It had been a pleasant day of walking through the forest and talking about things that on the surface seemed inconsequential, but in the context of a formal, official date took on a whole new air of significance. What’s your favourite colour? Favourite animal? Your earliest memory? Favourite bard group? If you were stuck on an island and could only take one thing with you, what would it be?

Mycal was surprised how often Aggie’s answer was Black Cat, which was variously a favoured childhood pet, a specific shade of black, and a musical group made up of three wererats and a werecat who, it turned out, was that very same childhood pet, having contracted lycanthropy after being bitten by a human. Aggie promised to take him to a show if they ever came through the forest on one of their full-moon tours.

“What about you? Do Shroomans have pets?” He told her about Shrog, his faithful little companion who was the only thing he truly missed about the colonies.

“So he was like a mushroom dog? That’s sooo cute. What happened to him?”

The pain of that memory had never really dulled, it had only been carefully locked away. “He…there was…” Aggie put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed softly as he tried to find the words. “He died. In an accident. We were both so young…”

“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” She gave him a small kiss on his headcap, and the dark cloud of unbearable memories evaporated as quickly as it had formed. “Hey, we’re here! I hope you’re hungry!”

Mycal looked up and gasped. Nestled in the branches of a huge weirdwood tree was the biggest building he had ever seen. You could probably fit a dozen of Aggie’s cottages in it and still have room for whatever she kept in the basement. The whole thing looked like it had grown out of the tree as much as been built, but he suspected it was a thing of artifice rather than good gardening as there were plenty of glass windows, and as far as Mycal knew the only naturally occurring source of that was glassgrass.

“How do we get up?”

Aggie giggled. “That’s the best part! Watch this!” She stepped forward and knocked on the tree trunk. A patch of weirdwood in front of her rippled as if it were a pool of disturbed water, then settled into the shape of a face with distinctly goatish features.

“What do-o-o you…oh, hello, Ms Mellori.” The voice was deep and stern, with a certain bleating quality about it.

“Hello, Doctor. Table for two, please.”

The wooden face stared at her woodenly. “I do-o-on’t recall you making a reservation.”

Aggie scoffed. “Really, Bo?” She made a show of looking all around, hands gesturing at the silent forest. “There’s literally no one else here.”

“There are plenty of people…”

“Living people. Zombies don’t count.”

The goaty face scowled a splintery scowl. “Still a lifeist I see, Mellori. I’ll set you a table, but you leave that attitude at the do-o-or.”

“Sure, sure. Can you send down the skelevator? My friend can’t fly.”

Another ripple and the face was gone. Aggie looked at Mycal and said, “That was Doctor Bovidae. He’s the owner. Not actually a real doctor, but don’t tell him I said that. Best to humour him.”

“Oh, yes, no problem. So what is this place?”

There was a rattling from above and Mycal leaned back to see a bony cage descending from the treetop, a dozen skeletal arms clicking and clacking as they shimmied down. Something about the way it moved was far more unsettling than any of the implications about its construction. It seemed to stop and start like a stuttering shadow in a lightning storm. He didn’t like it.

The thing reached ground level, and a pair of arms twisted around to open a gate of fused ribcages. Aggie stepped on and motioned for Mycal to join her. “Come on, it’s totally safe.”

“I’m not worried about falling, it’s just…creepy.”

“I know! Isn’t it fantastic? Wait until you see what’s up top.”

Despite his unease, Mycal was truly enjoying seeing Aggie so excited. That was enough to get him into the cage. The second he was in, the gate snapped shut and the platform lurched upwards as the arms clambered frantically up the tree, forcing him to hold onto a railing of femurs and tibias studded with hundreds of teeth. Aggie whooped as they shot up, not holding onto anything and letting the motion fling her about, feathers whipping about wildly as she tried to keep her balance.

They came to a sudden, bone-jarring halt and she was thrown hard against Mycal. His arm caught her around the waist and for a moment they were staring into each other’s eyes, bodies pressed against one another. All he had to do was lean forward another inch and…

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Wel…come…to…Caprine…Carrion.”

The smell of rotting flesh was not at all unpleasant to a mushroom, perhaps being the equivalent of a sizzling steak and sausages to a hungry lumberjack, but the sight of the doorman was a little confronting. It wasn’t just that he…it…was human, or at least formerly human, but there were so many bits and pieces peeling, flaying, or simply falling off, that Mycal wondered at the wisdom of using a dead man as the worm-ridden face of your business.

“Table for two, please. Doctor’s orders,” said Aggie as she pushed herself off Mycal. His disappointment was short-lived as he felt Aggie’s hand touch his, and by some process he didn’t fully understand their fingers were suddenly entwined.

“In…side…or…out?”

“Can we get the table near the kitchen?” She turned to Mycal. “I love watching them cook! I bet you’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Right…this…waaay…”

Mycal had a chance to look around as the corpse very slowly led them towards their table. It was a huge space, taking up what must be at least two-thirds of the entire building. Polished wood and elegant curves abounded in both the structure and décor, clashing somewhat with the exposed organs and dangling eyeballs of the staff. The bartender in particular looked like he had seen better days, his face nothing but a grinning skull, one arm ending at the elbow where a cocktail shaker was tied to the end of the bare bone.

“Do you want a drink?” Aggie asked as they took their seats at a small table. “The Bloody Mary is good.”

“Only…Bloo…dy…Claire. Ma…ry…died.”

She clapped her hands, a risky manoeuvre considering how sharp her claws were. “The Bloody Claire it is then! And we’ll have the Chef’s Special, please.” The waiter nodded, moaned and shuffled off.

Mycal watched him go. “This place is very nice, why is it so dead?”

Aggie shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. I love it here. Maybe it’s something to do with the name? Caprine Carrion… I wonder if the carrion part puts people off? But most things you eat are dead anyway, so I don’t…”

“I didn’t mean the customers. I mean why are all the people dead? And they all look human.”

“Oooh that…” She looked around as if only just noticing that they were the only living people here. “Did I mention Bovidae is a Necromancer?”

“I don’t think so. Is that why he calls himself a doctor?”

“Well he does bring people back to life, one way or another.”

The waiter returned with a pair of skull shaped steins filled with a blood-red liquid. On closer inspection Mycal determined it was an actual skull filled with actual blood. He took a sip. “Mmm…not bad.”

Aggie tried hers and grimaced. “Ahh…yeh it’s okay. Claire must be a lot younger than Mary was. This would be better if it was left to age for a few years.”

They continued chatting and drinking while the kitchen became a hive of activity, their table allowing a spectator’s view of the controlled chaos within. Dead men and women staggered about, chopping and peeling bits and pieces of each other while a short, red-robed, ram-horned figure in the rear waved a glowing staff around, occasionally bleating orders and expletives.

“Isn’t it great?” Aggie asked as one of the chefs used the intestines of another to make a string of sausages. “Where else can you get a meal that cooks itself?”

“It’s certainly unique. Is that Bovidae with the staff?”

“That’s him! I took a few necromancy lessons with him a while ago but just couldn’t get the hang of it. Watching him work is amaaazing.”

Mycal watched as the goatman leapt deftly onto one of the benches and headbutted a cook who had dropped a bowl of flayonnaise. “He seems very…angry. Especially for a satyr. Aren’t they supposed to be like…happy and jovial?”

“Well…he is a necromancer. Death and suffering are his bread and butter, so I’m sure from his point of view he’s having a blast.”

They finished their drinks just as a waiter brought them a plate of appetisers. Mycal had never cared much for finger food, but he’d never tried human before, and this was a special occasion. “Mmm…very crunchy.” Having no teeth, he used a coil of hyphae like a prehensile tongue to snap and crush the bones. “They’re good!”

Aggie was using her claws to strip the flesh away, dropping the fingerbones into a small side dish before rolling up the meat and popping it in her mouth. “Some people debone them before cooking, but it loses a lot of the flavour. Troll fingers are sooo good if you ever get the chance to try them, the flesh keeps regenerating so long as they haven’t been overcooked!”

The next course was eyeball mint chutney followed by another round of drinks. Eventually the main course was rolled out in a covered silver dish, served by Doctor Bovidae himself.

“I ho-o-ope you enjo-o-oy,” he bleated, unveiling the meal with a flourish. Aggie squealed in delight. Mycal fainted.

* * *

The afternoon sun painted the world red and gold. Mycal and Aggie watched it fall slowly toward the twin peaks on the horizon as a soft breeze, warm and sweet with the promise of spring, stirred the grass on the hillside and shadows stretched across the vista before them.

“Nooo…I don’t believe you!” Aggie shook her head and pointed a claw at Mycal. “Come on then, Mister, prove it!”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Pour it on my head.”

Mycal closed his eyes and concentrated as Aggie poured a vial of water over him. His headcap contracted as he sucked it in, then forced the stream of moisture through a complicated pathway of capillaries, dosing it with a cocktail of select spores before squeezing it back out through flattened gills. It dribbled from a nib at the front of his cap into an empty potion bottle.

“Wow! That was quick. How strong is it?” She gave it a cursory sniff, wincing slightly.

“For a Shrooman it’s pretty mild, but I’ve heard it’s strong enough to…”

Aggie downed the shot in one go. She gave a short, stifled cough as her eyes widened and begun to water.

“…strong enough to kill a minotaur…umm…I was going to suggest watering it down. Are you okay?” He put a hand on her back as she leaned forward and coughed again.

“Eesh pweddy swong.”

“Huh?”

“Eesh…” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “It’s pretty strong! Good, though!” She swooned slightly and leaned against him. “I’m sorry about lunch.”

“Don’t be. You couldn’t have known.”

“Well he should have. Probably thought it was funny, stupid goat! And it is a little bit my fault. We should have buried your body.” She plucked one of her loose feathers and tickled his gills with it. He shuddered. “The sausages were pretty good though. Shame you lost your appetite.”

“You would too if someone served your head on a platter!”

The last arm of the spiral sun disappeared behind the mountains, and the creeping darkness revealed the silver streaks of an evening star shower. Mycal and Aggie watched it together in silence until one, then both, fell asleep on the hillside.