I follow the stench to the dead man.
In this neighborhood, such a feat requires great concentration, for these mean environs do reek malodorously even when there is not a decaying corpse in the vicinity.
I find him in the alley. Crab, Lord love him, did inflict a most thorough wound upon the villain’s throat. But clearly the punishment did not cease there. The condition of his visage indicates that the rats did find him in the night and made a feast of his features. His lips have been torn clear off his face. His skin has been pocked and blistered by the rodents’ teeth. His nose is shredded to the bone, and his eye sockets are empty but for a viscous, bloody ooze.
Yet I feel no pang of pity. In truth, my initial impulse
is to kick him squarely in the gut and spit upon his fouled remains. Instead, I do what is right and make the sign of the cross o’er him, asking God’s forgiveness for his considerable sins and offering a prayer to commend his soul to the perpetual light of heaven (though in my heart, I believe his rightful place is beside Beelzebub in hell).
Having done that, I take hold of him by the armpits, hoist him halfway up, and drag him to the place where Tybalt did not die.
The mortician is too tall, too thin, too pale, and just obtuse enough for my purposes.
His arrival finds me crying, first over Mercutio then crawling on mine hands and knees to weep before the corpse of the faceless imposter. The mortician watches me awhile as I scuttle betwixt the dead.
At last he clears his throat. “Calm thyself, lady,” he says in a voice like stone. “So that I may beg information from thee. Know you the names of these dead?”
I look up at him and sob e’en more robustly.
He releases a windy sigh. “This display of oscillating grief much bewilders me. I was made to understand that I would here find two lads of great enmity, each hailing from one of the feuding houses. Tell me, lady, for whom dost thou weep?”
“For both,” I wail. “For all.”
His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Pray, wouldst thou indicate which of these fallen foes is your brethren?”
“Which one?” I rise from my knees, still sobbing, my fists clenched, my eyes wild. “Which one, you ask? Zounds, sir, I reply to thee that one as well as the other belongs to me, and as well belongs to thee.”
His anger flares. “You addlepated girl! ’Tis not possible!”
“Is it not?” I shake my head despairingly. “O, you sorry soul! The doctrine of our blessed church doth teach us well that we are all God’s children. Ergo, I do in my most devoted heart believe that both these boys are now in death as ever they were in life my own dear kith and kin.”
The undertaker glares at me, biting down hard on his crooked teeth. “Then tell me this: Of these two here dead, which one is Tybalt, claimed in life by the house of Capulet?”
I point to the body I so recently dragged hither. “He there was Tybalt once.”
The undertaker looks to the pilfered corpse. “I was told ’twas a sword that killed him. What has happened to wreak such havoc upon his countenance?”
I bite my lip, summoning some plausible falsehood. ’Tis then I notice a sleek, black raven’s feather (which I recognize as having once adorned Tybalt’s favorite cap) lying upon the dirt beside the anonymous replacement.
“Birds,” I answer.
I snatch the feather from the ground and wave it dramatically. “A swarm of them, aye, black ones, and large, swooping down from the sun-bright sky, with talons bared
and bills as sharp as the point of Satan’s tail. ’Twas swift and sickening to see, sir. They devoured my cousin’s face, then as quickly ascended again to the sky like a dark and writhing cloud of purest evil, squawking and cawing, batting their broad wings.”
Now I fall toward the mortician. He flinches as he catches me, and I cling to him. The flinch, I expect, is due to the stink of the corpse that lingers upon me. “Good sir, I implore thee, do not allow Tybalt’s relations to see him as I have! He was a vainglorious rascal in life, exceedingly proud of his rugged beauty and elegant form. ’Twas one of the things we loved best about him. On my oath, sir, this boy would prefer to suffer evermore in purgatory than be seen in such an unsightly state.”
The undertaker considers this, kneeling beside the corpse to examine the mutilated face. “I cannot repair such as this,” he mutters.
“Nay, but you can conceal it, can you not? A simple slip of silk, laid softly upon his ruined face—oh, but be sure that the fabric does complement his shroud, for Tybalt was much concerned with fashion.”
The mortician nods. “Aye, ’twill be the kind thing, to cover this mess.” He rises, brushing the dust from his knees. “With your leave, lady, I shall bear now this boy to my mortuary, to prepare him for his interment. My apprentice will be along by and by with a box in which to collect the other and transport him to the cemetery, as his family has requested no pomp or pageantry.”
A shiver passes o’er me. “Say you that Mercutio will merely be stuffed in an ugly coffin and tossed into a hole in the ground?”
“‘Tis not fancy,” the man allows with an icy expression that is a perverse imitation of a smile, “but ’tis usually effective.”
“No!” I stamp my foot. “Call the clergyman immediately so that he may administer the rites. And bring hither your finest casket—satin—lined and trimmed with gilt. I shall myself accept the cost! And see that not one single clot of earth be dropped upon Mercutio until all of the customary prayers have been offered!”
After a moment, he consents with a curt nod of his long head. “Done.” With that, the undertaker hoists the nameless corpse from the ground and departs.
When he is gone, I lean down and brush a lock of hair from Mercutio’s forehead. “Please endeavor to behave in heaven,” I whisper, as a tear escapes my eye. “Flirt not with God’s angels! And smile down whene’er you can upon Benvolio, for he shall miss you deeply.” I lean closer and place a kiss upon his cheek. “As will I.”
Tybalt’s raven feather becomes heavy in my hand. At home I will keep it protected within the pages of my Bible. For now, I tuck it into the waistband of my skirt, then rise and hurry away to the Healer’s cottage.