Nghi Vo - [BCS275 S01] - Boiled Bones and Black Eggs (html)

by Boiled Bones

  “Come in and be welcome,” my aunt called, and the door swung open.

  The three sons of Minister Han were tall and thin, but their bodies had swollen up from the lake where they had been thrown. They came in on a tide of boisterous shouting and laughter, carrying their leather helmets under their arms and handing me their swords with the usual jokes. They were identical in life, but death had marked them differently, one with a deep dry cut over his throat, one with a hole clean through his heart, and the third with a missing arm.

  They came in and sat to the left of Lord Ning, praising my aunt’s cooking all the while, flirting with her and saying they hadn’t seen better since they left the capitol.

  My aunt laughed at their outrageous compliments, mock-scolding them affectionately, but it looked like she was waiting for something. Lord Ning scowled at the three newcomers, one finger tapping hard on the table, but just when it looked as if he had summoned up the liver to say something, the door knocked again, four times.

  At my aunt’s call, the door opened and Lord Hsieng, short and round as a cauldron, clad in his famous red lacquered armor, strode in. People always said that he was a big man, but that wasn’t quite right. He would have come up to my nose if we were standing face to face, but he entered the room like a boom of lighting, and no one would ever have found him small.

  He greeted my aunt with a fond bow of his head, and he took his place at Lord Ning’s right, laughing with the sons of Minister Shen. They had known each other once upon a time, and of course he had embarrassing stories about all three.

  By this point, Lord Ning looked downright green. He must have thought he was being discreet when he rose, but Lord Hsieng took him by the arm, keeping him where he was.

  “There’s still more coming, warlord,” Lord Hsieng said with a deadly joviality. “This is your feast. This is your honor.”

  If a corpse could pale, Lord Ning did. If he had been alive, sweat would have popped from his brow like drops of grease from the skin of a roasting pig. He sat still, however, and four knocks came again.

  Lady Autumn was as tall as Lord Hsieng was short, and her face was as brown as cinnamon bark, death taking none of its color. She moved as if she had no feet at all, floating as smoothly over our floor as she had over the stage, and she declined to surrender her war fans. She gave me and my aunt a regal nod and seated herself at the other end of the table from Lord Ning. She did not joke or laugh.

  The silence was thick enough to mire a water buffalo. Still we waited, and I knew that somehow, there were yet more coming. My aunt looked calm, but there was a rustling energy about her.

  This time, there was no knock on the door, only a humble scrabbling, and when my aunt called for them to enter, they came in one at a time.

  These dead were nameless. They had not always been, I knew that. Somewhere, there was a parent, a spouse, a child or a friend mourning the loss of someone who could never be replaced. However, the mass graves that littered the frontier afforded no fame or recognition, and there were far more of these soldiers than there were minister’s sons or courtesans turned general.

  They filed in, their grave-muddied feet leaving no trace on the floor, and they were a tide of angry mutters, tired whispers and low growls. They filled the room until I hopped up on the tall barrel of spiced brine to get out of their way. There was no space left at the table, but the soldiers thronged close, close enough to make even a man as big as Lord Ning shrink into himself.

  I had served the dead for almost ten years at that point. They didn’t frighten me anymore, but now, their anger did. The fact that it was not focused on me was the only thing that kept me breathing. There was death in the air, and it didn’t matter at all that some of those deaths were years old or had happened over the mountains or across the sea.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” my aunt said as if it were a normal night. “Eat, eat.”

  Her words broke the storm, and there was a rush, towards the table I thought at first. The food we had spent all day preparing was torn apart and devoured greedily. It disappeared down to the bones, down to the broth. Then they started on Lord Ning.

  They tore into him as if he were steamed dough, harsh fingers digging at the plates of his armor. The three brothers circled him while Lord Hsieng tore at his belly, the armor offering no more protection than the crust of good bread. Lady Autumn’s fan lashed out, sending a scatter of fingers to the waiting horde. I am sure he cried out, but it was lost under the sound of smacking lips and groans of satisfaction.

  Somehow, he freed himself from the crowd, shoving his way across the inn. For one terrible crystal clear moment, I saw him, the fat and flesh and muscle ripped from his bulk, the armor hanging in tatters, and most of his mustache pulled off.

  He bludgeoned and barreled his way to the door, opened it, and then he was gone, the hungry people he had slain in his life swarming after him.

  The air in the inn lightened immensely. I felt as if I could truly take a breath for the first time in months. The dining room was empty, but soon it would be full again, with living and dead who only wanted a bit of something to eat before they passed through.

  My aunt made a brief noise of satisfaction, a tick of her tongue behind her teeth, and started to gather up the dishes.

  “Well, come on,” she said lightly. “There’s dishes to do.”

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