Fox’s Tongue and Kirin’s Bone

Aaron’s Death seemed more focused on the practicalities than the particulars of the plan. Practicalities like looting the body. Aaron wouldn’t have done it, at least not with witnesses…

“Take whatever is useful,” his Death said. “It’s yours now.”

…But who was he to refuse an invitation?

He helped the look-a-like’s purse free from its belt, with a bit of assistance from his knife. It took him two tries to cut through the leather cord. One more than usual. To be fair, this wasn’t a usual sort of night. He’d have taken a bit more than just the purse, if it were up to him: those pants, for instance, and maybe the shirt. But the other boy’s Death had eyes like a tail-trod wolf, so he kept his hands to himself. The purse was the important thing.

“Do you want his pants?” his Death asked.

Aaron gave a guilty start. A test? The way the other Death was watching him, he was sure it was some kind of test, but there was nothing in his own Death’s eyes except the simple question.

Might as well be honest.

“Yes, sir.”

“Steal his life, steal his pants, who am I to protest,” the other Death muttered, running fierce fingers through his hair.

“Being dressed as the boy will help him play the part,” Aaron’s Death stated.

“I have grasped the theory, thank you. Continue your scavenging; it’s always a pleasure to watch a master at work.”

Aaron ignored the other Death’s snappish tone and took the man at his word. He tugged on the new pants with little preamble. They didn’t look much different, but they felt smooth and solid against his skin. New. The patches weren’t there to cover holes; they were there to look like they did. To make someone who didn’t belong look like he did, to a glancing eye. Aaron had little doubt that this boy had been stepping foot in deeper places than he’d any right to.

“Who was he?” Aaron asked.

“He was Aaron,” his Death said.

To which Aaron dryly replied: “With this many Aarons in the city, it’s no wonder they had trouble stabbing the right one,” not stopping to consider his audience. Neither man looked amused.

“I will explain this,” his Death said, “and you must listen: Aaron is dead. Do you understand me, Markus?”

Something tingled along his scalp. Something more than the night air, and more than being looked at by two Deaths. “I’m not Markus.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” the other Death turned a gold ring over on his finger, again and again and again, in endless circles. “You are Markus Yin Sung, third born of Duke Sung of Three Havens. A bastard, but acknowledged.”

“Oh.” Aaron stared down at the boy, who was his age, and wore his face. “Someone important, then.”

“Yes. You are,” the other Death ground the words between his teeth. Still his gold ring spun.

“Well. What was I doing out in the middle of the night, dressed like a rat, so far from my dukeling bed?”

Markus’ Death did not answer immediately. He simply looked at Aaron long, hard, and with something of a broken heart. “I cannot work with this ingrate. Continue without me; you will fail, but everything has already failed, so my disappointment could not possibly be more complete. Good night.”

With a certain martyred sniff, the man simply disappeared. Aaron was left with only one Death to his name and silence on the street. He looked down at the body. The boy. Markus. Aaron had only heard of Three Havens in passing; one of the fortress cities on their Fair southern border. And Sung—that was an old name, that. A blood noble’s name.

The silence stretched on. He broke it the best way he knew how.

“Can I have his shirt, too?”

“The blood would raise too many questions,” his Death answered, with a quiet sensibility after Aaron’s own heart.

“It hasn’t set yet; I could wash it out. It’s a good shirt.”

Was that a smile that twitched, there at the corner of the figure’s mouth? “Leave it. You’ve somewhere to be.”

“Where?”

“The castle, Markus. It’s time you found new employment.”

“What is the plan?” Aaron asked. “You don’t really expect me to take some noble’s place, and no one the wiser?”

He had a bad feeling that if the other Death had still been around, they’d be in agreement on this subject.

His own Death knelt and gently touched Markus’ forehead. “How much do you know of us?”

Aaron shifted. He stuck his hands into his new pockets, playing with a dead boy’s pocket lint. “There’re stories. Just the old kingdom tales. Death comes when a person dies and leads them to their next life. Sometimes the Good Neighbors try to catch your sort to see what dying’s all about. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of there being more than one of you, but I guess that’s how it is. Um. And people on their deathbeds can see you?”

“Correct, up until the last.”

“So why can I?”

“You cannot.” His Death met his eyes. Gray on gray, the way storm clouds clashed to form lightning. “You cannot see us and you cannot hear us. We are not here. Do I make myself clear?”

If his Death had been a friend, Aaron might have made a joke of that. What’d you say?

Or, Is someone talking? He swallowed the words back. His Death was certainly being accommodating, but Aaron wouldn’t stretch things so far as to call him a friend. “Perfectly. I see any more of you, I don’t let on about it. But why?”

“It is an old story, and not relevant to your survival in the near future. For now, you must go to the castle, and you must find employment there. It is where our colleagues expect for Markus to be.”

“And if I don’t?”

There was something hard in his Death’s eyes. The man stood. He only had an inch or two on Aaron, but there was a weight to his presence that made height irrelevant. “You knew a man once. I believe there was a phrase he was fond of.”

The words came easily to mind, in a voice he’d thought he’d put behind him. Try that. See how it goes for you.

Aaron swallowed thickly. “Right, then. Castle it is. What job am I aiming for?”

“I have no idea.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you, sir. I wasn’t—wasn’t planning to defy you. It was just a question. If you’ll tell me—”

“I have no idea,” his Death said, “because I am Aaron’s Death, not Markus’. I know that Markus gains employment at the castle and other such broad strokes. Were Aaron’s life to intersect with Markus’, I could detail for you every moment of their encounter. But this,” he gestured to the boy on the ground, “is as close as you two ever came to meeting on this night. Aaron is dead. In spring, he is to be born into his new name. I have no direct knowledge of the time between now and then. And until then, it is still possible to reverse our arrangement. If you cannot be a suitable replacement then we will put Markus back where he belongs. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir. With all due respect, sir,” how am I supposed to pull this off, “how will I know what to do?”

His Death let out a breath. Which struck Aaron as a bit odd, given that he hadn’t noticed the man breathing. “Say what he will, your new custodian is… fussy, by our standards. He has not wandered far from his wards in centuries, and I doubt he will start now. I suspect you will hear from him shortly.”

Aaron risked one more question. “Why are you helping me? Why not just do what the other Death wanted?”

That wasa smile and no mistaking, no matter how quickly it vanished. “I suppose I am fussy, too. You did not die; I would like to see what you make of the opportunity. To be surprised is a rare occurrence in our profession. Now. You’d best be going, before the guards take you for a doppelgänger.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to the boy, one last time. A boy with his face, and a fresh knife in his back. Doppels were any beast that wanted to try being human. They stole a man’s face, took over their life. Was that what he was, now? A human doppel?

Still.

Aaron hadn’t died. If he had to make it to spring to keep that gift, then he’d make it to spring.

“Go to the castle,” his Death said. “I will see you soon.”

Reassuring words, those.