Cadman chewed anxiously at the tips of his chubby fingers. He peeked through the slats of the shutters onto the lamp-lit street outside Arnbrook House. A cordon of corpses faced the building, red eyes glaring like Jack-o’-lanterns. The broad plaza beyond was packed with rows of undead drawn up in a gigantic phalanx. The corpses were in varying states of decay and shrouded in soiled rags. They clutched an assortment of weapons—some martial, others janitorial. Nothing to be feared there. Outside, all was still. No one had dared approach his army and the cadavers could do nothing unless Cadman commanded it: they were totally subservient to his will. Cadman felt bone weary and would have yawned, only he’d forgotten how. He’d never raised so many corpses before, and yet he’d still only required a fraction of the statue’s power. Maybe it was worth the risk, coming out of hiding to take centre stage when the rewards were so high. The ever-present chill in his bones had turned to ice.
