Free Dragon Business, The by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

first.
    Reeger bounded from one grave to the next, counting. “What a haul! This makes my day.”
    “We all have to dream big, Reeger,” Dalbry said.
    Reeger pulled out two hand spades from the mule’s saddlebags and handed one to Cullin. “Come on, lad. You’re well practiced by now.”
    “A well-practiced grave robber.” The young man still felt squeamish, although he had long since crossed the line of things he thought he would never be willing to do. “Once I put that on my business card, just imagine the prospects I’ll have.”
    “It’s not grave robbing—it’s harvesting materials no longer being used by their original owners. A sort of recycling.” Reeger was cheery about the work. “Acquiring items necessary for our trade, thus guaranteeing us gainful employment. Rust! Even the stingiest lord should applaud that.”
    “Let’s not put the question to the test.” Dalbry looked cautiously around. “Do your excavations so we can be on our way.”
    The old knight would not soil his fingers with grave robbing; he made that plain from the outset. Instead, he stood by the mule and took inventory of the saddlebags, ate more dried apricots, and prepared his armor. Though he wouldn’t wear his full knight regalia until he appeared in public, Dalbry liked to keep his possessions in good order.
    Cullin found a likely mound, stuck the hand spade into the ground, and began digging, sure he would strike yellowed bones soon enough. Early on, when he first started helping Reeger, the young man had eagerly chosen a fresh mound where the dirt was brown, soft, and loose. He thought the task would be easier than digging into one of the older, packed graves. Offering no advice, Reeger had hidden his knowing smile and let Cullin dig wherever he wished. When the young man did strike a body that had been in the ground only a week, the putrid worm-infested mess was such an unpleasant shock that Cullin slipped and ended up covered with worms and rotting flesh.
    “Why didn’t you warn me?” he had demanded.
    “Best way to learn a lesson, lad. Now you’ll never fall for that again.”
    Cullin had not appreciated his uncouth companion’s instructional methods, but he did learn. . .  .
    “Put your back into it. The best bones are usually deep.” Reeger began to fling dirt in all directions. “If you work hard, you’ll build up those scrawny arms, get yourself some muscles.”
    Cullin felt his bicep, which was tough if not overly large. “I’ve already got muscles. So far, you haven’t given me the pampered life I was hoping for.”
    “You’ll want bigger muscles, lad. Girls like muscles.”
    Cullin blushed. “What makes you think I’ve been looking at girls?”
    “Because I was your age once.” He kept digging.
    The girls in King Ashtok’s court certainly hadn’t snubbed him, and Cullin knew he was halfway handsome once he cleaned himself and put on his best squire clothes. But by digging down into a muddy grave, there wasn’t much chance of him getting cleaned up.
    When he was just a boy, back when his father was still alive at the mill and his uncle chopped down trees that were not infested with killer bees, Cullin had been content, with few aspirations. His future had looked clear and stable, and he was sure he’d grow up to be the town’s next miller. By age seven, he had learned how to haul sacks of grain, how to watch the millstones, and how to pinch just the right amount of flour from a customer’s load so the loss would never be noticed.
    Now all that had changed, though, and Cullin had different dreams—none of which included digging up old graves to acquire bones for a long-running scam.
    “Found a femur!” Reeger said. “That’s a good start.”
    Cullin kept digging, loosening the dirt with his shovel and then moving clods with his fingers. He realized he had uncovered a skull when he accidentally stuck his hand into the bony mouth and knocked loose an old tooth. “Skull here! That