ARC: The Corpse-Rat King (37 page)

“Perfect,” he said.

A flurry of voices broke out from the other crypts. Marius blinked. He had forgotten the other Kings in all the excitement. But now they impressed themselves onto the tableau. Demands for information from many, demands for their own freedom from the brighter amongst them, one long litany of “Fuck off” providing a backbeat.

“Majesties..” Marius stared helplessly at Scorbus. “Please…” The onslaught of protest drowned his voice. Scorbus shook his head.

“Enough!” he broadcast, loud enough that Marius and Gerd winced and grabbed at their heads. The hubbub died instantly. “
I
am the King, the original and greatest King.”

“But…”

“You will lie here until I see fit to release you.”

“Oh, I say…”

“Enough!”

The room fell into a silence so deep that Marius wondered if the King’s bellow had broken something within him, and he was now deaf to the sounds of the dead. Then Scorbus spoke again, and to his great surprise, Marius was relieved to hear him.

“I will come back,’ he said softly. “I
will
free you.” He stepped forward, and laid a hand gently upon the lid of Thernik’s crypt. “When the time is right, I will free you all.” He turned away and faced Marius. “But for now you need stay a while longer, my friends, whilst we make good our exit. Young man?”

“Ah, yes.” Marius quickly eyed the door to the main hall. “Down the back here, Your Majesty.” He stepped over to an alcove behind the crypt of Belathon, the thirteenth King of Scorby. “During the reign of the Robber Duchess, when the cathedral was locked to outsiders, several of my… well, let’s call them spiritual ancestors, were sealed up in the walls of this chamber.”

“Why?”

Leave it to Gerd to ask the questions I don’t want to answer, Marius thought as he ran his hands over the alcove wall, fingers seeking out the minute gaps between the bones.

“I assume it was an ironic punishment for attempting to loot our tombs.” Scorbus’ reply was laced with humour.

“Yes, that would be about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Marius frowned in concentration. “Really.”

“Foolish fellows.”

“Yes.”

“Why foolish?” Gerd looked between the two older men. Marius glanced back at him.

“Meet my spiritual ancestors,” he said, indicating the display of bones before him. Gerd stared at them for long seconds.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.”

“Then why are we–?”

“The chamber is about three feet wide, but it tilts downwards for about eight feet. Underneath it is the first of a series of storage chambers. Break through the flooring, and we can… Aha!” Marius sunk two fingers into the eye sockets of a skull, and pulled. Slowly, a section of wall swung outwards. “This way, your… what the hell?”

A wall of bricks stood where the secret crypt should be. Painted across it, in white bright enough to be read through the gloom by even living eyes, was the message ‘Secret passage closed due to repair works’. Marius read it, then read it again.

“Oh, shit.”

Gerd and Scorbus saw the sign over his shoulder.

“What now?”

“We could break it down,” Marius replied, looking the bricks over. “I mean, we’re strong, aren’t we?” He tapped the wall experimentally. “Dig down, meet workmen, get crushed under a falling eave… maybe not.” He sighed, and looked back at the entrance to the Main Hall. “Everyone will have run off, surely?”

All three eyed the entrance.

“Unless you have any other options,” the King said, “Then grasp the nettle and make our play.”

“Yes,” Marius slowly slid across the floor and peered around the corner. “Nettle grasping. Sure.” He stared into the corridor. “It seems empty. Come on.”

As one, the little group sidled out of the Hall of Kings and into the corridor. Marius stopped them behind a pillar, in the space before shadows gave way to the expanse of the main hallway. “I can’t hear anything.”

Gerd shook his head. Scorbus waited, his huge skull staring unblinkingly at Marius. Slowly, Marius stuck his head around the pillar and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Empty,” he said. “Come on.”

He scurried out into the open space, Gerd at his heels. Scorbus followed more slowly, head swivelling as he took in the massive splendour of the great hall.

“My word,” he said at each new sight. “My word.”

“You don’t remember this, Your Majesty?”

“Oh no,” Scorbus paused to run a bony hand across a balustrade made from thigh bones. “I built the nave and the central church, and the hallway we’ve just left. But this…” he gazed upwards, at the interior surface of the massive dome above. “How on Earth did they manage that?”

“Yes, well.” Marius stared at each exit in turn, half expecting to see someone gazing back at him. “Perhaps we ought to leave sightseeing for another time. We really must–”

“Wait.”

“What?”

Scorbus’ gaze had fallen from the dome, and now rested upon the lone figure in the middle of the hall. Tanspar had long ago given up calling for help. The only sound that now emerged from the embalmed body was gentle, hopeless sobbing.

“Who is that?”

“That?”

“The King,” Gerd interrupted. “Recently killed in battle. Bravely killed.” Gerd’s face was a mask, and Marius quickly turned away from it. Scorbus strode towards the bier, his heels clicking loudly on the stone floor.

“Tanspar” he broadcast softly.

“Oh, oh thank God,” Tanspar replied, his voice breaking with relief. “You can hear me. You can hear me!”

“I can hear you.”

“Where are you? I… I can’t see. Who are you?”

“My name is Scorbus.”

There was a long pause, while the young King digested the name.

“What?” he said, eventually.

“I am Scorbus.”

“But… but you can’t be.”

“I am.” Scorbus reached out and laid a hand on Tanspar’s shoulder. “I am the first King, and I am honoured to meet you.”

“But… this is a trick. I am captured, aren’t I? This is some Tallian–”

“Tanspar. You will listen to me.”

“But…”

“Listen!” Scorbus’ command echoed through the hallways of Marius’ mind. He winced, and shook his head. Tanspar fell silent.

“You are King of Scorby. Ruler of the coastal lands and all the seas, commander of the air, representative of the Gods above all.” Scorbus said. “You will comport yourself as such.”

“I… yes. Of course.” Tanspar’s voice changed, firmed up. “Of course. What is it you want?”

“You cannot see because you are dead, my Lord.” Scorbus turned to Marius, who mouthed ‘embalmed’ at him. “You are embalmed, and while your life has ended, you will soon be amongst equals.”

“I’m… equals?”

“Those who ruled before you. You lie in state in the Bone Cathedral. You will soon be laid to rest in the Hall of Kings.”

“Ah.”

“They will expect a strong man to join them. One who accepts his lot.”

“I see. And how is it you are here to tell me these things?”

“I have been liberated. I am to take up a new place, among the free dead. You will be laid to rest with your peers.”

“I see.” A long pause. “And my wife, my children. What news of them?”

“They grieve, Majesty.” Gerd broke in. “Bravely, but they grieve.”

“Who are you?”

“A dead man,” Gerd replied. “And your servant.”

“Listen to me, Tanspar.” Scorbus spoke before the young monarch could contemplate the idea of his family living on without him. “I will return. I make that promise to you, as I have the others. I will free you. But for now, face your peers with grace. You are King of Scorby, and always will be. Death does not end that.”

“But this blindness… this deafness… how is it I can hear you? Where are my senses?”

“Majesty, we have to go.” Marius leaned into Scorbus’ line of vision. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we really have to go.”

“I will return,” Scorbus said. “I promise you.” He turned away.

“Wait. Please. Wait!”

“Be strong, Tanspar. Await my return.”

“Wait! Don’t go! Please!”

Scorbus strode away, Marius and Gerd in his wake. Tanspar’s voice accompanied them across the hall.

“Where now?” Scorbus demanded. Marius pointed to the far exit.

“That’ll take us to the far side of the cathedral, away from the main square. We can follow the line of the building to the front, then cross to the shadow of the palace. After that, we either climb down the face of the Radican or try to steal some clothes from a ground floor room and take side streets to the northern gate. Then we find the nearest cemetery.”

“Cemetery?”

Marius nodded, remembering the grave in the forest, and the dead men coming towards him out of the gloom in Sangk’s cellar. “Gateway to the underworld.” He smiled wryly. “You’ll love it.”

“I see. Well, let’s not waste time.”

The trio made their way towards the exit. Partway there, Marius called a halt, and bent to pick up two halberds lying where Yerniq and Ghaf had dropped them on their way in to help with Scorbus’ rescue.

“We might need these,” he said, handing one to Gerd. “Have you ever used one before?”

“No. Have you?”

Marius had, once, while training in the Caliphate of Orm’s army. In half an hour he had smashed three helmets, gouged out a sergeant’s eye, and turned the regimental mascot into Sunday dinner. He leaned the pole against a wall. “On second thought, let’s rely on speed. Come on.”

They made the exit without incident. Marius poked his head out of the open door.

“All clear,” he waved them outside.

“What now?” Gerd asked as he ran across the square towards the great avenue.

“Soon as we’re across we head for the alleyway we saw on the way up, remember?”

“Yeah, sure. Why that one?”

“There’s a closed-up business at the far end. At the very least it’ll give us a place to hide Scorbus while we find some clothes for him. Once he’s covered up we get down into the city as quickly as possible. I know a few places we can hole up, wait for night, then we can get through the northern… uh oh.”

“The what?”

Marius skidded to a stop, and pointed towards the boulevard. “Trouble.”

From footpaths at either side of the street, figures approached. They caught sight of the three escapees, and paused. The dead men stared back. For a moment, nobody moved. Then the figures on the paths raised their arms. Marius had time to sight the long, steel weapons they held, before a cry rang out and the boulevard boiled over with running figures.

“Marius?”

“Run.”

“Where?”

“Run!”

He took off, back the way they had came. Scorbus and Gerd tailed him. The mob, seeing them flee, let out a roar and took off in pursuit.

“What happened?” Gerd asked as they ran.

“They rallied, obviously.” Marius risked a glance back over his shoulder. At the front of the surging crowd he saw two familiar figures; Yerniq and Ghaf, torches held aloft, their faces contorted with rage as they yelled encouragement to the lynch mob. “I’m guessing they had something to do with it.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Back to the cathedral. No, wait.” He veered away, towards the front wall of the Royal Apartments. “This way.”

They stopped halfway along.

“No doors.”

“No windows.”

“What now?”

“Gentlemen.” Scorbus had remained quiet during the pursuit. Now, with the crowd closing in, he stepped back from the wall and indicated a balcony several feet above them, jutting out over the square. “The Royal Box, I imagine.”

Marius joined him. “Yes,” he replied, quickly glancing over his shoulder at the crowd. “But can we…?”

Scorbus tilted his head down towards him, and Marius imagined he saw a feral grin flitting across the empty skull. The King backed up a few steps, ran forward and leaped, swinging himself over the railings and onto the balcony with ease. Marius and Gerd stared at each other.

“Right,” Marius said. “Just like that, then.”

Together, they backed up. The crowd surged towards them. Someone threw a metal pipe. It clanged off the stones no more than a foot from the dead pair. The lynch mob roared. Marius and Gerd swapped glances.

‘Ready?”

“No.”

“Good. Go!”

Together they ran, and leaped. And missed.

“Oh my Gods.” Marius swung towards the wall, crashed against it, then swayed back out, to hang gently in the grip of a massive, bone hand. He glanced down at the cobblestones several feet below, then across at Gerd, dangling from the King’s other hand. Something ricocheted off the wall behind them, then something else. Marius peeked upwards. The King’s skull poked out between the railings, where he had lain down to effect his capture.

“Would you be so kind, Your Majesty?” Marius asked in his most polite voice.

“Of course.” The skull retreated. Marius and Gerd rose gracefully as the King pulled them up through the hail of missiles flung by the crowd below. Within moments they were gripping the edges of the railing and pulling themselves over.

“Agh, damn it!” Something pierced Marius’ calf, and sent him tumbling to the floor. He rolled to the base of the wall, and stared down at the shaft of a dart sticking out of his flesh. Blood ran from the hole. “Gods damn it, that hurts!” He pulled the dart out and flicked it over the edge of the balcony. He looked at the blood trickling along his pink flesh, then at Gerd’s equally pink and flushed face.

“Never felt so alive, huh?” he asked. Gerd grinned in reply. From below them a command for ladders rang out. Missiles continued to rain down. A brick smashed through the glass door at their backs, and shards tinkled down upon them.

“Time to leave, I think.” Scorbus said. Marius nodded in reply.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He sat with his back against the middle of the wide double doors, and reached through the hole left by the brick. “I can’t reach the handle.”

“Allow me.” Scorbus stood up, ignoring the renewed efforts from below that his appearance engendered. He raised one foot and kicked the door. It smashed open, and Scorbus indicated the room beyond. “As you please, gentlemen.”

Gerd and Marius bundled themselves into the room beyond. A stray brick followed them, smashing a vase by Gerd’s head and showering him with china. Marius viewed him from the shelter of a 12
^th
Dynasty armoire.