Laverstone has a couple of graveyards in competition with each other. St. Just’s has the smaller on in the town which is cheaper but you only lease the site for fifty years – you have to be very important indeed to have one of the permanent tombs – then they dig you up to re-use the plot. It’s very green, I suppose. The bones are transferred to the Twilight Cathedral (Catholic) where they’re transferred to an ossuary or become part of the cathedral, an honour in itself
The other graveyard is at St. Pity’s, the Catholic church that’s about ten minutes from the town. There’s a more traditional feel to that one, although it’s more expensive to be buried there. There’s a normal graveyard that surrounds the church; the one that’s filled with eighteenth century tombs, and a more extensive modern one that’s filled with simple boxes and rectangular headstones. The landscaping is extensive and it feels more like an extension of the park than a cemetery.
There’s one more place in Laverstone that is a repository for the dead. The mausoleum at Laverstone Manor holds seventeen generations of Watermans. Harold hates it, mostly because every time he visits he has the same conversation with the ghosts. Lady Waters has been knitting the same scarf for the last seventy-five years and the children, Michael 12 and Catherine 7, who were victims of their brother when he wanted to inherit the manor in 1912 always want stories.
Harold’s rubbish at stories.
An hour with Mr. Duke was enough to remind me why I didn’t like angels. At least demons have rules and conducts of behaviour. Mortals may not like them but at least they know what they’re getting: a twisted contract and time span subject to change without notice.
With angels you don’t know what you’re getting.. Their code of conduct is subject to change at a moments notice. It’s not God that notices the fall of a sparrow (though if it was of importance he’d read it in the daily report compiled by Gabriel) but a legion of angels.
If just one of those angels decides that the sparrow’s death was the result of a mortal’s actions; say by the disposal of kitchen fat down a drain which results in an over-fat worm which sticks in its throat, that that mortal has a sin they never even knew about.
At least you know where you are when you sign a contract with a demon. Usually on the downward slope to Hell but still…
I was back to square one. I’d found a missing piece of the puzzle. The only problem was it didn’t fit anywhere. I still had to find Lydia.
Until the morrow. X