Hans returned home from the funeral. All day and into the early night, he’d wandered aimlessly with his grief. Now all he wanted was to close his eyes and make the world go away. His father wouldn’t let him.
“Tonight’s your third and final chance to join the Grand Society of Grave Robbers,” Knobbe said, lugging the tools of their trade from the cave.
“What?”
“You must rob the von Schwanenberg family crypt. That Little Countess will have treasure galore. Her parents spared nothing in their grief.”
Hans slumped by the fire pit. “Please, Papa, no.”
Knobbe whapped him with a burlap bag. “It’s as easy a job as ever there was. I built a tunnel into the tomb years ago to relieve the count’s ancestors of their pretties. The entrance is hidden with rocks and brambles, but a five-minute dig will clear it. Then it’s a short crawl to a fortune.”
“Can’t we give the dead a night’s peace?”
“Not on your life! The archduke’s soldiers are plundering the castle as we speak. Come morning, they’ll turn their thievery to the tomb. By the time they’ve picked it clean, there’ll be nothing left for honest souls like us.”
Hans buried his head in his hands. “I can’t rob Angela’s grave! I can’t.”
Knobbe scratched his butt. “Who are you to call the Little Countess by name?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Are you in love with a dead girl?” Knobbe laughed.
Hans’ cheeks burned. “She was my friend.”
“Oh, to be sure,” Knobbe mocked. “A fine friend. Her a countess and you a grave robber’s apprentice.”
Hans grabbed a rock and leaped to his feet. Knobbe jumped back. Hans stared at the rock in shock. He threw it away and burst into tears.
Knobbe peered in puzzlement at his son. He had no idea why the lad was crying, or why he felt his own heart melt. Was he having a spell? Or maybe gas? To his horror, Knobbe suddenly realized that what he was feeling was feelings. Well, feelings weren’t going to rob him of a fortune.
He gave Hans’ shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t know about love,” he muttered gruffly. “But your Angela’s gone. Them tears won’t bring her back, neither. Even so, you can save her precious burial things. If you don’t, they’ll be looted and dirtied, by the archduke’s soldiers. Is that what you want?”
Hans shook his head. His father was right. Angela’s keepsakes must be protected. He’d return them when the soldiers were gone. He wiped his eyes. “Let’s go.”
Angela was dimly aware of a distant thudding, thumping, whumping sound. “They’re coming for me,” she murmured from the land between life and death.
“They’ve come too late,” Georgina replied, batting flies from her curdled ringlets.
Angela heard someone wriggling under the ground beneath the tomb. The sound of a heavy tile being pushed up and shoved along the floor. The sound of someone grunting into the crypt.
“They’re coming for me . . . coming for . . .” Her voice drifted into another world, a world in which she cried silently, Here! I’m in here.
Hans emerged with his lantern in the far corner of the vault. He had to work quickly: Arnulf’s soldiers could arrive at any moment. Hans squeezed between two rows of coffins and wriggled to the center of the room.
Angela’s casket was in front of him, resting on a dais. Hans set down his lantern and wrestled the heavy poles through the row of interlocking rings on each side. A mighty push and the lid slid sideways, crashing to the floor.
Hans took the bag off his shoulder and filled it with Angela’s treasures. He never looked at her face. If he did, he knew he’d run and fail her. But when his work was done, he leaned against the coffin and gazed down. “Forgive me. If I hadn’t been a coward, I wouldn’t have let the Necromancer chase me away. He’s the reason you’re dead, isn’t he? I’m the reason you’re dead.”
Hans noticed something peculiar. Angela’s hands were faced palms up on either side of her head. He took them to lay them properly.
Without warning, the corpse grabbed him, opened its eyes, and sat up.
Hans screamed.
Angela screamed, too. She let go of Hans, who fell to the floor, and gulped for air. “So you came for me at last! Thank heaven! Did my parents send you? What kept you so long?”
“I—I—I—you—you—you—” Hans scuttled backward.
“What’s the matter?” Angela demanded.
“You’re dead!”
For the first time, Angela noticed his terror. “If you thought I was dead, what are you doing here?” The answer was obvious. “My jewels!” she exclaimed, pointing at the trail of gems that led to the burlap sack at his side. “You came to rob my grave! Just wait till my parents find out!”
“It’s not what you think!”
“Don’t tell me what I think!” Angela roared, and stormed out of her coffin.
Hans ran between the burial shelves, hopped down into the tunnel and crawled away as fast as he could.
Angela scooped the jewels into the abandoned sack, grabbed the lantern, and followed in hot pursuit. But when she emerged into the moonlight, she saw him yattering wildly to a monk with a shovel. Angela didn’t know what they were saying, but she was pretty sure she didn’t want to stick around to find out.
“Alive?” Knobbe exploded. “What do you mean, the Little Countess is alive?”
Hans pointed at Angela, vanishing into the night. “That’s what I mean.”
Knobbe’s knees knocked. “After her, boy! Take my shovel! Give her a whack on the head.”
“What?”
“Put her back in that tomb!”
“You want me to kill Angela?”
“She’s seen you, boy! She knows your name! It’s her or us. Finish her off, or we swing at the end of a rope!”
“No!”
Knobbe’s eyes bulged. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I can’t. I won’t. She’s Angela.”
“This is no time for feelings, boy.”
“I don’t care.”
“How dare you defy me?” Knobbe railed. “After all the honors I’ve given you! You shame the Grand Society of Grave Robbers!”
“What Grand Society?” Hans shouted, the words bubbling faster than his thoughts. “Who else belongs? Where do you meet?” He saw the flicker in his father’s eyes. “There is no Grand Society, is there? It’s only you. It’s only ever been you.”
“You calling me a liar?” Knobbe threatened.
“It’s what you are,” Hans cried, hurt and anger pounding in his head. “The Grand Society of Grave Robbers. Ha! You made it up to seem important. So I’d grow up to be your slave.”
Knobbe howled and punched the handle of his shovel into Hans’ stomach. Hans dropped to the ground. “It’s your fault the girl must die,” Knobbe said. “You’re the one what let her see you. Her parents are taken. Her servants have fled. The job will be easy. Do it, now, or I will!”