He remembered Sanguine taking him to one side, and telling him that he’d made a few calls and asked a few people, and nobody could vouch for Scapegrace as a remorseless killer of unparalleled skill, like he’d claimed. Scapegrace had tried to explain then that, fair enough, he hadn’t actually killed anyone yet, but it was only a matter of time, and if Sanguine and Scarab could just give him a chance, he’d prove himself worthy to be included in their plans.

At least, that’s what he’d planned to say. He dimly remembered getting as far as “Fair enough” and then…nothing.

Sanguine had killed him.

He opened his eyes, in a dark and dank dungeon, and looked up to see his Master’s face.

“Finally,” Scarab said and it was the greatest word Scapegrace had ever heard uttered. Finally. Here is my loyal companion, never to leave my side. Scapegrace smiled as he lay there.

“Stop grinning,” Scarab ordered. “You look deformed.”

“Sorry, Master,” Scapegrace said, sitting up. Why was he calling Scarab Master? He didn’t know, but it seemed so right, so he just continued. “Master, what’s happened to me?”

“You’re dead,” Master Scarab said. “You lied to us, Scapegrace. You’re not a killer. Knew it from the moment I saw you.”

“Was it because I fell off the chair?”

“It doesn’t matter what it was. But because you lied to us, wasted our time, made us rethink some of our plans, we decided to put your death to good use. We killed you and brought you back. Do you know what you are?”

“Very lucky?”

“You’re a zombie.”

Scapegrace laughed. “No, Master. Not me.”

Scarab took a knife from his pocket and stabbed it through Scapegrace’s arm. Scapegrace stared.

“You feel no pain,” Scarab continued.

“Oh.”

“Your corpse is being sustained by magic.”

“I’m a…I’m a zombie.”

“Yes.”

“Am…am I like that White Cleaver person?”

“I’ve been in prison for 200 years. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You are, to be blunt, a fairly basic zombie. You’re not one of those fully reanimated, self-healing zombies. You’re a lower class. Best I could do with the stuff I know.”

“Oh, I do appreciate it, Master.”

“Shut up. Do you know anything about zombies?”

“Not really…”

“You have no magic. The magic you did have is being used to keep your body moving and your brain thinking – I wouldn’t imagine much magic is required for that particular feat.”

“I wouldn’t say so, sir.”

“The advantage of being such a basic zombie, however, is that you can pass on your condition with simply a bite. See, I want you to go out there and recruit.”

“Recruit?”