The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum (56 page)

"And what is you,
errand-boy?" he growls. "A looky-likey act?"

"Yes, General,"
says Crispin, smoothly. "A look-alike act."

"Who plays the
piano," I squeak, before I can stop myself.

Fortunately, the General
has priorities other than insolence.

"Good," he
says. "I believe I has an opening for an ivory tickler."

And he turns away,
heading back for his cabin.

"Yes," Corporal
Punishment remarks, as the rest of us all breathe freely again. He
strokes the long carved bone inserted through his nose thoughtfully.
"I can see his opening from here."

CHAPTER
SIXTY-NINE
:

CHYME BANDITS

The cello-toting ex-nun,
Summer Jaundice, is already strolling over to the dormitories on the
far side of the square.

"
Hello,"
she says to the
Playbunny
,
Miss 'Cynthia' December. She sticks out a pale hand, attached limply
to a very bony wrist. "I'm Summer."

The calendar girl squints
down through her cigarette smoke.

"
Wearing
a lot of clothes for summer," she remarks. "Where you from,
the Himalayas? I bet you kick ass on the catwalks there."

"
What's
the plan?" Ace asks, while Carvery merely watches the two women
talking, as if wondering if they'd both fit into the same pre-dug
hole in the ground.

"
We
had better start acting like professional thespians," Crispin
advises quietly. "The General likes to hear music while
performing his morning ablutions. I will practise some melodies on
the piano, and you two – I don't know, look like you are
warming-up and stretching… Homer – well, of course, we
don't need to worry about him or her…"

Homer is already twirling
artfully around the supports of the long porch spanning the length of
the dormitory building, flapping his striped woolly scarf like the
feather boa from earlier.

"…
Mr.
Lukan, do you have any skills? Any juggling or balancing tricks
besides the waterskiing which could be put to good use?"

"
No,
sorry." Luke sighs. "I can sing a bit, I guess…
ahem… '
When I fall
in love, it will be forever
…'"

Our jaws drop.

"
Holy
cow, dude," says Ace. "You sound like Old King Cole."

"
Nat,"
says Carvery, glancing my way as I stare at him in turn, and he slaps
me sharply on the forehead. "There – gnat. Wouldn't want
your head swelling any bigger."

"
Oh."
I dazedly glimpse the squashed bug on the palm of his hand, before he
wipes it on his trousers. "Cheers."

"
I
was aiming more for Louis Armstrong…" Luke grumbles
vaguely. "Do you think he'll fall for it?"

"
I
don't think you will have any problem fooling him, Mr. Lukan,"
Crispin assures him. "That leaves Corporal Punishment and Miss
Bellummm
,
who has already been mistaken for medical staff…"

"
Nearly
a qualified Forensic
Anthropologist, you know," I say, a little hurt.

"
I
think you two will be the safest to explore the camp and see if any
intelligence on the river-god Atum is being kept here," Crispin
continues. "Corporal Punishment has the relevant knowledge, and
Sarah
Bellummm
has the clockwork hand to protect
her…"

"
Well,
I…" I say, bashfully, not entirely sure it's picked me
for that reason at all – but Crispin is decided on the plan.

"
We
will rendezvous backstage," he announces, pointing towards the
tall building swathed in impressive drapes. "If you hear the
music stop, or anything else alarms you, take the northernmost path
into the hills, beyond the main theatre. Do not wait for anyone. Is
that clear?"

We all nod.

"
Excellent."
Crispin straightens up, and turns towards the dormitories. "Would
anyone care to join me for a little light rehearsal in the
piano-room…?"

Ace, Carvery and Luke
follow him into the building.

Ace and Carvery
re-emerge, only briefly, to dump a dead body on the porch. Possibly
of the previous pianist.

Some notes strike up.
Homer carries on dancing regardless.

"
Honey,"
Miss December says to him, as he pirouettes past her. "You're
really working that woolly scarf."

"
This
way, Miss Bellum!" Corporal Punishment urges. "I have long
awaited the opportunity to investigate this cult!"

I follow as he leads the
way around to the back of the building housing General Winslow's
cabin, checking doors and windows.

The subject of cults has
been touched upon at University, certainly – from a Forensics
viewpoint, usually regarding the best way to preserve the crime scene
and identify all of the bodies…

I catch myself sighing
again, thinking of Mr. Wheelie-Bin back at the Body Farm. If only I'd
said 'No' to my housemate yesterday when she'd asked me to go to the
interview in her place. I could be sitting under that silver birch
tree now, doing my own homework, with a thermos of Mochaccino and a
Rich Tea biscuit, catching up on one of our comfortable
heart-to-hearts.

Such a good listener…
and of course, is
never
jealous when I talk about waiting
around for Ace Bumgang outside the breaker's yard with a Chinese Meat
Feast pizza…

And then I give a little
squeak of pain.

The clockwork hand
pinched
me!

It's as if it knows
exactly what I'm thinking!

"
I
believe many of the General's recruits are buried here, Miss Bellum!"
says Corporal Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here Punishment.

"
What
makes you say that?" I ask.

"
All
the burial mounds, Miss Bellum!"

I look to where he
points.

The ground out back of
the buildings is a giant molehill paradise. Some have little
makeshift crosses or stones arranged on them. Here and there, an Army
toecap sticks out, or a skeletal extremity.

Some are even decorated
with the dead stems of floral tributes (the flowers, I assume, having
been eaten by monkeys long ago), and the occasional stage prop, such
as a moth-eaten top hat and cane…

The Corporal cups his
hands to a grimy window.

"
It
looks like a store-room, Miss Bellum!" he hisses. "What do
you think?"

I try to clean the greasy
glass with my sleeve, before peering in.

"
Maybe
theatre props?" I suggest, prompted by our ghoulish backdrop.
"Look, I'm sure that is a suit of armour in the corner."

"
We
will investigate!"

He produces another
carved bone from somewhere in his uniform, and uses it to pick the
lock on the door. As quietly as possible, we slip inside.

"
It
does look like props…" I remark. "Look, a treasure
chest – some maps – and it
is
a suit of armour…"

Corporal Punishment picks
up one of the scrolls and unfurls it. After a second, he produces an
eyeglass and screws it into his eye socket for closer perusal.

"
These
are not props for the theatre, Miss Bellum," he says, grimly.
"These are genuine. They are the spoils of war."

"
What?"
I gasp.

I look around the room.
All this treasure – and even edged weapons, dating back to
Medieval times…

"
The
General has been keeping the property of his unwitting recruits, it
appears," says the Corporal. "I see a Morningstar from the
Elevensies Lounge in the corner there…"

"
Oh,"
I look, but I don't see the newspaper. "Are they Communists in
the Elevensies Lounge?"

"
No,
Miss Bellum," says Corporal Punishment patiently. "Besides
the point, but – the spiked iron ball and chain attached to a
club. A Morningstar. A cultural weapon of the Elevensies Lounge."

"
Ah."
I try not to look too long at the bloodstains, and the remains of
desiccated brain matter. "Crispin did tell me they are very
cultured there."

"
Extremely,
Miss Bellum."

The Corporal continues
poking around, looking for more academic material. Idly, I go to
examine the suit of armour. It has some rather nice engravings and
embellishments.

"
It
must have belonged to someone quite important," I remark. "A
pity, there are some parts missing. It only has one arm, and no
stopcock."

"
A
suit of armour with plumbing, Miss Bellum?" The Corporal sounds
impressed. "That is technology unknown to me, I must admit."

I peer into the empty
shoulder-socket.

"
How
very curious…" I muse. "It seems to be equipped for
attachments – on the inside…"

"
Let
me see, Miss Bellum!" Corporal Punishment is suddenly behind me
and breathing right down my neck, giving me an unexpected thrill, and
I step away obediently.

Goodness… all of
the little hairs on my nape are standing upright…

"
This
is bad, Miss Bellum," he announces.

He's not kidding. I don't
think there is room in my diary for any more male fantasies.

"
General
Winslow might not know what he has here, or he could be holding it to
ransom," the Corporal mutters, half to himself. Gosh, he is
very
attractive when he is thinking
aloud… "You know the story of the mad man, he runs around
like a headless chicken shouting
Wolf!
Wolf!
All day every day…
until a wolf shows up, but nobody listens… it is also true of
the cult-leaders, they preach much nonsense, but sometimes in the
nonsense is an invisible truth…"

"
Is
this something to do with Atum?" I ask, wondering how a huge
carved bone through the nasal septum would affect potential intimacy.

I will have to Google
that, when I get home…

"
It
is somewhat relevant, yes," says the Corporal. "Like I was
saying, to those who would not bother to wait for prayers to be
answered. I hope the General does not know what it is – unless
he has the rest of it as well – because then the world is in
very great danger!"

"
Ohhh…"
I look it up and down, under its patina of dust. "Could we steal
it from him?"

The Corporal's pearly
white eyes focus and re-focus, as his great academic mind grapples
with the suggested solution.

"
Um,"
he ponders. "Well, er, that would certainly… yes…
Yes! Find something to wrap it in! And quietly!"

We emerge again into the
quad nonchalantly, the Corporal's stride a little stiff, while I'm
now feeling decidedly reinforced around the chest and corset regions.
The rest of the parts are rolled up in a small ornamental rug, which
despite much whistling and coaxing seems to be of the Lesser
Wiping-Footed variety, not the Great Flying Carpet sort.

And I swear the clockwork
hand is getting impatient. It gave me at least one Chinese burn and
pinched me several more times while we were packing up the suit of
armour…

But I'm quickly
distracted by the sound of the piano accompanying Luke's impressive
tenor, and – is that the
cello
playing along?

I can feel my ears
burning already, as the thought of Crispin seated at the piano with
another woman invades my mind…