Remiel, too, felt no pleasure in Lord Mayerling's death. Smoke issued from the barrel of his pistol; the silver bullet that he had fired into the man's heart had completely failed to produce any visible change, indicating that he was no werewolf, but an innocent villager, as he claimed. But the villagers had voted, and when they could not decide between Ryven and Mayerling, it had come down to casting lots -- and the luckless Lord Mayerling had drawn the short straw.
"Let zere be no more death today," he said, forlornly. "Truly, he wuz ze most genteel of uz all." Crossing himself, he knelt by the body to say a prayer for the fallen man's soul, then went off to retrieve a shovel. With the help of some of the others, he dug a grave for Lord Mayerling in the apple orchard behind Imogen's cottage, and made sure he was buried with proper ceremony.
His sombre task completed, he returned to his abode, where he opened the thick hidebound cover of Maleficarum: Ars Lycanthropos under candlelight once more, determined to ferret out the monsters hiding within the village.