Sometime around mid-afternoon, two men walked in. They wore black, and Scapegrace had never seen them before. They certainly weren’t Roarhaven natives. One of them held the door open and two more men walked in. The first was dressed in a black robe, and the second was dressed all in white. Scapegrace’s eyes would have widened if they’d been able, but having half his face burned off severely limited his expressions of surprise. He stared at the White Cleaver until the man in the black robe cleared his throat.

“You’re a zombie,” said the man.

Scapegrace nodded. No point in denying it.

“Do you know what that means?” the man continued. “It means that you, like the White Cleaver here, are a product of Necromancer magic. As such, you are bound to Necromancer will.”

“I am?” asked Scapegrace. It was news to him, and yet he did feel an odd urge to bow.

“Oh, you are,” said the man. “And that means you are bound to my will. I am High Priest Vandameer Craven. I am your master.”

Thrasher popped his head out of the toilets. “Are you my master too?”

High Priest Craven glanced at him distastefully, then looked back at Scapegrace. “This is one you turned? Why is it still with you?”

“I’ve tried getting rid of him,” Scapegrace offered. “But he keeps coming back.”

High Priest Craven sighed. “No matter. I have a task for you, zombie. You will obey without question.”

Scapegrace nodded eagerly. He had only just met his Master, but already he could tell that the Necromancer was a very important man.

Thrasher hurried forward. “Can I obey too?” he begged. “All I do here is clean the toilets. I long to serve!”

The Master’s lip curled. “If you shut up and move away from me, yes, you can obey.”

Thrasher squealed with delight and ran back beside Scapegrace.

“I need you to steal something for me,” the Master said. “It looks exactly like this.” He showed them a gold disc, the size of his palm. “There is undoubtedly one to be found in the offices of the Elder Mages. All I need is one. When you have located said disc, substitute it with this forgery.” The Master threw the disc to Scapegrace. He snatched it from the air and held it close to his heart. “Do not, under any circumstances, arouse suspicion. It is to be a straight swap. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master,” Scapegrace said.

“Yes Master,” Thrasher said, and started bowing like the pitiful fool he was. It was an utterly pathetic display. Scapegrace got to his knees, showing everyone what real bowing was.

The Master looked at them both, and then shifted his eyes to the man who had held the door open. “These are the only zombies in town? We’re absolutely sure there are no others?”

The man shook his head sadly.