Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  Quickly I carried Raw Head within, and lowering the Goblin with much Care upon the earthen Floor, for I did not wish him presently to expire, I set the Lanthorn upon the rotting Table and reset the Candle. I had no Means of lighting it upon me, but I guessed that a country Man like Cox had seemed to be would have about his Person Flint and Steel, and so it proved. After a good many failed Attempts I had it lit, and the obscure Interior of the Cottage began slowly to make Appearance as the yellow Light advanced, and then drew back, and then advanced again, thro’ all its Shaddowes.

  The Creature made a low, inchoate Sound and its Eyes rolled in its Head. I knelt beside it upon the cold Earth and, laying my leather saddle Bag beside me for Convenience, spread open its Body for mine Attention. Deciding, with little ado, where to cut, I withdrew my largest Scalpel from mine Etui and sliced quickly thro’ its outer Garments, removing Coat and Shirt, and baring the Goblin’s Chest to my Knife.

  “You will be of some Use, Monster,” I said. “You will do some Good in this World, despite your Inclinations. By your foul Sorcery you have taken the Form of a Man; I shall therefore, in you, discover that Form, and you shall thereby aid me in advancing the Cause of Medicine, which is a noble and an human thing. Out of your Darkness, Raw Head, there shall spring forth Light.”

  I supposed that the Creature could hear me, and understand me too, for it gave another Moan at these Words, and its rolling Eyes fixt staringly upon my Countenance. Spittle rolled out of the Corner of its open Mouth.

  It is terrified, I thought. So it should be. It hath lost the Battle; Bloody Bones will tear it into Pieces.

  I had decided firstly to remove the Heart, if there was one; and thence to progress upon a more general Dissection of the Corpse before arriving finally at the Brain, which I had realised would be better examined for Injury in Dayelight than by that of one mere Candle. Having removed all Obstructions, I took the Knife once again in mine Hand, and depresst it slowly and carefully into the open Space between the lowest Ribs. Blood spurted upwards, spattering my Face. I wiped it away and padded the Area around the Incision with the Creature’s own Shirt, to soak up the rest of the Blood, which was spilling faster than I could contain it. I should cauterise the Arteries, I remembered; but ’tis too late now, and anyway there is no Need; I do not intend that this Patient should survive. I waited awhile until the Flow began to cease, and then continued the Procedure. The Blade I held was not as thick or as strong as the Tools commonly employed in an Autopsy, and the Process was far from easy in the Dark, but with Patience and Determination I achieved an Entry into the Body’s Cavity.

  The Specimen was naturally in far better Condition than the one I had dissected under Dr Hunter’s Tuition. For the one thing, it was not yet dead; for another, Cox, or Raw Head, had lived a country Life, and the body’s Tissues were taut and tough. Feeling mine Actions to have more in common with those of a Butcher than an Anatomist, I broke thro’ the Ribs and wrenched the Chest apart. I slid mine Hand inside the slippery Opening I had created.

  My groping Fingers encountered the Membrane of the Pericardium. The Creature’s Chest gave a great Heave, and I felt the left Lung swell against my Fist. Reflexively, I withdrew mine Hand, and then tentatively re-inserted it. Again my Fingertips disclosed to me the Presence of that smooth imperforate inner Skin, bloody and warm, and weakly pulsating still. My large Scalpel was too unwieldy to be introduced into the pericardial Cavity, especially in the Dark. Tho’ it was mine Intention afterwards to dissect the Membrane, I pushed mine Hand forward against it, not in any Hope of tearing, but instead to feel, if I could, whether any Organ lay within it.

  Raw Head possesst an Heart.

  I cried out. I know not to whom. The Muscle was unmistakable, its weakly fluttering Presence beyond Doubt.

  Then it stoppt.

  I withdrew mine Hand and reached for my smaller Scalpel.

  But then, as I sate poised over the Body, in the dim Light, my Gaze wandered across the Face of Cox, its Features slack, its still open Eyes, sightless now, widened in an Horrour beyond any I had ever beheld in my Life; and the Understanding came to me, all of a sudden, in a vivid Flash that set mine Head a-spinning. Faeries have no Hearts.

  This was not Raw Head.

  I had murdered a Man.

  CHAPTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY

  I do not remember what it was that I did directly. The next Memory of which I am aware is that of perceiving a fragile Brightening in the Sky over the eastern Horizon, and of hearing the Rushing of fast Water at my Feet. I had left the Cottage and I was standing at the very Edge of the River Coller. There was an heavy Weight upon my Shoulder. I let it fall.

  To mine Horrour, I saw that I had carried upon my Back the dissected Corpse of Joseph Cox; and in the dawning Light it seemed inconceivable to me that I had ever thought it anything but the real Body of a real Man.

  Joe Cox it was, or had been; the stinking, drunken pig-Man Cox; and tho’ I was certain in my Bones that he had been neither a good Man, nor an innocent one, I knew too that he had never been the Goblin Knight. What he had been, to the eventual Cost of his Life, was a brutish, bullying Tosspot. He should not have sought to attack me; he should not have sworn so hard against my Mother’s Race; he certainly should not have spoken with such Insolence about my Wife.

  Or had it been Margaret Haynes he had been speaking of?

  * * *

  “Tristan,” said a Voice behind me. “What in all the nine Hells do you think you are about?”

  I whirled round upon the Spot.

  Outlined against the dark green of the Ridge Way, shaking her Head and stamping in Protestation at her Rider’s requiring her to stand, was a white Mare.

  I caught my Breath. The Animal was immense. Its pale Body shone against the looming Hill as bright as if it had been the very Moon in the nightly Heavens. Its unshod Feet were feathered to the Knee, and as I watched, it raised one and brought it crashing down upon the Sward with the Force of an Hammer upon a mighty Anvil. Its Mane was braided and beribboned in every Colour of the dawn Sky, and its Tail, which was as long as that of any wild Horse, flicked like a Scourge across its broad Quarters. It wore a Bridle of bright scarlet Leather, threaded about and buckled with what looked to mine astonished Eyes like pure Silver; beneath the Saddle, which was similar, lay a saddle Cloth embroidered in a Design so intricate I could scarce make out what it contained. I thought I saw Flowers, Butterflies, Bees, and the Leaves and Branches of more Trees than I could name. But I was not certain.

  I stared at the Mare and it appeared to me that I was staring thro’ Time itself, at a Creature that could have borne upon its Back one of the antient Kings of Britannia.

  Then I looked up at the Rider.

  It was Nathaniel Ravenscroft.

  For an whole Minute, I was too amazed to speak. Nathaniel dismounted and landed right before me, as agile upon his Feet as a pine Marten. He was dresst exact as I had seen him in my Dream, in brilliant green hunting Coat and Breeches, but this Time, upon his lily white Brow he sported a Diadem of brightest Mistletoe, green berried for the Spring, and as intricate a Crown as if it had been of finest Silver-work. He smiled at me, and handed the heavy Reins to a small, hooded Figure whom I had not previously noticed, who was crouching on all fours hard by one of the Mare’s great Hooves. The tiny black Shape came barely up to the Animal’s Knee, but it took the Reins from Nathaniel without apparent Fear, and remained silent.

  ’Tis Bat, I thought; and a Surge of the electric Fluid jolted my Spine.

  “Oh, Nat!” I cried, finding my Tongue. “I have committed Murder! I have butchered a Man!”

  Nathaniel laughed. “Oh, come off, Tris,” he said. He wandered lazily to where the Body lay, still oozing scarlet over the green Grass, and stirred it lightly with his Boot. “You can not regret the Death of this shit-Sack? You know full well what he was; I cannot credit that you believe the World is not a better Place without him. Murder, mine Arse! He hath beaten his Wife till she hath fair lost her Wi
ts—and her Child, too, that is mine, tho’ I have never owned it. He hath insulted you, and would have tried for sheer Spite to have snappt your Neck; and moreover he hath half destroyed the beautifull willow Wood, that is beloved to us both. He was a Churl, a Braggart and a Rogue, and he hath done more Harm by his own Design and that of his mortal Masters than you ever will. “

  “But he was not Raw Head,” I said.

  “No,” said Nathaniel, with a strange Smile. “He was not.”

  So the Willow Tree hath Fled that Place, and she hath Run back Home in Great Feare and Anguish; and Leonora’s Mother hath taken her in and kept her Secret and Hidden until her Time shall Come. And the Willow Tree was brought to Bedd of a lovely Girl, who hath Grey Eyes and Skin like a Sweet Peach, and because she is a Faerie Child, she hath huge soft Wings, that some Daye she might Fly.

  I let my Gaze drop to the small black cloaked Figure that squatted, quiet, at Nathaniel’s Side; and I wondered whether I had loved the winged Baby so much because she looked like him, and Katherine Montague because she looked like her.

  And the Willow Tree loves her Daughter dearly, despite the Shame she hath brought, and she talks to her Often about the Beautifull Youth whom Willow Loves right well, who should have been her Father, if Anyone was to have been, and would have but for Wicked Chance and Raw Head. But Leonora’s Mother can not abide it, and one Evening she gives the Babe away to an Old Gypsy Woman who hath come to the Door a-selling Cloathes Pins.

  Then the Willow Tree Despaired, and wept and wept until she wept herself into a Tree again, and was nothing but Wood; and they buried her in the Garden, the weeping Willow Tree.

  Katherine’s Eyes, large and grey, and slightly prominent, set in a smaller, finer Copy of Nathaniel’s Face.

  But Raw Head when he hath discovered about the Babe, he hath—

  “So,” Nathaniel interrupted. “Finally using your Sight in Conjunction with your Wits, Tris! What mean you to do? Kill me, as you killed the ill-met and unlucky Joseph Cox? I think not.”

  “You are Raw Head,” I said. “You are Raw Head.”

  “I am not; but I have been called thus.”

  “You have no Heart,” I said.

  “That is true. Now tell me, if you can, why ’tis so?”

  “You traded it, to Viviane,” I said, Tears springing to mine Eyes. “For a skin Drum.”

  “Yes,” said Nathaniel. “Yes.”

  My Knees gave Way. I fell upon the river Bank. “I made a Mistake,” I cried. “I thought that Evil could not lie beneath a beautifull Face. I would not let My Self believe that the Monster who had ruined Katherine Montague was really you.”

  “Ruined? But she is not!” Nathaniel exclaimed, in plain Astonishment. “She is respectably married, to you, who love her far more than she ever hath deserved. She hath her Name, her Honour and her Happiness intact. She hath not even Cause to suffer the Shame of raising a bastard Child, for I did her the great Favour of removing it. How, by all the heathen Gods, is Katherine Montague ruined?”

  “You stole her Honour!” I shouted.

  “If I did, then you restored it. Now you would cast it away again. I have done no Harm to anybody. You, by your own Admission, not to mention the Evidence, are a Murderer.”

  “But I should rather be a Murderer, Nat,” I stammered, thro’ the Tears that coursed, fast as grey Hares, over my Cheeks. “Than be a Monster of the same Kindred as you; a Monster who could force himself upon a Maiden of twelve Yeares, and think no Harm.”

  “You were not there, Tristan,” Nathaniel said, sharply. “And if you had been, who knows what had been the Outcome? You may not sit in Judgement upon me. Dost think that I know nothing of your wild Adventures in the City? I know what you did to Annie Moon, and to Lady B.——; I know it all. Do not dare to presume that you are any better than I am. Open up your Eyes. I do only as my Nature inclines me.”

  “Nature!” I cried. “What of free Will?”

  Nathaniel laughed again, and his Eyes glinted like Emeralds in the silvery dawn Light. “By my Free Will,” he said, “I act according to my Nature; and so doth the Ploughman in the Field and the Magpie in the Wood and the Leaf upon the hawthorn Tree; and so do you.”

  “I am a Man of Reason!” I shouted. “And I act accordingly!”

  “Do you?”

  That Question brought me up short. I had no Answer, none; excepting to shout again mine Assertion that I was in Fact a rational Man. But ’twould have been a Lie; in that Moment I verily perceived that I had no more Faith in mine own Reason, or in its Goodness, than I had in the Almighty. A chilling Shudder ran thro’ my Body. My Stomach clenched. I realised what was happening, and in sudden Desperation, dragged My Self away from the Remains of Joseph Cox and crawled across the Greensward. Whatever Insults I had inflicted upon the Person of Cox, I had greater Respect for the Dead than to vomit on him.

  When the Seizure was over, I sate up, shivering and cold. The dawn Aire slapped me like a Glove. I put mine Hand to my Forehead and found it hot and sweaty.

  “What is happening?” I cried.

  Nathaniel crouched down beside me. His Coat, I realised, must be the exact same Shade and Colour as the Grass, for where it fell among the Tussocks there appeared no Difference ’twixt the one and the other. Celandine and periwinkle Stems began to creep across the Fabric of the Cloth, as if it had been new turned Earth. He put his Arm affectionately around me, as he had done so many Times during our Friendship; and despite mine Horrour at the Reality of what he was, and everything that he had done, I did not attempt to shake him off. “Virtue,” he said. “Virtue and Vice, Good and Evil, Reason and Madness, Life and Death. We are taught, those of us who go, as damnable Society says we must, to Church, to School, to marriage Bed and waiting Grave, to think these things Opposites. What would you think, Tristan Hart, if I were to tell you that there is another Truth?”

  A Shaddowe swooped across the Grass.

  “What?”

  “Do you not recall my telling you about the Gnomes, who cannot perceive how easily they could climb up, up and out of the Chimney?”

  I caught his Arm. “What art telling me, Nat?”

  “Alas!” shrieked Bat’s shrill, small Voice. “My Queen-Mother approaches! She is come!”

  The White Owl droppt out of the many coloured Sky, and landed with a gentle feathery Thud upon the rain soaked Grass. It opened up its Beak, soundlessly, just once, as if it were catching its Breath, and then before mine Eyes began its Transformation: its domed Head, no longer owlish, but springing forth long, black, Tresses, rising quick toward Heaven on a white and slender Neck that was graceful and womanly; on perfect Shoulders no longer winged, but clad in a Gown of sheerest Tiffany, which even as I watched appeared to grow by teazing Turns first translucent, then opaque, as if it were a Veil thro’ which my poor Sight could but partly penetrate. But her Face—ah, that I could plainly see, for it was the Face that had tormented me ever since that Morning underneath the Thorns; an high cheeked, ivory skinned Vision more beautifull than Joy, than Wonder itself; yet more dreadful to my Sight than black Despair—for as it was the Countenance of Viviane, so too was it that of Annie Moon, of Lady B.——, of Polly and of Mrs Haywood and of Margaret Haynes; of my Mother, and Katherine Montague. And then it was Viviane’s once more, Viviane’s and none other’s, glorious in the dawning Rays of the uplifting Sunne. My Forehead was burning. My raked Shin roared.

  How is this possible? I thought. How is this real? I began to quake.

  Nathaniel instantly got up from my Side, and stepping forward apace, fell upon one Knee at the Faerie Queen’s Feet. Meadow Flowers tumbled from his Pockets. “My Lady Viviane,” he said.

  Viviane lowered her magnificent Gaze, and smiled. Her Expression was tender. But her Teeth still are sharp, I thought.

  “Ah,” she said. The pure Note of her Voice was brighter than the singing Wren. “My Goblin Knight. How doth your Hunting, my Lord? Hast brought down thy Hart?”

  “No, My Lady.”


  “So,” Viviane said.

  Do not give her your Name, Nathaniel had told me. I remained silent.

  Viviane steppt toward me. As she walked, a pure Sliver of Brilliance crept over the Horizon to the East, and the Sky at her Back became the Daye’s Cradle, radiating into fragile Bands of burnished Saffron and palest Blue. Yet for all this, the Grass beneath her Feet could have out-shone the brightest Sunne, for where she trod it sparkled and winked incandescent, like the white Heart of a blacksmith’s Fire.

  “Caligula,” Viviane said.

  “Viviane.” I bowed mine Head.

  “You owe me a Debt, Caligula. Art ready to pay it?”

  “I did not ravish you, Viviane,” I said, getting unsteadily to my Feet. She seemed to grow even taller as I rose, so that when I finally stood upright before her it was as if I faced a Goddess, or a Titaness of antient Greece, or, perhaps, an hawthorn Tree. “I know that I did not. My Guilt was wrongly placed. It was not mine, and it was not for thee.”

  “No,” said Viviane. She shook her Head, and her many Earrings chimed and sparkled with the Motion. “You did not. And that is well for you, for to have done so must surely have meant your Death. But you thought to force your Will on me, regardless of mine; you, a mere Man, and a mortal Man, besides. ’Tis not so unlike a Matter, in my Mind.”

  “I am not that Kind of Monster!” I shouted.

  “What Kind, then, are you?” Viviane said. “Wilt pay? For I require Reparation of you for the Insult you did me, and I shall have it. If you will not pay willingly, then for seven Generations my Curse shall fall upon every male Heir of your House. Misery shall be your Lot; your Wives shall die, your Children wither in the Womb. Answer.”

  I knew that it was Truth, as readily as I knew my right Hand. “What wouldst have of me?” I whispered. “I am not ready to die!”

  Viviane raised her dark Head and looked down upon me. My Knees began to shiver. “Thinkst,” she said, “that this Fool who lies at our Feet was ready? He was not; Death came, you came, regardless. Now he is released from all his Duties. I have no Interest in your Release, Caligula. I want your Service.”