ARC: The Corpse-Rat King Read Online Free Page A

torches.”
    “We are the–”
    “Yeah, yeah. You are the dead. That’s your reason for everything, isn’t it? That still doesn’t explain why I can see.”
    “You are our leader, Your Majesty. Our king. Whatever we can do, you can do. We are your subjects and servants. Of all the dead, you are the greatest.”
    “Yes, but I keep telling you. I’m not… dead?”
    “Of course, Your Majesty.”
    Marius scowled. Bad enough to be amongst the dead, worse to be patronised by them.
    “Look,” he said, rising from his seat before his tormentor could react. “I am not dead. I swear to you. I keep trying to tell you. You picked the wrong man. Hand on my…” He placed his hand against his heart, and paused, gaze slipping from the corpse’s face to stare at a point somewhere far beyond the walls. A smile spread across his face, and he looked back at the soldier in triumph.
    “Let me feel your chest.”
    “Your Majesty?”
    “Your chest.” Marius reached forward and placed his hand flat against the left side of the soldier’s torso. “Ha! Give me your hand.”
    The soldier complied. Marius laid it in the same spot. “There. You feel? Feel it? Nothing. No heartbeat. That’s because you’re dead!”
    “Of course. We are the–”
    “No, no, no. Here.” He placed the soldier’s hand above his own heart. “Feel that? Feel it?”
    “Your heart…”
    “Strong as a whale!”
    “Beating.”
    “Like the pounding of a thrupenny whore!”
    “That means you’re–”
    “Alive.”
“An imposter!” The soldier stepped back, and drew a battered sword. Marius became very aware of the bodies around him, all of whom were staring in his direction.
    “That’s not strictly true,” he said, backing away. Half a step and he fetched up against the edge of the throne. He toppled backwards, landing in an undignified heap on the seat. His robe swept up and across his face, and the too-large crown slipped down. By the time he untangled himself he was hemmed in by the mass of corpses, and the blood-rusted tip of the sword was pressed hard against the joint between his throat and shoulder. Marius swallowed, and the sword pushed further into his flesh.
    “Hang on,” he managed to croak. “I tried to tell you.”
    The soldier leaned into his sword. A trickle of warmth ran down the outside of Marius’ throat.
    “Told. You. Not dead,” he managed, before the pressure against his throat became too much, and he escaped into darkness.
     

 
    FOUR
     
    He would not have expected to wake, or to still be alive. Or to find his hands unbound, and a hole in the ceiling above his head, with the glint of daylight shining bright blue at the far end. The crowd of corpses standing above his supine body; rusted axes, sickles and swords in their hands – that was closer to what he had expected. Being forcibly hauled to his feet and dragged to the nearest wall – that was definitely what he expected. Having the crown of the late King of Scorby thrust into his hands, well, he wouldn’t have expected that if he’d been given three guesses.
     
    “Is there something going on?” he asked, trying his best to frame an innocent smile. For all the reaction he engendered, he may as well have kept his mouth closed. The corpses holding his arms simply pressed him harder against the coarse earth wall until he gasped with pain, ending any further attempt at conversation. Marius struggled, but soon gave up. The dead don’t tire as easily as an exhausted and beaten thief. Even if he could have freed himself, where would he have run? Up the chimney towards daylight? Marius tipped his head back. The hole taunted him from at least forty feet away. Maybe the dead need sunlight every now and again, he thought, then stifled a giggle. It was too close to hysteria.
    From somewhere in front of him came the rustle of leather. He delayed lowering his gaze, straining to feel the breeze of the upper world on his skin. After long seconds he closed his eyes and