“You are real, aren’t you?” I gazed up into her eyes, my head throbbing, my whole body an ache, the fire in my heart surging and guttering and surging again.
“Of course I’m real, silly.” She pushed me back on the couch, so I was half lying down. She climbed on top of me, straddling my hips, looking down on me with infinite compassion. Then she pushed up my shirt, her hands shockingly cool against my chest. Her fingertips touched my nipples, pinching one in each hand, and I gasped.
She twisted both hands, and there was a moment of pain, and then I heard a sort of click, and felt something slide open inside me. Suddenly her face was lit up from below, like there was a light shining out of my chest, and I thought, confused: the flame in my heart?
“There’s the problem,” she said. “Just a couple of wires crossed. We’ll have you working right again in no time.”
“What—” I said. She reached inside me, biting her lip in concentration, and something in me snapped, and sparked, and I was flooded with coolness, in my body and in my mind.
The light on her face disappeared as something in my chest slid and clicked closed. She patted my cheek. “All right now, Bob?”
I gazed up at her. I still felt real. She still seemed real. But for once, for the first time since I’d been a kid, so did everything else. “I think so. Yes.”
“Good boy.” She climbed off of me. “Why don’t you go and make me a drink.”
So I did, and it felt right, like I’d finally found my purpose, and didn’t have to worry about real and really real anymore, because it was all the same.
***
Tim Pratt’s fiction has won a Hugo Award, and he’s been a finalist for Sturgeon, Stoker, World Fantasy, Mythopoeic, and Nebula Awards, among others. His books include three short story collections, most recently Antiquities and Tangibles and Other Stories; a volume of poems; contemporary fantasy novels The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl, Briarpatch, and Heirs of Grace; science fantasy The Nex; steampunk novel The Constantine Affliction (as T. Aaron Payton); various roleplaying game tie-in fantasy novels; and, as T.A. Pratt, seven books (and counting) in an urban fantasy series about sorcerer Marla Mason. He edited anthology Sympathy for the Devil and co-edited Rags and Bones: New Twists on Timeless Tales with Melissa Marr. He works as a senior editor for Locus magazine, and lives in Berkeley, CA with his wife Heather Shaw and their son River. Find him online at timpratt.org.
Into the Woods, with Zombunny
Camille Griep
Squire Ulrich’s very worst day began with cold tea at breakfast, followed by the discovery of a hole in his right greave, and culminating with a lost battle flag. “Good luck with your next job,” his knight had said. Ulrich might have misplaced any number of items of little consequence; the battle flag was not one of them. Ulrich’s shoulders slumped as his former employer disappeared over the rise. He’d never been sacked before, in the middle of battle, no less.
The squire turned his back to a pile of pendants, none of which belonged to him, when misfortune beset him a final time. A sharp pain between his shoulder blades revealed itself to be a sturdy, wooden arrow impaling his chest.
He stared at the wound, expecting to feel fear or perhaps, rage. Instead, Ulrich felt an aching sorrow for missed opportunities and wasted potential. Never again would he relish the tankard of ale waiting for him at the end of the evening with a slab of of mutton alongside. An empty stool would sit where his friends would sniff back hot tears for his absence, lamenting the unsung songs of brave deeds undone.
Most of all he regretted the time he would not spend with Magda, the innkeeper’s niece. He’d miss her red curls and rose-tinged cheeks. He’d miss the way she’d laugh at his not very funny jokes. He’d never ask Magda to marry him.
Ulrich sank to his knees reaching for Magda’s imaginary face. But the reverie was interrupted as a bedraggled rabbit hopped into the clearing.
“Troubles, friend?” asked the rabbit.
“Indeed,” answered Ulrich. “I seem to be dying and it must be close to the end, for there are talking animals about.”
“Don’t worry,” said the rabbit, "none of them will pay much attention to a goner like you.”
Ulrich squinted at the rabbit. It was mostly grey with patches of fur missing. Instead of a fluffy tail, a stumpy nub jutted into the air and its front teeth were tilted leeward. “I could say the same for you, Sir… Rabbit. What’s the matter with you?”
“Me?” The rabbit was incredulous. “I could do a lot worse, you know. I was at death’s own door, I was. And then a miracle happened.”
“It did?”
“Aye. I met a witch.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem terribly miraculous.”
“It’s complicated,” muttered the rabbit. He began to hop away. “Just don’t say I never offered you a chance to carry on.”
“What? Wait!” cried Ulrich.
The rabbit paused and raised his hind foot to scratch behind a bald, drooping ear. “And to think, they said you were an imbecile.”
“Who said?”
“I’m willing to share my magical gift with you, but there are a few things you might want to know first.”
“I hope it won’t take too long,” said Ulrich with a yawn. Ulrich’s hands were turning an ashen color and he was uncomfortably stiff.
“Right. Magic now, information later. Nothing bad can come of that, now can it?”
Ulrich cocked his head to the side in an attempt to reduce the number of rabbits in front of him to single digits.
The rabbit hopped closer. “Give me your paw.”
Ulrich wrenched one of his hands from around the arrow and held it out. “What are you going to do?”
“Close your eyes. This might hurt.”
Squire Ulrich had been bitten by a great many things in his short life—foxes, dogs, and guinea hens—but nothing had prepared him for the searing agony he felt when the rabbit bit into the soft space between his index finger and thumb. Despite stalwart intentions, he began to bawl.
The rabbit pressed his paws to his ears. “Stop that, now,” he said. “Consider yourself lucky you haven’t run up against my cousin in Caerbannog.”
Ulrich’s heart slammed against his ribs as the pain gave way to adrenaline. He staggered to his feet and patted himself up and down. He was alive! Better than alive!
“Should we go over the information now?” The rabbit twitched his whiskers.
“I’m starving!” said Ulrich. “Let’s talk at the Inn.”
“Might I suggest you remove that arrow first?”
“Oh, dear. I forgot. I’ll go get help.”
“Nonsense. You’re undead now. Just give it a good pull.”
Ulrich tested the arrow with a finger. He winced in preparation, expecting excruciating pain, but instead, the other end of the arrow emerged with a satisfying schlock. He rummaged through a nearby caravan for a cleaner shirt. “So, I’m a zombie now?”
“I prefer ’Zombunny,’ but at this point, it is, of course, semantics.”
###
Perched atop his favorite stool at the Inn, Ulrich waited to order until Magda had finished her afternoon tidying. “You’re early today, squire Ulr—” Magda broke off with a yelp, her face blanching so her freckles stood out like stars in the night sky.
“What’s the matter, my sweet?” Ulrich asked. “He’s just a wee bunny rabbit.”
“You. You look awful,” she whispered.
“Nothing a tankard and a salad won’t cure,” he said.
“Salad?” she asked. “In all my days!”
Ulrich glanced at the Zombunny. “And an order of carrots for my friend, here.”
Magda frowned at the rabbit then touched a warm palm to Ulrich’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re so pale. I made the mutton myself fresh this morning.”
“Maybe a bit later, Mag,” he said.
Magda took two steps backward and kept her distance, sliding Ulrich’s first, seco
nd, and third salads down the slick counter.
“Why am I so hungry?” asked Ulrich.
“Oh, so now you’d like to hear the information I’ve been trying to give you?”
“Yes, please,” said Ulrich. “If it suits you, of course.”
The rabbit leaned back on his haunches and set his front paws on his stomach. “There are pros and cons to being a Zombunny. For example, very little can cause you harm. You’ll have to watch your head, but really, you’re no worse off than before.”
“I’ll be the bravest, best paid squire around. Then I can finally ask Magda to marry me.”
“Slow down, lover boy. There are a few more things you should know.” The rabbit paused to polish off a carrot top. “You’ll have to do something about your appearance. I’m sorry, but you’re the sort of sight that causes sore eyes.”
“What can I do?”
“Keep your shirt on, for one. Lots of baths. Orange and red vegetables will do wonders for your pallor.”
“I should be able to handle that,” said Ulrich. He disliked baths, but they were a small price to pay for a second chance at being with Magda.
“Speaking of vegetables, you’ll not crave anything else to eat. I realize squiring is your chosen vocation, but have you ever considered farming instead?”
“Farming?”
“Yes, farming. The growing of sustenance in the ground. We’ll go through a great deal of produce together.”
“Together?”
“Your hearing should have gotten better, not worse,” said the Zombunny, shaking his head. “And that’s the last thing you should know: I’ll be staying with you.”
“Why don’t you have your own house?”
“I ate everything around my warren and now I need help. Do you think I simply hopped up and saved you for charity’s sake?”
“I suppose … I mean, I guess I did. Yes.”
“That’s the way the world has worked for you in the past? Something for nothing?”
“Well, no. Not when you put it that way.”
“I know the perfect place. You can farm and I’ll keep an eye out for the witch.”
“The witch who saved you?”
“The thing is… to be entirely truthful, I’m not sure she meant to save me. I think she meant to change me into something else.”
“What?”
“She was always singing. Said she wanted a protégée. I think she was hoping to change me into a human child.”
“What a silly thing to want!” said Ulrich, draining his tankard.
The Zombunny lifted his nose toward Magda. “Does she want one?”
The grey skin around Ulrich’s ears turned purple. “I suppose. How should I know? I mean, I never asked.”
With Magda avoiding him like the plague, Ulrich gave up hope of a goodnight kiss and followed the Zombunny out into the early evening. At the end of the long lane on the east edge of town, the rabbit came to a halt. Two small, yet picturesque, farmsteads sat side by side. One had a sign hung on the front gate that read, “To let. Inquire next door.”
Halfway up the path to the adjacent domicile they met a potato-shaped grandmother with a gnarled cane. “Come ta’ see me about the farm?” she asked.
“How much?”
“I’ll rent it to you for five tiddles a week if you’ll tend the land. There’s crops already growing, see. Take care of them and eat all you want.”
“It’s almost too good to be…” said the Zombunny.
“We’ll take it,” interrupted Ulrich.
She leaned in close, her breath sour. “Our agreement has just one rule: under no circumstances will you cross that fence.” She pointed to a crude wooden divider separating the large field. It was rather romantically lit by the sunset and the three of them stared at it until the golden light melted away.
“Got it,” said the rabbit. “Don’t cross the fence.”
Ulrich dropped his voice to a whisper. “And don’t you worry, mum. This here is my, er, guard rabbit. He’ll be on the lookout for any crafty witches looking to prey on women and children. And grandmums.”
“And rabbits,” added the Zombunny.
She blinked at them twice. “Good ta’ know.”
“Here’s six months’ rent,” said Ulrich, depositing a small bag into her palm. “See you then.”
###
Ulrich successfully wooed Magda after many baths and a regimen of colorful vegetables. He was giddy for the duration of the simple, yet jovial affair, beaming at Magda in her mint-colored gown. They danced away the evening in the Inn’s courtyard, pausing for legs of mutton for Magda and salad for Ulrich and many fine tankards of ale and countless bottles of wine. The Zombunny—his gift of speech having garnered instantaneous local fame—beat every last man at Noddy and Tables. He hopped home not long after, hiccupping quietly.
The groom escorted his bride to the honeymoon suite, which doubled as a meat cellar in the off-season. Magda’s friends had scattered flowers and other nice smelling things throughout the room, but the resulting odor was somewhat confusing. Magda looked around in the candlelight, wrinkling her nose. For Ulrich, however, the room was perfect—dark and outfitted with a large bed.
He unlaced her bodice and corset as carefully as his numb fingers would allow. By the time he reached her chemise, he sat down on the bed, defeated. “Goodness sakes, Mags, how many more layers are there?”
“Last one, I promise,” she said, planting a kiss on the top of his head.
###
Not very many months after the wedding, Magda announced she was pregnant.
“What?” Ulrich sputtered his tea and began to cough.
“Well, it isn’t as if I meant to be,” she replied. “But there you are.”
“You can’t really be surprised,” said the Zombunny sitting across from them at the breakfast table. “The two of you are like rabbits.”
“This calls for a celebration, my love,” Ulrich said, pulling Magda into a chilly kiss. She waved him off with a dishtowel. “We’ll have a fine young son to help me in the field.”
“Not so. He’ll be too busy helping me scout for witches,” said the Zombunny.
“Nonsense,” said Magda. “She’ll be busy helping me at the Inn.”
“The Inn?” asked Ulrich. “You don’t want to quit working?”
“Of course not!”
“But what will the neighbors say?” mused Ulrich.
“We only have one neighbor, and she keeps to herself,” said Magda. “Besides, you know full well I don’t give a rat’s arse what anyone has to say about it.”
“I still think I could make a fine witch hunter out of her.” The Zombunny twitched his whiskers.
“Out with the both of you,” she said.
###
At first, Magda’s pregnancy progressed without drama. But around the seventh moon, she began to be sick from the meat she made for herself at evening meals. She began to make large pans of roasted vegetables, carrot stew, and mashed cauliflower. She sautéed broccoli and onions and fried the leaves of small cabbages in butter. The little field, which had barely supported Ulrich and the Zombunny, became scraggly. Ulrich no longer took vegetables to the market to sell, instead hauling overstuffed bushels back to the house.
When he arrived with his daily haul one morning, Magda refused to kiss him hello.
“What’s the matter, my sweet?”
Magda huffed at him. “You tell me, vegetable man. This is all your fault.”
And Ulrich couldn’t disagree. “What do you think is happening?” he asked the Zombunny, once they were alone.
“I think the child has inherited your insatiable craving for vegetables.”
“My child is half Zombunny?”
“It’s a theory.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We?“
“You got me into this mess,” said Ulrich.
Another week passed in tenuous civility. Each night, he and Magda would watch th
e sun set from the little window in the attic and dream of their future.
“I’ll run the whole farmer’s market,” said Ulrich.
“I’ll cook for the king,” said Magda.
“Yes, my love. You will.”
She put her hand to her stomach. “I’m just so hungry, Ulrich. I eat and I eat, but I can’t seem to get full.”
“How about a nice leg of mutton?”
“I scarcely believe I’m saying this,” she said, “but yuck.”
He nodded gravely. He looked at her looking out into the empty field. And then he watched as her gaze strayed up and over the fence where the old grandmother’s field was verdant and full of leaves.
“There.”
“Where?”
“That.”
“What?”
“The lettuce! The rapunzel just beyond the fence.”
“We can’t, love. I promised, remember?”
“But surely she won’t miss a tiny pinch of lettuce?”
“I don’t know.”
“You love me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then do me this one favor, Ulrich. Just this once.”
Under the cover of darkness, Ulrich crept into the field. “What can she do to me?” he asked the Zombunny. “I’m immortal.”
“You aren’t immortal, you twit,” said the rabbit. “You’re undead. Big difference. Huge difference.”
“But you said…”
“I said you had very little to worry about. Which is different than having nothing to worry about,” the Zombunny explained.
They tiptoed, avoiding snapping of cornstalks and rustling of leaves. Ulrich reached across the fence, bracing himself for a whack of the cane, or worse. But it didn’t come. He and the Zombunny gently backed their way through the field and into the kitchen where Magda devoured the rapunzel without even rinsing it. She didn’t offer Ulrich or the Zombunny a single leaf.
Unidentified Funny Objects 3 Page 16
