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THE CORPSE-RAT KING

“Lee Battersby’s The Corpse-Rat King is rugged,muscular fantasy, sure to please those who liketheir adventures rough around the edges, withwit and style to burn.”

Karen Miller, author of The Innocent Mageand the Godspeaker trilogy

“A stunning debut novel, well-crafted andgrotesquely inventive. With its madcap story,unforgettable charac-ters and fine balancebetween humour and pathos, The Corpse-Rat

King ticks all the boxes. Fans of JoeAbercrombie will love this.”

Juliet Marillier, award-winning author of the

Sevenwater series and Bridei’s Chronicles

“If you had a wish list every time you read abook – great characters, story, pace, writing –that you ticked off every time you came acrossone of them, you’d soon wear out your pencilwhile reading The Corpse-Rat King.”

Katy O’Dowd, The British Fantasy Society

“Beyond spectacular. Lee Battersby definitelysaved the best for last in this unforgettable taleof death, dead things, and more awesome deadstuff.”

The Troubled Scribe

an excerpt fromTHE CORPSE-RAT KING

by Lee Battersby

To be published September 2012(everywhere – US/UK/RoW)

by Angry Robot, in paperback andeBook formats.

UK ISBN: 978-0-85766-286-6US ISBN: 978-85766-287-3

eBOOK ISBN: 978-0-85766-288-0

Angry RobotAn imprint of Osprey Group

Distributed in the US & Canadaby Random House

angryrobotbooks.com@angryrobotbooks

Copyright © Lee Battersby 2012

All rights reserved. However, feel free to share this

sample chapter with anyone you wish. Free

samples are great. We are so good to you. Of

course, the whole book is even better...

ONE

The battle was over.The Jezel valley had been a place of gently rolling

farmlands, with a series of short, steep hills at oneend where sheep had jostled for grass under theshade of hardy, wind-swept trees. It was a perfectlocation for two armies to clash. In two hours, thevalley had been transformed from a sleepy greennowhere into a madman’s finger painting of mud,metal and ruptured flesh lying beneath a swathe ofearly morning mist. The lower reaches of the hillslay bare, denuded of handholds by soldiers grabbingat whatever foliage might help them climb above thecarnage, only to be dragged back under, fingerscurled around snapping branches. Two hours of pre-dawn chaos was over. Now the silence was brokenonly by the cawing of crows and an occasional cry ofdisbelief as one of the soldiers left behind to pickthrough the carpet of corpses saw the face of afriend, or comrade, or brother.

The dead lay across each other like so many stalks

of threshed wheat. It was impossible for a man tostep in any direction without sliding his foot acrosssomeone’s flesh. Men lay embraced in poses at oncefamiliar and obscene, metal-clad parodies of lustturned to stone and forgotten. Loyalties were impos-sible to discern. Scraps of standards were wrappedaround necks or half-buried in the mud that fiftythousand feet had churned to a strength-sappingsoup. A careful census might discover who haddrowned rather than been beaten into eternity, butno such census would occur. The dead were dead.Those who had decided the need for conflict wouldmove on, to gather more troops and seek furtheropportunities for warfare. Men can be recruited, butlands are limited.

Not all those on the field were dead, however.Here and there, members of the opposing armieswandered back and forth, bending to turn over abody here, removing a chest plate or shield there. Inthe aftermath of the battle, the need to identify thoselords who had fallen, to ascertain blood paymentsand send tokens back to estates for identification andenshrinement, had brought down a practical kind oftruce. Every now and again, soldiers from opposingsides would pass each other and stop to tell their sto-ries and swap whatever items they had found ontheir wanderings. To count the fallen was a sad busi-ness. With so many thousands of corpses, there wereenough deceased gentry that it would take two fulldays to drag the bodies away from the area. Onlyafter that could the commoners be gathered up like

so much kindling and put to the torch.Minor nobility had been herded toward the far

fringes of the battle, in order to blood them in incon-sequential clashes. Should they rise in their king’sfavour before battles to come, they would have atleast some sort of experience in their favour. At thefarthest corner, where the ground had become stonyand unworkable, ending in a copse of ancient,gnarled trees, two men in the colours of the King-dom of Scorby tiptoed cautiously through the fallen.

A casual observer would see nothing to separatethem from the soldiery concentrated on the moreprofitable slopes towards the centre of the battlefield.They were thin and darkened by the sun. The youngone was taller, a little on the burly side, perhapseven barrel-chested. Close-cropped hair sat above anopen face framed by ears as large as jug handles. Hiscompanion – older, smaller – walked with smoothgrace between the corpses, seemingly less troubledby the proximity to death. His hair was longer,brushed back off his sharp features and tied backwith a simple leather headband. He was, perhaps, atouch too slight for the military, but the quicknessand deftness of his movements marked him outagainst his lumbering young companion. There wasnothing to cause alarm or distrust, no reason to letthe gaze linger before moving on.

But watch long enough, and the observer wouldsee how they made pains to avoid their fellow sol-diers, how they stooped and scuttled rather thanstrode with solemn grace, how they shied from any

glance and how whatever it was they tore from fin-ger and neck was quickly secreted so that, to allintents and purposes, their task seemed fruitless.

Marius Helles watched his apprentice turn over acorpse and bend to remove the chain gloves from itshands. He tutted. No sense, this boy. It was obviousto Marius, even from several feet away, that thedead man was no noble. Nobody of gentility wouldgrip a smithing hammer so tightly in their cold fist,nor wear a leather jerkin with so many patches. Thehelmet clinging to the dead man’s head was of poormanufacture, which accounted for the massive dentthat had crushed the corpse’s head into such anovoid shape. Despite all his teachings, the youngsterstill could not see the obvious and move on to moreprofitable prospects. Marius hissed, and the youngman looked up from his task.

“Not that one, Gerd. There.” He jerked his headtowards a splash of burgundy cloth waving above atangle of bodies. “Check that one out.”

“But this one…” Marius had picked Gerd upwhilst on the run from a disastrous money-printingventure in the Tallian foothills. Gerd’s accent borethe thickness of the mountains. Weeks of roadsideelocution practice had done nothing to thin histongue or round his vowels. An accent is a way to betracked, Marius had told him, over and over, to noavail. He glared, and Gerd, thick as he was, took thehint.

“Stupid boy,” Marius muttered, and picked hisway across the dead soldiers towards the possible

prize. Best to get there before the boy, in case Gerdmistook a ring for a wart and did him out of a week’seating. He scanned the corpses to either side as hewalked. There, just a few steps away, a flash of che-quered cloth that Marius immediately recognised asbelonging to the house of the Duke of Lypes, a richprovince. He hunched over, close enough to identifythe body. One of the Duke’s younger sons, sent tothis end of the battle to keep him away from the bat-tle-hardened mercenaries of the Tallian Empire whohad borne the brunt of the main fighting. Mariussmiled.

“Bet some princess cries when you don’t turn upat her bedchamber tomorrow,” he said to the youngman’s staring eyes. He traced the red slash that sep-arated most of the young heir’s jaw from his lowerface. His gaze travelled down the boy’s armouredbody, hands patting and prodding until they discov-ered a small bag of coins at the waist. He undid it,and poured several silver coins into his palm.

“Nice,” he said, nodding. Within half a minute,three rings and a gold charm joined them. Mariusglanced towards the distant soldiers. When he wassure nobody was looking in his direction he rolledhis tongue around, generating as much spit as hismouth could hold. One after the other, he beganswallowing his prizes. When the last had been forceddown his throat he gasped, then looked to whereGerd was standing over the body to which Mariushad directed him.

“Gerd!”

Gerd made no response. He stood above thecorpse, eyes wide, his hands raised to his mouth.Marius glanced at the nearest soldiers. No stare methis. He hissed again.

“Gerd! Get down to it, boy.”Still Gerd did not move. He began to whimper,

each inhalation drawing out a slightly louder noise.Marius shook his head in frustration. This was thelast straw. A corpse rat who could not stand the sightof the dead was too much of a liability. If Mariusmanaged to survive this, despite the boy’s bestattempts to have them caught and strung, he woulddrop Gerd off at the nearest brothel with a handfulof pennies, tell him to enjoy himself, and make forthe border on the fastest horse an hour’s straining atthe privy could shake loose. He closed the distancebetween them in three long strides and shook Gerdby his arm.

“Do you want us to get caught, you idiot? Whatthe hell…?”

Gerd pointed to the corpse at their feet. Mariusfollowed his finger. A face stared back at him: oneMarius had swallowed on any number of occasions,every time he had lifted a purse from a careless Scor-ban passer-by. The velvet overcoat and the thin goldcrown that topped the dead man’s helmet were onlyaccessories to recognition. Even when caked withdirt and blood, the King of Scorby was unmistake-able. Marius reached out and grabbed Gerd’s coatsleeve.

“Down in the presence of your King, boy.”

“But…”Marius yanked and sent Gerd sprawling over the

King’s body. He knelt upon one knee, and whenGerd made to rise, pushed him back down.

“Marius, he’s dead.”“I know that, you idiot.” Marius busied himself

about the corpse, testing the welds of his fine platearmour. His gaze flitted about restlessly. Should any-one look their way, the stillness of his bent headwould reveal nothing but concentration. “Do I lookpious to you?”

“No, but then why…?”“Because your goggling act has caught the atten-

tion of at least two of the soldiers, stupid, whichmeans our day is over unless we can get away beforethey come within shouting distance.”

Gerd raised his head, and Marius’ fingers ceasedtheir exploration long enough to flick him on thebridge of his nose.

“Stay down.”Gerd flinched and dropped forward. His face hit

the mud with a soft squelch, and Marius suppresseda smile. Gerd whispered from the side of his muddymouth.

“Are they coming?”“Not yet.” Marius separated a signet ring from the

King’s hand with a tug, then tore a bracelet from hiswrist with a practiced twist of his fingers. “They’reconferring. Shit!”

“What? What?”“They’ve separated. One of them is coming.” He

palmed his booty and slid it up a sleeve, then redou-bled his efforts, reaching forward to snatch at thecrown around the top of the King’s helm.

“Marius?”“What?” The soldier was almost close enough to

shout. He yanked at the crown, praying to godswhose names he couldn’t remember that it was onlyplaced upon the helmet, rather than welded. Kingsdid not normally wear such obvious identifyingmarks in battle: it encouraged enemy soldiers, rapa-cious for the largest ransoms possible, to make abeeline. But Tanspar, the young Scorban monarch,had been a man under siege in his own kingdom,and grandiose, crowd-pleasing gestures such as thisone had become a signature. In this case, it hadbackfired in more than one way: the crown slid offthe helmet with a soft scrape and disappeared insideMarius’ jerkin.

“What are you doing?”“Shut up, boy. This is our fortune.”“But you said… only steal what you can swallow,

you said.”“Shush.”“But it’s not fair…” Gerd struggled to raise his

head.“Hey!” the soldier called out in a broad Scorban

accent. “You!”“Shit.” Both thieves froze, panicked eyes fixed

upon each other. If the soldier had seen Marius slipthe crown into his shirt front, all was lost. There wasonly one penalty for looting.

“You see?” Gerd wriggled one arm free, voice ris-ing in panic. “See?”

“Gerd!” Through his lowered eyelashes, Mariuswatched the soldier stop and draw his weaponhalfway from its sheath. There was no escape now.They were discovered. Gerd pushed against hisrestraining grip, trying to rise.

“Get off me,” he said. “Get off.” He drew his feetunderneath him. Marius started to protest. Runningwas futile. Soldiers were everywhere, and wherethere were soldiers, archers would flank them incase a sudden flare-up between opposing partiesoccurred. The only way for a corpse rat to stay alivewas through stealth. Slow movement, invisibleprogress across the field, sliding into woods or highgrass when attention was diverted. That was the wayto survive. Running from anything was an admissionof guilt.

The soldier had drawn his sword now, and wasstriding towards the two thieves, calling for his com-patriots. Gerd pushed up, drawing his back out ofthe mud, his arms straight and stiff. Marius’ eyesshifted from one figure to the other. They werecaught, unless… He gritted his teeth. The timingwould have to be perfect. Gerd was still out of thesoldier’s view. He let go of the younger man’s tunic,and as he pushed himself up from the ground, Mar-ius crumpled. He slid his head under the half-raisedarm of the soldier to the side of the King and pressedhis face into the mud, breath held. Gerd reached hisfeet and turned to run. Marius slid his face sideways

until it lodged painfully against the edge of the deadsoldier’s cuirass, so that he had half a view of theevents as they unfolded.

“I’m sorry, son,” he whispered into the mud.There was no other way. Marius wanted to live.There really was no other way.

The soldier closed in on Gerd, weapon held out infront of him like a horn protruding from his midriff.

“I said stop and identify yourself, boy!”Gerd threw his meagre booty into the air,

squealed, and ran two steps before the soldier wasupon him. The soldier lunged, and the sword slidinto Gerd’s back and through him without theslightest impediment. Gerd stopped, impaled. Hishead fell forward, his eyes taking in the foot of metalprotruding from his stomach. He opened his hand,and a glitter of jewellery fell to Earth. Marius stilledhis breath. Please, he prayed, do not turn. Do notspeak my name. Gerd opened his mouth. His headlolled towards Marius. His lips moved in spasms.Marius saw the beginning of his name: once; twice.Then Gerd’s lips lost their strength, his neck gave upits fight to hold his head upright, and the dead thiefslumped off the sword and hit the ground. The sol-dier turned towards Marius, and Marius unfocussedhis eyes, staring into infinity.

“Oh, gods,” the soldier whispered. His face swaminto Marius’ vision, blurred outline filling his sight.Marius fought the natural urge to blink it into focus.A metal-gloved hand reached out towards him, thenbeyond.

“Oh, gods. Oh, no.” The soldier said again, thenturned his head to shout. “Garion! Ektar! Here, forpity’s sake. The King! The King is fallen!”

Shouts answered him, and the squelch of severalsets of footprints sounded from all sides of Marius’head. A weight was lifted from across his shoulder.The soldier spoke briskly to his comrades.

“Take him, quickly. Get him to the camp.”“What about the others?”“For gods’ sake, man. I’ll deal with them later.

Take the King. I’ll bring the thief in. Lord Bellux willwant the body for burning. Go.”

The light above Marius changed as the bodiesmoved, unblocking the morning sun. The King hadbeen taken from the battlefield. Only common meatremained. Marius counted to forty, then let out asingle, slow breath. He blinked once to clear thestinging from his eyes, then focussed his sight uponhis immediate surroundings.

Less than a foot from him, a dead soldier staredback. A gash ran across the bridge of his nose fromthe left corner of his lip up into his forehead. A blackpit gaped where his right eye had been destroyed bythe killing stroke. Whoever had struck the blow haddone so with strength, or desperation – most likelyboth. Marius could see jagged edges where theweapon had shattered the bones of the soldier’s face.The socket had half-collapsed under the blow andwhite shards peeked out from between the rupturedflesh like a hard-boiled egg dropped from a greatheight. Marius, used to death, gulped back a sudden

rush of bile. Already, flies were congregating in theshattered orb. Soon, prompted by the rising sun andthe increasing heat of the day, more would come,until the eye that had once shone white wouldbecome a crawling mass of tiny black insects,writhing and mating, then flying away to die, leav-ing maggots in their place. Marius closed his eyesupon the thought. When he opened them, it was tostare directly at the hole once more, unmoving anddirectly in his line of sight.

As he watched, the empty eye socket blinkedonce.

Marius’ head shot back involuntarily, striking theedge of someone’s helm behind him. He let out atiny scream, then resisted the urge to look around tosee who might have heard. He blinked and slowlyraised a hand to rub at his face. No sounds disruptedthe stillness. Whatever soldiers remained were, hehoped, on the far side of the battlefield. If he were toraise his head and scan the area, he would find him-self alone. How quickly he reached the sanctuary ofthe nearby grove would be a matter of how muchcaution he wished to forsake. From there, it was amatter of divesting himself of his stolen uniform,dressing in the simple village clothes he had stashedin a roll under the oak tree at the centre of thegrove, and making his way out of the area along anyof the merchants’ paths leading to Vernus, or Qued,or one of the major cities of Tal where his prizescould be broken apart, melted and sold.

It would do him good. It had been two days since

he had eaten, two days of forced marching throughthe wilderness to get to the battle just as it was end-ing, with poor dead stupid Gerd dragging alongbehind him so that he missed every open farmhousewindow at every mealtime along the way. It wasobviously affecting him. He needed to eat: some-thing solid, with real meat, and an ale of heroicproportions to wash it down. Then sleep, and how-ever many girls he could afford. Marius exhaled, andsteeled himself to raise his head. It was time to laydown the corpse-rat and be a man for a while. All heneeded was a slice of fortune, a space in which tomake his dash.

He placed his hand flat on the ground in front ofhim, wriggled it to get firm purchase upon the shift-ing mud, and tensed. Slowly he lent into his arm,pushing upwards so that his shoulder slid out fromunderneath the soldier’s embrace. His head followedit, inch by inch. Once it was clear he stopped, andwaited. Only the sound of crows reached his ears. Hesmiled. Just a little further…

“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice like a rusted gatewhispered from just in front of him. Marius froze.His head seemed to twist around of its own accord,until he was once more staring at the sword-blightedcorpse. While his eyes widened in sudden terror, thecorpse smiled. Marius swallowed, once, twice. Hisvoice, when it emerged, was little more than achoked cough.

“I’m sorry?”“Get up like that,” the corpse said. “I really

wouldn’t, if I were you.”“But…”The corpse blinked, dislodging a cloud of flies. “A

fellow like you, wandering around, it’ll cause morethan suspicion, don’t you think?”

“But… but you’re dead.”The corpse ran its tongue over cracked lips. “Well,

that’s all a matter of perspective, wouldn’t you say?”“No!”“Heh. Well, perhaps you’re right.” It hacked, and

spat a red globule onto the ground in front of it.“Still, I think you’re missing the point.”

“What?” Despite himself, Marius couldn’t help butbe drawn into the exchange. After weeks of Gerd’sinability to hold down two consecutive thoughts,even a dead man made for stimulating conversation.

“Come here.” The corpse tilted its head in invita-tion. Marius glanced about him, then quicklylowered his head back towards the grinning face.

“What?”“You know how I’m dead and all?”“Yes.”The corpse shot out an arm and grabbed Marius

around the back of the neck. Marius pulled away,but the soldier held on with a dead man’s strength.Slowly he pulled Marius down until no more than acentimetre separated them, and Marius’ vision wasdominated by the corpse’s eyes: one black and end-less, the other staring through him to a point so farin the future Marius was terrified to think of it. Withsurprising speed the corpse pushed its face forward

and kissed Marius on the lips, then pulled him backto his former position. It smiled, as Marius drewbreath to scream.

“So are you.”

Marius fell, far longer than the half-second it shouldhave taken for his head to travel from the corpse’sgrasp to the mud. The mud let him go and he sliddownwards, through the slippery scurf of the battle-field, into a warm, gritty embrace that held himbriefly before he scraped past it and into an openspace with neither light, not air, nor any sensationof movement or life. He simply moved away fromlife, receding from it at a slow pace that was all themore terrifying for its lack of urgency, and his com-plete inability to alter the rate of his journey, orindeed, bring it to a halt. Just as he became con-vinced that he was destined to fall into the unendingblackness forever, he burst through into a cone ofdim, brown light. Before he could register thechange he landed flat on his back, knocking thewind from his lungs. He lay stunned for longmoments, lost in the sensation of airlessness, and theclosed-in feeling of something deeply buried.

Gradually, as his senses returned, he was able to

TWO

focus upon a ceiling several feet above him. It wasdirt, rough and un-worked, as if Marius wereobserving a garden bed from the underside. Hereand there roots poked through the surface, hairypoints hanging in the air like warts clinging to theface of a beggar. Occasionally, a drop of muck fell assome disturbance or other sent tremors along its sur-face. No hole existed to prove Marius’ passage, yethe knew without doubt that it was from that ceilingthat he had fallen, and were he able to penetrate itssolid surface, he would find himself back at the bat-tlefield, however many unknown miles above hishead.

“How…?”It was then that he became aware of tiny sounds

around him, creaks and groans as of a large body ofmen standing quietly, expectantly. He stiffened, andfixed his eyes upon the ceiling.

“I don’t suppose this is the new ale room at theAxe and Raven, is it?”

Someone giggled. Marius’ bladder twitched inresponse.

“No. I didn’t think so.”Marius decided to leap to his feet, to gather his

legs underneath him like steel coils and lungethrough whoever surrounded him in a mad dash forthe nearest exit. Assuming there were exits. Assum-ing he could gather the strength to move. Assuminghis body would let him. He considered it. His bodydeclined to comment. He willed his legs to drive himupwards, and his arms to begin the motions neces-

sary to propel him into a crouch. Nothing. Mariussighed. Ah well.

“I don’t suppose anyone fancies giving me a handup, do they?”

For a moment there was no response. Mariusbegan to entertain the notion that something heavyhad fallen from the sky and hit him on the head,resulting in a somewhat strange and vivid hallucina-tion. Then rough fingers gripped the fabric at hisshoulder, capturing a fair amount of flesh under-neath, and hauled him to his feet. And beyond.Marius dangled from the grip of his hidden helper,too terrified to turn his head and see the face ofwhatever giant held him aloft. If it was anything likethe ones before him, he didn’t want to know.

Not a single face was whole. Countless strangersstared back at Marius – every age, size and ethnicgrouping, and not a single one of them was com-plete. Skin had peeled back to reveal the underlyingbone; eyes were absent from sockets; dirt trickledfrom all the usual orifices and ones that looked likethey had been created by teeth long after death.Beyond them, in the darkness, the glint of unseeneyes winked at him, so many and to such a distancethat Marius did not bother trying to count them. Hescanned the crowd in soundless fear, taking in thehue and age of each tattered body. Soldier and peas-ant stood arm to rotting arm. Women eyed him withas much baleful energy as the few cats and dogs whocrouched without panting at their feet. Children,most terrible of all, stood silently amongst their taller

counterparts. A scream rose within Marius’ throatlike bile, and he calmed the temptation with theonly words he could summon enough sense to utter.

“So you’re all dead then?”A little laughter, even from one of the children,

would have helped his state of mind. He receivednothing, not even a whisper of movement as ayoung woman raised a hand to cover a shy smile.The dead ranks simply stared. Marius’ own laughterlurked behind his teeth. If it were to escape, heknew, it would never stop. He swallowed, then didso again, forcing it away down his throat.

“Is there someone I could talk to?”At his words, the crowd parted. A corpse, no dif-

ferent to the others as far as Marius could establish,tottered on stiff legs to stand less than a foot beforehim. Marius sniffed, then wished he hadn’t. Itopened its mouth. A fine shower of earth fell fromthe open hole. A small snake broke cover to glideacross its face and under a scrap of shroud still cling-ing to the dead man’s shoulder.

“You wish to talk?” he said, without the corre-sponding movement from his jaw. Despite his fear,Marius frowned in surprise.

“How did you do that?” he asked, leaning forwardto examine the corpse’s jaw more closely.

“We are the dead,” the corpse replied. “We arefreed from many limitations.” His voice, Mariusnoted, seemed to come from within him, as if some-one were utilising a speaking tube from the otherside of a wall, or some hole deep inside the dead

man’s chest.“Remarkable,” he muttered, then aloud, “I hate to

be a bother, but there seems to be some sort of ter-rible mistake. I… what am I saying? What the hell isgoing on here?”

“There has been a battle.”Marius swallowed. “Um, yes.”“A king was killed.”“Ah. Well. You see–”“We are in need of a king.”“We didn’t know it was him, of course. And even

if we did, we wouldn’t… I beg your pardon?”The dead do not breathe. It could only have been

in Marius’ imagination that the corpse sighed in irri-tation.

“We need a king.”“Um,” Marius squinted at the rows of implacable

dead. “Would it be impertinent to ask why?”“He is the sovereign, anointed by divine right.”“Okay.”“He is placed upon the throne by the Lord God

himself.”“Uh huh.” Marius had dined with several kings.

On the basis of that evidence, divinity came at theend of a thief’s knife. Still, he wasn’t going to debatethat with someone who could hold him aloft withno apparent effort. “And?”

“We are the dead.”“Established that.”“We lie here in wait,” The corpse swung about on

one stiff leg, an arm raised to indicate the grimy

expanse of the cavern. “Alone. Unheeded. Forgot-ten.”

“And this means…?” The exertion of keeping thisconversation going was beginning to tell on Marius.He couldn’t imagine where it was leading, but hecould taste the pint of ale he should be drinking atSaucy Kat’s House of Welcome right about now. It didn’thelp.

“God has forgotten us.”“God.”“Yes.”“Oh.” A single penny dropped against the stone

floor of Marius’ understanding. “And a king is God’srepresentative.”

“He is.”“A conduit to God. To remind him you are here,

waiting.”“That is so.”“I see.” Marius frowned. “Well, it’s very interest-

ing, but I don’t see how I…”“You are the King.”Marius blinked. He knew he hadn’t heard that

properly.“I beg your pardon?”“You are the King. Of an earthly realm. You were

smote, and laid your life aside, and a warrior whohad commenced the journey to join us observedyou, and so you came.”

“You what? Are you kidding me?“It is as was seen.”The crowd behind the corpse parted, and a war-

rior, fresh killed and bearing only the injuries ofweapons, not time, stepped forward. Marius saw thegrin, and the scar that ran from low down the sideof his face to the top, and the hole where an eye hadbeen destroyed. The soldier stepped in front of thecorpse and lowered himself upon one flesh-bearingknee.

“Your Majesty,” he said. The rest of the assemblagefollowed suit, as well as their dead and rotting limbswould allow them. Marius shook his head, half indisbelief, half in protest.

“Oh no,” he said. “Oh, no. You have the wrongman. I’m telling you. You really, really…”

He struggled against the grip of his warder, twist-ing to release himself. Something shifted under hisshirt. Before he could lower his arms to grab it, a cir-cle of gold fell out and rolled across the floor, to fetchup against the foot of the dead warrior. He grippedit between stiffened fingers, and raised it up so allcould see. Then slowly, with great deliberation, hestepped forward until he stood in front of Marius,their faces separated by mere inches. He raised hisarms, and with great care, placed the crown ofScorby upon Marius’ brow.

“Your crown, Your Majesty.”Marius closed his eyes, and uttered his first words

as King of the Dead.“Oh, fuck.”

The throne room was nothing more than a caverncarved out of the earth by dead hands, no more orless square than any other hole and no more or lesscareful in its construction than any other burrow.The throne itself was a wattle and daub frame thatresembled a chair in the way a corn doll resembleda full-grown human, and really, what else could heexpect when the only resources available were roots,earth and the shit of the world? And kingly robes.Good God, they had even found him raiment. Theysmelled of dirt and worms, and lay stiff as old bloodagainst his body, but they were his kingly robes, andMarius was too numb to ask where they had comefrom, or who might have possessed them beforehim. The Ruler of the Dead, in his dead man’sclothes, sitting upon his throne of dead man’s shit. Itwas all so perfect.

Around him milled an obscene parody of a court.The dead, dust for voices, emptiness for eyes, facinghim in impatient rows, waiting for his first procla-

THREE

mation. Expecting the word of God made flesh forconfirmation that they were no longer alone. Mariusstared above their heads, at the crowded entrance towhat he now thought of as the main hall. There wasno escape, he knew, no exit in that direction. Still, itwas the only bearing he had left, and so he stared atit. And waited.

The figures in his “court” shuffled about aim-lessly, conversing about who knew what, sparinghim an occasional glance, hiding behind bowedheads if he attempted to match their gaze. Mariusslumped in his throne. A bubble of fear and panicsat at the base of his throat, and unless it wasreleased, he would choke to death upon it beforelong. Which would be ironic, he thought, and verycarefully did not laugh.

A figure appeared at his elbow, silent and respect-ful. Marius ignored it. Eventually it offered thepolitest of coughs. Marius sighed, and glanced up. Itwas the soldier who had crowned him. Mariussnorted, and returned his chin to the fist upon whichit had been resting.

“What do you want?”“Your Majesty–”“Sod off.”“Majesty, the people are waiting. They need to

hear you speak.”“Fine. Tell them to sod off.”“Your Majesty, Please. Can you not see how they

wait upon your word?”Marius looked at the crowd. They glanced at him,

he realised, not from awe, or fear. They waited inanticipation, and with more than a little unrest. Hefrowned.

“That’s another thing. How the hell can I see somuch, anyway? We’re underground. I haven’t seenany shafts, or torches.”

“We are the–”“Yeah, yeah. You are the dead. That’s your reason

for everything, isn’t it? That still doesn’t explain whyI can see.”

“You are our leader, Your Majesty. Our King.Whatever we can do, you can do. We are your sub-jects and servants. Of all the dead, you are thegreatest.”

“Yes, but I keep telling you. I’m not… dead?”“Of course, Your Majesty.”Marius scowled. Bad enough to be amongst the

dead, worse to be patronised by them.“Look,” he said, rising from his seat before his tor-

mentor could react. “I am not dead. I swear to you. Ikeep trying to tell you. You picked the wrong man.Hand on my…” He placed his hand against his heart,and paused, gaze slipping from the corpse’s face tostare at a point somewhere far beyond the walls. Asmile spread across his face, and he looked back atthe soldier in triumph.

“Let me feel your chest.”“Your Majesty?”“Your chest.” Marius reached forward and placed

his hand flat against the left side of the soldier’storso. “Ha! Give me your hand.”

The soldier complied. Marius laid it in the samespot. “There. You feel? Feel it? Nothing. No heart-beat. That’s because you’re dead!”

“Of course. We are the–”“No, no, no. Here.” He placed the soldier’s hand

above his own heart. “Feel that? Feel it?”“Your heart…”“Strong as a whale!”“Beating.”“Like the pounding of a thrupenny whore!”“That means you’re–”“Alive.”“An imposter!” The soldier stepped back, and

drew a battered sword. Marius became very awareof the bodies around him, all of whom were staringin his direction.

“That’s not strictly true,” he said, backing away.Half a step and he fetched up against the edge of thethrone. He toppled backwards, landing in an undig-nified heap on the seat. His robe swept up and acrosshis face, and the too-large crown slipped down. Bythe time he untangled himself he was hemmed in bythe mass of corpses, and the blood-rusted tip of thesword was pressed hard against the joint betweenhis throat and shoulder. Marius swallowed, and thesword pushed further into his flesh.

“Hang on,” he managed to croak. “I tried to tellyou.”

The soldier leaned into his sword. A trickle ofwarmth ran down the outside of Marius’ throat.

“Told. You. Not dead,” he managed, before the

pressure against his throat became too much, and heescaped into darkness.

FOUR

He would not have expected to wake, or to still bealive. Or to find his hands unbound, and a hole inthe ceiling above his head, with the glint of daylightshining bright blue at the far end. The crowd ofcorpses standing above his supine body; rusted axes,sickles and swords in their hands – that was closer towhat he had expected. Being forcibly hauled to hisfeet and dragged to the nearest wall – that was defi-nitely what he expected. Having the crown of thelate King of Scorby thrust into his hands, well, hewouldn’t have expected that if he’d been given threeguesses.

“Is there something going on?” he asked, tryinghis best to frame an innocent smile. For all the reac-tion he engendered, he may as well have kept hismouth closed. The corpses holding his arms simplypressed him harder against the coarse earth walluntil he gasped with pain, ending any furtherattempt at conversation. Marius struggled, but soongave up. The dead don’t tire as easily as anexhausted and beaten thief. Even if he could have

freed himself, where would he have run? Up thechimney towards daylight? Marius tipped his headback. The hole taunted him from at least forty feetaway. Maybe the dead need sunlight every now andagain, he thought, then stifled a giggle. It was tooclose to hysteria.

From somewhere in front of him came the rustleof leather. He delayed lowering his gaze, straining tofeel the breeze of the upper world on his skin. Afterlong seconds he closed his eyes and sighed. No suchluck. The real world was out of reach.

“It is very far away.”“Yes.” Reluctantly, Marius’ eyes met the soldier’s

one remaining orb.“Farther for us than you.”“What do you mean?”“Once the dead travel below, we do not leave.”“Oh.” Marius surveyed their mean surroundings.

“Well, you know, a drape here or there…”“Perhaps you will bring some back with you.”“I’m sorry?”But the soldier had turned away, and gestured to

the corpses holding Marius. They extended theirarms, and Marius slid further up the wall. When hewas dangling at the height of their reach, two morebodies detached themselves from the crowd andgrabbed at Marius’ kicking ankles. Before he couldvoice his objections, he was hoisted onto his back,limbs spread wide, high above the heads of thecrowd.

“What are you doing? Let me down.”

The arms lowered him slightly, until he was at eyelevel. Marius was just about to issue further orderswhen bone-strong fingers grasped his jaw andturned his head towards their owner.

“Don’t forget to hold on,” the soldier said, and lethim go. Marius’ bearers heaved, and he flew up intothe chimney. Reflexes did his thinking for him. Hishands and feet dove for the chimney walls, findingsanctuary in the soft earth and clinging, leaving himwedged in the narrow space like a spider betweenthe rough edges of a pub’s corner walls. For long sec-onds, the only sound was that of his panickedgasping. When he could trust himself to do so with-out fainting, he looked back down, and saw thesoldier staring up at him. Marius had the over-whelming impression that his stiff, immobile facewas smiling.

“Find us a king,” the corpse called out.“What? Why?”“You stole his place. You are in our debt.”With the benefit of distance, Marius felt a small

spark of courage return.“And if I don’t?”“We will come for you.”“And if I never come back this way?”The soldier shook his head, slowly, a movement of

deliberate malice.“You will come back.”“What makes you so sure?”“Feel your heart.”The two men stared at each other for long sec-

onds. The soldier placed his hand over his chest, andnodded to Marius to do the same. Marius inchedaround until he could wedge one shoulder into thecrumbling wall, then slowly, carefully, did the same.He held it there for half a minute, eyes fixed uponthe dead face below him.

“We have your heartbeat.”Marius felt life draining away, leaking from his

body and dissipating in the heavy air. The soldierwaved a hand in dismissal.

“You cannot escape us. The entire world is hometo the dead. Now climb.”

“Wait.”“What?”Marius risked a glance at the journey above him,

closed his eyes in sudden dizziness, and glanced backdown.

“How will I contact you? Do I call out, or sacrificea cat or something? I don’t even know your name.”

“We will know,” the soldier returned. “Now go.”“Wait!”“No more.” The soldier stepped back, out of Mar-

ius’ circle of vision. “The path to the world above isclosing. Unless you want to drown, leave.”

As if summoned by his voice, a spray of fine earthfell on Marius. As he watched, the circle of air belowhim filled in, the earth rising upwards as if intentupon capturing him. With nowhere else to go, hedug his fingers and toes into the chimney walls andbegan to climb.

The most wonderful smell in the world is that offresh air. It hit Marius as his fingers crested the rimof the hole and clawed at handfuls of rough grass.After the heat and fetid air of the undergroundrealms, the swirling breeze felt like an orgasm. Mar-ius closed his eyes and almost lost his grip, until thepressure of earth against the soles of his feetreminded him of the urgency of his mission, and hescrambled over the lip of the closing hole and layupon undisturbed ground for the first time in aneternity. Marius wasn’t ashamed to weep. Indeed, hehad done so many times as the situation warrantedit: to escape a bar room beating; to entice a sensitivewoman into his bed; at the sight of a gold rinerbetween his fingers when the purse he snatched hadweighed for pennies. Now he engaged in a differenttype of sob – that which comes from unexpected andblessed freedom.

He exhausted himself against the warm grass,pressing his face into the ground and letting his tearsand snot soak the grass, until an itching sensationagainst his cheeks and forehead caused him to stopand twitch his head away. The irritation spread to hisneck and round to his throat, then down to hischest. Marius frowned, and wiped his hand acrosshis forehead. It came away with passengers – tinyred multi-legged invaders, crawling over every inchof his exposed hand, biting him with every step.

“Shit!”He pushed himself away, swatting at the angry

ants. Their greater numbers prevailed. Marius was

forced into a shambling dance, pulling his shirt overhis head and using the cloth to beat at torso and legsas he hopped and swung himself about. The antsfought back, moving across his chest and down ontohis stomach, heading inexorably south.

“Oh no, no you don’t!” Marius fell to the groundand rolled, crushing untold assailants beneath hisweight. He felt a tickle at his waistband.

“No, no, no!” A boot flew in one direction, its twinin the other. His trousers fluttered after them, thenhis underpants. Naked and angry, Marius rolled andswiped, jumped and danced, cursed and swore andthreatened undying enmity, until at last he stoodabove the anthill, waving a fist at what lay below.

“Funny!” he yelled. “Very fucking funny!”He may have heard a laugh, or it may have been

his imagination. He kicked at the tiny hole in thegrass, bending his toe back and uttering a yelp.

“I see you’re as in command as always,” a voicebehind him said. Marius stiffened in shock, handsautomatically cupping his groin. Slowly, eyes wide,he tilted his head to look back over his shoulder. Hefelt his rectum tighten, and winced.

“Gerd?”Gerd stared at him in impassive silence, his big

jug-face grey and still. Marius smiled uncertainly,and sidled over to his undergarments. Slowly, hebent at the knees until he could risk snaking a handout to recapture them. He flicked his wrist, andslipped the underpants over his ankles in one swiftmovement, then shimmied into them, eyes fixed

upon his former charge. Only once his most essentialparts lay under cloth did he turn and face theyounger man.

“How did you get here? You were–”“Dead?”“Well–”“Being carried away to be posthumously tried for

treason and sentenced to cremation and dumping inunhallowed ground?”

“Yes, well, that was what I–”“Impaled on a sword because of the betrayal of my

teacher and supposed friend?”“Well, I wouldn’t call myself–”Gerd stepped forward, quicker than he had ever

managed in life, and had Marius’ genitals in his handbefore the older man could so much as flinch.

“The dead called me, as I lay in the courtyardwaiting to be viewed by Lord Bellux. Do you knowhow difficult it is for a dead man to sneak awayundetected? Particularly when you have to come toterms with being dead in the first place?”

“No, I–” Gerd tightened his grip, just enough sothat Marius’ breath stayed where it was rather thenleave him.

“The only place to hide was in the stables.”Marius managed a croak. His forehead knotted.

Gerd’s fingers tightened again.“Under the hay.”“Uhhhh.”“The horses shit in their hay.”Marius’ eyes crossed.

“I lay there for two days.”Marius’ hands made little flapping motions, quite

independent of his desire to have them grasp Gerd’shand and tear it away from the crushed remnants ofhis genitals. He tried to look down, to at least saygoodbye to them, but Gerd squeezed again, andMarius’ legs deserted their post.

“That wasn’t even the worst part. Do you knowwhat the worst part was?”

Marius must have made some sort of movementto indicate that no, he didn’t know what that was,because Gerd gave him one last agonising squeeze.Marius swore the dead man’s fingertips touchedeach other, before he let go and Marius slipped tothe ground.

“Being fucking dead!” Gerd shouted, and walkedaway. Marius decided to vomit, and what little bileremained in his body sprayed onto the grass aroundhim. When he found the strength to raise his head,Gerd stood a foot away from him, watching himwith arms crossed. Marius’ clothes lay in a neat pilein front of him, folded and waiting to be put on.

“I’m to assist you in your task,” Gerd said, hisvoice utterly joyless. “So get your arse up anddressed before I decide I’d rather be cremated anddrag you back to the castle to join me.”

Marius dragged himself over to the clothes andreached for a boot. He croaked once, and Gerdcocked his head.

“What?”Marius beckoned him closer. Gerd crouched so

that his ear was a few inches from his former mas-ter’s trembling lips. When he could focus on hisstupid yokel’s face without his eyes crossing, Mariusswung the boot as hard as he could against the sideof Gerd’s head. The young watchdog fell backwards,and Marius collapsed onto his pile of clothes.

“Get me,” he managed on his third attempt,“some fucking water.”

According to some, the castle of the Scorban Kingwas the largest building in the world. It sprawledacross the range of hills that marked the highestpoint of Scorby City, the capital of the ScorbanEmpire, and therefore, according to those self-samepeople, the world itself. Scorbans called it the Radi-can, as if giving it a name might imbue it with itsown culture, its own personality, its own existenceseparate to the whims of those who occupied itsdwellings. In truth, it was more like a small, gloriousand self-important village – a maze of buildings andcompulsively-washed streets that glowed in the sunlike a reflection of the King’s magnificence.

Of course, this was its owner’s intent. The light atthe heart of the world, some called it, although thosewho called it that were as intent upon smarmingtheir way into the King’s favour as they were of pre-venting anyone from measuring the dimensions ofany other palace, just in case. It was the glory of glo-ries, the most exalted set of buildings in the

FIVE

cutlery-bearing world, the point around which allactivity, interest and gossip flowed. It was the alpha,the omega, and the north point of all compasses. Itwas in exactly the opposite direction to that whichMarius was shuffling with determined steps. By thetime they reached the hillock that marked the outerlimit of the village of Terfin, Gerd had pointed outthis anomaly on no less than a dozen occasions.

“May I remind you,” he said again as theycrouched behind a hedge and gazed down at theramshackle gathering of huts and ditches that somefarmer in more prosperous times had dared to call atown, “that we have a mission to accomplish?”

Marius reached out without looking and clampeda hand over his companion’s mouth. His finger andthumb pinched Gerd’s nostrils shut. It would makeno difference to the dead man, but it helped him feelbetter.

“You have a mission, dead boy.” He waggledGerd’s head from side to side. “I have a thirst, and aneed to bathe.”

In truth, he wasn’t sure it was worth the effort todo either in this village. The ragged collection ofwooden round houses looked as if a spray of watermight cause them to crash onto each other like somany sticks. Marius had seen better constructions ina school for the blind. The only direction not repre-sented in their construction was vertical. Every otherpoint of the world was fair game, and, it seemed, theinability of the builders to collect or manufacture asingle straight piece of wood had bordered on the

perverse. It wasn’t that the village was badly con-structed, Marius thought. He had seen badlyconstructed buildings before. It was just that, if hewas feeling cruel, he could imagine the buildersfalling over whilst holding a bundle of sticks andbeing too knackered to do anything other than livein whatever arrangement the sticks fell in. Down onwhat could optimistically be dubbed the main street,a motley collection of farmers dragged themselvesout of their front doors and towards the building far-thest from Marius’ perch. Each time the dooropened to admit another weary soul, an undertoneof conversation leaked out. Marius waited, watchingthe trickle of men slow, and stop. When no moreappeared on the street he let go his grip on Gerd andstood, brushing himself down and shrugging hisshoulders in anticipation.

“Don’t wait up,” he said, stepping onto the hillock.Gerd grabbed his ankle.

“I could stop you.”Marius licked his lips. The first cold ale of the

evening slid down the throat of his imagination. Thefirst warm barmaid was already in his lap.

“Boy,” he said, slowly sliding his other boot downhis leg so that it fetched up against Gerd’s fingers andcrushed them into the ground. “You and all thearmies of the dead couldn’t stop me.”

He stepped from the hillock and strode along thecentre of the road into the village. At every step heexpected to hear Gerd’s leaden footsteps behindhim, or at least a hissed curse from where the stupid

boy cowered in the bushes. But nothing was forth-coming, not even a whispered insult. Mariuslaughed silently. Even dead, Gerd was a coward. Thedifference between the two men, Marius decided,was that he was a man of intent. And his intent wasto get drunk, washed and bedded. Tonight. Tomor-row, he and whomever passed for a smith in thismud hill would strike a deal over the melting of thecrown. Then he would buy himself a horse withwhich to ride to the nearest port, and set sail forsomewhere where the dead were left out for thebirds to scatter. Hell, he thought as stepped up to thetavern’s entrance, I’ll settle for a mule if that’s allthey have.

The door swung open onto a scene Marius hadencountered countless times. He had spent a lot oftime in piddling little hinter towns, where the poorrubbed up against the edges of whatever kingdomclaimed dominion over their scrubby fields. After awhile, the tiny poteen taverns all began to resembleeach other: a few rickety hand-assembled stoolsgathered around one or two even more ricketytables; a bar, if the villagers were lucky, made fromthe largest logs that the fit amongst them could haulinto town and hew into some shape with their axes,and if they weren’t lucky, just a set of shelves with awoman in front to dole out the potato spirits andkeep track of who owed how many pennies; if itwere cold, some sort of fire, and if they’d thoughtahead, a chimney. If not, a fire anyway, and wallsblack from the soot. Marius had spent long enough

running from one petty crime to the next that evensuch grimy and depressing surroundings counted assome sort of welcome. He’d spent too many wetnights cowering under hedges and in hollows, alertfor the sound of angry footsteps, not to appreciate aroof – any roof – over his head. He slapped his handstogether in anticipation of the sour burn of rotgut,and stepped inside.

“Good evening, friends,” he said into the meagrelight within.

Country people are a notorious mix of hail-fellowand close-mouthed partisanship. Marius wasn’t surewhat would greet his arrival. Singing, perhaps. Themurmur of conversation. Perhaps even the convivialclink of earthenware mugs as simple folk toastedeach other’s work in the fields. He wasn’t preparedfor the sudden stoppage of all sound, or the way thewoman behind the rough-hewn bar dropped a bottleto smash unheeded upon the floor. He was particu-larly surprised by the screaming.

“Is there a problem?” he managed, before the firstvillager threw himself from his stool and dovebehind the bar. The rest of the patrons followed inshort order. Soon, the only noise louder than theirpleas to God was made by bottles shattering as eachfigure crashed over the bar top to land amongst hisfellows in the small space beyond. Marius watchedin amazement, his hand still on the rough wooddoor. Slowly, he let it swing closed behind him, andtook a step forward.

“Um, hello?”

The prayers became a touch louder, a smidgeonmore desperate. Marius frowned.

“Excuse me?”Now several older gods were being called into

play, possibly the first time their names had beenuttered outside the penitents’ bedrooms since theKing had standardised religion. Marius reached thebar, and leaned over it.

“Look, what is going on here?”The denizens of the serving area screamed as one,

and scrabbled to get away. Realisation struck Marius.They were trying to get away from him. He raised hishands in what he hoped was a friendly gesture.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.I just want a drink.”

“Demon!” one farmer gibbered. Another rolled hiseyes back into his head and fainted. Marius jerkedhis head back as if slapped.

“Steady on. That’s a bit…”His eye caught a stray bottle on the shelves, the

last whole vessel teetering on the edge, ready toplunge towards the floor. Within its depths, a name-less liquid sloshed from side to side, helping to clarifythe face reflected in the dull green glass.

Marius stared at it for almost a full minute. Then,without thought for the bodies underneath him, hevaulted the bar and landed in front of the shelf. Thevillagers raced each other around the edge of the barand banged through the door, screaming into thenight. Marius didn’t notice. He reached out anddrew down the bottle. It was a typical hand-blown

affair, dull of hue, riven with runnels and faults froma too-cool fire. Marius buffed it as best he could withhis sleeve, then walked on unsteady legs to standbefore the fireplace. He knelt down, and held theglass so that the guttering flames illuminated the liq-uid within. A face stared back at him from theshining surface. His face, if he concentrated, andadded life and animation to it. But not the face heknew, not the face that had grinned back at himfrom the surface of morning ponds, not the rakishsmile and brown skin that had inhabited the lookingglasses of whores from a dozen or more towns alongthe Meskin River.

The face that stared back at him, his face, was thatof a man dead and buried. Grey skin hung loosefrom his bones. His eyes, so alert and aware of theworld, stared dull and uncomprehending. Hischapped and darkened lips, the teeth that protrudedfrom between them, the rents and tears across hisflesh from how many months spent in the companyof shifting rocks and hungry insects… every angleshowed the ravages of the ground. Marius blinked,and the lids in the bottle closed and opened with dullslowness. He licked his lips, and the tongue that par-odied his movement emerged dried and black. Veryslowly, with deliberate purpose, Marius drew thecork from the bottle and placed the open mouthagainst his lips. He tilted his head back and let theliquor fill his mouth. He swallowed, and waited forthe pain of badly-distilled alcohol to send him intoparoxysms of coughing. Instead, he felt nothing, not

even a slow burn spreading from his gut to hisextremities. He emptied the contents in two longpulls, then, as the sounds of weapon-bearing lifecame to him from further down the street, he placedthe bottle carefully upon the floor and stood. Henodded, as if reaching a decision after long debate.

“Gerd,” he said, and that one syllable contained allthe fury and violence of an avenging army.

The noise was coming closer. The village men,courage fortified by whatever hooch they kept intheir houses, and the logic that comes to any manwhen trying to explain the unbelievable to a scepti-cal wife. Marius had seen this kind of anger before –shameful anger; from men persuading themselvesthat it was not they who had cowered earlier, thatthey were protectors and fighters. They would be car-rying mattocks and hammers, pitchforks and sickles.Deadly weapons, in the hands of the scared. Mariusmade for the door and risked a peek out into thestreet. The villagers were no more than a dozen feetaway. Were he to make his exit that way, theywould be on him before he could reach the cornerof the building. Despite his appearance, Marius feltvery much alive. He was in no mood to decide onwhich side of the divide his life force rested. Heclosed the door, and surveyed his surroundings.

Apart from the sad wreckage of furniture, bar andshelves, the room was bare. Not even a wall hanginglivened up the shit-and-mud decor. The fireplacewas no more than a foot wide and constituted ashallow depression in the wall with a flue leading up

and out. Marius leaned in, risking a burned face tosee whether the flue might be wide enough to wrig-gle up, but it was no use. As far as he could tell, itwas no wider than his doubled fists. For a momenthe considered using a lit branch to set fire to thewalls, but no more than a few flames licked theblackened coals. By the time it caught on, he’d be onthe end of a pitchfork. A doorway on the other sideof the room held more promise. Marius pushedthrough the simple bead curtain and stepped intothe living quarters of the proprietress.

“Business was booming,” he muttered, surveyingthe few items within the room. A bundle of clothslay over a bed of hay in one corner, and next to it,side by side, two earthen pots saw duty as washbasinand piss pot. Another block of wood, fashioned inmuch the same way as the bar, served as table,strewn with the minutiae of a village woman:combs, daubs and pins abounded. Marius scannedthem but found nothing useful.

By now he could hear the crowd just outside thefront door, shouting and rattling their weapons. Itwould not be long before they felt brave enough toopen the door and confront him. Marius sighed indefeat. There was no escape.

THE CORPSE-RAT KINGby Lee Battersby

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UK/RoW/Ebook: September 2012

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