The Necromancer's Nephew (5 page)

"I'm sorry," Garrett said, "I didn't... I..."

Lampwicke glared at him, her eyes full of anger and hurt
.

"I just wanted to give you something to eat," he said. Garrett tore off a piece of bread and pushed it through the cage door. Lampwicke hopped to the far side of the cage, still massaging her arm with her other hand. Garrett poured a little water into the teacup and set in inside the cage as well
.

Lampwicke watched him but made no move toward the bread or water. Garrett pulled a grape from the bunch and placed it next to the bread. As he withdrew his fingers, the grape rolled free, wobbling to a stop at Lampwicke's feet
.

The fairy looked down at the fruit. She glanced at Garrett again to assure herself that he had not moved. Then she knelt and passed her hand across the smooth skin of the grape. She smiled, leaning forward to wrap her arms around the fruit. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as though savoring the scent of it
.

Garrett brought one of the grapes to his nose, sniffing. He smelled nothing. He popped it in his mouth and crunched it. It tasted like an ordinary grape
.

"It's all right to eat," he said, puttin
g another grape in his mouth, "S
hee
? T
har goot."

Lampwicke's eyes rose, no longer angry. She smiled at him, and he smiled back
.

"Garrett," Uncle called from downstairs, "breakfast."

"Oh, sorry," Garrett said, hastily shoving the rest of the grapes into Lampwicke's cage. She fluttered clear of a rolling grape, looking slightly annoyed. Garrett thought of closing the cage door, but it seemed rude somehow and rather unnecessary
.

Garrett started out the bedroom door, pausing as he realized he was still wearing the shirt he'd slept in. He hurried to grab a fresh one and was about to pull the old one off when he realized that Lampwicke was watching him. He froze
.

Garrett sidled out of the room, changing quickly in the hallway. He tossed the old shirt back through the door and headed downstairs
.

Uncle Tinjin waited for him at the breakfast table. The kitchen zombie poked sluggishly at a mound of raw bacon piled in the center of an iron pan by the fire. Garrett sat down, just as a bleary-eyed Maximilian Zara staggered into the room, looking about as alert as Tom the zombie.

"You could have let me sleep," Zara mumbled, vainly attempting to smooth his unruly brown hair with his hands.

"Sleep late in your own house," Uncle Tinjin said without looking up from his tea.

The zombie shambled over to set a plate of cold biscuits in front of Garrett.

"Thanks, To... " Garrett said, almost saying the zombie’s name before Uncle's look of disapproval cut him off.

"So, Garrett," Zara said, "how does it feel to be an unholy agent of the dark powers?"

"Huh?" Garrett asked, stuffing a biscuit in his mouth.

"A necromancer, Garrett," Zara laughed, "Now that you're one of us, you're going to have to start taking your role as a merciless harrower of souls more seriously."

Garrett blinked at him.

"I'll take you out shopping for fiery crowns and implements of torture after breakfast."

"What you do after breakfast is your own business," Uncle said, "but this young man has work to do."

"Work, work, work," Zara scoffed as he poured himself a cup of tea, "I suppose that's one way to spend your day."

"You should try it sometime," Uncle said.

"I keep meaning to..." Zara said, gulping down his tea, "I just can't seem to fit it into my busy schedule."

"What is it, exactly, that you do with your time?" Tinjin asked.

"Research, dear Uncle, research!"

Uncle Tinjin snorted.

"Speaking of which, " Zara said, "I have some research to attend to at the Temple this afternoon."

Uncle's shaggy brows furrowed
. "Be careful, Max," he said, "I
t was not that long ago that the Sisterhood hunted us as heretics."

Zara flashed his crooked grin. "Never fear, Uncle. I'll be the one doing the hunting this time."

Uncle set his teacup aside and looked Zara in the eye. "You don't know what they're capable of."

"And they don't know what I'm capable of," Zara said. He pushed back from the table suddenly and stood. He assumed his most aloof expression and bowed floridly. "I'll leave you both to this work business. Others need my wisdom too, and I must away."

A faint smile tickled the corner of Tinjin's frown. "Be off then, but stop by this evening. Garrett and I may have something to show you."

Garrett sat up in his chair, curious now.

Zara arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't miss it!" He waved his goodbyes and swept from the room.

"What are we going to do?" Garrett asked.

Uncle Tinjin regarded him coldly. "First," he said, "we are going to finish eating breakfast. Then you are going to raise your first zombie."

Garrett felt a strange tingle on the back of his neck, though he wasn't sure if it was excitement or fear.

"And yes," Uncle said, crunching a piece of charred bacon, "you can name this one."

The black oak doors of Uncle Tinjin's laboratory swung open on tarnished brass hinges. At the center of the circular room beyond squatted a gray slab of polished granite. Stretched upon the stone table was the body of a young man. His eyes were closed, and, if not for the large sutured wound in his chest and his bloodless complexion, he would have appeared to be sleeping
.

"Not all who linger in the streets after curfew are so lucky as you," Uncle said
.

Garrett said nothing but followed Uncle toward the corpse on the table. Garrett noticed that the body lay upon the sparkling
fleece that
he had brought home with such difficulty the previous night
.

"A shimmerfleece," Uncle said, "they are found only in the mountains at the headwaters of the great river Neshat. I encountered a fragment of one among the river tribesmen once, years ago. Until now, I have never seen one whole."

"What does it do?"

Uncle Tinjin smiled. "I would very much like to know myself."

Garrett had seen the gleam of curiosity in his uncle's eyes only a few times before, and this made him afraid. If Uncle didn't know something, it was likely to be the sort of thing that no one had yet survived to write about. He took an unconscious step away from the table
.

"Going somewhere?" Uncle raised an eyebrow
.

"Uh... should I get an essence flask?" Garrett asked
.

"No need," Uncle said, "I've set aside a bit of essence already."

Garrett watched in amazement as Uncle opened the elixir cabinet and took an old bottle down from the top shelf. A bright blue-green glow shone from it, even through its thick coating of dust.

"What is that?" Garrett whispered, hardly daring to breathe
.

Uncle smiled. "This is the essence of a satyr thief. Quite an accomplished burglar in his time. He once stole a necklace from around the neck of a Zhadeen Empress... His bones have long since crumbled to dust, but this remains. It is the last of him."

Garrett did not know what to say and remained silent
.

"I think today is the day we set our larcenous friend loose upon the land once more."

"But..." Garrett said, "It won't really be him though. I mean the essence just animates the zombie, right? They still can't think for themselves or remember things, can they?"

Uncle Tinjin looked at him for a long moment before speaking. "You've been paying attention, I'll give you that... Of course you're right, zombies have no memory of their past lives, and I've never found any evidence that the nature of the essence used to animate them makes much difference in the final results. Still, as long as we're trying something new, we may as well stack the cards in our favor."

"New?"

"To my knowledge," Uncle said, "no necromancer has ever used a shimmerfleece in the performance of a resurrection. That is to say, no necromancer before you."

Garrett's heart nearly stopped. "Don't you... I mean wouldn't you rather... I don't want to use the last of the special essence. What if I mess it up?"

Uncle regarded him coldly. "I would advise against messing it up then."

Garrett's insides turned over a time or two, and his mind raced with what little he knew of the necromancer's trade
.

"What is the first step?" Uncle asked
.

"Ah... get a body?" Garrett said, and then winced at the look on Uncle's face
.

"The next step."

"We see if the essence will take to it," Garrett said
.

"Very good," Uncle Tinjin said, "however, we'll be trying something new today."

That hardly seemed fair, Garrett thought, but he kept this feeling to himself
.

Uncle broke the red wax seal atop the bottle of essence and worked the ancient cork free with some difficulty. It opened with a hollow-sounding pop. "Take the flask, Garrett."

Garrett reached up to take the bottle with both hands, terrified that he might drop it. He had expected it to be cold, but the flask radiated a discomforting warmth as though it were filled with fresh blood
.

"I want you to walk around the slab," Uncle said, "pouring the essence out onto the fleece around the body. It must form an unbroken outline, and you must be certain that you have enough left over at the end to complete the outline. Do you understand?"

Garrett nodded, "Yes, sir."

"Good, begin."

Garrett lifted the heavy flask, tipping the mouth of it over the shimmering wool of the fleece at the spot nearest the young man's shoulder. He poured out an unbroken, if slightly unsteady, stream of liquid essence onto the sparkling wool
.

He walked slowly around the table as he poured. He marveled at the size of the shimmerfleece stretched beneath the corpse. The creature that it came from must have been larger than a man. Garrett wondered how he had been able to carry the fleece at all. It must be far lighter than it looked
.

"Careful," Uncle said.

Garrett had to reverse the trail of the poured essence, looping it back to cover a small gap. He was careful not to repeat his mistake
.

By the time he had circled the table and returned to his starting point, the essence had soaked almost completely into the fleece, the spot where the trail began now barely visible. Garrett upended the bottle, pouring the last of the satyr essence into the fleece
.

Uncle took the cold, empty bottle from Garrett's hands. "Well done."

Garrett allowed himself to breathe again and stepped back from the table
.

Uncle picked up an old hide-bound book from the workbench and cracked it open before handing it to Garrett. The book's spine bore a deep crease, and the binding had begun to fray apart at this particular page
.

"
The Calling of the Dead
," Garrett read the heading aloud. The title and the incantation below
were
written in Gloaran
.

"You seem puzzled," Uncle noted
.

"I just thought magic would be written in some strange language," Garrett said
.

Uncle smiled. "It isn't the words you use that matter but the will and the intent behind them. You must mean what you say, and the essence will answer. Do you understand?"

Garrett nodded, not at all certain that he did
.

"Of course I have the same spell written in Old Draconic, if you want to sound more impressive while you're casting it," he said, setting his finger on the spine of an enormous black book
.

"No, this is fine!"

"Good, now face the table and form in your mind an image of the essence inside the fleece."

Garrett closed his eyes and imagined the glowing liquid seeping through the white curls of the wool
.

"Now read aloud the words written in the book."

Garrett opened his eyes and read from the page, "Fallen ones, I bid you rise. Spirit and Flesh undone now mend..."

"Stop!" Uncle said, "Don't speak to the book. Don't speak to me. Speak to the essence, and speak with a voice that cannot be ignored... not even by the dead."

Garrett hesitated. "What do you mean?" he asked
.

Uncle Tinjin strode forward, his long fingers tapping the skull medallion on Garrett's chest. "Your voice has to come from your heart. You have to mean the words. The essence has no choice but to obey, for you are a necromancer, and the dead answer your call."