Keeping Up with the Deadlanders

by J.R. Rodriguez

EPISODE EIGHT:

  BALLO DEI MORTI

  Ankou examined himself in the full-length mirror with an air of confidence he rarely had. Going to a fancy dress event was something new and he wanted to be sure he made a good impression. He wore a long-skirted black single-breasted frock coat with white coutil trousers, black patent leather shoes, a dark blue bow tie, and an elegant stovepipe hat. He slipped on his white gloves, grabbed his walking stick and gave himself one last go over in the mirror before walking away.

  Famine was sitting in the living room of the family mausoleum when Ankou walked in. The boy always complained that the name of the room should be changed since no one actually did any living in it. Like Ankou, Famine was also dressed in Edwardian style clothing but his had a unique quality. His was very similar in layout but was made completely from dark brown and white leather instead of the refined material of Ankou’s. He had also opted for a bowler hat instead of a stovepipe, and had with no gloves or walking stick.

  “Famine my boy, you look very dapper,” Ankou said taking a seat next to Famine.

  He gave the man a quick once over. “Thanks. So do you, Uncle. I’m always surprised to see you dressed up. Guess I’m just used you wearing that same outfit.”

  “Those are my work clothes. I have to keep up appearances if I want to scare people. No one’s going to be frightened of a dandy.”

  Famine shrugged. “Guess you’re right. Dressing fancy just doesn’t scream darkness and death.”

  Ankou put his walking stick on his lap and looked at the ancient grandfather clock on the opposite wall. A small skeleton swung from side to side from its neck within the clock’s body. This pendulum was much better than the original, thought Ankou. He was glad he replaced it before giving the clock to his brother as a gift.

  Famine sat silently. The last time Ankou remembered Famine being that quiet was at the Dead Fair.

  “Say, child, what’s wrong? This shindig that the Banshee’s throwing is supposed to be fun. You can’t walk in there looking like that. You’ll spoil the mood.”

  Famine sighed. “I was just thinking about all that stuff with The Hunter. “

  “I see. You defeated him. I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “I guess I’m just shocked at myself. I didn’t think I could do that sort of thing. I’m just a bit shaken. My Dead Light coming out scared me.”

  “Hell, child, is that all? You should be proud of what you did. You defeated him without anyone’s help. That says something. Besides, you outwitted him rather than falling back on Dead Light. Don’t let it scare you too much. The time will come it will come out and you can use it like you want.”

  Famine pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just need to get my mind off of things.”

  Ankou stood up, adjusted the lapels on his jacket, and brushed some stray dust from his pants. He turned and looked down at Famine. “That’s the spirit! I suggest we get our asses going. Miss Morrigan’s waiting on us. I’d hate to keep that sweet girl waiting…and so should you.”

  Famine got up and smiled at his uncle in anticipation. “Can I drive the cart??”

  Ankou rubbed his chin in thought for a moment. “Sure. Not your fault you didn’t get you license. Just be careful.”

  “I’m always careful, Uncle. Trust me.”

  Ankou patted Famine on the back and laughed raspily. “I always do, I always do.”

  The two of them picked up their informal shrouds, which had been lying across the back of the sofa, and left. They had made a deal with one another: as soon as the dance is done, they get into more comfortable clothing.