Balyn did not have good memories of the hidden village of Yahar'gul. His first visit to the place had occurred when a seven-foot man had beaten him nearly to death, stuffed him in a sack, and carted him off to a jail cell where if it hadn't been for slipshod security protocols he might have ended up as fodder for some bloody ritual. His second visit had been after that ritual had moved forward, and mad Pthumerian women were puppeting the citizens like phantoms out of a dream, while bits and pieces of corpses had been knitted together into prowling abominations, and the bloody moon had vomited out a nauseating reborn sludge-heap of stillborn minds and twitching bodies.

His third visit was paid in broad daylight, with an introduction slip in hand and firm instructions not to screw things up from the clerk at the Yharnam Employment Agency. He had a feeling that if he did mess things up at this job, she'd see to it that he'd be fondly reminiscing about the guy with the sack as being "the good old days."

"Get back in there!"

Balyn raised his eyebrows as he heard the voice coming from his intended destination. He ducked around the giant wagon that looked like it had once been used to transport prisoners and saw a tall, balding man dressed in a ragged black robe kicking at a square casket about four feet on a side.

The lid of the casket twitched.

"Don't make me get the padlock," the man warned. "You think it's cramped in there now, just you wait until you can't get out for a run."

The lid dropped shut with an audible clunk.

"Is everything all right?" Balyn called.

The man turned to face him.

"Oh, sorry; I didn't see you there." He bent over and picked up a fancy iron helmet that had been sitting on the ground next to one of the wagon's broken wheels. "Can I help you?"

"If you're Antal, you can. I'm Balyn; the employment agency sent me about the job."

The man broke into a broad smile.

"Ah, so they found someone for me. Excellent! I have to tell you, finding anyone around here who's looking for work is almost impossible. The night of the hunt really did a number on this town. You'd think people would be looking to move in—real estate prices are way down, since most estates just want to sell up and convert the assets to cash for the heirs, but nope, barely a whisper of anyone wanting to come to Yahar'gul."

Balyn scratched the back of his head.

"Well, the place is kind of hard to find. If you want to attract more attention, you probably shouldn't go so far to make the village hidden."

Antal chortled.

"From your lips to the city council's ears, friend. I mean, look at me—they just hired me on, and that's because I'd left the place a few years back when it became obvious Micolash was letting the School of Mensis go in all the wrong directions."

"I met him once," Balyn said. "I have to agree; he really didn't seem like a responsible educational administrator."

"Exactly. The kind of fellow who's always going on, dreaming big dreams that do nothing but cause a huge mess in reality. Well, now he's out of a job and I'm the new superintendent, so things are going to be a little different around here."

Balyn blinked.

"Then, you're running the School of Mensis now?" It was the kind of sentence that made him start thinking about where the nearest exits were before he remembered that he was in the middle of an open, cobblestoned street.

"That's right, and believe you me there are going to be some changes. No more pretending like we can be some kind of Byrgenwerth West. I mean, who wants to take after a school that misplaces one of their buildings, anyway? No, the School of Mensis is getting back to basics, offering a good, sound vocational education. Skilled labor is hard to come by in Yharnam these days."

Balyn thought about the number of potential jobs for him the tall, pale clerk at the Agency had set aside with a rueful shake of her head after reviewing their requirements and found that he had to agree.

"What kind of programs are you thinking of offering?"

"We'll start small to begin with, focusing on Yahar'gul's traditional professions. There's been a real decline in morticians these past couple of decades. Why, there's some people who've had to go all the way to Hemwick just to arrange for a funeral, and the way I hear it they've had to agree to let the body be cremated for marrow ash just to meet the fees. Now, is that any way to do business?"

"Well, there are a lot of things that need to be shot around here."

"I know, I know, and you can't blame a community for looking after itself. Particularly when the bridge got knocked down and Hemwick Crossing became more like Hemwick Dead End."

Balyn shrugged.

"At least it fits with a place called Charnel Lane."

Antal looked at him oddly.

"…Well, I didn't ask for someone who can tell jokes, so I can't complain."

Balyn supposed that was fair.

"Anyway, aside from undertakers, we're also going to open up classes in the resurrection trade. Good old Yahar'gul body-snatching. Let's face it, whether it's burying them or digging them up, death is a growth industry in Yharnam."

Undeniable as that point might have been, Balyn still wasn't quite sure if he followed the logic.

"Is grave robbery really the kind of profession one goes to trade school to learn?"

"Of course it is, and well past time, too. Why, Micolash let the standards slip so much he had his lackeys just grabbing people off the streets like they were common brutes. His body-snatchers were really just plain kidnappers." Antal sounded positively indignant over the point. Deciding that there wasn't much to gain by pressing him to closely, Balyn changed the subject.

"So what is it that you want me to do?"

"These streets are an absolute mess. We can hardly open up for school with the town in this condition."

"Well, that's fair enough." He gave a side glance at the cramped casket and its likely occupant. Antal caught the direction of his gaze and shook his head.

"No, no, not the bodies. Weren't you just listening? That's work for trained professionals. No, what I want is for you to do something about these."

He slapped the side of the big prisoner wagon.

"The carriages?"

"That's right. The city council passed a strict overnight parking ban and Micolash's flunkies just went and ignored it willy-nilly. I want every last one of these things towed away. If they think they can just leave their work vehicles sitting around without paying their fines in full, then they're just dreaming."