Tired Of Death

Constructed of large black stone blocks, the outer wall of the city loomed oppressively over them. Along the top sentries could just be seen patrolling the perimeter. The entrance, which was large enough for several wagons to pass through at the same time, was guarded by several men at arms. No doubt more were behind the walls' hidden defences The gate itself was made of solid looking wood. To top it all off there was a sturdy metal portcullis, which was raised for now, but could no doubt be dropped down at a moments notice.

There was a steady stream of citizens leaving the city as evening drew in, but there were still others queuing to get inside. The guards were questioning these people, searching belongings and generally being more than usually intrusive.

The group glumly took all this in from their cover in the bushes, situated a little way off the main road.

"It looks like they're on alert," said Percy. "Oh well, it was an interesting idea. Never mind, let's go back. You can't say we didn't try." He turned about, as if to leave, but Dreth put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're not going to give up that easily," he said.

"All very well saying that, but look at the place," the zombie gestured. "It's sewn up tighter than Sprat's spleen. No doubt they're waiting for us."

"The undead's right," piped up the devil. "Give this madness up now, you can't get into that place."

"They do look fairly alert," agreed Cuthbert.

"There has to be way in," Emerald persisted. "I'm not leaving without Tybalt." She crossed her arms.

"I'll be the judge of that," said Dreth.

He turned back to look at the city again. It certainly didn't look like they would be able to sneak in over the wall. Perhaps a disguise of some sort? Tricky with half the party being undead, they didn't blend in so well. Maybe he would have to abandon the idea after all. He took a deep breath, for practice mainly, and scratched his head.

Unless there was another way…

~ * ~

Tiny Tom grunted as the carriage bounced and jolted over bumps in the road. His manacles jangled as he shuffled his thin legs about, trying to get comfortable in his corner.

"Shut yer noise!" Master Pordine said, whacking the slave boy about the head with his shoe. "I'm trying to take a kip 'ere."

"S..sorry Master," Tom whimpered.

"Self self self, that's yer bloody problem. 'ere I go, giving yer an 'ome, and what gratitude do I get? Nufin'! Tell yer what, get out an' sleep on the runnin' board." He jabbed at Tom with his stick. "Go on with yer, yer ungrateful wretch."

Sniffling to himself, Tom crawled out of the flap at the back of the wagon and hunkered down on the running board, trying to find a comfortable position on the thin ledge. If he fell off the master would say he'd run away again and hunt him down with his big hound, and then it would be more beatings.

The wagon rumbled slowly on towards Real. Tom snuffled again and cursed the chance that had caused them to break a wheel, and thus fall behind the others. If that hadn't of happened the master wouldn't be so angry.

He rubbed his nose and frowned. There was a noise from up front, followed by a dull thump, as if something had fallen onto the ground. The wagon slowed and finally stopped, to renewed complaints from Pordine.

Tiny Tom shifted himself out of the way, crawling under the wagon as his master, grumbling all the while, roused his fat body out of bed and stuck his head out of the back.

"What's goin' on up there?" he yelled.

There was no response. Looking forward through the dark, Tom thought he saw some movement. He slithered to one side, near the wheel, trying to keep his chains from clinking.

Old Pordine cursed to himself, and Tom saw his legs as he climbed down onto the road and started round the transport towards the front.

Then there was another set of legs, thin ones clad in dark material. They stopped in front of Pordine, who started to shout.

The shout was cut off, and Tom saw his masters' legs lift off the ground and dangle in the air. They wriggled about for a moment, and then spasmed and went rigid.

After a moment they were released, and Tom stifled a scream as the body of Pordine slumped to the floor, his pasty fat face looking straight ahead, staring at Tom with lifeless eyes. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

Shaking, Tom stuffed his fist into his mouth and drew his legs up tight about him, forcing himself to be quiet. If only they wouldn't look under the…

"Hello. Who are you?" A child's voice from next to his ear nearly made him jump out of his skin.

He turned to tell the kid to be quiet and stopped, mouth open. The child, barely as tall as the wheel he was resting against, was dressed in rags that made Tom's clothes look fine. The boy looked at him with mis-matched eyes, rotting yellow skin hanging off his face. As he took all this in, the youngster smiled, showing a mouth full of jagged brown and black teeth.

"I want to be your friend," it said.

Tom nodded frantically. "Good, good!" he whispered. "Just be quiet, yes?"

The rotten boy beamed his death grin for a moment more, but then it faded, and he looked sad. "But my daddy won't let me have living friends," he complained. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "I know!" The smile was back again. "I can kill you! Then you can be my friend. I'd like that."

"Oh god no!" Tom scrabbled backwards as the small creature advanced.

"Don't worry," it hissed. "It'll only hurt for a minute."

Tiny Tom screamed as the boy leaped at him, biting deep into his neck. Sharp pain wracked his body, and he tried to pry the thing free, but his arms didn't want to respond properly.

He managed to finally bring his hand up to his neck, where he felt something wet. Flailing around frantically, his body crying out for oxygen, he tried desperately to get air into his lungs.

The little zombie finally released its bite, but it was too late. As the light faded he could hear the small creature singing to itself.

"A friend for me… a friend for me…a dead friend for me," it sang.

~ * ~

"What do we have then?" asked Dreth, examining the horses, who stood terrified at his presence. The little devil jumping around on their backs and giggling didn't help their piece of mind either.

"Just the driver and that fat fellow," said Cuthbert, chewing on a finger*.

"They're part of some kind of theatre group," said Emerald, walking up to join them.

"Theatre group eh?" said Cuthbert. "I've always wanted to be on the stage." He struck a pose. "Is this the madness of my discontent? To see, or not see, that is the victim…"

His monologue was interrupted by Sprat, who came trotting up, dragging something behind him. "Daddy, daddy!" the little zombie said excitedly. "I made a new friend!" He gestured at the body of a skinny youth lying on the ground next to him.

"Good boy!" said Cuthbert. "Your first real kill!" He bent down and picked his son up, hugging him. "Daddy's proud of you! Who's a murderous little undead then? What a good zombie! Where's Percy, we must tell him the news."

"Here I am!" came the reply. "I found a box of stuff. Look at me! I'm a beautiful maiden." The zombie pranced around in a red ball gown and a curly blond wig.

"You people are sick, you know that?" said the little devil, shaking his head. "And that's coming from me."

Dreth rolled his eyes. "It's a day to remember, that's for sure," he said dryly. "Now, if we can just get this show on the road, no pun intended, then maybe we can head for Real and recover our errant colleagues."

"This scheme is never going to work," said the devil, from on top of a horses head. "You've forgotten me, if nothing else."

Dreth turned to his curse. "Oh no I haven't, but I figured a big city like Real is going to have a couple of powerful dark wizards. If they sense a devil on the loose, even a little irritating one like you, they aren't just going to let you wander around free now, are they? If you show your head, they'll be down on you like a ton of holy water. So go on, prance around why don't you, you'd be doing me a favour really."

The devil looked at his for a moment, a scowl on his face. "You've a nasty turn of mind for an evil guardian, you know that?" it said eventually.

Dreth smiled. "Thank-you," he said, and climbed up into the drivers' seat.

"That wasn't a compliment!" shouted the devil. Dreth ignored him, and the hell spawn had to be content with pulling one of the horses' ears.

"Mount up," Dreth shouted. "We're going on tour!"

*One of the drivers'.