Rheims Cernunnos
Gallo-Roman relief, 1st century CE
Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
A Day in the Life of a Grave-Robber
What does a witch like her want with the body of an executed criminal?
Don't ask me, I'm just the go-for guy. You want it, I'll get it for you: for the right price, anyway. Me, I don't know anything about magic, and—believe me—you don't want to, either.
Call it plausible deniability.
(I hear she cooks 'em down into a topnotch flying ointment, but maybe that's just a story.)
Anyway, her silver's as good as anybody's. Twenty years now I've been sourcing for her, and in all that time, she's never had one single complaint, and never once stiffed me. Good business, that.
Good money too, if you don't mind getting your hands dirty.
Well, son, time to learn the family trade. Beats honest work any day of the moon, ha ha.
Just leave the cart there, then come on over and help me move this stone, would you?
Oh, and bring the sack too, while you're at it.
Can't go hauling a dead body through the streets of Jerusalem still wrapped up in grave-clothes now, can you?
For
Richard Carrier
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