The Kingdom of Bones

FIVE

About a mile from the playhouse stood an arena of a different kind, the town’s cattle auction with its adjoining slaughterhouse. Local farmers drove in their herds at one end, and local butchers carried off dressed carcasses from the other. In between stood a yard like a parade ground with a drain across the middle of it, an auction hall with covered pens and a bidding ring, and an abattoir with two killing floors and a cesspool. Few houses were to be found nearby, but a soap works and a tannery took water from the same river and returned their noxious wastes to it after. The river then flowed through the town, foaming at every bend and weir.

James Caspar had walked here alone. The rain had continued to fall, quickly clearing the streets of departing theatergoers and leaving him unobserved. Now it was driving harder, and it glistened on the cobbles as he looked out across the yard. He was under cover. Behind him, several dozen animals moved uneasily in the pens. They read their own mortality in the scent of the air, but did not understand its meaning.

A high brick wall surrounded the yard and buildings. The main gates were open and a single lamp hung from the center of the archway above them. By tilting his pocket watch, Caspar could just about read the time by its light. This was later than he’d intended.

Someone was coming through the gate. Two figures, running. Crouched against the rain, coats flapping; and there, because he’d missed it at first, a smaller figure in between them. The Silent Man was holding out one side of his unbuttoned greatcoat like a bat’s wing, sheltering whoever ran by his side. A few strides back from them came the Mute Woman, his wife, hurrying to keep up.

Caspar flipped down the cover on his pocket watch and drew himself up. It would not do to let his impatience show; but nor would it do to conceal his displeasure. A tricky call.

The Silent Man arrived in front of him. His wife came no farther than she needed to get herself out of the rain. The Silent Man lifted his coat aside to reveal his sheltered companion.

“Well,” said Caspar, “let’s see what we have here.” He came around for a better look in the poor light, and the Silent Man turned with him.

“A boy,” said Caspar.

The Silent Man watched him, dark eyes staring from his skull of a face. He was both apprehensive and submissive. The boy just stood there.

It was impossible to tell his exact age, but he was young. Malnutrition probably made him seem even younger than he really was. He was thin, he was awkward, and he was ragged. His ginger hair had been recently cut as if by a novice shearer, leaving bare patches and scabs. His mouth hung open. Only his eyes seemed alive, and they were wide with terror.

“Oh, well,” Caspar said. “Time’s limited, I suppose. What’s your name?”

Not a flicker in response.

“No name,” said Caspar. “What’s this?” He touched his white-gloved hand to the back of the boy’s head and then inspected the stain on his fingertips. The light here was too poor to be certain of the shade, but it might have been purple.

“Some kind of paint,” Caspar said. “What’s it for? Ringworm?”

Still nothing. Caspar took the boy by the shoulder and started to walk him farther into the building, where candles had been lit. “Someone cares a little for you, then,” he said. The Silent Man and his wife hung back, their part in the entertainment done. Caspar’s grip on the child was firm, not enough to cause him pain, but enough to hold him fast should he try to run.

Caspar said, “How would you like to feel clean for once in your life, boy? How would you like to be cleaner than you’ve ever been before? Because that’s something I can do for you. It’s an art that I’ve practiced. Here.”

Steering with his hand, he made the boy turn. The boy swayed and staggered, going wherever he was directed but without much grace or elegance. A ramp led to the upper floor of the building. It was long and shallow and scattered with dirty straw. Trapdoors linked the two levels of the slaughterhouse and chains hung straight down through them. As they ascended, the candlelight grew brighter.

Caspar’s grip on the boy tightened as they reached the top of the ramp and the open part of the upper floor came into view. Pennies jangled in the boy’s pocket. Caspar made a mental note to have the Silent Man retrieve them afterward.

“See, boy,” he said. “Here’s what I can do for you.”

The boy looked, and for the first time gave some sign of awareness and understanding. He started to whimper. The whimper turned into a scream.

“Now, now,” said Caspar. Down below, the Silent Man and his wife started to beat with sticks on the sides of the cattle pens so that the animals started to shift and low, drowning out any sounds that might come from above.

“Shouting won’t help,” said Caspar. “But I’m sure I can show you something that will.”