“This is all very charming, of course,” said Mr. Crawford, as he simultaneously crushed two mummies at once, one with his elegant gloved fist in its mouth, and the other with the elbow adroitly shoved in a nice move of gentlemanly combat. “But we really ought to be heading back out of this area. Too much infestation here. I suggest some haste—”

“Well, how do you like that, eh? Yah bloody whoreson!” Mr. Price was roaring a few steps away, as he had figured out the proper method and shoved his hat into the maw of a mummy, followed by his hand, up to the elbow.

“Ahem—we are moving out, Mr. Price!” said Crawford loudly, but with much steady composure, realizing that the inebriated battle enthusiasm of the older gentleman could land him in a bit of a jam. “Let us continue this, but closer to your residence, now—”

“Indeed, indeed, by all means!” said Mr. Price, while his officer friend was putting the blunt end of a gin bottle into a mummy’s orifice.

And so they made their way backwards, out of the stocks and dockyard area.

But here, a grim discovery awaited them. The way out was blocked by a veritable sea of the undead. Most of the mummies had come forth out of the same marked crates that they had passed earlier on their way into the dockyard.

“This is highly regretful, but we appear to be surrounded,” said Mr. Crawford through his teeth. Then he added, “I suggest we make a breach—plow through them in a direct line. Single-file is best. Now, allow me, I will go first—”

In that moment, as Fanny was gathering herself for the ramming assault, the air about them seemed to waver, and a hot dry wind blew in a sudden great gust.

Lord Eastwind stood directly before them, dressed in a fine gentleman’s walking attire, high polished Hessians and elegant topcoat and hat, a slim walking stick in one gloved hand.

Fanny gave a small shriek, and her heart started to beat faster than already it was, while her breath was aflutter.

This time, everyone present could see him.

“Eastwind.”

“Crawford.”

“Sir!”

“Fanny . . .”

“Mr. Price.”

“Susan.”

“Mr.—”

“Mummy!”

This went on for quite some time—or would have done so, had not the mummy horde neared, close enough to bump noses with all of them.

Like a wall of approaching sand, the undead came, ready to besiege them from all sides. Eyeless faces wrapped in rags, with only a hint of the skulls underneath, and dark gaping mouths. . . . Desiccated skeletal arms wrapped in bits of ancient linen waved about, and there was a hum of ever-present wind.

“A fine day, Miss Price,” said Lord Eastwind with a small tip of the hat to her, and his back brazenly turned to the approaching army. His eyes—oh, his dear familiar understanding eyes!

“Sir . . .” whispered Fanny.