would be a tragedy if the genius of Benjario and the beauty of the Lady Asea were to be lost to the world.'
'I could not agree more,' said Lady Asea. 'Still you assured me that you had more than enough time to complete your preparations. It is important that we take flight on the feast day of Saint Aviara. She is the patron of birds and it is a most auspicious day for our journey. Surely you want as many witnesses to your triumph as possible?'
'Indeed I do, Milady, but surely one feast day is as good as another. What matters a delay of a week when one is about to step into the pages of history.'
'Of course, Master Benjario, you are right,' said Asea with what Rik thought of as astonishing mildness for her. She paused for a moment, looked at him and said. 'Lady Sybea was telling me last night that her proteges, the Gazarone brothers, are preparing to fly in two days time.'
'The Gazarones! Charlatans! Benjario has forgotten more about the science of stratospherics than they ever knew.'
'I thought that must be the case,' said Asea. 'I told Lady Sybea, it was impossible that they would beat Benjario into the annals of aeronautics. I have no doubt that your place in history is secure Master Benjario. After all, if you assure me that they will not get their vehicle aloft in two days, then the thing is not possible. Two Kharadrean charlatans could not know more about these matters than you.'
'Two days, you say, Milady?'
'So Lady Sybea assures me, but no matter, I will tell her that the great Benjario has assured me otherwise. I am sure she will be the first to admit her mistake.'
'But Milady if there is even the slightest possibility that they may somehow complete their chariot within two days then we must fly tomorrow.'
'Certainly not, Master Benjario. You have assured me that such a thing is not possible, and I would not presume to doubt you in such a case.'
'Even the mightiest intellects may miscalculate occasionally, Milady. Even Benjario, if only very rarely indeed, but a truly great intellect must never discount the possibility that it might be mistaken.'
'But what about the safety factors?'
'Benjario sneers in the face of danger.'
'But what of the risk to Lady Asea?' asked Rik.
'If there is any danger, Benjario will gladly face it alone.'
'I am sure that if Master Benjario thinks the vehicle is safe enough for him, then it will be safe enough for us, Rik,' said Asea with the blandest of smiles.
'Us?' said Rik.
'You will be accompanying me, I hope.'
Rik stared at her. Benjario bowed. 'Milady, if I may be excused, I must see to it that these lazy swine do not slack on the job and that our chariot is ready to carry us into the history books.'
'Of course, Master Benjario,' said Asea with a nod of her head. As they departed Rik heard Benjario roaring like a bull at his staff. They all rushed to obey, except for his wife who stood nearby, making small circling motions with her forefinger against the side of her head.
Chapter Seven
Sardec glanced around. The graveyard was getting dark and they still had not found anything. The men were starting to show signs of unease. What had started out feeling almost like a game had become progressively grimmer as the day wore on. Clouds gathered overhead, cutting off the light and making things still gloomier. Sere leaves dropped from the cemetery trees crunched under his feet.
They now searched the richest part of the graveyard. The mausoleums looked more like small houses, and that was just the part of them that was on the surface. There were larger crypts below ground. In some ways it was like being in a small town, albeit a very quiet one, full of old, ornate buildings. They had seen no one since they entered, not even the wardens who were supposed to maintain the place, and keep out grave-robbers. The company, divided into sections of ten, swept along the lanes between the tombs, calling to each other in soft voices, more for reassurance than anything else.
As the air cooled, mist rose from the earth, turning the troopers first into black and white figures and then shadowy outlines. Torches spluttered. Men talked in low voices. Sardec considered calling it a day, before someone got lost or wandered off into the mist. If there were ghouls here, he thought, now would be their best time to attack. The advantage of the men's muskets would be negated by their limited vision.
The clammy air fingered his neck. An odd scent reached his nostrils. Somewhere nearby a hand-bell tolled. It startled him. He heard feet coming closer, almost like men marching. 'Tell the lads to hold steady,' he told Sergeant Hef. 'It’s just a funeral procession.'
He let out a long breath. It would not do to have the Foragers open fire. Things were already tense enough with the locals without massacring a bunch of mourners. Such things happened, he knew. His father had told him of it. He was determined that it would not happen on his watch.
The bell came closer, and he could hear chanting. From out of the mist emerged a group of priests, and what might have been a whole family of mourners bearing a coffin among them. They looked like a clan of rich human merchants, well-dressed in heavy black cloth trimmed with funereal gold. Obviously not even rumours of ghoul infestation had discouraged them from holding the ceremony. Sardec supposed that they wanted to show respect for the dead, and not use an unmarked pauper’s grave.
'Picked a nice time for it,' he heard Weasel mutter as the mourners passed by. 'Let's hope the ghouls don't get them.'
'Let's hope they don't hear your idiotic blatherings,' said Sergeant Hef in a low angry voice. The Sergeant was a devout man, and not without sympathy for the bereaved. He was annoyed that Weasel might be intruding in these people's grief.
'I was just saying, Sergeant,' said Weasel. 'Maybe we should go and make sure they are all right. Maybe we should stake out the grave… in case any corpse eaters decide that want a nice fresh snack.'
It was not a bad idea, except for the fact that ghouls preferred rotten, worm-infested meat. And of course it would not be the height of sensitivity to set up an ambush around a funeral service.
The family disappeared into one of the nearby mausoleums. Sardec heard keys being used twice, once to unlock the outer door, and once the inner gate. He knew that such vaults were double-locked from the outside. Presumably to keep their inhabitants in, if they felt an urge to go for a stroll.
He could see a couple of torchbearers standing nervously by the doorway. This was getting them nowhere, he thought.
'Sergeant Hef, pass the word. We are pulling out. The graveyard watch is over for the day.'
'Glad to hear it, sir. I would not want to be left in here when they lock the outer gates for the night.'
At that moment, he heard a voice come from the gloom. 'I think we've found something, sir.'
'Oh great,' he heard the Barbarian mutter. 'Just in the nick of time.'
Weasel knelt and inspected the track in the mud.
'What do you make of it,' Sardec asked.
Weasel traced the outline of the print in the air with his finger. 'Human sized. Not wearing boots obviously. Hasn't cut his toenails for a longer time than the Barbarian. Either that or he's developed claws.'
'How long ago?'
'Not long. Print's quite fresh.'
'I thought ghouls only came out at night,' someone muttered.
'It's misty. Maybe ghoulie got confused. Or maybe he got a sniff of the funeral and couldn't contain his hunger. Maybe the smell of incense does for them what the smell of frying onions does for me.'
'There more of them about?' Sardec asked.
'Don't know, sir. I can check the area for prints but the lads mostly likely trampled on a lot of them if they were there.'
