The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

By Kenneth McDonald

Graves has served in the Duke’s army for over a decade. His job is to put people in the ground, but only after someone else has done the hard work of killing them first. His crew of misfits and rejects is used to laboring without the prospect of wealth or glory, but in the aftermath of one particularly costly battle they find themselves facing more than they bargained for when the dead decide that they don’t want to stay in the ground. Graves and his diggers have to quickly discover new skills they didn’t know they had just to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Jan 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370935000

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

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The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

Kenneth McDonald

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: The cover image is adapted from Allegory of Vanity by Antonio de Pereda (1632 - 1636). The image is in the public domain.

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Works by Kenneth McDonald

The Ogre at the Crossroads

The Graves Crew

The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

Refugees of the Crucible

Powerless

Overpowered

Balance of Power

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

Tales of the Soul Weapons

The Dwarf on the Mountain

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

Of Blood and Magic

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

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Chapter 1

Looting the dead is a tricky business. The dead don’t care, but they often leave behind friends who might look upon said looting as disrespectful, as if it’s better to toss valuable goods into the ground rather than see them redistributed to folk who could make better use of them.

Graves thought about that as he leaned on his shovel and regarded the members of his crew. The battlefield stank, like they all did. The air was thick with various annoying insects that seemed particularly drawn to him.

The labor crews had arrived late yesterday while the trailing elements of the Duke’s army were still visible in the distance. Marching off to glory, while the quartermaster corps—which included the merry rogues of Graves’s crew—remained behind to clean up the mess.

The sun wasn’t quite all the way up to its peak yet, but already it was a scorcher of a day, hot and humid. Graves reached up and with a grubby finger scratched the old scar that ran from the corner of his jawbone almost to his left eye socket. It always itched on days like this.

He turned and regarded the rows of holes he and his crew had made in the dirt. Others were working on trenches for the enemy dead, but custom and law required that the Duke’s men got individual graves when they died. Graves didn’t really care, although it was more work to make the separate holes. He figured when his time came, his body wouldn’t care all that much what happened to it when he was done using it.

As he came around he saw one of the water boys approaching, grunting with the effort of lugging his bucket. A few of the diggers had already started toward him, but on seeing Graves they stepped back to let him go first. A small privilege, but Graves appreciated it. Even in a crew like theirs, respect was respect.

He drank deeply from the cup the boy offered. He entertained a brief fantasy of dumping the contents of the bucket over his head, imagining the relief it would provide. But he let that bit of idle musing go. The water wasn’t all that cool anyway. He just hoped it was clean enough not to give all of them the shits that night.

The boy waited to see if he wanted more water, and grinned a gap-toothed smile up at him when Graves returned the cup. Thanks, Carden, the crew leader said, covertly tucking a bent copper coin into the youth’s ragged shirt. The boy’s grin widened at that, and Graves returned it before he caught view of someone else approaching the battlefield. It was one of the clerks from Personnel, the division that oversaw the work of the labor crews and the other groups that trailed behind the fighting edge of the Duke’s army.

The new arrival stopped well clear of the line of holes and the full force of the stink that hovered around them. Ho, Graves, the clerk called out. Lieutenant wants to see you.

I’ll be right there, Graves said, but the man was already turning away and retracing his steps back to the main camp over by the road. It was hardly cooler over there, despite the fact that it was closer to the forest that extended back from the road, but at least it offered some distance from the stench and vermin of the battlefield.

Graves considered washing up first but then decided not to bother. It wasn’t like he was going to meet Ponzen’s standards, clean or not, and he was just going to return to his work again afterwards anyway.

The Personnel wagon was set up on the edge of the camp, with a broad canvas awning attached to poles that swung out from the vehicle. Lieutenant Ponzen had set up his folding table and camp chair a short distance away, under a separate flap of canvas that he—or more likely his clerks—had attached to the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree.

The lieutenant didn’t look up as Graves approached, or when he stepped up to the edge of the table. The young officer’s uniform was perfect, the top button fastened under his chin despite the heat, the collars so starched that their edges looked like they could cut flesh. Graves could just make out the pale marks that ran up Ponzen’s neck and along the right side of his jaw, the result of a childhood clash with scatterpox.

Graves didn’t bother clearing his throat. He knew from experience that these meetings went faster if he just waited.

Ponzen continued writing in his ledger book for a while longer, then carefully wiped the tip of his pen and replaced the cap on his jar of ink before he looked up to acknowledge his visitor. Graves, he said. I have received reports that indicate that looting of our battle slain has been taking place since our arrival here.

I don’t tolerate that sort of thing in my crew, sir, Graves said. It was a fiction and both men knew it. The men of the labor crews did a lot of things when they weren’t putting men in the ground, jobs like loading and unloading wagons, chopping wood, and building redoubts and supply depots for the army’s convenience. But assumed under all those jobs was a habit of stealing everything the laborers could get their hands on that wasn’t nailed down.

Ponzen took his book, flipped a few pages, and spun it around. He pointed a finger to an entry in a sea of marks. The contents of the page meant nothing to Graves, and by the smug look on the officer’s face he knew it. The quantities of material recovered from the fallen here are significantly below average, Ponzen said.

Cutting into your profits, and those of the Major, Graves thought. But he only said, Most of the soldiers that died here were from Low Town, in the capital. They didn’t have much.

Ponzen quirked an eyebrow at that. You can tell where a man came from by his corpse? Do they speak to you, old fellow?

In a matter of speaking, sir, Graves said. You can tell from their teeth, and the shape their skin’s in, marks they got before they came here, that is. And there’s parts of their kit that’s not army issue, personals and the like. He inwardly cursed himself at that last, realizing too late that he might have led the conversation down an unwelcome path by bringing up equipment.

Ponzen gave him a long, evaluative look. Finally he said, "You’re a smart fellow, Graves. There are opportunities for smart men in this here army. Just be careful you don’t get too smart."

Graves nodded. Yes, sir. The lieutenant held him with his gaze a few heartbeats longer then made a small gesture of dismissal. But as Graves started to turn he added, Oh, I almost forgot. Major Carvis wants to see you. Immediately.

Graves bit back his instinctive retort. It was obvious that Ponzen had been saving that news for last to needle him. He made a gesture that wasn’t quite a salute and left quickly, making his way toward the center of the main camp.

The camp was like a small town, with dozens of wagons and the associated lines of horses. The animals were tended by men who brushed their coats, checked their hooves, and repaired tack and harness that had broken under the stress of travel. Other men were gathered around or inside tents, trying their best to avoid the punishing heat of the day. The occasional woman wove past them, for the camp followers attached to the army traveled with the quartermaster corps as well. They had their own separate gathering of tents further back from the road, next to the stingy stream that provided the camp’s supply of water.

Major Carvis’s headquarters was impossible to miss. The Quartermaster’s tent was a massive construction of canvas and linen, big enough that a single wagon was dedicated to the transport of it and its associated furnishings. Those furnishings included a large table, a writing desk, a comfortably padded chair, and a full-sized bed.

The front of the tent was open in a vain attempt to let in the non-existent breeze. One of the soldiers from the quartermaster corps’ small security force stood on duty outside, sweating through his uniform tunic, but he knew Graves and let him pass after just a brief exchange.

Even seated behind his desk, it was obvious that Major Carvis was a big man. The extra five stone or so he carried on his frame strained his uniform and had given his features a certain softness, but his eyes were sharp and they missed nothing. Those eyes flicked over Graves as he came in, leaving him feeling as though he’d been weighed and measured down to the last ounce.

Come in, Graves, Carvis growled, gesturing toward the table in the center of the tent. He got up ponderously, almost knocking a precariously balanced decanter off the edge of the desk as he jostled it. He paused to adjust his tunic then came over to face his visitor across the surface of the table. That surface was cluttered with maps and an assortment of reports, none of which held any particular meaning for Graves.

I’ve got a problem, Carvis said.

Graves didn’t say anything. He hadn’t had a lot of interactions with Carvis, but he knew that the Major didn’t appreciate interruptions.

Carvis picked up one of the parchments from the edge of the table. I’ve received new orders from General Devers, he said. Apparently the pursuit of the Baron’s army is going better than expected. Unfortunately, that means our own supply lines are coming under increasing strain.

Graves met the Major’s eyes, but said nothing.

I’ve already issued orders to begin breaking down the camp, Carvis continued. We’ll remain here tonight but need to be ready to move out early when the supply train from the capital arrives. I mean to be several leagues north of here by the time that the sun sets tomorrow evening.

"I know that your crew has a