Following Ser Jacob`s funeral, the jobs Jeremiah was hired for began to change. He was still asked to perform menial labor, but more and more requests came in from the dying or families of the recently deceased. The idea of performative funerals seemed to capture people`s imaginations. Soon Jeremiah was helping dwarves finish projects they hadn`t completed in life, guiding elves through complex religious rituals, and even raising a noble who wanted to march to his own burial site and lay himself to rest. People didn`t want their loved ones to lurch like typical zombies, so Jeremiah learned to give them more natural gaits and posture. His control even became refined enough to manipulate basic facial expressions, although they retained an uncanny quality. It was hard though. Despite all his attention, one limb would sometimes go eerily still as he tried to focus on the fine movements of another, or a facial expression would have to be disassembled piece by piece.

　　Several people misunderstood what he was able to do, requesting immortality or the return of a loved one. Others wanted permanent servants or bodyguards, but Jeremiah refused to allow anyone ownership of space in his own mind. After the dozenth resurrection request, Delilah drafted and circulated a leaflet describing the necromantic services on offer, or rather the services not on offer, which at least reduced the number of impossible tasks. Though it seemed they could not be stamped out completely.

　　The protesters` numbers dwindled as Jeremiah`s popularity grew. His new clientele treated him with much more dignity, as he was being trusted with a key role in important events. Accusations of his wickedness fell by the wayside as people discovered how to make his talents work for them.

　　"People are talking," Bruno said to Jeremiah one day. "You`re putting money into pockets and creating a whole new industry among pompous rich folk. Actually, there`s something I`d like you to see."

　　That evening, Bruno snuck Jeremiah out of the house under Delilah`s nose, slipping between moments of her attention. They walked to a neighborhood Jeremiah had never seen, one awash with the stench of fish. The pockmarked earthen road coated Jeremiah`s shoes in dust, and he could feel eyes on him from amongst the drably dressed crowds that moved up and down the street.

　　"Bruno, where are we?" There was a spiritual distance between these streets and Delilah`s. The vibrant activity of the market square had given way to refuse, loiterers, and an undercurrent of conversation just beyond Jeremiah`s perception.

　　"The seedy underbelly of Dramir, or as close to it as I`m willing to bring you. No better place to see the real soul of the city behind the money and the fancy wall. No matter how high the tree grows, the roots are always in the dirt."

　　"Bruno!" A portly half-elf bellowed a greeting and swept Bruno into his stocky arms. Bruno laughed and they began speaking in what Jeremiah thought might be gnomish. The man returned to the stall he had been minding and lifted a wooden lid. Smoke billowed out and the man pulled out two splintery sticks, each with a ball of fried meat at the end. They sizzled and popped, wafting hot cherry smoke. The man handed one to Bruno and one to Jeremiah. Then he shook Jeremiah`s hand in his own greasy one, saying something incomprehensible and smiling enthusiastically.

　　"Thank you!" said Jeremiah. Bruno and the man exchanged a few more words. Then Bruno pinched the man`s cheek and swept Jeremiah onward. "Who was that?" Jeremiah asked between bites of buttery soft meat.

　　"That was Callus. His stall is the only place you`ll find these, it`s a recipe only he and his son know."

　　"Must like you well enough to give us free food."

　　"I did him a favor a while back. Helped his son out with some debts with a con man, set him on the straight."

　　As they ambled through the neighborhood, the greetings kept coming. People brushed Bruno`s shoulder as they passed, or leaned in to whisper something in his ear before dashing off. Bruno sometimes paid them with a flick of his wrist and a flash of silver.

　　Jeremiah finally caught one of the conversations between Bruno and a half-orc teenager. "Morning sir," the boy said, "weather`s looking mighty finicky today. Might be rain soon. Hope y—"

　　"No, screw the codes," said Bruno. "You go tell Blonde Thomas that if he tries to move on Lulu`s place again, I`ll kill him in his sleep. Ask him what he thinks happened to the Rat Shack Gang." He glared at the boy. "If he needs a hint, you tell him he walks over their graves every day and doesn`t know it."

　　The boy paled to an ashen green before darting away. Bruno watched him go and growled in frustration. "Okay, that was dumb of me. Not wrong, but dumb."

　　Jeremiah grabbed Bruno`s arm and pulled him to the side. "Bruno, are you a crime boss?" Jeremiah couldn`t stop himself from asking. In the exchange he saw his friend in a new light, and not one he liked. The puckish rogue he thought he knew suddenly seemed capable of overseeing murder, fraud, and extortion.

　　"Yes." Bruno glanced up and down the street, then overhead. "It`s more complicated than you think. I have a responsibility to look after these people."

　　Jeremiah followed Bruno`s gaze. "Then shouldn`t you be preventing crimes?"

　　"I said, it`s complicated. We can talk later." He turned to leave but Jeremiah didn`t budge. Bruno looked at him with frustration. "What? You want me to justify how—"

　　"Just tell me you`re not profiting off these people," Jeremiah said. "That they`re not being nice to you because they`re afraid of you."

　　Bruno`s face reddened. "No. It`s a balancing act. If you do nothing, the predators tear people apart. If you try to stop everything, you take away the incomes of smugglers, grifters, gamblers, and hustlers. They get more desperate, they become predators. Most of the people down here police their own just fine, but sometimes you need an apex predator to keep the peace. That`s me." He smiled grimly. "Happy?"

　　"Yes, actually." Jeremiah paused. "Thanks."

　　Bruno glanced up and down the street again. "Listen, don`t say anything about being a necromancer down here, okay? It`s even more important in this part of town."

　　"Why?" asked Jeremiah.

　　"You saved a lot of money for a lot of landowners by giving them free labor. Money that this lot relied on. Most are scared of you, but some are angrier than they are scared. So, while we`re down here, you`re just Jay. You`re just a friend of mine from out of town. No more than that. Got it?"

　　"Got it."

　　"Off we go, then!"

　　They continued through the maze of alleys, accepting tokens of gratitude whether they came as a flower or a handshake. He was careful to stay in Bruno`s wake as the walls closed in around them and surly characters watched from stoops and doorways. Jeremiah marveled at the thought of being guide and guardian to so many people, whether they asked for it or not.

　　They came to a door indistinct from the thousands of others in the slums. Bruno gave it a sharp knock.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

　　A sliver of dark appeared, and a pair of suspicious eyes peered out. "Who`s the other one?" a voice asked.

　　"A friend."

　　"Doesn`t look like any friend of mine. Leave pets outside."

　　"Open the door, Choka, you`re overdoing it again."

　　The eyes stared at Jeremiah. He felt them crawling over his body like he was a potential meal. Then the door closed, metal ground on metal, and it opened again. An orc wearing leather armor studded with metal rivets stepped to the side to create just enough space for them to squeeze by. The orc sniffed the top of Jeremiah`s head as he passed.

　　The dim tavern they entered was a muddle of chairs and tables. Anything with four legs made the cut. The bare earth floor was packed down so tight it might as well have been smooth stone. No one spared them a glance as Bruno sat Jeremiah in a chair that somehow wobbled in every direction and took the seat across from him.

　　"What are we doing here?" Jeremiah whispered, trying to match the hushed volume of the room. The air was damp and noxious.

　　"We`re getting a drink," Bruno said. He waved at a half-orc who was sitting alone, taking sloppy swigs from a clay jug. The half-orc stood with a grunt and plucked two cups off a pile in the corner, most still wet with their previous contents. He stumbled to their table and filled the cups from the same clay jug. The man topped himself off with another swig before returning to his isolation. Bruno swapped the positions of the two cups.

　　"Drink, and don`t cough," Bruno said, sipping his drink.

　　Jeremiah peered into his cup. An oily film floated on top, along with two or three beard hairs. He reached to pick them out, but Bruno gave the slightest shake of his head. Jeremiah grimaced and raised the drink to his lips. It smelled like tar. He closed his eyes and tried to forget about the hairs.

　　He took the slightest taste. As the liquid washed over his unfortunate tongue, Jeremiah felt something tickle the back of his throat. He clutched the cup fiercely in his attempt not to cough. The drink didn`t burn like alcohol, it just hurt, like acid brought up by vomiting. He fought back the urge to cough, gag, puke, and cry all at the same time, and set the cup on the table.

　　"That may have been the worst moment of my life," he said without exaggeration.

　　"Yes," Bruno nodded. "It`s significantly worse today than usual. I think Karkat might be sick."

　　They sat in silence for a while. Bruno nursed his drink while Jeremiah tried to keep himself from counting the remaining hairs floating in his cup. A grumble arose from the low mutter of conversation surrounding them. Jeremiah thought he felt someone staring at him.

　　"Why are we here?" Jeremiah asked.

　　"Because I don`t want you to forget places like this exist."

　　"I know about poverty."

　　"Knowing about poverty and recognizing it first-hand are two different things. When you just know about poverty, it doesn`t matter to you. It`s ignorable. No different than knowing about dragons. You don`t worry about dragons just like you won`t worry about the poor, because it doesn`t affect you."

　　"What`s this about, Bruno? I`m happy to donate to charity."

　　Bruno shook his head. "It`s more than just giving pocket change to beggars. I want you to remember them, remember how your actions and decisions are going to affect them."

　　"The people losing work on farms because of me." Jeremiah thought he heard another growl from somewhere in the room.

　　"Yes. I know you don`t have a choice. If you rolled into town and started undercutting the local workforce for profit, then we`d be having a very different talk in a very different place. But you`re just trying to keep yourself alive. I understand that."

　　"So, what do you want me to do?"

　　"You`re not going to be stuck doing farm work forever. You`re a disruption to the way things are done around here, a little drop of chaos. Soon the right people are going to find the right uses for you, and they`ll tempt your favor with whatever sin or bauble suits your fancy. But as you step up, you need to realize that your foot will be firmly planted on the heads of people like Tennin Valamor."

　　"Tennin who?"

　　"Tennin Valamor is the man seated two tables behind me, the one who keeps stealing glances at you because he`s pretty sure he knows who you are. Bald man, earrings, scar on his face. See him?"

　　Jeremiah tried to glance without being obvious and saw Valamor catching him glancing. Valamor looked like someone who spoke fist and not much else. A sunken red crater marred his left cheek. "I see him."

　　"Valamor is stupid man, a brutal man, but also a hard-working man," said Bruno. "It`s the only way he can end his days drunk. Whatever copper is left goes to his daughter to buy them food. He`s been getting less work because of you, which means less money for food."

　　"How is it my fault he chooses to spend his money on booze instead of food?" Jeremiah whispered harshly.

　　"Not your fault at all. I don`t want you to worry about that. He`s a slob, who`s only now working up the courage to come and put a knife in you. He`s still not sure if you`re that necromancer, but he`s beyond the point of caring. Hurting someone will make him feel better." Bruno kept his gaze on Jeremiah, but Valamor`s glances were becoming more obvious. The drunk was grinding his teeth and clutching the table. Jeremiah could almost see him building the list of grievances to justify the impending violence.

　　"I think we should leave, then." Jeremiah moved to stand, but a discrete gesture from Bruno kept him seated.

　　"If you get up to leave, Valamor knows he`s been spotted and will rush you or backstab you on your way out. You know he`s going to act, but he doesn`t know that you know. You have the advantage. Don`t panic, observe."

　　"Observe what?" Jeremiah heart was starting to pound.

　　"I want you to remember Valamor`s daughter, not him. What chance does she have, out on these streets? She doesn`t learn to be a kid, or to care about people. She learns to take the beatings and survive at all costs. Is he left-handed or right-handed?"

　　"I don`t know! What does the daughter have to do with it? Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

　　"Left-handed or right-handed. Stop panicking. Observe."

　　Jeremiah forced himself to notice the position of the man`s cup. "Right-handed. He`s right-handed."

　　"He wants to kill you. Where is he going to stand if he wants to kill you? Tell me what`s going to happen."

　　Jeremiah tried to think. "He`s going to stand to my right. He`s going to try and stab me in the neck because I`m sitting down. He`s going to use his left hand to grab me or expose my neck."

　　"Very good. You`re right. Tell me more, you`re running out of time. What else is going to happen?"

　　"I don`t know, he`s going to stab me."

　　"How? Faster."

　　"Overhand, he`s going to stab downward with an overhand grip. He`s going to do it over and over again."

　　"Correct on both. That little girl is in a bad place, but it only gets worse without a place to live and someone to protect her. You`ve just glimpsed the future. You know exactly what`s about to happen. What are you going to do about it? Without killing him."

　　Jeremiah tried to answer, but the limitation of no killing scrambled his thoughts. Valamor stood and wavered. His face was flushed an angry red and he took an unsteady step forward. Jeremiah was out of time.

　　"He`s up. What are you going to do when he gets here?"

　　Jeremiah felt his muscles tighten, only one thing to do came to mind. Valamor stood exactly where Jeremiah said he would stand, his right hand was slightly behind his body, hiding the blade of a knife like a child`s secret.

　　"You that magic man." Valamor slurred his words. The tidal stink of his breath wafted down as he loomed over Jeremiah.

　　"No, you got the wrong guy." Lying was all Jeremiah could think of. Maybe Valamor would be too confused or uncertain to make a move. But he knew right away it was the wrong thing to do. Valamor had already decided that Jeremiah was the source of his troubles, he wouldn`t have stood up and come over here otherwise. Even if he had been wrong, he was going to kill someone.

　　"You callin` me a liar?"

　　The bar was deadly silent. The patrons watched with mild interest.

　　"No. Yes. No, I`m just saying you`re wrong."

　　"Wrong?! Yeah! Maybe I`m wrong. You think you`re smarter than me just cause I`m wrong? You some kinda—"

　　There was a sharp snap and Valamor`s knee buckled inward as Bruno snapped a kick into it. Valamor fell with a cry of pain, dropping the blade hidden behind his back and pinning his own arm beneath him.

　　Bruno was on him immediately. He mounted Valamor`s chest and smashed his cup against Valamor`s face. Ceramic shards cut into Valamor`s skin as he shielded his face with his free arm. Bruno began raining blows upon his face and jaw. His right arm still trapped, Valamor could only raise a limited defense, which Bruno weaved around with a flurry of blows. He broke Valamor`s nose and knocked a spray of teeth from his mouth. Bruno`s expression was utterly dispassionate. When Valamor`s body finally went limp, Bruno wiped his bloody knuckles on the drunk`s shirt and stood.

　　"You attack first, as brutally as you need to. You don`t owe anyone a fair fight, Jay, not a soul. But you do owe that little girl a father. Come on, let`s go home."

　　Jeremiah stood up to leave, but as he stepped over Valamor, he felt a hand grab his ankle. Valamor grunted as he kept the necromancer from leaving. Bruno glanced back and nodded to Jeremiah before walking out the door. Jeremiah looked down at the beaten man who gripped his leg and but spoke to everybody.

　　"You used up everyone`s second chance today. Anyone else who makes a move will serve me in death for all eternity." The hand opened. Jeremiah tried to hold his head high as he left, hoping he had sounded scary enough.