Part 8 (1/2)
They began to lumber forward, arms outstretched, moaning. Randall and Sir William watched them for a moment, then exchanged a glance.
”Slow, aren't they?” Randall remarked.
”Very.”
”How come we didn't notice them when we were peering through the gates before?”
”Well, this is a magical place. Perhaps there's an illusionary enchantment covering the entire location, preventing us from noticing its prowling re-animated corpse guards?”
”Maybe we need to be a little more perceptive.”
The zombies continued to move closer.
Sir William sighed. ”We've only got a few minutes before they reach us. If we were to trip on some protruding dirt molecules and break an ankle or something, there's a slight chance they could get here before one of us could carry the other to the mausoleum. We shouldn't waste any more time.”
”Good idea.”
They began walking toward the mausoleum, weaving their way around a couple of the nearest zombies, making sure they allowed for a good three inches of leeway to prevent giving the creatures a chance to grab them.
Randall noted some interesting tombstones: ”Well, it's about time!”
”Here lies Grandpa. He'll be dead any minute now.”
”Poor Sam Trotter, kissed my daughter, set himself up, for a slaughter.”
”You toucha my bones, I breaka your face.”
”Here lies a leper named Shaun, Took last place in the king's marathon, He started the race, And fell flat on his face, When he found both his feet to be gone.”
They continued to casually move through the graveyard.
”They're getting away!” said one of the zombies.
”Let's circulate another pet.i.tion,” said a second one.
Randall and Sir William reached the entrance to the mausoleum, ducking underneath the outstretched arms of one of the flesh-eaters. ”Should we knock?” Randall asked.
”That might alert her to our presence,” said Sir William. ”I think we should just burst in. Prepare yourself. I'll kick the door open on the count of ... uh, one.”
”Oh, great,” muttered Randall. ”This bag's been leaking.” He pointed to a trail of ashes that led through the graveyard over to the Realm of Mystery. ”You think those are important parts?”
”We haven't got time to sweep it up,” said Sir William. ”Let's just burst in, and worry about that later. Ready? ONE!”
He kicked the door open. Had he known that the door swung out rather than in, the pain would have been significantly reduced. Both of them leapt into the mausoleum, then cringed at the ghastly sight that burned its way into their eyes.
The witch Grysh was bathing. Water poured down upon her from out of nowhere, and vanished as it hit the floor. The sight of the water on its own would have been rather impressive, but adding the witch to the visual stew turned it into pure horror. She was not a pretty lady, and on this occasion was having a particularly bad face day. Her eyes were crossed, a sight made worse by the fact that they dangled from their sockets. Her skin looked like it was about eight sizes too large. She had more body hair than seemed appropriate for a woman of any age. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were in serious danger of tripping her.
She snapped her fingers, and the water vanished. ”I've been expecting you,” she said. Her voice did not possess a musical lilt by any stretch of the imagination.
”You ... you have?” asked Randall.
”You're Gaggles and Boo-Boo, right?”
Sir William shook his head. ”No, I am Sir William of Mosiman, and this is my squire, Randall. We wish to speak with you. If possible, we'd like to be out of here before Gaggles and Boo-Boo show up.”
”Speak, then,” snarled Grysh.
”Don't you want to get dressed first?” asked Sir William, hopefully.
The witch snapped her fingers. A small scarf appeared, which she draped over her shoulders. ”Now, speak.”
”We need your help,” Sir William explained. ”We were escorting Princess Janice to the Kingdom of Rainey, when there was kind of a ... slip-up.”
Randall lifted the bag and shook it, rattling its contents.
”She's all there,” said Sir William, ”aside from maybe a little trail we left through the cemetery, but she's sort of ... uh...”
”Dead?” asked Grysh.
”Dead, yes, of course, but I think we can carry that adjective even further. She's, uh, very very dead is, I guess, the best way to explain it.” dead is, I guess, the best way to explain it.”
”Give me the sack,” said Grysh, reaching out. The sack was yanked from Randall's hand by an invisible presence, and flew toward her, ripping apart in the process and spilling out the princess in a cloud of soot. ”I see your problem,” she said.
She crouched down and began poking through the remnants. Sir William and Randall exchanged uneasy glances. ”Can you help her?” Randall asked.
”I think this counts as more than 'very' dead, don't you agree?”
Sir William and Randall nodded.
Grysh stroked the eight or nine hairs on her chin thoughtfully. She twirled one around her finger several times. ”Let me call my slave. Demon Baby, you are needed!”
A young man walked around the corner. He grimaced momentarily at the sight of Grysh from the rear, but quickly regained his composure and kneeled as she turned around to face him.
”His name's Demon Baby?” asked Sir William.
Grysh nodded. ”After thirty hours of labor, his mother was in a lousy mood.” She gestured to him. ”Fetch my book-o-spells, volume three, second printing,” she ordered.
Demon Baby arose and left. Grysh looked at Sir William. ”Tell me, knight, do you read much?”
”Define much.”
”Ever.”
”No.”
”I see. So, I take it you've never heard of the fabled Necklace of Power?”
Sir William shook his head. ”Was it named by the same guy who called this the Forest of Death?”
”The Necklace of Power is an ancient relic,” said the witch. ”I can return the dead to life, yes, but without this necklace, there's very little I can do for your princess, unless you don't mind returning her as a living pile of ashes.”