Not only are we all in the same boat, but we are all seasick. -- G. K. Chesterton, What's Wrong With the World
In hindsight it's always easy to see the flaws in a plan. No matter how obvious an oversight, it's rarely seen until after it inconveniences everyone. Abi and Irímé had made sure the graveyard was empty before they began digging. Alas, they'd forgotten that people outside the graveyard could see in.
They turned and stared with matching expressions of horror in the direction of the voice. A stranger stared back at them with equal horror mingled with outrage. He stood barely three yards away from them, on the other side of the fence dividing the graveyard from what looked like an open field. There could be no doubt he'd seen everything.
Abi looked around wildly. There was the open grave. The shovels. The mounds of earth. Most damning of all, the corpse was still frozen in place, looking like a dressmaker's dummy someone had put in funeral clothes for a prank.
She took a deep breath and tried to reassure herself. Perhaps the stranger had only just arrived. Maybe he hadn't seen the corpse climb out of the grave by itself.
The man's next action showed how futile that hope was. He glared directly at the corpse, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a grim line. He raised his hand. A rush of magic shot past Abi, close enough for it to make her own magic lash out in defense, and struck the corpse. It shuddered and slumped forward like a puppet whose strings had slackened.
From the brief contact she had with it Abi could tell the man's magic wasn't a sort she was familiar with. Under other circumstances she would have been interested in learning what sort it was and where he had learnt it. But even though she didn't know what it was, she could tell what it was meant to do from her magic's reaction.
It was an exorcism spell.
The corpse straightened up again and went back to imitating a statue. Well, that confirmed that exorcisms were useless against Abi's creations. That information might be helpful in the future.
Perhaps Irímé also realised what the spell was meant to do. Perhaps he simply thought it was time to take matters into his own hands. Whatever his reasoning, he decided now was the perfect time to try mind control. Why in the name of all that was holy did he think that was a good idea? Abi hadn't a clue. She suspected he hadn't, either.
If there was one sort of magic that was almost impossible to master, it was anything to do with manipulating another person's mind. To start with you needed a natural talent for telepathy -- a far greater talent than the simple ability to communicate mentally with someone else. You had to be able to read a complete stranger's mind with perfect accuracy. And when you began to manipulate their mind, you needed a clear picture of what you wanted them to believe and the determination to force them to believe it.
Irímé had none of that. Or if he had, he was the world's best actor and had managed to conceal it from everyone for centuries.
Undaunted by such petty things as common sense or capability, he still tried it.
"Move along," he shouted at the man, backing his words up with as much magic as he could force into them. Unfortunately it was more or less directionless magic that fizzled out without ever reaching its target. "This is perfectly normal. Nothing to see here."
Abi face-palmed. There were times when she simply had to face facts. In this case the facts were simple. Her fiancé was an idiot. And no one liked someone trying to meddle with their mind. Whether or not the attempt was successful never mattered. The fact it was made in the first place was enough to send the most mild-mannered of people on the warpath.
Sure enough, the man's tone suggested he was on the verge of committing murder. "Why you little--"
It was time to intervene.
"Both of you be quiet!" Abi shouted. She channelled no magic into her words, but she did imitate her foster mother's most commanding tone. Empress Hatsuayazora usually dedicated her time to arranging social events, patronages, visiting charities, and attempting to ensure the royal family didn't make fools of themselves. She rarely felt the need to personally intercede in court business. But when she did, even the most loud-mouthed officials fell silent. And when she was displeased with someone, that unfortunate soul wished they were at the bottom of the ocean's deepest abyss. "I am Abihira Hartannasvóeln of the Sinistrah clan. The granddaughter of the empress herself. My fiancé and I are here on official business. I order you to leave at once!"
The man gave her a thoroughly unimpressed look. "Well, I am Ilaran Illessilru, Prince of Tananerl, and I sincerely doubt her Majesty considers necromancy official business."
"I was being serious!" Abi protested.
"I know you were. So was I."
Oh. That made things... ever so slightly awkward.
~~~~
"Let me get this straight. You're trying to raise the dead to win a bet?"
"It's not a bet, exactly," Abi said. "Think of it more as avoiding potential blackmail."
Anyone passing who happened to look over would have been greatly confused by the scene in the graveyard. There were Abi and Irímé, covered in mud and looking more like a pair of street rats than members of the upper class. There was Prince Ilaran, in perfectly respectable but utterly unremarkable clothes, who could easily have been mistaken for a bank clerk. And of course there was the corpse. She was both the most conspicuous member of the group, and also the one who contributed the least to the conversation. She hadn't even groaned or wailed as legends insisted the reanimated dead always did.
Of course there was the possibility that Prince Ilaran was lying about his identity. The longer Abi talked to him, however, the more she became convinced he really was who he claimed to be. First was the fact that the Prince of Tananerl was one of the most obscure ruling princes in the empire. He stayed in his own province most of the time, never got involved in squabbles between his peers, and generally did nothing to attract attention. The average person in Eldrin didn't even know his name, and would not be at all interested to hear he was visiting the city.
Second was his eye colour and his foreign accent. Abi had never been to Tananerl. Nor did she think she'd ever met its prince -- though Kiriyuki had once visited on a diplomatic trip. But she clearly remembered two things her foster sister said upon her return. One was that the Prince of Tananerl had green eyes -- something seen as a great misfortune in Saoridhlém, but as a fascinating oddity in Seroyawa. The other was that the Tananerlish accent was nothing at all like the Saoridhian one. (Which was unsurprising when she remembered the language of Tananerl was unrelated to Saoridhian.)
Lastly, and most convincingly, was how he held himself. Royals and aristocrats everywhere had etiquette and proper posture drilled into their heads from infancy. As a result there was an immediately obvious difference between their posture and everyone else's. They weren't even aware of it unless someone pointed it out to them. Only the most skilled impostor could have convincingly faked it for any length of time.
Therefore there was only one conclusion. Through one of the strangest and most bizarre coincidences imaginable, the person to witness Abi's latest attempt at necromancy was also her distant cousin.
She kept that thought in mind during the conversation. Appealing to family ties was a last resort in emergencies, but one that it was most improper to refuse.
"How in the world is it preventing blackmail?" Over the last few minutes Ilaran had gained the bewildered expression common among people who talked to Abi. "You're just creating more blackmail material."
She had to admit he had a point. Possibly. "I suppose so. But who's going to blackmail someone who can raise the dead?"
"And the dead haven't hurt anyone," Irímé added.
Ilaran did not look like he found this reassuring. Then again, he didn't look well in general. All Saoridhians were pale, but his skin was a most unhealthy sallow, waxy colour. The shadows under his eyes were so large they strongly resembled bruises.
"Why do you want to raise the dead anyway?" he asked, staring at the corpse as if he expected it to answer.
Experience had taught Abi that most people did not accept 'because I want to' as a good enough answer. Unfortunately it was the only truthful answer she could give. So she thought quickly and came up with something that sounded less arrogant.
"Just think of all the information we could get if we could talk to long-dead people," she said with her best attempt at sounding enthusiastic. She was vaguely aware of Irímé rolling his eyes. "Historians could settle disputes once and for all. Engineers would be able to talk directly to inventors. We'd be able to solve crimes that have baffled the police for years."
Something sharpened in Ilaran's eyes. Abi stopped abruptly, feeling like a skater who'd just heard the ice crack.
"Can you talk to the dead yet?" he demanded.
"Not yet," she admitted. "I'm sure I will soon."
"Do you think you could talk to someone who died five hundred years ago? Would their testimony be reliable enough to stand up in court?"
That doesn't sound like a hypothetical question, Abi thought. "I expect so. I don't know yet."
Once, many years ago, she'd come face to face with an umikesu[1]. It had stared at her as if deciding whether or not she was worth attacking. In the end it had wandered away into the forest, and Abi had fled back to safety as fast as her legs could carry her. The horror of that moment still made her shudder when she thought of it.
The look Ilaran gave her now reminded her of nothing so much as that cat.
"Is there any chance you could find out within a week? Before next Khidhen[2]?"
Abi considered it. Could she manage it? To communicate with the dead in only six days? "I don't know. Why?"
Some of the sharpness faded from Ilaran's gaze. "I'm going to present a case to the empress on Khidhen. I need as much damning evidence as I can find, and I don't have enough yet."
Odd though it seemed, this made Abi relax more than anything else he'd said. A person willing to use necromancy to further his own ends was a person unlikely to cause a fuss because she was practicing necromancy in the first place.
"I could try," she said, ignoring Irímé's attempts to get her attention. "Who is the case against?"
Ilaran's mouth briefly twisted into a snarl. "Haliran-rúdaun."
She hadn't known it was possible to put so much hatred into a single name. Especially not a name she recognised.
"How curious," she said aloud, almost to herself. "I have to visit Haliran-rúdaun soon."
Both Ilaran and Irímé stared at her. In unison they exclaimed, "What?"
~~~~
It took over an hour to put the corpse back in her coffin, fill in the grave again, and draw up some sort of battle plan. Well, Abihira insisted on calling it a battle plan. Irímé couldn't see why. It wasn't as if they were actually going to battle.
Though, considering what Prince Ilaran accused Haliran of, this might very well end in a battle. Of words, even if not of weapons.
There was just one thing he didn't understand.
"I'm sorry, what did you just say? Your cousin is half snake?"
It was, he felt, a very valid question. Prince Ilaran clearly disagreed. He glared at Irímé as if he had never met anyone so stupid.
"Half snake spirit," he corrected. To Abi, he said, "You probably won't see him unless he wants to see you. If you do get a chance to talk to him tell him I want to speak to him. But it won't matter if you don't. He'll come and see me eventually."
"While I'm there should I look around the place?" Abi asked.
Ilaran shook his head. "It would make Haliran suspicious. She wouldn't leave anything incriminating around for anyone to find. Besides, Siarvin has already made records of everything he could find."
On the surface it sounded very simple. Abi would visit Haliran. While she was there she would find out if any ghosts were lingering around just waiting for a necromancer to come along and communicate with them. Irímé sincerely doubted anything of the sort would happen. All right, Abi insisted it was theoretically possible. But experience had taught him that in spite of what she said Abi still had no idea what she was talking about half the time.
Something was practically guaranteed to go wrong with this plan.
Chapter Footnotes:
[1] umikesu = A very large cat similar to a sabre-toothed tiger.
[2] Khidhen = Day of the week, roughly equivalent to Tuesday.