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Locks and Combinations
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HE REMEMBERED grabbing his coat and then the doorknob. Yes.
And he remembered Esmeralda saying “Fat chance” to his notion of getting her
enrolled in the police academy. Damnit that girl! Yes, that tight little piece
of work did say that!
And—what the hell? His chest seemed to cave
in like an iron vice had suddenly tightened around it. Coughing, he
spasmodically hugged himself and fell to his knees. He couldn’t breathe!
Esmeralda was
instantly there. Yes, that happened too. “Josh? Josh, honey? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
The pain was so
overwhelming that he couldn’t answer.
“Oh, shit! Shit! You just hang on, baby. I’m
callin’ 9-1-1! Hang on, Josh! Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!”
He could just see
her in the dark of the bedroom. She stood and yanked out her cell (how did it fit in that tight-ass pocket?)
and started punching it rapidly and staring at him in blank horror. She was
upside down in his vision and partially blocked by his body. The carpet on his
cheek felt strangely comforting. He fought for air, gasping, his vision
graying. He was losing consciousness …
Dirt …
… in his mouth.
How the hell did
dirt get in his mouth? Sure, he hadn’t vacuumed in a while, but son of a bitch!
This was like French kissing a field, for cripes’ sake!
The heart attack
had, very thankfully, passed.
A pretty girl
smiled at him in his mind’s eye. Very pretty. He heard himself whisper,
“Charity …”
Who the hell is Charity?
A funny taste in
his mouth. Not dirt. Deeper than dirt, like it had become part of his flesh.
Something else, too: an urge to prove himself. It had replaced the clutching
agony of the heart attack, and was completely alien to his settled conceit and
brash certainty.
A thirst—for water? It was almost intense enough to
push everything else aside.
No. That wasn’t
quite it. It piggybacked something else—a monomaniacal taste for …
“Booze …” he
whispered.
Wha—? That wasn’t his whisper! It
sounded like an Irishman with an attitude and a slightly lower voice!
He spat, spat
again, and then swallowed. Against every desire not to, he forced his eyes
open.
He was no longer in
his bedroom. And the spitting felt like it wasn’t his mouth that had spat, not his
esophagus that had swallowed. Again the image of the pretty
girl—Charity—flashed into his mind, even as he pulled focus and pushed himself
up to his knees.
“Need to get to
that bloody castle …” part of him declared while he stepped mentally back in
surprised offense that he hadn’t been consulted first before whoever it was
went ahead and used his larynx to speak. The Irish accent was strong, almost
lyrical. Irish gave an insane chuckle while he held off in shocked silence.
“Now hold up, Pappy
O’Limerick,” he protested. But again it came out in a strong Irish accent, not
his Georgian one.
The information
overload was too much, and he sat back on his butt and closed his eyes. If he
held off speaking for a moment, maybe it’d pass. He’d heard that people who
struck their heads against the ground sometimes changed accents, that kind of
thing. Had that happened to him?
Very cautiously, he
blinked open his eyes and looked down at himself, resolving to look nowhere
else.
All right … that
wasn’t his body he was looking at. He
was six-foot-four; the body he was looking down on couldn’t even be five-ten!
And what was with
the slightly soft middle and the old duds? It was like he was dressed in bum’s
rags!
His legs were …
small … er. And his shoes … What the
hell were those, anyway? Boots? From the Middle Ages?
He couldn’t help
himself. He reached around his middle. It was then he noticed his hands. He
lifted them to get a closer look.
Small … er. Stubby—stubbier—fingers. Dirty nails. A scar on the back of his right hand, what
looked like a cut from a large blade.
He dropped them,
fighting panic. Was he losing his mind?
Irish pushed in
front of him and body slammed him to the mental turf and took control.
“I’m me, ye tosser! Me! Now get up and figure
out how to deal with whatever has happened! C’mon!” A mental hand was extended.
Who … wha—? Who…? Where am I? Who the righteous hell are you?
“Me name is Danin,”
answered Irish. “Danin Blest. On yer feet, mate. C’mon …”
Now wait just a minute, Dobey—
“Danin. Off yer
ass!”
That isn’t my name, DOBEY, the
body-slammed part of him tried yelling, but found himself confined to mere
thinking. It’s Josh Trevor, you got me?
Now tell me what the hell is goin’ on before I get really angry. Why can’t I use my mouth? What are you
doing? What the hell is this?
“I dunno what this
is, mate, but it ain’t your mouth, it’s mine, d’ya hear me? Mine! If you’re some sorta demonic spell
from that necromancer, you’ve just tangled with the wrong bloke. I’m tougher n’
a bag of nails and twice as injurious. Do yer worst, you …”
Look. Is this some sort of hallucination? I
was dressing for work—
“What’s a ‘
‘lucination’?”
HA-llucination. HA. HA. HA!
Mr. Irish Blest
held up for a moment. “Who’s Esmeralda, and what is that glowy silver thing
she’s holdin’ up?”
If you let me into that sand bag you use as
a brain, I’ll show you. Deal?
“I ain’t lettin’
you take over, mate. No way …”
Clearly this was an
evil spell of some kind, the Danin-him thought, and which the Josh-him heard
plainly. A spell meant to drive intruders mad.
Spell?
“Don’ go innocent
with me, mate. You’re some sorta evil spirit meant to make me nutters.”
Look, Dobey—
“Danin! Me name is
Danin! DANIN!”
Fine! Fine! Danin! Jesus!
“Who is Jesus? Me
last name is Blest! Get it? Blest! Say it—BLEST! BLEST!”
Look. BLEST. I can show you everything, who
I am, all of it. You need to let me in all the way. If you do I promise I’ll
let you run the show. I’ll even help. You’re … what are you doin’? You’re …
wanting to—knock over a … castle?
“That castle. The same one you’re from.”
Irish held up a
hand and pointed. It was a very disconcerting feeling to watch “one’s” hand
rise without “one’s” permission. Wait, no. It was very disconcerting lifting
what should be “one’s” hand only to
see another lift!
Josh felt
possessed. But … it was he who was
the apparent possessor! That wasn’t his
hand! How the hell was any of this happening?
He gazed along the
strange hand to its end, and then beyond the pointing finger to the valley on
another hill, one with a dramatic, dark castle on it.
It looked like
something out of a fifties horror flic, the kind one would watch after a night
of heavy drinking or nagging insomnia, or after a round of vigorous
bedspring-busting sex.
“What the hell is
that?”
What are you talkin’ about, BLEST?
“I … was just … I
saw a glowin’ box with a castle in it, and a woman in a strange room with … odd
fur on the floor … Yeah, naked. Damn strange. Show me more. What animal makes
that kind of fur?”
It’s called carpeting. You wanna see it all, Mick? Let me in all
the way. It’s quite spicy. Might give that pickled sack you use as a heart an
attack.
“Who the bloody
hell is Mick? I tell ya, mate: you’re one lousy demon. You couldn’t possess a
rotten tomato.”
Mick! It’s what you call an Irishman! You’re
a Mick! Got it? Mick!
Irish began hitting
his chest with a tight fist. “ME NAME IS BLEST—BLEST—BLEST! YER WORSE N’ A DRINK WITHDRAWAL NIGHTMARE, YE ARE!”
Stopping hitting me! Stop hitting
you—yourself! Damn! All right! All RIGHT! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just STOP!
Danin stopped
striking himself. The effort at beating himself up winded him, and he sat
heavily on his butt (again), breathing heavily.
Look. I was a cop … back in my world, where
I’m from. Do you know what a cop is?
Danin held up. “I
can … see some of it. Metal boxes on wheels. Colors. Odors. Horrible. Strange,
tall buildin’s. You … ah. I sees, mate. A lawman. Me natural enemy, you are.”
Yeah, maybe I am. But think about it. If I’m
your “natural enemy,” then I must be so for a reason, right? And that reason is
because I am trained to think like thieves—like you—so I can catch you. Right?
Right?
Irish thought for a
moment. Presently he grumbled in agreement.
You let me in all the way, and I promise
I’ll help you knock that Bram Stoker shithouse over. Deal?
“Who’s…?”
Never mind. Let me in and you’ll know.
And—AND—you’ll still have control. I promise. I can help in ways you can’t even
imagine. I’m used to bustin’ bad guys with technology! How tough can it be to
knock over a fifteenth-century pile o’ bricks? C’mon!
Danin got to his
feet and wiped the dirt off his backside. “How do I know yer not a demon spell
sent from him?” He pointed stiffly at
the castle.
Think about it for a moment, Mi—Danin.
Think! What kind of demon would still have you able to stand and walk around?
What kind of demon could be so easily defeated? I’m at your damn mercy!
“That you are …” Danin considered.
And what kind of demon has sex with a hot
woman wearin’ leather panties while a strange box glows at the foot of the bed?
What kind of demon arrests bad guys in strange lands? You’ve seen it! I ain’t
no demon; I’m a MAN who had a heart attack or somethin’ and woke up … here! In
YOU! I don’t know how, but that’s the damn truth! You know it! I KNOW you do!
You can’t see it, but I know sure as hell you can feel it! Admit it!
“Could be a trick
…”
Don’t you think the guy in that castle
would’ve thought of somethin’ maybe a LITTLE simpler and just a TAD more
effective? You’re still alive! And you can still knock him over! I’m at your
mercy! GET REAL!
That held Danin up
completely. Josh could feel that he was winning, was convincing him. He’d get
fleeting glimpses of Danin’s life, and hoped they were fake or nightmares.
Images of crushing despair and … cheap booze … homelessness … loneliness … They
came with equally dark emotions. All but one. That face. Very pretty.
She’s a pretty girl.
“Yeah? What of it?”
You let me all the way in, I’ll get you back
to her safe and sound with all the cash or booty or treasure or whatever you
have here that you can shower her with. You’ve got my word. I’m good with women.
I know all the tricks. Whaddya say?
Danin steeled
himself and took a deep breath. “Okay … okay. Okay! What do I need to do?”
Just … open your brain. Stop thinkin’. You
can feel me in your chest. Stop thinkin’ and just let it happen. Got it?
“… Got it.”
What surprised Josh
was how sharply and quickly the thief did as asked. His brain may have been
pickled by drink, but it was still very swift and decisive. He felt his mind
“open” and he pushed his way “up” into it. When he did he got the rest of Danin
Blest’s story, and it gave him long pause. He heard him inhale sharply, then
say, “Trevor. You’re … Josh … Trevor—” and stopped, because a slight Southern
twang clashed with the Irish.
Well, now, that’s better. That’s right. I’m
Josh Trevor. You’re Danin Blest, recovering alcoholic and thief. I can see what
you … hold up just a second. You’re tellin’ me there’s actual zombies in that
damn castle? ACTUAL ones?
“Who’s Esmeralda?”
Leather panties girl. Stay outta my bedroom!
“Too late. Why do
you like her tyin’ ya up?”
You’re hopin’ that Charity chick will try
that out on you someday.
“All right! ALL
RIGHT! Stop—STOP! We’ve got a job to do. And Charity isn’t a young chicken, all
right?”
Right. By the way, zombies ain’t real
where I come from. They’re fake.
“ ‘Movies.’ Stories
you can … can watch … in that box thing … That’s damn fascinatin’, that is …”
Focus, Blest! I ain’t spendin’ my last
moments being ripped apart by the undead! Focus!
“Right, right.”
Do you have a plan?
“I …”
You’re telling me you have NO PLAN for
invading a castle WITH ZOMBIES? Do you even have a GUN?
“Don’t be daft.
Only the military have ‘em …”
Right. Right. What I wouldn’t give for a
Taser.
“… ‘Lectricity?
What—? That’s damn fascinatin’, that is!”
I bet that’s what that necromancer is using
to reanimate the dead.
“Frankenstein.
‘Movie.’ Right?”
Right.
“But that’s a crock
o’ crap! That’s what you’re thinkin’! It’s all made up! So why would it work here?”
‘Cause, Dobey BLEST, zombies don’t exist in
my world but they do here! So maybe there’s somethin’ to it—E-lectricity. Got
it?
“Ye call me Dobey
one more time, mate, and I’ll …”
What? What are you gonna do? What? Stab
yourself? Jump off a cliff? Go throw yourself to those zombies? What? What?
“I’ll push ya down
into me smelly bowels, that’s what! I can tell ya like it up here makin’
decisions and gettin’ the full view. Ya wanna try me, mate? Or do ye wanna eat
my farts?”
Josh could feel
that he was sincere. Worse, he knew he could do it.
Fine! But I ain’t goin’ nowhere until we get
a plan, ESPECIALLY an escape plan. And you know I might not be able to keep you
from walkin’, MATE, but I can sure as hell make it a confused journey. Those
slobbering brain chewers will catch you, MATE.
“Stupid! If they
catch me, they catch you! Do you want that? Do you want to die?”
As far as I know I’m already dead. Certainly
this isn’t Heaven!
“FINE! Shut yer gob
and let’s get a plan together!”
I’m thirsty. You’re thirsty. Get some water
first.
“Good idea.”
Danin reached into
his pack, extracted the canteen, opened it and drank deeply.
Damn! That’s good water! I didn’t think
water could taste that good.
“Yeah … I can somehow
taste the sewage you call water. Is that how it tastes in your world? GAAAAACH!
I can taste it somehow. I can remember it somehow … GAAACH! Stop
thinkin’ of it!”
You get used to it.
“I’d rather drink
me own piss.”
I can see something in the back of your
mind. You’re thinking of hiding under that big hedgerow next to the castle.
That was my idea, too. Focus!
Danin stuffed the
canteen back into his pack and slung the pack over his shoulder.
Openings. Don’t see any. You?
“Not on the wall
facing us. But big castles sometimes have servants’ entrances. Some have
assault cellars. They’ll be hidden. Big grates next to the walls. Some have
both. If we can get the loot, we can escape by the same route. Satisfied?”
Grates. I can see what you’re picturing.
Those look awfully heavy.
“I’ve never
actually seen ‘em.”
How about something closer to this—?
Josh pictured
thinner grates.
“Maybe.”
Those locks you’re imagining look about
right to me. You couldn’t bust through those!
Danin chuckled.
Ah-ha! You’ve got picks in your pack!
“I’m the best there
is at locks and safes, mate. Look for yerself. Here …”
Josh got a flood of
foreign memories. Indeed, Danin Blest was a master at getting past locks and
combinations. Better yet, the memories seemed to suggest that he was quieter
than a church mouse and twice as wily.
I’d have a fun time trackin’ you down,
he said with a chuckle. He sent Danin a flood of memories of his own: of how he
tracked and then chased down the diamond thieves from just a few days ago.
“A worthy bit of
cat n’ mouse,” said Danin approvingly.
‘Cat and mouse.’ I’m glad sayings like that
aren’t just common to my time and place.
“Those metal boxes
you drive. How do those work again? What’s … ‘turbo charged’? How can you get
four hundred horses under a small hood?”
Never mind. I’m sure you’ll learn as we go.
Shall we get moving?
“Yes, let’s.” He
stowed the canteen, checked the backpack, and started down the hill.
Up close, the castle was even larger and more dramatic than
it first appeared. It was darker than the surrounding night save for a single
yellow light high up the main tower, which, thankfully, was well past most of
the structure proper. It seemed unlikely that anyone would see them here.
“Them. I’m calling
meself ‘them.’ ”
You ARE ‘them.’ Get used to it.
“You didn’t happen
to see grates anywhere, did you?”
I’m using your eyes, so no, I didn’t.
Danin glanced
around. Fifty feet ahead and a good sixty feet up a rocky embankment was the
castle wall. Between it and them was a huge hedgerow.
—Let’s go,— he thought.
Hey, I like that. Those two lines on each
side. Helps keep my thoughts from becomin’ yours. Thanks.
—Don’t mention it. Would ya mind
concentratin’?—
Well, get walkin’ then!
He stood from his
crouch and jogged toward the center of the hedgerow. The wall behind it was
tremendous, at least a hundred feet tall and twice that long. The pack pounded
on Danin’s back. He turned off the road when the incline became arduous. When
he got to the hedgerow’s approximate center he stopped, heaving.
Let’s … catch our … breath.
—Good … idea.—
You’re out of shape, Blest.
—What does that mean? I’m MY shape! How could
I be OUT of it?—
You need exercise, that’s what it means!
Your heart is pounding like it’s done a night of coke!
—What the hell is…? Ah. Wheeeee! Well, now,
I’m sure glad I didn’t have that stuff in me more despondent days ...—
No shit, Sherlock. You wouldn’t be alive now.
—Who the hell is Sherlock? Listen, mate, I
warned ya— —
All right, all right! Here. Look. I think I
just saw something out of the corner of your eye. Look. Right there. Turn your
damned head all the way! There! Isn’t that a grate just under the front of the
hedgerow?
Danin looked. Sure
enough, there was a big black square shape in the grass. It was hard to see in
the gloom of the night.
Without thought, he
stood and half-walked, half-jogged to it.
It was a grate, all
right, a slightly slanted section of black bars at the certain end of a tunnel
that had to lead directly into the castle.
He crouched and
gripped one of the bars. They had been painted black.
Is that an assault grate?
—It’ll take us to the dungeons. Did you see
more? It feels like you did.—
I think so—two or three. To the right. In a
line. They look too large for one person to lift. Where are the locks?
—On the underside. Here … lemme reach …—
He fed his hand through the grate and reached. He groped
about, finally striking a large, loose metal object. He grabbed it.
“Got it.”
Tug it! See if it’s even on properly!
Danin tugged the
lock. Sure enough, it was secure.
“Time for me to go
to work,” he murmured. He sat up, sat back on his haunches.
It’s darker n’ a well digger’s ass out here!
I can’t see six feet in front of me!
—I don’ need light, demon. I need to know
somethin’ ...—
Yeah? What’s that?
“What is that damn
accent? I can barely understand you.”
Well, I’m so sorry! I’m from a place called Georgia . That’s
how we talk down there.
—It sounds like someone’s grabbed yer stones.
Or maybe it’s how people sound who haven’t had a good sit on the pot in some
time.—
Ha, ha. You sound like a used car salesman
from Lower Ripofferdshire . Mind getting on
with it?
“Yeah, yeah, all
right,” muttered Danin. He reached into his pack and pulled out a soft
suede-leather case, which he opened by untying the leather tie around it and
unrolling it. Inside were small pockets with various picks. All looked handmade
to Josh, who couldn’t help admiring the handiwork, even though it was so dark
he could just make out details. Danin grabbed a large pick like a narrow
capital Y with a sharp end on one branch and a round club-like end at the
other.
“This should do,”
he said, lying back on his stomach and reaching into the grate with both arms.
He grabbed the lock with his right hand while feeling around the metal with the
business ends of the pick. The pick hit a hole and clicked in. He pulled it
out. “Wrong end. But I know how to open it now.” He turned the pick around in
his hand—Josh felt the practiced expertise in the movement—and fed it back in.
The sound echoed hollowly.
It’s damn dark down there. What’s your plan
to deal with it?
—Shut UP! I’m workin’!—
Well?
—Look for yerself, mate! I ain’t keepin’
secrets from ya. Now SHUT UP!—
Josh “looked”
deeper into Danin’s “head” and found the answer immediately. There should be
torches down there ready to be lit. All these big castles had them in the event
of a night invasion. The castle’s defenders, after all, needed to see too.
I suppose you got a light?
“You’re just not
that bright, are ye?” growled Danin as he worked the lock, which was putting up
a fight. “Look!”
Danin had brought
an odd stick with him, one that took little friction for its end to light. It
looked like a huge match, but could be used over and over again.
I’ve never seen one of those. What are they?
—It’s called a piper. I need to concentrate.
DO YOU MIND?—
I definitely don’t think they had those
during the Renaissance.
—What the hell is a … whatever that was you
said—?—
Forget it. I just felt something. I think
you’re close. Twist it harder … harder! That way. YEAH!
The lock clicked.
Danin gave it a hard tug and it released.
That thing would work great on a chastity
belt.
“What the hell is
a…? Oh, yeah. We’s got those.”
Josh laughed sadly.
Pathetic. Looks like men are just as vile
here as where I’m from.
“Earth.”
Yeah. Earth. What’s this place called?
“Zack.”
Zack?
“Yeah, Zack,”
grumbled Danin as though to an idiot. He stood, lock in hand, which was as
large as his fist. He tossed it on the ground and stared at the grate.
Who the hell would name a planet after an
old college buddy who got into your girlfriend’s pants?
—Would you mind helpin’? I don’ know if I can
lift this grate on me own!—
Well, I’m real sorry, Danny boy, but unless
you haven’t noticed, I DON’T HAVE A BODY!
“Son of a bitch,”
Danin grumbled.
Hey! You stole that from me!
“That I did. I like
it.”
The grate looked
about seven feet on a side. He bent and grabbed the front bars and lifted with
a sustained groan. It was very heavy, but not impossible.
“Just … a … little … higher …”
Josh was impressed.
Damn, boy, you’ve got some serious
strength! Heave! Heeeeeave! There! Get under it! UNDER! You’ve got it! Now
PUSH!
“Won’t work! It’ll
come back down!”
Get on its side!
—I shoulda thought of that first!—
Me too! Sorry, Blest. There you go. Quick! I
can feel your muscles fatiguing. Push! PUUUUSH!
Danin, on the
grate’s left side, gave a mighty heave and the metal came crashing down against
the hillside with a heavy muffled thump. The dead weeds and grass kept the
sound from being too loud.
All right! Now where are these torches? Hey
… what are you doing? C’mon, son! No time to quit!
—If you can’t … feel how … tired I am,—
Danin thought between gasps as he sat heavily next to the hole, —then you are one … silly … little imp.—
I ain’t an ‘imp,’ Danny boy. I ain’t gonna
spin your head around and make ya puke pea soup.
“What the … hell?
What’s … an exorcist?”
Never mind. I can feel your lungs. You’re
back to normal. If I can talk without gaspin’, then you’re ready to rock n’
roll. You pulled your ass muscles, though. Good job. How did you manage to pull
your ass?
“It’s my body; I’ll
pull whatevers I want, mate. What the hell is ‘rock n’ roll’?”
Never mind. Get your pulled ass up. You’re
rested and I want to get this adventure over with. Maybe that necromancer has
some means for me to get MY ass home.
Danin stood and
removed the piper from his pack. He bent and vigorously rubbed the end of it
against the metal of the grate, then stood.
The piper began
glowing. Soon it was a strong orange color and gave off a lot of odorless heat.
What is that thing made of?
—Hell if I know. It works. That’s all I ever
cared about. Now … I need to find one of the ladders. There’s one ...—
The piper’s glow
was significant enough to light the way at least partially into the square hole
leading under the castle. Danin adjusted his pack and descended the ladder into
total darkness. At the bottom he stopped, glanced around. Sightless things
scurried away from underfoot back into darkness.
A low corridor led
away, but was wide enough for three large men to move through shoulder to
shoulder. To the immediate right and mounted in a bracket was a torch. Another
was in a bracket to the left. Slick-bottomed puddles of water wet his boots and
made the going cautious, and spider webs clogged the way. The air was
distinctly colder and smelled of must and abandonment.
He grabbed the
right torch and held the piper to it. The black resin on the torch began
smoking and then caught all at once with a soft whoosh! He set the torch back in its holder, pulled out a pocket
knife, and cut through the end of the piper. The glowing orange bit fell to the
ground. He stomped on it and it scattered, but still kept glowing.
I take it that it will go out faster that
way?
“Genius, he is.”
Well how would I know? I’ve never seen
anything like that before!
“Let’s go,”
muttered Danin. He took the torch and hurried into the passage.
Several hundred feet in was a short flight of stairs. At the
landing was a large door. He got to it and pushed down on the handle.
Locked. Of course. Well, get pickin’, son.
“I ain’t yer son,
Trevor,” Danin muttered as he mounted the torch and extracted his picks from
his pack. “In fact, I get the feelin’ we’re jus’ about the same age. Fancy
that.”
Fancy that.
The door came open
easily. Danin stowed his picks, swung the pack over his shoulder, and ventured cautiously
on without the torch, which was no longer needed. A soft, sickly green light
seemed to glow in the castle’s interior stonework. He closed the door behind
him.
Moaning. From just
ahead. Lots of it.
Sounds like an orgy up there.
“Shhhhh!”
No one but you can hear me, Danny boy. Chill
out!
—Yeah. Right. Why would I want to be cold?—
It’s just an expression. Look. Stairs. Take
those. Don’t you think that’s in the general direction of where this
necromancer dude might have stashed his dough?
The moaning got
louder. It seemed to come from behind one big door in particular. Curiosity got
the better of Danin and, against Josh’s complaints that he focus on the job, he
opened it.
The smell that hit
him (them!) was so strong that it
alone was frightful: excrement and urine, and some sort of awful lemon-tinged
detergent stench underlying all of it. Danin held his (their!) sleeved arm up to his nose and looked, squinting.
The undead were in
large cells in a huge room. They milled about inside them, walking in to each
other and moaning. They looked just like the ones in all the movies, Josh
thought.
Danin, his gullet
contracting with the urge to puke, backed quickly out and closed the door.
Damn alive, that smell could knock a buzzard
off a shitwagon!
Danin, bending
over, coughed.
Quiet! QUIET! I think I just heard someone
at the stairs! Hurry! Hide!
—Good damn idea!—
He scurried to a
large armoire in the dark right corner next to the stairs and hid next to it.
The sound of footfalls was definitely getting louder.
A tall, thin,
berobed man appeared at the landing. He was older, with silver hair attentively
combed, arcing, imperious eyebrow, and a well-groomed mustache. He glanced
around as though he had heard him, an eyebrow raising slowly and suspiciously.
No doubt about it. This was the necromancer.
Chapter Two
No doubt about it. This was the necromancer.
Chapter Two
~~*~~