Finn breathed a sigh of relief, for nothing here could do him harm. Whatever good or evil these Coldies had done in living form, none of it mattered now.
Several of the wraiths watched him closely, then one began to drift his way. A swirl, a flux, a vapor ill defined, yet a pale reflection of human form.
“What brings you among the dead tonight, sir? Searching for an old friend, a mother, perhaps, some dear departed kin?”
The Coldie's voice was a chill and awful thing, like dead bones a'rattle in a can, but Finn was used to that, for all the dead sounded much alike.
“No, but I thank you for asking. I'm not from around here, I'm from out of town. I was looking for an, ah-ac-quaintance of the living persuasion, as a fact. I fear, though, I've become quite lost.”
“Hah!” the Coldie laughed, a sound close akin to strangulation, a final deadly gasp. “You've come to the right place, sir. We're all lost here.”
Some of the Coldie's friends overheard him, cackled at his jest, and came near. Some were mere wisps, faint scintillations, fireflies lost in a mist. Others were ghostly shapes, foggy and obscure, but still of mortal cast.
The worst of these were the recently dead, for they had yet to shed the husks of their remains. Thus, they carried tatters, scraps, chill reflections of the horrors of the grave. One, he thought he might know, but only for an instant, before it flickered away.
The specter that faced him now was better off than some, but scarcely a pretty sight to see.
“I was Artuzio Bliek, by the way,” the phantom said. “A seaman by trade, though I can't recall just where or when. The memory fades with the bodily form, you know. It's likely just as well. Who can say what foul deeds a fellow leaves behind?
“A lass named Idis, I do remember that. Or was it Peribee? I don't suppose you'd know her, sir?”
“Sorry, friend. I fear I can be of little help at all.”
“Well, perhaps it'll come to you again”
Then, as if an errant wind had passed, former seaman Bliek shuddered in brief agitation, then vanished in a wink.
“I hope you'll recall some very fine moments of the past,” Finn said, in case some whisper of the fellow remained. “There's good in every life, I can vouch for that.”
“Not that poor beggar, not our Bliek. I doubt he's got a pinch of anything much worth bringing up again…”
Finn turned, startled for a moment, to find a grisly figure there. The specter was illusive as smoke, thin as spider breath. Yet, it was clear he had suffered greatly in life, for all that remained was a twisted limb, a bony chest, and half a hazy head.
“A rather gruesome sight,” the thing said, “but I can't help that. You might come over worse than me someday, you can't tell.”
“If I reacted rudely, I apologize,” said Finn. “I meant no disrespect at all.”
“No offense taken, friend. I'd say you've spent some time with the dead before. I've had many a fellow jump right out of his skin at the sight of me.”
“As you say, no fault of yours.”
The awful apparition seemed to pause, as if to gather what little was left of itself.
“I'm Prawn-Wallis the Second, by the way. King of this begotten land at one time, though I doubt you'd know that. I know you, though, Finn, Master Lizard-Maker, the one with the winsome Mycer lass.”
“Scones and Bones!” Finn glanced over his shoulder, to see if some living foe were there. “How could you possibly be aware of that?”
The specter laughed, a most disturbing sound. “Those of the croaked, the stiff, the perished, so to speak, know a great deal-unless you're as dumb as Artuzio Bliek, who might as well not be dead at all.”
“It's true, then, you were really a king in this land?”
“Why would I lie about a thing like that? Yes, of course I was the King.”
“And when exactly was that?”
“When is not a big thing with the insubstantial crowd. You've spoken to the dead, you ought to know that. I don't have the foggiest idea when. Some time ago, all right? I'm in that fossilized museum somewhere, go find me yourself.”
“The Holy Place of Emperors, Tyrants and Kings.”
“Whatever they're calling it now, that's where I am.”
“I'll certainly take a look. That's if I get back there, again.” Finn paused for an instant, wishing he had a mug of the Fractured Foot's ale.
“May I ask you a question, sir? Would you take offense at that?”
“I'm dead. How can you get more offensive than that?”
“I'd ask if you followed the rites of the Deeply Entombed in your time? I'm curious to know if religious napping is truly beneficial, after you've, ah-passed on?”
“The what?”
“The Church. The Church of the Deeply Entombed. I wondered if-”
“You've lost me, sir. What are you talking about?”
Finn, puzzled by the phantom's reaction, explained the beliefs of the Deeply Entombed, how sleep was quite helpful in picking up points for later on.
The ghostly image of the King seemed to twitch and waver about. Finn felt certain he was really quite annoyed.
“Ridiculous. Never heard of such a thing.” “Possibly you forgot. It may have been a long time.” “No. There's much I don't recall. I doubt I'd forget something as foolish as that.”
Finn sighed. “Then I guess there's no use asking about the bell.”
“And what bell is that?”
Naps and tacky shrouds and crypts without a blanket or a sheet. Bells that ring every thousand years, and sometimes on a Tuesday afternoon…
“I haven't been comfortable with much of the royal beliefs since we arrived,” Finn said. “I've felt all along that the Grymm family church is not all it's said to be.”
He frowned at the gruesome dead King. “This After-world they talk about. I've pondered on that myself for some time. What do you know about that?”
The wraith gave a nasty laugh. “I've heard this one once or twice.”
“You're saying it isn't true. There isn't anywhere else.”
“I'm saying I'm standing in it, friend.”
“I've heard both sides of this, most of my life. My uncle was in the Church of Unrequited Lust. Mother wouldn't let him in the house. His wife was Tabernacle of the Frequently Annoyed. She believed we came back as bees.”
“There's a lot to be said for that. I'd be willing to come back any way I could.”
“Is it really that bad over there?”
“There's nothing to do, boy. No recreation of any sort, no place to go where you aren't dead, too. What's the damn point? I used to be one who frequently said, ‘Hey, I might as well be dead.’ I suggest you think twice before you give any credence to that.”
“Yes, I see what you're saying. I don't believe I've heard it put that way, I appreciate that-”
Finn stopped, taken aback, for the phantom Prawn-Wallis the Second seemed to blur, dissipate and scatter here and there.
“Wait,” Finn said, “I hoped you'd stay, sir. There are quite a few things I'd like to know.”
“That's the living for you. Everybody wants to know something, and there's nothing you know that'll keep you from ending up here. The thing you need to know, Master Finn,” came the hideous whisper, the rattle and the moan, “is some are sayin’ you might be joinin’ us soon. I'd take a care if I was you…!”
A shiver, a gust of air sharp as an icy blade, struck Finn to the bone. Truly, no one likes to hear news of his demise, especially from the dead…
FORTY-ONE
Not quite stiff and not quite cold, and not beyond the pale. Still, he felt as if he'd spent the whole night in a burrow or a well, somewhere as comfy as a grave.
And, if they didn't stop pounding at him, jerking him apart, shouting in his ear, he'd rise from the dead and show them what-for…