Singing and dancing continued into the night as Waldland’s citizens reveled in the tyrant’s fall and the restoration of Archduke Fredrick. Time alone could right the evils of Arnulf’s reign, but for now Waldland celebrated the beginning of a beginning.
Under the reviewing stand, the Necromancer lay still as a corpse. The potion was wearing off slowly; though unable to move or speak, his mind had cleared. If I can get out of the city, I can live underground to plot my revenge, he thought. But how to escape unseen when the streets are full of merrymakers?
It was amid such fears that the Necromancer received an unexpected visit. Two little creatures, the likes of which could hide in dustbins, crept into the shadows of the stand and lifted the bunting from his face.
“We see’d you come here, Master,” said one. “We waited for you to come out all day. You’s still asleeplike, ain’t you?”
Are you my Weevils? the Necromancer wondered. How did you escape the castle? Why did you come to the capital?
The second Weevil read his mind. “You taughts us to hide where none would thinks to search for us,” he said. “That’s what we done. We hid by the palace where you’d never think to look.”
“Yes, Master, it’s like we got a cloak invisible. An’ now we’s come to spirit you from this place.”
Oh, clever pets, how I misjudged you, the Necromancer thought. There shall be treats indeed for stealing me from the city.
Each of the Weevils took a leg and hauled the Necromancer into the square. Under the bunting, he looked like a pile of cloth. No one paid heed as they lugged him down the streets, his head bouncing on the cobblestones, nor as they dragged him onto the dirt road leading out of town.
The Necromancer tried to tell them to take care, that the sticks and stones that littered the way were piercing his flesh; but his lips were mute, his limbs limp.
Now the most terrible smell. Ah, yes—his mind smiled—they’re taking me to the dumping grounds. What crafty pets. It’s the perfect place from which to plot my revenge.
But the Weevils dragged him ever onward. Now upward. They stopped. The Necromancer heard the banging of a heavy door knocker and the sound of a window grate sliding open.
“What do you want?” It was the keeper’s voice. They were at the asylum.
“We’s got a rare treat worth a few pennies. Come, take a look at our prize.”
The door creaked open. “What have we here?” the keeper said. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Him’s dead. All fresh and all,” the Weevils advised. “You’d best cuts him up ’fore he goes bad.”
But I’m alive, the Necromancer tried to scream. I’m alive.
“I’ve always wanted to see inside that brain,” the keeper said. “I’ll get to work at once.” He gave the Weevils a handful of coins and called his attendants to ready his knives and pickling jars.
No! the Necromancer howled silently. I’m alive! I’M ALIVE!
The keeper whistled a cheerful song, tossed the Necromancer over his shoulder, and carried him to the basement.