Chapter 1: Darcy. Colonel Darcy.
Colonel Fitzwilliam Darcy's hair blew in the wind as he rode his black colt Combat over Hingham Bridge and towards the town of Meryton. Hands gripping the reigns tighter, he kicked Combat's sides to encourage him further. He was anxious to see his best friend, Charles Bingley, after these several months. In his letter, Bingley had detailed how he purchased an estate called Netherfield and wished for Darcy to stay. As it happened, Darcy had just received orders to call upon the King, who in turn personally asked for him report to the residence of a Mrs. Featherstone, who resided on the outskirts of Meryton. It had been brought to the King and regiment's attention that an undead may be harboring in her midst and it was left up to Colonel Darcy to investigate.
Seeing as his duties brought him near Bingley's new Meryton residence and quite close to his Aunt Catherine's estate, Rosings Park, he hastily wrote Bingley agreeing to a visit to Netherfield. After settling his affairs and leaving his sister in the capable hands of her governess and training Master, he set out for London. He had just left London that morn and now rode the tiresome journey through the In-Between toward Mrs. Featherstone's residence. That night he was to meet Bingley at a dance, and so long as he did not run into too many of Satan's undead along the road, he should be ale to make his engagement.
Riding had always provided a much-needed escape to Darcy for he did not possess the eloquence that came so naturally to Bingley or the social graces that his stature should have allowed him. He took after his father in that regard for he too was a man of few words and stern demeanor. After his untimely death, Darcy isolated himself further and spent the majority of his time within the confines of Pemberley honing his skills in his lavish dojo or engrossed in combat across Great Britain fending off legions of the undead.
Many hours had he spent going over the two facts he knew surrounding his father's death: Mr. Wickham unearthed the documents detailing the generous living Darcy's father intended to leave him upon his death, and his father had been bitten in the neck shortly thereafter despite no undead being on the grounds of Pemberley. All of this pointed to Wickham somehow leading Darcy senior to his demise. Despite his apprehensions, Darcy handed over the sum his father had left Wickham. Wickham returned shortly thereafter requesting more money after he squandered his original living. Some months later he even tried to weasel his way into the affections of his sister, Georgiana, without question to commandeer her £30,000 dowry. Notwithstanding, he possessed no facts to challenge him to a trial by combat, and he prayed to the good Lord that he would never see him again.
His position as a Colonel had required him to travel through the In-Between en route to London on many occasions. During his visit with the King, his majesty once again emphasized the importance of Darcy's talents for vanquishing the undead being utilized near the final access bridge connecting London to Meryton and the rest of the outside countries. This is what now sent him in the direction of Hingham Bridge. In his coat pocket hid a vile of carrion flies and a dagger. His trusty musket was holstered to his black saddle and his katana smacked against his left leg with every jerk of the horse. Both weapons were gifted to him by his father upon completion of his Japanese training and brought fond memories of fighting alongside his father against the undead in Derbyshire.
The brick wall surrounding Hertfordshire County came into view, with its spiked wheels and a mere three regimentals guarding the gate. He would have to write to their superior notifying him of their ineptness at protecting the lands against swarms of the undead.
Riding through the country for several more hours, he finally saw the iron wall barricading Mrs. Featherstone's estate. Upon approaching the entrance, he dismounted, happy to stand.
"Who goes there?" someone asked.
Darcy glanced around and finally saw a musket barrel poking from a grate in the ground.
"Darcy. Colonel Darcy," he replied, surprised at how anyone could still not know who he was. A young man emerged from the grate, and aimed his rifle in Darcy's direction. Is this really necessary? he thought. Another man arose from the grate, and Darcy promptly removed his weapons belt, thrusting it at the youngest guard before climbing through the grate and into the tunnel that ran underground towards the estate. After a thorough body examination for zombie bites, he was granted access to the foyer, where a housemaid promptly informed him that Mrs. Featherstone was currently occupied hosting a whist party. Darcy insisted that urgent business required him to gain entrance to the party and after shooting her an unnerving glare she led him to the lady of the house.
The King had mentioned a certain gentleman by the name of Mr. Kingston had a run-in with a hoard of undead and was mysteriously left alive while traveling through the In-Between towards Mrs. Featherstone's gathering just days prior. The regimentals that happened to be riding by saw them barricaded inside their carriage while undead swarmed the gentleman in want of his delectable brains. Mr. Kingston had been trained himself in Japan, however his age and tendency to overindulge in drink and cards had replaced the warrior he used to be and instead stood a more sluggish serviceman who wished to enjoy the refineries of life.
Upon entering the quiet room, Darcy realized his reputation was widely spread throughout the party, seeing many pairs of unsettling eyes glancing his way. He inwardly grew prideful, taking his reputation to take down any undead, whether they be friend or enemy, as a highest compliment.
"Mr. Darcy," said Mrs. Featherstone in greeting.
"Colonel Darcy, Mrs. Featherstone," he replied, wanting to assert his rank and position in this uncomfortable situation. "I'm here on official business."
Mrs. Featherstone appeared anxious and walked towards Darcy, questioning him with her eyes.
"There's been a report that somebody here has been bitten," he said, addressing the room.
"Surely not," Mrs. Featherstone quickly responded, "there hasn't been a zombie instant in Hertfordshire for over two years."
At that, Darcy slowly began pacing through the room, eyeing each guest searching for undead tendencies.
"I assure you we have taken every precaution," she desperately urged on, no doubt wanting to assuage her guests.
"A newly infected zombie is almost impossible to detect," he said. "Until they have ingested their first human brains, at which point transformation accelerates with every subsequent kill."
"Yes, we are all well aware of how it works, Colonel Darcy," said Mrs. Featherstone growing impatient with his presence at her once merry gathering. A gentleman residing at one table then began dealing out cards. Odd, thought Darcy, especially considering everyone else was so enraptured with his presence to continue their pursuit of a winning hand.
"Are you quite satisfied?" she inquired after he did not respond.
"Quite," Darcy said, giving her a rare smile. "Might I play a hand?" he asked, hoping to get a closer look at this gentleman.
"Of course," Mrs. Featherstone said, smiling back, no doubt happy to have this business behind them.
Darcy moved to the unoccupied seat to the right of the certain gentleman and offered everyone at the table a proper afternoon greeting accompanied by another smirk. The tension seemed to ease from the room, and lively conversation began again by all parties present. Mrs. Featherstone glanced up from her seat across from Darcy and offered him a smile.
Before picking up his cards, Darcy pulled the vile containing the carrion flies from his coat pocket and placed it upon the table.
"A potion?" the elderly lady to his right asked.
"Flies mum," he said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Carrion flies," he said placing his cards down, picking up the vile and releasing the stopper to allow a few flies an escape. "They are in possession of but one truly enviable talent: the ability to detect dead flesh." The flies were now buzzing loudly about the room, putting people in a state of unease once more.
"I've won the trick!" said the gentleman to his left. Seeing the flies hovering around their table, Darcy no longer doubted that one this gentleman next to him was Mr. Kingston and second that he had been bitten by an undead. Darcy decided to test his theory
"Very crafty play, Mr. Kingston," he said. Receiving no correction of the gentleman's name, he awaited for his moment to strike.
"The buzzing is frightfully loud," the elderly lady said addressing Darcy.
"It is not the buzzing that should concern you madam, but rather when the buzzing stops," he rebuffed.
At that moment, the buzzing did indeed stop. "Oh dear," said the elderly lady upon seeing all flies clinging to Mr. Kingston's face.
Without glancing up, Darcy was fully aware of Mr. Kingston's eyes turning red and undead like. He was left to play this kill close to the chest for he only had his dagger within the confines of his coat. He then noticed an almost empty glass on the table that would do for a makeshift weapon. After all, by the time he dislodged his dagger, Mr. Kingston could have already begun feasting on the brains of one of the guests. Darcy slowly pressed the glass to his lips, downing the last bit of remaining sherry. Upon completion, he hastily broke the glass on the table, and slammed it into the neck of Mr. Kingston, startling all around him. Mr. Kingston abruptly began growling and clawing at Darcy, but Darcy quickly liberated his dagger from his coast pocket and used the sharp blade to separate Mr. Kingston's head from the rest of his body, letting both drop to the floor once the task was complete.
Standing above his most recent kill, Darcy gave a quick kick to his brains to ensure the undead Mr. Kingston was certainly dead, and then used his blade to determine the source of his bite. Upon opening his right sleeve, Darcy discovered a zombie bite Mr. Kingston no doubt received while fending off those undead several days ago.
Darcy began wiping his black boots on the floor to rid them of Mr. Kingston's blood, and then pulled out a white handkerchief to clean his dagger. "Is there anyone else present whom he would have had the opportunity to infect?" he asked, throwing the now ruined handkerchief to the floor.
Mrs. Featherstone shook her head indicating that no, there was no one else.
"A family member perhaps?" he encouraged, glancing at Mrs. Featherstone's daughter, Cassandra. Mrs. Featherstone again indicated that he had no relatives within the residence. Darcy glanced at both faces for a while, feeling that they were hiding some fact from him. After a few moments, he decided to take his leave. He wished them a good evening and turned to quit the room and make his way to Netherfield.
"Who dare would just leave a zombie head in the middle of the floor?" cooed one of the female guests. At that, Darcy promptly kicked Mr. Kingston's undead head across the room, gaining shouts and cries of panic from all parties present. He had enough of these people and their ingratitude for saving their lives from the undead Mr. Kingston. Packing the remaining steps to the door, he abruptly left, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in his wake.