The Young Bone Grubber

Hugo Bonaparte peeked around the upright granite slab and spied two men intent on unearthing the coffin in the fresh grave. The men’s nefarious deed was lit by a single, brightly lit lantern. One brandished a spade, the other a shovel.

They were so mottled in the dirt-colored shades of their profession, they looked to him like haystack shaped monsters. But they were just men, under all the grave dirt, mud, and stench of rot. And he was jealous. He wanted that body. 

A faint voice breezed through the gnarled oaks towards them. Someone singing. ‘Ugh.’ A very drunk man singing horribly off key.  

The dark silhouette of a slender young woman separated from the inky shadows of the gnarled oaks. She wore a top hat and lifted her skirt as she daintily and silently padded over the mucky ground. It was her job as lookout and distraction to make sure the men were not disturbed.

***

He’d started following them the month before when he had discovered a body in a filthy alley downtown. He’d been so elated, so many bones! Ratty the Rag and Bone Man would be so pleased; he’d have a room for a month at least! 

Then the girl in the black top hat had shown up. She was taller than Hugo, and looked about 14, a couple years older than he was. She was quite attractive in a waifish, delicate looking way, with large, black-irised eyes and creamy porcelain skin that bore quite a contrast to her ruby red clothing. Her skirt and cloak hems were soiled nearly black, halfway up to her knees. Her red shantung bodice was too small and laced only two thirds up. The shape of her ebony eyes and straightness of her black hair indicated she was most likely half Chinese and half English, just as he was.  That explained the whore’s outfit. Her pale ankles flashed seductively, and her chin turned haughtily upwards as she approached Hugo. 

“It’s mine. I found it.” Hugo stepped between the body and the girl.

A stray shard of light from the street glinted off the blade she clutched in the hand that had been empty just a spilt second before. “It’s mine now.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” He lowered his hand as if pointing to the cobbles. He raised it again and held his own thin stiletto. 

“You should be.” She stepped to him, and he caught the light scent of lemon verbena and roses. He held his ground. A stalemate.

Hugo said, “…’if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God’s servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer.’”

The young whore replied, “…Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.’”

She was a worthy adversary.

A voice thundered out of the dark behind Hugo, “ROAR!” 

Hugo jumped and the girl laughed along with the raucous, inebriated laughter of two men. One remained at his back while the other came into the light to peer at the body. He grinned, revealing four rotted brown teeth between mottled lips surrounded by a grizzled, stringy grey beard. A liver-colored tongue flicked between the tombstone teeth like a worm playing hide and seek with a robin.

“Nice work Amelia,” Worm Mouth said to the girl. “An put yer wee poker back in yer middy, thar’s a copper jus at the corner.”

Hugo’s eyes watered from the stench that wafted downwind from the man behind him. His putrid breath puffed against Hugo’s collar as he spoke, “C’mon Juley, speakin a coppers, let’s get this un outta ere.” 

He shoved Hugo aside who would have fallen had the brick wall not been there.

Amelia stared Hugo fiercely in the eyes. She ran the blade in front of her white throat while pointing two fingers at Hugo like an evil eye hex. Then she tucked the sgian dubh into her vest. She spun dramatically (the word ‘exquisite’ popped surprisingly into Hugo’s head) and sashayed to the lit end of the alley. Her words drifted back over her shoulder as she whisked out of sight. 

”…Why hello officer! My yer lookin dashin in that uniform…all those shiny buttons. Is that yer nightstick officer, or you just happy to see me?”

Hugo rolled his eyes and watched as the two derelicts dragged the body out the other end of the alley. He slid his stiletto back into his sleeve…and followed the men quickly and silently, like a tomcat stalking its feathered prey. He ducked into the doorway to the right of the alley and peeked an eyeball around the corner as the men swung the body into a two-wheeled wooden cart. They buried it under burlap sacks. He heard the clank of iron as tools were displaced when The Reeker hefted the two handles and tromped away alongside Worm Mouth. Hugo flitted back as Amelia flounced by and followed the cart down the damp, stinking street.

Hugo followed the threesome for over an hour, from the malodorous decrepit streets of the east side to a tree lined one littered with magnolia petals under well-kept streetlamps. The grand homes were crowded together like tall, blocky monoliths, many had warm yellow light flickering in the upper windows.

The threesome passed a stately red brick home with pale stone stairs that glowed like moonrocks, Corinthian pillars flanked the tall oak door like sentinels made of ice. Past the stone guards glaring regally down at those who pass on the sidewalk, was a smaller, nondescript stairway leading downwards out of sight. If not for the black iron railings, you’d not notice it was there. 

Hugo was reminded of the stairs he descended most nights that led into the basement hovel that Ratty nested in. The Rag and Bone Man let Hugo sleep on a straw pallet in a damp corner but only if he brought him some decent goods. Bones were the best, the fencers paid decent coin for them, as they were quite useful. Older corpses and loose bones could be used for cutlery handles, bone china, needles, flutes, awls, scrapers, and more. Ratty knew a great many buyers.

Hugo had heard of doctors paying good coin for fresh bodies.

The two body snatchers disappeared down the stairs, light shone weakly up to the sidewalk as the double doors at the bottom opened. Amelia waited on the steps, guarding the cart. The staircase darkened again after five seconds or so. After a half hour the trio left. 

Hugo walked to the front of the house and found the sign between the columns over the front door. It was too dark to read but he recognized the bronze gleam of the raised brass lettering that esteemed doctors favored. 

Then he followed the men to their shack. Amelia had gone her own way into town. Hugo waited two hours outside the shack, he heard them laughing and getting drunk.  When the shack went silent, Hugo stole the shovel from their cart. He would need it to find his bones- his ticket out of the dregs of poverty.

There was no point in heading back to the slums to Ratty’s place. He had nothing to give him. He headed to the cemetery instead. There was an old mausoleum there that he often slept in. It was cold and drafty, but he’d thrown a bed of straw down and had brought in a half dozen candles. There were actually less rats in there than in Ratty’s hovel.

On his way through the boneyard, he passed a fresh grave- so freshly dug in fact, the walls of it looked like moist chocolate cake. His stomach rumbled until he noticed the fat glistening worms displacing tiny clods of dirt. He thought of ropey red strings of muscle, the texture of raw steak, the gesticulation of maggots. He gagged and walked on.

Weak sunlight lit the marble arch of the mausoleum entrance. He opened his eyes and heard the soft pattering of drizzle on dry leaves.

And the sound of voices. The funeral procession was gathering. Hugo crept through the tallest grass and kept to the shadows behind the tombstones. It was a large gathering. Two dozen women ranging in age from bent and white-haired to schoolgirls in Mary janes and pigtails. Many wept into frilly pale hankies. A dozen or more men were stony faced and solid pillars for the female folk. The pallbearers carried the coffin without any struggle, it was only four feet long. ‘A school-aged child, female.’

Hugo’s conscience faltered as he added, ‘a valuable bag of bones.’

He headed towards the carriages to see if any were unattended. Often, the drivers gathered and smoked and gossiped. And it was an unspoken rule of etiquette that funeral attendees bring something to the wake that followed. Food.

‘There. The one on the end.’

The shiny ebony carriage was out of view from the drivers. The door facing away from the road creaked softly as Hugo opened it, he froze and peeked between the driver’s seat and the carriage. The matching black steeds nickered and nodded their noble heads. But the drivers remained oblivious to his presence.

The inside of the carriage was luxuriously appointed with tufted green velvet and the rich scent of sweet cherry infused pipe tobacco. Hugo would have loved to curl up in the carriage and make it his home. Alas, he had to be quick and vamoose. 

‘Ah! In luck!’ He pulled a wicker basket from underneath a seat. He took the thick, soft cloak from the other seat and wrapped it around him. He tucked the basket under his arm and snuck off.

Down by the river, in the shelter of thick canopied trees, he opened the basket. Brioche buns, pumpernickel, and caraway rolls. Soft, pungent goat cheese and another aged dry one that made the buds in the back of his mouth pucker. A great score. He ate until he was stuffed then put the rest in his pockets. In the market square on his way home he traded the basket for a large cup of fresh milk. 

Hugo made his way to Ratty’s place. He knocked on the rickety door and waited. And waited. 

He knew Ratty was in, he didn’t get up until the early afternoon when he ‘opened shop’, collecting stuff from the riffraff that relied on him to fence it. Hugo was not his only protégé, the old Rag and Bone Man had many. 

Hugo knocked again. They were not permitted to enter without being invited in. 

The door opened four inches. Hugo looked down into a dirty little face that blinked up at him. He held up two brioche and a wedge of cheese.

“Oh, hey Hugo.  Wow! Is that brie? C’mon in.”

Ratty the Rag and Bone Man was sitting up on his pallet scratching his pits and smacking his lips as if trying to figure out what he’d imbibed the night before. His eyes focused on the cheese and bread, then on Hugo, and he smiled. For such a pale, mean, hook nosed, lumpy old man, he had a pleasant smile that softened the devilish nature of his being.

Hugo returned the smile and handed over the rolls and cheese. He pulled the remaining hard cheese and breads from his various pockets and placed them on the fruit crate that passed for a table in the fetid little room.

Gabby stood next to Hugo and salivated.

Ratty said, “Ah, c’mere Gabs, dig in.” He passed the child a brioche and gestured at the cheese.

A knock sounded at the door. Hugo opened it. Raphe and Noah stood there looking hungry. Of course they’d seen Hugo enter Ratty’s place with bulging pockets.

The children ate quickly. Ten minutes later they were out the door, eager to show they could earn their way as well as Hugo, their ‘big brother.’

Ratty said, “So. What’s up?” He always knew when Hugo had news, he’d known the boy since he was Gabby’s tender age.

“Fresh body. Young girl---”

“Grave robbin?! Well that’s a mighty fine occupation but what do you kn---”

“I’ve been studying. I know where to take the bags of bones.”

“Hugo. You’re valuable to me. I just---”

“Ratty! I can do this. We can get a real room, rent for at least three months! Somewhere dry and warm. In that time, I’ll find another! I don’t need your permission you know. I could leave you…”

“Aw boy. You know that half breeds don’t get nuffin in this world.”

Hugo did know this. 

He thought of Amelia. Maybe fourteen. Beautiful and smart and brave. But a half breed. A whore with no hope of rising above that station.

Ratty at last said, “I am old. Got nuffin to loose I guess. Go do this then. Do it for yer brothers.”

Hugo spent his day watching the kidlets hone their craft in the marketplace and the alleys like a guardian angel. They were him, five to six years earlier. He was going to provide them with a big feather mattress in a warm cozy room with a chamber pot and bathtub.

It started with the fresh young body in the fresh, wormy grave.

After dark, he went to the shack, not all that unlike Ratty’s, where Worm Mouth and The Reeker dwelled. Amelia, he’d discovered, lived in a brothel in the heart of town. After eleven, she joined up with the men most nights, serving as their lookout and distraction most effectively. 

***

In the cemetery, Hugo tore open the fresh grave and dug.

After forty minutes, he thunked against the coffin. 

Hugo brushed the loose dirt away and opened the coffin lid.

The girl appeared to be sleeping. Her fine white skin glowed bluely in the moonlight. Her lips were pouty and full. Hugo saw the lips smile, the ends turning up seductively. 

The lips opened and said, “Oh Hugo…take me away from this grave.”

He stared at the face that looked like blue veined marble and again the lips moved. “Wouldn’t you like to kiss me? Oh Hugo. I was meant to be yours.”

Hugo threw a burlap sack over the talking corpse.

He hauled the body up out of the grave. At the edge of the grave, he rested.

“Hey. See you got my bag o bones out from that devil’s hole. I thankee for that.” 

The voice was that of Worm Mouth.

Hugo’s shoulders slumped over his prize. His visions of grandeur wisped out of his head. As Worm Mouth took hold of the bag Hugo asked, “Where’s Amelia?”

The burly, grizzled man looked at Hugo. Seconds passed then he laughed.  A hard object connected with the back of Hugo’s head. It made a ringing gong sound. A shovel. As Hugo sank under the riptide of unconsciousness, Amelia appeared before him…but she floated, her pointed toes hovered three feet above the earth. She was see-through, ineffectual, and glowing like a saint. He was sad. From a distance, he had grown to respect and admire her.

Even in death.

When Hugo awoke daylight streamed through the yellow curtained window.  He was in a comfortable bed of feathers, his first. He turned over onto his back and heard the rustle of taffeta and silks. 

Hugo felt his body was wrapped in bandages, as if he’d been horribly injured, but cared for. His head ached, the lump in the back was throbbing. He touched it gently and his vision darkened and blurred for a minute.

He looked around the softly lit room. It was lovely and warm with an armoire and matching nightstand. There was a rug on the floor in shades of red and gold and emerald green…Persian. ‘I’m dreaming.’ He smelled a lemony, flowery scent…and was as perplexed as he was amused, to find it was coming off his own skin.

There was a tub in the room. And a chamber pot. He’d never been in a room with a tub in it. That was luxury.

Hugo stood up and took a step towards the armoire. His skirts tripped him up and he face planted on the rug. ‘What the hell?!’

Hugo looked down at his legs. He was wearing a red velvet skirt, tied up a bit to show his ankles. The ruby shantung bodice was laced all the way up.   He carefully stood and opened the armoire door. A single garment hung – a deep red wool cloak with a hood. On the shelf over it was a black beaver skin top hat.

He was now the whore.