Not Dead Yet: A British Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1-3, page 62
It was an iron cage that enclosed the head entirely, held to by a screw at the back. It had the large pointed ears of a bat, and long horns like the devil, with tiny holes for the eyes and nose. A strut projected up from behind, from which was suspended a small bell for added humiliation. Finally, the mouthpiece possessed an iron bit that was inserted into the bearer’s mouth and used to hold down the tongue. Generally, the scold’s bridle was considered a woman’s punishment, best used to give a poor husband a rest every once in a while. His jacket and breeches were a damp mess and then I saw why that was, as a long strand of bubbly dribble oozed down upon him.
After adjusting, finally, Churchill dashed over, laid a hand upon his shoulder and growled at the Tyburns. “What have you done to this man? Unlock this…this thing at once, you scoundrels.”
They jumped off the platform and ran around to the back before disappearing inside from where Major Cartwright had still not emerged, though his feet were just visible, poking out as they were. Baird and Metcalfe were beside the newcomer now so that only myself and Willie were apart. The screws returned with the key, unlocked the manacles, shackles and then the cage from the front, releasing on a hinge the bit from atop his tongue to a sudden flow of transparent sludge that came spilling out to further drench his breeches. The Tyburn unlocked the back and then the man reached up and grasped the cage by the horns before slowly pulling the contraption from his head.
The first reaction was the gasp that came from Willie, “no.”
It was the hair that dominated, for it was long, black and wild and might have been bushy if not for the fact it was damp and stuck down against his scalp, likewise the shaggy whiskers against his face. His teeth were in good nick, apart from the one at the front that was missing, and his nose had also suffered from a recent enforced realignment. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties and had the nigger tan of long service on the Indian subcontinent, along with the usual withered and leather-like flesh of a man who’d survived the cholera, rabies, food and locals to make it home from that far off place. But it was the eyes that did it most and held that certain something indescribable, some potent combination of intellect, cunning and pent up hatred for a world that over time had given him a certain look. Certainly, both eyes had been blackened, doubtless more gifts from his jailers, but it wasn’t that, however, but something else about them, something I hadn’t the words to articulate, and they made me feel terribly uneasy.
“Gentlemen,” the Duke of Marlborough began, gesturing with a paw, “may I introduce the final member to our group,” he paused for effect, or it might have been my imagination, “I’d like to welcome Major Bain Savage.” As though any introduction were necessary.
The most noticeable reaction was the silence, which came from some combination of shock and disaffection and all I could do was wonder how Churchill had done it, how he’d managed to secure the release of the most hated man in the nation, all whilst keeping the job secret. Truly, how had he done it? I mean, the villain was bound for a stretched neck at the end of Calcraft’s rope. Who had he bribed? Because if what I was seeing with my own eyes was real, if I weren’t being deceived somehow, then this had the potential to change things, and possibly not for the better, and all I could do was question whether the duke was a madman or a genius. Because this was some risk he was taking.
Baird backed away whilst Willie was gaping with glassy eyes. Even the American knew who he was, judging from the hostile stares, which was a statement because a moment before Savage’s arrival Metcalfe had asked for my name, and I was one of the most loved and famous men in all of what remained of England.
Kinmont Willie was the first to break the agonising tension, directing his words at his lordship. “Major, you say? This creature ain’t a major no more, my lord, for last I heard all rank was stripped when he absconded with a half-battalion of Company troops and, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a promotion still on offer for any man who either kills or captures him.” He unslung the rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at the newcomer, who did not so much as flinch. “I always quite fancied myself a general.”
“Enough of that,” Marlborough began, though his next words were drowned out by Baird, Metcalfe and Willie as the four of them commenced bickering, all the while Savage remained unmoved, saying nothing and paying no heed to any of it. And then he averted his dark eyes to fix on me and in my discomfort I found myself unable to look away. In that instant, we shared a moment, and we might have been the only two people who existed in all the world and there were no zombies, Britannia was not in peril, nothing, just two men who’d been drawn together from opposite sides of the world to meet at this point in time, to maybe change history. Perhaps I was thinking too much into it, but that was what those two rotten eyes did. Finally, I was able to pull my gaze away to find solace in the grass beside his feet.
Savage then spat a stream into that grass and merely gestured to his rags, as if in apology, and that simple action, no words, but that mere gesture alone was enough to silence everyone. Finally, he spoke. “Gentlemen, please don’t allow my present constitution to weigh upon your judgement of me.” His voice came out odd, even to him, and he exercised his jaw by opening wide and grinding his mandible from left to right, taking his time doing so and all without the fear of being interrupted. His eyes found Kinmont. “Distinguished yourself in Shahjahanpur, amongst other places, am I not correct?”
Willie physically jerked at that and for a moment I wondered if he was flattered to be recognised by such a man. Admittedly, it was quite a compliment, sort of.
The infamous man continued before Willie could answer, “I remember you, of course, Major…”
“That’s Colonel now, you swine!”
“My apologies, Colonel … made a fine name for yourself and, if those medals upon your jacket are anything to go by, then I see you’ve been suitably decorated also. It is to my eternal regret that my own heroic deeds went unrecognised.” But for the gruffness of his voice, Savage sounded uncannily like Marlborough, save again for the effs that escaped his mouth with a whistle due to his missing tooth, and the excess dribble that was still spilling from the same. But one can learn much from a man’s accent and there was no doubting Savage was well bred and had come from money.
“Your own heroic deeds?” Willie asked faintly with a dopey wide-eyed expression.
“Two majors at the same place during the same conflict,” Savage began while nary a one of us could much flinch, “they both risk their lives and carry out near identical acts of valour. Which of the two gets recognised, Colonel? Which of the two receives the accolades, fame and promotion?” When nobody answered the conundrum, Savage continued matter of fact. “The answer, Colonel, the man who receives the recognition, accolades, fame and promotion, is the man whose acts of valour and heroism happen to be witnessed by a princess, a general and thousands of soldiers, whereas the man who conducts his heroism alone is witnessed by none other than himself and such a man receives nothing.” He was still watching Willie. “Witnessed by none … other than the men he kills, of course.”
Willie still didn’t move, indeed, it was as though we’d all stopped breathing.
Savage wiped some drool from his beard and spat again into the grass. “Tell me, Colonel, did you rut her?”
That did it and in a flash, Willie was on ‘im, and I took a large and deft lunge backwards as I left it for everyone else to separate them. Willie struck his antagoniser on the jaw and was just about to throw another when Metcalfe grabbed his fist and Baird pushed himself bodily between them. Churchill was flapping about useless and shouting at them not to ruin his beautiful and well-planned arrangements, by Jove, or we’ll all be suffering and then Savage stepped away without having made any moves in anger and there was no mistaking the grin and all I could do was contemplate how the first cracks in this fledgeling group had already appeared - and we were still on the bloody lawn at Blenheim.
“You fiend,” Willie shook himself off, red and flared with his hair and medals all messed up, “I lost a bloody good friend in the Mutiny because of this man.” He patted himself down and readjusted the bag at the back of his head as a copious quantity of white powder snowed down to contrast most vividly against his redjacket. “My lord,” he turned to Churchill now, “I’m sorry but I fear I must refuse to serve you with these other fine men alongside this creature. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’m out, I wish you all success in your endeavours.”
Marlborough stamped his boot and then marched up to Willie before taking him by the arm and stomping into a small clearing, irate man in tow. “Duty … Britannia … contract … I’ll have you, by Jove … fourth great-grandfather … new ways … owe him so much … money … goaded … you bloody fool … no more.” After a few minutes they came back and Willie was calm again.
He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Gentlemen, I apologise for my earlier outburst, it was most uncharacteristic of me … certain things are still raw, you understand,” he jerked his chin and breathed, “but … I’ve decided to remain a part of this group because unlike some, I honour my duty,” and because you’ve been offered more money, you swine, “I will stay and fight alongside you fine men and Mister Savage too, for Britannia, of course, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the company of certain members. Might I suggest keeping your distance, Mister Savage?”
“That’s Major Savage,” he returned.
“Mister Savage.”
Mister or Major, it made little difference to I, and he was just about to press his name once more when the bells from the small chapel started to chime, it was a Sunday morning, after all.
“Talk about saved by the bloody bell.” Marlborough declared whilst making a sweeping motion with his arms directed at us all and one by one they began plodding off in the direction of the bells, Savage and Willie keeping a careful distance so that after a minute the only two people left on the lawn were myself and Major Baird. Churchill made one vexed glance over a shoulder but ultimately left us be.
“I knew it, I just knew it.” Baird was beyond smiling and strode closer as he wagged a finger in my face. “Explains it all, Captain. I bloody well knew it.”
My head jerked back. “What the devil are you about, sir?”
“Well you ain’t a Jew … can recognise those squinty souled leeches any day of the week … not that you’ll find many in the army, mind, which can only mean you’re one of us.” He clapped me on the back and wagged his finger again. “I knew it.”
“Will you make yourself clear, man.”
He slapped his thigh and grinned. “Thought I saw you eyeing the steel back when I first clocked you, here…” and at that, the lunatic absolutely unsheathed the grotesque thing, the scraping of steel on scabbard conveniently masking my girly shriek. “Ain’t she a peach?” He thrust it in my hand and I had no choice other than to accept it. “The story goes my ancestor demanded the smith overlap the molten steel twice as many times over any other sword he’d ever made, which is why it’s so heavy, that he tempered it thrice as much, which is why it’s so strong, and that he permit four times as long for it to anneal so as to allow the entire length to be engraved.” He clapped me again on the shoulder. “I knew it.” He was so enraptured, for some reason, that he seemed not to notice that I required both hands to wield it, and even then it weighed heavy like a Jew’s strongbox. “The rune-stone set into the pommel’s dedicated to my fifth great-grandfather … huh? What do you think about that? Don’t tell his lordship, I’m not sure how he’d handle knowing some of us have an even greater pedigree. I bloody well knew it, and I wouldn’t let just anyone handle this, you know. Here…” it was covered in all kinds of symbols and emblems as well as runic letters but what he now pointed at were the engravings in standard English that shone down one side, “a list of Wolf Bite’s campaigns.”
There were many, too many to bother reading, but some titles that stood out were the War of the Spanish Succession, the Jacobite Uprising, War of the American Independence, the Peninsular War, and more recently the First and Second Opium Wars and of course, the Crimean War where Baird had so nearly perished. He turned it over and pointed to the names, all seven of them, his ancestors, whose dates of death seemed to align curiously identical to some of the corresponding wars.
“For seven generations the warriors of my family have all died clutching that very hilt you’re holding now,” he stated so jovially and the chill shot down my spine, “they each went to the feasting halls of Valhalla and with Thor’s good grace, I too shall follow them.”
I slowly turned to stare at this individual. “Wait a moment, you’re a Pagan?”
He winked mischievously. “The old ways are still the best, Captain, and I see it takes one to know one.”
Now, it was truly saying something about the depths of my predicament that compared to the alternatives, I still felt safer around a Pagan maniac, whose one goal in life was to die in battle grasping his sword that he may pass to the feasting halls of Valhalla, to be welcomed by his warrior ancestors. Still, it was a far more sensical religion than Christianity, and pretty much most of the others, but if Baird, for whatever reason, wanted to believe I was just like him, by my mere apathy toward attending church of a Sunday and of the prevailing religion of our time, well then, who was I to stand in his way? It wouldn’t hurt to have an ally in this daft escapade, and a hardened psychotic one at that, especially considering some of the questionable company I was being forced to keep.
Bloody splendid sword though.
“But please, Captain, it’s our little secret.” He winked again. “You can’t go telling his lordship, or any of the others, because he’s a little bible thumper, despite his gambling and whoring, and is liable to remove me from the group … not you, of course, you’re far too valuable, but me?” He shook his head sadly. “I’m but a mere veteran of the Chink wars and between you, me and the birds, Captain, I fancy I need the money to pay off the debts my good wife was nice enough to run up whilst I was away cleaving skulls … may Eir bless her sweet soul.” He placed an arm around my shoulder, brother to brother. “If there’s one important lesson I can teach you in life, Captain, it sure ain’t how to split a nigger’s skull, no, it ain’t how to inspire a half-battalion of green infantry to charge straight for a Russian fort, no sir … the one most important thing I can teach you is that under no circumstances should you ever, ever, ever allow your wife access to the purse strings.”
I liked Major Baird at once.
We spent the next hour on the lawn playing croquet, a game I quite easily took to and I found myself dominating Baird, whose aim was more than a little squint.
“I say, Captain, but you’re an old hand at this.”
“Skills transferred from cricket, is what it is.”
“Ah, was always more of a rugger man, myself, maide-leisg at a pinch.” Whatever that was.
When the small congregation left the chapel, only two of the group began pottering in our direction, the distinctive white hat of Metcalfe and the even more distinguishing facial shadow and tightly tied back hair of Willie. Churchill and Savage were lingering at the back of a larger group walking towards the palace proper. I assumed the disrupter was about to be given fresh clads, boots and a briefing, though from what I could see over the distance, it was Savage giving the lecture to his lordship.
It was Willie’s rasping voice from close quarter that wrenched my focus onto him. “That was some sermon you missed there, chaps, I’ll tell you, and the creature has about as much respect for our Lord as you’d expect.”
Baird glanced away, perhaps sensibly not wishing to get involved in the drama of other men, I, however, had no such qualms and dutifully asked the question Willie was expecting.
“What did he do?”
“Huh? Oh, the constant haranguing of the boss, is what, bickering, the whole time, and in the presence of our Lord … shameful things,” Willie, by my estimation, would have been in his late thirties, perhaps of similar age to Savage, which would make him one of the youngest colonels in the army. He glanced over toward the immaculate palace where the small gathering was about to enter, “and would you look, he’s still at it even now, he won’t let it go. I tell you, it ain’t enough that he ruined a riveting sermon. The man’s beyond obsessed.” The colonel left it at that, which had me even more curious. “Oh, Strappy, that reminds me, his lordship wants you in the house, you have to sign your life away, something about keeping mum for the rest of your existence about everything you’ve seen and heard and all you’re about to see and hear while we’re together.”
I’d gladly sign anything he wanted, just as long as we could get away quick, and so I strode across the lawn toward the big house and after a bit of searching found the 7th Duke of Marlborough mid-conversation with Savage in an anteroom.
“It looks so real,” the unkempt man hissed, almost in reverence, “what is it?”
Churchill tugged on his sleeve whilst gesturing through to the other side but his companion was having none of it. “That? Oh, just one of those new calotype things, at least that’s what I think it’s called, very state of the art. Come along now Bain.”
“It’s her, ain’t it, yes, of course it is.” He pulled his arm away and turned even more bodily towards whatever it was on the wall. “She’d be nineteen years now, a woman proper,” he sounded sad, “the very Miss Bentinck. Don’t think for one minute I don’t still dream of her.”
“Well she ain’t yours no more and I don’t know how I can say it any more plainly than I already have,” Churchill said, curtly.
I was careful to hang back in the gloom of the doorway, they were in the middle of the large room and this calotype thing was in the centre, given pride of place above the hearth as the high ceiling amplified the exchange.
