pride and prejudice and zombies:: dreadfull ever after

Part 11

CHAPTER 11

"There is one more thing you will no doubt tell me that I don't need," Elizabeth said as she and her mysterious companion passed through the Northern Guard Tower and into London. The soldiers, she noticed, let them stroll by without question. "Your name. Even if, by your reckoning, it is not required, it would still be nice to know."

The young Asiatic who'd met her at the gate—surely another of the Japanese servants Lady Catherine so favored—pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

This is Nezu, the note inside read. He will guide you in my absence. You will find him to be an invaluable tool. Trust him in all things.

This time, Elizabeth wasn't caught by surprise when the paper began to smoke. She let it drop to the ground, and within seconds it was but more swirling soot in a city that produced it by the ton.

"If you have any further messages from Her Ladyship, I'd appreciate knowing so in advance," Elizabeth said. "I should like to have a bucket of water at the ready."

"There will be no more notes from the mistress. Anything else you need to know will come from me."

"Wonderful. You've been so loquacious so far."

Nezu said nothing.

A dark barouche was waiting just beyond the gate, and, upon reaching it, Nezu opened the door and motioned for Elizabeth to climb in. As she started to oblige him, her eye caught sight of something odd: a grotesque parody of the very carriage she was stepping into. It was a squat black box, perhaps four feet high, careening around a corner up the street. Pulling it were two small, scruffy dogs in harness.

"Did you see that?" Elizabeth asked.

"See what?"

He didn't even bother following her gaze.

"Never mind," Elizabeth said. "Perhaps I didn't see it, either."

Once she was seated, Nezu hauled himself up next to the driver—another stone-faced Asiatic who seemed no more garrulous than he—and with a snap of the reins they set off down the narrow streets of Section Fourteen North.

Years ago, before the partitions were erected and London was sliced into perfect squares like some colossal cake, the area had been known as Camden Town. Once an unimportant district on the fringes of the growing metropolis, it was now more or less a rampart protecting the affluent sections of the interior. Only the meanest sorts of shops—most of them for "used" (that is, stolen) clothes and jewelry and Zed rods and swords—would take up residence where, so many times, the dreadfuls had broken through. Indeed, the buildings looked as though they'd been burned down and rebuilt before the charred planks had finished smoking. The other elegant barouches and phaetons and landaus coming through the gate shot down the filth-poked avenue with teams at full gallop, the whip-snapping drivers desperate to reach Four Central or Six East before their passengers could peek out and have their delicate sensibilities bruised by the sight of such squalor.

More than once, Elizabeth had made this same mad dash through North London, bound for the Darcys' town house in Mayfair (now Two Central). The route they followed was the old familiar one she knew well until they reached the City Road, at which point they turned abruptly east rather than continuing into the heart of socially acceptable London. Soon they were winding their way through the side streets of what Elizabeth guessed to be Section One North, formerly Islington. It was by no means the most fashionable part of town, but the long rows of tidy white-terraced homes was evidence that the merchant class, at least, was willing to make it their own.

The coachman finally brought the barouche to a stop in front of a house that was identical to its neighbors in every respect but one: scale. The bay windows were taller, the front door wider, the stucco entryway arches higher, the ironwork balcony broader and more ornate. It was the very picture of size substituting for style; the perfect London home for a vulgarian parvenue from the hinterlands. As "Mrs. Bromhead," it seemed, was supposed to be.

Nezu climbed down and opened the carriage door.

Elizabeth remained in her seat. She'd caught a glimpse of someone peeking out one of the windows and now found herself reluctant to enter the house with these men—minions of the woman who once threatened to cut her into chunks and use her for zombie bait.

"Remind me," she said. "Why would a wealthy widow such as I choose to settle, alone, in so grandiose a home in One North?"

"I'm sure you will remember quickly enough once you are inside," Nezu replied. "The others should be waiting in the drawing room."

"The others?"

Nezu simply held out an arm toward the house.

If he was trying to be discreet, he need not have bothered, for the "other" whom Elizabeth had seen watching the street suddenly threw open the front door and came bounding down the steps.

"Ursula! Ursula!"

"Kitty?"

Elizabeth scrambled from her seat, and the moment her feet were on the ground her sister was upon her, holding her tightly.

"Oh, Ursula—sweet Ursula!" Kitty cried. "I have been so worried about you! Just let me look at you." She stepped back, clasping her hands, and sighed. "You are a vision, as always. Still the prettiest of the Shevington sisters—though now, of course, you are a Bromhead, Ursula."

"Come, come, Avis," Elizabeth heard her father say. "You speak as though your sister needed reminding of her own name."

Oscar Bennet appeared beside Kitty and leaned in to kiss a stunned Elizabeth on the cheek.

"I apologize for the theatrics," he whispered in her ear. Then he kissed the other cheek and whispered again. "Your sister is a tad overexcited."

Kitty seemed to find the kiss-whispers an irresistible idea, for she jumped in to try some herself.

Cheek one: "We were assured you were safe."

Cheek two: "But we didn't know whether to believe it."

Forehead: "Just give the word, and I'll take this little wretch's head."

Elizabeth retreated a step before her sister resorted to kissing her nose.

"I am overjoyed to see you, too ... Avis," she said.

Nezu—"the little wretch," to judge by the petulant glare Kitty bestowed upon him—sidled in and cleared his throat.

"Perhaps it would be best if your reunion were to continue inside." His gaze flicked left and right, sweeping over the neighboring homes. "In private."

"A capital idea." Mr. Bennet took Elizabeth by the arm and began leading her toward the house. "No doubt these last days have been long and wearying for you, my dear. But fear not. Whatever comes next—"

Kitty hustled up and attached herself to Elizabeth's other arm. "You will face it with us at your side!"

Elizabeth gave her sister the grateful smile she seemed to expect. Yet, though she was deeply pleased to see Kitty and her father, a part of her wished they'd stayed far away.

Already the Darcy family teetered on the brink of calamity. Now, if things went as badly as they might, the Bennets would be swept over the precipice with them.