something nice in bed with you.”
“Something nice?” Dor asked, bemused. “You mean you’re giving me a pillow?”
This time it was Dor she kicked, as the whole cemetery guffawed evilly. “
Me,
you oaf! Stop teasing me; I know you aren’t
that
stupid. I can be very soft and warm when I try.”
“Ooooo!” the crypt said in a naughty-naughty voice. “Not many of that kind
here
!”
“But we haven’t sat the date!” Dor protested.
“That’s why we’re eloping. We’ll be married tonight, before anyone knows. So there won’t be any foolishness. The job will be done.”
“But—”
She turned and kissed him emphatically. “You have an objection?”
Dor, obviously daunted by the kiss, was silent.
“Marvelous, just marvelous, the way she manages him,” Ichabod murmured beside Imbri.
The couple arrived at the crypt. “Zombie justice, where are you?” Irene called.
The officiating zombie appeared, holding his book. Also, slowly, the rest of them phased into dim view, under the continued glow of the moon.
“We’re going to be married by a zombie?” Dor demanded weakly. “Won’t the union fall apart?”
“Ha. Ha. I have laughed.” She shook her head, so that her green hair flounced darkly in the limited light. “It’s the only person I could get without alerting Mother,” Irene explained. There was a choked snort of mirth from the depths of the audience. Irene looked around and spied the crowd. “Well, all you zombies didn’t have to rip yourselves from your graves,” she said in a spooks-will-be-spooks manner. “But I suppose some witnesses are in order.”
“I didn’t know there were this many zombies buried here,” Dor said.
“There aren’t, you poor stiff,” the crypt said. “These are—”
“Quiet!” the Queen Zombie snapped.
Now Irene was suspicious. “That voice is familiar.”
“Of course it is, you luscious dummy!” the crypt said. Then a black cloud roiled out of nowhere and emitted a roll of thunder that drowned out whatever other information the crypt disgorged.
“There’s something very funny about this,” Dor said, squinting at the loud cloud.
Irene reverted to first principles. “What’s funny about zombies? They love grim occasions. Let’s get on with it”
The zombie magistrate opened his book. A page fell out the volume was as decrepit as the zombie.
“Oh, how I hate to see a book mistreated,” Ichabod breathed beside Imbri.
“Wait a moment,” Dor protested. “You tricked me out here, Irene. I didn’t agree to get married tonight”
“Oh? Well, I intend to marry someone! Should it be one of these zombies?”
“Now that’s a bluff I can call,” Dor said.
Irene stood in silent but almost tangible grief. Her shoulders shook. Tears plopped into the sod at her feet. Dor, aided by a touch of the Queen’s illusion, assumed a form somewhat like the hinder part of a giant’s boot: a firstclass heel “Ah, well—” he mumbled inadequately.
Irene flung her arms about him and planted another kiss that made the audience murmur with envy. Even the zombies seemed moved. When she was through, Dor stood as if numbed, as well he might.
“Classic!” Ichabod whispered. “That girl has absolutely mastered the art!”
The zombie magistrate mumbled something unintelligible. He had no tongue, and he was reading from the pageless book, with empty eyeball sockets.
“I do,” Irene said firmly.
The zombie mumbled something else as his nose fell onto the book.
“He does,” Irene said, nudging Dor.
The zombie made a final effort, causing several loose teeth to dribble out of his mouth.
“I’ve got it,” Irene said. She produced a ring with an enormous stone that glowed in the moonlight so strongly it seemed to illuminate the graveyard. “Put it on me, Dor. No, not that finger, idiot.
This
one.”
Dor fumbled the moonstone onto the designated finger. “We’re married now,” Irene said. “Now you can kiss me.”
Dor did so,
“Something nice?” Dor asked, bemused. “You mean you’re giving me a pillow?”
This time it was Dor she kicked, as the whole cemetery guffawed evilly. “
Me,
you oaf! Stop teasing me; I know you aren’t
that
stupid. I can be very soft and warm when I try.”
“Ooooo!” the crypt said in a naughty-naughty voice. “Not many of that kind
here
!”
“But we haven’t sat the date!” Dor protested.
“That’s why we’re eloping. We’ll be married tonight, before anyone knows. So there won’t be any foolishness. The job will be done.”
“But—”
She turned and kissed him emphatically. “You have an objection?”
Dor, obviously daunted by the kiss, was silent.
“Marvelous, just marvelous, the way she manages him,” Ichabod murmured beside Imbri.
The couple arrived at the crypt. “Zombie justice, where are you?” Irene called.
The officiating zombie appeared, holding his book. Also, slowly, the rest of them phased into dim view, under the continued glow of the moon.
“We’re going to be married by a zombie?” Dor demanded weakly. “Won’t the union fall apart?”
“Ha. Ha. I have laughed.” She shook her head, so that her green hair flounced darkly in the limited light. “It’s the only person I could get without alerting Mother,” Irene explained. There was a choked snort of mirth from the depths of the audience. Irene looked around and spied the crowd. “Well, all you zombies didn’t have to rip yourselves from your graves,” she said in a spooks-will-be-spooks manner. “But I suppose some witnesses are in order.”
“I didn’t know there were this many zombies buried here,” Dor said.
“There aren’t, you poor stiff,” the crypt said. “These are—”
“Quiet!” the Queen Zombie snapped.
Now Irene was suspicious. “That voice is familiar.”
“Of course it is, you luscious dummy!” the crypt said. Then a black cloud roiled out of nowhere and emitted a roll of thunder that drowned out whatever other information the crypt disgorged.
“There’s something very funny about this,” Dor said, squinting at the loud cloud.
Irene reverted to first principles. “What’s funny about zombies? They love grim occasions. Let’s get on with it”
The zombie magistrate opened his book. A page fell out the volume was as decrepit as the zombie.
“Oh, how I hate to see a book mistreated,” Ichabod breathed beside Imbri.
“Wait a moment,” Dor protested. “You tricked me out here, Irene. I didn’t agree to get married tonight”
“Oh? Well, I intend to marry someone! Should it be one of these zombies?”
“Now that’s a bluff I can call,” Dor said.
Irene stood in silent but almost tangible grief. Her shoulders shook. Tears plopped into the sod at her feet. Dor, aided by a touch of the Queen’s illusion, assumed a form somewhat like the hinder part of a giant’s boot: a firstclass heel “Ah, well—” he mumbled inadequately.
Irene flung her arms about him and planted another kiss that made the audience murmur with envy. Even the zombies seemed moved. When she was through, Dor stood as if numbed, as well he might.
“Classic!” Ichabod whispered. “That girl has absolutely mastered the art!”
The zombie magistrate mumbled something unintelligible. He had no tongue, and he was reading from the pageless book, with empty eyeball sockets.
“I do,” Irene said firmly.
The zombie mumbled something else as his nose fell onto the book.
“He does,” Irene said, nudging Dor.
The zombie made a final effort, causing several loose teeth to dribble out of his mouth.
“I’ve got it,” Irene said. She produced a ring with an enormous stone that glowed in the moonlight so strongly it seemed to illuminate the graveyard. “Put it on me, Dor. No, not that finger, idiot.
This
one.”
Dor fumbled the moonstone onto the designated finger. “We’re married now,” Irene said. “Now you can kiss me.”
Dor did so,
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