by Gemma Holden
Aren used his handkerchief to open the front door. Tobin waited across the street with the carriage. He swivelled his huge body round to face them as they came out. Somehow, he knew where they were even though he had no head.
“What do we do now?” she asked once they were inside the carriage.
“I’m not sure. It seems to have been a waste of time, although we do have a cheap amulet to show for it.”
“And the landlady has a magic mirror that’s worth more than her house.”
Aren laughed. “It’s probably worth more than every house on that street combined.” His face sobered. “I’m going to have Matherson’s body exhumed later today to get a piece of bone from one of his fingers.”
“And then you will make him cross over?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Raiden.”
She smiled sadly. “You’re just doing your job.”
“Perhaps with a link I can get some control over him.”
The carriage pulled up to his office. He climbed out. She stopped him shutting the door. “Thank you for helping me,” she said.
He put his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers. “I’ll let you know once I’ve laid Matherson’s ghost to rest.”
He shut the door and the carriage moved forward to join the traffic. They had barely gone half way down the road when a crush of carriages up ahead forced her carriage to a stop. A cavalcade of horses was coming down the street. At the centre of the procession was an ornate open top golden carriage pulled by four ghost horses. In the carriage sat a skeleton wearing a cream Elizabethan dress encrusted with jewels and pearls and embroidered with golden thread. It wore a bright orange wig with tight tiny curls on its skull.
Queen Elizabeth had once been known as the Virgin Queen, now she was the Skeleton Queen. She had been raised from the dead by royalists after Charles I had been executed. They hadn’t been able to get to Charles’s remains to summon him back. Two round spots of rouge had been painted onto her skull under her eye sockets and she wore heavy gemmed rings on each of her finger bones. The ghosts of her courtiers rode around her, resplendent in their velvets and satins.
A crowd had gathered to watch the procession as it passed. The ghosts in the crowd bowed or curtsied. There were a number of humans still living who bowed as well. Royalists wanted the monarchy re-established, even if meant a dead queen on the throne. The dead wanted that as well; they had few rights under parliament. For over two hundred years, she had been trying to claim the throne.
It was rare the queen would make such a public appearance. It did not bode well. The dead queen was getting bold.
Tobin started to manoeuvre the carriage through the crowd. Raiden had a brief glimpse of a zombie trailing behind a lady in the crush of people. There was something strangely familiar about the zombie. She had seen him somewhere before she was sure of it, but where?
“Stop the carriage,” she called. She opened the door and was out of the carriage before it had stopped.
Chapter Nine
She ran after him, pushing past the people coming the opposite way. She grabbed the zombie’s arm and he stopped. The lady turned. A black hat was pinned to her dark hair and she wore a heavy black cloak over a black dress. A sylph was wrapped around her neck like a scarf. A face formed in the sylph; a child’s face. It watched Raiden curiously.
“What are you doing?” the lady demanded.
“Where did you get this zombie?” Raiden asked.
The lady looked at her with contempt. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to strangers. Now, let him go.” She walked away. The zombie followed obediently behind her. Raiden held onto him, forcing him to stop. The lady turned back to her. The wind had picked up. It was a warning.
“I know him,” Raiden said. “He shouldn’t be a zombie.”
“He came from a reputable dealer. I have all the papers for him. It’s perfectly legal.” The lady turned to the zombie. “Walk on.”
Raiden tightened her grip on his arm. He began to walk forward, dragging her with him. He looked the same as when she had first found him, lying dead on the road on her way back to school. Mrs Lynch had handed the corpse over to the authorities to be buried, so why was he now a zombie? His skin was grey and waxy. His neck had been stitched up where the creatures had torn into him. His clothes were different, but then they left the clothes. It wasn’t stealing if you only took the body. She had heard of men who dug up corpses and raised them as zombies to sell to the rich. They called themselves the Resurrection Men.
“You’re causing a scene,” the woman hissed. “Let him go.”
A face formed on the sylph; it was no longer a child’s face. It had bulging eyes and a wide open mouth with teeth.
“Call the Inquisition,” Raiden said. “You can show them your papers. Let them decide.”
The lady narrowed her eyes. “You will regret this.” She pushed the zombie away from her and stormed away. The zombie stared ahead with empty eyes. His left cheek had started to rot. The skin had flaked off, leaving the spongy flesh underneath visible.
“Come with me,” she said, tugging his hand. He followed obediently. She led him away from the street, through a warren of houses, in case the lady changed her mind. A layer of fog had come up from the Thames, making it difficult to see more than a hand’s reach in front of her. Her boots sounded loud as she walked. She heard another set of footsteps fall in behind her. She looked over her shoulder. It was a gentleman from the shape of him, although he was too far back to see clearly. She crossed the street, taking the zombie with her. The gentleman crossed as well. She sped up. He quickened his pace.
Drizzle soaked her hair, but she didn’t pull up her hood. It would restrict her vision and she wouldn’t be able to hear. She fumbled with the pouch of ashes at her waist, trying to undo the strings, but they were knotted tight.
She stopped and turned, intending to confront her pursuer. He appeared through the fog. He wore a black coat and top hat and a black cape around his shoulders. Beneath his hat a golden mask covered his face. The mask had the outline of a face beaten into the metal - the eyes, the mouth and the nose - but there was no opening for him to see, or even breathe. He started toward her. She took the zombie’s hand and ran.
She glanced back over her shoulder. He was still following her. She turned down the next street hoping to find more people. She tore at the strings of the pouch, but she couldn’t get them undone with her gloves on. She was just pulling them tighter. She needed to stop and take her gloves off so she could pick them apart. The zombie moved so slowly. Zombies were incapable of moving quickly; their limbs were too stiff and rigid. She pulled on his cold hand, trying to drag him along. Her pursuer was gaining on her.
She rounded a corner and ran headfirst into a solid shape. An arm caught her and steadied her.
She pulled back. A young man held her. It was the same young man who had been outside her window and in the courtyard the night of the party. She was so close to him, his face was only inches away. He wore no hat, leaving his white hair bare. His eyes were black like polished obsidian. She hadn’t been close enough before to see his face clearly. He wasn’t an ice witch as she had first thought. His lashes were as dark as his eyes, not white like Glacia’s. He wore a black wool coat buttoned up to his throat and a grey scarf knotted around his neck.
She turned as her pursuer emerged through the fog. The man in the golden mask stopped on seeing her not alone. The boy stepped in front of her. The man paused for a moment. He regarded them from beneath his mask, then turned and disappeared back into the fog.
“Why was he following you?” the boy asked as he turned back to face her.
“I don’t know,” Raiden said. It was too much of a coincidence he should be here.
“You always seem to be running from something,” he said softly.
She didn’t know how to respond. She had never spoken to a boy before other than Aren, and she shouldn’t be speaking to him now when they hadn’t been formal
ly introduced. She realised her hand was still resting on his arm. She immediately pulled it away.
He cleared his throat. He seemed unsure of himself. “You weren’t hurt last night?” he asked.
Her cheeks flushed. He had seen her humiliated last night at the party. “No.”
“I’m glad.”
They stood there in silence. The fog hung heavy and thick around them like a curtain, cutting them off from the rest of the world. He was staring at her, as though waiting for her to say something, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“May I escort you somewhere?” he asked.
Raiden finally managed to find her voice. “That’s not necessary. I have my carriage.” As she spoke, she untied the ribbons and stirred the ashes inside. Tobin appeared through the dense fog with her carriage. The horses seemed to be made up of the fog as tendrils of the vapour passed through their ghostly bodies.
The boy opened the door and offered her his hand. She hesitated before she placed her gloved hand in his. “Thank you,” she said as he helped her in. He held onto her hand for a moment longer than was proper, before he stepped back to allow the zombie to climb awkwardly in. He bowed and then closed the door, his gaze never wavering from hers. She watched him out of the window as the carriage pulled away until he was swallowed up by the fog.
She sat back against the seat and pressed her hands to her stomach. Butterflies swarmed inside. She felt strange. Her arm tingled where he had touched her and she had a warm feeling inside her chest.
The zombie had folded his stiff body into the seat across from her. She needed to find a necromancer to lay him to rest, but she had to get ready to go to the theatre with her grandmother that evening. She would have to hide him until she decided what she was going to do with him.
****
Raiden waited outside a heavy oak door studded with iron rivets, her arms crossed over her chest for warmth. The zombie stood next to her, his eyes unblinking. With an awful groaning sound, the door slowly opened.
Cassade stood on the other side, disapproval evident on her face. “I can’t believe I agreed to help you hide that thing.”
Raiden took the zombie’s hand and hurried him into the courtyard. Cassade pulled the heavy door closed behind them and slid the bolts back into place.
“Did anyone see you?” Raiden asked.
“No, but someone was bound to hear. We should hurry.”
The flowerbeds were laid out in a knotwork pattern with a path running through the centre. The beds were now just soil, the flowers having died long ago. The only plant was the zombie vines the Grimwoods had created. It stretched across the walls of the courtyard, like veins on the back of a hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as a vine slowly started to creep along the ground toward them. It was like a serpent the way it slithered along. A tendril snaked out and tried to tangle itself around Raiden’s foot. She kicked out at it and it recoiled. She pulled the zombie along, out of the vine’s reach. The vines seemed to be drawn to him.
“Let me go in first and make sure no one’s about,” Cassade said.
Raiden stayed with the zombie while she slipped inside. More vines appeared out of cracks in the walls and started slithering toward them.
Cassade returned a moment later. “It’s clear.”
Raiden quickly led the zombie into the school. She shut the door just as the vines reached them. Fortunately, classes were over and the corridor was deserted. She led him past the empty classrooms, all the way to the end, before she stopped at a door set in the wall. She turned the iron handle. The door was stiff, but with Cassade’s help, she managed to push it open.
Cassasde hesitated at the door. “We’re not meant to come in here.”
“You don’t have to come in,” Raiden said. “You can wait outside.”
She steered the zombie inside. This part of the manor was now only used for storage and was forbidden to the students. Grub was the only one who came down here.
The empty trunks were stacked all the way up to the ceiling. Old tables and broken chairs littered the floor. There was furniture that didn’t belong to the school; it was too grand and ornate. She guessed it had once belonged to the Grimwoods.
“There’s only one room here,” Cassade said, finally coming into the room. “But the manor extends back. There should be another wing here.”
“Maybe it was sealed off,” Raiden said.
There was an old wardrobe, big enough to fit the zombie inside. Furniture was stacked against it like a game of cards. If they moved one piece, it could bring the rest down.
“Help me move it,” she said to Cassade.
With a sigh, her friend came to help. They lifted a bench that was balanced on top of a table and the pile collapsed. Furniture crashed to the floor. They both froze as they waited for someone to come.
“I don’t think anyone heard,” Cassade said. “We’re too far away from the rest of the manor.”
Carefully, they set the bench down. “What is that?” Cassasde asked.
The crash had caused a wooden panel to swing open in the wall, revealing a narrow passageway. Raiden stepped over the furniture and pulled it open fully. The passageway led further into the manor. Darkness lay beyond.
“I think we found the other part of the manor,” Raiden said.
“Where do you think it goes?” Cassade asked, coming to stand beside her.
“I’m not sure. Let’s find out.”
“What about the zombie?”
The zombie still stood there unmoving. Raiden took his hand and guided him over the heap of furniture to the wardrobe. “You need to wait here,” she told him slowly. She opened the door and steered him inside. “It’s just for a little while, until I work out what to do with you. Do you understand?” He looked at her, his face blank. “Stay here,” she repeated.
“Stay,” he said. His voice was deep and sounded hollow. There was no feeling or emotion in it.
“Yes. Stay. No one can know you’re here.”
She closed the door, leaving him in the dark. She turned the rusty key in the lock and then pressed her hand against the wood. “I’ll come back,” she said softly. There was no sound from inside. She hoped he could hear her.
Cassade was peering into the passageway, trying to see what lay beyond. “It’s too dark to see anything. We need a light.”
They rummaged through the junk until Raiden found a lamp with a trickle of oil. Cassade found a packet of matches in the drawer of a dresser and lit the wick.
“I don’t know if we should be doing this,” Cassade said. “You know the stories about Lady Grimwood being walled up alive somewhere in the manor.”
“There’s no way she could still be alive after all this time,” Raiden replied.
“But her zombies might be.”
Ignoring Cassade’s concerns, Raiden stepped through the door. Cassade sighed heavily and then followed her in, carrying the lamp. They followed the passageway. Carpet under their feet muffled the sound of their boots. Up ahead, she could hear voices. Two peep holes were set in the wall. Raiden stood on tip toes to peer out. She could see the main hall. Mrs Lynch was lecturing two girls from the first year. She moved aside so Cassade could see. The passage would have once been the hallway of the manor. Doors led off. She tried each handle as they passed, but they were all sealed shut. Several had been bricked up. She tried another door. This time it opened.
“Let me go first,” Cassade said.
Raiden stepped aside. She hated being powerless. Cassade pushed the door open and went in, her hand held out in front of her. Most people wouldn’t consider a water witch dangerous unless they were near the river. Few realised the human body was full of water. Cassade could pull the moisture from a person until they were nothing more than a dried up husk.
The flickering light from Cassade’s lamp revealed a study. A large desk stood against the far wall next to a bookcase filled with leather bound books. There was no internal window. A portrait o
f Lady Grimwood wearing a black dress hung above the fireplace. She looked much younger in this portrait. Her dark brown hair was swept up, making her face seem softer, although she still wasn’t smiling.
Cassade set the lamp down on the desk and picked up a half-finished letter from the ledger. She held it close to the light so she could read it. “It’s signed Thaddius Grimwood,” she said, examining it. “He was Lady Grimwood’s husband. This must be Lord Grimwood’s study.”
No one had been here for over two hundred years. The brownies would have kept it free from dust. It was as if Lord Grimwood had only just stepped out of the room. The fire had been made up, ready to be lit. A book lay on the sofa, still open to the page he had been reading. It was a dead man’s room. His private study.
A row of red leather bound books filled the top shelf of the bookcase. Cassade pulled one out and opened it, squinting to read the tiny handwriting. Each volume was stamped with roman numerals. There were over twenty volumes, although the set wasn’t complete. Three volumes were missing.
“They’re his private journals,” Cassade said as she scanned the fragile pages. “The Inquisition would love to get their hands on these.”
A mummified hand lay under a glass dome. It resembled a claw with long, black nails that curled round. Raiden touched the glass and the fingers moved. She jumped back.
A noise came from outside in the passageway. They both turned. “We should go,” Cassade said. Instead of replacing the journal, she pulled more volumes off the shelf.
“What are you doing?” Raiden asked.
“He’s not going to miss them. I’m just borrowing them. I’ll replace them once I’ve read them.”
Raiden sighed and shook her head. She went first, carrying the lamp as Cassade had her arms full. Cassade pulled the door shut behind them. Raiden could sense someone else here. A feeling in her stomach told her to get out. She was relieved when she stepped out into the storage room. Raiden set the lamp down and blew out the flame. She closed the panel as soon as Cassade was through. It clicked back into place, fitting back seamlessly. No one would ever know there was a door there.