Psychopomp Magazine Fall 2015 | Page 44

44 | Psychopomp Magazine

birth of a new bird."

The servant nods. "Birth," I repeat, pointedly, and Eo has the decency to look away.

The hours until dawn crawl slowly along. Luckily, we find that not only does His Majesty want to be present for the birth of a new bird, he does not want others present except for his personal physician, who assists with the "birding." Once the madman has seen that his music box works, he releases us back to our lives as if nothing has happened.

Six years pass. The gardens now extend right up to the edge of the silent woods. Birds other than nightingales have been taken up by the Emperor, for he finds that with enough bending, most birds will fit inside the beautiful prison. Out here, my assistants' assistants have gained assistants to oversee the ever-growing army of bellers; for now the Emperor likes his trees musical, too. Sunup, sundown, tying and tying, an army of men and women removed from useful work to make up for the silence of the absent birds. Droves of workers retire blind and bent-backed, but we always have a fresh supply, for the Emperor pays well and the villages around stay poor.

Ani has risen through the ranks to become my right-hand assistant. Her laziness and incompetence repulse me, but she lies to keep me happy. I welcome her pleasant lies, for the bird's bent neck returns to me each night in my sleep.

Every few months, the Emperor calls me into the castle to repair the music box. Ons draws me a diagram. I claim my hands shake too much, so Ons defiantly takes a knife from the kitchen and cuts off the fingers on his right hand. Now he no longer works for my Cabinet, but I still send his salary each month. Ani complains about this expense, but for now, I have the authority to override her. Her time draws near, though, for I see her chatting familiarly with the Clerk of the Household.

I return one last time to ask the Emperor a question. "Your excellency," I begin, dipping the musical mechanism into water to clean off the blood and bits of organ. He looks at me, his head tilted like the bird's. "Why did you start the Cabinet of Bells?"

He sips wine casually as he watches me, as if he were watching the repair of a mundane household item. I suppose his birds are mundane, now. He smiles as if taken