[CW: Mentions of death, potential violent imagery.]

Was it the first time someone had on-the-sly asked Mehmet about where to bury the bodies? No. Was it the first time someone might follow through? … Maybe. He had never had someone ask that sort of thing who looked like, by whatever means, he had the ability to follow through.

He had a hole dug out from last time someone had made a similar joke. While years of rain had washed some of the dirt back into the hole, and grass had grown on the mound... a hole was a hole. He prodded the heap with his shovel, unlit lantern’s metal cage glinting under moonlight off a tree branch.

If the authorities asked ... it was a joke.

Davy was wearing his business black, his normal fanciful clothes safely at home. It seemed best, all things considered, to not draw too much attention to anyone given the current situation. The man walking beside him, thin and considerably taller made them look almost like a cartoonish pairing. "Ah! This is him." When Davy turned and tapped the thin man on the shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Paying him no mind, Davy continued within earshot of Mehmet. 

"Mr. Gardinier, this is Mr. Mortland."

Mr. Mortland looked over Mehmet appraisingly and then at the hole in the ground. There was a hole. A big hole. Well that was one way for things to be private, Davy supposed. It certainly explained all the talk of dirt. He had met Mr. Mortland in the pub and spent two nights speaking of gardens, trees and surprisingly more dirt than expected. But still, eventually he'd convinced his new friend to come with him to meet the pleasant enough Gardner. Davy was completely certain that both names were made up. Mortland seemed the nervous sort, far to uneasy about talking even in code when anyone was around. Certainly he'd made up a name to talk to the stranger.

Gardinier had seemed much calmer, but still a gardener named Gardinier? Ha, Davy was no fool. No mind. If Mr. Gardinier and Mr. Mortland wanted to learn each other's real names that was their business not his.

Most of his family was on the shorter side, and so Mehmet was never especially surprised to be the shortest man in the room. Or great outdoors, such as it was tonight. His brows furrowed when he saw not one, but two live men – and without anything less lively between them.

Oh goodness. Was he going to kill the sod right here?

“Mister … Mortland,” he repeatedly, haltingly.

Was this some sort of test? His brow furrowed in a cringe. Mr. Mortland here seemed like a perfectly normal fellow, for all the twenty seconds he’d known him.

“... You like, uh, pushing daisies?”

Ah, more code. A cautious man was a safe man, so Davy could hardly blame Mehmet. Luckily Mr. Mortland seemed to know what to say to that.

"Pushing daisies, leaving lilies..."

"Ha!" Davy gave Mr. Mortland a hard slap on the back, putting the tall man off balance and stumbling towards the hole in the ground. Mr. Mortland circled his arms wildly to keep from falling in as Davy spoke. "Picking pansies too, but it's not time for flowers, is it? It's the time for sowing seed." He gave Mehmet a big knowing grin.

He supposed that was as fine a way as any for a man to admit he might piss himself. There was a mild, approving raise of his brows. He had to wonder the pretenses Mr. Mortland had been brought here upon – did he think they were, what, mushroom hunting?

Mehmet’s eyes widened when … what’s his face? shoved Mortland toward his no doubt soon to be grisly end. He scraped the tip of his shovel in the dirt, testing if that motion could indeed mobilize into a killing blow.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t. Mortland was like a twig – some fragile little tree that could be snapped with hands alone. He still felt bad about those poplars that hadn’t made it.

“I-uh, I’m not in the business of… harvesting...” he gave Mortland a once-over through the corner of his eyes before looking back to Presumed Murderer, “... seeds, sir. I just plant them.”

Sowing seed … sowing seed … he squinted. Some desperate-to-be-a-grandfather type had used that turn of phrase once.

Davy hadn't thought about asking what sort of man Mehmet had wanted him to bring. It hadn't occurred to him to even consider that could be a complication. Sure Mehmet was worried about it, but Davy could see how his eyes kept going back to Mr. Mortland. He hadn't done that badly picking someone.

Mortland once again stepped up to the plate. "I have seed, sir. I just need a place to plant."

"Wonderful! I can leave you two to plant a veritable garden." Davy gave the hole a once over. It was... old? Well, presumably that at least meant they had some sort of way to get in and out of it. "I assume you've got enough space in there, unless you're planning on making it bigger?" He waved vaguely at the shovel.