Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy
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shut up. We’re all friends here. We can talk about these things. It’s just like Doctor Nye told us. We each got a blast of magic to reanimate these bodies, and that magic has been keeping us going for the past few months. But now our own biological processes are starting to reawaken and take over.”
“I got hungry for the first time on Tuesday,” Thrasher said, somewhat guiltily. “So I ate something.”
Scapegrace grinned happily. “But while his stomach has reactivated, his bowels are still asleep.”
“It’s very uncomfortable,” Thrasher confessed.
“As zombies, we didn’t feel anything,” Scapegrace said, “but now that we’re human again, something like constipation is a real problem. For some of us.”
Thrasher blushed and Scapegrace’s grin widened. Valkyrie felt the need to step in.
“How about you?” she asked. “Have all of your biological processes reawakened yet?”
Scapegrace’s grin faded immediately. “Not yet,” he said. “I can feel my magic beginning to reawaken, but the biological processes are … taking their time. But it … it should be fine. I have a book about it. About what to expect. Actually, now that you’re here, I was wondering … If I have any questions about, you know, certain aspects of womanhood, could I ask you?”
“No,” she said.
“But just a few tips—”
“Under no circumstances. God, no. No way.”
“Oh,” he said. “Fair enough. I suppose … I suppose, OK, let’s keep this professional.”
“Professional is a good way to keep it.”
“It’s just … I don’t have any other female friends.”
She frowned. “We’re friends?”
“What about Clarabelle?” Skulduggery said. “Have you asked her?”
“I have,” Scapegrace said. “She tried to help, but then she started laughing, and she wouldn’t stop. She was laughing so much she couldn’t catch her breath, and she passed out.”
“She did,” said Thrasher. “I was there.”
“It’s all so confusing,” Scapegrace said, sitting down. “I don’t even know what size clothes to wear. I got a big bundle of clothes from a charity shop, but I don’t even know how to wear most of it. This top, the top I’m wearing now, it took me fifteen minutes to work out how to do it up.”
“It’s on backwards,” Valkyrie said gently. “It’s got a scoop neckline. That shouldn’t be on your back.”
“How am I supposed to know that? That’s ridiculous!”
“Also, yellow is not your colour.”
“I told him that,” Thrasher murmured.
Scapegrace jumped to his feet. “Now I have to figure out what my colour is? How is any of this fair?”
“It can’t be all bad,” Valkyrie said, trying for a reassuring smile. “You’re healthy, aren’t you? You’re alive. That’s something.”
“Yeah,” Scapegrace said, face in his hands. “I suppose.”
“And from what I’ve heard, the pub is doing really well.”
At this, Thrasher’s face soured. “It’s just a pity our clientele couldn’t be a bit … classier, that’s all.”
Scapegrace glared. “Our?”
“Sorry, Master. Yours.”
“There is nothing wrong with my clientele. Most of them are old friends of mine. Well, not really friends, but … but people I’ve known for years.”
“It’s nice that they’re supporting you,” Valkyrie said.
Scapegrace took a moment. “They treat me differently,” he said. “They’re nicer to me. They laugh now when I say something funny. No one ignores me any more.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes,” he said, and then shook his head. “Oh, who am I kidding? At least when they ignored me, they ignored me for the man I was, not the woman I’m not. Now I’m just an object to them. A pretty face serving them drinks.”
Thrasher’s eyes welled up. “They don’t see you like I see you.”
Scapegrace whirled round to him instantly. “Again, kind of an odd thing to say.”
“Sorry, Master.”
“Stop saying odd things.”
“Yes, Master.”
Scapegrace turned back to Valkyrie and Skulduggery. “You need something. Information? I’m your man. Sort of.”
“We’re looking for information about the Torment,” said Skulduggery.
“Ah, the Torment. I haven’t thought about him for years.”
“Who is he?” Thrasher asked.
“He’s before your time,” Scapegrace said, somewhat wistfully. “He was a Child of the Spider, or an Old Man of the Spider, whatever. He didn’t like Valkyrie because he could sense Ancient blood in her, and also he just wasn’t a very nice man. He could turn into a giant spider, though, which was pretty cool. Skulduggery, remember the first time you questioned me? You wanted me to bring you to him. They were good times, weren’t they? I was so different then. I wasn’t a zombie. I wasn’t a woman. I was me.”
“You brought the Torment to Roarhaven,” Valkyrie said. “You let him stay beneath this very pub.”
“And did I get any thanks for that? All the work I put into converting the cellar into a place someone could live – do you know how long that took? I mean, fine, I may have stolen most of the materials, but it was still a huge undertaking.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “You stole the materials to convert the cellar?”
“Sure I did. There were enough construction supplies coming into Roarhaven to rebuild the town ten times over.”
“What was it all used for?”
“Never did find out. But for ages I thought every house had another house underneath it, because there were just too many people here, you know? Too many people passing through, and I couldn’t see how they’d all fit. That’s how I got the idea to convert the cellar.”
“There are tunnels connecting this building to the Sanctuary,” Skulduggery said. “There might be more. Buildings under buildings, as you said. Streets under streets.”
“Maybe,” Scapegrace said, and shrugged. “I went looking one day, though. Couldn’t find anything. Although that could have just been because I’m rubbish and nobody likes me for who I am.”
“I like you, Master,” Thrasher said.
“You don’t count,” said Scapegrace.
Skulduggery pressed onwards before the conversation derailed. “All of this was happening after the Torment arrived?”
“No, a lot of it was going on before I ever met him. I convinced him to stay here because, you know, I thought it’d make the other mages respect me if I had someone like the Torment as a friend. But he hated me. He talked to other people. Never me.”
“What other people? Who did he associate with?”
“I don’t know. Everyone. He had meetings. I used to call them secret meetings, but they probably weren’t secret. They were just secret from me. People always wanted to talk to him, but I don’t think he was interested, I think he just wanted to retire. But that didn’t stop them. I remember