It was all rather simple, in the end. After all, the throne was waiting, and the subjects were willing, and honestly, nobody could even look at Scorbus and not recognise him as Lord and master of something. And somehow, in amongst the bowing and cheering, and the praising of the Lord and the promises of brave new worlds and the procession towards the royal hall and the new King proclaiming himself to his adoring subjects, Marius and Gerd found themselves slowly filtered through the crowd until they stood at the very periphery. Nothing stood between them and freedom but an unwatched corridor leading away into the darkness. Marius didn’t even have to motion. They might even have managed to sneak away unnoticed, if not for a familiar, grinning face, and hands as heavy as gravestones falling upon their shoulders.
“Now where,” the dead soldier asked as he lifted them from the ground and turned them towards the suddenly silent multitudes, “do you think you’re going?”
Marius searched desperately through a mind suddenly bereft of witty rejoinders, and settled for mute acceptance of his fate. He allowed himself to be dragged to the small space at the feet of the King and deposited in an untidy heap. He sat still, staring up at the ceiling, until a crowned skull leaned into his vision and tilted in polite enquiry.
“Care to join us?” Scorbus asked, in a voice so polite Marius could hear the sword swinging down towards the back of his neck. He rubbed at the tingling skin just under his hairline.
“Majesty,” he managed.
Scorbus leaned back against his rude throne, and bid him rise with a languid wave of his hand. Marius stared at him. That’s the difference, he thought. He’s a skeleton, held together by Gods know what, not an ounce of flesh or sinew to his name, with a bent gold bracelet around his forehead and rags on his back, sitting on a pile of shit that looks like it’s been slapped together by a class of blind orphans, and still he looks like a king. He shook his head in mute amazement. No wonder he conquered the world before he was thirty.
“Gentlemen,” Scorbus said, and Marius became aware of Gerd standing silently at his shoulder. “We are indebted to you. Our first act as Lord of this realm is to grant you a boon.” He interlaced his fingers, and placed them before his jaw. “Ask me one thing, and I shall grant it.”
Marius blinked, stared around him. How many dead surrounded him? How much gold in their rotting teeth, how many grave goods filtering down through the soil to lie in piles in hidden chambers of this endless warren? How much could he carry with all his dead strength? He had barely begun to calculate when Gerd cleared his throat, and spoke.
“Please, sire,” he said, in a voice that reminded Marius just how young the boy was. “I’d like to go home.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, please.”
Marius closed his eyes, yet still, somehow, knew that Scorbus was nodding.
“I cannot restore your life to you, young master. I am but a conduit to God. I do not share his powers.”
“I know sire. I just… I just want to go home.”
“Very well. I release you from my service. Now…”
Marius kept his eyes closed, aware of the countless gazes fixed upon him, two ageless, empty sockets in particular.
“I was told I’d get my life back.”
The room became very still. The dead can become unseemingly still when the need arises. Marius waited. After several long, uncomfortable seconds, he frowned, and nodded once.
“Fuckers,” he whispered, very softly. He pictured the stupid boy beside him, with all the riches of the dead his for the asking and all he wanted was…
“Fuck you, then,” he said at last, opened his eyes, and glanced angrily at his young companion. “I want the same.”
“So be it.” Scorbus stood, and clapped his bony hands together. “Clear a space!” he commanded. The crowd parted, leaving an empty circle around the throne. Scorbus stepped down from his makeshift throne and indicated the roof above.
“Go with our thanks,” he said.
The soldier appeared once more at Marius’ side.
“Need any help, sir?” he asked, sarcasm thick in his voice. Marius smiled, the nasty little smirk of someone who has won when he shouldn’t have and knows the other side was robbed.
“Don’t worry.” He stepped away and looked up at the roof overhead. “I’ve learned a thing or two about being dead.” He raised his hands above his head, palms outwards, closed his eyes and concentrated.
The earth above him remained still. Someone at the back of the crowd giggled. A small pebble fell from the roof and bounced from Marius’ forehead. After another minute or so he opened one eye, then another, then dropped his arms and sighed.
“I don’t suppose anyone wants to give me a hand up?”
Several volunteers stepped forward and thrust him overhead. Marius dug into the roof with his fingertips, and glanced back at the assemblage below.
“I’d say go to hell,” he said, as those at the outer edge of the crowd began to drift off into the dark. “But, you know…”
Those still gathered made no response. Marius set his face forward and began to dig for the surface.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The night was cold and still. The pauper’s graveyard outside the walls of Scorby City was as empty as anywhere else that had nothing to steal and no chance of witnessing a good street fight. Only the sound of a passing owl on the hunt broke the silence. Toward the back of the graveyard, a mound of dirt without a headstone began to shiver.
A dirt-encrusted finger broke through, then another, and another. Soon, an entire hand cleared the grave’s confines. A twin followed it, and they flapped around until slowly, with inexorable effort, they drew out the arms to which they were attached. It took another fifteen minutes of frantic activity before Marius pulled himself chest-deep out of his hole. When he was finally able to rest and look about, he was not amused.
“You could bloody help, you know.”
Gerd smiled from his perch atop a nearby grave and leaned back against its simple stone.
“And deny you the satisfaction of your victorious exit?”
“Very… fucking… funny.” Marius wiggled another inch closer to freedom. “I am going to slap the smartarse right out of you when I get out of here.” He looked down at himself. “If I get out of here.” He leant forward on one elbow and raised his other arm. “Please?”
“Ah well,” Gerd rose and dusted himself off. “If you insist.”
He grasped Marius’ hand, and together they succeeded in hauling him out of his predicament. They fell onto the ground, rolling over to gaze up at the stars.
“How did you get here so fast, anyway?” Marius eventually asked. Gerd waved his hands in front of his face.
“I am the dead,” he intoned in his best “scary ghost” voice.
“Ha ha. Seriously.”
“Seriously.” Gerd placed his hands behind his head and made himself comfortable. “It just comes to me, you know? Like a skill you get.”
“A skill I could have used.”
“I’m as surprised as you are.”
Marius sighed. “I’m not, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
Marius sat up, and examined the back of his hands as they hung loosely over his raised knees. “You are dead, and I’m sorry about that, I really am. But the thing is, I’m not. Oh, I know…” He raised one hand and waved it at Gerd, showing the white and withered flesh in the moonlight.
“But didn’t they say…?” Gerd nodded at the open grave.