He took a moment to pick up and scan the report Magda had received, taking the opportunity to memorise the name of the person he needed to report to at the castle. He folded the paper neatly, pocketed it and slipped outside to where his thestral, Asper, was penned out back.

When he’d first arrived on Shaman, Anapa had been loathe to part with the flowing robes he’d always worn on his home planet. Out of practicality, he’d left them behind on the day he’d left the castle to save Tahl’s life and had been unable to find a replacement when he’d subsequently had to join the rebels. In the months since the raid, he’d had to get used to the only clothes which were available: the boots, trousers and shirts favoured by the majority of the male population of Shaman. Freed from the cumbersome robes, he harnessed Asper up to the carriage must faster and climbed with ease into the driver’s seat.

His return to the castle, as always, was met with a combination of stares and avoided looks. Unfazed, Anapa left Asper and the carriage-hearse out front and took the well-travelled route to the hospital wing, his feet finding the way automatically. He had to ask a nurse for the identity of Danny, the doctor who had sent the report, but found him easily once he was pointed out. He was easily the youngest healer on the ward; only a few years younger than Anapa himself. Anapa crossed the room with an uncanny silence, almost invisible in this kind of environment, and got his attention with a polite cough.

“I am Anapa, from the funeral home.” He spoke quietly, preferring not to stir hysteria in any of the nearest patients. “I am here to make a collection.”