James Enge: The Red Worm's Way

"Your question?"

" How did you do it? I sat through the entire funeral, staring at Thelyphron's nose on his face and fingering it in my pocket. No one else realized, I think. Of course, they knew they hadn't mutilated him. If I hadn't bitten the nose off personally I would have been sure Thelyphron's corpse was intact. How did you do it?"

"Wax."

"Wax?"

"Candle wax. I happened to notice the wax of the candles was exactly the same color as Thelyphron's skin. I had a good deal of it from all the candles I had burned. So I modelled patches for Thelyphron's face out of the melted candle wax."

"It is a good thing we buried him before the sun got warm, then. Still, the likeness was superb, and you couldn't have had much time. You really are a gifted maker of things, Morlock."

"Thanks."

"You do not like me much, do you?"

"Not today. Yesterday you were all right, I guess."

"Well, I am still most grateful. I could do a good deal for you, besides just giving you that coin."

Morlock shrugged his crooked shoulders.

"Of course, the Crow King will give you a wish," she said earnestly. "But only one, and he'll do his best to cheat you. I would never cheat you, Morlock."

"You want me to watch your corpse after your death, is that it?"

She laughed harshly. "I am afraid it wouldn't do much good." She pulled her nose off and showed it to Morlock. "When I was a teenager, my best friend died. I couldn't bear the thought of her being mutilated, so I agreed to sit the vigil. They got more of me than my nose. . . But I've shocked you," the noseless woman said gently.

Morlock shrugged impatiently. "I see that you are good at seeming. It goes with the life you lead. As for me, I am what I am."

"Goodbye, then, Morlock."

Morlock turned away and left the house. He took the shortest road out of the town. When he had come to open country, he took the coin out of his pocket.

The crow-like bird with the crown on its head still adorned the golden coin. Its eye looked at Morlock expectantly.

Glancing around, he saw that the fields about him were black with crows. Hundreds of crows, thousands.

Morlock took the coin in both hands and said a word, known to those-who-know. He cracked the coin like an egg and out of it flew a full-sized (in fact, rather large) black crow.

The golden shell faded until it resembled the fingernails of a dead man. Morlock dropped it and ground it into the dust.

Looking up he saw the great black bird he had released standing in the field in front of him. It wore no crown, but there was no mistaking its regal quality; the other crows stood around their king in ragged concentric circles: murder upon murder of crows in attendance on their newly released king.

Morlock met the king's black inquisitive eye and said, "Still here? I'd think you would want to stretch your wings."

The Crow King cawed a question.

"No, I don't want anything," Morlock said. "A crow did me a favor once; now he's dead. This is my repayment."

The Crow King cawed again, more imperiously.

"That's up to you," said Morlock dismissively.

The great crow looked at him for a few moments, then hopped up into the air and flew off. The air was full of crow-wings for a while, and then they were all gone, the murders flying in different directions, dark clouds disappearing in distant skies.

Morlock walked off into the empty lands. He thought he was alone, but many eyes — Striga-green and crow-black — watched him as he went his way.