Magnus too was deciding that it really wasn't all that bad, once you got used to it. In fact, if they weren't so stiff-jointed and dry-looking, he might not have been able to tell the zombies from living people at first. They wore winding-sheets draped for modesty, and their skin had darkened—but their empty eye sockets were alive with sparks of light, and they grinned with delight, not rigor mortis. They clapped and sang, occasionally yelling something all together, though he couldn't make out the words, and some of them held rocks which they clicked in unison with that odd, off-beat rhythm.
"Calypso," Rod was telling Tuan. "It's definitely calypso."
"What?" said Father Boquilva. "The nymph who entranced Ulysses and his crew?"
"No, the form of music. It's from ancient Terra."
"Yet how came it here?" Tuan demanded.
Rod shrugged. "How are they making the music at all? I don't see any instruments."
The zombies all yelled a word in unison again.
The Abbot frowned. "Now I comprehend what they have said—but it means naught."
"Jamboree!" the zombies cried again.
"It's a sort of a party," Rod explained. "A very big party."
Tuan stepped forward, holding his sword out. "Mayhap Cold Iron…"
"No." Rod stayed the king with a hand on his forearm. "Only salt will waken zombies—but you have to put it in their mouths, and make it stay there. Then they'll run back to their graves—but it's very dangerous for anybody who happens to be in the way."
"It matters not," Catharine said, tight-lipped. "They leave."
Leaving they were, in a shuffling procession, clacking their rocks together, snapping their fingers, clapping their hands, chanting the words that the courtiers couldn't understand, punctuated now and again with that shouted word, "Jamboree!"
Their singing faded; finally, they were gone. The whole of the Great Hall stood in silence for a few minutes.
Then ladies collapsed onto benches, sobbing, and their gentlemen turned to comfort them. Cordelia stood rigid, determined not to cry, and Gwen was watching Diarmid and Gregory with concern—but Diarmid was only grave, as he always was, and Gregory was fascinated.
"Come!" Alain cried. "Papa will say what to do!"
But as they approached the High Table, Tuan was saying to the priests, "What was it we spoke of all day? A hodgepodge of hedge-priests, who we thought might become a danger because they praised the life of poverty and chastity?"
Rod nodded. "Somehow they don't seem all that pressing all of a sudden."
"Indeed not." Catharine saw Gwen, and heaved out a sigh that seemed to loosen every joint. "What can it mean, Lady Gallowglass? Whence came they?"
But Gwen could only spread her hands and shake her head. "From their graves, Majesty. Yet who hath raised them, I cannot say."
"Nor why they sent them here." Tuan began to frown.
"Oh, that is easily said!" Catharine snapped. "They have sent them to afright the Crown and the Court, look you, and even now they dance out through the town, like as not to send the citizens of our capitol screaming in terror."
Tuan turned, snapping his fingers, and a guardsman appeared by his side. "Tell Sir Maris I would have a troop of guards follow those spectres—but stay at a distance, and do naught but watch till they have fled the town."
"Yet if any are hurted in their fright," Catharine said quickly, "aid them."
The guardsman bowed and turned away, but the look on his face said that he was considering a career change.
"Fright is all that would hurt them," Tuan agreed. "Yet a fright of this sort will have the whole land clamoring to the Crown, to banish these fell revenants." He looked up at the Abbot. "And what can the Crown do?"
The Abbot was silent a moment, then said, "I shall consult with my monks."
"Naught, then." Tuan turned back to Catharine. "And the people shall see their monarchs powerless. This is the purpose."
"To hale us down," Catharine said, white-lipped. "Will they never be done? Will they never leave us in peace?"
"Never," Rod said, "for your land and your people are far too important, Your Majesties."
Catharine thawed a little, and there was a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. She didn't ask to whom she and her people were important; she and her husband had wormed as much of that as they could from the Lord Warlock, and Catharine wasn't sure she wanted to know any more.
But Tuan was another matter. "Who are the 'they' she doth speak of?"
"Why, the ones who raised the zombies," Rod hedged.
"And who did that, Papa?" Gregory asked.
"Nice question." Rod looked down at his youngest, trying not to let his exasperation show. "Got any ideas, Gregory?"
"A sorcerer," said Diarmid.
"Fair guess." Rod nodded. "Which sorcerer?"
Gregory shook his head. "We do not know enough to guess, Papa."
"Then," said Catharine, "I prithee, go learn."
Chapter Two
"Because the Queen said, 'Go learn,' that's why." Rod tightened the cinch on Fess's saddle.
"It seems to me, Rod, that you take virtually any excuse to go on a journey these days." Rod picked up the great black horse's voice through an earphone imbedded in his mastoid process. Of course, he could have heard the robot without it, now that Fess had figured out how to transmit in the family telepathic mode—but the earphone didn't demand any concentration.
"Well, true," Rod conceded, "so long as Their Majesties are paying expenses." He grinned wickedly. "Sometimes even if they're not. But it cuts down on the explanations when it's official."
"Still, you are pursuing a manifestation that resembled walking corpses. Do you truly think it is safe to bring the children along?"
Rod stopped with the saddlebags over his arm and ticked off points on his fingers. "One: There was absolutely no sign of violence from the cold ones. In fact, they seemed remarkably good-natured. Two: None of my children showed much in the way of fear at the sight of them. Three: Do you really think we could get them to stay behind, if we tried?"
"Not unless Gwen did"—the horse sighed—"and she does seem to have her mind set on the expedition."
"And if she thinks it's safe enough for them to go, then it's safe."
"I concede the point." Fess sighed, again. "Still, as the children's tutor, I must protest this interruption in their studies."
"Who said anything about stopping the homework? I'm sure you can find time for a lecture or two." Rod slung the saddlebags over Fess's back, led him out of the stable, and turned back to close and bolt the door.
"There is small need for that, Lord Warlock," said a small voice from the tussock of grass beside the building. "We shall ward thy cot and barn well in thine absence."
Rod inclined his head gravely toward the tussock. "I thank you, brownie. Simply a matter of responsible behavior—I shouldn't task you any more than is necessary. Oh, and I left the bowl of milk inside."
"We ha' known of it," the invisible manikin replied. "Godspeed, Lord Warlock."
"I thank you, Wee Folk," Rod called out, then turned away to join his wife and children, where they waited with their packs.
Gwen looked askance at him, then turned to watch the children. Rod didn't need to read her mind to know she was wondering about the wisdom of letting Fess try to lecture about mathematics when the children had clearly decided they were on holiday. For his part, Rod was beginning to think it wasn't such a hot idea, either, especially from the degree of ruddiness in Geoffrey's countenance.
"Such a deal of parabolas and hyperbolas and tangents!" the boy finally exploded. "What matter they to a warrior?"
"They will matter greatly," Fess responded, "if you lay siege to a castle."