## Chapter 73: Who Killed the Robin?
The London suburbs were shrouded in night, a silvery moon hanging high in the sky. Its light, veiled by a thin layer of clouds, pierced through the dense forest canopy, casting a pale glow upon the earth.
A lonely church stood in the heart of the woods, its Gothic spires reaching up like sharp swords, seemingly attempting to pierce the moon’s chest.
Midnight struck, deepening the night, the time when all creatures dreamt.
But in the cemetery not far from the church, a dark figure scurried about.
He held a shovel in one hand, a burlap sack slung over his shoulder.
With each swing of the shovel, sweat poured down his face.
He worked, muttering to himself, a twisted smile playing on his lips.
“Those two fools, Ackison and Ackerman, they actually believed me when I said I was going home to visit family.
Without them to split the profits, this untouched cemetery is all mine. The risk of murder is too high, much better to stick to the steady income of grave digging.
A fresh corpse nets me ten pounds, even a slightly decayed one can fetch half price.”
The gravedigger straightened, clutching his aching back. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then let out a long sigh.
He pulled a pipe from his pocket, lit it, took a deep drag, slowly exhaled a smoke ring, and began to dream of his future.
“If I can make a few hundred pounds here, I can take a ship to North America, buy a farm, get a few slaves to work it, and finally live a life of comfort.”
The wind whistled through the trees, a chill gust that made the gravedigger shiver.
He looked down at the half-dug grave, feeling a twinge of unease. He unscrewed the flask of white wine hanging from his belt and poured a bit onto the ground.
“Alright, alright, I know I’m wronging you. But what else can I do? If there were other ways to make a quick buck, why would I resort to murder and stealing bodies?”
As he spoke, a clear, melodious tune from a music box rang out from the forest.
Accompanied by the howling wind, it sounded chilling, eerie in the silence.
The gravedigger’s eyes widened in terror, his cloudy pupils flickering like the moon in the night.
He saw countless ravens perched on the treetops, their crimson eyes fixed on the half-decayed corpse he had stuffed in the sack.
Scarlet saliva dripped from their beaks, drop by drop.
The saliva landed on the soft soil, but did not seep in.
Instead, it coalesced into a slowly flowing stream.
From the forest floor, it flowed towards the gravedigger’s feet.
A chilling children’s rhyme echoed, seemingly far away, yet so close.
A raspy voice sang along to the melody.
“Who killed the robin?
I, said the sparrow,
With my bow and arrow,
I killed the robin.
Who saw her die?
I, said the fly,
With my little eye,
I saw her die.
Who took her blood?
I, said the fish,
With my little dish,
I took her blood.
Who made her shroud?
I, said the beetle,
With my little needle,
I’ll come and make her shroud.
Who dug her grave?
I, said the owl,
With my little trowel,
I’ll come and dig her grave.
Who’ll be the priest?
I, said the raven,
With my little book,
I’ll come and be the priest.
Who’ll be the deacon?
I, said the lark,
If it’s not in the dark,
I’ll come and be the deacon.
Who’ll hold the torch?
I, said the redbreast,
I’ll bring it at once,
I’ll come and hold the torch.
Who’ll be the chief mourner?
I, said the dove,
I’ll mourn for my love,
I’ll come and be the chief mourner.
Who’ll bear the coffin?
I, said the kite,
If it’s not in the night,
I’ll come and bear the coffin.
Who’ll help with the coffin?
We, said the wren,
We’ll come, both of us then,
We’ll come and help with the coffin.
Who’ll sing the psalm?
I, said the thrush,
Standing in the bush,
I’ll come and sing the psalm.
Who’ll toll the bell?
I, said the cow,
For I can pull the plow,
I’ll come and toll the bell.
So, farewell, robin,
All the birds of the air,
Shall mourn and sigh,
When they hear the bell,
For the poor robin’s knell.”
The song abruptly stopped.
The gravedigger collapsed onto the ground, legs weak, his tools scattered.
The moonlight’s glow on his face was fading, replaced by consuming shadows.
He wanted to scream, but fear had rendered him speechless.
He trembled, slowly lifting his head.
In his final moments, he finally saw what stood before him.
It wasn’t a human, nor a God descending to deliver punishment.
It was simply a towering figure, wearing a raven mask as dark as night, cloaked in a wide, black cloak, a milky white coffin on their back.
They gently wrapped a noose around the gravedigger’s neck, the eye sockets of the raven mask glowing crimson.
In the hushed, cold cemetery, the song began again.
“Notice
For all concerned,
This notice is to inform,
That next at the bird court,
The sparrow shall be tried.”
A whoosh, and the gravedigger’s body rose like a flag.
His corpse hung from a crooked tree, a broken kite swaying in the wind.
The moonlight was too bright to make out his facial expression, only a glimpse of a card tucked in his pocket, adorned with a drawing.
The card depicted a small bird clad in a brown-green olive coat. The robin’s crimson breast feathers were as red as blood, seemingly pierced by an arrow through the chest.
The card bore the bird’s name: Robin.
…
In the forest, Agalres was still savoring the lingering melody.
He looked at the flickering red dot beside him, Arthur, who was chain-smoking.
The red devil grinned, asking, “So, it was the sparrow who killed the robin?”
Arthur remained silent.
Agalres raised an eyebrow, chuckling, “Then it was the fly who killed the robin, because the fly knew the sparrow was the murderer but kept it a secret.”
Agalres waited, but Arthur still didn’t answer. He continued,
“Or maybe…it was the fish who killed the robin, because the fish enjoyed the robin’s blood, he’s much more deceitful than the sparrow…”
Agalres paused, “Or perhaps…”
He pointed the glowing soul orb at the moon, bathing himself in colorful light, highlighting his sharp fangs and his malice towards the world.
“Everyone played a part in killing the robin, everyone was an accomplice, yet only the sparrow is being judged. Arthur, is this the justice you seek, the fairness you strive for?”
Agalres sat beside the milky white coffin, stroking its surface with a smile, polishing it until it gleamed.
The devil’s whisper echoed in Arthur’s ears.
“Arthur, silence means perhaps you also killed the robin?”
(End of Chapter)
Damn …