by EH Walter
Chapter 10: The Intellectual Dead
Holding fast to my dad's hand I landed on another cold, dark night. My feet hit the ground with the intensity of falling from a great height and I looked around into the darkness. A chilling breeze tried to fight through my dressing gown. Honestly, one day I'd get Barbados or the south of France. One day.
Autumn leaves were under my feet, they were just beginning to be tinged by ice. My breath came out like dragon smoke. Man - it was cold! The only part of me that was warm was the hand that was in my dad's.
As my senses returned I tried to figure out where I was. Lights low in the distance suggested we were on a hill and the absence of light in the immediate vicinity meant we weren't on a street. There was a road nearby, I could hear cars passing by. The amount of cars and their speed suggested London or some other big city.
"Am I back at the right time?" I asked, "Just after the demons in the kitchen?"
Dad's watch beeped. He let go of my hand. "I have to go now."
I frowned at him. Fat lot of use he was with his 'don't know how I do it' and buggering off when I needed all the help I could get. "Now? But I've got to get that ring back - somehow!"
"I'll see you at the end."
"The end? Hold on, that doesn't sound good..."
And he was gone. It was curious seeing it from the other side, it was just like he'd never been there. I even looked around to check, but he was just not there anymore and there was no clue he ever had been.
Great. I didn't even know where or when I was and I had a heap of bad guys to sort out, a ring to recover and a friend to save. It was a lot to ask a girl on her birthday.
I shivered and pulled my dressing gown tighter. There was nothing for it but to walk to warm myself up and keep my senses on high alert. Somehow this place was important, it had some connection to what was going on with Bob, the ring and those dang mean fairies. As I was supposed to be some kind of 'Seer' I tried to see. I can't say I wowed myself with my spidey senses. To be honest, I didn't 'see' anything extra to what would be deemed normal, just shadowy shapes. Then I tripped over a grave. So much for 'seeing' things. I used my phone to illuminate the stone. The name on the grave stone resonated with my memory and after what seemed an intolerable wait the mind fug cleared and I remembered where I had heard this name before: on a tour of Highgate cemetery. This grave had been quite modest in comparison with the other elaborate statues and mausoleums, but the tour guide had stopped here to deliver an historical anecdote. The lady within this small grave had been a lesbian dwarf dancer at the Moulin Rouge during the height of Toulouse Lautrec's patronage. She had been ahead of her time and had retired to London to be a librarian. So I was in Highgate cemetery, either that or there were more lesbian, dwarf, French dancers turned librarians in the Victorian world than I had anticipated.
Why was Highgate cemetery important? Why was I here? Then I felt another chill down my spine. Some big bad assed bastard had a ring that could resurrect the dead and I was in one of the largest cemeteries in the city. He had the potential to raise an army of the un-dead - the two people I had heard from the basement had said it would be tested on humans first. Dead humans would serve the purpose. Now I regretted not listening to that mad woman I had once met in Mill Hill who had told me about her zombie escape plan. All I could remember was that she said to avoid the tube because it would soon be flooded without non-zombie humans to pump it out. And why the hell didn't I live in Bristol where the council had the forethought to issue an official zombie escape plan? I could guarantee Boris wouldn't have thought of this - unless it involved cycling away in an environmentally friendly manner on a blue bike. And trust me, they were so heavy it was an effort to get speed out of them. Even going downhill. And that was if you could get the machine to take your credit card in the first place.
Okay - time for a plan of action. Smash their brains out, right? It's all about the brains with zombies - or so science fiction had reliably informed me. And don't get bitten - being bitten is bad, unless you fancy a life as a soul less brain-eating-obsessed, non-smiling member of the officially dead un-dead. Unless you were an Ofsted inspector of course and then it was pretty mandatory to fulfil said criteria. In fact it was a plus.
I wish I'd trained for this, being officially qualified in stage combat was not gonna cut much mustard with a cemetery of un-dead dead people. I should've prepared for this, I should've been in karate classes since I could walk - why hadn't my dad signed me up for martial arts lessons? I needed to be like Jaclyn Johnson in that Sean Sweeney book I'd read - or like Murphy in the Dresden Files. Why were fictional heroines so well prepared for this? Why wasn't I?
A buzz of noise caught in my ears. People. Chatter and movement. Something was going down in Dodge... or down the bottom of the hill towards George Eliot and Karl Marx's graves anyway.
Taking a deep breath I got into role. I imagined myself to be reading a script and my character was wise-cracking and hard assed. My character was a black belt in every martial art there was. I ate zombies for breakfast (not literally of course, that would be just foul) and I was ready for the biggest show (down) of my life. Walking like John Wayne off to a gun fight, I walked down the hill trying to project a confidence I did not feel.
I was still hidden by the darkness so I had a chance to observe them before they saw me. For safety I crouched behind a large stone angel. They - an assortment of humanoids, fairies and 'other' - were assembled before Karl Marx's grave. Hundreds of them. At the centre was a man in a dark hooded gown. He seemed to be important and I got the idea that he may have been one of the men I had overheard after seeing Bob at the British Museum. He was the one I would have to deal with. Mono a mono. Me and him. Oh, and the few hundred flunkies he had in support. They looked kinda evil if I'm honest, an assortment of grey ghostly figures with a few demons and fairies thrown in for good measure.
They looked to him and grew silent when he raised his hand. A cluster of fairies in humanoid form stepped back, the air glittering as they moved. Two big demons shoved someone before them for all to see. There, in front of Karl Marx's large head, was Bob.
Courage suited Bob, he had moved through terror and was now on the other side with defiance and sheer bloody mindedness. And lunacy. I'm sure lunacy was there as well. His chin was held high, his hands bound with some shiny silver cord in front of him. Orla was stood behind his shoulder examining her nails in a nonchalant way as if all this was a rather tiring event on her social calendar and she most certainly had better things to do. An unconscious pout rested on her perfectly formed lips. A male fairy who looked startlingly like her stood by her side, he was gazing off into the distance. Then he yawned delicately.
"Just rip it out of his guts," Orla said softly, "I'll do it myself if you give me leave." She held one hand out in front of her and moved it to better catch the light as if she was playing with a diamond ring. Then she smiled at the hooded man. "I'll do it as a gift. Free."
"Not fair," the male Orla said, "you said I could gut him."
"Hush Jamie," she said, "we're not fighting over a goat. There's plenty of goat to go round."
Surely Bob hadn't swallowed the ring? He must have known what they would do to get it back? I looked at him - his chin was still held high. Muppet.
"Search him," the hooded man gestured to two of his own ghoulish assistants. "It wouldn't be the first time a demon had been found incompetent."
His voice was pleasing to the ear, there was something about it that seemed to strike the right musical note. Obviously, to go with such a nice voice, he must be heinously ugly under the hood - why else would he wear it?
Two ghoulish figures began to roughly pat down Bob and within seconds they had found the manky old sock concealing the ring and were swinging it in the air in something that was definitely a ghoulish version of smugness.
Bob's face fell. He had tried his best and n
ow the bad guys had it. There was nothing to stop them bringing back the dead. Except - what had the old man in the cave said? The only way to control the ring was to change its purpose with a strong bond on sanctified ground. Surely the cemetery counted as sanctified ground? So all I had to do was somehow get the ring and find a way of changing its purpose. How did you change the purpose of a ring? And how on earth was I meant to get hold of the thing in the first place? I was a little out numbered here.
"Kill him." the hooded man said to no one in particular.
My heart thudded. "Hey!" I called out from behind the angel, "hey you lot." I walked towards them, my John Wayne impression was slipping a little but I tried to fake as much confidence as possible.
"The Seer," the man in the hood said. He spoke as if he knew all about me, little did he know I was the new improved version - upgrade successful.
"My reputation precedes me."
There was a momentary silence as all of the ghoulish types looked to see how this would go, the big bad guy being faced down by little old human me. I was now in the centre of them all - just metres away from this man, his face hidden deep in the shadows of his hooded cloak.
"You have no reputation Seer and you will have little time to forge one once you die here tonight."
Damn - why did he have to sound so sexy? Keep on track Leo - whoop his ass, don't try and touch it up.
"You will die even quicker than your mother did."
Well that killed the mood. "Heck, you mean I'm gonna die and then I'll just come on back once you do that hocus-pocus with that ring? I'd rather just stay alive, it's easier all round."
"There is no room for a Seer in my world. You will not be resurrected."
I took a step closer. There was a faint glimmer of light that allowed me to see one of his eyes briefly. He looked younger than I had expected. I looked around dramatically. "It doesn't look like your world buddy. Property of toss-pot doesn't seem to be written across it as far as I can see. Maybe I'm not looking hard enough?"
I swear one of the ghouls gasped. Obviously no one had stood up to this guy before. A sharp thrill ran through me. This could be fun.
Now smart words may sound good, but it did little to deal with the big guy who jumped me and twisted my arm into a lock behind my back. Dammit! I struggled but I had little choice but to walk where he thrust me and I found myself being lined up with Bob in front of the enormous visage of Marx.
"Sorry Bob," I said.
He shrugged. "I'm just glad you're safe."
"Yeah - missed a demon axe only to be gutted by fairies."
"Enough small talk!" Orla declared, "let's be on with it."
A silver cord was fastened tightly around my wrists by the male fairy Orla had called Jamie. He didn't have to touch anything, with a small whirl of his finger the cord sprang to life and bound itself to me like an enchanted snake. He leant over me and sniffed. "I might keep you as a pet," he said with a smile that didn't reach his handsome and unlined eyes, "I like human pets."
I had a feeling being gutted or decapitated might actually be a preferable fate than being kept as a pet by a beautiful and rather autistic fairy. I closed my eyes and thought of Kansas, maybe I could do a whoosh-out-of-here thing again? I opened my eyes. Nope. Still here. Still about to become lap dog to a supernatural weirdo. This wasn't looking good.
"Got a plan?" I whispered to Bob.
He shook his head.
"Dang."
The two of us were shoved a little to the side as the ghouls began to set up for what I could best describe as a séance. Candles in lantern jars and hung on enormous wooden stakes were lit around a circular area, out of which everyone backed out of, as if it was now a holy place. Someone burnt an enormous swathe of sage and wafted it around. Surely this was all for effect? The old man in the cave had given no hint that all this elaboration was required. Despite myself I watched with rapt interest and I noticed Bob did too. We were left with one demon as a guard beside us. He didn't seem to notice our whispering as his attention was also on the ceremony going on in front of him.
"What are they doing?" I whispered to Bob.
"Making a holy place even holier," he whispered back, "they want to impress on the Fae how important human involvement is. How they need them."
"What will they do first?"
He spoke simply, "Probably kill one of us to see if it works."
I gulped. "Seriously?"
Bob nodded. "I always suspected it would be my time soon, despite running from it. I thought they might need to test it. The ring. Maybe they'll see if it works first and then just kill us for good?"
"But why here? Why do they need to be in Highgate cemetery?"
He shrugged. "Good tube connection - easy for everyone to get to?"
Strange words were being chanted in the circle. First by the hooded man and then echoed by his followers. He held his hands up high and there was a glint of light as he moved and the ring caught and reflected the candle light.
The fairies stood some way off looking bored, they just wanted to see if it worked and weren't at all interested in the nuts and bolts. Some of the sage and incense wafted over to us. It was powerful stuff and I was sure to go home stinking. Oh - if I ever got to go home that was.
I realised I was shaking with fear. I really, really didn't want to die and I certainly didn't want to die horribly.
"I'm scared Bob."
"There's nothing we can do. We shall just have to accept it."
A sob escaped from my throat. Bob reached for my hand.
"Don't worry Leo, they'll probably kill me first. I'm glad - you're the best friend I've ever had."
Another sob escaped. I had meant to be brave and I was failing miserably.
Suddenly, beside us, our demonic guard collapsed to the floor, buckling in the middle of his legs as if his knees had suddenly disappeared. Then a slimy green figure was upon him and bashing his head in with a large wok. My best wok. Did you know demon blood looked like black treacle? Especially when it splatters all over you. It does.
"Asshole!" a voice rasped quietly.
"Trevor?"
The troll stood in front of us, his hands on hips in superhero pose. "Who else?" He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, that kind of detracted from the whole superhero look. That and the fact he was covered with thick, black blood.
"Can you get these off us?" I asked, showing Trevor the silky silver cord around my wrists.
Trevor shook his head, "No chance - that's Fae magick. Fae magick is strong."
Since the magick was tightly wrapped around my wrists and cutting off my circulation I could not disagree.
"How did you get here?"
Trevor shrugged. "Trolls have their ways. Now d'ya wanna kick ass?"
"Hell yeah!" I smiled at Trevor and then it fell off my face. "How exactly?"
"We need to get the ring," Bob said, "and destroy it."
I shook my head, "I know how to stop it working, but I still need to get hold of it. How are we going to do that?"
Suddenly there was a rumble of earth. Bob and I were thrown to our knees, Trevor - having a lower centre of gravity - just wobbled. The words and the ring were having an effect. We were running out of time.
Another incantation rang loud about the cemetery. The stones shook in the earth. A storm broke above, a crack of thunder deafened us and the lightning lit up the cemetery for an instant. Then all was black.
First one wail cut through the air. Then a dozen, then a hundred. It sounded like a nursery full of grown babies calling out the pain of life. I looked at Bob and Trevor, there was no reassurance to be seen in their faces - they were just as terrified as I was.
"They've woken!" Bob cried, "It's too late!"
A groan rumbled. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the scene - gravestones being smashed aside and the earth being torn open from within. A grey hand appeared thr
ough a patch of earth. I felt sick.
The un-dead figures began to fight their way back to life, some smashed through tomb doors but most had to dig themselves out of the earth. When they appeared it was clear their bodies were as good as their embalmers had made them after they died. Some were good jobs, a Victorian lady stood blemish free in a rotting wedding dress, but some were bad - skeletons with grey flesh hanging off the bone and internal organs sliding out between exposed ribs as a green mess of goo. As if drawn to the illuminated circle they stumbled, walked and fell towards the hooded man. They didn't walk like TV zombies - hands out in front and calling for brains - they walked like people, people in different states of repair. Even the decently preserved looked ugly - pale skin, like they had been in the bath too long, with the make-up of the funeral parlour still bright upon their faces. Some of them looked confused and looked around, blinking in the light. One woman looked at her hands of rotting flesh and sat down to sob. It was like someone had dug up a battlefield.
The hooded man held his hands out. Orla and Jamie now looked moderately interested and looked at the corpses like children looking at an ant under a magnifying glass. It was all just an experiment to them. They had their own agenda.
"Stay here!" I told Bob and Trevor, "Better still - hide!"
"What are you going to do?" Bob asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. "I haven't got a bloody clue."
"I can help!" Trevor said, palming the wok and looking as tough and hard as only a troll can.
I shook my head, "Your job is to protect Bob, he is still my client and his needs come first."
Trevor nodded. I knew, even now, he was thinking of mangoes.
Bob opened his mouth to speak. I shook my head. "You came to me for help Bob, please take it."
His face was sad, but he nodded. "I wish I was more use to you," he said, "but I'm no use to anyone."
I clutched the back of his hand with my own. "Yes you are. And I still owe you a pizza."
Hands still bound I edged my way forward. A bearded man was ahead of me, entering the circle, shaking his head.
"Where am I?" he asked in a faint German accent.
Holy shit, it was Karl Marx! I looked from the un-dead dead Karl Marx to the enormous stone head that covered his grave. Bloody hell!
"Welcome Herr Marx," the hooded man said, spreading his arms wide, "Welcome back to the living world. We've been waiting for you."
What? All this was for one guy? Even Orla looked faintly surprised although it was hard to tell on her botoxed face. What did the hooded man want Karl Marx for? Hmm - what use could there be for the man who had inspired the political regimes in the world's biggest and scariest countries? Dear god, if China, Russia and Cuba heard that Karl Marx was back with us... what could he persuade him to do? What would the hooded man want him to persuade them to do?
"Waiting for me?" Marx said, "You must have been waiting a long time. I appear to have been dead." He turned around and looked about him. "So, I got Highgate then. Very good. Dear God!" He was now confronted by his enormous face of a tomb. "Who the hell created that monstrosity? Why on earth would I want my big fat face all over the place? Schmucks!" He shook his head.
"Please come with me," the hooded man said.
Marx stayed where he was, looking at his enormous face. To be honest his embalmer hadn't been the best and he was a bit flaky, but the resemblance was still fairly clear. "Why should I go with you?"
"I brought you back."
"So?"
The two stared at each other. Good old Marx, truculent and strong willed.
"Persuade me young man." Marx said and sat on a tomb stone, legs and arms crossed. "Persuade me why I should go with you. There are lots of other things I should like to do. I would like to get laid as soon as possible and then I should like to take a train all the way around London. Under ground. Yes, that sounds very fine. I like the underground train system."
"I need you," the hooded man said, "your work inspired millions of people to work for political reform - the proletariat rose. Think what we could do together. Where your work could lead the world next."
Marx sniffed.
"Yes," I said, taking a deep breath and stepping forward into the circle. "The proletariat rose..."
"Let me kill her!" hissed Orla.
Marx steadied her with a hand. "Not so fast pretty one, let her talk. I want to hear." He looked at my bound hands, but wisely decided not to comment. "Speak."
"Your words and work inspired the greatest change in political history, but it also inspired regimes of fear and was responsible for the greatest murders of the twentieth century... well except those inspired by fascism, but that's another story."
"Without you," the hooded man went on, "humans would be still scrabbling around in the dirt, the rich would still be rich and the poor still oppressed."
"The rich still rule the world!" I continued, "money always rules. Even the Soviets at the top lived better lives than those at the bottom. Think of the slaughter of 'intellectuals' in Cambodia, anyone who could spell their name slaughtered to free the proletariat - so who was there left to educate the proletariat?"
"People killed in my name?" Marx asked, "Really?" He shook his head. "I didn't expect that."
"People will always kill," the hooded man said, "that is what it is to be human. They mindlessly slaughter each other at the slightest whim. We can educate them to be better - together."
Marx shook his head. "I don't care anymore. I thought it was important, but I died. That is the only sure thing - we die. My new life will be devoted to pleasure. Hedonism. That is what I shall do."
"I'm afraid I must insist." the hooded man said.
Marx threw his hands in the air. "What are you going to do? Kill me?"
"If I must."
"Been there, done that my young friend."
"Then I shall kill her." He looked straight at me and I felt a twist in my guts. The hooded man nodded to Orla. She put one icy hand on my arm and dragged me to him. Her nails were sharp and dug deep through the sleeve of my dressing gown like acid. She threw me and I landed on my knees in front of the hooded man. At any other time it might be a moment for innuendo. Not now.
He reached for my chin with his black leather covered hand and tilted it up as if to take a better look at me. Then he clasped my face and spun me round to face Marx.
"I will kill her."
Marx shrugged again. "If you will you will - it has very little to do with me. Your decisions are your own no matter what I say. Why should she matter to me?"
The hooded man threw me to the ground, it was awkward landing on bound hands and my wrists twisted painfully. It was also cold and I was beginning to shiver with cold. I was trying to suppress it as much as possible because I didn't want him to think I was scared - although of course I was.
From the ground I looked up. The hooded man pulled the Vitam Mortem ring off his little finger and held it up to Marx between his thumb and index finger.
"Do you know what this is? What I can do with it? I can raise armies of soldiers to do my will. Our will."
Orla leant over Marx and hissed, "The Fae will arise and re-conquer your miserable race."
I looked at the ring. It was the first opportunity I'd had to see it close up. It was kind of pretty - old fashioned gold woven into a circle and surmounted with a yellow diamond. Ancient lettering covered each strand of gold and it almost seemed to resonate power. I had to stop it. I had to do something to prevent the rise of these un-dead dead humans and a race of life-challenged fairies from taking over the world. I was on holy, sanctified ground and now I had to find a way of changing the ring's purpose. There was only one way I could think of doing that.
"Hey, toss-rag," I said which drew the hooded man's attention back to me, "I'm going to marry you."
"Marry me?" he repeated with contempt.
"Thank you - I will
." and I dived for the ring he so conveniently held out, aiming my left ring finger for the Vitam Mortem ring. It slid on as if it had been made for me. I felt a spark and then the throbbing from the ring went silent. A vow made on sanctified ground and a ring exchanged. Just like the weddings before the Christian church organised itself - a simple promise and exchange. That was all that was needed.
I looked down at my hands. The ring sat comfortably on my finger. It's power diminished and I felt a tug. I had done it. I smiled. My smile irritated the hooded man so he back slapped me across the face which was not the wedding present I had anticipated and sent me flying back down to the earth. He knew I had won.
I'd like to say the un-dead dead got him, but in the blink of an eye he was gone. Just like that.
Orla growled and then clicked her fingers. She disappeared as well followed by Jamie. Soon the ghouls and demons were also slinking off into the dark. That was it? Slip the ring on your finger and done?
With the fairies gone I realised my hands were free and I slowly stood myself up.
Karl Marx also took that as his cue and rose from the gravestone he had been perched upon. "Nice meeting you." he said, "I'm off to get laid. It's been a while."
I watched as he trotted off down the hill. A nudge in the ribs turned me around. A small Victorian woman was stood before me.
"Do they still read 'Middlemarch'?"
"Oh yes." I said, blinking at the incredulity of the moment, "there was even a TV adaptation or two."
She rubbed her hands together. "Good, I've got decades of back paid royalties to claim."