“Good evening, sir!” he said. Idiot. “We’re all here, sir!”

“Of course you’re all here,” Scapegrace responded, annoyed.

“Sir, one of the men was asking about food, sir.”

Scapegrace made a mental note not to refer to the zombies as an army again. Thrasher was letting it go to his head and it wasn’t very scary at all. Horde would be better. His zombie horde. Much better.

“What about food?” Scapegrace grumbled.

“He was wondering what it is we eat, sir.”

“We don’t eat anything,” Scapegrace answered. “We’re sustained by magic. We don’t need food.”

“I shall inform the men, sir!” Thrasher turned on his heel and faced the zombies. “May I have your attention!” he shouted.

A zombie from the back said, “Go to hell, Gerald.”

Thrasher looked like he was about to cry. Scapegrace was now seriously regretting his recruitment process.

“We don’t eat anything,” Thrasher said, trying to keep a brave face while his lower lip quivered. The zombie horde stopped talking among themselves and looked at Scapegrace.

“We don’t eat?” Slicer asked. “What, nothing?”

“Not even brains?” Zombie Eleven asked.

“Nothing!” Scapegrace told them. “Under no circumstances are you to eat! Not even one tiny little bite! Is that understood?”

They nodded sullenly and Scapegrace turned to the door. Before he’d even reached it, they started bickering among themselves about what would taste better, brains or flesh. These were not the slavering, mindless creatures of the undead he had hoped for. These were not fearsome in the slightest. His zombies bickered. Scapegrace left the room quickly, closing the door lest the sound of bickering drift to his Master’s ears. He hurried back the way he had come, trying his best not to panic.

He didn’t want to disappoint his Master. He had been so looking forward to presenting his zombie horde and getting the recognition he sought, the praise he longed for. Maybe even a hug. But it wasn’t going to happen. His Master would take one look at the horde and recognise instantly what a petty bunch of failures they were, and what a grotesque disappointment Scapegrace himself was.

Scapegrace reached the small room that served as his personal quarters, hearing the low gentle hum. He opened the rotten door and quickly stepped in, closing it behind him. One advantage of the new recruits was that their credit cards could still be used, and Scapegrace had ordered Thrasher to buy him a place to rest.