“Would you mind explaining what you meant by that? What makes you think it would be a good idea for us to turn ourselves in?” Timmy abandoned his search for a mop and settled for trying to shove some of the entrails away with the broken remnants of a table.
Katie gave him one of those scowls that made her seem more like a stuffy schoolteacher forced to explain something to an especially dim-witted pupil than a child. It was yet another reminder that his apprentice was obnoxiously clever. No child should have been able to make it through his entire library, but she had. She’d even managed to avoid any bouts of temporary insanity while wading through the uncensored – and horrifically gruesome – edition of The Dark Powers of the Ancient Deeps.
“What’s the worst that the Council of Mages could do if we turned ourselves in?” Katie stepped neatly around a puddle of zombie troll guts. “They might rule Everton, but they are still bound by the law.”
Timmy made a face. “You’re forgetting that they write the law.” As powerful as he was – and he was no slouch – he wasn’t stupid enough to pick a fight with the Council. He could hold his own against one or two of them, but the whole lot? No, he happened to enjoy living. “Have you forgotten about that mountain they blew up last year? They didn’t blow up part of it. They blew up the whole thing.”
He shuddered. The rogue mage that had laid claim to the mountain had been a jerk, but blowing up the entire mountain was overkill. “For starters, they could execute us. They might not do it quickly either. They could go for something slow and public like drawing and quartering, or they could burn us at the stake. Heck, they might even do both. Apparently, that’s all the rage down south. Afterward, they’ll put our heads on pikes and fabricate some elaborate lie about how we completely deserved it.”
“Now, you’re being melodramatic.” Katie reached up to adjust her glasses, and her sleeve caught on a broken shelf. It was only thanks to some wild flailing of her arms that she managed to keep on her feet. Timmy sighed. He had given Katie several long and highly detailed lectures about the importance of dressing practically, but the girl continued to traipse about in dark, billowing robes and clogs. According to her, there was no point in being a necromancer unless she did things properly, and that meant following tradition. On the upside, Katie had an almost perfect memory, which made her incredibly handy to have around. He no longer needed an address book, and rather than digging through his notes for the results of previous experiments, he could simply ask her. “The Council hasn’t drawn and quartered anyone in more than a hundred years. They haven’t burnt anyone at the stake for more than two hundred. And they might have a policy that could help us.”
“Oh?” Perhaps it hadn’t been a mistake to make Katie read the weekly newsletter that the Council published. He wasn’t supposed to be able to buy it – they’d blacklisted him – but Timmy was a dark-haired man with brown eyes and nondescript features who happened to be slightly taller than average. It had been child’s play to waltz into one of the larger towns and pretend to be a mage from one of the nearby villages. After a quick look at his forged references and identity papers, the Council’s representatives had been more than happy to forward a copy of the newsletter to the village closest to the castle. “What policy are you talking about?” Naturally, he hadn’t bothered to read the thing. That’s what an apprentice was for.
Katie rifled through her robes. No amount of badgering on his part could convince her to abandon the garment, but she had at least chosen a fire-resistant fabric. Thankfully, she’d agreed to tie back her long, blonde hair. The other necromancers would never have let him live it down if his apprentice had died because she got hair in her eyes during a battle. She pulled out one of the Council’s newsletters.
“Ah, here it is.” Her green eyes narrowed as she flipped to the appropriate page. “Due to extenuating circumstances, the Council is considering offering pardons to criminals in exchange for the rendering of certain, suitably valuable, services.”
Timmy knew about those extenuating circumstances. War was coming. Everton was one of the most prosperous kingdoms in the world thanks to the power of its mages and the riches under its mountains. But even the most powerful mage could only do so much against rampaging hordes of barbarians. Had the situation truly become that bad? Still, it was worth a shot. He didn’t know exactly what kind of services the Council wanted, but zombies were handy to have around during a war.
If the Council decided to go after him, he could throw his zombies at them and make a run for it with Katie, Sam, and their clan of ninja rats. They could find somewhere else to live, perhaps a tropical island. The Council might even be dumb enough to search under the castle, in which case he wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore.
“Fetch some paper, Katie. I want to write a letter to the Council. I’ll dictate it to you.”
She gave him a distinctly unimpressed look, and there was that scowl of hers again. “You write faster than I do, master.”
“Yes, my young apprentice, I do. But your writing is much neater than mine.” Like most necromancers, Timmy didn’t usually write for the benefit of others. As long as he could read his own writing, it was fine. As a result, his writing had come to very closely resemble the scratch marks left by an inebriated chicken. “Now, hurry up. The sooner we get this letter done, the better.” He made a shooing motion with his hands and then jerked his head to the side as the rat perched on Katie’s shoulder lobbed a tiny knife at him. “Hey!”
The rat had the audacity to shake its fist at him. Clearly, it didn’t appreciate him bossing Katie around. Well, tough luck. This was his castle, and Katie was his apprentice.
“And can you send some of your zombies in here to get this mess cleaned up, Katie?” The zombie hydra-dragon-bear had started to decompose into a hideous and pungent mush now that the magic animating it had dissipated. Give it another hour or so, and it would probably explode due to all the noxious gases building up inside it. Throw in the remains of the zombie trolls smeared all over the laboratory, and the place was in dire need of a thorough cleaning.
“Fine.” Katie huffed and adjusted her glasses again. He’d tried to tell her that pink glasses were not appropriate for a necromancer-in-training, but all he’d gotten for his benevolent concern was a vicious glare and a small axe lobbed at his head courtesy of an overprotective ninja rat. “But why can’t you use your zombies?”
“Think of it as practice. If your zombies aren’t well made enough to clean up this mess, then you need to practice more.”
Katie’s eyes narrowed, and he ruffled her hair. One day, far into the future, she’d be quite menacing. Right now, however, she was merely cute. She clapped her hands together and made several sharp gestures. Unlike him, her necromancy hadn’t progressed far enough to let her command zombies with her mind alone. A wave of her magic rustled outward, and the broken table next to her shook. A dozen zombies shambled into the room. Timmy had never been big on outfitting his zombies, but Katie liked to colour coordinate the ones she used frequently. This lot were all wearing matching pink and purple jackets. It made his eyes bleed.
“Clean up this mess,” Katie ordered. “Now.”
The zombies got to work. To make cleaning the laboratory easier, Timmy had installed a massive trapdoor that led down to one of the bottomless pits under the castle. All the zombies had to do was push the dead creature and his dead zombie trolls through the trapdoor, and Sam and his friends would have a nice treat to brighten up their day. It wasn’t as if he could reuse the parts – bringing something back always did some damage, and bringing something back twice usually resulted in a misshapen, soggy mess.
“Remind me to get more mops.” Timmy frowned at the muck on the floor. Katie’s zombies had gotten most of the bigger pieces through the trapdoor, but it would take forever to clean up all the little bits of gunk. “What are you standing around for, Katie? You’ve already told them what to do. Go get that paper and ink.”
The girl rolle
d her eyes. It was something she did a lot, now that he thought about it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t give herself astigmatism. Katie lifted her arms, and tendrils of liquid darkness leapt up from the shadows cast by her robes. They solidified into shadowy mops and brooms that swept all of the muck off the floor and into the trapdoor. Katie was a necromancer-in-training, but that wasn’t the only kind of magic she could do. Her magic also let her solidify and control shadows. It was marvellously creepy, and he’d never been prouder than the day she’d driven off her first angry mob with a veritable storm of shadowy pitchforks and stakes.
“Do you want me to get the human paper?” Katie asked. She gave her shadows a good shake to dislodge the last of the muck before letting them vanish.
Timmy shook his head. “We’re trying to win them over, Katie, not freak them out. Yes, I know how awesome you think paper made out of human skin is, but not everybody thinks that way. Get the normal paper and the normal ink. We are not writing to them in human blood.” She scowled, and the shadows under her sleeves curved up to form an enormous set of vaguely lupine jaws. “Don’t wave your shadows at me, Katie. We both know that you’re at least ten years too young to try and kill me. I know that you like doing things the old-fashioned way, but we’re trying to make a good impression.”
“Fine. But I still think they’d be more impressed if we did things the traditional way.” Katie’s shadows receded, and a slim tendril went up to pat the rat on her shoulder. She could make shadows sharp enough to cut through rock and soft enough to cradle her favourite rodent companions. “Should I write to my mother and tell her that we’re planning on going straight?” She bit her lip. “She’d like that, I think.”
Oh, she most definitely would. Katie’s mother had never liked necromancy. In fact, she hated it with every fibre of her meddling, ultra-conservative being. She’d wanted Katie to become a healer or a seamstress, but everything had changed when Katie was four. A wagon had run over her dog, and Katie had done what so many mages throughout history had – reached deep inside herself for the power to do something, anything, to make it better.
Her pet dog had come back to life as a zombie, and two weeks later, Katie’s mother had dumped her on Timmy’s doorstep. Katie still remembered her mother, and there were times when Timmy knew that she wished things could have been different. But she’d eventually gotten used to life at the castle, and her dog, Patches, was still kind of alive and kicking. According to Katie, he hadn’t changed a bit since becoming a zombie. He was still overly affectionate, and he still spent most of his free time either with her or down in the kitchens trying to beg food off the cooks.
Personally, Timmy thought that Patches was one of the most loyal but least intelligent creatures he’d ever met. The dog wouldn’t hesitate to throw himself between a zombie bull-wyvern and his mistress, but it wasn’t at all unusual to find him splayed out on the floor as he chased his own tail. Sometimes, he even managed to catch his own tail, which meant a quick trip to Katie to have it sewn back on.
“Don’t write to your mother yet. Let’s see how it goes first.”
“Yes, master.” Katie flashed him a quick salute and then turned on her heel. He smiled. She was getting much better at the whole dramatic exit thing. She should be too since he’d caught her practicing in front of a mirror more than once.
Despite all the trouble she gave him, he’d gotten used to having her around. The only thing that worried him was what would happen when she got older. As her master and main parental figure, it would be up to him to ward off any potential suitors. His shovel should do the trick, and he did have an army of zombies. Then again, teenagers could be very ingenious.
Katie came back with some paper and ink. “I’m ready when you are.” There was a different rat on her shoulder this time. This one was brown, and it was armed with a pint-sized bow.
“Okay.” Timmy took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. Damn, he should have spent more time thinking about what he wanted to say. He needed to phrase things in a way that wouldn’t get them imprisoned or killed. In other words, he needed to demonstrate generous amounts of poise and tact – two areas where his master had frequently found him wanting. Timmy liked to think of it as being practical. Why go through the hassle of an elaborate plan, complete with long, boring speeches, when he could just hit his enemies over the head with a shovel or send an army of ravenous zombies after them. No muss, no fuss. Ah, if only the Council was after money, then he could throw a pile of gold their way and move on with his life.
He cleared his throat and prepared to sound as regal and wise as possible. “Write this down, Katie. Dear… uh… people at the Council of Mages. I am Grand Necromancer Timothy Bolton, and I am writing to inquire about your new policy that offers a pardon in exchange for services rendered. I find myself wanting such a pardon, and I think I can help you with your impending war. Sincerely, uh, Timothy Bolton.”
Katie looked from him to the paper and back again. The rat on her shoulder shook its head. Then she scrunched up the paper and tossed it over her shoulder. In a rather terrifying display of skill, the rat shot the ball of paper out of the air. It then proceeded to explode. Wonderful. The rats had started attaching explosives to their cute, little arrows. He’d have to watch out for that. “With all due respect, master, that was crap.”
“Katie, we’ve spoken about this. Mind your language.” They might have been necromancers, but they didn’t have to be vulgar necromancers.
“It was a perfectly accurate description. Your letter was crap.”
“I doubt you could do any better.” Timmy scoffed and then tripped over a puddle of zombie hydra-dragon-bear guts. “Katie, you missed a spot.”
“You’re the one who’s always going on and on about the importance of situational awareness.” Katie giggled, but that soon gave way to full-blown cackling. It didn’t take long for the rat on her shoulder to join her either. After a solid minute of suitably maniacal cackling, Katie managed to get herself under control. “Master, you’re better than me with a shovel, but you’re forgetting something very important. I read a lot more than you, and I’ve been doing all of your paperwork and correspondence for a year.” It wasn’t particularly ethical to let a child do all of his paperwork, but necromancers were hardly known for their ethics. Besides, it was all part of his ingenious plan to teach her important life skills. It had absolutely nothing to do with his hatred of paperwork. “Let me write the letter. I’ll show you when I’m done. Trust me, it’ll be better than yours.”
“How long will you need?” Timmy studied his half-ruined laboratory. If they were serious about changing their ways, then he either had to hide everything here or destroy it all. Hopefully, hiding it would be enough. It had taken him years to build up his collection. Indeed, he was one of only three necromancers in the world with an authentic kraken beak.
“Give me an hour. I still have to finish our tax returns.”
“Ah.” The Everton Tax Enforcement Agency – ETEA – was even more terrifying than the Council. People often said that the only certainties in life were death and taxes. As a necromancer, Timmy knew better. Taxes were the only certainty in life, especially when they were collected by an agency that was remarkably bloodthirsty and well organised. “Fine.”
An hour should give him enough time to finish cleaning the laboratory and to devise a few back up plans. If the Council did come after them, they’d have to run. He’d need something bigger and scarier than a zombie hydra-dragon-bear to cover their tracks. Maybe he could put together a zombie dragon-basilisk-griffin. That ought to do it. But it might take him a while to find a sufficiently large basilisk, and griffins weren’t cheap. Oh well, he’d work it out somehow.
Katie returned in due course, the new letter written in graceful, flowing script. Timmy wasn’t sure whether to be proud or horrified that his apprentice’s handwriting was so much better than his. Perhaps he’d settle on feeling depressed.
“Let me have a look at it.”
Although we have long stood in opposition to one another, I now wish to set our differences aside. War is coming to our fair nation, and I intend to help defend it as best I can. Much has also happened in my life as of late, and I wish to make amends for any of my past wrongdoings. My intent is to seek out a pardon from this most esteemed Council through the provision of certain services that you may find useful.
Naturally, I understand that much work shall have to be done before you can issue such a pardon, but it is work that I am willing to do. I also understand that it may be difficult for you to trust me, given our history. Therefore, let us discuss the details of this further in person. I would be pleased to receive an emissary from the Council at Black Tower Castle. Rest assured that I shall treat your emissary with the utmost care and respect. Whatever quarrels lay between us, let us set them aside for the good of our nation.
Sincerely,
Grand Necromancer Timothy Bolton, Lord of Black Tower Castle
“What do you think?” Katie had a puppy-dog look on her face. The rat on her shoulder glared and readied an arrow. The message was clear: Timmy would approve of the letter, or he would receive an exploding arrow to the face. For a second, Timmy was sorely tempted to come up with a snide remark – Katie could be incredibly adorable when she pouted – but then he remembered the rat’s aim. There was also the small matter of how Katie would react after she was done pouting. She would probably try to lop off his head with her shadows. Ah, what a marvellously vicious apprentice he’d raised.
Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf Page 2
