Master Jasfoup - Zombie Killer

Dead Rite chapter 99.06

2012-02-17T10:03:00.001Z

“Oh.” Harold slumped, as if the world's worries had suddenly been taken from his shoulders. “Of course there is. I should have thought of that myself.” He picked up the book again and began leafing through it. “Why did they never think of putting an index in these old books?”

“Or a search function.” Dill whacked the spider with the tin lid again to be on the safe side. “I don't suppose it comes as a PDF, does it?”

“You suppose right. There are only two copies of this book in existence. Well, three now, if you count the photocopy.”

“What happened to that, by the way? That was the whole purpose of me escaping Magelight Industries and I haven't seen it since.”

“I don't know. I thought it was in the bag with the original.” Harold closed the book, his finger marking the page he'd got to. “Mum? Were there some photocopies in the bag this came in?”

“Photocopies?” Ada paused in the process of putting coffee in the cafettiere. “Yes, I think there were.”

“Where are they?”

“Oh,were they important? I didn't realise. I put them on the fire.”

“So now we're back to square one?” Dill grimaced and hit the homunculus once more for good measure. “That's all I need.”

“I could pull out your spirit and put it into something else, if you like.” Harold waved the book, his finger still between pages. “Something less...decompositioney.”

Dill nodded slowly. “Sounds good. What were you thinking?”

“Something humanoid, at least.” Harold sucked his lip, thinking. “How about an Action Man?”

Dead Rite chapter 99.05

2012-02-16T10:00:00.000Z

“Worth a try.” Dill pulled off half a dozen pieces and laid them in a row along the table. “I don't know how we tell if they're truly inanimate, mind.”

Harold glanced up. It was an odd fact, but despite the lad being mortality challenged and no longer able to display involuntary muscle twitches, he nevertheless did display minute expressions caused by his concentration. At the moment his brow was lightly furrowed by the effort of keeping his eyes trained and focussed on the lumps of plasticine. Not as pronounces as a normal persons would be, but present nonetheless. “How do you mean?”

“Well, I have neither heartbeat nor breath. If I lay down would you be able to tell if I was alive or not?”

“I could give you a kick.”

“Let's assume you don't.”

“I don't suppose I would, then.”

“There you go. What if these pieces are inert because they don't need to be active yet? It's not like we can tell whether they still have a bit of life force in them, is it?”

“You may be right. I could have one of the imps watch them over a long period. If we set them all out on a sheet of paper and draw around them, he could watch hundreds at a time.”

“There has to be an easier way.” Dill picked at the blisters on his hand. “Isn't there a reversal spell to take the spirit away from it again?”

Dead Rite chapter 99.04

2012-02-15T10:00:00.001Z

“Sure, sorry, Mrs Waterman.” Dill slammed the tin lid back on top of the homunculus, effectively flattening it again. “That should give us a moment to think about a solution.”

Harold looked across at the stove. “We could burn it.” He held his hand hand over the flattened cake. “Flamma”

A burst of flame spread from his palm onto the plasticine. Thick black smoke roiled from the surface and made Ada cough. “Stop it Harold. You should know you can't burn plasticine. You tried it often enough when you were little. The number of times I caught you trying to burn your dolls in the garden!”

“Dolls?” Dill grinned.

Harold narrowed his eyes. “Interactive imagination toys to develop an enquiring mind.”

“He objected to their proportions.” Ada crossed to the sink and filled a glass with water. “He felt they promoted an unhealthy self image among developing adolescents.”

“And I was right, too.” Harold jumped back as she poured the water over the smouldering plasticine. “It's been born out over years of sociological studies.” He nodded to the homunculus. “It's trying to grow legs again.”

“What happens if we actually remove one?” Dill pulled the developing limb away and dropped it in his palm. They all watched it wriggle for several seconds before it went still.”

“Is it dead or just playing dead?” Harold drew closer to it. It remained inert. “It looks pretty dead. If that's the case we can keep taking bits of it until there's not enough left for it to build a body with.”

Dead Rite chapter 99.03

2012-02-14T10:00:00.001Z

“Figures.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“When I was at school there was this girl, Tracey Shaw. Prettiest in the school she was, everyone fancied her. I didn't stand a chance, or so I thought.” He put out a hand and lightly touched Harold's arm. “I wasn't like I am now, you understand. I was a head taller than anyone in the class, for one thing, with a mop of curl I could never get to flatten and covered in such pimples as you could play dot-to-dot. 'Bogbrush' they used to call me.”

“Why? Were you generally covered in...you know...”

“No. Because I was tall and lanky and had a mop of hair.”

“Oh, right. Go on then. You fancied this girl...”

“Yeah. Turned out, she came to me. Wanted to hang around with me and everything. It was magic.”

“Was it? You didn't say you were a mage.”

“Not real magic. Brilliant, I mean. She let me kiss her and everything and once I even copped a feel of her boob.”

“Don't tell me. Then you did her homework for her and never saw her again?”

“No. Obviously I saw her again. We were at the same school until she left at fifteen.”

“And now she works on the till at Netto?”

“No. She went off to be an airline stewardess, she said. Crap at science but a real flair for languages.”

“You know, it's lovely to listed to you two lads reminiscing about the ladies who might have loved you if you'd been attractive.” Ada pushed in between them and squashed the homunculus with a cast-iron saucepan. “But can we get back to the more pressing problem of my little spiderman?”

Dead Rite chapter 99.02

2012-02-13T10:06:00.001Z

“Here. Stand back.” Harold brought a kettle full of boiling water to the table and began pouring it in a slow dribble. It spattered off the recovering homunculus and went everywhere, including the book where the ink blossomed like lichen on old bones.

“Stop!” Ada pulled at Harold's arm to lift the kettle spout. “You're doing no good at all and you're ruining the book.” With Harold stopped she reached for kitchen towel to mop the pages. “You've splashed Mr Farthing, too.”

“He has?” Dill looked at his hand, where spots of flesh had been neatly poached and were now angry red blisters. He scratched one and popped it, sending a tiny stream of fat and liquid running down the inside of his sleeve. “It doesn't matter. I didn't feel it.”

Harold replaced the kettle on its stand and picked up a tea towel to mop up the water. “it didn't do anything to the spider either.”

“That's because plasticine is made of oil and pigment and thus resistant to water.” Dill shook his head. “Don't you know anything about chemistry?”

“Some barely remembered snatches from school in the eighties, but to be honest, I was more interested in Clare Watkins at the the time.”

“Was she pretty?”

“A bit, I suppose, but more to the point she had every issue of The Beano comic ever published, thanks to her dad collecting them when he was a kid.”

Dead Rite chapter 99.01

2012-02-12T09:51:00.000Z

Harold looked from the lid of the biscuit tin to Dill's impassive face to Ada's open-mouthed horrified one.

“You killed him,” she said, her chair scraping across the formica tiles as she stood. “Do you know how long it took me to make him?”

Dill shrugged. “Ten minutes? He wasn't exactly a work of art, was he? Just rolled-out plasticine. You hadn't even given him a neck or a pelvis.”

“Or ears.” Harold chuckled until his mother glared at him.

“I spent as much time as I needed to spend. What right had you got to kill him? He had a life too.”

“He was a crude plasticine figure animated by the necromantic arts.” Harold tilted his head, trying to see beneath the tin lid. “Don't try to take the moral high ground with me. You killed a spider to animate it in the first place.”

“That's not the point.” Ada set her mouth in a hard line. “I shall have to start again now.”

Dill lifted up the lid and put it to one side. The homunculus had been flattened against the table like a rolled-out gingerbread man. As they watched, an eye opened in the orange skin and tendrils of plasticine rose from the torso, thickening and segmenting into multiple legs.”

Ada made shooing motions at it and looked at Dill, her mouth an O of horror. “Make it go away.”

Dead Rite chapter 98.06

2012-02-11T09:58:00.000Z

He snatched his hand back as the homunculus darted at him.

“He does look a bit different.” Ada held her glasses several inches from her face. “I don't remember giving him whiskers.”

“Not whiskers, mum. It's growing another four legs. Look, the two originals are halfway up the torso, now, which is becoming more bulbous by the minute. I'm also pretty sure you only gave it two eyes.”

“So I did.” Ada lowered her glasses to look at him. “He really is turning into a spider, isn't he? This is fascinating. Does this happen to all homunculi?”

“To be honest, I've no idea. I've never seen one made of a malleable material before, they're usually made of fired ceramic. Actually, I've only ever seen one before and that was imbued with the spirit of a friend of Gillian's.”

“What happened to that?”

“It learned how to pass for human and went off to seek its fortune.”

“That's what we were going to make for ourselves.” Dill spoke up. “Metal bodies with interchangeable pieces. I never thought of using something malleable as a base.”

“Malleability has its drawbacks. It's easily distorted.”

“Yes.” Dill picked up the homunculus and crushed it into a ball, heedless of the creatures attempts to bite him. “So it is.”

Dead Rite chapter 99.07

2012-02-11T09:57:00.001Z

“Seriously? You want me to be eight inches tall?”Dill shook his head, holding up his hands. “I really don't think so, chum. Not my idea of amusement. I'd rather continue eating people's heads than risk being locked in a toybox, if it's all the same to you.”

“Fair enough. I was just trying to think what we had in the house.”

Ada returned with her freshly brewed coffee. “You're being ridiculous, Harold. I thought you'd read the instruction manual?”She tapped the cover of the book.

“I have...well...sort of. I skimmed through it, anyway.”

“Then you missed the whole part about the mage making the golem with his own hands. Hardly the case if you're offering the poor lad a Barbie doll.”

“I didn't offer...” Harold pursed his lips. “Did you make me a tea?”

“Of course...” Ada patted his hand, “not. You're big enough and ugly enough to make your own. And I'm sure your friend wants something by now. It's gone midnight.”

“No, I'm good thanks.” Dill patted his stomach. I can't drink tea, anyway. It goes straight through me.”

“You're allowed to use the loo, you know.”

“No, not like that.” Dil lifted up his shirt to expose the deep purple and magenta bruising around his torso. “There's a hole in my stomach, look. Any liquid I consume that isn't blood pours straight out the bottom.”

“How awful, to have a hole in your stomach like that.”

Dill gave a half-hearted shrug, but only with the shoulder he remembered to move. “I can live with it.”

Dead Rite chapter 98.05

2012-02-10T10:00:00.000Z

“Har-de-har” Harold zoomed in on the image until the positions of the legs was apparent. “Look, its legs aren't at the bottom of the torso. You didn't make it like that, did you?”

Ada adjusted her glasses. “I don't remember, Harold. You know how it is. You roll out the little sausages and stick them on the bottom. I don't remember exactly where they went. Does it matter?”

“It does a bit. I think its reforming itself into a spider.”

“It can't do that, can it?”

“Non-malleable spirits, the book said. Thank Go—odness you made one out of plasticine and not old VW Beetles. We'd have been in a potload of trouble then.”

“It's turning into a spider, is it?”

“I think so, mum, yes.” Harold looked again, careful not to get too close. “The cat hairs are slowly being covered in plasticine as well. I think they're becoming its extra legs.”

“Well I don't want plasticine cobwebs everywhere.”

“What sort of spider did you use?”

“A house spider.”

“No cobwebs, then. Just an aggressive little bugger who pounces on anything it can convert into dinner.” Harold grimaced and reached for the lid to the Rovers Assortment tin. “Let's not give it any more plasticine, eh?”

Dead Rite chapter 98.04

2012-02-09T10:00:00.000Z

“There was nothing in the book about that.” Ada picked the book up and began flicking through the pages. His shelter removed, the homunculus made a dash for the remains of the newspaper and attempted to crawl under it. “No, nothing about them being venomous.”

“But you used a spider spirit.” Harold took the tome from her and flicked through to the back. “See here? Spirits not to use. Arachnia's maidens. They're not malleable. They retain their original form even after you've transferred them. You little biddable homunculus will evolve into an unbiddable one before you can spell 'diarrhoea'.” He frowned. “It'll become an arachnulus.”

“And what's one of those when it's at home?” She reclaimed the book to read the appendix.

“An immortal spider.” Harold examined the little man from a safe distance. “See those cat hairs on its torso? Were they there before?”

“I don't remember Harold. I tried to get them all out but you would insist on playing on the carpet and with your father about...”

“Your father?” Dill squatted until he was at eye level with the surface of the table. “Did he have a cat, then?”

“He was a cat in those days.” Harold took out his mobile phone and used it to zoom in on the creature. He took a photograph. “Don't ask. It's complicated.” He examined the digital image. “Is it just me or are his arms and legs migrating?”

“Migrating where?” Ada took the phone from his hand. “He's not a starling, Harold.”

Dead Rite chapter 98.03

2012-02-08T10:00:00.001Z

Harold crouched and took a good look at the creature. An orange body and head in the snowman style of modelling, the body the size of a ping-pong ball, the head proportionally smaller with red plasticine lips and yellow balls for eyes. Its limbs were comprised of rolled-out sausages, flattened at the eds for hands and feet which gave it the appearance of wearing socks and mittens. No ears or nose and certainly no genitals were evident, which was probably just as well. Streaks of purple flowed like marble cake through the the body, an obvious result of colour contamination during the rolling-out. An occasional cat hair protruded from the flesh. He wondered if they'd grow.

“You animated it with a spider?”

“Yes. It seemed logical.” Ada smiled her creation, fingers knitted in what appeared to be self-satisfaction. She looked at Harold. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“I don't know. You've imbued an homunculus with the intelligence and cunning of a house spider. What could possibly go wrong?” He reached under the recipe stand to catch it, but snatched his hand back with a cry.

“What's wrong?” Ada tried to look at his hand but Harold had it clamped in his mouth. With an expression of disgust he rose, crossed to the sink and spat.

He bent his head under the tap and rinsed his mouth out. “It bit me.” He gargled and spat. “And it seems to be venomous. My hand's gone numb.”

Dead Rite chapter 98.02

2012-02-07T10:00:00.000Z

Harold set the kettle to boil and came over to the kitchen table. Ada's plasticine figure leaned backwards to survey him then scuttled beneath the book holder. E felt a lump in his chest, a feeling of dread hat the world had just become a little darker.

“Necromancy?”

“Only a little bit.” She wiped away a mess of spider legs from the table. “You left me the book to look at. A golem, the book said.”

“Homunculus,” Harold corrected. “You've given it free will. If you'd wanted a golem you should have written its instructions on a piece of paper inside it.”

“Are you sure?” Ada ran her finger over the pages. “There's nothing about it in the book.”

“There's a footnote that refers you to appendix three. It details the differences there.”

“Oh. I didn't read that far.”

“People don't generally. That's why there was a plague of homunculi in the late sixteenth century, prompting the Catholics to start burning anyone who could read. “Anyone not a Catholic priest, at any rate. There are only two copies of his book in existence, the one in the Vatican archive and this one.” He lifted the book from the stand, prompting the homunculus to perform an awkward, four-limbed run for the shelter of the Rover's Assortment tin Ada had found the plasticine in. “I can't let you keep it, mum.”

“But there's so much more to learn. I've only done the first exercise. I had a flick through and you can make full sized ones that are almost like people.”

“Because they're made of people, mum. You remember what happened to granddad.”

“That's different. He was trying to extend his own life.”

“By stealing people's souls.” He tucked the tome under his jacket and stared at the orange foot of his mother's creation, still visible past the corner of the tin. “You need to destroy that before it gets you into trouble.”

“Trouble?” Ada smiled at the crude little man. “How could he be trouble? He's adorable.”

Dead Rite chapter 98.01

2012-02-06T10:00:00.000Z

Ada stood and rushed to the stack of old newspapers. “Help me put these down, would you?” She began spreading the pages across the kitchen floor. Harold took an old copy of the Times and helped. “Isn't Stinky here to do this?”

“He's got time off for good behaviour.” Ada nudged him with her elbow. “He's courting.”

“Courting? Stinky?” Harold frowned. “But he's ancient. He must be forty or fifty.”

Her face darkened and she gave him a thump on the arm. “I'm over seventy. You must think me decrepit.”

“It's different for you. You're fae.” He frowned as her words sank in. “Wait. You're not thinking of having another child?”

“Stone me, no. One was bad enough.” She surveyed the room and began covering one chair with newspaper as well. Only when every inch of the floor was covered did she take the remainder of the paper from her son. “There. You can come in now, Mr Farthing, but mind you stay on the newspaper. You'd leaked in the hall earlier and I had a devil of a job to get the boards clean again.”

“Thank you.” Dill stepped carefully onto the newspaper. “I appreciate your indulgence, missus. It's good to see you again.”

“I expect it is.” She gave Harold a push and returned to her seat. “Don't just stand there like a gormless oik. Put the kettle on.” She sniffed. “And the extractor fan.”

Dead Rite chapter 97

2012-02-05T10:00:00.000Z

Ada sat at the kitchen table, the library book propped open on her recipe book stand. She'd been surprised her son had dropped such an odd how-to manual through her letterbox instead of her usual mystery and crime thriller but it was obviously something he wanted her to try.

She went back three pages of Roberts’ Treatise on Animated Figures and adjusted her glasses. The title had led her to believe the book was about cartoons, but once she'd struggled through the Latin she realised just how far wrong she'd been, and conversely, just how right.

The plasticine figure on the table was barely more than two balls of plasticine for the head and body and sausages for the limbs (with the addition of cat hair for some reason – she hadn't had a cat for years). With a pin she transcribed the twelve symbols from the book into the figure, glad for once that her mother had insisted she learn embroidery. The tiny stitches were a good primer for the microscopic runic script. Finally she made an incision in the top of the figure's crude head with a steak knife breathed a sigh of relief.

“Your turn now, lovely.” She turned to the house spider she'd caught in the outside privy. “I'm not sure you're going to enjoy this bit.” She turned the pages again and upturned the jar, reading through the incantation one more time to fix the phrasing in her head. It never turned out well to mispronounce a spell.

The words dribbled from her tongue, feeling dark and oily as they slithered into the world. The air felt charged, like a summer night before a thunderstorm. Quickly, she lifted the glass and crushed the spider.

Was something supposed to happen?

Ada examined the figure. All the lettering had faded, leaving only the gash she'd made with the knife. She smoothed it over with her finger and stood, reaching for a paper towel to wipe up the mess that used to be a spider.

When she turned back her plasticine man was eating it.

Dead Rite chapter 96.08

2012-02-04T09:55:00.000Z

“Something to think about.” Harold turned right into The Terrace, veered across the other side of the road and parked against the traffic outside his mother's. “Looks like she's back from Bingo.”

“Brilliant.” Dill picked up the plastic bag with her library book inside and handed it to him. “Do you want me to stay here?”

Harold looked at him. Either the smell had faded a little or he'd got used to it. “Nah. Mum's met you already. It'll be fine.”

He locked the van and led Dill around to the back door. The back passage, which led to both the cellars and the kitchen, was unlit but a lightt shone under the kitchen door. He opened it a crack. “Mum? Are you decent?”

“Who is it?”

Harold pursed his lips. His mum had been asking that ever since he was old enough to leave the house on his own. He was an only child. It wasn't like there was a vast group of siblings calling her 'mum'. “It's me, Harold.”

“Oh, good. I wanted a word with you about my library book.. Have you dumped that corpse somewhere?”

“Um...not exactly.”

Dill peered over Harold's shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs Waterman.”

Dead Rite chapter 96.07

2012-02-03T10:00:00.001Z

Harold merely scowled and left. It wasn't until he was once again in the driver's seat of his van that a witty retort came to him. “I will. As soon as it's under new management.”

“What?” Dill raised an eyebrow. It had fallen off and he was trying to stick it back with whatever passed for spit in a zombie.

“That...person it there was very rude. Tried to charge me seven hundred quid for a cup of tea.”

“Wow.” Dill was silent for a moment, watching the police car in front pull out before haring off at twice the speed limit. “You must really like tea.”

“I didn't pay that much. Honestly, I think it was overpriced at the two I gave him.”

“Why? It's a big cup, you've got milk and a plastic lid. He has his overheads and frankly, if he'd the only place open where you can get a cup of tea he can charge whatever the market will sustain. If you were desperate for a tea you'd have probably paid a five. Complained bitterly about it afterwards to anyone but the café, of course, but then that's the British way.” He viewed the cup, wedged as it was between Harold's thighs. “You know heat can damage your semen count, right?”

“No cup holders.” Harold pulled off and headed toward his mother's. He frowned and glanced at his passenger. “Purely from a scientific viewpoint, are you still fertile? And if you are, are your sperm still alive or are they undead as well?”

“That's a bit of a personal question.” Dill rubbed his groin. “I honestly don't know.”

Dead Rite chapter 96.06

2012-02-02T09:56:00.001Z

“Har-de-har” Harold counted out two pounds in silver. “There. I've added eleven percent.”

“You're six hundred and ninety-eight short.” The cook looked at the two police officers. “This man's trying to short change me.”

“Come on, Mr Waterman. Pay the man or we'll have to take you in.” Mike Brandsford winked at his partner. “That'd be at least an hour of paperwork in a warm office building.”

“That's right.” The other officer nodded. “Come on, sir.”

“This is ridiculous. I'm not paying seven hundred quid for a cup of shabby, weak tea.”

“Oh-ho! Disparaging my goods and services now, are you? That's slander, that is.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I have every right to complain to the provider of my dissatisfaction with their product.”

“Not if it's a ruse to get away with not paying.”

“How can it be? I've not even tasted it.”

“My point exactly.”

“Come on, Mr Waterman. It's not like your short of a few readies, is it? Not with owning the Manor and all.”

“I inherited that. Anyway, have you seen it? I'm a small shopkeeper. We pretty much live in the kitchen, the house is so draughty and unheated.”

“Be that as it may, sir, there's still the matter of your bill.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Harold pointed to a chalkboard over the cook's head. “It says a cup of tea is one-sixty, right there on the price board.”

“So it does.” Mike turned to the cook. “You did say the surcharge was voluntary.”

“So I did.” He scraped the money from the counter to his palm and rang it up on the ancient till. “Thank you for your custom, sir. Please come again.”

Dead Rite chapter 96.05

2012-02-01T10:16:00.001Z

“I'd rather not.” Harold grinned in case the officer took it as a criticism of his boy. “Not after it's been up there, anyway.”

“I know what you mean. Daft innit? You spend all you life learning how to be hygienic and then you get a kid and it all goes out of the window.”

“If you say so.” Harold glanced at the other officer. He didn't recognise her, but she'd pushed away her plate when Mike had talked about his son's predilection for nostrils and now pushed away her glass as well.

“Do you actually want anything?” The burly café owned wiped his hands on a tea towel. “Only since I'm standing here doing nothing...”

“Sorry, yes. A cup of tea to take away, please.”

“A cup of tea. Sure. That'll keep me in business. It's high value orders like yours that keeps me open three hundred and sixty four days a year.”

Harold leaned forward to see him in the kitchen. “You can add a surcharge if you like.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Come on, Mike. Time we were back doing the rounds.”

“Right.” He drained his cup and stood. “Good to see you again, Mr Waterman.”

“Yes it was.” Harold shook the proffered hand. “Will your lass be going to Piy's Infants?”

“What?” Harold frowned. “Probably. I hadn't thought about it.”

“Best you get your application in.”

“She's only two.”

“Can't be too early.”

“You're right. I should apply for her little brother, too.”

“Oh? I didn't know you had another.”

“I haven't, but maybe in a year or two...”

“Oh, you're pulling my leg.” Mike wagged his finger at Harold. “Very clever.”

The cook put a large red cup on the counter. “Here's your tea.”

“Great.” Harold took out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“With the voluntary surcharge you suggested? Seven hundred quid.”

Dead Rite chapter 96.04

2012-01-31T10:03:00.002Z

Harold hurried from the van to the café, pushing open the door into the warmth of the interior. It smelled of buttered toast and fresh coffee, the sort of scents that could sell an overpriced house. It didn't matter that you knew the smell was a trick, it still made the unconscious association with safety and comfort.

The three occupants looked up as he came in. Of the police officers, one was eating a Caesar salad and the other, two slices of toast with marmalade and what looked like Bovril, but could easily be Marmite or worse. He gave Harold an upward nod. “All right? Mr Waterman, isn't it?”

Harold frowned. The rosy, full moon face was familiar but the name escaped him. He looked at the man's bade number but it didn't help. “I'm sorry. Officer--?”

“Brandsford. Mike Brandsford. We've met several times over the last few years, not that I'd expect you to remember. That's the whole point of wearing a uniform, isn't it? You become anonymous, just a part of the organisation, a cog in the wheel.”

“Yes, of course.” Harold shook his hand. “We've met somewhere recently, I think?”

“Doctor Fletcher's office. Our kids are the same age.”

“That's right.” Relief flooded through Harold as he placed the man in the setting. “Glue ear, wasn't it?”

“That's right. Poor little mite. Better now, though. How's your girl?”

“Fine. Didn't like the tetanus jab but forgot about it an hour later.”

“Tetanus? Nasty. Had she cut herself?”

“No. Bitten by a rat in the garden. Her own fault, really, She shouldn’t have resurrected it.”

“Shouldn't have what?” The officer frowned.

Harold mentally reviewed what he'd said. “Responded to it, I meant. Kids that age. So curious.”

“You can say that again. You should see our Michael. The things he puts up his nose!

Dead Rite chapter 96.03

2012-01-30T10:00:00.001Z

“Ah.” Harold turned into Magdalene Street. “But you've eaten tonight, you said?”

“That's right.” Dill turned to him and showed his teeth. It gave Harold a bit of a start until he realised it was supposed to be a smile. “Don't worry. You're quite safe.”

“I would never have imagined otherwise.” He pulled up outside Betty's twenty-four hour café, behind a marked police car. White striplighting from the café spilled onto the pavement and drowning out the faded neon lettering. It was a thriving internet café when it opened in the nineties but with the rise of home internet it consoled itself with catering to the night owls and sobering husbands. You could always be assured of a warm seat, fresh tea (or coffee if you absolutely had to) and free wi-fi. Harold could see through the window the place was almost empty. Two police officers from the car in front sat at the bar, their hands curled around mugs.

“I just need a cup of tea. Do you want anything?”

“I can't digest normal food anymore but thanks for the offer.” Dill reached for his phone as it bleeped. “Oh! They have online security backup.”

“Who does?”

“This place.” Dill waved through the van window. “Say Hi to Sam. He's hacked in. He can see us.”

“Brilliant.” Harold cracked open the door. “I'll just be a tick.”

“Take your time.” Dill typed a message into his phone. “I've just told Sam we're fetching the book from your mothers and I'll be back after that.”

Dead Rite chapter 96.02

2012-01-29T10:05:00.001Z

“Is it?” Dill looked out of the side window, making a brief but uncomfortable silence.

Harold concentrated on driving, the car coming the other way a brief flash of light as it passed. A glance at the rear-view mirror mounted on the wind showed the red of is tail-lights illuminating the marker posts on the outside of a bend as it vanished into the night. His stomach lurched as he topped Hergest Ridge and the lights of Laverstone spread out in front of them.

“It surprised me, that's all.” Harold tried to fill the chasm of silence. “Normally when someone dies everything goes slack. Vocal chords would drop in pitch by an octave or more, causing the low moans and groans of your average screen zombie. Yours, on the other hand, are as high an A string.”

He drove a little more, the streetlights appearing as he entered the town. “It's fascinating, really. I'd love to make a study of how, contrary to all expectations, your vocal chords have tightened up.”

“I found out by accident.” The young man kept his gaze to the side window where the amber streetlights strobed across his face. “It seems to be why...people like me...have a drive to eat brains. Whatever we eat replenishes our own body and replaces those parts that have rotted away. If we eat a brain, we get smarter, we eat a liver, we're able to process more bacteria, we eat someone's vocal chords...”

“You become an alto.” Harold nodded. “That's clever. And if you don't eat?”

“We rot.”

Dead Rite chapter 96.01

2012-01-28T10:00:00.000Z

Traffic was quiet at this time of night. Old Oxford road was dark, the trees to either side appearing to grasp at the moment of light as Harold's van flashed past. The rain had stopped, though the wind shook water from the overhead canopy of leaves, forcing Harold to use the windscreen wipers erratically.

He shivered. It was still too cold to have the window open, but the presence of his passenger necessitated it. Whatever films there were about zombies, you never experienced the true horror of one until you gagged at the smell.

Lights stabbed into the night sky as an oncoming car topped Hergest Hill ahead. Harold reduced his speed from eighty to sixty, just in case it was Inspector White or one of his vindictive sergeants out to do him for speeding.

He glanced at the man beside him. Dill would have been quite handsome but for the whole face-falling-off thing. He frowned. He really shouldn't be prejudiced against the man just because he was dead. It wasn't as if Dill would eat his children. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden image of Felicia's elongated jaws inching towards Lucy's face.

“Watch it!”

Harold opened his eyes again, pulling the van away from the verge. He glanced at Dill. “That's a very feminine shriek you've got going, there.”

Dead Rite chapter 95.05

2012-01-27T10:05:00.001Z

Harold paused, his hand still on the door handle. He looked at Dill over his shoulder. “I want to know, but I don't. What did you...” His voice trailed of as he felt his meal consider making a repeat appearance. “No. Don't tell me. It can only make my life a little bit more horrid.” He went inside where the laughter and good cheer stopped as quickly as the conversation in a Yorkshire pub at the entrance of an American tourist.

“S'up?” Jasfoup winked at Gillian. Actually winked. Harold saw it.

“I have to take Dill back to mum's. We gave him her library book and pushed ours through the letterbox.”

“Right. I'll get my coat.”

Harold held up a hand. “No need. It's just a quick trip to Mum's and back. I shan’t be long.”

“Why not just send Devious?” Jasfoup jerked his head at the imp “He can be there and back in under a minute. Save you going back out at all.”

“It's okay. I'll go.” Harold picked up his coat and keys. “Maybe I'll have a cuppa with mum on account of her babysitting all day.”

“Well, if you insist.” Jasfoup reached for the tea pot.

“Are you sure you'll be all right?” Gillian put her mug down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I could come with you, if you like. You could drop me off in town if you want some alone time with Ada. I could do with a proper meal anyway.”

“No, it's fine.” Harold gave her a terse smile. “Spend a bit of time with Lucy.”

“She's asleep.”

“But you never know when it'll be your last chance.” Harold pulled on his coat. “Don't wait up.”

Dead Rite chapter 95.04

2012-01-26T10:00:00.000Z

“Can we go and get it?” Dill looked as if he was about to cry, but Harold realised it was probably only a sign of further decomposition.

“Um...I suppose so.” He looked through the glass panes into the kitchen. Jasfoup was saying something and Gillian was laughing. Devious was clearing away the plates, taking the opportunity to eat anything he or Jasfoup had left. It was like looking at a charming domestic scene after he'd died and for a moment he had an inkling of how the zombie felt. Was this what happened after you died? People just got on with their lives without you? Would Lucy be content with her lot without his wisdom to guide her?

Dill plucked at his elbow. “Are you all right? You looked as if you weren't all there.”

“I was just thinking about something.”

“What? In there?”

“Yes.”

“They were laughing. Probably about you and they didn't realise you were snooping. It happens. You get used to it eventually.”

“Hmm?” Harold turned back. “Get used to what?”

“People talking about you.”

“Do they? I didn't realise.” Harold turned back to him and almost patted him on the shoulder before he realised the dustbin liner coverall had gone. “Let me grab my coat and keys and something to put on the seat and we'll be off. I bet you're hungry.”

“No. I'm fine. I grabbed a bite on the way up here.”

Dead Rite chapter 95.03

2012-01-25T10:00:00.001Z

Harold opened the door. “Hello again. We weren't expecting you back so quickly. Thought you'd be off sorting yourself a new body or something.”

“Sorry for the intrusion. I can see you're having dinner.” Dill held out a plastic carrier bag. “I would have been long gone but for a slight problem.”

“Oh?” Harold took the bag and looked inside. Karen Shepherd's All the Colours of Blood took up all the space. Nevertheless, Harold took it out to check underneath it. “This is mum's library book.”

“Yes, that's the problem.” Dill sighed, sending a wave of foetid air through the doorway.

Jasfoup coughed theatrically. “Shut the door, old chap, you're letting the heat out.”

“And the smell in,” added Gillian.

“Sorry.” Harold stepped out, closing the door behind him. It had dropped cold. He wouldn't be surprised if there was a late frost tonight. He looked fron the book to the zombie. “Are you warm enough?”

“Sure. I like the cold. Slows down the decomp, you know?”

“Yes, I'm sure it does. Winter would be the best time for a zombie apocalypse.” Harold grinned. “Not an Arctic winter, mind. You'd freeze up altogether and be like icicles for the clean up operation to dispose of at leisure.”

“I'll bear it in mind in case Sam and I ever want to dominate the world.”

“Yes, quite.” Harold held up the book. “We must have posted the Treatise through Mum's letterbox.”

Dead Rite chapter 95.02

2012-01-24T10:00:00.001Z

“That explains a lot.” Harold pushed away his tray of rice and snagged the last spring roll with his chopsticks, moments ahead of Jasfoup. “Why don't we have take-away meals more often?”

“More often than three or four times a week?” Jasfoup ate Harold's discarded rice. Dry was relative when you came from somewhere with an average humidity of zero. “Even your metabolism wouldn't cope with it. Your thyroid would pack a little suitcase and leave for good. You'd never be able to perform magic again.”

“Is that where your magical ability resides? The thyroid gland?” Harold felt his neck but there was nothing unusual there except a lump of spring roll he'd swallowed too quickly.

“No, but thyroxin helps keep the metabolism level.” The demon balanced a pea on the tip of a chopstick. “Without magic to burn off your excess fat you'd work it until it packed up or died. Then where would you be?”

“I see your point.”

“Do you? You could always talk to old Hastur. He's... thinly challenged. All that adoration in the thirties went to his head and then his stomach. I said 'a diet of pate and caviare is not good for the figure of a discerning demon-about-town.” Jasfoup ate the pea. “Not to his face, of course. He'd have killed me.”

They all turned as the outside light flicked on in the stable yard. A figure approached the door. Gillian scowled. “If that's Felicia back again...”

“No.” Harold stood. “It's the zombie fellow. What does he want?”

Dead Rite chapter 95.01

2012-01-23T10:00:00.001Z

“Pass me the soy sauce?” Harold held out his hand and waited for Jasfoup to finish using it.

“Sorry, old boy. There's none left.” The demon held the bottle upside down. “You've already used the lot.”

“Me? That was a fresh bottle and it hasn't got to me yet. If anyone's used it all up, its you.”

“A few drops is all.” They both turned toward Gillian.

“There's no use looking at me. I didn't have and fooy to pour soy sauce on.” She cradled the mug in both hands. Hot blood took some getting used to but on a cold night it was the equivalent of chocolate to a vampire. It even had congealed bits resembling soggy marshmallows. She took another swallow, leaving a red moustache on her upper lip. “How would I digest soy, anyway?”

“She has a point.” Harold frowned, then looked under the table. Devious, Delirious and John were sitting in a circle, a pile of Chinese food cartons between them. The elder burped. “Pass the soy sauce again, would you? The house fried rice is a little dry.”

Dead Rite chapter 94.06

2012-01-22T10:05:00.001Z

“That's not very nice.”

“Isn't it? I just want the best for Lucy.” Gillian followed Harold into the kitchen where Jasfoup was just filling a teapot with boiling water. Frederick was in his customary seat in front of the television.

Harold crossed the kitchen, taking an extra-long step to avoid treading on the spot where Julie had lain. “I'll just take Lucy up to bed.”

“Wait.” Gillian looked at Frederick. “You've been here all day. Has Julie's ghost appeared?”

“Julie's ghost?” He looked from her to Harold to Jasfoup and back. “I haven't seen her.”

“You'll let me know if you do?”

“Of course...but won't you see her as well?

“Not if she appears in daylight, no.” Gillian tut-tutted. “Honestly, Frederick, I don't think you have the brains you were born with sometimes.”

“You're quite right.” Frederick turned back to the television. “I'd forget where my head was if it wasn't written down.”

Harold opened the door to the back stairs. “Jasfoup? Would you order a take-away, please? I'm starving.”

“What am I, an imp?” Jasfoup frowned. “Where are the imps, anyway?”

“They'll be around.” Harold went up the stairs with Lucy. She hardly stirred as he undressed her and put her in clean pyjamas. He switched on the nightlight and kissed her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, my lovely.”

Dead Rite chapter 94.05

2012-01-21T10:00:00.001Z

“I asked Jasfoup about it last time I was visiting my dad. It's their policy to encourage screaming only in the damned. Apparently it doesn't look good to have the gaolers screaming too.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So the chances are she'll stay here as a ghost.”

Gillian stopped dead, causing Harold to bump into her. Had they been walking faster he might well have crushed Lucy. “Here?”

“Well she's nephilim, so she wouldn't be damned and she can't be a devil so there's no place in Hell for her, I shouldn't think.” He frowned and moved round her. Was that the kettle he could hear? “Unless they've made a new area called the wood of accidental and rather pointless deaths, anyway. She could have gone to Limbo if the last Pope hadn't closed it down and sent all the unbaptised babies into Tartarus.”

“But...here? You're saying she'll remain here?”

“Why not? It seems logical.”

“Logical? It's bad enough with the ghosts that are already here. I don't want my daughter growing up in a house where a ghost screams continually.”

“We don't know she'll do that. Perhaps she'll adjust once she realises she's not in Hell.” Harold reached the kitchen and pushed open the door a crack. He looked cautiously inside before opening it fully, using his sleeping child's feet as a battering ram. “Anyway, she's not here yet. Perhaps she'll haunt somewhere else, like the hospital.”

“Let's hope so. Perhaps they'll leave out the tranquillisers.”

Dead Rite chapter 94.04

2012-01-20T10:01:00.001Z

“That was...restrained of you.” Harold pressed a hand against Gillian's arm, wary in case she decided to take her frustration out on him.

“She has a point.” Gillian looked at Lucy, who had fallen asleep draped over one shoulder. She was quite big now and had Gillian not had the strength of the undead she'd have had to put her down long ago. “We really don't know what life has in store for her. She is the descendant of angels. She could end up destroying us all.”

“That won't happen.” Harold took his daughter from her. He wasn't quite as strong as Gillian and had to hold her in both arms. “I'll put her to bed, shall I? She's had a very long day.”

“Yes, of course...” Gillian frowned and refocussed, turning away from the drive and looking at Harold. “What do we do about Julie?”

“There's nothing we can do, love. She'd gone.”

“What of her spirit? Won't she become a devil?”

“I doubt it.” Harold looked for Jasfoup, but the demon had left them to talk. Harold hoped there was tea in the immediate future. “I doubt it very much.”

“Why? Gillian followed his gaze to the lit kitchen window. “Do you know something I don't? What have you done?”

“Nothing, honestly.” Harold began to walk to the house. “But her spirit was damaged, wasn't it? All the screaming. You can hardly be a devil if all you do is scream.”

“Really? I would have thought it the perfect qualification.”

Dead Rite chapter 94.03

2012-01-19T09:45:00.001Z

“Leave my family out of this.”Gillian took a step forward, her fingernails already extending into claws. “I couldn't help what happened to me and I never found their killer. They had nothing to do with anything that happened here.”

“Didn't they?” Felicia's voice softened. “I almost bit Lucy. I admit that. I certainly regret it. The point is, I didn't and I can see she's fine.” She smiled at the child, asleep under Gillian's arm. “I love her like my own and I know Julie did too. You're over-protective of her because you're terrified she'll be taken away from you. And she will, You know she will. But not by me. She has a destiny none of us can even imagine. She's an angel, albeit a mortal one. She could be the new messiah for all we know. I can't promise to never lose my temper again but I can promise you there's a bond between Lucy and I that goes deeper than flesh. Even in the depth of rage I can recognise her.”

Gillian's claws receded but her tone remained as cold as a banker telling someone they were overdrawn. “You expect me to forgive you, just like that?”

Felicia shook her head, the anger draining away. She looked like a girl lost in the woods with no idea which way to run. “No. I expect you to let me go.”

Without further ado she climbed into her car and started it, then backed out of the parking space and out of the stable yard. Gillian remained silent, staring after her tail lights until the noise of the engine and the reek of exhaust fumes had faded into the darkness.

Dead Rite chapter 94.02

2012-01-18T10:05:00.000Z

Felicia closed the boot of her car. “I've already apologised. What more do you want?”

“You almost ate my daughter.”

“Almost being the operative word. I didn't, that's the point. I lost my temper because my sister was dead.” She glanced at Harold and pointed. “He killed my sister, somehow.”

Harold raised a hand. “Actually...”

“Shut up, Harold.” Gillian's voice had turned, if anything, colder. Harold shut up. “Your sister died because of a misplaced spell of her own making. Harold did everything he could think of to save her. The problem is that he doesn't think very clearly under stress. Is he to be blamed for that? Is Lucy?”

“He should have taken her to a hospital.”

“Yes, he should have. And had he been rational that's what he'd have done. But this is Harold and instead of being rational you went ballistic.”

“Um...” Jasfoup stepped forward. “That's one of my pet hates, actually. I do not think that word means what you think it means.”

“Thank you, Inigo. I'll deal with this.”

Felicia took a step forward. “For God's sake, Gillian. I've said I'm sorry. You'd broken a bone and I was in pain. Can you imagine the state of mind I was in? My sister was lying dead on the floor and you'd broken my leg. Can you blame me for losing my grip on the wolf for just a moment? It never seems to bother you when you go all vampire on someone. You seem to be able to justify your actions any damn time you please. Yes, I get that you liked Julie too but she was my sister. She was the only blood kin I had left and she was taken from me because of stupidity and short-sightedness. Don't you remember family? How did you feel when yours died? How do you think they felt when you did?”

Dead Rite chapter 94.01

2012-01-17T10:00:00.001Z

There was a cold light to Gillian's eyes, as if something fierce lurked behind the sallow mask of emotionless undeath, something as wild and dangerous as the werewolf currently coming out of the house with a suitcase in one hand, a packed shoulder bag trailing stockings and leather straps, a Tiffany lamp under one arm and an original Hockney painting held by its hanging wire.

She was trying to shut the door with her feet but some sixth sense – or more likely one of the basic five, since Felicia's sense of smell was fifty times that of a human's – alerted her to their presence. She left the door and hurried across to her parked Audi. The suitcase she hefted onto the the back seat, quickly followed by the shoulder bag, which she used to secure the lamp. She popped the large boot for the painting.

“Making off with the spoils?” Gillian crossed the thirty yards in less than a second, her supernatural speed leaving a ghost image on Harold's retinas. “You might at least have had the courtesy to wait for us.”

“Past the crime tape?” The younger woman jerked her head toward the door, where blue and white streamers hung limply in the damp, post-rainy air. “I didn't think you'd be back tonight. I needed some clothes for work.”

“And a painting, I see. Isn't that one of Harold's favourites?”

“Yes, but to be fair, she brought it with her when she moved in.”

Gillian's eyes flashed. “I wasn't asking you, Harold.”

Dead Rite chapter 93.08

2012-01-16T10:10:00.001Z

Harold peered through the window between the back of the van and the seats but couldn't make out where they were. “This doesn't look like the hotel.”

“It's not.” Jasfoup stretched, his long legs, the toes of his hand-made shoes pointing despite Harold's knowledge of the hooves inside them. “Weren't you paying attention to all the curves and the turns? We're back at the manor.”

“We can't be.” Harold pressed his face to the back window but couldn't see anything that way, either. “Inspector White told us specifically not to return until he'd given us the all-clear.” The van rocked as Gillian got out.

“You're not afraid of him, surely?” The ambient light increased as Gillian opened her driver's door, causing the interior cab light to turn on. Jasfoup's teeth looked like a cross between the Cheshire Cat and a child's depiction of a dragon in the darkness. “He's a mortal policeman and you're a Prince of Hell. What could he possibly do?”

“He could make life very difficult.” Harold rubbed at his temples. “I'm getting a headache from the stress.” He rapped on the back door. “Gillian. Open up.”

“Give me a minute.” The vampire's voice hissed an octave lower than usual. “Let me just get Lucy out. She's here.”

“Well obviously, since you strapped her into her seat.” Harold gripped the rods securing the back door but without access to the handle couldn't budge them. “Lets us out, please.”

“I didn't mean Lucy. I meant that baby-eating bitch Felicia.”

Dead Rite chapter 93.07

2012-01-15T10:02:00.001Z

The van went over some lumps and potholes, rattling about so violently that Harold had to brace himself with his hands against the supporting struts and his legs stretched to the opposite side of the van. Jasfoup, to his annoyance, seemed unaffected by the jostling and sat perfectly calm, almost in a state of meditation. Harold realised that even a box of paperbacks was no substitute for the sprung leather of the front seats and wondered how many new bruises he'd accumulate before they reached home.

He glanced at Jasfoup. The demon had his eyes closed and seemed to be smiling at some passing thought. “Well, thank you anyway, I suppose.”

Jasfoup half-opened his eyes, a flash of amber reflecting from the scarlet orbs. “Thank you, but I never intended to actually kill you that time, you know. It was merely a power play to take advantage of your father's feelings for you.”

“Would you have gone through with it, though? If he hadn't agreed to your terms, I mean.”

“Who can tell? What's done is done, old chap. You can't spend your life wondering 'what if', can you?”

“Not generally, no, but in this one instance?

“Let's not dwell on the past and just be glad for the present, eh? I didn't shove a feather up your bum when I could have done. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?”

“You're avoiding the question.”

“Evading, I think. I'm a demon, Harold. I see the multiverse. There are realities where I killed you when I had the chance. You would have taken your place in hell just the same.”

“Are there many where you went through with it?”

“A few.” Jasfoup smiled. “Let's not pursue the subject, eh? Look! The van's stopping.”

Dead Rite chapter 93.06

2012-01-14T10:06:00.001Z

Harold scowled. He could see the demon's grin like a Cheshire cat in the darkness, yellowed from the street lights filtered through the small back-door windows. “I got Ronnie for the shop window display. There was a shop closing down on Low Street and I got her for a bargain.”

“Ronnie's Adult and Party Wear,yes. Her contract expires in three months. She's trying to liquidate all her assets to have a massive blow out before the Reaper takes her.” He gave a low chuckle. “Either that or she's going to give it all to charity and enter the cloisters in a vain effort to undo the damnation of a life of debauchery and fart cushions.”

“I thought you didn't Reap mortals because it interfered with their freedom of choice?”

“Contracts are special cases. Reaping is generally a clause in any original agreement. They've already made their choice, you see.”

“So will I get reaped?”

“You? You're a special case, Harold. If you haven't made your way downstairs of your own volition it will be my considered privilege to slaughter you personally.”

“Again?”

“To be fair, Harold, I didn't go through with it last time.”

Dead Rite chapter 93.05

2012-01-13T10:15:00.001Z

Dill came to the back door after Harold and Jasfoup climbed inside and found somewhere to sit. “What about my book?”

Harold frowned. That's a good point. I remember getting the photocopies out of the machine. Who had them after that?”

“I thought you did?” The demon patted his pockets. “No, wait, I've got it here.” He drew a plastic bag from somewhere bear his trouser region and waved it in the air.

“Can I have the papers, then?” Dill held out his hand. “I need to get back to Sam at Twilight and sort out something that doesn't decay so much.”

Jasfoup passed him the bag. “There you go. Just remember it's considered necromancy to alter the state of souls.”

“Like priests do?” Dill chuckled as he began to close the van door. “See you around guys.”

“I hope not.” Harold leaned back against the side wall of the van. The whole concept was modelled on the idea of a travelling library, only without the inconvenience of actually having shelves or letting people borrow the books. I hope that's the last I ever see of him. He gave me the willies.”

“I doubt it was intentional.” The van lurched and Jasfoul sat gingerly on a crate of historical fiction. “It probably just fell off and he gave it you for safekeeping.”

“Not literally. I just meant he was creepy.”

“So are you to a lot of people.” Jasfoup looked around the cramped interior. “Why do you carry so many books about? You never told me.”

“It's in case I brake down. I'll always have something to read while I wait for roadside assistance.”

“Is that why you carry the mannequin?”

Dead Rite chapter 93.04

2012-01-12T10:00:00.001Z

Trying to hold a car seat and an umbrella while the rain pelted horizontally thanks to the increasingly strong wind proved too much for Harold. The umbrella collapsed in on itself like a spider doing a backflip. He turned his back to the wind and ducked into the passenger side of the van, dumping the contorted struts and vinyl into the gutter to free his hand.

“There's a two hundred pound fine for littering.” Gillian held their toddler to her chest, Lucy's tousled curls poking out from the vee at her neck. “Can you afford that because I can't.”

“I'll pick it up in a moment.” Harold lifted his arm and looked at her beneath it. Lucy giggled at his upside-down face. “Why don't they make car seats simpler to install.”

“Because then they wouldn't be secure.” Gillian pulled him out of the way and with one hand still supporting Lucy, threaded the seat belt through the fasteners. She stood to drop Lucy through the front of the raincoat and buckled her in. “There. It just takes a bit of persuasion. So simple even a man could do it.”

“But I am a--”

“I mean a real man.” Gillian patted his rain-soaked bottom. “Don't worry, Harold. You have other strengths. I won't trade you in for a newer model.” She went around the front of the van and climbed in the driver's seat. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Hey! I was going to drive.”

“And have me sit in the back?” Gillian twisted to look into the interior. “There are boxes of books to sit on. You'll be quite comfortable.” She turned back, frowning. “Though why you have a mannequin dressed in fishnets I don't know.”

Dead Rite chapter 93.03

2012-01-11T10:00:00.001Z

“Get away!” Harold scoffed. “Writing a computer program like that would take every ounce of human intellect and emotion. One person couldn't possible program in all the possible responses to make a computer seem intellectually aware.”

“I had had help.” Dill made expansive gestures with his bin-bag arms. “Most of the response mechanisms are subroutines to search the previous statement on the web and select an appropriate response based on the findings. You don't have to program a response to 'I think I love Peter' when you have all of Shakespeare, Wikipedia and Facespace to filter for responses.”

“What happens if you cut off its internet connection?”

“It'd be as dopey as a religious studies major. Actually, I wrote precisely that as a default response: 'God wants it like that.'”

Harold laughed as he opened the passenger door. “That's scarily appropriate.”

“Would you mind chatting about programming philosophy some other time?” Gillian was trying to shelter from the weather in the lee of the house but was failing. “Must I point out your daughter will catch her death of cold?”

“Sorry.” Harold shared a raised eyebrow 'women!-what-can-you-do-but-obey' expression with the zombie and bent to his task of attaching the car seat. He called across to Jasfoup. “You could offer to help.”

“What can I do?” The demon lifted a wing and used it to shelter Gillian and Lucy. “I don't know anything about programming.”

Dead Rite chapter 93.02

2012-01-10T10:04:00.001Z

“The red-eyed robots or the liquid metal ones?” Harold raised an eyebrow.

“The red-eyed ones, obviously, only without the skin and I've no idea how they would take over the world without any moving parts. The look like die-cast figures.” He held up his phone. “Sam says they have human spirits inside little etched glass boxes that fit inside each unit. If we can work out how to release and add the spirits to the boxes we'll be able to engineer ourselves new bodies that won't have the disadvantages of this one.”

“Immortality as a golem?” Harold shook his head. “It wouldn't work. Golems have a natural ability to adhere to a strict set of parameters like a computer program. They can keep doing the same routine indefinitely but independent thought isn't a parameter they're capable of.”

“But if the program they're running is sufficiently able to encompass all variables, the result will be indistinguishable from free will.” Dill's assured smiled ripped part of the skin around his mouth. “Program them well enough and you've got an army able to think on its feet and alter its strategy to cope with changes in the environment.

“Which isn't going to happen.” Harold unlocked the van and got the car seat out of the back. “No-one can write a program that comprehensive.”

“That's where you're wrong.” Dill smoother out his facial rip. “I've already written it.”

Dead Rite chapter 93.01

2012-01-09T09:58:00.001Z

Harold scowled at the dark house, rain dripping from the corners of his umbrella. “I can't believe she went out.”

“You're not her keeper, Harold.” Gillian plucked Ada's library book from his hand and stuffed it through her letter box. “She's probably gone to bingo. She has appointments just like anybody else.”

“Appointments? Darn!”Harold bit his lip and turned to Jasfoup. “I forgot all about that appointment with Jim Hunt this afternoon.”

“That was a tad irresponsible of you.” Jasfoup plucked an imaginary hair from his lapel and watched as it didn't float gently to the ground. He stepped over the spot where it didn't land. “He has an army of golems ready to bend the world to his bidding and you forget the appointment to see him?”

“It's only conjecture that he has an army of golems.” Harold crossed the pavement and unlocked the van. “Based of game theory and rubber-sheet socio-mechanics.”

“I'd love to hear your thought on that sometime.” Dill shuffled forward, his dustbin liners somewhat the worse for wear after four hours continual use. “Especially as you're bang on the nail.”

Jasfoup touched his shoulder to spin him around. The heat from his hand melted the thin plastic slightly. “Bang on the nail about what? The golems?”

Dill brushed at his shoulder, seeming only slightly concerned about the plastic welded to his shoulder. “That's right.” He looked from Jasfoup to Harold. “ I've seen them. He's five hundred of the things. They look like terminators from the movies, you know?”

Dead Rite chapter 92.06

2012-01-08T10:00:00.001Z

White entered the observation room and stared through the one-way glass at the lad in the interview room. Percival Trubshaw looked exactly like the faded photograph supplied by Miss McKinty. Exactly. Right down to the curl of hair over the ears and the bicuspid out of alignment.

It was as if he was looking through a window into the past. This man couldn't possibly be who he claimed to be. It must be a scam of some sort. A trick, perhaps, ough for what possible reason White couldn't imagine. The suspect – Miss McKinty was yet to press charges – appeared fearful, his hands constantly in motion as he scanned every inch of the room, paying particular attention to the camera in the corner. He betrayed no hint of the cockiness White would expect from a con artist and, indeed, gave every impression of being genuinely confused about his arrest.

White moved into the short corridor connecting the two rooms, took a deep breath and opened the door to the interview room. He modulated his voice to appear flustered, overworked and uncaring. “Right. Percival Trubshaw?”

“Yes?” He would have jumped up and the suddenness of White's entrance but the chair, being screwed to the floor, didn't move, collapsing his leg muscles before he even made it upright.

“My name is Detective-inspector White. I understand you claim to be a time traveller?”

Dead Rite chapter 92.05

2012-01-07T10:00:00.001Z

Sergeant Draper was hammering an incident report into the computer system when he arrived. He was almost surprised the letters were still attached to the keyboard such was the enthusiasm of the officer's one-fingered typing skills. He waited to be noticed for a second or two before rapping on the desk. “Morning, Col.”

The sergeant paused and looked up. “Sir.” He jerked his head toward a series of doors. He's in room three if you want a shufty.”

“Just give me the outline, would you?” White stifled a yawn. “You said he'd been dead for twenty years?”

“Yes sir. I had the files sent up from records.” He tapped an old, pre-computer case file, woefully thin and with a stamp on the front that claimed it had been weeded for extraneous paper subject to archive directive twenty-slash-four-oh-three.

White picked up the file. It contained three sheets of paper. An incident and procedure report, a statement from the witness and a photograph of the missing man. “Mind if I borrow this?”

“Be my guest. It's a bloody weird case, if you ask me. He doesn't look a day older than when he disappeared.”

“Perhaps he's the son.” White looked at the report. Perhaps he isn't Percival Trubshaw but his son...” His face clouded as connections were made. “Perhaps he's really Sam Trubshaw, the lad I've been looking for since Tuesday.”

“Doubt it, sir. Miss McKinty swore it was her old boyfriend and not her son.”

Dead Rite chapter 92.04

2012-01-06T10:12:00.000Z

The police station car park was almost empty when he arrived. He couldn't remember seeing so few cars there; even the pandas were mostly out on patrol. Probably all parked up at Maisies, the twenty-four hour diner just off the M4 roundabout. It had been a regular haunt of the night-shift boys ever since it opened twenty years ago. Day shift had more venues to choose from and in a shift from the tradition of policing several officers had begun patronising the noodle bar on Ashgate, west of the market.

He parked up and tapped the security code into the door keypad. The staff entrance (as opposed to the arresting officer's entrance, which contained multiple gates, a booking office and direct access to the cells) was an unadorned corridor leading to the squad and locker rooms and was overlooked by control and dispatch. There were only two officers in there at this time of night.

He trooped down the corridor to the desk sergeant, imagining a running commentary in the style of a film-noir. “He didn't know what was coming, only that it involved a man who had come back from the dead after twenty years, and a dame who'd filed a missing persons report twenty years ago.”

Dead Rite chapter 92.03

2012-01-05T10:09:00.001Z

His Rover started first time. It was old but he had it regularly serviced by a Gaunts Garage not too far from where he lived. He got a 'good customer' cheap rate and generally looked the other way when Winston, who ran the garage, smelled distinctly of class C restricted substances. He wondered briefly if Winston knew Sergeant Peters's dealer nephew. It seemed unlikely.

There was, much to his surprise, a traffic queue on Markham Road. Three-thirty in the morning was usually quiet but when White switched on his blues to get to the front of the line he saw the problem. Someone had run the red light on Park Street and collided with a milk float. He pulled up and spoke to one of the uniformed officers dealing with the scene. No-one had been badly injured, though an ambulance had been called. It would have been worse, but the switch from glass bottles to plastic meant the accident had left less broken glass than it could have done.

White drove on, yawning as the incandescent lights of the police station came into view. Dead men reappearing after twenty years? This should prove informative, though what it had to do with the case of two missing lads he had no idea.

Dead Rite chapter 92.02

2012-01-04T10:04:00.001Z

White yawned and staggered into the bathroom, careful to shut the dooor before he turned on the light in case it woke Beryl. He stared in the medicine-cabinet mirror as he urinated, his thoughts serenaded by a steady stream of musty-smelling urine. He looked rough. The morning beard didn't help. He was fifty-five and was proud of hie still-dark hair, so why was his beard stubble grey? Five hours sleep used to be enough for him but not any more.

He shook the last drops of urine away and peered out of the window. Was that a lighter patch of clouds to the east? He couldn't tell through the bubbled bathroom glass. He'd be lucky to see sunlight at all with all the rain they had last night.

It took a few seconds for the hot tap to run anything but ice cold water, but once it turned tepid he dropped in the plug and lathered his hands. Face, neck and ears, then arms, chest and armpits. No time for a full shower this morning. It took an hour for the water to heat up. Beryl usually put it on for him when she got up but he was awake first. He rinsed off with a flannel dipped in the luke-warm water, towelled and shaved. No matter how urgent the business, as three in the morning everything bar a hostage situation could wait. He dried off and returned to the bedroom to dress by feel with only the light from the clock to identify a clean shirt from the dirty one. Yesterday's tie was still in a loop for ease of use.

He risked a light in the kitchen to boil a kettle for tea. Beryl had bought travel mugs for him to use and while he mourned the passing of the humble policeman's thermos, he appreciated the convenience of a mug you could drink with one hand on the wheel. He refilled the kettle and stuck a scribbled note for Beryl on the handle, picked up his keys and was away by three-twenty. Not bad for old copper.

Ah! There was a patch of lighter cloud, after all.

Dead Rite chapter 92.01

2012-01-03T09:45:00.000Z

Detective-inspector White awoke to the sound of old-style police bells. Ah! He reached across the bed for his phone.

“There's been a disturbance, sir.”

White flannelled his face with his hand and returned the phone to his ear. “You woke me at--” He squinted at the bedside clock. “--Three in the morning to tell me that?”

“It's a bit out of the ordinary, though, sir. A bit more in your area.” Sergeant Draper had risen to his rank by virtue of the Police Fast Track for Graduates Scheme. Unfortunately, Draper had graduated with a first in Geography and considered a lack of imagination one of his positive character traits.

“My area?” White rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Who am I? Fox Mulder?”

“Is that someone in another department? What's his number?”

“No.” White looked at his still-sleeping wife and carried the phone to the bathroom. He needed to pee anyway. “Tell me the details.”

“Mary McKinty, sir, arrested for a breach of the peace. Claims her boyfiriend has come back from the dead.”

“Did the officers see the alleged dead boyfriend?”

“Yes sir. Short, Caucasian male, early twenties. Glasses.”

“And was he dead?”

“No sir. That's the weird bit.”

“A woman's boyfriend isn't dead, and that's weird, is it?”

“Yes sir. No, I mean...the weird bit is he disappeared twenty years ago and according to Mrs McKinty hasn't aged a day.”

Dead Rite chapter 91.06

2012-01-02T10:00:00.000Z

Dill looked up from his mobile phone. “Have you tried turning them on?”

“Oh, har-de-har. Hilarious.” Harold narrowed his eyes at the zombie and looked for the on button. It took several minutes for the system to kick in but eventually he fould a touch-sensitive screen with a helpful button marked 'Return Book'. He pressed it and a blue light shone from the wand attached to the machine by a cable.

Dill looked over his shoulder. “There you go. So simple a librarian could use it.”

Harold glared at him. He didn't dare speak for fear of retching at the smell of decomposition. He scanned the book then pressed the 'Issue Book' button, setting the return date for a year ahead. Even Ada would have read it by then.

“Jasfoup?” Gillian went to the enquiries desk. “Would you order them another copy of 'Hungry Caterpillar'? Lucy's destroyed this one.”

“Sure.” Jasfoup tapped a few keys. “I was just ordering the complete list of banned books. They make entertaining reading.”

“Who bans books? Is this an Orwellian society?” Gillian looked at the screen. “'And Tango Makes Three'? That's a picture book.”

“A picture book that also happens to be a true story about gay penguins.” Jasfoup wagged his hand. “You can't have a book about a perfectly natural two-father family. It goes against the Bible teachings. Let filth like that through and you'll bring an end to prejudice and from there it's an easy step to start believing in Evolution.” He gave a heavy sigh. “And then none of us would exist.”

“Lucky we have people to do out thinking for us, then.” Gillian picked up Lucy. “Where's John?”

“Here.” Harold was checking out a pile of thirty books. “Hey! Where's Roberts’ Treatise on Animated Figures?

“Ooh!” John put his paw to his mouth. “I left it in the photocopier.”

Happy New Year

2012-01-01T11:40:00.001Z

Dead Rite chapter 91.05

2011-12-31T10:00:00.000Z

“You are the best master in the world.”

“Really?” Harold grinned. While he knew it to be true, it was nice to hear it said aloud for a change.

“That's the book I want first.” John held up a copy of Melanie Malfoy's 'You Are the Best Master in the World,' the lurid cover of which showed a young man in chains kneeling before a bearded man whose was only not naked because he wore a crown. “Followed by the rest of the series.”

Harold frowned. “I didn't even realise Laverstone library even stocked gay erotica. That's progressive for a provincial town.”

There was a cough behind him. He turned to see Jasfoup operating a computer. He looked up and winked at Harold. “Just ordering stock. What do you think Dick Likes Jane, Jane Likes Dick' is about?”

Harold shrugged. “Best friends?”

“Maybe.” Jasfoup punched the order through. “Are we all done here?” He led the way back to the foyer where a life-sized marble statue showed the incumbent mayor, Edward Burbridge, wrestling the legendary Eel of Laverstone Lake. And winning, of course. “Don't you have to renew Ada's book?”

“Right yes.” Harold stood at the counter. “How does the machine work?”

Dead Rite chapter 91.04

2011-12-30T10:01:00.001Z

Once they were all safely inside the library Harold turned on his mobile phone, which rather cleverly had a torch function. He led the way to the romance section where, as Jasfoup had predicted, John sat on one of the reader chairs with a small pile of historical romances on the floor next to him.

Harold sat on the arm and flashed his torch at the cover. John was two-thirds through Dennis Wheatley's 'To the Devil a Daughter.' He made a small cough. “You'll ruin your eyesight, you know, reading in the dark.”

“Imps have perfectly good night vision.” John turned a page and continued reading. “Why did you never tell me about these? I didn't know this sort of book existed.”

“I didn't know you didn't know about them.” Harold glanced up at the faces around them. Gillian had found Lucy a copy of 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar.' Lucy was eating it. “Look, we were all worried about you. You could waste away to nothing in here.”

“Why did no one tell me humans have ten points of entry? There's be a lot more possessions if it was general knowledge.”

“I thought it was nine...” Harold looked to Jasfoup for confirmation.

“You weren't told because possession isn't your department.” Jasfoup stepped forward and gently lifted the novel from the imp's paws. “And yes, Harold, it is ten. Wheatley was an obnoxious misogynist who made no consideration of vaginas.”

Harold took the imp's paw. “You have to come with us, John. You can't stay here all night. I bet you haven't eaten for hours.”

“No but...” John looked around the library. “There are so many books here I haven't read.”

“Tell you what. You come home with us and you can read one book a day for the rest of your life.”

“Really?”

“I promise.” Harold paused. “Providing you've fulfilled all your other duties, of course.”

Dead Rite chapter 91.03

2011-12-29T10:02:00.000Z

Harold paused and turned, holding his umbrella over Gillian and Lucy. “Too many of us. Lucy would have had to do without her car seat and that's far too dangerous.”

“Good point.” Gillian smiled at him. “That's sweet, you thinking of her before your own comfort.”

“Well, I'm a father now.” Harold leaned in to give Lucy a forehead kiss. “I have to think of these things. Goodness knows what she'd have got up to, rattling around in the back of the van.”

He turned away, leading the party up Millrace to Low Street and into market Square. The library was to their left and her let them to the shelter of the portico when he stopped to shake out his brolly. “Do your stuff then, dead man.”

“Dill would be just fine, thanks.” The zombie might have scowled, but Harold couldn't tell. “Or 'Mister Farthing'.” He pulled out a mobile and began texting. A moment later it beeped. He read it and waved at someone above the doors. “Wave to Sam, everyone.”

Jasfoup and Harold waved. Gillian was busy seeing to Lucy.

“Don't worry, he'll delete all the footage of us.” Dill nodded at the doors. “They should be open now. Thank all the gods of technology for electronic locks. If they'd been the sort to open with a key we'd have been here all night.”

“You underestimate us.” Harold held the door open while they all filed past. “Gillian would have got us in somehow.”

“Oh yes? She'd have broken the door in, would she?”

“No...she'd have called the Chief Librarian and asked him to come down.”

Dead Rite chapter 91.02

2011-12-28T09:57:00.002Z

The rain got worse when they were outside. What had begun as light, misty rain now sheeted down so fast it was like a thousand incarnations of Anubis were marking Laverstone as their own. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the clouds were occasionally back-lit by flashes of lightning. The streets hissed and gurgled as hundreds of gallons fought for access to the drains.

Harold had the foresight to borrow an umbrella from his mum (borrow being the kindest word, since they both knew she'd never get it back) and the oversized cagoul Gillian had borrowed (with every intention of returning it) kept both herself and Lucy rain-free. Jasfoup, as usual, walked along perfectly dry, since the rain evaporated a inch or so from ever touching his body.

Dill trudged along in the rain, just grateful his dustbin liners and Tesco hat kept off the worst of it.

They'd reached the end of the terrace and turned right toward the town centre when Gillian suddenly asked: “Why didn't we take the van?”

Dead Rite chapter 91.01

2011-12-27T09:56:00.001Z

“Oh.” Harold stared out of the front room window. The street was awash with rain, the drops more like stair rods against the sulphurous yellow street lights. “It's raining buckets out there.”

“It never rains but it pours.” Ada bustled into the kitchen and pulled a plastic bag out of a drawer. She thrust the library book inside and handed it to Gillian. “There, love, I can trust you with it.”

“I like that.” Harold was pulling on a raincoat from the cupboard under the stairs. It had been a while since he'd worn it and it hung off him like a sheet over a dog. “I think I've lost a few pounds since I wore this.”

“You're wasting away.” Ada clucked round him in the crowded hall. Jasfoup took a step back, his outstretched arm forcing Dill further, too. “Raise your arms so I can put the belt through.”

Harold did as he was told, offering an apologetic smile to the others. Gillian, meanwhile, had dressed Lucy in her coat and fished Harold's cagoul out of the cupboard. It had been a few years since he'd worn that, too. The last time had been a walking and camping holiday with the lads from the Rambling Poets when he was at university. It fitted easily over both vampire and child.

“What about us?” Dill looked at Harold and Gillian, who looked able to survive an arctic prison, let alone a Wiltshire rainstorm. Ada handed him another plastic bag. “Here you go love. You can use it as a hat of carry your ears in it.”

Dead Rite chapter 90.06

2011-12-26T09:57:00.000Z

Accounts Due

Inspector White awoke with a start at a little after one AM. On the television an American chat-show host stood in the middle of a tiered audience while several people dressed as dogs simulated sex on the raised chat area. He felt for the remote to turn it down or off but it was on his wife's lap several feet away in the other chair. They'd got rid of the sofa when the springs went a couple of years ago. Neither of them were as slim as they used to be.

He struggled forward until he was sat upright, his bum on the edge of the seat, and yawned, revelling in the luxury of not having to close his mouth. What had woken him? He reached across for the remote and muted the television.

With the house silent, he could hear the drip...drip...of water and got up to investigate. A vase had been knocked over in the kitchen, spraying water and daffodils across the table and floor as it fell. He'd have shrugged and blamed the cat if they had one, but with no cat, who was to blame for knocking over the vase.

A sudden buzzing drew his attention to the mobile on the table. He'd left it on silent and the vibration had been transferred to the antique pine surface and the vase in turn. He looked at the caller ID. Sergeant Peters owed Beryl a bunch of daffodils.

Happy Harold's Birthday

2011-12-25T08:02:00.001Z

Dead Rite chapter 90.05

2011-12-24T10:07:00.000Z

They ate dinner in front of the television, Beryl's choice, as always, since White had no interest in it. He liked television, understood the nation's love for it and appreciated the service it provided in keeping people off the streets. He generally enjoyed whatever he was put in front of though he couldn't suspend his disbelief. Everyone was an actor and their traumas weren't real. The dead bodies (except those on the news) were fake, the autopsies just spectacle. His ever-changing shifts and random pattern of work prevented him from following any one series, and even if Beryl recorded episodes he missed he generally fell asleep when he tried to watch them.

He left her watching Coronation End Farm, or whatever it was, collected the plates and went into the kitchen to wash up. T didn't take long. Two cups, two spoons, the teapot; two plates, knives, forks and the plastic trays that had to be washed before you could put them for recycling. He had a huge respect for dustmen. Heavy work in all weathers and the smell! He couldn't even walk past a bin lorry. Heaven knows what it took to work on one. They went everywhere no matter how rough the neighbourhood.

He took out his phone and dialled Peters. It rang for some time and switched to voicemail, which took White by surprise.

“Peters? It's me. Er...White. Detective-inspector White, that is. Check when Chervil Close has a bin collection, would you? And find out everything you can about the supposed meth lab arrest of our two lads. There's something fishy going on.”

Dead Rite chapter 90.04

2011-12-23T10:00:00.000Z

He sat at the kitchen table while she warmed the pot and made a pot of Assam, set the oven to warm and pulled a couple of ready meals from the upright freezer. “Pork chop and mashed potatoes or sausage casserole?”

“The sausage, for me.” White gazed at his wife's expansive posterior. They'd been married for thirty years and he still couldn't think of anything better than Beryl at the end of the day. He was momentarily so overwhelmed by his love for this woman that he could feel tears prick at the corner of his eyes. “I love you.”

She glanced at him, a slight frown crossing her features. “I love you too.” She put the frozen meals on the counter and slid the oven-ready trays out of the cardbourd outer wrapping. “What brought that on?”

He tried to laugh it away, grateful her back was to him so he could soak the moisture from his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “I don't know really. I've seen a couple of deaths this week for no good reason other than they just stopped. This one girl especially. Julie Turner. Only in her thirties dropped dead of an aneurysm. It left me wondering if she had anyone who loved her or if, given the opportunity, she'd have told anyone she loved them.”

“Poor woman. That's not right, being taken so young.” She stabbed the plastic film covering the meals several times with a fork and slid it into the oven, then crossed the kitchen. “You can be a soppy old sod sometimes.” She gave his a hug and their relative positions – her standing, him seated – meant his head was crushed against her ample breast. It wound have been lovely if her underwire hadn't been poking his cheek.

Dead Rite chapter 90.03

2011-12-22T10:00:00.000Z

“No love.” White grinned at his naive wife. “We're talking about methamphetamine, a class A restricted drug that causes a highly addictive dependency on a temporary euphoria combined with a tapering weight loss.”

“Not methylated spirits, then?”

“No.”

“So how do they take it, then, these street people.”

“Street people?” He ran through the conversation in his head, getting to 'street value' and making the connection. “It's generally smoked in a glass pipe, but it can also be injected, snorted or stuffed up the anus or urethra.”

“Ah.” Beryl squeezed past him heading for the kitchen. “I should ask for a prescription, then, if it's for weight loss.”

“I don't think that's a good idea at all, love.” He hugged her from behind while she still had the kettle in one hand ready to fill with water. “It's a prohibited drug for one thing, and besides, I love you just the way you are.”

She patted the hands around her waist. “That's sweet, love, but the doctor said I have to lose weight. Technically I'm obese and it's not doing me any good.” She reached for the tap. “And he also said you'd missed the last two appointments for your annual check up.”

“Ah, you know. Work and all that. If there's a case on I can't always make the appointments.” He nuzzled into her neck, planting kisses on the powdered folds.

She tapped his hands to make him release her and plugged the kettle in. The familiar his of water beginning to boil filled the room. “Cameron White. If I have to diet, you have to see the doctor. Is that clear?”

White gave a heavy sigh and nodded. “Yes, love.”

Dead Rite chapter 90.02

2011-12-21T09:58:00.001Z

“It must have been before you were there, love. Or after, I suppose. It was shocking. Two students, apparently. They said it posed a danger to everyone on the estate. The woman upstairs from them went missing as well. The police reckon the lads did her in when she stumbled on their illegal lab.”

“When is a meth lab ever legal?” White leaned over the back of the chair and picked up the remote control. He began flicking through the channels.

“It was on the local news, South West Today. That's not on again until after ten”

“Damn it.” He put the remote down again. “Can you remember the names of the students?”

“I can't, love. Funny names they were.”

“Dill Farthing and Sam Trubshaw?”

“That's right. How did you know? Are they on your 'most wanted' list?”

“No, our 'Missing Persons' one.” White gripped his own face, massaging one cheek with his fingers while his thumb massaged the other. He could feel the stubble rasping under his touch. If it got any worse he'd have to start keeping a battery razor in the car. He loathed people who shaved in the car. “It's a clean-up.”

“What is, dear?”

“When I was in Chervil Court today there were army bods guarding the area and their flat in particular. I had a look in. It had been cleared out right down to the light bulbs and door handles. They deployed a whole platoon of toxic hazard boys there on Monday. Something's going on, and I don't think it's got anything to do with a meth lab.”

“Perhaps they were cleaning up the toxic meth.” Beryl frowned. “What is meth, anyway? I know it's a drug, but we used to use meths when I worked at the factory. It wasn't a drug then.”

Dead Rite chapter 90.01

2011-12-20T10:00:00.001Z

Detective-inspector White took off his coat as he entered the kitchen, shaking it out with the door still open. “Beryl? I'm home.” He hung the coat over the hook on the back of the door and put a copy of last week's Times underneath it to stop the drips going on the linoleum. He levered off his shoes and padded into the hall to fetch his slippers.

The sound of a family game show came from the living room and h popper his head inside. Beryl looked up.

“Cameron! There you are. I was getting worried.” She pulled herself out of the chair and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“I came in the back.” He pulled her into a hug. “I got soaked just walking up the path. It's a filthy night. It's raining stair rods out there. I'm glad I'm not on night duty.”

“We should have got that garage built when we had the chance.” Beryl squeezed past him, heading for the kitchen.

He followed. “It would have been another pound a week on the mortgage. We couldn't afford it.”

“You were a constable then. Now you're an inspector. Surely you could manage it now? And perhaps a little conservatory on the back?”

“I wouldn't dare, love. I'm too close to retirement to take on that sort of commitment.”

“You're on the wrong side of the law, love. I saw on the telly they've found a crystal meth lab in Chervil Close. Two hundred and fifty pounds of fine crystal, they said, street value into five figures.”

White frowned. “Chervil Close? I was there today. I didn't see a meth lab.”

Dead Rite chapter 89.07

2011-12-19T09:53:00.001Z

“Wait a sec. I've just got to check my messages.” Dill began to thumb through his phone. Harold left him to it, heading back to the living room where Gillian was cuddling Lucy in front of the television.

“Have you finished up there at last?” Ada clattered her cup onto the saucer and put it on an end table with her newspaper and book, then used the remote to lower the volume. “Whatever you were doing brought such awful smells.” She glanced at Gillian and with exaggerated Lancastrian mouthing asked: “What did you do with the body?”

“Gillian knows all about it, mum.” Harold perched on the arm of the settee and tickled Lucy. “I re-attached her original spirit to her body but it didn't take properly for some reason, leaving her a zombie like poor Dill back there. Rather than just let her deteriorate, though, I got Devious to help me turn her into a mummy. Sorry about the smell.” He held out his hands. “You can't help the smell when you eviscerate somebody.”

“Did she want to be a mummy?” Ada leaned across and rested her hand on Harold's arm. “She didn't look very foreign.”

“She certainly didn't want to be a zombie, mum, so it was either that or put her into the wood chipper.”

“Ew.” Ada shuddered. “Sometimes the spirit stays, even then. Attached to all the little bits.”

“There's always cremation. No spirit can stay attached to ashes.”

“True.” Ada wagged her finger at him. “I hope you gave her the option.”

“Only as a last resort.” Harold nudged his partner. “Come on, old thing. We've got to hit the library on the way home.”

“Won't it be closed?”

“Maybe, but we're an imp down and Devious reckons he'll be stuck in the romance section.”

“Perhaps I can take Lucy to the children's bit while you prise his fingers off the Georgette Heyers.”

“Ooh!” Ada picked up her novel. “Would you renew this while you're there?”

Dead Rite chapter 89.06

2011-12-18T09:53:00.000Z

“Ah.” Harold bit his lip. “I never thought of that.”

Jasfoup put a hand on Harold's arm “Something will have to be done. If you don't rescue the imp he'll be lost in tales of Happily-Ever-After. You might as well clap him in irons and throw him in the darkest oubliette in Christendom. He'd thank you for it afterwards.”

“He's right, sir.” Devious spoke through a mouthful of roasted pork, sending gobbets of half-chewed meat into the air. “Once John starts reading--” he lowered his voice again “--Mills and Boon he'll hanker for the world he can never have and pine away to a gremlin. You can't let that happen, sir.”

“But what can I do about it?” Harold reached for Jasfoup's wrist. He twisted it to look at the time. “The library will be closed by now.”

“We could break in.” Jasfoup grinned. “It'll be like old times.”

“What old times? We've never broken in anywhere.”

“We haven't?” Jasfoup frowned. “I was sure we had. Perhaps it's this time I'm thinking of.”

“I'm in.” Dill shuffled forward. “I really need that book and I've nothing better to do. I can ask Sam for help, too.”

“Sam? Who's Sam?”

“The other zombie.” Jasfoup patted his shoulder. Don't worry about it. It's complicated.”

“Having one zombie with us will slow us down. Two will bring us to a dead halt.”

“Not exactly.” Dill held up his mobile phone. “Sam's a whizz with computer systems. He'll assist remotely.”

“Right, let's go then.” Harold led the way downstairs, pausing when he got as far as the kitchen. “Brilliant.” He glanced at Dill, whose phone had begun to beep with a dozen new messages now it had a signal. “It's raining.”

Dead Rite chapter 89.05

2011-12-17T10:03:00.001Z

“You're always on a break. Do you know if John's finished that job I asked him to do?”

“No. What job?”

“I asked him to do a copy of Roberts’ Treatise on Animated Figures.”

“That'll take weeks.” He stopped chewing for a moment. “I didn't see any books being aged when we put the coffin into storage.”

“I didn't ask for an authentic copy, just a photocopy.”

“We haven't got a photocopier.”

“There's one at the library, isn't there? He could have used that.”

“You didn't!”

“Didn't what?”

“Expose John to a library, Not in the vulnerable state he's in after Wrack disappeared.”

“I didn't know Wrack had disappeared.” Harold looked to Jasfoup. “What normally happens to imps when the human they're attached to dies?”

Jasfoup glanced at Devious, who was shaking his head with a worried look over his ridges. “Usually? They celebrate the breaking of a contract and the retrieval of a soul in their blood pool. Wrack was an odd case, though. He was...”

“...a nutjob.” Devious finished the sentence for him. “No-one's seen him.”

“I'm sure he'll turn up, sooner or later.” Harold looked from one to the other. “What was so wrong about sending John to the library then? I promised a copy of to this young man here for reasons I'm not too clear about.”

“There are books in a library. He'll start reading them.”

“So? There are books in the shop. It never seems to stop him working.”

“But you don't stock...” Devious looked around the room and lowered his voice. “Romances.”

Dead Rite chapter 89.04

2011-12-16T10:00:00.000Z

Jasfoup looked at his watch. “Devious has been gone twenty minutes. That will have been plenty of time to go to the tomb six weeks ago. That was a good idea, by the way, to park Amanda there. At least she'll have to ghosts to talk to.”

“I hope they don't regard her as an imposition.” Harold sucked at his lips, making them almost disappear. “They could make her life a living hell if they don't like her.”

“Her death, you mean. Undeath. Unlife. I really don't know what the modern parlance is these days. And a word of advice? Don't suck your lips. It makes you look like a muppet, and not one of the pretty ones either.”

“Good to know.” Harold clicked his fingers.

“What are we waiting for?” Gillian looked around the attic room. “There's nothing else, is there?”

“Just a job I gave one of the imps. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes.”

“Okay. I'll go downstairs and relieve your mum of the burden of Lucy then.”

“I'll be down in a minute.” Harold leaned forward to kiss her but she turned slightly. His muppet lips met her cheek instead.

“Don't be long.” With an upward nod to Dill she left, her incredible speed giving the illusion of her simply vanishing.

“Where's that damned imp?” Harold clicked his fingers again and was rewarded by the opening of an imp gate. Devious struggled out, a mug of tea in one hand and what looked to be a roasted leg of pork as big as him in the other.

“What now, Master? I'm on a break.”

Dead Rite chapter 89.03

2011-12-15T10:00:00.000Z

Harold gave her an acid smile. “Not going to happen. Let's shelve the discussion for now. Fancy going out for a bite?”

“Always.”

Dill looked from one of them to the other. “Is that what passes for humour between you two or did I just step into the set of seventies Carry On film?”

Harold raised a snooty nose. “Laughter keeps a marriage fresh.”

“If you think that's fresh I've got some dead fish you might be interested in.” Dill sniffed then, with a surprised expression, chewed. “Blood clots in the nose, now. Look, sorry to labour a point here, Guv, but where's this book you promised me?”

“Book?” Gillian looked from Dill to Harold. “You promised him a book. That's not like you.” She turned back to Dill. “Harold's not known for his altruism when it comes to parting with books.”

“I promised him a photocopy.” Harold looked to Jasfoup. “How do I get in touch with John?”

“Use the signal you prepared that refers specifically to him.”

Harord scratched his head, looking up to the rafters in case there was a clue posted up there. “And that would be...”

“Oh good grief. How do you usually call him?”

“I click my fingers and tell Devious I want to see John.”

Jasfoup shook his head with a sigh. “I've never met anyone like you, Harold.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn't a compliment.”

Dead Rite chapter 89.02

2011-12-14T09:48:00.001Z

“Brilliant.” Harold tried to imagine what else she'd need. “When I sort out her vocal cords and give her artificial lungs she'll want to be able to interact with people. It'll depend on how she looks, of course. If she looks like a corpse then she'll be stuck answering the telephone for the rest of her life. If we can get her looking partway human she'll have a better chance of having a decent quality of life. So... makeup and a new wardrobe, I suppose. Maybe a plastic over-the-head mask like spie use to look like somebody else.”

“I think that only happens in movies, Harold.” Gillian looked across at Jasfoup and winked. He turned away to hide his smile.

“I saw that wink, you know. I'm not daft.” Harold scowled at the pair of them. “Oh, she needs somewhere to work, too. Could you employ her?”

“Employ a mummy?” Gillian blanched. Not that it was obvious, what with her being a vampire and all, but Harold could tell. “What sort of job could I possibly offer a mummy? Let's face it, she'll be thinner than an anorexic and given to putting curses on clients.””

“She's a legal secretary, not an Egyptian queen. Can't you put her in charge of conveyancing or something. Probate, maybe? Probate lawyers always look as if they're dead, anyway. Being an animated corpse might be a bonus.”

“Only if you're a judge. Why can't you employ her? You need someone to replace Julie in front-of-shop.”

“That's precisely why. Front of shop. She'd scare all the customers away.”

“I've seen librarians that look worse than an casketless mummy.”

“Not the point. It's not happening.”

“Give her your job then. You do the shop desk and she can sit in your office playing computer games.”

Dead Rite chapter 89.01

2011-12-13T10:05:00.001Z

“Is that it now?” Gillian pulled herself to her feet using Harold's arm for support. “You've made her a mummy?”

“Pretty much.” Harold began gathering up his spell components and ritual tools. “She needs to sit in that Natrine bath for six weeks, then dried out under a warm air current for another fortnight or so but other than that yes, Amanda should keep indefinitely. “

“You'll have to sort out some way of making her speak.” Jasfoup passed him his surgical tools and began clearing up the empty bags of salt and glass adhesive.

Gillian looked from him back to Harold. “Why can't she speak.”

“I had to remove her lungs as part of the mummification process. They're in that box over there.” Harold pointed to one of the shoeboxes. “Jasfoup thinks a couple of balloons should do it. Surgical rubber for strength, attached to the insides of the ribs.”

“And will she still be able to interact with the daylight world? Once she can speak, I mean.”

“I suppose so. She'll be a bit stiff from the desiccation but a bit of body cream and make-up should make her fit in. I'll make a shopping list, or you could, if you like. You'll know better what women want. It'll take your mind off Julie dying, as well.”

“Thanks for the reminder. I'll get right on it. What about hygiene products?” Gillian grinned. “You're blushing.”

Harold rubbed his face with one hand. “She's dead, so she won't have her monthly, and she can't eat or drink so they're be no bowel or bladder action. Not that there would be anyway, since I whipped the whole lot our. Um...Nothing water based, I suppose. If she gets wet she'll start rotting.”

“Alcohol wipes, then.”

Dead Rite chapter 88.11

2011-12-12T10:00:00.001Z

White watched images as they flashed onto the screen. He recognised several shots from traffic surveillance cameras. “Here, how does it get the feeds from the traffic cameras? That's supposed to be a closed circuit. Only the police and the highways agency should have those.”

“But you are the police.” Professor Shadwell craned his nect to look at the screen then pulled back out of the computer's field of view.

“I know, but this is a public area. Well, a college, anyway.”

“Most of the traffic cameras these days transmit their signals digitally rather than be hard wired by cables. It makes them more adaptable and easily placed.”

Sergeant Peters drained the last of his coffee. “That's because we rely on the income from spot fines. It's amazing how many tickets you can issue if you move the camera five hundred ward closer than the offenders expect it.”

“Nevertheless, Orias here can intercept the data transmissions and compare the people captured on film to the missing person, thus correlating an overall picture of their movements and where they were last seen. It's very clever. As I say they were a pair of geniuses, those two.”

The images stopped on a traffic camera view of a Laverstone street. It zoomed in to show the two lads in question were lounging on an outside table, one with a coffee and the other with what looked like a cellophane-wrapped sandwich. The speaker crackled. “Dilbert Farthing and Samuel Trubshaw. Last seen Monday the fifth, Eleven-twenty AM, Markham Road Laverstone.”

“There are our two missing persons.” White leaned forward. “They don't look to be under duress, do they?”

“But that was three days ago, sir. Why haven't they been seen since?” He pinched at his lip. “And who cleaned out their flat?”

Dead Rite chapter 88.10

2011-12-11T09:50:00.001Z

“Missing persons?” White held his finger over the keyboard. “What was the name of the girl who disappeared between work and home last month. Carol something? Stepwell?”

“Carol Treadwell. Look, sir, would you like me to do the typing? I think I'm a bit quicker than you.”

“No, sergeant. It's quite all right.” He frowned at the keys. “W-H-E-R-E-I-S-C-A-R-O-L-T-R-E-A-D-W-E-L-L-?”

The computer switched to the feminine voice again. “Carol Treadwell was last seen leaving the offices of Bartman and Sons at five-twenty on Tuesday the fourteenth. She never got home. Her car was found where she'd left it on Moor Street car park. What happened between the office and the car park? Police are appealing for witnesses.”

“That was on 'Look South West'.” Peters shook his head. “If she'd done a runner she'd have been seen on camera somewhere, surely?”

“That's right, sergeant.” Shadwell was subdued. “She'd have been spotted by a camera somewhere in the last four weeks. We have to assume she's dead by now.”

“No we don't.” White all but spat the words out. “We never give up until we find her.”

Shadwell shook his head. “Find her? You couldn't even remember her name a minute ago.”

“That doesn't mean she's not still up here.” White tapped his temple. “Every day I scan the faces of people on the street, hoping to see her.”

“Right. I'm sorry.”

A nod. “Apology accepted. Another missing person?”

“How about the lads we're looking for now?” Peters leaned over the inspector and typed the names in himself. “Dillard Farthing and Samuel Trubshaw.”

Dead Rite chapter 88.09

2011-12-10T10:07:00.001Z

“Stone me.” White sat back again, holding his hands to his chest as if the keybord was giving him electric shocks. “It knows where Harry Mulder is. Sergeant! Phone the Met and tell them to pick him up.”

“Yes sir. Brilliant.

“Assuming it's the right Harry Mulder.” The professor gestured at the keyboard with his mug of coffee. “Ask it to give you a visual identity.”

“I-S-T-H-E-R-E-A-P-I-C-T-U-R-E-?”

“You really ought to start using the space bar, you know.” Shadwell gulped at his coffee. “There you go. Is that the fellow you asked for?”

The screen displayed a picture of Harry Jonas Mulder from his driving licence next to a picture from an overhead platform camera on the London Underground. Overlain on both were a series of green spots and lines and the words 'ninety-eight percent correlation'.

“That's him all right.” White grinned and rubbed his hands together, then patted the computer. “You little beauty. We could catch anyone with this fellow.”

“It's brilliant, sir.” Peters closed his phone. “The Met are on their way to pick Mulder up. They've alerted all the northbound stations, too.”

“Splendid.” If White's chair had been a swivel one he'd have done a victory spin.

“What about our missing persons file, sir. Can it find those as well?”

Dead Rite chapter 88.08

2011-12-09T10:01:00.001Z

White sat back and laced his fingers together.”So you're telling me that this machine can access any camera?”

“Yes. I wasn't kidding when I said it was Big Brother. And I don't mean the reality programme.”

“Yes, I got that.” He sat forward again and typed. “W-H-E-R-E-I-S-M-Y-W-I-F-E-R-I-G-H-T-N-O-W-?”

“Unknown.” Could a computer generated voice sound annoyed? It certainly seemed so. “Beryl Elizabeth White was last seen at Sangha's Supermart on Tuesday the eighth.”

“The day before yesterday.” Shadwell laughed. “I take it she doesn't have a laptop computer or a smartphone, Inspector.”

“No she doesn't. Does it make a difference?”

“Of course. This is still a rural area. There aren't cameras on every street corner and listening posts on radio masts. If she isn't using technology Orias can only find her when she comes into range of something else.”

The computer chirped again. “Beryl Elizabeth White has sent a text message.”

“Has she indeed?” White reached for his phone at the same moment it beeped to indicate a received message. “Well well well.”

He read the message and returned a short reply before turning to Peters. “Sergeant? Who's on our most wanted?”

“The official list, sir? Harry Mulder for the armed robbery of the Black Bank.”

“Right.” He turned to Orias again. “W-H-E-R-E-I-S-H-A-R-R-Y-M-U-L-D-E-R-?”

“On the northbound platform of Highgate tube station, Highgate, London.”

Dead Rite chapter 88.07

2011-12-08T09:53:00.001Z

“How does it know that?” White frowned and bent over the keyboard, using the edge of the table to scrape his cuffs away from his hands. “H-O-W-D-O-Y-O-U-K-N-O-W-T-H-A-T-?”

“I can see him. I can see a dozen Professor Shadwells, seven Simon Peters and four Cameron Whites. Facial recognition software enables me to distinguish between the three and reverse image searches provide the names and biological details.”

Peters took his coffee from the professor's hand. “It's connected to the internet?”

“Of course.” Shadwell pointed to a cable. “But even if it wasn't plugged it it has the ability to find and connect to any wifi signal in the area.”

“Even encrypted ones?”

“Even IPA-two keys are simple enough for a computer to crack.”

“That makes the computer a felon.”

“Only if you declare it an individual, sentient being.” Shadwell placed the second cup within reach of the inspector. “And then, of course, you've admitted it's alive.” Shadwell headed back to his office, emerging with a third cup for himself.

“Which it isn't.”

“It's clever, is what it is.” White took a sip of his coffee and wished he'd asked for tea instead. “W-H-Y-O-N-L-Y-4-W-H-I-T-E-S-?”

“Oh, I can answer that one.” Shadwell wheeled a chair to a spot several feet away. “It can access pretty much any camera with a web connection. It could see me through all the laptops with a view of my office, the sergeant with fewer and you with only the three mounted on Orias itself.”

“Only three cameras? It said it could see four of me.”

“You're forgetting the eye in the sky, Inspector.” Shadwell pointed to the ceiling, where the red light of a security camera blinked steadily. “Big brother sees everything.”

Dead Rite chapter 88.06

2011-12-07T09:57:00.001Z

White frowned. “What kind of a name is Orias?”

“You could look it up.” Peters nodded to the keyboard. “You're sat in front of a computer.”

“I am, aren't I.” White looked at the screen then called across to the professor. “How do I launch a search engine?”

Shadwell appeared at the door of his office, a steaming mug in one hand. “You can't on that.” Shadwell held up his free hand at the look the two policeman gave him. “What? I didn't program it. Just ask the question directly. The lads designed it as an interactive machine but, as I said, it knows too much.”

“All right.” White turned back to the keyboard. “W-H-A-T-D-O-E-S-O-R-I-A-S-M-E-A-N-?”

The computer's voice changed to a soft feminine tone, reminiscent of an air stewardess. “In demonology, Orias is a Great Marquis of Hell and has thirty legions of demons under his command. He knows and teaches the virtues of the stars and the mansions of the planets. He also gives favour to both friends and foes and can metamorphose a man into any shape.”

“S-O-Y-O-U-1-R-E-A-D-E-N-O-M-?”

“No. I am Orias. Are all men named Jesus the son of God?”The voice had returned to a male one.

“It is clever, I'll give it that.” Peters folded his arms, stroking his chin with his free hand. “I'm still certain it's just a series of programmed responses, though.”

The speaker crackled again. “Here's the professor with your tea, Detective-inspector.”

Dead Rite chapter 88.05

2011-12-06T10:02:00.001Z

Peters was off the chair and across the room so fast he could have been an Olympic runner. “Hoe the fuck did it know my name?”

“Language, sergeant.” White stepped forward and prodded it. “I'm sure there's a logical explanation. Probably something less interesting as why you have a girl's name.”

Peters coloured. “It's not a girl's name. It's pronounced 'Imagine'. My mum was really into John Lennon and called me after one of his songs since he died the day I was born. Trouble was, the registrar misheard and I got an incorrect spelling.”

“I didn't know that.”

“He was a singer, sir. Quite popular at the time, I believe. They still play him at Christmas.”

“I know who John Lennon was. I didn't realise you were as old as that.”

“Must be my youthful looks.”

“And your habit of eating rubbish.” White sat on the vacated chair and picked up the keyboard from the floor.

“If you say so sir.” When the computer had done nothing threatening, Peters approached it again. “You try it. See if it knows you.”

“All right.” White stabbed at the keyboard with one finger. H-E-L-L-O

“Hello, Cameron Henry White.”

White sat back. “I'll be blowed. It does know who I am. Fancy that.” He focused on the keyboard again. “W-H-O-A-R-E-Y-O-U-?”

“I am Orias.”

Dead Rite chapter 88.04

2011-12-05T09:59:00.001Z

“You're not serious.”

“I am. I want a coffee.” White raised an eyebrow. “Unless you'd like to make me one. You've a kettle in your office, yes?”

“How did you know that?” The professor looked suddenly shifty. “You won't let on, will you? It's against college regs to have your own kettle. They rely on the revenue from the cafeteria and the coffee machines.”

“In this case, and only in this case...” White looked pointedly at Peters. “I'm open to bribery.”

“Aye.” Peters grinned. “And I'll have a milk and two sugars.”

“Oh. Very well.” Shadwell went to a door at the back of the room. A moment later White could hear the sound of a kettle being filled.

He turned back to the machine. “So this is what the lads were working on before they disappeared. A tub of wires that mimics sentience.”

“Mimics being the operative word. It would take a computer the size of the planet to be capable of independent thought.” Peters grabbed a stool from a nearby workstation and sat at the keyboard. “One like this is about as sentient as a rusted electric sheep.”

“Don't they have those somewhere? Milton Keynes?”

“They're concrete cows, sir. I think the sheep are in Disneyland.” He typed 'Hello' into the keyboard as an experiment. “What do you want to ask it?”

White was about to speak when the computer speaker light came on. Tiny LEDs flickered on the twin cameras. Te speaker crackled. “Hello, Simon Imogen Peters.”

Dead Rite chapter 88.03

2011-12-04T09:55:00.001Z

Inspector White looked at them both. “This is ridiculous. It's just a machine. Even I know that much.” He pressed the power button and fans began to whirr. Beeps and clicks issued from the speaker. “If there's one thing I've learned about computers it's that not a one of them can survive a cup of coffee poured in its innards.”

“No! Don't do that!” Professor Shadwell's face seemed to collapse at the very idea. “Whatever this is, it's one of a kind. Those lads are geniuses, I'm sure. Well...Trubshaw, anyway. Farthing is certainly a league above the usual student but perhaps not quite to the extent of his friend. This could revolutionise the world.”

“I hardly think so. The world won't change from a run-down technical college in the arse end of Wiltshire.” Peters squatted in front of the keyboard. “How does this thing accept input, anyway? I can't see a monitor screen.”

“Oh? One of the other students must have pinched it.” Shadwell unplugged one from another student's project and brought it over. “It does have a microphone as well. Mr Farthing taught it to read lips but that only works if the machine understands you to begin with. It may struggle with your...ah...regional accents.”

The computer suddenly yawned. A rush of exaggerated emphasis, as of a man bored with conversation that's keeping him from the local hostelry. White jumped. “Did that thing just yawn?”

Peters was grinning. “I have to admit that was clever. They've replaced the boot-up wave file with a custom yawn. Brilliant.”

“Brilliant, is it?” White frowned at the computer. He dug a hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of change. “Professor Shadwell?”

“Hmm? Yes?”

“Where's the nearest coffee machine?”

Dead Rite chapter 88.02

2011-12-03T10:00:00.001Z

“A computer can't be sentient.” Peters made a noise that was almost, but not quite, blowing a raspberry. “You can't make a sentient machine. It's a contradiction in terms. Sentience is derived from an ability to reason with in turn is derived from a physical and emotional response to stimuli.”

Professor Shadwell took a step back, glancing at the computer in case it had heard the blasphemy. “But it passes the Turing test.”

“Anything can be programmed to pass the Turing test.” Peters scoffed. “We learned that in basic computer science.”

“Wait.” White held up his hands. “Gentlemen, I know you're speaking but all I can hear is a flapping contest. Would one of you care to explain what this Turing test is?”

“Sorry sir. It's a test of computer intelligence. If you can imagine a Chinese woman outside a locked door who can only speak Chinese, and on the other side of the door is an Englishman who can only speak English. He has a series of catalogued boxes filled with Chinese characters he can't understand, but a book of instructions in English. When the Chinese woman slips some Chinese characters under the door he can look them up in his book and the book will tell him which characters to send back as an appropriate response. The Chinese woman writes something down and gets a logical response, so she assumes the person behind the door understands Chinese.”

“I see.” White rubbed his chin. “And the computer is the man behind the door, I take it?”

“Yes sir. We think the computer is intelligent because we get an intelligent responese but it's only the programmer who's intelligent. We can't build a computer that's intelligent on its own.”

“Ah,” Professor Shadwell looked at the machine again. “But what if we could?”

Dead Rite chapter 88.01

2011-12-02T10:01:00.001Z

White stared at the machine. It was a jumble of mismatched parts, snaking coils and reams of wires linking more microprocessors than an average school had access to. Several mobile phones were attached to the central unit, for the most part with their cases cracked open as if some alien virus was feeding from them. A keyboard and monitor were connected to the rear of the lumbering monstrosity and a loudspeaker was perched casually on top, two webcams attached with duct tape to each top corner like a ragged Mickey Mouse face.

Sergeant Peters laughed. “You're having us on. You can't have sentience in a computer. It'll be a programmed set of responses. Type something in and it'll parrot it back to you. They had a program that did that at college. You'd type in how lonely you were and it's psychoanalyse why you didn't just go to the pub and get hammered.”

“I wish it were.” Professor Shadwell turned away from the machine. “Even switched off it gives me the willies. I keep thinking it's watching me and making notes. That's why I keep it under a sheet.”

“I thought that would be to keep the dust off.” White bent to stare into the lenses of the webcams as if he could look into the soul of the machine. “Mind you, I can see your point. I don't even like the system they installed at the station. I sometimes think that's watching me, too. Helen from admin told me it remembers everything you type in.”

Shadwell waved a hand, as if the information was an annoying fly he wanted to be rid of. “That's just a key logger so the can check you're not looking up porn from your desk.” He turned back to the machine and shuddered. “This is the real thing.”

Dead Rite chapter 87.08

2011-12-01T10:03:00.000Z

“Step inside, love.” Harold held out a hand to guide her in. “Only don't splash it about as the solution is caustic.” He caught the look of panic. “No, it'll be fine for you. That was the whole point of the amber varnish. You'll be just fine, I promise.”

She climbed into the coffin and sat, the liquid slooshing around her waist and legs. She paused, looking for Jasfoup and he knelt at the side of the coffin to pat her hand. “Try not to think about anything. Just let your mind go blank and drift off and I'll see you again in six weeks. It's a short hop after that to immortality.”

“You have to lie down, Amanda. Sink under the water and let it infuse your flesh with preserving salts.”

Devious stuck a piece of litmus paper in the tank. It turned violet. “I added some general fungicide too, master.”

“That was a...” Harold frowned. “Was that a good idea?”

“Yes. It'll stop anything growing on her when she dries out afterwards. I suggest she takes a monthly dose of it afterward, too. Fungal infections just aren't attractive in women, particularly when it's dry rot or mould.”

“Lie down Amanda.” Jasfoup held her hand until her face was obscured by the translucent liquid, then let go. Harold nodded to Devious, who applied glass cement to the edges before filling the last half-inch of the coffin with Natron salt and lowering the lit into place.

Gillian stepped to Harold's side. “Are you sure this will work? I'd hate to put her through all this for no reason.”

“Truthfully? No.” Harold watched as the two imps lifted the huge weight of the coffin and opened a gate to eight weeks ago. “But I tried bringing her back to life and failed. This was my second-best effort.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “It's kill or cure.”

Dead Rite chapter 87.07

2011-11-30T09:44:00.001Z

Harold strode across the room to where Jasfoup and Amanda were having an intimate moment. “Are you two lovebirds ready?”

Jasfoup pulled away from her. “It's nothing like that. I was giving her words of encouragement. Longevity can be wonderful if you have the right mindset.”

“It probably helps if you're an all-powerful demon, able to go anywhere at will, too. It's a lot harder for us demi-mortals who have to stumble along in linear time.” He gave Amanda and encouraging smile. “Keeping busy, that's the key.” He led her over to the tank. “If you'd like to get in? You be in her for six weeks, so I suggest you turn over once a week or so to avoid pressure sores.”

Amanda turned away but Jasfoup caught her up, careful not to damage her with the strength of his grip. “Six weeks, Amanda, and then you're out. That's just a drop in the ocean for a girl like you.”

“Um...” Dill shuffled forward. “I don't know if it will help but you can kind of stitch off your brain. It's sort of like sleeping only you stay semi conscious of your surroundings. If you do that the time will whizz by.”

She reached out to touch his arm in a gesture of thanks, then turned to face the coffin.

Dead Rite chapter 87.06

2011-11-29T09:54:00.000Z

Harold bent at the waist to look at the water in the tank. “It's a bit cloudy.”

“That's because there's undissolved Natron salt left over. It's a saturated solution”

“What does it feel like?”

“What?” Delirious stared at him. “How should I know?”

“Stick your hand in. Is it gritty?”

“Is that an order? Only I'd rather not, if it isn't. The whole solution is caustic. It's likely strip the flesh off my fingers.”

“Ah. Best not then.” Harold straightened. “You haven't used all the natron.”

“No, but we can't add any more unless we add more water and there's already too much in.”

“Too much? It's only half full.”

“But if you allow for the volume of her body the water will overflow when she gets in. We can't add any more.”

“You should have made the tank bigger.”

“You told us to make a glass coffin and that's exactly what you've got. If you'd said anything about it being an immersion tank I'd have made it significantly larger. As it is, you should achieve the desired saturation of transferred salts in six weeks or so, but I recommend adding extra salts half way through the process.”

“I'm not sure that will be possible.”

“Why not?”

“I want to see what she looks like when she comes out. I don't want to wait six weeks so I want you to put her in the tomb six weeks ago.”

“But she'll be conscious. You can't put someone in the mausoleum for six weeks if they're conscious.”

“How do you know?”

“I...well...”

“There you go. Let's do it.”

Dead Rite chapter 87.05

2011-11-28T10:00:00.000Z

***

“Don't worry so much.” Jasfoup led the stiff-legged Amanda to the window. The sun had gone down while they'd been painting and stars shone overhead despite the still-azure horizon. “Play your cards right and you'll still be here when the young suns of Cepheus flicker and die.”

“Mmm?” Amanda laid a hand on his arm. It was still warm from the hot resin they'd painted her with.

“Cepheus? It's that galaxy over there.” Jasfoup pointed. “You may know it as the rather cheeky name of NGC seven-one-two-nine.”

“Mmm.”

“Have I been there? Sadly not, though I understand they're quite civilised, if you believe in science. Which of course you can't if, like me, you're the product of a Judeo-Christian religion.” He sighed. “But if life were to exist elsewhere, which it doesn't, obviously, else the whole fundamental tenets of religion would come crashing down, then they'd be quite nice people.”

“Mmm.”

“Exactly.” He stared into her painted-shut eyes and sighed. “You know, conversation would be so much easier if Harold hadn't removed your lungs.”

***

Dead Rite chapter 87.04

2011-11-27T09:22:00.001Z

Harold looked across the room at the two imps. They were both, to his surprise, working diligently. It must be the presence of Gillian, he thought. Vampires bring out the best in everyone. “How's the receptacle coming along?”

“Receptacle?” Devious turned with a look of sheer panic on his face. “You told us to build a glass coffin, not a receptacle.”

“A glass coffin would be dandy.” Harold laced his fingers together, the better to stop himself strangling someone small and imp-shaped. “How's the glass coffin coming along then?”

“Finished, Maser.” Devious spread one ringmaster-like hand to display the fruit of their labours. “Delirious is just engraving the glass with measurement marks. Pints, gallons, cubic centilitres and so on.”

“Excellent.” Harold turned to Amanda. “Your saturation tank awaits, madam. Let's do it.”

Jasfoup held up a hand. “Can we have a moment?”

“Of course.” Harold started towards him.

“No, I meant Amanda and I.”

“Oh.” Harold pretended to be interested in a comic. “Sure.” He turned to the imps. “Heat the water to thirty degrees and add as much of the salt as you can, then the ammonia.” He did a couple of shuffle steps. “We're cooking tonight.”

Dead Rite chapter 87.03

2011-11-26T09:37:00.000Z

Bright beads of blood glistened at the corners of Gillian's eyes. It made Harold feel doubly uncomfortable. Was this how vampires cried? He hadn't been aware vampires could cry. Gillian had always been characteristically emotionless except when giving chase, fighting and...certain other night-time activities. Also, it was a woman, being emotional. He could take on a destroying angel (albeit helped by his mum), a necromantic elf and a plague of flesh-eating locusts but none of his life experiences had prepared him for the sight of a woman's tears.

“There there.” He gave her shoulder a bit of a thump. “Cheer up, old thing.”

Jasfoup, still holding the vampire in his arms, glared at him. “You can be awfully insensitive at times.”

“Sorry.” Harold rubbed her thigh. “There's no telling yet if Lucy will squash us like ants on a picnic cloth. She might turn out to love us despite our humble origins. At least we can consider ourselves forewarned about her teenage tantrums. If she ever says she wishes we'd catch fire we'd best look for an extinguisher.”

Gillian sniffed a bloody glob of mucus back into her nose. Contrary to every rom-com ever, it was not endearing. “And Julie? Felicia?”

He patted her knee. “We'll get you new friends to go shopping with.”

“You don't understand.” The beads if blood trickled down her cheeks. “Losing them is like losing everything that makes life worth living. They were all the good things. Running hunting sex...”

Harold opened his arms wide. “I'm still here. I can do all that. And we can get you a new werewolf. Is there a pound for werewolves?”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Don't be ridiculous.”

Dead Rite chapter 87.02

2011-11-25T10:07:00.001Z

“But...” Gillian looked from one to the other. “She can't be, Harold's only half demon and I--”

“You're nephilim.” Jasfoup picked up a brush and used it to emphasise his point. “So two nephilims make a baby and are surprised when it comes out to be a full demon? Plus, Harold's genes as son of the Archduke of Hell are pretty dominant. I could map out the genetic probabilities but you'd probably just get confused and try to divide by zero.”

“But--” Gillian seemed to deflate, her anger dissipating like so much steam from a kettle when the sun was out. “She's an angel.”

“Quite literally.” Jasfoup grinned. “Demons and angels are the same stock, you see. Just be careful she doesn't start growing extra eyes because it freaks people out. You've fought angels. You know how freaky they are. It's like coming across a cockroach in your bowl of cornflake. You know it's not going to hurt you but you still don't want to eat the cereal after killing it. If Lucy develops angel traits she'll be like that.”

“Like a cockroach in cornflakes?”

“No.” Jasfoup took her by the hand and led her to the partially crushed box of comics Harold had sat on earlier.

A copy of Strontium Dog fell out causing Harold some consternation. Why was there a Two-thousand AD comic among a box of Marvel ones? Had someone been interfering with his collection? He'd have to catalogue the whole lot now.

He looked back as Jasfoup stroked the vampire's arm in what he thought to be a soothing manner. “Weren't you listening? Lucy will be like the person who finds a cockroach in their cornflakes. You'll be the cockroach, love.”

Dead Rite chapter 87.01

2011-11-24T09:55:00.000Z

Harold flinched at the appearance of the vampire. Despite his love for her, she managed to fill his heart with the fear of an angel. It didn't help that he was currently running a last brushful of pine resin over another woman's nipple. It made no difference Amanda was dead. So was Gillian and it had never stopped Harold having carnal relations with her. “oh...er...Hello, love. Have you had breakfast?”

“I woke to an empty house and the smell of death.” Gillian's claws were partially extended, she was so cross. “No Lucy, no Julie and the stink of zombie in the lower halls.” Her glance barely flickered toward Dill but it was enough to freeze him in his tracks as he tried to back away.

“Ah...I can explain...” Harold handed his brush to Devious and started toward her, the fingers of one hand digging into the palm of the other. We're having an infestation of demons, I'm afraid, leaving the bodies hollow and unoccupied. Dill and Amanda here had the happy coincidence of possessing their own bodies and are technically zombies, though we're working on mummification for Amanda. You remember Amanda? She used t work for you as a legal secretary.”

“And Julie?” She didn't acknowledge the girl.

“I'm afraid Julie was possessed by a Manoachian demon and when it was expelled she was unrevivable.”

“You killed her?”

“Actually, Lucy killed her.”

“Lucy? You're blaming the death of my best friend on my two-year old daughter?”

“Um...our daughter, I think you'll find.”

“Which is quite important when you hear the news we have about her.” Jasfoup almost clapped, her was so excited about it. He made do with standing his brushed in what was left of the resin solution and steepling his fingers instead. “It turns out she's a direct descendant of the demon Legion. On her father's side, obviously.”

Dead Rite chapter 86.07

2011-11-23T10:00:00.001Z

“They've gone missing, is what they've done, sir. I take it they didn't mention anything to you last time you saw them?”

“No. Why should they? I don't even teach them, really, just mark their attendance sheets so they can get their grants or loans or whatever it is they live on and leave them to it. I'm surprised not to have seen them, actually. I know Mr Farthing had an essay due in.”

“An essay? I thought you didn't teach them.”

“Oh, not an essay for me. He was doing a postgraduate level correspondence course at Bell's in London. He generally uses his machine for research.” Shadwell gestured to a sheet covered table in one corner of the room. “They spent most of their time here tinkering with that. Geniuses, both of them. They know far more then me. I mean, technically I'm a professor but what I know is four-oh-four-eight processor compared to the P-six of their intellect, and they haven't stopped learning yet.”

“Let's hope that's the case, sir, and they haven't stopped learning by virtue of, say, having their heads hacked off.”

“Goodness.” Shadwell paled. “Is that a likely scenario?”

“I hope not, but obviously we're investigate all possibilities. Two teenage lads going missing is obviously causing us concern.”

“Have you checked the pizza delivery places? They were very fond of pizza. Fast food in general, but mostly pizza. If they're still in the area the delivery places will know where.”

“That's a good idea, sir. Thank you.” White gestured to the table. “May I?”

“Oh please, help yourself. I'd rather you didn't switch it on, though, to be honest. It scares the willies out of me.”

“Oh? Why's that?” White twitched away the sheet to reveal several monitors connected the a number of racks of circuit boards. “It's just a computer, isn't it?”

“I wish it was.” Shadwell hovered a couple of feet away, clearly agitated. “Whenever they talk to it, it talks back. It's sentient.”

Dead Rite chapter 86.06

2011-11-22T09:59:00.001Z

White shrugged. “Well it works for some but it's a slippery slope that leads to overnight lock-ups and capital punishment and we know where that goes.” He turned another corner and pointed at a sign. “Here we are. Not such a long walk and quicker than it would have taken us to drive here.”

“Of course, now we have to walk back as well.”

“No-one likes a smart-alec, sergeant.”

“No sir.” He stepped ahead and pulled open the door, an industrial thickness fire door with a handle running the whole height.

White went through. “We want room seven.” He studied a diagram on the wall. “This way.”

Computer Tech was held in an open plan room with one end devoted to teaching and the rest of the space devoted to student projects. Clumps of them were dotted about, mostly clustered around and under tables, staring into monitors and oscilloscopes. A thin, weaselly-looking man was trying to explain the importance of documentation to a grand of lads that looked as if they belonged on a community service program.

“Kenneth Shadwell?” White headed toward the group.

The man adjusted his glasses. One of the lads sidled off.

“Detective-inspector White.” He pulled out his warrant card and Peters did the same. “We like to ask you about a couple of your lads.”

“Oh yes?” Shadwell glanced at the dwindling group around him. “Which ones?”

“Dillard Farthing and Samuel Trubshaw.”

“Oh.” He visibly relaxed. “Those two. Haven't seen them all week, actually. What have they done?”

Dead Rite chapter 86.05

2011-11-21T10:00:00.001Z

He led Peters through several archways and across a quadrangle where students turned hurriedly away and stubbed out cigarettes.

“Can you smell that, sir?” Peters caught his arm. “Those lads were smoking cannabis.”

“I do recognise the scent, sergeant, but we're not the drugs squad and we're here on a rather more urgent matter.”

“Nevertheless, sir, we have a duty to uphold the law.”

White frowned at him. “It's a bit of puff. If they were shooting up, yes, I'd intervene but a bit of resin never hurt anybody.”

Peters stopped, his hold on the inspector's arm forcing him to stop as well. He stared at the fire door he boys had gone through. “I beg to differ, sir. It might be just a bit of puff to you but my sister wouldn't see it that way. Her lad was arrested last month for possession of 'a bit of puff' and it all but tore them apart.”

“Your sister's lad?” White frowned. “Is this the same nephew who went to Glastonbury without telling anyone?”

“Mikey, sir, yes. He lost his place at Cambridge because of it.”

“Why? What was he doing at Cambridge? Law?”

“No sir. He was a youth worker with underprivileged kids.”

“I see. You can't look after kids with a criminal record. That still doesn't mean we should arrest every student who has a smoke. Wouldn't we just be subjecting their families to the same trauma as your sister's?”

“I suppose so. It's just that if we clamp down on it now they might not get so involved with it later.”

“The short, sharp shock approach? Did that ever work?” He started walking again.

“I think so.” Peters shook his head and followed. “I pinched a packet of polos when I was about eight. The shopkeeper caught me and called a policeman. That was the end of my life of crime right then and there.”

Dead Rite chapter 86.04

2011-11-20T09:53:00.001Z

There was a bench nearby and he lowered himself to the seat, surprised by their warmth until he realised they were meats. It had been a busy few days and the chance to just sit and take in the sun was welcome. He tried to ignore the cigarette butts littering the pavement at his feet, especially to one showing a flash of orange or green cardboard in the end, the makeshift filters used to enable the cigarette, or more commonly joint, to be smoked to the very end.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of moire patterns on his eyelids from the sunshine. It seemed like only a few seconds before the sun went in. “What did you discover?”

“It's not their duty to call parents about absences, sir, no no-one has been informed or questioned about the missing lads.”

“And did you get the parent's details?”

“Yes sir. Samuel Trubshaw has a mother in Hobb's Road and Dillard Farthing comes from Birmingham. I've got the number.”

“We'll take the local one first, after we've had a chat with his tutor.” White opened his eyes. Peters was eating another chocolate bar. “Have you got worms, sergeant? You haven't stopped eating for the past hour.”

“I know. I can't help it sir. I've got cravings today. A real case of the munchies.”

“I see.” White rose and took another glance at the notice board. “We need Engineering Block Four, which is this way.”

“We're walking?”

“Yes sergeant. We used to do a lot of this in the old days. It's a fairly simple process, you'll find.”

“Yes, sir. I was thinking more about you. I haven't seen you walk further than twenty yards all month.”

“Most of the time I don't need to.”

“What if you have to chase a suspect?”

“That's why I have you.” White smiled. “This way.”

Dead Rite chapter 86.03

2011-11-19T10:00:00.000Z

Peters came out a moment later, his grin fading when he saw the inspector's stony face. He pulled a Marathon bar from his pocket and unwrapped it. “So they've been missing all week, sir. At least four days, maybe six. What now?”

White pulled out his phone. “We have a word with the computer technology tutor. Perhaps what they were working on will give us a lead on where they've gone.”

“It is possible they just did a bunk sir. Gone to a festival or something. My nephew did that last year. Went missing for three days. He'd gone to Glastonbury. The little shit. We'd never have known if the college hadn't phoned Janet's brother at work to see if he was all right. The lad, I mean, not the brother.”

“I hardly think your nephew going to a music festival is applicable in this case, fascinating though your family appears.” White gestured at him with the phone, using it to mark out each piece of punctuation. “For one thing your nephew didn't clean out his house when he went and for another, the college phoned his parents to see if he was all right.” He paused. “Go back in and find out who their parents are and if they've been informed of the lad's absence.”

“Right.” Peters stuffed the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth and screwed up the wrapper. He dropped it in a bin on the way inside.

White dialled directory enquiries and then the college, hoping he wouldn't be put through to the horn-rimmed lady he'd just not spoken to. He got through to an admissions clerk and found where the computer technology class was held and the name of the tutor, Kenneth Shadwell.

A notice board displayed a map of the campus. He found Engineering Block Four and traced a path to it from Reception. It would be quicker to walk than drive.

Dead Rite chapter 86.02

2011-11-18T10:00:00.001Z

She continued to fill in the form as if she was alone in a room somewhere and reception was a problem to be dealt with someone else. He coughed again and she glanced up, her horn-rimmed glasses making her look to be a product of the sixties who'd decided fashion was a state of mind. “Can you not read?”

White frowned. “Madam. I'm a police--”

She'd already returned to her form.

White could feel his blood pressure rising. This was why he preferred being out catching blaggers. Bureaucratic people in little offices gave him the pip. Sergeant Peters raised his eyebrows and White gave him a curt nod and withdrew. Peters went up to the window but ignored the buzzer, knocking directly on the glass instead. “Hello, love. You're just the person I need to talk to.”

“Oh yes?” She put down her pen and smiled. Smiled.

Peters showed her his warrant card. “We're worried about two lads that might have gone missing. Could you do us a huge favour and see if they've been in college this week?”

“Oh the poor loves.” She pulled a keyboard towards herself, pressing a key to bring the monitor to life. “What are their names?”

“Dillard Farthing and Samuel Trubshaw. They live at Chervil Court.”

“That's right.” She typed the names in. “They're both on the computer tech course. No, neither have been in since last Friday. Oh dear. Do you think something might have happened to them?”

“That's what we're afraid of.” Peters made a note in his book then winked at her. “Thanks for your help, love. I don't know what we'd do without you.”

“Any time.” She smiled again. “Is there anything lse you need?”

“Not for the moment.” Peters smiled back. “Thanks though.”

White headed for the door and waited outside for him. He remembered when such tactics worked for him, too.”

Dead Rite chapter 86.01

2011-11-17T10:00:00.001Z

Inspector White parked in front of Laverstone Technical College and switched off the engine. He stared at the building for a minute while Peters finished his second sandwich, marvelling at the expanse of concrete, steel and glass.

“How can something so practical as a technical college do so well at not blending in with the local townscape?”

“The seventies, sir.” Peters gestured through the window with the last crust of his tuna mayonnaise. “This the the architectural equivalent of a paisley shirt with an extra-pointy collar. You wouldn't be seen dead in one now but they were the height of fashion in their day.”

“Now it looks more like the corduroy jacket with elbow patches.” White opened the door and stepped out. “Lets see what they've got to say about out missing lads.”

He headed past a tangle of cotoneaster plants and briar roses and pulled on the smoked glass door. The inside of the student services wing of the college smells of stale chips and old sweat. Weak sunshine filters past the glass windows and fought with the overhead fluorescents. One flickered off-on-off-on. White could feel a headache coming on already. Sergeant Peters wandered over to an inset display case and examined the objects inside. There were a few pieces of pottery from the ceramics diploma course, a small model of the campus made on peeling paper and cardboard and a photograph of the dean presenting an oversized cheque to the mayor.

Behind the safety glass of reception a woman barely looked up as he approached. He stood there for a minute, waiting for her to finish filling in whatever form her pen was hovering over. When she signed the bottom of it and reached for another he ventured to cough.

She used the pen to point to a computer printed and laminated sign: Please press the buzzer and wait.

White pressed the buzzer.

Dead Rite chapter 85.21

2011-11-16T10:00:00.001Z

“Really?” Dill reached forward to help Amanda off with her lower garments but she batted his hands away, pushing Jasfoup toward her legs instead.

“You want me to do your lower bits?” Jasfoup swapped brushes with Dill. “All right.” He leaned to whisper in Harold's ear. “Couldn't we just dip her?”

“In what? I don't have a vat of resin. Just get on with it. We have to cover her completely else the skin will become saturated with water and rot anyway. The resin with stop the water molecules penetrating her skin while allowing the migration of salt in and blood out. To be really successful we have to get salt inside her skin before the drying process. I tell you, this is going to work. Amanda might be dead but she'll live to be three thousand.”

Dill ran his brush over a breast. “There must be an easier way.”

“Yes. Become a vampire but unfortunately she doesn't have that option.”

“Talking of vampires...” Jasfoup nodded toward the window. “The sun's going down.”

“Yes, I know.” Harold bit his lip as he worked resin into Amanda's scalp. “Gillian's going to be cross.”

“That's an understatement.” Jasfoup slapped the solution onto Amanda's feet. “She's going to wake up in an empty house with no Lucy, no Julie, no us and police tape over the doors. 'Cross' doesn't even begin to cover it.”

Dill glanced up. “Who's Gillian?”

“Lucy's mother.” Harold tried to concentrate getting the resin into Amanda's ears. “She's a vampire.”

“The sort who dresses in black leather and carries lots of weapons? Black hair, pale skin, teeth you could use to spear olives and stir a cocktail with?”

“Sometimes, yes. How did you know?”

“She's right behind you.”

Dead Rite chapter 85.20

2011-11-15T10:07:00.001Z

Amanda put her fingers to her mouth, repeating the gesture when Harold merely looked quizzical.

“I think she's asking if she can eat at all.”

“Really?” Harold raised his eyebrows. “No, my dear. You don't need to. You'll be kept alive purely by virtue of being...well, not dead. And thanks to my cleverness you'll never rot like this young fellow. You don't need to ear ever again. You're the anorexic's dream.”

Dill stepped forward and touched her hand. “What if she wants to eat, though? I mean, can she eat for pleasure?”

“Why would she want to?” Harold looked at Jasfoup, who shrugged. “She doesn't have a stomach so anything she ingested would just drop into her body cavity and rot. It would attract flies and vermin and would in all likelihood infect her mummified tissue.”

“But you said you'd put a balloon inside her to allow her to talk. Could you not put a disposable stomach inside her, too?”

Jasfoup chuckled. “Like a vacuum cleaner bag?”

“No. No I could not.” Harold scowled and began slapping resin solution over her skin. “If she eats or drinks anything it will cause her mouth, throat and oesophagus to re-hydrate and begin to rot away. I'm not going through all this trouble just to have her reduced to a sentient skull for all eternity.”

“But...”

“And if I catch her eating or drinking anything I shall sew up her mouth and seal it with resin. Is that clear?” He looked from Dill to Amanda until they both nodded. “Right. Amanda? Finish stripping, please. I've got the smallest brush so I shall do her head. Dill? You've got the next smallest so you can deal with...” He waved his brush vaguely. “...her lower half. Jasfoup? You get on with her torso and arms.”

Dead Rite chapter 85.19

2011-11-14T10:00:00.001Z

“I've got paint brushes.” Jasfoup held up a three-pack of cheap supermarket ones. “I'll have the big one.”

“Don't you always?” Harold selected the smallest. “I'll do the intimate areas.” He narrowed his eyes at Dill.

“Fair enough.” The zombie carried the pot of hot resin across the room and placed it carefully next to Amanda. The image of his hands remained on the container. “You were right about not feeling the heat. I've just stripped the skin off my hands.”

Harold barely glanced at the exposed muscle. “You'll need to eat to repair the damage, won't you?”

“I think so.” Dill picked up the last brush. “I'm not a hundred percent on how it works yet, but as far as I can tell I regenerate whatever body part I eat, so I need to eat hands. And brains. I always need brains. I can feel myself getting stupid without them.”

“We'll see what we can do when we finish here.” Harold dipped his brush into the resin solution. “Come one chaps. Get a move on. It's starting to cool already.”

“Right.” Jasfoup hesitated. “Shouldn't we take her clothes off first?”

“Er...yes, we should.” Harold smiled at Amanda. “You don't mind, do you? It's nothing we haven't all seen before.” He glanced at Dill. “Even if it's only on a computer screen.”

“No, I've seen the real thing plenty of times.” Dill frowned as Amanda began to strip. “Actually, since it was mostly through a webcam I retract my objection.”

“There you go. Nothing to be shy about.” Harold patted her on the arm. “I bet you feel light as a feather now. There's nothing like removing body parts to help in losing weight and think of the side benefit. Without a stomach you'll never put it on again.”

Dead Rite chapter 85.18

2011-11-13T10:00:00.000Z

“I don't understand.” Dill lifted the wooden spoon and dripped resin across the box. “Are you being metaphorical?” A couple of drops landed on the hot plate and filled the room with the stench of burned amber. Not that Harold had ever had a piece of amber spare to burn, He'd met a girl could Amber, once, in his advanced Economics class, but the thought of setting fire to her had never crossed his mind. The smell currently wafting through the room was burned resin, but resin was raw amber, so this is probably what it smelled like.

“No. Literal.” Harold grinned.

“Something to do with Christianity then. God is the father and all that?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Harold is the son of Lucifer.” Jasfoup held up a hand, “and no, he's not the antichrist, before you ask. His mother tried to summon an incubus but didn't think to dampen the spell and got the Lord of Hell instead. So since...” He waved a hand vaguely upwards. “...is the creator of Lucifer, he's technically Harold's grandpappy.”

“That's brilliant.”Dill pointed with the spoon. “So does that mean you can do Jesus stuff? Raise people from the dead and cure the lame?”

“I'm a magician, not a doctor.” Harold scowled. “Anyway, you just watched me raise the dead. Is that resin ready yet? And how's the coffin coming?”

“Nearly there.” Delirious manoeuvred a pair of clamps.

“Ready, I think.” Dill gave the solution a final stir. “Shall I let it cool?”

“No. it'll go hard.” Harold shooed a fly away from Amanda. “How did that get in here? I thought we'd sealed the room?”

“Sorry, sir, It must have come in with me.” Devious was sat in a corner eating a sandwich. He had mayonnaise on his chin. “I just got here but you were talking about...him upstairs...and I didn't want to interrupt.”

“About time you got back. Help Delirious with the coffin.” Harold turned back to Dill. “She won't feel it, anyway. Her nerve endings are all dead.”

Dead Rite chapter 85.17

2011-11-12T10:03:00.000Z

“Tomorrow?”

“After she's had six weeks of immersion in brine followed by two weeks of drying out in a hot, dry atmosphere.” Harold looked around the room. “Assuming Devious ever comes back, of course.”

“I don't understand.” Dill paused in stirring the resin mixture, the smell of which thanks to the incense, was now reminiscent of a church. “How can you say tomorrow if she'd got eight weeks of processing to go through?”

“Time travel, old chap.” Harold grinned. “As I understand it, the imps have made tunnels all over the place, and have been doing for centuries.”

“Millennia,” added Jasfoup.

Delirious put a paw to the side of his mouth and whispered. “Longer than that.”

“Anyway, the root is they can take things back in time and leave them somewhere they won't be disturbed to age. We've been doing it with books for years. Actually, if you ever need an original copy of Da Vinci's notebooks, just ask me.”

“But that's impossible.” Dill pressed his hands to his temples. “That goes counter to everything science has taught us about the nature of time.”

“No one ever said time was linear. That's just a construct that works for now.” Harold held up a finger. “Neither is it a wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey thing, the idea of which seems to have become a common misunderstanding.”

“But...What about the paradox of killing your own grandfather.”

Harold shrugged. “Why would I want to?”

Jasfoup chimed in. “Actually, Harold's rather unique in that regard. He couldn't if he wanted to.”

“Why not?”

“Oh that.” Harold waved a hand as if the whole notion was of no consequence. “It's an odd circumstance actually. I either don't have a grandfather or...” He grinned at Jasfoup.

“Or?”

“Well, technically my grandfather is God.”

Dead Rite chapter 85.16

2011-11-11T10:00:00.001Z

“I'll bear it in mind next time he complains about a list of tasks.” Harold nodded as Delirious appeared. “There are several sheets of glass over there. Make a glass coffin, would you. I need it airtight in five minutes.”

The imp looked at the construction materials. “Sealed with a lid?”

“With a lid but don't seal the lid.” He shook his head. “What would be the use of an empty coffin?”

Delirious waved his hands in an 'how-should-I-know' gesture. “Fish tank, maybe.”

“Without fish or water?” Harold went back to his blanket stitch. “Just hurry. I need it five minutes ago.”

Jasfoup wandered over to supervise the imp. “You're going to immerse her in salt?”

“Saturated saline, yes.” He looked across at Dill. “How's the resin solution coming?”

“Pretty good. Just the last few lumps to dissolve.”

“Excellent. If you look in the box to your left, you should see a jar of myrrh. Drop a couple of spoonfuls in the mixture.” He paused, the thread pulling against Amanda's grey flesh. “Put some gloves on first, though. I don't want bits of zombie amongst my circle making tools.”

“Yeah. Right.” Dill shuffled over to the box of gloves as Delirious began construction of the coffin.

Harold finished of the stitches. And ran his finger across them. “Good and tight.”

“Yes, but you should have used a basket stitch instead of a blanket, old bean.” The demon chuckled. “Now she'll have a row of knots for evermore.”

“Good point. I wish you'd pointed that out earlier.” Harold scratched his stubble. “Never mind. I can adjust the stitches when I put in the speech bellows.”

“When will that be?”

“When she's saturated with salt and properly dried out.” Harold rubbed his hands together. “Maybe tomorrow.”