42 | Psychopomp Magazine
as I pull piece after piece away, accidentally removing feathers and chunks of flesh. Some fool has put needles on the back of the emeralds we chose for his eyes and stabbed them into the bird's head. It lived its last hours in immense pain.
I hear a keening wail and look at my friend, who covers his pale face with his hands. Metal pieces lie all over the floor. In my blood-covered hands, I hold a half-metal, half-flesh dead bird. Our beautiful filigree struts have been wrapped around its fragile little legs. How it must have struggled to stand!
The Emperor raises his childlike face to me without alarm. "You have made me the most exquisite cage for my companion, but can you fix his voice?"
My mind races. The music box? Then I feel the tiny bumps along its underside and realize that they have stitched the box inside the bird.
I shove the bird at the Emperor and run outside, falling to my knees to vomit in the same place Ons once fell. I heave, grateful to my body for expressing my horror. When I stop, a servant from the palace materializes and hands me a thin towel. I wipe my face and hand it back. He looks at me curiously. When I do not move, he says, "The Emporer awaits your advice."
I begin to retch again.
After a few minutes, Eo emerges, his face tight and drawn. "Please come back. I fear what he will do if we do not help him." His voice shakes. I drag myself up to a standing position and follow him in.
"I am not so good with flesh," I say. "Might we have the cook open the bird and retrieve the music box?" My friend looks at me gratefully and the Emperor agrees. Servants remove the corpse. I close my eyes and think wistfully of the harmless bells I once hated.
Eo steadies himself. "How did you keep the bird alive so long?"
The Emperor looks at us, his face curious. His calm marks his madness. Shrugging, he says, "They die quickly. Only a matter of hours, really."
Eo and I lock eyes. After a moment, he asks, "How many birds has your excellency . . . used?" He tries to say it casually, but he clenches his fists so tightly that his nails cut