The Nekropolis Archives

by Tim Waggoner

  Baron must've noticed me looking. "It's an independently functioning circulatory system," he explained. "Something Lord Galm commissioned me to work on. There's a shortage of willing blood donors in the city and since aqua sanguis provides little actual nourishment for Bloodborn Galm would like me to create an alternative source of blood for his people. The Bloodborn would keep one of these creatures in their homes to feed off the blood it generates, something like a farmer getting fresh milk from a cow." Baron frowned then. "Unfortunately the creatures live only a few days at most, so they're hardly practical." His frown eased. "Still, we'll get it right eventually, won't we, Henry?"

  "Yes, Victor. Eventually." There was a distinct lack of "go-team" enthusiasm in the man's voice, but Victor didn't seem to notice.

  "I'm surprised my father hired you," Devona said. "He's not big on technology."

  "Perhaps Galm's perspective is broadening as time goes on. The other Darklords make use of our products. Lady Varvara especially, considering the bulk of our customers live in the Sprawl, and of course Lord Edrigu finds many uses for our creations throughout the Boneyard. But we have been known to do business in Gothtown–" he gestured toward his circulatory prototype – "and even a bit in the Wyldwood. Not so much in Glamere, though. Lady Talaith forbids her people to have anything to do with modern technology. But even among the Arcane we've made a few inroads. Certain spells require toxic ingredients that are too risky even for the Arcane to handle. Here we can create assistants capable of withstanding all manner of dangerous substances. But Talaith has permitted only a handful of our creations to enter her Dominion. Still, one step at a time, yes?"

  "Speaking of Darklords, some refer to you as the Sixth Lord," I said. "There's even been rumors that some of your more influential clients have been lobbying Father Dis to make the designation official."

  "That's very flattering, of course, and it speaks to how important the Foundry's products have become to the city. But when all is said and done, I'm an inventor and a businessman. I have no interest in acquiring political power." He paused, then shook his head and gave us a rueful smile. "Pardon my manners. I get too caught up in work at times. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Richter. Though I must say I wish it had been under better circumstances. Henry told me about the attack on you earlier this evening. Horrid business, but that's the Sprawl for you. Violence is far too often a way of life there."

  Baron leaned down to get a better look at me. I might've felt self-conscious about that, but given how tall Baron was, even if my head had been on my body, he still would've had to bend over to look at me.

  "You know, Mr. Richter, I've been following your career with interest for some time now."

  "You have?"

  Baron reached out and gently prodded the edges of my neck wound with his index finger. "Of course! There are many varieties of reanimated dead in Nekropolis, but you're the only one of your kind. That makes you a unique specimen."

  "Uh, thanks. I think."

  Baron straightened then and reached out to shake Devona's hand. "Ms. Kanti, it's a distinct pleasure to meet you as well."

  Devona had to tuck my head under her arm to free up a hand for Baron to shake. He held the grip a bit longer than necessary, and though I couldn't see from the angle I was at, I imagined Devona blushing a bit. Baron is the handsomest man in the city, maybe the handsomest who'd ever lived, whether in Nekropolis or on Earth, and it was difficult for women not be affected by how attractive he was. Hell, I'm straight and even I had trouble taking my gaze off him.

  It was stupid of me but I couldn't help thinking that if Baron had managed to perfect his physical form, then all his organs – internal as well as external – would be the epitome of anatomical perfection. In other words he probably had an enormous and indefatigable schwanzstucker.

  What was it with me and being jealous lately? Devona loved me and our psychic bonding was as intimate and satisfying as any physical lovemaking, maybe more so. Still, I was glad when Baron finally released Devona's hand.

  "Well, Mr. Richter, let's get you up on the table and have a look at you."

  Baron took my head from Devona and carried me to the operating table. Over his shoulder he said, "Henry, if you could bring Mr. Richter's body?"

  Henry wheeled the rest of me over and between the two of them they got the two halves of me onto the table. Henry removed the clothes from my body while Victor further examined my neck wound, all the while asking me more detailed questions about how I got it.

  "Interesting," Baron said. "Whoever attacked you used something more elaborate than a simple garrote. Your head was severed from your body with almost laser-like precision. And to judge by the swiftness of the attack the culprit was practiced in the use of the device."

  Something about Baron's observation stirred a thought in me. There was something important there, but try as I might, I couldn't quite grasp hold of it. Baron continued.

  "As to precisely what the tool was, I'm afraid I can't say. We have devices here at the Foundry that could do the job and there are any number of weapons available in the city that would serve the same purpose, at least to judge by the condition of some of the bodies my Bonegetters bring me." He smiled. "The good news is a clean cut like this makes for an easier repair."

  "So you can fix him?" Devona asked. She'd joined Baron and Henry at the operating table, standing a little too close to the former for my liking.

  Baron's expression became serious. "I didn't say that. While I normally work with dead bodies, my specialty is bringing them back to life, or at least a semblance thereof. But Mr. Richter is a zombie – he exists in a state between life and death. And he's not a typical zombie. He's a highly functional one whose body operates nearly as well as it did when he was alive. That makes his central nervous system more complex than a garden variety zombie. I can't simply sew his head back onto his neck and call it a day. I'm afraid it's going to be a bit more complicated than that.

  He poked and prodded both sections of me some more, hmming and tsking as he worked. At one point he turned to Henry and asked, "What do you think?"

  Henry scowled in thought. "Both sections are in a similar state of arrested decay. Typical of a zombie. Though the body's a bit worse off than the head. Probably because it's been inanimate for so long. Reconnection should be possible, if tricky." He paused. "If that's what Mr. Richter really wants."

  Now it was my turn to scowl. "What do you mean?"

  "We have all sorts of spare parts around here," Baron began, but then he stopped and frowned. "Speaking of which, I prefer to have a full complement of such when I operate, and none have been delivered yet. Henry, if you wouldn't mind? I seem to have forgotten my vox again."

  "I swear you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached." Henry looked at me then. "No offense," he added before removing a hand vox from a robe pocket and turning away from the table to make a call.

  "As I was saying," Baron continued, "I have numerous spare parts – including entire bodies. The mind, the personality, indeed the very self is contained solely within the brain, Mr. Richter. To put it simply you are your head and your body exists to move that head around. But you don't have to keep your old body if you don't want to. I can give you a new one: a living one."

  The idea stunned me. Ever since Papa Chatha had suggested that Baron might be able to help me, I'd been thinking only in terms of his reattaching my head to my body. It had never occurred to me that Baron might be able to do better than that.

  Baron went on. "Of course, there's no guarantee just how much physical perception your undead brain is capable of. You might not be able to experience the full range of physical sensations that a living body can. But then again, you might." He smiled. "In all modesty, I've been doing this for a very long time, and I've gotten awfully good at it."

  Henry put his vox away and returned to the table.

  "They're on their way," he said, and Baron nodded.

  A living body… I'd long given up hope that
I could ever be restored to life. There didn't seem to be any magic or science in Nekropolis capable of returning me to a fully human state. Even Father Dis had told me that it was beyond his capabilities. But now Baron was telling me he might be able to do it – if I was willing to let him experiment on me.

  I looked at Devona, but before I could speak, she said, "Why would Matt want a different body? The one he has works just fine." Then she stopped and looked down at me. "I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't speak for you. It's your decision, of course."

  If I'd been capable of doing so right then, I'd have taken Devona in my arms and kissed her.

  I'd been dead for some time but I hadn't forgotten what it was like to have a body that could smell, taste and above all fully experience touch in all its forms. I've never told Devona but I sometimes have dreams in which I'm alive and do the most mundane things: drinking a soda, eating ice cream, inhaling the scent of autumn leaves, drying off after a long hot shower with a thick fuzzy towel. So I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted by Baron's offer. Tempted bad.

  "Thanks anyway," I said. "But I'm happy enough the way I am. Besides, being a zombie detective is kind of my thing, you know? 'Zombie head on living body' detective just doesn't have the same ring to it."

  "As you wish," Baron said. "But if at some future date you change your mind, feel free to drop by. There's always a spare body or two lying around here."

  The lab doors opened then and a pair of men entered, one thin-faced like a weasel, the other with a round face sporting a pair of mutton chops. The men, who wore long black coats, caps and fingerless gloves, stood on either side of a large portable wheeled freezer, guiding it along by gripping handles bolted onto the sides.

  "Where would you like it, Mr. Baron?" the round faced man said in an Irish accent.

  "Over here close to the operating table, Burke. Within arm's reach."

  "Righto. Glad to be of service."

  The two men maneuvered the freezer close to the table, as Baron had asked. Now that the men were closer I could get a getter look at them and I saw that both had a bluish tint to their skin and thin scars around their throats and wrists. They appeared human enough, but it was obvious they'd had some work done by Baron.

  The thin faced man spoke then, also in an Irish accent. "Anything else we can do for you, sir?"

  "No, thank you, Hare," Baron said. "I believe we're all set."

  "Best we be off then," Burke said. "Lot of work to be done."

  "No rest for the wicked, eh?" Hare said.

  Both men laughed at that, tipped their caps to Baron, and then turned and left.

  When they were gone Baron said, "Two of our best Bonegetters. They have quite a knack for the work, don't they, Henry?"

  "They're very reliable," Henry said noncommittally.

  Baron clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. "Time to get to work then. Henry, if you'll help me get everything ready?"

  "Of course," Henry said, sounding as if he'd just as soon have a hydrochloric acid enema. He lurched off to one of the work tables and began gathering surgical tools.

  "Would you like me to step outside?" Devona asked Baron.

  Baron answered while he donned a pair of black rubber gloves that looked as if they could use a good disinfecting, or better yet, a thorough going over with a blow torch.

  "There's no need, Ms. Kanti. Since Mr. Richter's already dead, there's no risk of infection to him, and as he cannot experience physical pain, there's no need for anesthetics, so he'll be conscious and awake during the procedure. You're welcome to stay, as long as it's all right with you, Mr. Richter."

  "Sure. Devona's seen me come apart before. She should get the chance to see me get put together for a change."

  Devona smiled at me. "I'd hold your hand, but I know you can't feel it right now."

  "Hold it anyway," I said. "For luck, if nothing else."

  She nodded and took hold of one of my hands. Henry wheeled over a surgical cart containing a dozen different instruments that wouldn't have been out of place in Torquemada's playroom. One by one he held an instrument and the arms extending from the fleshy mass above me stretched down and grabbed hold of it.

  I'd forgotten about the bizarre piece of fleshtech hanging down from the ceiling, but now I looked up at the hands gripping the surgical instruments and I saw that the mass was slowly descending toward me. When the hands were within reach of the table the mass stopped moving.

  "Please tell me those things are just going to hold the instruments for you," I said to Baron.

  He gave me a smile that did nothing at all to reassure me. "Don't worry. I'll be guiding them every step of the way."

  And before I could say anything else Baron gave a command and one of the hands reached toward me.

  The operation had begun.

  At one point during the procedure Baron said, "Something just occurred to me, Mr. Richter. You're in a rather unique situation."

  I tried to ignore the disembodied hands of the fleshtech device as they worked on restoring the connections between my brain and my central nervous system. "Considering that I'm a zombie having my head put back onto my body by the Frankenstein Monster, I'd say that was an understatement."

  Baron chuckled. "Besides that, I mean. Tonight someone attacked you, cut off your head, stole your body, and later dumped it rather unceremoniously in the Sprawl. This puts you in a unique situation in that, since the beheading didn't kill you, you are in a sense able to investigate your own murder. How many private detectives can say the same?"

  "I hadn't thought of it like that. I'll make sure to highlight it on my resume."

  Baron was right about one thing. When the operation was finished my first order of business was to find out who'd done this to me and why. And once I did I intended to lay a serious hurt on them.

  I gritted my teeth as the arms continued their work.

  "Now stand on your right foot and touch your nose with your left index finger," Baron said.

  "Is this really necessary?" I complained. "We've been at this for twenty minutes now. I've walked back and forth across the lab numerous times. I've clapped my hands and tapped my feet in various rhythms. I've written my name on a piece of paper a dozen times. If anything had gone wrong during the operation I think we'd know it by now."

  Baron, Henry and Devona had been standing by the operating table watching me go through my paces ever since I'd climbed off the operating table and gotten dressed. And while I was happy to be in one undead piece again I was getting tired of being treated like a performing zombie monkey.

  "Indulge me, please," Baron said. Despite my complaining the man didn't sound the least bit irritated. He had the calmest disposition of any monster I'd ever met.

  I sighed, did as Baron asked, and promptly poked myself in the eye.

  "I was afraid of that," Baron said. "The coordination is a bit off on your left side. If you'll just hop back onto the table, I'll take care of that."

  The thought of lying on the operating table while those disembodied hands worked on me some more wasn't exactly appealing.

  "I'm not sure that's necessary," I said. "In general, I'm more coordinated than I have been since I died. So I can't hop on one foot and touch my nose. It's not exactly a skill I use every day."

  "Even so, Mr. Richter, it'll only take a few minor adjustments. I really–"

  Henry interrupted. "The man seems satisfied enough, Victor. Remember, not everyone shares your drive for perfection."

  "I suppose so," Baron agreed, but he didn't seem very happy about it.

  "I think you should reconsider, Matt," Devona said. "Given the kind of work we – I mean you – do, you often end up in physical confrontations. The more coordinated your body is, the better."

  "You're exaggerating," I said. "Yeah, I get in a fight every now and then, but I hardly think–"

  The entire time we'd been in the lab the woman's head attached to the computer had been silent, but now she shouted, "Mr. Baron! An
intruder has just forced his way through the main entrance! And he's heading this way – fast!"

  "Alert security, Elsa," Baron said as he headed toward the door.

  "Where are you going?" Henry said. "This is why you built a security force – to take care of problems like this."

  Baron spun back around to face Henry and for the first time since we arrived I saw him lose his composure. "This is my home and I will not allow others to defend it for me!"

  Baron whirled around and shoved his way through the lab doors.

  Henry shook his head. "He's as stubborn as the night is long." He turned to us. "Stay here. You should be safe enough."

  Moving with his spastic, lurching gait, Henry went after his master. When he was gone Devona looked at me.