"It would need a mouth if it was going to eat Reggie. That only makes sense, doesn't it? Yes. It had a mouth. I'm sure of it now."

One of the zombies held up his hand.

"What?" said Scapegrace irritably.

"Hi," the zombie said. "Uh, I'm Keith? From the...? You bit me?"

"I can't remember every single person I bite," Scapegrace said, even though he could, because it really wasn't very many, all things considered. "What do you want, Keith? Why is your hand up?"

"I was just wondering," Keith said, "if there really are monsters down here?"

"There are a few, yes," Scapegrace said. "No one knows how many, or what they're called. All anyone knows is that they're pretty impervious to magic, so... so don't use magic. Not that you could, because you're mortal. Or, you used to be. Anyway, magic attracts them."

"Um," said Keith.

"What now?"

"When you... remember when you bit me? And I woke up, and I was all, oh, what's happening? And your friend explained it?"

"He's not my friend," said Scapegrace.

"I'm his second-in-command," explained Thrasher.

"Oh, OK, sorry," said Keith. "Anyway, he told me I was a zombie now, and that magic was now sustaining me and everything, and all that's fine, but does that mean that now we will attract all the monsters because we have magic inside us, or am I just talking complete nonsense?"

Scapegrace looked at him. Oh, h.e.l.l.

"Right," Scapegrace said loudly. "Everyone fall in, and pay attention."

Thrasher joined the horde, and Scapegrace looked at them like a general might survey his troops.

"We have been charged with a mission. We are deep in enemy territory. In order to achieve our objective, we must pa.s.s through hostile terrain. Keith is absolutely right. Our very presence here will attract the monsters."

The horde gaped at him, suddenly terrified. Scapegrace pressed on.

"So we will move! Like lightning! And we will arrive at our destination and we will engage the enemy! In years to come, they will speak of this battle and they will speak of the sacrifice we made here! They will speak of the brave Army of the Undead, the horde that turned back the tide, who fought with everything that is in them to make this world our world! I have seen the faces of our enemies! I have looked into the eyes of our foes! Do you know what I have seen?" Scapegrace snarled, making them wait for the revelation. "Faces and eyes, gentlemen. Faces... and eyes."

The horde frowned at him, and Scapegrace realised he had lost track of his speech. Panicked, he continued. "We do what we must. We do what we can. We do what we will. We do what we... we don't do what we won't."

"Uh..." someone said.

"What will you give?" Scapegrace roared. "What will you give for one chance, just one chance, to say to your enemies this far, and no further?"

"Who are our enemies again?" someone asked.

"Are you with me?" Scapegrace screeched.

"Not really."

"Are you with me?"

"I'm with you!" Thrasher squeaked excitedly.

"Is anyone apart from Thrasher with me?" Scapegrace hollered. He decided it was best not to wait for an answer. "Then let's go! Let's fight! Let's show them what it means to die!"

Roaring, Scapegrace charged for the tunnel, Thrasher at his heels. After a moment, the horde started jogging after them. They ran through the darkness and the swaying light, and now some of the horde were joining in with the roars, and by the time they reached the end of the tunnel they were a charging ma.s.s of fury and violence, waiting to be loosed upon their enemies. Their feet thundered on the rocky ground, fists pumped the air, their cries turning animalistic, inhuman, a wave of death about to crash down on whoever they found in their way.

They came to a dead end and there was some jostling, and Scapegrace led them back a bit, took the first turn they came to, and the roars started up again and the thunder echoed in the caverns and Scapegrace waved his hand in the air. "Back," he said, "back. It must be the next turn," and they turned round again and charged back the way they had come.

Chapter 49.

The Pre-Emptive Strike

e crouched in the bushes with the others, all fourteen of them, black-robed and scared, watching the people come and go from the Requiem Ball. Craven refused to allow his own fear to show through. Great leaders did not get scared, after all. Plus, he had an advantage that none of the others did a he had the White Cleaver to protect him should anything go wrong.

"This is highly dangerous," Cleric Solus whispered. "We must leave now. If they find us-"

"We are done discussing this," Craven snapped. "I have made my decision, Solus. You will obey."

"You are not the High Priest," Solus said.

"Do you wish to test me? Do you wish to test my resolve? You say we are surrounded by the enemy. I say we have the enemy right where we want them."

"And how do you plan to get us inside the house?" Solus asked. "Did you happen to have the zombies steal another disc that would make the Rippers abandon their posts?"

"Of course not," Craven answered. "I have something much more rudimentary planned."

There was a gunshot from inside the house. They watched the Rippers run towards the sound. Once the path was clear, the White Cleaver led the way from the bushes to the side door of the house. Craven darted back through the trees, found her waiting there with her back to him.

"It's time," he said softly.

She turned slowly, and took down her hood, releasing her blonde hair, letting the moonlight fall across her scars. Melancholia allowed him to take her hand, and he guided her into the house behind the other Necromancers.

Once they were inside, and the music started up again in a far-away room, the White Cleaver killed two Rippers and four guests, and the only sound was the soft splatter of blood on walls. The bodies were hidden and they continued on, Craven keeping Melancholia close to him as they moved.

They found the cellar empty. Craven led them down the steps, three Necromancers remaining behind, dressed in ill-fitting tuxedos. They were Temple-born and got nervous easily, but all they had to do was stop anyone from entering. Even they couldn't mess that up.

The cellar was filled with glorious darkness. The caves were beneath them, and provided a last-resort exit in the unlikely event of things going disastrously wrong. There was a secret door somewhere in here, he knew, but it was so well disguised it would take a less intelligent man weeks to find. But Craven had all the angles covered. He took a stone from his robes, gave it to Adrienna Shade.

"Walk with this held close to the ground," he instructed her. "When it glows blue, tell me."

"Yes, Your Eminence," she said, and did as she was told.

Amid the junk that had been collected in the cellar, there was an old table upon which Melancholia sat. She closed her eyes and breathed, preparing herself for what was to come. Craven considered it best to leave her alone. He turned to find Solus looking at him.

"Your Eminence?" Solus said, mocking. "Is that how we address you now? You're a Cleric, Vandameer. The same as me."

"Be careful, Cleric Solus," Craven said. "The last man to question me like you do was Solomon Wreath, who then tried to a.s.sa.s.sinate me. If you continue to act like him, I might start to fear for my life. And then the White Cleaver would be forced into action."

At the mention of the Cleaver, Solus's face went slack. To cover his fear, he nodded to Shade. "And what do you have her doing? Walking around with a stone?"

"Below us," Craven said patiently, "the zombies are standing at the secret door, having made their way through the caves. Once the stone comes into close proximity with its twin, in the possession of the zombies, it will glow. In the case of an emergency, therefore, we know where to blast through in order to make our escape."

"It's still reckless," Solus said, but speaking without gusto. "If they find us here, all our plans will be for nought."

"No matter where the Death Bringer is when she initiates the Pa.s.sage," said Craven, "the Sanctuary forces will converge on her. They may even stop her before the Pa.s.sage is complete. We can't risk that. All my plans have been born out of necessity. We needed someone to tip them off as to our whereabouts, so Melancholia told Wreath he was in danger. We needed to make them think Melancholia was dead, so I killed her reflection before any seasoned sorcerer could get a good look at her. We need to take out our enemies before the Pa.s.sage begins, so we come to them, and allow the Death Bringer to use her wonderful new talents to s.n.a.t.c.h their lives away. No fighting. No violence. No chance of defeat. I have thought of everything, Cleric Solus. All you need to do is trust me. So I ask a do you trust me?"

The White Cleaver stepped beside Craven, and Solus swallowed thickly.

"I trust you," he said.

"You trust me...?"

Solus cleared his throat. "I trust you, Your Eminence."

Craven smiled. "I thought you might."

Chapter 50.

China's Ally

hina hated mingling, but it was a necessary evil to which she had grown both accustomed and excessively proficient in. Even without her ability to make people fall in love with her, she could charm a room as easily as shrugging. A little light laugh, a touch on the arm, a lingering look, the right words at the right time, they could all get her what she wanted, providing she had an agenda she wished to fulfil.

And tonight, she had such an agenda.

The drawback of being notorious, as China could well attest, was the ripple effect. When she had been at the peak of her notoriety, she could walk into any room and every head would turn and every conversation would grow quiet. Hushed whispers would spread outwards from the epicentre, ensuring that everyone would know where she was and who she was talking with.

Even as little as ten years ago, China would have had that effect on this room. But thanks to a growing, and somewhat puzzling, aura of respectability that had surrounded her lately, this year the Most Notorious honour went to Eliza Scorn.

China drifted from conversation to dance to anecdote, always with Eliza in sight, keeping note of who she spoke to and, just as importantly, who she ignored. Gallow had promised to furnish China with the list of benefactors, but he was running late.

"China," a deep voice rumbled behind her. Frightening Jones was a large man with ebony skin who fitted into his tuxedo exceedingly well. "Always a pleasure," he said, bowing slightly.

"Frightening," China replied, "how good to see you again. The last time I saw you, you were trying to kill me."

"I doubt I would have posed much of a threat to one such as you, China, even with a Remnant inside me."

"You flatterer," China said, manoeuvring slightly so that she kept Eliza in view. "But you're quite right. I almost killed you, in fact. It was only your ex-girlfriend who stopped me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Tanith? How is she? Have you heard anything?"

"Nothing at all," China said, doing her best to sound as if she was sad about that. "She's on the run with that dreadful Texan. You should talk to Ghastly about it a he'd know much more than I."

"Ah," Frightening said, looking uncomfortable, "maybe later. Elder Bespoke is a busy man."

China smiled, amused. "And you're sure it has nothing to do with you being in love with the same woman?"

"In love, perhaps, but at different times, and that's the important part. My love for Tanith has faded somewhat since we parted, so I now only have a deep, deep affection for her. Ghastly, however, is neck deep in love."

"I will never understand the taste of certain otherwise intelligent men."

"You don't approve of Tanith, I take it?"

"I never have. She's always been too... brash for my liking."

"Some people like brash."

"And they are welcome to it."

"Of course," Frightening said with a smile, "some people like other things as well."

China laughed. "I admire your audacity, Frightening. It is completely wasted on me, but I admire it nonetheless."

A pale, fleshy hand clamped on to Frightening's shoulder a not an easy task, as the owner of that hand had to reach up to do it. "Frightening!" boomed Quintin Strom, lurching slightly into him, "aren't you going to introduce me to your beautiful friend?"

Frightening sighed. "Elder Strom, you already know China Sorrows."

"I know I do," the British Elder grinned, "but it never hurts to make a second first impression. h.e.l.lo, Miss Sorrows, you are looking ravishing tonight." He was, quite clearly, drunk.

"Elder Strom," China said, nodding politely. "How have you been? I have heard no scandal about you at all in the past few years."

"Because I've been behaving myself !" Strom laughed. "It hasn't been easy, but I've been keeping out of trouble. Unlike yourself, my dear. For someone who is apparently neutral, you find yourself fighting by the Skeleton Detective's side an awful lot. Is there something I should know? Should every man in this room be jealous?"

Frightening sighed, smiled at China and backed away, leaving her to cope with Strom alone.