As always when she crested Fuller Hill she stopped the carriage so she could admire the sight of the looming Necropolis. In the twilight the busy intricacy of its many layers of spires, arches and statues of the Saintly Dead was indistinguishable allowing her to focus on the overall magnitude and form of the city. A bustling living city for the dead built over the dead ruins of a city for the living. Its centre bisected by the winding murky river Anamnesis along which some of the greatest of the civic buildings lay. Most visible was the Great Cathedral of the Dead with its vast marbled dome, carved into it were the names of the greatest of the dead though they were fortunate enough now to have been blessed with so many incredible forebears that names were carved within those names three layers deep. As much as she would loved another pilgrimage to the cathedral to hear the whispered wisdom of the Saintly Dead that was not her destination. For today she had been summoned to the Parliament of the Dead by the Prime Minister himself.

This was not something she had at all expected this morning when she’d been reading the papers to hear a raven tapping at the window. Knowing that ravens only ever brought grave news she’d been shocked, none of her relatives had been expected to Pass On, but by the time she’d unrolled the scroll she was pale enough to pass on herself. “As a matter of the greatest importance you are requested to travel to Parliament with all urgency and immediacy. This is by request of the Honourable Joseph Adams Brystwick, Prime Minister of the Necrocacy, Lord Protector of What-Could-Be and Chief Remembrancer of the What-Was-Once. As you may be some time away from home please pack appropriately and set your affairs in order.”

The carriage was passing through the shattered ruins of the lost city, winding its way through the indirect paths that led safely. A constant parade of yellow and black signs advised in the strongest possible terms how unwise it would be for anyone not ready to join the Dead to walk off the path into the ruins. Even now the wild excesses of the folly wrought by the Last Living Leader could take one’s life. It was a good reminder that it was better to be ruled by those whose foolish passions and personal interests had ended with the passing of weak physical flesh. The cold detached judgement of the dead, with no childish hormonal foolishness coursing through quickened blood had made the Necrocacy a prosperous nation for so many. One could live a good life here unlike many of the foreign lands where it seemed none had learned the lessons of the past. When one died there was a transition into a new state, an adult embracing of the need to progress rather than the childish continuation of “resurrection”. Still she found that at least preferable to the wasteful and catastrophic loss of wisdom and experience one found in the strictly-yolo lands.

At the Great Gate of Saint Angela she was stopped and her papers checked under flickering green torches held by silver skeletons in the deep blue uniforms of the City Guard. Several more guardsmen held snarling cerberuses on iron leads though each of the beasts had one head asleep. It was night now, she’d been travelling all day and her aching bones wished there had been time to take a slower, more comfortable carriage or perhaps one of the flying kind that were used on urgent state business. She suspected soon enough she’d be riding in one of the latter given the contents of her summons.

The lead skeleton seemed satisfied with her papers and signalled the others to stand down, it chattered at her “Please wait madame, we will arrange onward transport for you.”

He extended an arm to help her off her carriage which she accepted gratefully, doubtless even her finest sombre dress was not properly sufficient for a meeting with the Prime Minister but it was sufficiently proper to make moving freely awkward. After her luggage was removed by other guardsmen her carriage rolled off towards a stables for storage. With so few lights in the city after dark even this close one got magnificent skies and she looked up to admire the view. Her father had been a keen astronomer before Passing On and she had eagerly learned the names of the constellations and the stations of the Highers which were known to Baselines. The moon was waxing and gibbous, the ringed black scars surrounding the Yunoso Incursion were visible though the deep crater of the Incursion itself was not. As she squinted to try and any flickering firefights from lunar knights enforcing quarantine the guardsman returned.

“If you would follow me madame”, he extended an arm which she accepted and they walked together for a few minutes through a series of dark and winding passages going deeper underground. Though the guardsman’s bony feet and her own heeled boots should have produced noisy echoing footsteps they did not, for the Dead preferred there to be silence. They turned a corner and before them was a broad underground canal, with a dank, foetid air to it which was quite overwhelming. As the Dead were not often bothered by smell this was the sort of nuisance that happened in the Necropolis and she discreetly pulled a perfumed kerchief from her pocket to put under her nose.

The guardsman bid her to embark upon a small metal skiff, which moved smoothly off before she’d even sat down. There was of course no sound despite the deep wake being left behind her. Only lanterns on the walls of the canal provided any respite from darkness, they passed by quickly almost at a blur with the skiff frequently turning onto other canals bigger and smaller. Despite her frequent, prior visits to the Necropolis she’d lost all sense of her position and heading within its topography. For a few brief moments she had the unnerving sense that she was moving much, much faster than seemed possible. In only a couple of minutes the skiff arrived at its destination, another dock with an ancient signpost declaring she had arrived at parliament. On the dock stood a zombie in a formal suit and hat flanked by four skeletons in the red uniforms of the Parliamentary Guard.

The zombie doffed its hat, bowed and gazed at her with its glowing green eyes, “Miss Amanda Okonkwo I presume. Most good to see you. I am the Prime Minister’s Permanent Private Secretary Lucas Valgul. If you would kindly follow me I shall take you to the Prime Minister and perhaps answer some of the many pressing questions I am sure you have.”

As was polite he did not offer her an arm, the Dead felt it rude to touch one of the Living while corpsed in a zombie and she was very grateful not to have to touch the cold, sweetly rotting flesh. Despite the steady stream of bodies vacated by criminals it was relatively rare to see a zombie, particularly in the Necropolis where it was easy for them to otherwise appear. Lucas registered her distaste, “Awful things zombies, hate having to use one but needs must, needs must”.

She nodded sympathetically not understanding the need at all. Lucas began a brief inquisition, “You read Intercultural Politics under Professor Hastings yes? I believe your thesis was on the perceived evolution of the Overwatch’s enforcement yes?”

“You’re right on both counts,” she nodded.

“And have you kept in close contact with Professor Hastings?” there was the briefest flicker of annoyance in his voice.

“We write semi-regularly I suppose, we haven’t met face-to-face in nearly two years.”

Lucas stopped and the guards pinned her against the wall. His face pushed into hers, she could taste the stench of death from him, “Remember I know what is to be flesh. I know what it smells like when you’re lying. Answer me truly. Do you love the Necrocacy?”

“Of course”

“Do you believe there is any society better than ours on Earth or elsewhere?”

“No”

“Have you ever been contacted by someone you knew or suspected to be an agent of another society?”

She panicked, the truth didn’t seem like it was what he wanted but she was afraid to even try and lie a little to him, “I have met people from many other societies, Free-Expressionists, Technoutopians, a Dave-shard…”

He hissed stale rotting breath, “Anyone that was an agent, anyone that tried to turn you against us?”

“No, nothing like that,” she was afraid. He inhaled deeply, smelling the fear.

“Last question for now. Have you ever knowingly been in the physical presence of a Higher?”

When she’d been seven she was woken by a massive explosion. The lights were out in the house and all the street but there was a raging red light off in the distance. Everyone poured onto the streets in fear and confusion. Soon shouted rumours came that a Dragon had crashed in the park, father couldn’t pass up the chance to see one himself and despite mother’s protestations had taken her along him. The guard had already blocked off the main gate but they were able to sneak in through a missing piece of fence, there were flaming pieces of debris. Father had been so excited he’d lost all sensibilities and dragged his increasingly scared daughter closer to the terrifying ground zero. Whether the crash or what led to it, the Dragon had been destroyed, perhaps it was not even a Dragon but some other Higher construct. Whatever it was despite her crying and pleading her father got closer and closer to the wreckage. There was a crack of thunder as a sphere of total blackness appeared and enveloped the wreckage, it rested for a brief moment before expanding its extent to encompass her father. Before she could start screaming the sphere collapsed back in on itself in a rush of wind. When she picked herself back up there was no sign of her father and she fainted, as she lay unconscious she was sure she saw a glowing being watch over her before a guardsman found her. She had always suspected this was a higher.

She explained this to Lucas, “I mean you’ve studied the Highers enough to know that you didn’t see one there. They would never have come down for such a small thing as that.”

“I know what I saw.”

“My dear, your biological memory is a fallible thing. Such a tragic event as well, it’s only to be expected you would have seen things. No unless you have any other stories let us assume that you have never met a Higher manifesting physically,” she was lowered gently to the ground, a guardsman passing her the kerchief she’d dropped, “I apologise for the rudeness and interrogation, I assure you these are standard questions we must ask to assuage our confidence in your selection for this task.”

“I understand,” she did not but she trusted that such a high-ranking official as the Prime Minister’s Permanent Private Secretary, an honoured deadman with centuries of statecraft would not have so acted without believing it necessary.

Lucas passed the rest of the journey making smalltalk, pointing out famous statues and rooms as they ascended from the depths of the building to the more well-known rooms. Perhaps as a reward for the questioning she’d endured she was afforded a brief visit in the gallery above the chamber. The chamber was full with hundreds of MPs for a debate on improved maternity care, the chamber was bright with the pale green light of all the ghosts, it was the most she’d seen at once. It was inspiring to see so many of the long dead offering such wisdom and scrutiny of an issue that clearly could not affect them. The debate in the chamber ended and the ghosts flickered out, a vote would be called later. At this they moved on for the Prime Minister had only a brief window of time to meet with her.

Lucas ushered her to a seat in the Prime Minister’s office, it was uncomfortable but she had fully expected that in a building mainly furnished for the dead. Lucas excused himself, she was sure he wanted to lose the zombie and was finding somewhere private to leave the body without distressing her. It was overwhelming to be here after such a long day. Outside there was some shouting, at this she turned and saw the Prime Minister and the Health Secretary walk through the door.

The Prime Minister turned and nodded at her, “Forgive me, this is not language I would normally use in front of a lady but even the patience of the dead has its limits”, he turned back to the Secretary, “Harold, as I have said before many, many times you would not find yourself in these embarrassing disasters if you would simply stop fucking up each and every little thing that is asked of you. Now kindly please leave me and try to avoid causing any further catastrophes on your way out.”

Hearing one of the infamous Brystwick rants in person was even more fun than hearing it on the radio. It lightened the terrified knot in her stomach. The Prime Minister took his seat opposite her.

“Excellent to meet you at last Miss Okonkwo”, the door shut as another ghost entered the room, “I suspect Lucas here has been so busy terrifying and interrogating you he’s not even thought to cater to your needs,” he laughed warmly at his own joke, “You must remember to tend to the needs of our living guests Lucas…”

“I’m sorry,” the subject of the apology was unclear but she suspected it was not her, “Would you care for a drink or maybe even something to eat Miss Okonkwo?”

“I would very much appreciate some water to drink.”

Lucas muttered that this was fine and went to tend to the request.

“You are a highly educated woman Miss Okonkwo so I’ll not patronise you. Your mentor Professor Hastings seems to have made the poor choice to defect to another culture. We have strong reason to believe he has gone to the North-west Free Expression Zone and reincarnated in physical flesh,” the Prime Minister’s disgust at this almost manifested physically it was so strong, “Further we believe this is only the first stage of a wider plan to establish a Free Expression enclave within the Deadlands and petition the Highers to recognise this.”

This did not seem like the Professor Hastings she knew. Yet it seemed a slim chance that she would be here and speaking with the Prime Minister unless it was a highly, probable thing.

“I’m sorry to hear that sir, what do you need me to do?”

The PM smiled, “I’m glad to see such a patriotic, selfless attitude. It’s something one is so happy to see in one so young and alive as yourself. To put it bluntly Miss Okonkwo you are to be the smiling, familiar face which distracts Professor Hastings from seeing the net tightening around him. Now Lucas if you could kindly take Miss Okonkwo to meet the “net” that would be much appreciated. I wish you the best of luck and trust you will serve your country well Miss Okonkwo.”

Lucas ushered her out the room, her mind was racing and she forgot to thank the PM for this opportunity. Yesterday she had been a simple academic writing papers not even the immortal dead found the time to read. Today she was helping her country recover a defector from another nation, a breach of sovereignty that was a violation of the Overwatch. She should have asked for something stronger than water.