Bones and Ashes (16 page)

He smiled. “Of course not. It’s just that you’re the first person to visit me.” He held out a chair for her. “Why do you have a zombie with you?”

“I found him.”

He sat down behind the desk. “You found a zombie? I thought you were back at school now.”

“I am. I found him on my way to school. But he wasn’t a zombie then.”

“What was he?”

“Dead.”

Aren looked puzzled.

“My carriage passed him on my way back to school. He was lying on the road. He had been dragged from his horse and killed. It was late; no one else was going to come along and I couldn’t leave him there to be eaten, so I took him with me back to school.”

“But how did he become a zombie?”

“I’m not sure. Mrs Lynch said she would hand him over to the authorities. Then, yesterday I saw him with a lady walking down the street and he was a zombie. I didn’t know what else to do with him, so I brought him to you.”

Aren leaned back in his chair. “There’s a group called the Resurrection Men. They steal corpses and then raise them as zombies and sell them.” 

“Why would anyone want to buy a zombie?” Raiden asked.

“They make excellent servants. They don’t need to eat or drink or even sleep. You don’t have to pay them wages and they will do whatever you ask. It’s rather like having a ghost for a servant I imagine.” Aren looked at Peters as he spoke.

There was nothing similar. Peters was here because he chose to be her; no one had forced him back. At least she didn’t think they had. Was she no better than the lady yesterday who had bought a zombie to wait on her?

“Have you tried speaking to him?” Aren asked.

“I didn’t think they could remember anything.”

“It’s best not to ask them about when they were alive; it distresses them. But they can remember some things from when they were brought back. They wouldn’t make good servants otherwise. You just have to talk to them slowly and be patient.” Aren came around the desk and crouched down in front of the zombie. “Do you know where you are?”

The zombie stared back with empty eyes. He didn’t respond. She wanted to ask Aren about James Matherson, and if his body had been exhumed yet. “Give him time,” Aren said softly, sensing her impatience.   

“No,” the zombie finally said.

“You’re in my office in London. Do you remember what happened to you?”

The zombie was silent. “I. Died.”

“Yes. I’m afraid you did. Do you know what happened after you died?”

“I. Woke. Up. Dark. Men. Lady. Looking. At. Me.” He spoke as if each word was a great effort.

“Do you remember where you woke up?”

“Building. Near. River.”

“Could you find your way back there?”

There was a long pause. “Yes.”

“Could you take me there?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so interested in finding the Resurrection Men?” Raiden asked.

Aren hesitated. “I had James Matherson’s body exhumed this morning so I could get a piece of his bone.”

Raiden sat up in her chair. “Matherson’s gone now then. He’s no longer a ghost.”

“Not exactly.” Aren stood up and walked back round the desk to his chair. “When we opened the coffin it was empty. The body was gone.” He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. “I need to find the body. I need a piece of his bone. I’m not strong enough to make him cross over without a link.”

“You think the Resurrection Men stole his corpse?”

“I don’t know. If they didn’t take it, they would know who did. They control the trade on bodies. There are other gangs that steal corpses to sell to the medical schools for dissection, but they have to get permission from the Resurrection Men first.”

“Matherson could be a zombie then as well as a ghost?” Raiden shivered. She had no wish to see James Matherson again, as a zombie or as a ghost.

“It’s possible. But the protections on the coffin were still intact. It would have been extremely difficult and time consuming to get the body out. There are dozens of graves with no protections at all. It would have been easier to steal a different body, and yet they chose to take his.”

“Do you think it was taken deliberately?” Raiden asked. “Someone wanted to stop Matherson crossing over. They wanted him to stay a ghost, so they had his body stolen.”

She had heard of ghosts who dug up their own remains and destroyed or hid their bodies, so they could never be bound by an evoker or forced to cross over. But Matherson was still tied to the house. He couldn’t have been responsible for the disappearance of his corpse.

“But if he was murdered, surely whoever was responsible would want him gone.”

“What if they didn’t know he was already a ghost?” Raiden said. “They had his body stolen to stop him being raised from the dead, but they didn’t realise he was already a ghost.”

Aren unrolled his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. He pulled on his jacket. “The only way we’ll know is if I talk to the Resurrection Men.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said, rising.

“Raiden --” Aren began.

“We can take my carriage.”

Aren sighed and followed her out of the room.

Chapter Twelve

While Tobin hoisted the zombie up onto the driver’s box, Aren pulled down the steps and helped her into the carriage. She had dismissed Peters when it was clear from his expression he disapproved of her plan to accompany Aren.

“Are you sure the zombie can find the way?” she asked as Aren climbed in and settled himself in the seat opposite her.

“His spirit and soul are gone, but he does have some memories. He probably lived in London all his life. He knows the city, even if he doesn’t know himself. Just don’t ask him about when he was alive.”

“It’s my fault he’s a zombie,” Raiden said. “I should have made sure he was properly buried.”

“It’s not your fault,” Aren said. “As long as there's a demand for zombies, bodies will be stolen.” The carriage pulled away with a jolt. “The Inquisition is trying to ban necromancy again. They want to stop zombies being raised.”  

“But the Inquisition is the ones who made necromancy legal again.”

“They allowed necromancers back into England, but that doesn’t mean they want them using their power. They’re worried the dead will eventually outnumber the living. They want to stop us raising ghosts as well.”

“Can they do that?”

“They’re already making it more difficult for us. You should have seen the trouble I went through to have Matherson’s body exhumed, even though I explained to them I wanted to get rid of a ghost, not summon one back.” He stretched out his legs. “You haven’t mentioned how the theatre was last night. Xan told me Her Grace was taking you.” 

Raiden hesitated. Did he know about his mother and the Duke? “We left early; grandmother wasn’t feeling well.”

“Was it her heart again?”

Raiden frowned. “What do you mean again? Has she been unwell? No one has told me anything.” Aren seemed to know more about her grandmother’s health than she did.

Aren shifted uncomfortably. “Mother mentioned it when she was still talking to me. I thought she was just working too hard.”

That was something else that was her fault. As the heir she should have taken over some of her grandmother’s ducal responsibilities. If her mother were still alive she would have taken over the title by now. But she was dead and Raiden had no magic.

“Aren, if my grandmother is ill, if she was…” She couldn’t bring herself to say dying. “If she was very ill, will you come and fetch me?”

“I will come and fetch you.” His face was serious. His eyes met her gaze unwavering.

“Immediately.”

“I will come and fetch you immediately.”

He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Raiden, there’s something I have to tell you,” Aren said. He looked out of the window, avoiding her gaze. “It’s about why I was disinherited.”

“You don’t have to tell me. It doesn’t matter.”

“You need to know.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Mother wanted me to go to the Inquisition and challenge the succession. She was convinced they would agree to change it back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She wanted to make it so the title passed through the male line again after Her Grace’s - your grandmother’s - death, making me the next Duke of Northumberland. Mother always hoped she would be the next duchess as you still haven’t come into your magic, but there’s always the chance you could inherit the title even without being an evoker.”

Raiden looked at him stunned. The Inquisition would have been quite happy to change it back. They believed that women weren’t capable of holding positions of power. “You could have been a duke.” 

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you do it?”

“I could never do that to you, Raiden. Besides, I don’t want the title. I never have. It’s mother who is obsessed with it, not me.”

She didn’t know what to say. He had lost everything - his family, his home, his inheritance. “You should go to my grandmother and tell her what Sylvia wanted you to do. She would reinstate you. You could come home.”

“That’s not why I told you. I have to think of mother and Elissa. If Her Grace knew what my mother tried to do, she might throw her out. They have nowhere else to go. I wanted you to know what my mother is willing to do to stop you from inheriting the title.” She opened her mouth to protest. “Please, Raiden, you can’t tell her.” He looked out of the window. “We’ve arrived.”

Tobin opened the door. Aren got out first and then helped her down. They were near the river. The stench of sewage and human waste hung heavy in the air. She covered her mouth and nose with her handkerchief. She had never been in this part of London before. Enormous warehouses, teeming with activity, surrounded them. Huge cranes and pulleys loaded ships with cargo. A goblin shouted orders and abuse at a line of ogres loading barrels onto a wagon. Raiden flinched as the goblin’s whip lashed out and struck an ogre across his bare back. A huge creature, its size obscured by the muddy water, was tethered to a barge by metal hooks that pierced the creature’s skin.

Noise and movement came from the other warehouses, except for this one the zombie had brought them to. Here, it was quiet and still.

Tobin lifted the zombie down from the box.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Aren asked.

The zombie stared ahead. “Yes.”

“We can’t take him in with us,” Aren said to Raiden. “They’ll recognise him. He can wait in the carriage. He’ll be safe with Tobin.”

Aren helped the zombie into the carriage. Raiden heard the sound of laughter. She looked down over the edge to the river. Two girls swam in the murky brown water. Their long hair floated about them. They stretched out their thin arms, calling out to those that passed. At this distance they appeared young; they wore no clothing and the swell of their breasts were visible above the water. Raiden knew up close their flawless skin would appear grey and craggy and their long beautiful hair would be lank and straggly; if they had any at all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait in the carriage with the zombie?” Aren asked, coming up behind her.

“No. I’m coming in with you.”

A single wooden door appeared to be the only entrance to the warehouse. Aren knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. The door was opened by a heavyset man, who stood there scowling, his thick arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows were black and bushy and he had a large crooked nose which had been broken at some point. He looked like a thug, but he was smartly dressed in a dark grey morning suit.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Good afternoon,” Aren said. “We wish to purchase a domestic servant. We were told this is the place to come.”

“You’ve made a mistake. This is a shipping company.”

“My sources say otherwise.”

“Your sources are wrong.” The man raised his right hand in a fist. “You should leave now, while you still can.”

Aren stood his ground. “I see. Perhaps the Inquisition might be interested to know about your shipping company. I can return with them if you wish.”

“You’re not here to buy a servant,” the man said, looking from her to Aren. “What do you really want?”

“My name is Aren Feralis. I work for Smallpeace, Dawes and Pumprey, the solicitors. We’re looking for the Resurrection Men. We require their assistance on a matter.”

“Feralis; I’ve heard that name before. You’re an evoker?”

“Yes.”

The man studied them, trying to decide whether to admit them or not. Finally, he opened the door. “This way,” he said, jerking his head.

They followed him into the warehouse. From the huge crates and barrels that filled the building, it appeared to be a shipping company as he had said. Fragrant spices perfumed the air. A small office had been built inside the warehouse. The man opened the door and ushered them inside. A desk took up most of the small room. Ledgers lay open across it, filled with neat handwriting. The man pulled a cloth from a full length mirror that hung on the wall.

“If you want to speak to the Resurrection Men, you’ll find them through there,” he said.

Raiden had heard of magic mirrors that could transport you between places, although she had never used one before.

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Raiden asked. It could send them anywhere.

“The mirror has a twin. It will take you to the other side. We’re not stupid enough to run our business from here. If the Inquisition comes, I can simply break the mirror and they will never be able to find us. Do you want to speak to the Resurrection Men or not?”

Raiden exchanged a look with Aren. She went up to the mirror. She pressed her hand against the surface. It passed easily through. She expected to feel something, but there was no sensation. She took a deep breath and stepped through. It was like stepping through a door. She came out in a cellar. Dirt covered the floor. She could be anywhere in the country, or even the world.

Aren stepped through behind her. Turning back to the mirror, she could see through to the other side. The light was dim here. It was kept low so you couldn’t see anything from the other side. In contrast, she could see the office they had come from clearly.

A strange smell hung in the air. She knew that smell. She had been around the dead long enough to know what it was. It was the smell of bodies; dead bodies.  

Ten coffins stood open against the wall. A zombie lay in each one, its eyes open, unmoving. Raiden approached the nearest one. Inside was a male zombie in his late twenties. His dark hair was neatly combed and his clothes were clean. The coffin was new as well; it hadn’t been dug up. They must dress the zombies and put them in new coffins once they were raised.

“Our latest stock,” the man said, coming to stand next to her. “It’s easier to keep them in coffins. It stops them wandering off. These were fresh this morning.”

“Does anyone ever recognise them?” Raiden asked.

“We’re very select in who we resurrect.” the man said. “We only take those with no family and from the lower ranks of society. If they do have living relatives, they’re not going to come across them.”

“They’re very popular at the moment to have as servants.”

“They make excellent servants. They’re discreet. They don’t need to eat or sleep. You don’t have to pay them. They will never complain or steal your silver. Of course, occasionally their limbs may need to be reattached, but it’s easily fixed with a needle and thread. We only use fresh bodies. The decomposition stops as soon as the body is brought back to life, so the rotting is kept to a minimum.”

The zombies had been people once, but now they were just empty shells, waiting to be purchased.

“Where are we?” Aren asked.

“France,” the man replied. “We’re not breaking the law by selling zombies as we’re not on British soil.”

They followed him into a narrow passageway. Empty coffins were piled up against the wall. He opened a door and led them into another room. This room extended back. Rows and rows of coffins lay flat on the floor. It appeared to be the main part of their operation. Raiden counted ten rows with eight coffins in each one. There were more coffins propped up against the wall. They formed a ring around the room. There were over a hundred coffins here. She didn’t know if they contained zombies or corpses waiting to be raised.

He led them past the coffins. He stopped before a door. “Wait here.”

He knocked and entered, but he didn’t close the door. Raiden could hear him speaking. “My Lord, a couple came to the warehouse, wanting to speak to the Resurrection Men. I thought it best to bring them to you.”

“Why didn’t you get rid of them?” a male voice asked.

“He says he’s a Feralis.”

There was a long pause. “Send them in.”

The man came out. “His Lordship will see you.”

Raiden followed Aren into the room. A young man about Aren’s age was seated at a desk in his shirtsleeves. He was shrugging into his black jacket as they came in. Black hair fell over his forehead. His grey eyes were a shade darker than Cassade’s. The colour was closer to slate and there was a hardness to them.

“I understand you’re looking for the Resurrection Men,” he said. 

“We need your help regarding a corpse that was recently taken from its grave,” Aren replied.

The young man leaned back in his chair. “How did you find us?”

“We were led here by one of your creations.”

The young man swore under his breath. “Yesterday, a customer of mine returned. She said she had been accosted by a young woman who claimed to know the zombie she had just purchased. She said the girl took the zombie with her. She was very displeased. Have you told the Inquisition our location?”

“Not yet,” Aren said.

“They would never find us even if you had. We only have to break the mirror and then they would be cut off. What did you want to know?”

“I need to locate a corpse that was stolen from its grave. He’s now a ghost. I have to make him cross over, but I can’t do it without his bones or ashes.”

“You will need to speak with my father,” the young man said.

“Where can we find him?” Raiden asked.