Updated_PerilInTheOldCountry_SamHooker_EbookFormatting_Nook

by Peril in the Old Country (retail) (epub)

  Constantin groaned. “Very well, let the record so reflect.”

  “Ha!” said Willie. “My devastating handsomeness is official now. Thank you, legal entanglements!”

  “Shush, Willie,” said Constantin, “don’t interrupt. Opening remarks from the bride’s counsel, if you please?”

  The hooded figure holding the knife to Greta’s back entered a similar statement for the official record, which Sloot noticed was being taken down by a hooded stenographer. Also entered into the record were several instructions to disregard the bride’s vigorous head-shaking, noting that they were likely the result of a bee having flown under her veils, and couldn’t possibly be taken to constitute disagreement with the arguments entered into the record on her behalf. The fact that bees are not native to the Old Country didn’t come up.

  Sloot was thankful for the time required to set the record straight. The sounds of combat inched nearer the cathedral. Perhaps no stalling would be necessary on his part!

  “Duly noted,” said Constantin. “We will proceed to the vows.”

  Greta’s lawyer pulled her veils back, revealing that she’d been gagged as well as bound. She was glaring at Willie as though they’d already been married for quite some time and had discussed divorce on multiple occasions. Willie was grinning from ear to ear, his moony gaze handing textbooks a readymade example of the word “oblivious.”

  “Insofar as he is empowered to do so,” Willie’s lawyer began, “the groom does hereby vow to provide no less than the minimum acceptable quantities of love and affection, as set down by municipal statutes relevant to same. Any further issuances of emotional gratification are reserved by the groom as at-will gratuities, to be granted at his sole discretion.”

  He went on to set out various clauses and addendums pertaining mostly to financial matters, droning on with a particular lack of enthusiasm generally reserved for reading standardized documents, whether done for the purpose of torture or otherwise. It was the first time in Sloot’s life that he’d actively hoped such a recitation would come with an encore.

  “Let the record reflect that none of the aforesaid vows constitute admission of guilt in any capacity,” said the lawyer, and then he was silent.

  A motion was put forth to forego entering the bride’s vows into the record in long form, but was ultimately rejected on the grounds that the underlying reference documents had been certified by different municipal authorities. Sloot, quietly delighted, had a hard time paying attention to Greta’s lawyer as the pandemonium of the battle outside grew infinitesimally louder with every passing moment. It made him feel like a real Carpathian to think, Oh, goody, the battle will be upon us any minute now!

  “Very well,” said Constantin. “By the power vested in me by innumerable dark forces, whose names have been redacted to satisfy the Goblin Control Act of 914, I hereby pronounce―”

  “Objection!”

  “What? Who said that?”

  It had been Sloot. He only realized it after Constantin asked. Why had he done that? He’d been told to stall the wedding, of course, but now he was in grave danger!

  “Well,” said Constantin, “if no one’s going to own up to it, I suppose―”

  “It was I!” said Sloot, taking a step forward. The hooded assembly all pitched in on a very dramatic gasp. Willie looked very hurt and confused. Greta looked relieved.

  “Peril!” shouted Mrs. Knife, who stepped away from the altar to confront him. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted. What is the meaning of this?”

  “Uh, well,” said Sloot in the traditional mode of someone stalling for time, “everyone’s got hoods on! Have we bothered to verify that there is a notary present?”

  “I’m a notary,” said Gregor, sneering as he removed his hood.

  “That makes sense,” said Sloot, who’d never had a pleasant encounter with a notary in his life.

  “If there’s nothing further?” boomed Constantin.

  “Objections!” said Sloot, causing himself further panic.

  “What?”

  “You never asked if there were any objections!”

  “That didn’t stop you from belting one out, did it, Peril?”

  “I beg your pardon, m’lord, but marriage is a complicated legal affair, isn’t it? You leave one bit out, and a crafty lawyer can do away with the whole thing! There might even be alimony.”

  There was another gasp from the pews. Even old Constantin, who was red in the face from shouting, blanched slightly.

  “Very well,” said Constantin. “If anyone objects to the union of these two people, speak up!”

  There was a reverberant boom, as something from outside collided with the doors. They’d been barred from the inside, so they held.

  “How long must we wait for objections?” asked Mrs. Knife.

  Boom.

  “I think that’s about long enough,” said Willie’s lawyer.

  Boom.

  “All right then,” said Constantin. “If there’s nothing further―”

  Boom.

  “I hereby pronounce you husband―”

  Crash.

  Salzstadt, Shambling Salzstadt

  Vlad’s army had not so much stormed the cathedral as shambled into it, a lifetime of impeccable queueing skills chucked right out the window by the simple act of having died and been reanimated with a bit of blood magic. The sheer chaos of it coaxed an entire congress of goblins into the balconies, where they cackled and spit and threw whatever they could get their hands on down below. Most of the hooded figures in the pews were laid low by the horde of undead and started to rise back up and join the other side when it all came to a very abrupt halt.

  “What’s happening?” asked Sloot, who never thought he’d have mixed feelings about a horde of undead ceasing their shambling in his direction.

  “It’s Gregor!” said Roman.

  “Where is it?” said Gregor with a snarl. His hands were held aloft, his fingers twisted into mysterious gestures that could have been construed as vulgar in any country. He was scanning the room for something.

  “Gregor’s holding them back somehow,” said Roman.

  “Is that good or bad?” asked Sloot.

  “Hard to say. How do you feel about being ripped apart by supernatural evil, but you take down an evil cult in the process?”

  “Strike down the wizard!” shouted Vlad. “We can finish this!”

  “There!” shouted Gregor, his eyes going wide with bloodshot glee. He interlocked his fingers in a way that must have required a great deal of yoga, wiggled his thumbs, and Nicoleta blinked into view. Gregor made another gesture, and she started floating toward him, unable to move or speak or resist.

  “Clever, cunning little wretch.” Gregor’s forefinger twitched. The blood star snapped away from the chain around Nicoleta’s neck and flew into his grip.

  “I’d wondered where this had gotten to,” said Gregor. “Its connection was strong when it was first placed in the clock tower in Ulfhaven, and then it disappeared. This insolent churl must have stolen it!”

  “Release her,” shouted Vlad, “or you’ll pay with your life!”

  Gregor laughed. “You can’t kill what’s already dead, Invader! You’ll be with your forebears soon enough. When you see your grandfather, tell him Ashkar and the Virag send their regards!”

  Gregor’s hands closed into fists, and he worked them in circles while Nicoleta twisted in the air and screamed. There was a series of cracking sounds, and she fell lifeless to the floor. Vlad gave a proper berserker roar, raised her sword, and was grappled by the undead horde behind her.

  “My servants now,” said Gregor with a cackle. “Bring her to me! And take them as well!”

  Sloot whimpered aloud and hoped for some version of the phrase “taken by a horde of undead” that ended with all of his insides still inside.
The gods of linguistics must have heard him, as the corpses of Sloot’s countrymen held him fast, but didn’t go searching his guts for prizes.

  “Get off!” shouted Roman. “What’re you grabbing me for?”

  “You’re involved somehow,” said Gregor. “I’ll find out— Oh, would you please subdue the girl already?”

  To her credit, Myrtle had yet to be apprehended by the mob. She was swinging her broom with righteous fury, and while the recently deceased might have forgotten queueing etiquette in death, the power of the broom was still enough to keep them at bay.

  “I’ll fight you until my last breath!” shouted Myrtle.

  “Ugh, fine.” Gregor made a gesture, and Myrtle’s neck went snap. She slumped to the floor.

  Someone started screaming, and Sloot thought it was weird that the sound hurt his throat more than his ears. Other than that, he felt absolutely nothing. That was weird, given all the chaos and the looming threat of a grisly death. Perhaps this was one of those coping mechanisms that he’d heard so much about. He’d always wanted to try one.

  “If you are quite finished!” shouted Constantin, which was startling enough to stop Sloot’s screaming. “Thank you. Ahem. Husband and wife. Kiss your bride, boy.”

  Vlad swore curses and foamed at the mouth. Willie went bright red and giggled like an idiot. Greta locked eyes with Vlad and wept.

  “Willie!” shouted Constantin.

  “Hmm?”

  “Kiss her, you dolt! There’s more to get through.”

  Willie blushed and giggled. Constantin sighed.

  It took Willie half a dozen shuffling steps to close the three feet that separated him from Greta, who was held firmly in place by a pair of corpses who’d once been constables. He gave her a furtive peck on the cheek and went right back to giggling like a goon.

  “There,” said Constantin, “that’s done. Now, Mrs. Knife, if you please?”

  Mrs. Knife clapped her hands, and the hooded figures around the altar started clearing it off. They lifted Constantin to kneel atop it, and Mrs. Knife placed an ornate golden chalice in front of him.

  “All right, Willie,” said Mrs. Knife, “it’s time for the Rite of Ascension.”

  “Sorry, the what?”

  “The pages from the Book of Black Law that I told you to read. You did read them, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did! The old Rite of Ascension then, eh? Piece of cake, right? Good, yeah, let’s do it then.”

  “Take your position,” said Gregor.

  Sloot watched Vlad struggling against the dozen or so undead who had forced her to her knees and piled themselves on top of her. He’d thought about struggling himself, but reasoned that his own meager frame probably wouldn’t support that much weight. Live to fight another day, and all that.

  “The thing is,” said Willie, “I can’t really remember the bit at the beginning.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, maybe you could just give me a hint as to the first bit? I’m sure I’ll remember the Rite of … what was it?”

  “Ascension!”

  Willie tried on a look of skepticism. “No, that wasn’t it. Was it?”

  Mrs. Knife said a swear word. Pop, cackle went a goblin.

  “He didn’t read it,” said Mrs. Knife. “Gregor, can you wiggle him like a puppet or something?”

  “No,” said Constantin, “he has to do it of his own free will. Willie! Come up here and stand behind me.”

  “Right-o,” said Willie.

  “But only if you want to.”

  “Oh, then no, thanks.”

  “Willie, use your free will to get up here this instant!”

  “Alrighty, then.”

  Willie attempted an ill-conceived gymnastic maneuver that nearly won him a broken nose.

  “Just climb up, you twit!”

  “Sorry.”

  Once he was in position, Mrs. Knife handed him a wicked-looking ceremonial dagger. Jagged steel with a bone handle carved to look like snakes. Just the sort of ghastly thing you’d expect to see used in a horrible ceremony by cultists wearing black hoods.

  Willie held the dagger at arm’s length and squinted. He nodded, gave it a couple of good swings, and made twirly loops with it the way that no one who knows how to use a dagger would ever do.

  “Very nice,” said Willie. “I’ll just, er, pay for this and be on my way then, yes?”

  “No,” said Gregor, “you’ll use it to drain your father of his last drop of blood!”

  “What? No, I won’t! Father needs all of his blood inside of him, I’m sure of it!”

  “Do as you’re told, boy!” shouted Constantin. “But only if you want to. And you’d better want to, or else!”

  “Let me do it, Constantin!” Mrs. Knife moved in close and whispered to him.

  “Out of the question,” he replied. “I have no doubt you’d make a fine Eye, but Willie is my heir! Do it now, boy, claim your destiny and take my life!”

  “But why?”

  “It’ll all make sense in a moment,” he said. “Now do it before I lose my patience!”

  “But I’ve never killed anybody,” said Willie, fighting back tears. “I love you, Father!”

  “Do it now, or I’ll tell Mrs. Knife to kill Greta.”

  “You wouldn’t!” shouted Willie.

  Vlad shouted some swear words. Pop, pop, pop.

  “Kill an old man who wants to die,” said Constantin. “Obey your father and save your bride. You’ll be the hero, Willie!”

  Sloot knew the face that Willie was making. He’d made it himself before. It was the face of resignation to fate. All of the choices before him were bad ones, and he’d lost all hope that the clouds would part. Nothing left to do then but let go, and trust that fate would be kind.

  Willie drew the knife across Constantin’s throat in a stilted, haphazard way that was consistent with wanting neither to do it poorly nor well. The old man’s eyes went wide as the blood poured from him. It filled the chalice and kept going, running forth from him in great arterial spurts.

  “There’s a good boy,” said Mrs. Knife. As she took the bloody dagger from his hand, something like a sickly green smoke started to pour upward from Constantin’s eyes and mouth. It flowed out from him and into Willie, who gasped and shot upright, staring wide-eyed up to the dome of the cathedral.

  “The ascension is at hand,” said Willie, whose voice had a very Constantin echo to it. “What has always been shall continue through me.”

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Knife in a very soothing tone, “that’s right.” With practiced grace, she reached over Willie’s shoulder and drew the ceremonial knife across his throat with a single fluid motion.

  Willie choked and sputtered, unable to speak. The dagger fell from Mrs. Knife’s hand, and she pushed Willie down atop his father. The ghastly green smoke flowed up from Constantin, through Willie, and into Mrs. Knife.

  “The power,” exclaimed Mrs. Knife, with echoes of Constantin and Willie mixed in. “The power!”

  “Yes,” Gregor cried, “it’s working! The Serpents of the Earth are ours to command!”

  The pair of them went into a full-bellied laughing fit, and the hordes of undead began to howl.

  “This is really bad,” said Roman.

  “I suppose it is,” said Sloot.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, quickly!”

  “I doubt it would help.”

  “What? Snap out of it, man, our lives are on the line!”

  “I know,” said Sloot, “but it hardly seems worth the effort.”

  “Of course it’s worth the effort! Literally anything that you do to preserve your own life would be worth the effort! The alternative is death!”

  But would that be so bad, really? Sure, Sloot’s life up to that point had had
a few bright spots, but most of it had been overshadowed by the feeling of dread, the lurking sense of fear that comes with being a natural worrier. He didn’t believe in any sort of afterlife. He found himself thinking in that very moment that there was exactly one thing he didn’t fear, and that was death.

  “D’you think I’ll get to see Myrtle again?”

  “No, I don’t,” replied Roman. “There’s more courage in you than you think, Sloot Peril!”

  “There really isn’t.”

  “Nonsense. I’m an excellent judge of character, you know. I’m not wrong about you!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Fine,” said Roman. “You might not care about your own life, but are you going to let me die?”

  “Why not? You dragged me into this mess!”

  “Because I’m your friend! Not the most selfless one, perhaps, but I’ve always been your friend! You may be a mild-mannered bundle of nerves, Peril, but you’re the most earnest and loyal bundle of nerves I’ve ever met.”

  “Fine! What would you have me do?”

  Vlad shouted another string of profanity. Several more goblins went pop and started pestering the undead.

  “Swear!” shouted Roman. “Swear like your life depended on it!”

  What could it hurt now? He said the one that used to mean “sleeping late on Tuesdays,” until teenagers made something filthy out of it. Pop. He didn’t see how it would help, but it was oddly satisfying.

  Next, he said the one that sailors yell at young ladies who tend to be the sisters of other sailors, usually causing fights to break out. Pop, pop. He said the one that sounds like pulling a boot out of the muck. Pop. He said the one that involved a spatula, the one that meant going fishing without a rod, and the one that no one’s actually limber enough to manage, outside of a circus anyway. Pop, pop, pop.

  It was working! The cackling of the goblins started to rise to the volume of the howling undead, and they started going at each other with a savage fury. Sloot was getting kicked and stepped on in the process. He managed to see Vlad get to her feet, then rolled himself into a ball in a vain attempt to protect himself.