pride And prejudice And zombies: dawn of the dreadfuls

Chapter 32

ELIZABETH HAD ONE CALL to make before she went out to find Master Hawksworth and her father and whatever dreadfuls they'd managed to find. There was someone she wished to say hello to and, depending on how things went, perhaps good-bye as well.

The guard outside the door to the attic was as quick to level a Brown Bess as Pvt. Jones, only he had even more reason to do so. Elizabeth could deduce as much from the dark stains the maids hadn't quite managed to scrub from the floor and wall.

"Good evening," she said, and that was enough for the soldier to lower his musket, sighing with relief. No passwords were needed to tell friend from foe in this war. Any word—that was enough.

"Evening, Miss. Here to see His Queerness, are you?"

"Dr. Keckilpenny. Yes."

"Need an escort up?"

"No," Elizabeth said firmly. "That's quite all right."

"Suit yourself. It certainly suits me. Oooo, the awful sounds his pet makes. If I had to actually see the thing . . ."

The soldier shivered, then stepped aside to let Elizabeth pass.

Halfway up the dimly lit stairwell, she began to hear some of those sounds the man had mentioned. Groaning, grunting, the clomping of heavy footfalls.

Only, when Elizabeth reached the top of the steps, she saw it wasn't "Mr. Smith" making the noise at all.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance," Dr. Keckilpenny said as he spun and capered about the attic. "Dance. Dance!" He waved his arms in time to the muffled waltz filtering up through the floorboards. "Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuusic. Music. Music!"

Mr. Smith watched him from a few feet away, black drool dripping from his open mouth, arms swept back to the sides, straining against his chains.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," he said.

"No, Smithy. Muuuuuuuuuuuusic. Daaaaaaaaaaaance."

Dr. Keckilpenny threw his gangly form into a slipshod arabesque and performed a wobbly spin that left him staring, eyes wide, at Elizabeth.

"Oh! Miss Bennet! What a wonderful surprise! And here I was just thinking of you."

"Really? I'm honored that the mere thought of me should make you want to dance."

Dr. Keckilpenny put on one of his sideways-crescent grins. "You're not far off there, actually. May I tell you about it? What I was thinking, I mean?"

When Elizabeth didn't answer straightaway, his smile sagged.

"Of course, you may," Elizabeth said. "I need to be elsewhere tonight, but I can certainly delay my departure long enough to hear why a dignified man like yourself should wish to perform ballet for a dreadful."

"Dignified? And here I thought we were getting to know each other so well." The doctor held out his hands toward the chest in which Mr. Smith had been hauled up to the attic. "Please, have a trunk."

Elizabeth walked to the chest and took a seat atop it.

Mr. Smith swayed in her direction.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

"No, Mr. Smith. Girrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl," Dr. Keckilpenny said. "Or, I suppose, young laaaaaaaaaaaaady."

Mr. Smith made a sound that was part snarl, part wail and not "girl" or "lady" in any way whatsoever.

The doctor sighed.

"You see how it's been . . . and this is Smithy at his best. Last night he was positively wild. Flinging himself at me, shrieking, yowling. One minute he was being a perfect gentleman, as zombies go, the next it was nothing but snort snarl slobber howl."