Chapter 153: Funeral

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Three: The Funeral

As laughter still lingered on his lips, Karen suddenly became aware of a faint dampness at the corners of his eyes.

"Heh, I really did laugh myself to tears."

Instinctively reaching for a tissue, Karen realized there was no box on the desk. He had no choice but to gently brush the back of his hand against his eye. Rising to his feet, he stepped out of the bedroom and into the common area.

Seeing the master emerge, the two assistants immediately made a show of resuming their work.

To Karen, the operation of this particular parlor felt light-years behind that of the Inmerais home. Though small in scale, the Inmerais Funeral Parlor strove for a meticulous refinement in every detail, whereas this establishment was distinctly crude.

Perhaps because Pavaro had spent recent years chasing dangerous commissions everywhere to afford the blood-spirit powder for his two daughters, the management of the parlor had fallen into neglect. An establishment that should have been pristine and solemn now carried a distinctly greasy air.

As for the argument that the two assistants could not perform their duties properly because they were divine servants rather than ordinary mortals, Karen did not buy it. To a certain extent, they could be far more conscientious and solemn than ordinary people—just like Alfred and Madam Molly back at the old house. The prerequisite, of course, was that you had to inspire true dread in them.

Karen walked to the kitchen first, finding Mrs. Leck inside washing plates. He pulled the kitchen door shut behind him.

"The mortuary cosmetician of this house, it is you, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Mrs. Leck replied, turning around.

"Do you know Annie?"

"The one from the pastry street... oh no, Red Leaf Street, Annie?"

It seemed Mrs. Leck was aware.

"Yes, she is dead."

"Oh, this, I... I knew her. I knew of her. That is truly... truly sorrowful news."

"She was investigating a case alongside that friend of mine. In the end, knowing full well it meant certain death, she showed up and tried to save him.

Then, as one might expect, she died right along with that friend of mine."

Hearing this, Mrs. Leck’s expression grew complicated.

"I knew about him. No, I knew you wouldn't go to a place like that just for pastries. I knew you must have had your own business there. I asked you once, but you refused to say."

"Yes, because only by doing so could I ensure the family remained uninvolved."

"I know of this woman, Annie, this woman from Red Leaf Street. I knew perfectly well that nothing was going on between her and my husband... and you. Yet sometimes when I scolded you, in the heat of anger, I would curse her name too."

"Annie won't be angry."

"Yes, but I am guilty. I am guilty."

"Her remains are quite severely damaged."

"I will restore her. I will, I can do it," Mrs. Leck promised, striking her chest with certainty. "I will say sorry to her, I will apologize to her."

"No need for anything too elaborate. Hold her funeral today."

"Is that not a bit too rushed?"

"No, she likely has no relatives left."

"Very well. I will use the shortest time possible to restore her as best I can, I will. Furthermore, there are two coffins in the household storeroom. If the funeral is to be held today, there won't be enough time to place an order with the coffin factory. We will use the ones here; they are very clean."

"Understood."

"I shall have Pick go to the cemetery to reserve a plot. Is the burial to take place tonight?"

"Yes. Call and reserve it yourself."

"Oh, alright, I will follow up on it personally, I will."

"We will need two plots."

"Your... that friend of yours... is he also to be buried... buried?"

"Yes."

"Fine... I understand... I understand."

Karen turned to leave the kitchen. He paused for a moment, offering a reminder:

"Do not place the two plots too close together."

"I... I don't mind..."

"No, it's just that I suspect Miss Annie would prefer to stay far away from that friend of mine after death."

"Yes, I understand."

...

Walking to the front, Karen said to Dincom, "Give me the keys to the hearse."

"Right away, Boss. Do we have a job?" Dincom fetched the keys, while he and Pick prepared the gurney.

"You two stay here and arrange the hall. It's a simple order. I will go and bring the guest back myself."

"Understood, Boss."

Karen slid into the modified hearse of the Pavaro family and slotted the key into the ignition.

He looked back, casting a glance at the rear carriage, before straightening his posture and placing both hands on the steering wheel. It was wrapped in a layer of leather, somewhat torn and weathered, but the moment he closed his eyes, a once-familiar sensation surged within him again.

He had once ridden in a hearse, following Uncle Mason and Ron to "rescue" guests.

He had also lain inside a coffin within a hearse, comfortably being discharged from the hospital.

He had even driven a hearse with Eunice inside, heading out to the suburbs for a picnic date.

The reason people cling to nostalgia is not because of the physical objects themselves, but because of the memories those objects evoke when looked upon.

Starting the engine, Karen drove the hearse out. As he passed the car Alfred had parked by the roadside, Karen tapped the horn and waved a hand at him.

"Coming, Young Master."

Alfred quickly started his car and followed.

When the hearse entered the residential complex, it was stopped by the security guard at the gate. Karen did not get out; Alfred pulled up alongside and stepped out to negotiate, and Karen was quickly granted passage.

Once the vehicle was parked, Karen walked upstairs and entered the apartment.

Siri, the maid, was slicing fruit. Seeing Karen walk in, her face stiffened:

"Hello, Mr. Pavaro."

"Mm," Karen grunted in response, walking into the washroom. Alfred entered the apartment as well, following him into the washroom. Moments later, Alfred emerged carrying Miss Annie on his back, heading straight out the door and downstairs.

Siri was still slicing fruit, and then she witnessed "Mr. Pavaro" emerge from the washroom, carrying Mr. Pavaro on his back.

Her eyes widened. She forced her gaze back down and continued slicing the fruit, cutting it not into chunks, but into tiny, shredded bits.

Alfred returned, immediately taking Mr. Pavaro from Karen’s shoulders and carrying him downstairs.

Miss Annie was placed into the hearse, while Mr. Pavaro was settled onto the back seat of Alfred's car.

The two vehicles drove out of the complex one after the other, returning to the front of the Pavaro Funeral Parlor. Alfred parked by the curb, retrieved a blanket, and covered Mr. Pavaro lying in the back seat, creating a shroud to prevent any passersby from noticing anything amiss within.

Having finished this, Alfred sat back in the driver's seat, pulled out his small notebook, and wrote:

"For reasons unknown, when I saw the Young Master driving a hearse once more, a strange wave of emotion welled up in my heart."

...

The hearse pulled into the funeral parlor, and Mrs. Lake, who had long been waiting, stepped up first. After draping a white cloth over the late Ms. Annie, she called over Pick and Tinkum to receive the "guest."

Shrouded in white, Ms. Annie was wheeled into Mrs. Lake's workshop in the backyard.

"Go to the front and set up the mourning hall."

"Yes, Ma'am."

With Pick and Tinkum dismissed, Mrs. Lake unveiled the white cloth. Staring at the numerous punctures upon Ms. Annie’s forehead and body, she drew a deep breath.

"How long will it take?" Karen asked.

"The body is very well preserved. I only need to patch the hole on the forehead before applying makeup. The other parts of her body can be covered with clothing. When they mourn, she will look quite normal from the outside as she lies in the coffin."

"Good."

"Where will you go now?"

"I suppose I'll wait here."

"I have tidied up the books and other things you used to read, and placed them on the bedroom desk. I no longer sleep in that room; I sleep in the guest room. That will be your study from now on.

Of course, if you wish to remodel it, I can arrange for that."

"There is no rush for that. I will head to the study first."

"Very well."

Karen stepped out of the workshop, mindfully closing the door for Mrs. Lake, and then entered the study—which was originally the bedroom.

The desk, once tucked into the corner, had been moved to the very center, while the bed had been pushed flush against the wall to serve as a daybed for the study. This simple rearrangement of furniture immediately transformed the nature of the room.

The desk was piled with quite a few books and document folders. Karen sat down and began to flip through them one by one. Before long, he found several volumes of Mr. Pavaro’s work journals. These were of immense value to the current Karen; he desperately needed practical experience and a deeper understanding of the grassroots levels of the Church of Order.

Mr. Pavaro was a meticulous man, and his journals were recorded in great detail, starting from his days as a divine servant. Karen turned the pages one by one;

Most of the accounts within were written as "first-person narratives," so as Karen read, it gave him the distinct impression that Mr. Pavaro was standing right before him, recounting his past experiences.

Unwittingly, Karen became immersed in this atmosphere. Mr. Pavaro was like an old master guiding him through the threshold, with the only difference being that this master had handed down his mantle before teaching the lessons.

From divine servant, to divine initiate, then to divine shepherd, and finally to inquisitor—the content was barely halfway through. This implied that once one became an inquisitor, the matters to be faced and dealt with suddenly grew vastly more complex;

It also meant that Mr. Pavaro had indeed served as an inquisitor for quite a long time, yet he remained a seventh-rank inquisitor, receiving the lowest treatment within the inquisitor sequence.

Turning to the next page, he discovered a dark circle on the paper. Karen initially thought it was some kind of emphasized point, but upon careful reading, he found nothing unusual about this passage compared to the context.

"Ah..."

Karen understood. It was simply because when Mr. Pavaro wrote up to this point, the ash from the cigarette dangled in his mouth had fallen onto the paper, scorching a tiny mark, and he had merely been reading too much into it.

Upon the desk sat cigarettes, a lighter, and an ashtray, none of which had been there before, because the old Mr. Pavaro never enjoyed the privilege of smoking in the marital bedroom;

Karen drew a cigarette, bit it between his lips, lit it with the lighter, and then inverted the burning cigarette onto the edge of the ashtray;

"I'll light a smoke for you. Keep telling the story."

Karen resumed flipping through the notes, silently memorizing the names of some individuals that appeared within.

The hands of the clock, unperceived, crept toward four in the afternoon.

"Knock, knock..."

"Come in."

Mrs. Lake walked in carrying a tray, placing a glass of ice water and a sandwich-like food item before Karen. Unlike a typical sandwich, it was smeared with a dark sauce.

Karen picked up the glass, took a deep gulp, looked at this Pavaro family sandwich, and still managed a smile as he said:

"I am not hungry."

"Everything is prepared outside. Would you like to go out and take a look?"

"Oh, is that so."

Karen looked up at the clock, realizing he had actually been reading for so long.

"My apologies, I lost track of time while reading."

"It is only right that we notify you after our work is finished."

"Yes."

Karen stretched his limbs.

"Would you like me to massage your shoulders? I used to massage you often, though, usually after the daughters had bathed in the blood-spirit powder."

"No need."

"I am terribly sorry. I... I always find myself doing it out of habit."

"I should be the one to apologize. Perhaps we both need a little time to adapt to this way of interacting."

"Yes, yes, but please rest assured, I will adapt very quickly."

"No, Ma'am, you have always done wonderfully. It is just that I cannot fully invest myself into my own role yet. In a while, I will hire a new hand."

"Is that so? That would be wonderful."

"Yes, when the time comes, you and he should be able to communicate more easily."

"Yes, I understand." Mrs. Lake caught the underlying meaning of his words.

Karen rose, walked out of the bedroom, and entered the front hall, which was the mourning hall.

Upon the mortuary table in the hall rested a dark red coffin that looked quite elegant. Back when Karen was at home, he liked to idle away time flipping through the family's coffin brochures, so he knew the coffin before him was by no means cheap.

The hall was desolate, so the voices of Pick and Tinkum chatting over bottles of soda rang out quite clearly.

Pick: "To think it’s Miss Annie. I was truly shocked when I was arranging the coffin just now. The boss sure has some nerve."

Tinkum: "Though the mistress used to casually curse Annie when she scolded the boss at home, saying he could just die in Annie's bed and never come back, the mistress has never actually seen Annie."

Pick: "What’s even more ridiculous is that Miss Annie’s final makeup was done by the mistress. I wonder how furious the mistress would be if she knew the person before her was the very Miss Annie she always cursed."

Tinkum: "What, do you want to go snitch?"

Pick: "Phooey, I would never do such a thing."

The sound of Karen’s footsteps startled the two lads. They immediately turned to face Karen, their expressions laced with awkwardness.

Yet Karen had no intention of reprimanding them. It would not be too late to discipline them properly once the true himself arrived at the funeral parlor.

Walking up to the mortuary table, Karen looked at Ms. Annie lying within the coffin. She looked as though she had fallen asleep, sleeping very peacefully. The clothes on her were not new, but this was no slight; it was likely that Mrs. Lake had taken out her own clothes to dress Ms. Annie.

Having paid his respects to the deceased, Karen stepped down from the platform, pulled up a chair, and intended to sit by the entrance for a while.

By the door stood a signboard, which ought to have displayed whose memorial service it was today, but the board was currently blank.

Karen gestured toward the sign with his finger: "Write it down."

"Do we really have to write it, Boss?" Pick glanced inside, hinting whether the boss truly wanted the mistress to know who today’s "guest" was.

"Write it."

"Yes, Boss."

Pick ran over and began to write upon the board.

Tinkum, meanwhile, approached with a cigarette, preparing to offer it to the boss. Karen shook his head and said:

"Thanks to this achievement, I will receive a promotion soon, which means we will have an extra vacancy here, and I will recruit a divine servant."

"Boss, was this arranged from above?"

"No."

"Then does that mean you already have someone in mind, Boss?"

"Yes, I will continue to take on missions to earn points next, and I might not be home for ten days to a half-month at a time, so the matters at home and the daily work..."

"Rest assured, Boss, you can leave all of this to me. I will guide the newcomer well and complete all the routine work."

Karen looked at Dincomb and smiled.

Dincomb smiled too, feeling that his boss approved of him.

"Yes, yes, am I not writing it down? Yes, inside please, inside please." Pick pointed inward to the two ladies who came up to inquire.

Two very conservatively dressed ladies walked over, and Dincomb stepped forward, asking in confusion, "Are you here to...?"

"To mourn Sister Annie."

"Yes, we are here to mourn Sister."

"Dincomb, go prepare the tea," Karen instructed.

"Alright