Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy

how did I beat you?”

      “You hit my nose!”

      “Exactly. If you can hit your opponent’s nose more than he can hit yours, you too will taste victory.”

      “I’m bleeding!”

      “You might need a tissue.”

      Thrasher came forward, a box of tissues in his big, stupid, masculine hands. Scapegrace yanked a handful free and held them to his face as he glared at Ping. “When will I be ready?”

      “Soon, my student.”

      “You keep saying that. How soon is soon?”

      “Soon is when the moment passes,” Ping answered.

      Scapegrace was certain that made no actual sense, but he knew better than to press it. Thrasher helped him to his feet. The idiot’s new body was all muscle and chiselled jawline – a chiselled jawline that should have been Scapegrace’s own.

      “You seem frustrated,” Ping said.

      “Of course I’m frustrated,” said Scapegrace. “I have one way of gaining the respect of the people who have mocked me all my life – to become the greatest warrior the world has ever seen. You were supposed to teach me the deadly arts, but all you do is hit me when I fall down.”

      “I see,” said Ping. “You do not think you are learning, is that it? Tell me something, my student. Have you ever seen The Karate Kid? The original, starring Ralph Macchio, not the remake, starring the son of Will Smith. Have you seen it?”

      “Of course.”

      “In that movie, Daniel-san does not believe he is learning, either, does he? And yet Mr Miyagi is teaching him without him even being aware of it. That is sort of what I am doing.”

      “So what am I learning?”

      “When the time comes, you will know.”

      Scapegrace narrowed his eyes. “In that movie, Mr Miyagi has Daniel doing all these mundane tasks like painting the fence and waxing the car, then later Daniel does the same moves and finds out it’s karate. You have me doing all of these fighting moves … if I find out later that what you’re actually doing is teaching me how to paint fences and wax cars, I’m not paying you, you understand?”

      Ping chortled. “Very funny, you are, Miss Scapegrace.”

      “Mr!” Scapegrace roared. “I am a man!”

      “Of course,” Ping said, bowing. “Of course you are. Our lessons begin again in the morning.” And with that, he stepped backwards into the shadows, and silence settled like autumn leaves falling from the trees.

      Thrasher peered closer. “Are you still there?”

      From the shadows, the aforementioned silence. Then, “No.”

      “You are,” said Thrasher. “I can see you.”

      Scapegrace could see Ping, too, but he didn’t say anything as the wise old grandmaster shuffled sideways until he reached the doorway, then went down on his hands and knees and crawled out. A few seconds later, the back door opened and closed. Thrasher murmured something.

      Scapegrace glared. “What? What did you say?”

      Thrasher sighed. “I just don’t see why you have to become a warrior, Master. Why put yourself in harm’s way? We have healthy new bodies and new lives to live and, OK, your body might not be ideal, but who cares about what we look like? It’s who we are inside that counts.”

      “Tell me something – when Nye was putting your brain in that head, are you sure he didn’t drop any on the floor?”

      “Oh, Master, please don’t be mean.”

      “Don’t be mean? Don’t be mean? You’re an idiot! My new body isn’t ‘ideal’? It’s not even the same gender as my old one! Do you know what it’s like to be one gender trapped in another gender’s body?”

      “I … I might,” said Thrasher.

      “You have no idea! Look at you! You’re an Adonis! You walk down the street and people stare in admiration! But when I walk down the street …”

      “Well, maybe if you started wearing underwear …”

      “Underwear?” Scapegrace screeched. “Underwear? You think that’s the solution? Everything I wear is either too tight or too loose! I have pains in my back, did you know that? Do you know how hard it is to even stand upright in this body? How do women do it?”

      Thrasher cleared his throat. “Well, sir, not all women are as … physically impressive as you are.”

      Scapegrace narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you be getting any ideas.”

      “Sir?”

      “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

      Thrasher looked horrified. “Master, no! I assure you, I do not find your present body to be attractive in the slightest!”

      “Oh, really? You think you could do better?” Scapegrace sagged, turned away. “What am I saying? Of course you could do better. Look at you. You could have any woman you want.”

      “But I don’t want any woman, Master.”

      “You say that now …”

      “I’ll say that until the end of time, sir. I’m yours.”

      Scapegrace turned slowly, looked Thrasher in the eyes. “What do you mean?”

      “Uh,” said Thrasher.

      “That was an odd thing to say.”

      “Was it?”

      “Very.”

      “Oh.”

      “Very odd.”

      “We could ignore it, if you want.”

      Scapegrace looked at him. Thrasher was acting weird. Even weirder than usual. He appeared to be blushing, for God’s sake. Scapegrace frowned. “What was I saying before?”

      “Becoming a warrior, Master.”

      “Yes. Soon, I will unlock the secrets of the deadly arts and I will become the greatest warrior the world has ever known.”

      Thrasher looked at him. “Why?”

      “Why what?”

      “Why become a great warrior? What are you going to do afterwards?”

      Scapegrace sneered. “You ask an awful lot of questions.”

      “I just … I was just wondering what—”

      “I don’t pay you to wonder.”

      “You don’t pay me at all.”

      “I am a sorcerer, Thrasher. Among the many things that separate us, that is but one. There is no magic in you, but in me? Magic seethes within me. And now that I’m no longer a zombie, I can feel it again. It is reawakening.”

      “What kind of magic is it? I’ve always wanted to ask.”

      “But you haven’t asked, have you? Not until right now. Why is that, I wonder? Is your new body giving you confidence, Thrasher?”

      “What? No, Master!”

      “Is it filling you with self-worth? With self-respect?”

      “Never! I swear to you!”

      “Because if I find out it is …”

      Thrasher fell to his knees. “Master, I hate my new body. I do. Granted, it’s perfect in every physical way, but it’s … it’s not the body you attacked and killed on that warm September afternoon, those few short years ago. It’s