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Authors: Christopher Lincoln
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tendrils from the skeleton’s head, then probed them hungrily toward
Millicent and the shadow hounds.
Shadewick jerked Millicent back from the grave’s edge. “Such greedy things. Once they’ve defiled a victim, they’re instantly
hungry for something fresh … wouldn’t want one latching on to you … leastwise, not yet,” he snickered, dragging her to the
carriage road.
Millicent looked back at the grave, with more white in her eyes than a hen’s egg.
“For now, you’ll take up residence in the snug little crypt right over there. And Tongs will be nice enough to keep you company,
won’t you, boy? Yes, you will. Such a good, little, snarly, ripping, vicious doggy you are, tooooooo.”
Tongs wagged his tail, prancing with excitement, but when he turned to Millicent, he was all business—big spiky teeth business.
And that’s how he continued to regard her as he and she were installed into the crypt. From the outside it looked like a small
classical temple. Inside, a large stone staircase limited floor space. It led to the dank vault below.
Despite Tongs’s watchful eye, Millicent managed to get close enough to the barred windows to see Gloom stop to admire the
statuary lining the roof and other ornate touches, then sweep off toward the shadowport with Hammer frisking at his side.
Millicent drifted, rubbing her forehead and thinking,
All in all, this is NOT a very nice place.
Chapter 16
By the Bell of St. Dunstable
Through Houndstooth-on-Codswattle they came, scores of skeletons, clattering into the graveyard next to St. Dunstable’s. In
its long history, the blocky Norman church had never seen such an unusual flock.
Mr. Bones surveyed the crowd with growing annoyance. What had him nettled was not the skeletons, most of whom had shown up
on time. It was the church bell. Vicar Parsons had been ringing it when time stopped, locking the bell in a long
CLONNNNNNNNGGGG
ever since. The old codger stood frozen in the tower, oblivious to hundreds of skeletons rattling by.
At least Mr. Bones could count his blessings about the rain. The drops were still stuck in place.
Mr. Bones nodded to the Bunyons, residents of a local farmhouse, as they and their sons elbowed to the front of the crowd.
The Headleys were also there, from the manor next door.
A few feet away, Mrs. Bones chatted with Mrs. Wormwood, the skeleton in charge of the town mortuary. Mrs. Wormwood was deaf
as a deadbolt, so Mrs. Bones was forced to yell into her ear horn. Mrs. Bones excused herself with a genteel shout and took
her place beside Mr. Bones.
The churchyard was well past capacity by now. Many skeletons were forced to clamber up on the crumbling walls or balance on
tipping headstones. Mr. Bones consulted his pocket watch. Being set to Afterlife time, it was ticking merrily along.
“Right!” he clicked the lid shut and addressed the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen! Your attention,
please
!”
But the crowd was still in a talkative mood.
He began again, “There
is
an F.A.D. emergency.” Skeleton jaws stopped clacking. “And this is of particular importance to me because my brother, Grim,
is the missing field agent.”
Nearby, an old voice creaked, “Grim Bones has been kissing? What kind of emergency is that?” Mrs. Wormwood strained to hear
more through her ear horn.
Mr. Bones ignored her. “I would like you to separate into groups of four, and work out to the edge of our jurisdiction. Be
on the lookout for Grim’s blue glow. It’s a stroke of luck we have such a dreary day. It should make spotting him easier.
“Whatever overpowered Grim must be extraordinarily dangerous, so any skeletons under twelve years old should stay here. We’ll
use you as runners to gather reinforcements in case there’s a need.” Mr. Bones scanned the crowd. A sea of ivory faces looked
back at him—some determined, some drained by fear. “Any questions?”
Mrs. Bones cast him a gentle smile as the jawing
Millicent and the shadow hounds.
Shadewick jerked Millicent back from the grave’s edge. “Such greedy things. Once they’ve defiled a victim, they’re instantly
hungry for something fresh … wouldn’t want one latching on to you … leastwise, not yet,” he snickered, dragging her to the
carriage road.
Millicent looked back at the grave, with more white in her eyes than a hen’s egg.
“For now, you’ll take up residence in the snug little crypt right over there. And Tongs will be nice enough to keep you company,
won’t you, boy? Yes, you will. Such a good, little, snarly, ripping, vicious doggy you are, tooooooo.”
Tongs wagged his tail, prancing with excitement, but when he turned to Millicent, he was all business—big spiky teeth business.
And that’s how he continued to regard her as he and she were installed into the crypt. From the outside it looked like a small
classical temple. Inside, a large stone staircase limited floor space. It led to the dank vault below.
Despite Tongs’s watchful eye, Millicent managed to get close enough to the barred windows to see Gloom stop to admire the
statuary lining the roof and other ornate touches, then sweep off toward the shadowport with Hammer frisking at his side.
Millicent drifted, rubbing her forehead and thinking,
All in all, this is NOT a very nice place.
Chapter 16
By the Bell of St. Dunstable
Through Houndstooth-on-Codswattle they came, scores of skeletons, clattering into the graveyard next to St. Dunstable’s. In
its long history, the blocky Norman church had never seen such an unusual flock.
Mr. Bones surveyed the crowd with growing annoyance. What had him nettled was not the skeletons, most of whom had shown up
on time. It was the church bell. Vicar Parsons had been ringing it when time stopped, locking the bell in a long
CLONNNNNNNNGGGG
ever since. The old codger stood frozen in the tower, oblivious to hundreds of skeletons rattling by.
At least Mr. Bones could count his blessings about the rain. The drops were still stuck in place.
Mr. Bones nodded to the Bunyons, residents of a local farmhouse, as they and their sons elbowed to the front of the crowd.
The Headleys were also there, from the manor next door.
A few feet away, Mrs. Bones chatted with Mrs. Wormwood, the skeleton in charge of the town mortuary. Mrs. Wormwood was deaf
as a deadbolt, so Mrs. Bones was forced to yell into her ear horn. Mrs. Bones excused herself with a genteel shout and took
her place beside Mr. Bones.
The churchyard was well past capacity by now. Many skeletons were forced to clamber up on the crumbling walls or balance on
tipping headstones. Mr. Bones consulted his pocket watch. Being set to Afterlife time, it was ticking merrily along.
“Right!” he clicked the lid shut and addressed the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen! Your attention,
please
!”
But the crowd was still in a talkative mood.
He began again, “There
is
an F.A.D. emergency.” Skeleton jaws stopped clacking. “And this is of particular importance to me because my brother, Grim,
is the missing field agent.”
Nearby, an old voice creaked, “Grim Bones has been kissing? What kind of emergency is that?” Mrs. Wormwood strained to hear
more through her ear horn.
Mr. Bones ignored her. “I would like you to separate into groups of four, and work out to the edge of our jurisdiction. Be
on the lookout for Grim’s blue glow. It’s a stroke of luck we have such a dreary day. It should make spotting him easier.
“Whatever overpowered Grim must be extraordinarily dangerous, so any skeletons under twelve years old should stay here. We’ll
use you as runners to gather reinforcements in case there’s a need.” Mr. Bones scanned the crowd. A sea of ivory faces looked
back at him—some determined, some drained by fear. “Any questions?”
Mrs. Bones cast him a gentle smile as the jawing
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