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15 February 2012
Tower of London
The bitter cold had descended on the city a week ago, and still the news meteorologists were holding out no hope of a thaw anytime soon. As the sun peeked over the walls of the White Tower, early morning shadows crept across the green, and the icy air that had settled in overnight seemed to crackle as it melted quickly in the heat from the sunlight. The ground was crackling, too, and the iridescent shine of the sunlight hitting the icy snow was blinding.
Like diamonds... A carpet of diamonds, thought Yeoman Warder Kevin Makepeace as he crunched across the green, his boots making precise footprints as he stepped carefully along. At times, he felt as if he could walk straight across, like thick ice across a frozen pond. As soon as his full weight was on one leg to step forward, though, his foot would sink down an inch, leaving a perfect boot print and setting him off balance just enough to make him nervous. He did not want to drop the meat.
Makepeace glanced down at the large bucket he was carrying. Today was a fresh meat day, beef as it so happened, and the lack of odor floating up from the bucket was a welcome respite from the occasionally odoriferous breakfast he brought to his charges. In fact, today’s breakfast resembled a partially-cooked stew, with carrots, marrows, and potatoes mixed in as well.
Another jerky foot planted, and Makepeace struggled to steady himself. An influx of visitors wouldn’t be expected today, to be sure, but fresh blood strewn across the Tower Green wasn’t exactly the best image they wanted to present to tourists snapping photos. As of now, with the exceptions of his own footprints behind him, the interior was clean and white, the snow crusted with ice and untouched by –
Makepeace stopped, a puzzled frown creasing his brow as he looked ahead of him. He could see the aviary... The ravens were awaking, of course, and eager for their breakfast... But something was wrong, and that something began with the spots of red on the snow in front of him. Makepeace’s puzzled frown faded into one of concern. No one else was awake, and even if they had been they would have had no reason to be out here in the yard with the birds. He, Makepeace, was the Ravenmaster, had been for nearly five years, and, except for a brief illness last year, he had cared for them exclusively throughout that time. No one else should have been in the yard.
His next thought was of the birds. Perhaps one of them had escaped, suffering an injury and leaving the drops of blood behind. Makepeace moved forward quickly, trying his best to keep the bucket from sloshing blood or fluids onto the ground as he approached the aviary. The ravens were alert to him, and to their breakfast, but they were all keeping to one side of the enclosure... and for good reason. Makepeace pulled up short as his eyes moved to the far-right portion of the aviary, and the bucket that had been so carefully held to avoid even the smallest spill immediately fell to the ground, dumping the contents across the icy snow.
The ravens watched him as he stared at the body that was occupying their home... All, but one, that is... The largest of the birds, blue-eyed Edgar, was pacing up and down beside the supine form, cackling and muttering as he did, pausing now and then to poke at her with his beak. Makepeace saw clearly now that it was a her, her body naked and badly damaged, with cuts and bruising all over the top and bottom portions of her body. He swallowed hard, trying to fight the bitter taste of bile that was coming dangerously close to the top of his throat. Portions was decidedly the right word, because the body was lying in two halves, though the way it was positioned and aligned it was difficult to tell from a distance. The ground was mostly dry, free of blood and snow because of the overhang that shielded the birds, and what little blood was on the body was iced onto her skin like a macabre freezer burn.
Edgar cackled again, hopping to the face and poking at it. Makepeace tried to speak, but his voice caught and he was forced to break the crystalline silence of the morning with a very noisy cough.
“Edgar! Leave her be!” He almost didn’t’ recognize his voice, it was so strangled and strained. Makepeace had a strong stomach... had to if you did his job... Fresh meat was nothing to handle, but organ meats, entrails... and sometimes the odd piece of fresh roadkill... And then the clean-up, when the blood had turned and the bugs descended... He swallowed hard again, fighting the wave of burning fluid, and looked at the young woman’s face. She was pale, her hair nearly black. Her lips were covered with smeared red lipstick, her eyebrows finely shaped and arched above dead brown eyes. Edgar stepped in, poking at her face again, and Makepeace’s gaze followed him to the spot where Edgar’s beak had just been. Abruptly the battle to keep from vomiting was lost, and Makepeace whirled quickly, trying to get clear of the aviary before he spewed his empty guts out. Thankful that he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, Makepeace stumbled away from the aviary, still retching as he ran to call 999, struggling to banish the vomit-inducing sight from his mind, but all he could think of was the image of her face, and the nursery rhyme...
When down came a blackbird, and pecked off her nose.
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