“May we kiss them, Master?” Lydia asked, already taking a few bounding strides ahead.

“No! We stay together!”

As sharp as the Master’s voice was, there was also a curious, distant quality to it that drew Mary around to look at him.

She found nothing to see. There was no sign of him on the road.

“Master?” Mary gasped. “He’s gone!”

“Not far,” Kitty said. “Look up, Mary.”

Mary looked up.

Master Hawksworth was standing on a thick branch jutting out over the lane.

“If that had been an unmentionable,” he said, “claiming the high ground could have been the first step on the path to victory. From here, a warrior might use throwing stars or daggers to harass his foe, returning to the ground for an honorable kill stroke at the moment of his choosing. Remember that the next time you find yourself taken by surprise, Mary Bennet.”

“Yes, Master. I will.”

Master Hawksworth dropped to the ground with a beautifully executed Leaping Leopard—then immediately Leopard Leapt right back up to the same branch again.

“Yes, yes . . . I see,” Mary said. “I shan’t forget when the opportunity presents itself, Master.”

“Mary, you dolt!” Kitty cried. “The opportunity’s here!”

Mary turned around to find her sisters gone.

“High ground, Mary!” Lydia called out. “High ground!”

Mary followed the sound of her sister’s voice and spied Lydia clambering up a nearby tree. Kitty was already straddling a branch higher up, arms wrapped around the trunk.

“Don’t look at us!” Kitty pointed frantically downward. “Look at him! Look at him!”

“Look at who?”

By the time she spotted the zombie, it was almost upon her, and she forgot all about high ground and the Master’s path to victory.

The dreadful had been so long dead there was no clothing left on it and only enough flesh to hold some of the bones together. It had no arms, no legs—just a rib cage, neck, and skull stitched over with stringy cords of old skin.

It humped its way toward Mary like a massive, rabid inchworm. A fast one.

Mary whipped up her flintlock and fired, and one of the unmentionable’s shoulders exploded in a shower of powderized bone.

The rest of the unmentionable kept coming.

“Run!” Kitty shouted. “Let the Master handle it!”

“Yes!” Lydia threw in. “Our tree’s full, but there are plenty of others for you!”

The Master himself said nothing. He was sure to be watching, though. Sure to be judging. And Mary intended to pass the test.

She threw aside her pistol and drew her katana just as the dreadful reached her, and she sidestepped and sliced downward simultaneously.

The unmentionable lost its other shoulder. What was left slithered around to snap at Mary’s heels.

A clumsy attempt at a Leaping Leopard nearly broke her ankles, but it also took her out of range just in time.

“Ooooo, nice jump,” Lydia said. She whipped a throwing star into the top of the dreadful’s head, yet it didn’t even seem to notice.

“Climb, Mary, climb!” Kitty called out. “Before the zombie charges again!”

“Oh, Kitty—you, too, now?” Mary widened her stance and brought up her sword. “A lady says unmentionable.”

The dreadful wriggled toward her again. Just as it jerked its head up for a chomp out of her shin, she plunged her sword through its mouth, skewering it straight down the spine. Yet still the creature wouldn’t die, and it writhed wildly and bit at the blade of the katana, chipping off shards of its own jaw.

Mary walked over to the tree her sisters were sitting in and bashed the zombie against the trunk until what was left of its brain had been smeared like blackberry jam across the rough bark. At last, the unmentionable stopped moving.

“Mary, that was . . . astonishing.”

Kitty leapt down from her branch.

“Yes,” Lydia said, dropping to the ground beside her. “But did you have to beat out the thing’s brains? I am not picking my throwing star out of that mess.”

Mary paid them no heed. Neither their praise nor their censure meant anything to her. There was only one person who mattered.

She looked up at Master Hawksworth.

He watched her from on high for what seemed like a long, long time. And then, at last, he spoke.

“Well done, Mary Bennet. Your sword work was sloppy, however, and that Leaping Leopard? Shameful! We must return to the dojo at once for more practice.”

“Ohhhh, back to the dojo already?” Lydia moaned.

Kitty kicked at the dirt. “We didn’t even make it to Netherfield. I want to see more soldiers!”

Yet Mary silently rejoiced.

“Well done,” the Master had said. Well done! For him this was gushing, raving, even fawning.

Perhaps Geoffrey Hawksworth was revealing his true self at last.

IT HUMPED ITS WAY TOWARD MARY LIKE A MASSIVE, RABID INCHWORM.

CAPTURING A DREADFUL, it turned out, was the easy part. Getting it to go where one wanted—that was nearly impossible.

Dr. Keckilpenny’s custom-built zombie net fit over the unmentionable’s head and upper torso snugly enough, pinning its arms to its sides. But the only way to get the creature to do anything other than hurl itself, snarling, at the nearest sign of life was to push or pull it by the attached rod. And even with Elizabeth and the doctor pushing and pulling together, the dreadful was almost too strong for them, and either they or it were continually being jerked this way or that. Accordingly, their path through the forest was a staggering zigzag, and twice the unmentionable jerked the net pole from their hands and ran madly in some random direction only to crash into a tree and collapse.

Eventually, the trio stumbled into view of the sentry stationed on the road, and it was only much shouting of “We’re alive! Still! Really! Believe us!” that spared them another greeting from his Brown Bess.

“I think you might want to fetch the lieutenant and a few of your mates, Private Johnson!” Dr. Keckilpenny called out when the man finally lowered his musket.

“Jones,” Elizabeth corrected.

“Sorry! Jones!”

The dreadful lunged at the sound of the doctor’s voice, scratching wildly with its gray fingers.

“If you could hurry, it would be appreciated!” Elizabeth added.

Jones scampered off.

Within minutes, he was back with Lt. Tindall and a small squad of soldiers. The lieutenant came striding up tight lipped and hard eyed, but most of his men slinked cringingly behind him, looking only slightly less reluctant to go where they were told than the dreadful was.

“I didn’t believe it, but I see it’s true.” Lt. Tindall drew his sword. “All right, then . . . release it and stand back. I’ll finish it for you.”

“If our intention had been to finish it, we could have easily done that ourselves,” Elizabeth replied. The words felt good until the dreadful thrust itself at her, nearly knocking her over. Fortunately, she managed to retain her footing and, in the process, her dignity (or whatever dignity one can have when being jostled by a zombie in a butterfly net).

“Perhaps I should explain, Lieutenant,” Dr. Keckilpenny said.

“There is no ‘perhaps’ about it.”

“No, I suppose not. Well, here’s the gist of it . . .”

When the doctor was through outlining his intentions—that the “gentleman in question” was to be held prisoner in order to “accommodate certain vital experiments”—Lt. Tindall’s response required but one word and a suitable scowl to go with it.

“Abominable!”

“There is little ‘perhaps’ about that, either, I suppose,” said Dr. Keckilpenny. “But do remember: The War Office has given me carte blanche, and I should think you’d at least want to consult with your commanding officer before contravening orders that have come down to you from so very high.”