The Twins of Paradise they were called, and they watched a scene far below them with interest, yet without judgement. The two moons of Paradise Valley seldom judged, for they were beautiful, humble moons and saw much of the Galaxy. So much in fact, that the scene below but invoked mild curiosity in them.

‘Go on, give us push,’ said Snapper Flash, ‘we’re almost at the top of the wall.’

‘You better be right about this, Snapper,’ said Spotta, and shoved Snapper’s buttocks, lifting him closer to the top. ‘We been through a lot to get here, and that last maze with all its wards was a helluva a trial.’

‘Tis a sure thing, my friend. I got the map from the Castle Picasso itself.’

‘How’d ye manage that anyways? They let grave robbers through the gates on Sundays or what?’

Snapper dragged himself to the top of the wall with a grunt. ‘We ain’t no grave robbers, Spotta. We bona-fide treasure hunters. How many times I gotta tell ya? And it was a goblin servant sold me the map.’

He reached down and grasped Spotta’s arm. ‘Now get a load a this!’ and he dragged Spotta up. Spotta followed his waving arm. ‘Behold, the graves of Constant Falter.’

The twin moons shone bright and true, their light cascading down, bathing bright the scene before Spotta’s eyes. ‘Blimey,’ he said, ‘there must be fifty graves there.’

‘Fifty-three.’

‘He’s died fifty-three times?’

‘Probably more.’

Spotta pulled his eyes away from the shining headstones. ‘How you reckon?’

‘Well, he’s only died fifty-three times where someone could retrieve his body see? He’s been all over The Big Wide Galaxy on adventures, there’s probably more of his priceless bones about.’

‘Why bother with the whole rigmarole of burying the guy every time? Seems like a lotta work,’ said Spotta and dropped the bag of tools down the other side of the wall.

‘Well,’ said Snapper Flash, ‘guess his people cares about the fella and all, and since no one really knows how many times the crazy horse has died, they figure every time might be the last. So they gives him a proper send-off. And they gets to keep his bones for ‘emselves, the greedies.’

Both looters climbed down the wall. It was tricky, but they managed, seasoned grave robbers as they were. Once on the ground, Spotta picked up his foldable shovel. ‘How’d the guy get ‘em ninety-nine lives anyways, he special or sommins?’

Snapper Flash grabbed his own tools and shrugged dismissively. ‘Nah. He stole ‘em from the Valleys of Life and Death. He’s naught more than a talented thief.’

‘Really? I heard he won ‘em in card games against a load of different cats.’

‘Where’d ye hear that one? That’s best I’ve heard so far.’

‘Think you told me.’

Snapper grumbled as they walked through the graveyard. ‘Whatever, there’s tons of theories, ok? Guess no one really knows. Just adds to the bastards infamy.’

‘Think he’d tell ya if ye just asked him?’

‘Fool! Don’t you think people have? Guys mum. It’s a banned question now in Paradise Valley. The Queen of Dreams got so tired of hearing people ask that question of her Chief Thrill Seeker, she ceased weaving dreams for a month. The Galaxy was in uproar.’

‘But hows we know he got ninety-nine lives?’

‘Guess that much slipped out at some point eh?’

Spotta stopped walking and looked at a grave. ‘Shall we begin then?’

Snapper Flash continued on. ‘No, my friend, we take the sixteenth. Or the first.’

‘Why?’

‘Obviously the first bones are worth the most as they are the oldest. The sixteenth grave of Constant Falter holds the bones of his death at the hand of the Sun King.’

‘Ohhh. I heard about that one. Heard that’s the most watched misadventure film on GalaxyTube.’

Snapper Flash nodded. ‘Now you’re catching on. Here we are.’

They looked down at the triangular headstone of obsidian:

Here lies

Constant Falter

Thrill Seeker

Adventurer

Hero

Holder of ninety-nine lives

And wielder of the Dragon Tooth Slingshot

Constant fell to the burning blade of the Sun King

In an honor duel that lasted three days

We miss you Constant and hope to see you in two weeks

‘Lets do this.’

Silent moons watched dirt fly, ever so slowly inching along for a better view.

And the moons stayed silent when the silver coffin was scraped clean of earth.

‘This things warded too,’ said Snapper, ‘got that ward-dispatcher Crowflaps sold us?

Spotta gingerly withdrew the small box from his shirt pocket. ‘Here, you do it.’

‘Thing better be worth it,’ a suspicious Snapper muttered, ‘cost us enough.’

He carefully set the box on the coffins chest and pushed it slowly open. Little fireflies leaked out and sparked along the seams of the coffin, now and again emitting pops and snaps, releasing the magical wards in glittering explosions. The coffin lid clicked. ‘There,’ said Snapper, greed slicking his voice like oil on a chain, ‘lets get rich.’

They heaved open the coffin. ‘Blimey,’ gasped Spotta, ‘hasn’t aged a day it seems.’

Constant Falter lay there with his eyes closed, face slightly scorched yet hale as if he had but perished moments before. His green, brown and purple leather jacket shone with oil and upon his chest his hands clasped together around the grip of a broken broadsword.

‘Funny-looking fecker in he?’

‘Aye, Spotta, indeed he is. Come on, lets take his hands and that big ear of his.’

They went to work, chopping and slicing. When they were done, Snapper Flash said, ‘Lets get gone, buddy.’ The looters exited the grave and hurried back to the wall. Along the way they couldn’t help but hop and click their heels together in excited pleasure. ‘We did it!’ cried Spotta like a giddy truant, ‘we bleeding did it!’

Again they helped each other climb the wall. Grunting and breathing hard, the two looters flopped on to the top of the wall.

A voice said very casually: ‘Taking me away are ye’s?’

Spotta leapt back in alarm and had the speaker not caught his shoulder in an iron grip he would have plummeted to the ground below. ‘Help!’ he cried. ‘Help!’

‘Oh, settle down,’ said the speaker.

Snapper Flash gaped. ‘Oh my lordits! Its Constant Falter!’

With a flourish Constant tipped his hat and smiled. The two grave robbers quailed under that moonlit grin. Snapper snapped: ‘Leg it, bud!’ and they made to flee but the rasping of Constants sabre leaving its scabbard halted their flight, and they stood fearful, teetering on the edge of the wall. ‘Please don’t kill us!’ wailed Spotta.

‘Kill you?’ said Constant with a chuckle. ‘No, I won’t kill ye’s. But I will have you replace what you have taken from me.’

Snapper Flash shifted his feet for better balance and stuck out his chest defiantly. ‘We worked hard for this here treasure. You can’t just have us leave empty handed.’

‘Tell you what, you low down dirty grave robbers,’ Constant’s light voice belied his heavy words, ‘I’ll let you keep my bones, if you let me keep the same from each of you.’

Spotta started crying. ‘Please don’t take my hands sir, you can have yours back!’

Snapper growled in annoyance. ‘Speak for your-self, you spineless hound. I ain’t giving up this here treasure. Why’s you so miserly anyways, huh? Don’t you have enough bones, Mister Falter?’

‘I guess I do, looter. But thems my bones and I don’t want ‘em hanging around some fools neck, just so some thrill-less fecker can ogle ‘em and tell his friends about it.’

‘Look, mister Falter,’ said the looter Flash, ‘Tis a price you pay for having such lovely bones.’

‘My lovely bones, eh?’ Constant shook his head wistfully. ‘Well, if you put it that way, then shouldn’t you have a price to pay, towards me?’

‘What? No. How much you want for ‘em?’

‘Lets see…I’m already quite wealthy, so…how’s about a million gold crowns?’

Snapper sputtered, spittle flying from his lips. ‘We don’t have that kinda flush!’

‘Then I’ll take your hands and an ear each.’

Spotta grabbed the sack and started climbing back down the wall. ‘I’ll return your lovely bones, mister Falter! You needn’t take mine!’

‘Why you little – ‘ Snapper leapt at his colleague and they both fell off the wall, plummeting down to the earth.

Constant watched them thump to the ground in a crunch. ‘Ouch,’ he said, and dropped off the wall after them. Just as he was about to slam to the ground himself, he pulled from his pocket a ball of Gravity Spurner and threw it down before him. In a cloud of cold steam, he landed lightly.

Spotta groaned and pulled himself up from the body of a very dead Snapper Flash. Constant grabbed him by the ear and dragged Spotta back to his sixteenth resting place. Sobbing with jerking breaths, the grave robber replaced the loot and closed the coffin. Under the quite gaze of the moons he climbed out the grave and picked up his shovel.

‘I’m sorry, Mister Falter, this will never happen again.’

‘Too right it won’t,’ said Constant, ‘for now, due to these unfortunate events, you have earned the position as Grave Watch. And until I have updated all the wards about the place and settled the score with whoever sold you these fantastic ward-dispellers, you guard my lovely bones with your dear life. Are we understood?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Now, who sold you the magic? Was it Crowflaps, the ugliest of all the witches?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Right then, you watch me bones, I’ve a witch to slay and it won’t be easy.’

Spotta watched the famous adventurer stalk off. Where he summed up the courage to ask, Spotta could not guess, ‘Mister Falter sir,’ he said. Constant paused to look over his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry to ask sir, but this curiosity be eating me up sommin fierce…how’d you get ‘em ninety-nine lives?’

Constant laughed. ‘Ever hear of Father Death?’

‘Of course sir.’

‘Well, he still tries to wheedle that outta me. And his guess is as good as yours.’

‘But why,’ moaned Spotta, ‘why won’t you tell?’

Constant looked away and continued his stalking. ‘Can’t have every fecker running around with ninety-nine lives. Place would be in bloody chaos.’

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