Dawn of the Zombie Knights (4 page)

He watched as more bones and rotting flesh started to poke through the earth. He wondered how many there would be, and why they had been chosen. He also wondered if he would recognise any of the other knights. Even if they had been from his time, they would be in various states of decay.

He himself felt unrecognisable, what with the protruding bones, the rotting flesh, the eyes that bobbled around in his head, the smell … actually, the smell was pretty similar. Baths hadn't been very popular back in the day.

Sir Charge rubbed his chin and almost lost his head. Literally. He had died when a sword had slashed his neck, partially severing his head. He pulled it down lower, his head that is, to try and stick it on a little better. The head wobbled but was somewhat more secure than it had been. He would have to be careful of that.

He wondered anew how many others would rise, and how they had died. They would be of little use to him unless they were fully functional. He presumed they had been restored to the world for some purpose, but that did not bother him greatly. He had tired of acting the good knight, and he didn't believe that he would have to do it in the state he was in. If anything, he assumed being undead gave him licence to do as he pleased.

Another body burst through the surface. That was the tenth one, including himself. Sir Charge smiled, rotten teeth showing through black, shredded gums. This would be a fine order indeed.

Pete finished playing with the horse. He still had to think up a name for it, but nothing had come to mind just yet. He thought maybe he would wait and see what its personality was like first. For now, Horsey Horse Horse would have to do.

He gave Horsey Horse Horse an apple to chew on and raced inside. The sun was high in the sky, and Pete knew he had to get to the castle by midday or he would be too late.

He did not want to be too late.

In his room he slipped on the new jacket from his mum, and into the right inside pocket he slipped his most prized possessions: the tiger eye crystal from Ashlyn and the note from his mum. He squeezed the crystal before sliding it into the pocket, and then he read the note his mum had given him seven years earlier. He read it less these days, partly because he knew it word for word, and partly because he was getting older, and as you get older you tend to do those sorts of things less and less. But he read it now.

You are Sir Pete McGee, a brave and noble man, slayer of monsters and righter of wrongs. You are strong in many ways. Believe in yourself and the world will see just how great a man with one arm can be.

Pete folded the note and placed it carefully into his jacket pocket. The paper was becoming worn, the ink fading, but it meant more to Pete than anything. He patted it, then took his dagger and slid that into the holster attached to his belt, slung his pack over his shoulder, and he was ready. After hugs, handshakes, and cries of good luck, Pete left his family and went over to Horsey Horse Horse.

‘What
am
I going to call you?' he thought out loud. The horse whinnied and snorted hot air onto Pete's face. Stinky Breath? No, that was no name for a knight's noble steed. Pete smiled. He stroked his new pet's nose and then it was time to go. It was time to make his dream a reality. He was going to be a knight!

Eleven knights. Sir Charge looked at them all. They had pulled themselves together and were slowly gathering their bearings. It was odd. He
did
recognise them. Every single one. But it was odd. They were all from the Order of Starry, Starry Knights. He himself had not been of that order, or of any order in fact. He had been more of a freelance knight. He didn't particularly mind that, although it would have been nice to have been asked to join an order at least once.

Sir Charge shook his head to bring his thoughts back to the present day. After making sure it was back on tight, he set about analysing his fellow zombie knights. What was odd was this:

(a) He was the only zombie knight that was not of the Order of Starry, Starry Knights.

(b) Their leader, Sir Pass, was not there.

This confused Sir Charge. They had been resurrected for a reason, of that much he was sure. In that case, Sir Pass would have been the first one to be resurrected. Surely. He was the bravest of the brave; the strongest of the strong; the tallest of the tall; the noblest of the noble; and the least stinky of the stinky. And, to be honest, although the rest of the order were brave and noble and blah blah blah, they weren't all that bright. Sir Pass was though, and he had been able to use that intelligence to lead the others to greatness.

So why, Sir Charge thought, why me and not him? The reason they had been brought back may provide a clue. Or perhaps, the thought struck him, just perhaps someone realised that he, Sir Charge, was actually smarter and, well, none of the other things like brave and noble and nice-smelling, but maybe whoever did this thought he was smarter than Sir Pass and therefore better suited to leading the order.

Sir Charge smiled to himself. Yes. That was definitely it.

‘Sir Charge? Why for art we here? And where, pray tell, is Sir Pass? I must say, I do feel a little shocked at what has become of us.'

Sir Charge looked up and saw Sir Pryse standing above him. Sir Charge stood gingerly, still getting used to his new state.

‘I do not know, Sir Pryse. This I can honestly say. Do any of us truly know why we are here?'

‘Yo Dude, verily I do.'

That was Sir Fing. Sir Charge rubbed his temples, small flakes of skin dropping off as he did so. Sir Fing always spoke in a manner different to the rest of the knights, and was extremely casual about everything.

‘Truly, Sir Fing?' Sir Charge asked, one eyebrow raised. ‘Doth thou truly know of our condition?'

Sir Fing nodded and walked over, his left leg dragging along the ground.

‘'Tis seriously truthful, fellow knight dude. I, and I alone, saw that gnarly Warlock Arlyle Motain slip a little potion with true sneakiness into our drinks. 'Twas at the King's feast to celebrate all knights of the realm.'

The other zombie knights gathered around to listen. The stench was truly unforgettable. They all ahhh-yessed as they remembered the luncheon Sir Fing spoke of.

‘But what of Sir Pass?' asked Sir Pryse. ‘Why for did he not return with us? 'Tis shocking to me.'

The others murmured their agreement. Sir Fing ran his hands through his hair.
(It wasn't actually his hair though. He didn't have a helmet on, but he also didn't have any hair. He actually ran his hands through some worms that were snacking on what flesh was left on his skull.)

‘Yo Dude, 'tis a tricky question, and I do not know the answer. I do know we are here for one reason, and one reason only. I confronted Motain and demanded I be told what he had just done. He did tell me, and then swore me to secrecy until we arose. Which is, like, now.

We must retrieve a flower that Motain created. It holds gnarly magic. Then we must return it to the great oak, replant it, and protect it forever more. Wooooaaaahhh.'

The Order of Starry, Starry Knights stood as tall as they were able. They had been given a mission. An honourable mission at that. It was truly a great reason to be undead.

Sir Charge, however, was thinking. He too remembered that luncheon, and he well remembered swapping his drink with Sir Pass's. It was an easy enough ruse.

‘Gadzooks, look over there,' he had cried, and when Sir Pass looked, the drinks were swapped. The trick had only been performed because Sir Pass had raspberry ale, and Sir Charge loved raspberry ale.

But that drink had obviously had more benefits than tasty deliciousness. It had granted Sir Charge the opportunity to rise from the dead, and to inflict
his
kind of power upon the world. It had given him the opportunity to lead an order of knights. The rotting teeth flashed dully again. They would get the flower. Leading the knights on this mission was exactly what he was going to do.

ete arrived at the castle totally out of breath. He had his pack slung over his shoulder but it dropped to the ground as he skidded to a halt and bent over, hand on his knee, catching his breath in gasps. Fitness was obviously a priority. When he finally felt ready and able, he stood up straight and squeezed his side where there was still a slight stitch. He picked up his pack and walked up to the main gates. A sign hung on the door.

Pete smiled. This was the place. He knocked on the gates and was let in by the guards. They stared at his missing arm and Pete saw that they held back their laughter. He mentally shrugged. He didn't care. He was used to that.

He walked through the corridors of the castle until he arrived in one of the smaller halls. The King was not there, but already present were at least thirty fourteen-year-old boys including, Pete was dismayed to see, Larson Smithers. What was he even doing there? He was fifteen and already a trainee knight.

Smithers was a bully, and he took any opportunity he could to pick on Pete. It was generally just name-calling and things about Pete only having one arm, but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

Smithers was also one of those born-into-money, carved-out-of-rock-looking-type people, all muscle and height and silky, brushed-back hair. He turned just as Pete walked in. It was like he had a radar or something.