Книга - Kingdom of the Wicked

Kingdom of the Wicked
Derek Landy


Magic is a disease.Across the land, normal people are suddenly developing wild and unstable powers. Infected by a rare strain of magic, they are unwittingly endangering their own lives and the lives of the people around them. Terrified and confused, their only hope lies with the Sanctuary. Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain are need now more than ever.And then there’s the small matter of Kitana. A normal teenage girl who, along with her normal teenage friends, becomes infected. Becomes powerful. Becomes corrupted. Wielding the magic of gods, they’re set to tear the city apart unless someone stands up against them.Looks like it’s going to be another one of those days…





















First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2012

First published in this edition in the

United States of America by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2019

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins website address is:

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Skulduggery Pleasant rests his weary bones on the web at:

www.skulduggerypleasant.com (http://www.skulduggerypleasant.com)

Derek Landy blogs under duress at

www.dereklandy.blogspot.com (http://www.dereklandy.blogspot.com)

Text copyright © Derek Landy 2012

Illuminated letters copyright © Tom Percival 2012

Skulduggery Pleasant


Derek Landy

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HarperCollins Publishers

All rights reserved.

Skulduggery Pleasant ©


Derek Landy

Cover design © blacksheep-uk.com (http://blacksheep-uk.com)

Cover illustration © Neil Swabb

Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008266400

Ebook Edition © ISBN: 9780008266417

Version: 2018-11-06


This book is dedicated to the HarperCollins Children’s Books Publicity Department.

Publicists are an odd bunch. Part manager, part bodyguard, part servant, you’re only happy when you take over an author’s life completely. I would berate you for this, but I have yet to find a publicist who stops talking long enough for me to say anything.

To the Ireland branch, the legend that is Moira O’Reilly and the quiff that is Tony Purdue.

To the UK branch, both past and present (regrettably not future, though, but future publicists, feel free to accept this dedication as your own):

Emma Bradshaw – for that time I mocked your iPod choices. Oh how we/I laughed.

Catherine Ward – for that moment we shared, bonding over The Princess Bride. What do you mean you don’t remember it?

Tiffany McCall – you had ‘The Imperial March’ as your ringtone. How could we not get along?

Sam White – I like to think I played a part in why you married an Irishman. You’re welcome.

Mary Byrne – Gilmore Girls. Just … Gilmore Girls.

Geraldine Stroud – this is for that English/Polish dictionary you got me. It didn’t get me anywhere with the check-out girl, but at least you tried …

This is for all of you, without whom my life would be so much simpler. I’ve learned a lot from you, and I daresay you’ve learned a lot from me. Specifically, to never leave me on a train platform unattended. I will get on the wrong train.


Contents

Cover (#u7ca03254-301a-5a76-aa7f-4a021405b059)

Title Page (#ue6e0865c-314f-5dda-b73e-d41c9d74689d)

Copyright (#u14457c2c-7374-5d4d-9872-6dd4762704dd)

Dedication (#u4f58b04b-8092-593b-94a1-4869fe108079)

Prologue (#u919eb2e3-0b24-5e96-a74f-02b561e0242b)

Chapter 1: The Butterfly and the Wolf (#u8297e78d-d7c9-5428-b8c3-ec6433562510)

Chapter 2: The Werewolf of Dublin (#ub9c1880f-a272-56a9-a6ec-a03e749d8269)

Chapter 3: Councils Meet (#u8af52b96-5ca9-593d-934a-fb0db225d2ae)

Chapter 4: Eliza (#u74d0add8-c92b-5907-91e9-545ea68c9011)

Chapter 5: Early Night (#ue8fd9955-ae8a-50e7-b675-152bb5bd8a7c)

Chapter 6: Back in the Sanctuary (#u658c472d-fcc9-5dd5-a863-77631044cae8)

Chapter 7: The Story of Walden D’Essai (#ue7fecfca-fca8-51f4-8e20-deb434595eb0)

Chapter 8: Gaol Time (#uc864a9b6-181f-5b45-ac16-f8bf65668a67)

Chapter 9: Hunted (#u6f7d5f14-4eb9-5d82-bfc2-e2e263040b68)

Chapter 10: Nadir (#u74a83d55-91cf-5d8a-ad15-7cba16b5d11d)

Chapter 11: Scenes from a Coffee Shop (#u5e0543ce-3eca-5761-9ae4-c3b431bf32ec)

Chapter 12: The Bedrock of Investigation (#u8fe4e4c4-5834-5f66-aebc-ef44f7791891)

Chapter 13: Manipulations (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14: Kray (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15: Killing Chris (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16: The Other Here (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17: Keeping the Demon Down (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18: A Jar With a View (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19: Jumping from Airplanes (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20: Lament’s Sorcerers (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21: Argeddion (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22: Conversations With My Killer (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23: The Plot (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24: Searching the Sanctuary (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25: The Inevitable Return of Fletcher Renn (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26: Poor Tommy Purcell (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27: Mayhem (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28: Her Secret Agenda (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29: All Becomes Clear (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30: The Experiment (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31: Carol (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32: Strangers in a Strange Land (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33: The Man in Black (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34: Inside the City (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35: Chipping Away (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36: The Old Man in Chains (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37: The Debrief (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38: Two Against Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39: Forced Hands (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40: Old Friends (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 41: Their Guide (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 42: Collecting the Results (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 43: 18 Mount Temple Place (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 44: The Way In (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 45: The Perfect Body (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 46: The Problems With Mortals (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 47: Into the Palace (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 48: Kitana’s Quandary (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 49: The Deal (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 50: Supercharged (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 51: Argeddion Falls (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 52: Fearful Symmetry (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 53: A Little Bit of War (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 54: Head Over Heels (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 55: A Happy Ending (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)

The Skulduggery Pleasant series (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)







(#ulink_0d78eca2-25ce-574e-9dfd-2b91c99b5ac4)





t was a beautiful spring day and they were standing on the roof.

“Do it,” said Kitana. Her voice was low but urgent, tinged with an excitement that bubbled up from somewhere within her. Her straight white teeth bit lightly on her bottom lip. Her face was flushed. Her eyes sparkled. So eager to learn a new way to hurt people.

Doran turned to the chimney and held out his hand. He grunted, his face going red and the muscles in his neck standing out. It looked pretty funny until his hand started to glow. There was a light under his skin, and it was getting brighter the more he concentrated.

“Oh, great,” said Sean. “We have the power of flashlights. Let the world beware.”

“Quiet,” Kitana said sharply. “Let him focus.”

Sean didn’t like it when Kitana dismissed him like that. Elsie could see it in his face. Angry, embarrassed, hurt. If Elsie had ever taken that tone with him, she doubted he’d even notice. Not that she ever would treat him like that. She wasn’t like Kitana, who could spend a whole day mocking him and then, with one smile the next day, would have him back under her thumb.

Elsie wasn’t mean like Kitana, but then she wasn’t pretty like her, either, or blonde like her, or slim like her. She was fat and ugly and all the dyed hair and black clothes and pierced lips in the world couldn’t hide that.

A beam of light shot from Doran’s hand, crackling and sizzling, and blasted a hole through the chimney.

Kitana whooped with joy and Sean stared, mouth open. Doran dropped his hand and grinned.

“It was easier that time,” he said. “Gets easier the more you do it.”

Kitana ran to his side. “Teach me! Oh my God, teach me now!”

Doran laughed, stood behind her, used one hand to guide her arm while the other hand was on her hip. He spoke softly, into her ear, and she nodded as she listened. Elsie looked at Sean. He wasn’t looking impressed any more. Now he just looked jealous. Elsie couldn’t help it – she was disappointed. Doran was just a thug and an idiot who followed Kitana around like almost every other seventeen-year-old boy in their school. But Elsie had thought Sean was different. She walked over.

Light flared in Kitana’s hand and the chimney blew apart. She screamed in delight, hugged Doran.

“That was cool,” Elsie said to Sean. He murmured. She smiled. “Maybe we should try it.”

“Knock yourself out,” he said, and walked away from her.

Her heart did that sinking thing again. Sometimes it seemed like the only reason it ever rose up was just so it could sink back down. She followed Sean over to them, half-listened to the instructions they were given. Doran lost his temper, started calling her names, and Kitana laughed and egged him on. Sean was too preoccupied with figuring out how to do the new trick – she doubted he even noticed they were picking on her again. Maybe that was for the best. If he did notice and he didn’t do anything to stop it, wouldn’t that be worse?

Finally, after many curses and insults, Elsie began to feel the power in her hand, felt how hot it was getting. Beside her, Sean’s arm was trembling.

“Feel that heat?” Doran asked. “Make it even hotter. Make it so that it almost hurts.”

They stood in a circle, all four of them, with their arms held up towards the sky. Kitana had already done it twice.

“Feel it?” Doran asked.

“Yeah,” said Sean impatiently. “Now what?”

“Now you just push it out of you,” Doran said. “All the energy, just push it straight out. Like this.”

A beam of crackling energy shot out of his hand. A moment later, Kitana’s beam joined it, a slightly deeper colour that mingled with his.

“This is so cool,” she whispered.

Sean gritted his teeth. Sweat rolled off his forehead. But then the light in his hand flashed even brighter, and his own beam of energy raced towards the clouds and he laughed shakily.

Elsie became aware of Kitana’s eyes on her.

“Last one, Elsie. You can do it.”

Elsie licked her lips. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Kitana’s voice had lost the playful lilt she used with the boys. When she spoke to Elsie, there was always a harder edge to it. “You can’t be the only one of us not able to do this stuff. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, have you ever heard that?”

Of course Elsie had heard that. Who hadn’t heard that? But that was part of Kitana’s way, to treat her like an idiot. Elsie didn’t respond. Instead, she took that frustration and added it to the heat in her hand. It was really burning now. It was like her hand was about to explode.

“Hurry up,” said Doran, straining slightly. “Can’t keep this going for ever.”

Elsie felt that heat and pushed it, tensing every muscle in her body, pushing it up, out of her skin, away from her, and then it burst through, a beam of orange energy, flashing to the sky, joining the others. Elsie couldn’t help it, she laughed. It was all so pretty. So beautiful.

Doran was the first to cut off his beam. He lowered his hand with a gasp. Kitana followed soon after, and then Sean, and finally Elsie. She was tired, like she’d poured all of her strength into that beam, but every part of her was tingling. Sean and Doran were both smiling, too. Only Kitana’s eyes were narrowed, like she hadn’t really wanted Elsie to be able to do it.

A car pulled up on the road below, and a man got out. He looked furious. “Get down from there!” he shouted.

“We’re allowed up here,” Kitana called out. “We have the owner’s permission. Unless you are the owner, in which case get lost or we’ll kill you.”

“Let’s use him for target practice,” Doran whispered.

Before Elsie could object, the man swung his arms. A strong wind suddenly blew and he rose upwards like he was flying. Sean cursed and they all jumped back, and the man landed in front of them.

“Do you have any idea how risky this is?” he raged. “You’re out in the open, for God’s sake. How stupid are you kids?”

“You’re … you’re like us?” Kitana asked.

“I could see your damn lightshow from miles away. What were you trying to do? Were you trying to get noticed?”

“We didn’t think there was anyone else,” Kitana said.

The man stared. “Anyone else? What? What do you mean?”

“I mean other people like us, people with super-powers.”

“What? What are you talking about? Listen to me, all right? You’re not superheroes, you’re sorcerers, and sorcerers don’t use their powers where normal people can see. You’ve got to be very careful. Secrecy has got to be the number-one rule for you from this moment on.”

“We’re very sorry, mister,” said Kitana.

He sighed. “My name is Patrick Xebec.”

“That’s a stupid name,” said Doran.

“Doran,” Kitana said, her tone scolding.

“We don’t have time to get into this now,” said Xebec, “but you need to take on a new name, otherwise other sorcerers will be able to control you.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m always serious. I’ve never had a very good sense of humour, and I’ve never been particularly good with children.”

“We’re not children,” said Doran, flipping up his hoodie. “We’re seventeen.”

“Anyone below the age of ninety is a child to me,” Xebec said. “Sorcerers live longer than mortal people.”

“Cool,” said Sean.

“So your name wasn’t always Xebec, then?” Kitana asked.

“This is a name I took. It felt right, so I took it, and it’s been my name ever since.”

“And if I changed my name from Kitana Kellaway to, like, Kitana Killherway, that would stop me from being controlled?”

“If you want that as your taken name, sure.”

Doran grinned. “I’ll be Doran Kickass.”

“That’s the stupidest name ever,” Kitana said, giggling. “Sean, what about you?”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. “How about Sean Chill? Or Sean Destiny, or something? Sean the King.” He laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be Sean the King.”

All three of them laughed. Kitana didn’t ask Elsie what her name would be.

“Look,” said Xebec, “pick whatever names you want, I don’t care. I’m not qualified to take you through this. I don’t get involved in any of that Sanctuary stuff. I just live my life and get on with it.”

“What’s the Sanctuary?”

“It’s like our own private government. It has cops and soldiers and they’re always saving the world or getting themselves killed. You need to go to them, they’ll tell you everything you need to know. But if you want my advice, the moment that’s done with, walk away. Don’t become part of it. You’ll just wind up dead.”

“Magic cops,” Kitana said. “I don’t like the sound of that. Can they do what we do?”

“There are all different disciplines of magic,” said Xebec. “I’m an Elemental. What can you do?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Kitana. “We keep on finding new things. Like, at first we were just strong, but then we could move things without touching them. And now today we can fire beams of energy from our hands.”

“I figured out how to do that,” Doran said proudly.

Xebec frowned. “You can do all those things?”

“Probably more, as well,” said Doran. “Every day there’s something new.”

“I don’t know what you are,” Xebec said. “You should only have one of those abilities, two at the most. But even then you’d have to train for years.”

“Maybe we’re naturals,” Kitana said, smiling. “So the cops can’t do the things we can do?”

“No,” said Xebec. “No one can, as far as I know.”

Kitana bit her lip. “Oh, that’s good to hear.”

“I’ll call the Sanctuary,” said Xebec. “They’ll be able to figure out what’s going on. Come on.”

He turned, walked to the edge of the roof. Sean went to follow, but Kitana tapped his arm, holding him in place.

“I don’t think you should make that call,” she said.

Xebec turned. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what to do. I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

“Actually, you’ve been a great help already. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. But we can’t let you tell the magic cops about us.”

Doran raised his arm and his hand glowed. Xebec stepped back, eyes wide, didn’t even have time to say anything before a beam of energy burned through his leg. He fell, screaming.

Kitana took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and Xebec stiffened and collapsed, as dead as anything could get.

Sean looked at Kitana. “What did you do?”

“I squashed his brain with my mind,” Kitana said, and she started laughing.


Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

– The Tyger, William Blake







(#ulink_25c982f8-4580-59c7-924a-396eb45d83c0)





’m a butterfly!” screamed the fat man as he ran, flapping his arms like two really flabby, really rubbish wings.

“You’re actually not,” Valkyrie Cain told him for the eighth time. He ran around her in a big circle, bathed in moonlight, and she just stood there with her head down. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and moments earlier she’d had to drag her eyes away from his wobbling bosoms before they made her feel queasy. Now that his trousers were starting their inexorable slide downwards, she was averting her gaze altogether. “Please,” she said, “pull up your trousers.”

“Butterflies don’t need trousers!” he screeched. A moment later, those trousers landed by her feet.

She took out her phone and dialled. “He’s in his underpants,” she said angrily.

Skulduggery Pleasant’s smooth voice sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m sorry? Who is in his underpants?”

“Jerry Houlihan,” she said. “He thinks he’s a butterfly. Apparently they don’t wear trousers.”

“And is he a butterfly?”

“He isn’t.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Quite.”

“He could be a butterfly dreaming he’s a man.”

“Well, he’s not. He’s a big fat man dreaming he’s a big fat butterfly. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was another hesitation. “I’m not sure. You don’t happen to have a large net handy, do you?”

“I want to hit him. I want to hit you, but I also want to hit him.”

“You can’t hit him. He’s an ordinary mortal under some kind of magical influence. It’s not his fault he’s acting this way. I assume you have him out of public view at the very least? Valkyrie? Valkyrie, are you there?”

“I’m here,” she said dully. “He’s started leaping with every third step. It’s kind of mesmerising.”

“I can only imagine. The Cleavers should be with you in half an hour or so. Can you contain him until then?”

She gripped the phone tighter. “You’re not serious. You can’t be serious. We’ve saved the world. I, personally, have saved the world. This here, right now, this is not something I do. This is something other people do and then you and me laugh about it later.”

“We do what needs to be done, Valkyrie. Once you’ve handed him over to the Cleavers, meet me in Phibsborough.”

She sighed. “Another busy night?”

“It certainly looks that way. I really must go. Sally Yorke has just set fire to her knees.”

The line went dead. Valkyrie gritted her teeth and stuffed the phone back in the pocket of her black trousers. This was not how a seventeen-year-old girl was supposed to spend her evenings. She blamed the Council of Elders for making this a priority. Yes, she accepted that it was a major problem that previously unremarkable mortals were suddenly developing magical abilities – aside from the threat they posed to themselves and others, they also risked exposing the existence of magic to the general public, and that was not something that could be allowed to happen. But why, out of all the cases that were popping up all over Ireland, did Valkyrie have to deal with the weird ones who thought they were butterflies? There were a few dozen sedated mortals back in the Sanctuary and not one of those was as weird and unsettling as Jerry Houlihan in his underpants.

Valkyrie frowned, and wondered why she couldn’t hear Jerry’s footsteps any more. Then she looked up and saw him flying through the night sky, flapping his arms and squealing with glee.

“Jerry!” she shouted. “Jerry Houlihan, get down here!”

But Jerry just giggled and jiggled, unsteady in the air but flying – definitely flying. He reversed course, flapping back towards her. Stupidly, she looked up as he passed directly overhead. The image seared itself into her mind and she felt a little piece of herself die.

Jerry veered off course, drifting from the safety of the park towards the bright streetlights of Dublin City. Valkyrie reached up, felt the air, felt how the spaces connected, and then she pulled a gust of wind right into him, knocking him back towards her. She needed a rope or even a piece of string, just something to anchor him in place like a fat, man-shaped kite.

“Jerry,” she called, “can you hear me?”

“I’m a butterfly!” he panted happily.

“I can see that, and a very pretty butterfly you are, too. But aren’t you getting tired? Even butterflies get tired, Jerry. They have to land, don’t they? They have to land because their wings get tired.”

“My wings are getting tired,” he said, puffing heavily now.

“I know. I know they are. You should rest them. You should land.”

He dipped lower and she jumped, tried to grab his foot, but he beat his arms faster and bobbed up high again. “No!” he said. “Butterflies fly! Fly high in the sky!”

He was gasping for air now, losing his rhythm, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep himself from dipping lower once more. Valkyrie jumped, grabbed him, closed her eyes and tried to send her mind to a peaceful place. Jerry was sweating from all that exertion, and his skin was warm and sticky and hairy. Valkyrie remembered the good times in her life as she pulled him out of the sky, handhold after handhold. He made a last-ditch effort to soar away and she had to grip the folds of flesh on his hips to hold him in place. Then Jerry gave up and stopped flapping, and Valkyrie fell screaming beneath his weight.

“I’m not a butterfly,” Jerry sobbed, as Valkyrie squirmed and wriggled beneath him.

The Cleavers arrived on time, as they usually did. They escorted Jerry Houlihan into their nondescript van, treating him surprisingly gently for anonymous drones with scythes strapped to their backs. Valkyrie hailed a cab, told the driver to take her to Phibsborough. They pulled over beside Skulduggery’s gleaming black Bentley.

Skulduggery was waiting for her in the shadows. His suit was dark grey, his hat dipped low over his brow. Tonight he was wearing the face of a long-nosed man with a goatee. He nodded up to a dark window on the top floor of an apartment building.

“Ed Stynes,” he said. “Forty years old. Lives alone. Not married, no kids. Recently split from his girlfriend. Works as a sound engineer. Possibly a werewolf.”

Valkyrie glared at him. “You told me there were no such things as werewolves.”

“I told you there were no such things as werewolves any more,” he corrected. “They died out in the nineteenth century. Unlike certain other creatures of the night that I could mention but won’t, werewolves were generally good people in human form. So appalled were they by their carnivorous lunar activities that they actively worked against their darker selves. They sought cures, isolation, whatever they needed to make sure that they didn’t spread the curse to anyone else.”

“Unlike vampires,” Valkyrie growled.

“You mentioned them, not me.”

“So if werewolves are extinct, why do you think Ed Stynes is a werewolf?”

“Last night, people in the area reported sightings of a large dog, or a man dressed as a bear,” Skulduggery said. “He didn’t hurt anyone – werewolves seldom do on their first time out unless they’re cornered. But on their second time, things get a lot more violent.”

“But if werewolves are extinct …”

“The infection has been diluted down through the generations, but it’s still there in a tiny fraction of the world’s population. Too weak to ever manifest into any actual transformation – unless the carriers of this infection were suddenly and inexplicably to gain magical abilities.”

“So Ed is like my butterfly man earlier.”

“Yes. The latest in a worryingly long line of mortals developing magic. Unfortunately in Ed’s case, it triggered a long dormant aspect of his physiology. You’re going to need this.” He handed her a long-barrelled gun.

Her eyes widened. “This is mine? You’re giving this to me? This is so cool.”

“It’s a tranquilliser gun.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

“It’s still cool,” he insisted. “But I’m going to need it back afterwards. It’s part of a set. I have the other one, and I like to keep them together. It’s already loaded with a single tranq dart, so all you have to do is point and pull the trigger. The dart is loaded with enough sedative to bring down a—”

“Small elephant?”

He looked at her. “What?”

“You know. In the movies, if they’re going after something dangerous, they always say their tranquilliser darts have enough sedative to bring down a small elephant.”

“What do people have against small elephants?”

“Well, nothing, but—”

“There’s enough sedative in these darts to bring down a werewolf, which is exactly what we’re hunting. Why would we want to bring down an elephant if we’re not hunting elephants?”

“It’s just something people say in movies.”

“In elephant-hunting movies?”

“No, not particularly.”

“If we were hunting a were-elephant, I would understand the reference.”

“There’s no such thing as a were-elephant.”

“Of course there is. There are were-practically-everythings. Weredogs, werecats, werefish.”

“There are werefish?”

“They don’t generally last very long unless they’re near water.”

“I don’t believe you. I’ve fallen for this too many times in the past.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He started across the road.

She followed. “Oh, don’t you? You’ll insist they’re real and I’ll eventually start to doubt myself, and then I’ll ask, Are there really werefish? And you’ll look at me and say, Good God, Valkyrie, of course not, that’d be silly, and I’ll stand there feeling dumb. Just like with that colony of octopus people.”

“The what?”

“You told me once that octopus people were real.”

“And you believed me?”

“I was twelve!”

They reached the door of the apartment building. “And yet most twelve-year-olds don’t believe in octopus people.”

“I was twelve and impressionable, and I believed whatever you told me.”

“Ah, I remember those days,” Skulduggery said fondly, then took out his revolver. “There is such a thing as a werefish, though.”

She watched him loading the gun. “Those don’t look like tranquilliser bullets.”

“That’s because they’re not. They’re silver. Only thing guaranteed to kill a werewolf. Apart from decapitation. But then—”

“Decapitation kills most things,” Valkyrie finished.

“Exactly.”

“Apart from zombies.”

Skulduggery slid the revolver back into his shoulder holster. “This gun is just for emergency, last-resort back-up. Ed Stynes is a good man – I have no desire to take his life just because he changes into a wolfman a few nights a month.” He took a pair of lock picks from his jacket and started on the door.

“Why don’t we wait until morning to do this?” she asked. “Wouldn’t that be smarter?”

“And leave him free to roam and kill tonight?”

“It’s dark and the moon is full and I don’t hear any howling. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

“He just hasn’t transformed yet. All day he’ll have felt grouchier than usual. This evening the headaches will have started. Once night fell, the cramps will have kicked in. Judging by the position of the moon, we have about ten minutes before he changes. He’ll spend roughly three hours covered in fur, and when the moon slips further away, he’ll change back.”

“So we tranq him while he’s still human?”

“Rarely a good idea,” Skulduggery said, opening the door and putting his lock picks away. “Sometimes it works, but most of the time the transformation occurs anyway, and the adrenaline rush clears the sedative from the system. The wolf wakes up angry and it takes a double dose to put it down again.”

“So we have to wait until he changes into a monster before we can do anything?”

“Indeed.”

“It seems a lot more dangerous.”

“It is.” He took out a tranq gun identical to Valkyrie’s. “Ready?”

“Uh …”

“That’s the spirit.”

They took the stairs to the third floor. The building was quiet, still, like it was holding its breath. They approached Ed Stynes’ door and Skulduggery picked the lock silently. He nudged the door open a little. There were no lights on inside. His hand went to his collarbones, pressing the symbols etched there. The false face melted away, revealing the skull beneath.

He entered, and Valkyrie crept in behind him and shut the door with a soft click. The tranq gun was heavy. She held it in a two-handed grip, just like Skulduggery had taught her.

So far, no growling.

They stepped into the living room, sweeping their guns from corner to corner, making sure Ed Stynes hadn’t lain down to sleep on the couch. It was hard to make anything out in the gloom, but since Skulduggery didn’t shoot anything Valkyrie figured the couch was empty. She may have been the only one with eyes, but his night vision was still better than hers. They moved across the hallway, checked inside the small kitchen. The moonlight washed over the headache tablets that were spilled across the countertop. There was a sudden groan from the bedroom and Valkyrie nearly pulled the trigger in response. Skulduggery tilted his head in her direction and she glared.

He moved through the hallway like he wasn’t even there. A cat would have made more noise. Valkyrie followed, keeping close to the wall, where the floorboards beneath the carpet would creak less. Skulduggery moved past the bedroom door, took up position on the other side.

Valkyrie edged forward, using the mirror on the opposite wall to look through into Stynes’ bedroom. She heard a curse, and there was movement in the darkness, and then the bedside lamp came on. She froze, adrenaline pumping through her, but all Stynes did was push the covers away as he sat up in bed. He was unshaven, pale. Sweating. He looked to be in pain. He groaned as he stood up. Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery, mouthing the word Hide? But he just shook his head and so she stayed where she was, eyes on the mirror.

Stynes took a step, then doubled over.

“Oh, God …” she heard him mutter.

He straightened up with a scream so sudden it made her jump. His fingers curled like his muscles were being tightened on some invisible rack, and still he screamed. She’d never heard anything like it.

The lamplight shone yellow over his skin as thick black hairs pushed through, matting and knotting across his chest and back, his arms and legs. He fell to his knees, his legs changing shape, his bones lengthening and re-forming. He stared in horror and dismay at his hands as his fingernails fell to the floor and sharper, longer claws grew in their place.

“Help me,” he gasped. “Somebody help—”

He dropped to all fours, another scream twisting up from his core, wrenching itself from his throat as his jaw dislocated. It cracked and popped and started to balloon outwards, his skin stretching over his newly formed muzzle. Fangs split his gums and his scream turned to an animal howl of rage and pain.

Skulduggery held up three fingers. Valkyrie watched him count down – two, one – and then he stepped into the doorway, tranq gun rising. She took an extra moment to follow his instruction, too stunned by what she had just witnessed to operate with any speed, and so the wolf missed her completely when it came charging out of the bedroom.

Valkyrie fell back, falling in the darkness, trying to make out what was going on just a few metres away. Something broke and something fell and the wolf was snarling and Skulduggery was cursing, and all she could make out was a huge mass of fur on two legs. She looked at her empty hand, wondered where the hell her gun had gone. She swept her arm across the carpet, fingers tapping against something metal. She lunged, gripped the handle and stood, turned, finger on the trigger—

—and something knocked her backwards into the living room. She pushed at it, whatever it was, and Skulduggery clambered off her and the wolf leaped on him again and they crashed into the sofa, turning it over and falling behind it.

Valkyrie got to her knees, started looking around for that damn gun again.

Skulduggery yelled as he was thrown across the room. He hit the TV and glass broke, and he pulled the blinds from the window, and the wolf pounced, pinning him to the floor. It slashed, again and again, and Skulduggery cried out. In the moonlight Valkyrie could see the ferocity with which it struck, its claws tearing through his clothes, raking against his ribs.

She flicked her wrist and shadows wrapped round the wolf’s neck, hauling it backwards, but she could feel the sheer strength that fought against her and could do nothing to stop it from tearing free. Its yellow eyes found her.

She bolted, sprinting back into the bedroom, the wolf on her heels. She used the air to smash herself through the window, the glass jabbing at her clothes, but at least now she was outside, falling through space, and the wolf—

—the wolf slammed into her and she lost control of the air and they spun as they fell, the wolf snapping at her, its claws trying to cut through her jacket. The wolf hit the ground with a yelp and they separated, with Valkyrie bouncing away from it and rolling across the courtyard. The wolf stood, shook itself to clear its head, and by the time it looked back at Valkyrie she was already running.







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alkyrie swept her arms up on either side and the wind lifted her. She cleared the wall easily and came down, stumbling a bit until she regained her balance. She ran across the road, used the air to take herself to a low rooftop and then to a higher one. She jumped a gap and climbed, reaching for a handhold. Grunting with the effort, she hauled herself up and rolled, came up in a crouch. She held her breath while her heart thudded, listening for sounds of the wolf’s pursuit.

She didn’t hear any. Instead, she heard music.

Staying low, she ran to the other side of the roof. A little bit further on, a line of people waited to gain entry to a brightly lit nightclub, their laughter mingling with the deep beats of the music that throbbed into the night. To a bloodthirsty werewolf cheated of its first meal of the evening, Valkyrie reckoned it would look like an irresistible invitation to feast.

And there it was, concealed in the darkness of the alley across the street. She glimpsed it moving slowly, slipping in and out of shadow. She ran to the edge of the roof and the wind lifted her high over the passing cars. She needed another buffet to carry her all the way across, but she landed on her feet right where she was aiming for. She hurried to the side and peered down. The wolf was directly beneath her. That tranq gun would have really come in handy from this position.

Her finger twitched. To use the shadows from up here, she’d really have to go straight for a killing blow. Anything less would just make the wolf mad, maybe spur it into slaughtering a few people. But she didn’t want to kill it. Not like this. Not if there were any other choices to make.

And then the wolf charged across the street.

Valkyrie cursed, flung herself after it, angling through the air until she was on an intercept course. A few people were screaming by now and she propelled herself to ground level, curled up right before she hit the wolf. The impact knocked the breath out of her and she sprawled across the road. She heard screams and shouts, glimpsed faces and saw headlights and then a bus hit the wolf and braked, veered, its back end swinging round and crunching into Valkyrie.

Once more she flew backwards off her feet, the world silent all around her.

She hit the ground. Noise rushed to her ears and she bounced and tumbled way too fast to stop. She was aware that her chin was tucked into her chest and her arms were covering her head.

That was good. It meant she wasn’t dead yet.

Her tumbling slowed and she used the momentum to push herself to her feet. The bus hadn’t tipped over, thank God. It was parked diagonally across the road, and there were people running about and shouting at each other. She was blocked from view, halfway down the dark street. Her thoughts were returning, too, the more her head cleared. She remembered fur, and fangs. Something growled ahead of her.

Oh, yeah. The werewolf.

She couldn’t see it. Everything between her and the lights of the nightclub and the bus melted into an impenetrable darkness. And that’s where the wolf moved. She shaded her eyes but it was no use. The glare was too strong. The darkness too thick.

The growling got louder. Closer.

Still dizzy, Valkyrie broke left, ran between two cars, heard the wolf bounding after her. She ran, away from the nightclub and the people, barely managing to keep herself from ricocheting off lamp posts. And then the wolf slammed into her. They rolled, the wolf and her, its jaws clamping round her right arm. The teeth didn’t penetrate the armour-weave of her jacket but still she screamed. The wolf shook its head and she kicked out, but it was crouched over her, too heavy to move.

Let me out, said the voice in her head.

Her arm was about to break. The wolf was going to rip it from her shoulder. The Necromancer ring was useless without the freedom to orchestrate the shadows. She tried pushing at the air but the pain clouded her mind. She couldn’t even breathe with the weight of the wolf pressing down on her.

Let me out.

The wolf released her arm, went for her throat, and she jerked to the side, grabbed the shadows, turned them sharp like knives and raked them across the wolf’s chest. It reared back, yelping, and she pushed at the air and it tumbled. It immediately righted itself and came at her. She threw herself backwards across the bonnet of a parked car. The whole car shook when the wolf crashed into it. Valkyrie scrambled up on to the car roof and brought the wind in to sweep her over the wolf’s head. She dropped behind a wall, started running again, saw Skulduggery in the moonlight, flying towards her.

She ducked and he flew past, collided with the wolf behind her. The wolf threw him back and Skulduggery rolled to his feet, the tranq gun in his hand, but he slipped on something in the darkness. He fell and the wolf leaped and something went skittering across the ground.

The tranq gun – mangled.

Fire flared and the wolf howled in pain, and Skulduggery came staggering out of the gloom. His hat was gone and his face was gone. His suit was shredded, and even in this light Valkyrie could see the deep grooves cut along his ribcage. He held his revolver in his hand.

The wolf growled. Skulduggery turned.

It ran straight at him, and Skulduggery brought his other hand up to steady his aim.

“Shoot,” Valkyrie cried out. “Shoot!”

But at the last moment Skulduggery dropped the gun and brought both arms down, his knees bending, and a wall of air slammed into the wolf from above, sending it to the ground. It tumbled and yelped and immediately Skulduggery straightened, swinging his arms towards the sky, sending the wolf spinning off its feet. As it was twisting and falling again, he stepped forward and punched, and a column of displaced air struck the wolf in the side and sent it hurtling back.

“Dart!” he yelled as he crouched. He touched one hand to the ground around his feet and it started to crack and buckle. He was almost thrown off as the section he was standing on shot forward like a surfboard, the ground warping and rippling beneath it like waves, and he hurtled towards the wolf as it recovered. Valkyrie grabbed the broken gun, wrenched the dart from the chamber and used the air to send it straight into Skulduggery’s outstretched hand. An eyeblink later, he collided with the wolf, stabbing the dart into the creature’s shoulder.

The wolf roared and lashed out and Skulduggery went flying, but the sedative was already taking effect. The wolf staggered, shook its head, stumbled against the wall. It looked at Valkyrie and moved towards her, could only manage three steps before its legs gave out and it crumpled. It lay there, tongue out, panting, limbs too heavy to move. Its eyes closed, its breathing deepened, and it went to sleep.

Skulduggery got to his feet. “Victory,” he said weakly.

When Ed Stynes woke up, he was strapped to a bed in a strange room with strange people looking down at him. Valkyrie almost felt sorry for him.

“Hi,” said the blue-haired girl beside her. “I’m Clarabelle. Will you be my friend?”

Confusion etched itself on to Ed’s face.

“Hi, Ed,” said Valkyrie before things got too weird. “My name’s Valkyrie. This is Clarabelle. Clarabelle’s a nurse, of sorts, and she’s going to be taking care of you.”

Clarabelle nodded. “I’m very good at medicine stuff. We had a patient, last week, who came in and I examined him and he had all the signs of bubonic plague, and I healed him.”

Valkyrie looked at her. “He really had bubonic plague?”

“Oh, yes. Well, Doctor Nye looked at him and said he just had a splinter, but I was the one who removed it, so … That still counts. Wait until you meet Doctor Nye, Ed. You’ll love him, if you love big tall scary things.”

Ed whimpered, and turned his head to Valkyrie. “What … what’s happening to me?”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember you. I remember … Oh, God, I remember wanting to eat you …”

“Yes,” Valkyrie said. “Well, the less said about that, the better.”

“I’m going mad, aren’t I?”

Clarabelle laughed. She had such a pretty laugh. “Oh, we’re all mad around here, Ed!” And then she skipped away.

Skulduggery walked in, wearing a grey trench coat over his shredded suit and a new face over his skull. He didn’t want Ed to freak out any more than absolutely necessary. “Hello, Ed,” he said. “Feeling better? You’re certainly looking better.”

“Who are you people?”

“We’re experts in this field,” said Skulduggery. “We want to help you.”

“Help me? I’m a werewolf.”

“I noticed. Hopefully, however, it’s just a phase you’re going through. Think of it as a sickness, if you like. A disease. Your dormant werewolf gene suddenly awakening is merely a symptom of the real problem, and while your situation is somewhat unusual, you’re not the only person to be afflicted. There are others, normal people like you, suddenly exhibiting unusual levels of power. But you’re one of the few cogent ones. Most of the others have been driven beyond sense. You can help us, I think. You just need to answer a few questions. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good man,” said Skulduggery. “Have you had anything unusual happen to you recently?”

“Yes.”

“And that was?”

“I turned into a werewolf.”

“Anything apart from that? Have you met anyone new? Have you been abroad, or visited somewhere for the first time …?”

Ed shook his head. “Everything’s been normal. It’s just been my life, the same as it’s always been. Well, apart from breaking up with my girlfriend a few months ago. Do you … do you think she put a curse on me?”

“She’s the one who ended it, wasn’t she?”

“No,” said Ed immediately. “It was a mutual thing. We both … it was decided that … we mutually agreed that she could do better, so …”

“In that case,” said Skulduggery, “I doubt she put a curse on you. Has anything else happened out of the ordinary? No matter how trivial it may seem?”

“No. Everything’s been normal. Apart from the dreams.”

Skulduggery’s head tilted. “Go on.”

“I was just … I started dreaming about a man, dressed in white. Argeddion, his name was. It’s unusual because I never remember my dreams, but Argeddion is as clear as day in my mind.”

“What did he want?”

“He had a gift for me. That’s what he said. He was so gentle, and warm, and he said he had a wonderful gift to give me. He appeared in my dreams for weeks, telling me to prepare for the Summer of Light, and then the last time I dreamed about him he held up his hand, and he was holding this bright, glowing energy, and he put it into my chest. Then he smiled, and said he’d be back for it later. I haven’t dreamed about him since then. Do you think that has anything to do with what’s happened?”

“Strange men giving you gifts of energy, and soon thereafter you transform into an extinct supernatural creature? I’d say it’s a distinct possibility, Ed.”

They left him in Clarabelle’s dubiously capable hands and made their way out of the Medical Bay. As soon as they were in the corridor, Skulduggery retracted his façade. His skull was still a little dirty from being thrown through the rubbish of Dublin City.

“How are the mortals in the observation ward?” Valkyrie asked.

“No change,” he answered. “Every conceivable test has been run on them and is being run again. So far, nothing. Not one clue as to what’s going on.”

“Will Ed be joining them?”

“He’ll be sedated, like the others. They already have a bed waiting for him.”

“But at least now we have a lead – even if it is just someone’s dream. Wow. When you say it out loud like that, it sounds very flimsy, doesn’t it?”

“That our only lead is a dream a werewolf had?” said Skulduggery. “Yes, I suppose as far as clues go, it’s not the most solid one we’ve ever had. But we work with what we’re given, and we really can’t afford to be choosy, not at this stage. With everything that’s been going on, we’ve barely been able to keep this out of the news. Sooner rather than later, the mortals are going to see something that cannot be explained away unless we put a stop to it. And this mystery man in Ed’s dream, this Argeddion, might be what we’re looking for.”

“Any idea what the Summer of Light is? Do you think he means this summer?”

“I don’t know. But if we’re going by the traditional Irish calendar, summer starts on May first, which gives us a week to figure it out.”

“The Summer of Light sounds nice, though,” said Valkyrie. “Maybe all of this is leading up to some really good weather, in which case we should probably let it happen so I can sunbathe.”

“What a marvellous idea. Let’s make that assumption.”

She noticed the way he was holding his side. “You’re hurt,” she said.

He looked at her. “We were attacked by a werewolf.”

“But you’re actually injured.”

“So are you.”

“But nothing major. Just bruises and strains and cuts, and I got a doctor to treat them. Your bones are damaged, Skulduggery. Why don’t you get someone to heal you? It won’t take long.”

Skulduggery straightened up as they walked. “Doctor Nye tortured my friends to death during the war with Mevolent. I’m not going to it for help.”

“Nye’s not the only doctor who works here.”

“But it is the only one who’d have the skill to repair my injuries properly. Besides, I’m not that bad. I’ll survive, just like you will.”

“You know, there’s a distinct possibility that you’re too stubborn for your own good. But hey, I’m not going to pressure you. You do what you need to do.”

She heard the smile in his voice. “Well, thank you for being so understanding. In return, I’m going to drop you home. It’s been a long few days, and you’re going to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sighing. “I haven’t seen my folks in ages. And Alice has probably learned to walk or something since I saw her last. She’s fifteen months old. What age do babies start walking at?”

“Depends on the baby.”

“How about a really advanced one like my sister?”

“Oh, then she should be walking any day now.”

Valkyrie grinned. They emerged from the Sanctuary and as they reached the Bentley, Skulduggery’s voice softened. “Did you hear her again? Darquesse?”

Her smile faded, and she nodded. “She wanted me to let her out. It’s been a year since she’s been in control and her voice is getting louder. We need a plan. Something to stop her if she takes over.”

He folded his arms on the roof of the car, and lightly drummed his gloved fingers. “You mean something to stop you,” he said at last.

“I’d much rather you stopped me than let me do what we both know I’m going to do. I don’t want to murder anyone, let alone my parents, or my sister, or you. If the time comes and I’m lost and Darquesse is in control—”

He held up his hands. “I’ll think of something. Trust me.”

Valkyrie glanced over at a limousine parked nearby, with two men in suits standing guard. As good a change of subject as any. “Do we have a visiting VIP or something?”

Skulduggery grunted. “Apparently we do. Here for a meeting with the Council. All very hush-hush and top secret. Only the Elders are allowed to know what they’re meeting about.”

“But Ghastly will tell us, won’t he?”

“Oh, I’d very much expect so.”







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hastly had never been in this room before. It was the same concrete-grey drabness as every other room in the Sanctuary, but this one had a big table in its centre, shaped like a toad. It probably wasn’t supposed to look like a toad, it was probably supposed to resemble something grand and inspirational, but in Ghastly’s view it succeeded only in resembling a grand and inspirational toad, and that’s where he left the matter.

He sat on an uncomfortable chair to the right of Erskine Ravel, the Grand Mage. To Ravel’s left sat Madame Mist, her slender frame draped in the Elder robes they all wore, her face hidden by that black veil. They must have looked a sight. Grand Mage Ravel, looking like he should be wearing a tuxedo, flanked by a scarred man and a veiled woman. Ghastly wondered if any of the other Councils around the world looked half as odd as they did. He doubted it.

Right now, he was sitting across from representatives of two of those Councils, and they both looked perfectly normal, if perfectly solemn. Ghastly wasn’t even listening to what was being said. Small talk was not his forte. He’d had a boxer for a mother and a tailor for a father – what did he know of the small talk of politicians and bureaucrats? He waited impatiently for them to get to the point of their visit, and when they finally reached it, he wasn’t at all surprised.

“You’ve been having some problems with your sorcerers, we hear,” said Grand Mage Quintin Strom of the English Sanctuary. Like most Grand Mages, with the obvious exception of Ravel, he was grey-haired and lined and old. Still immensely powerful, though, and somewhat humourless.

“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” said Ravel. “Our mages are all doing fine.”

Strom’s eyebrows rose slightly. He was a good actor. “Oh! In which case, I apologise. It’s just that we’ve had reports of disturbances in practically every corner of the country. You’re saying these reports are inaccurate?”

“I’m not saying that at all,” Ravel said smoothly. “But the problems are not our sorcerers.”

Strom nodded. “Ah yes, we heard that, too. Something is affecting the mortal population here, yes? Dreadful, dreadful business. If you need any help—”

“Thank you, but no,” said Ravel. “We have it under control.”

“Are you quite sure? I don’t mean to condescend, Grand Mage Ravel, but I have a lot more experience running Sanctuaries than you do, and there is no shame in accepting assistance when it is offered.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” Ravel said.

The man beside Strom cleared his throat politely. He was young and American, Ghastly knew that much. “Unfortunately,” he said, “things may not be so simple. The purpose of a Sanctuary is to oversee the magical communities and protect mortals from the truth. If even one Sanctuary fails in its obligations, the success of every other Sanctuary will amount to naught. To use a horribly overused phrase, the chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”

Madame Mist stirred. “And you are saying that we are this weak link?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” said the man. “All I’m saying is that this Sanctuary has had more than its fair share of crises to deal with. Given the pressure you’ve been under, even the strongest link will strain.”

“So you are saying we’re the weakest link,” said Ravel. “I’m sorry, but who are you again?”

“Bernard Sult,” said the man. “I’m a Junior Administrator for Grand Mage Renato Bisahalani.”

“And why are you here?”

“Sult’s here to help,” said Strom. “You know the American Elders, they always think they’re far too busy to take care of things personally. But what he says is true. It’s not something we like to talk about, but the fact is that Ireland has been the source of a great deal of anxiety around the world. It’s in our best interests, of course, to make sure you’re strong enough to withstand anything that comes your way.”

“We don’t need to be propped up,” said Ravel.

Sult shook his head. “I assure you, that’s not what we’re saying. But if everything that has happened here in the last ten years had happened somewhere else, say Germany, would you be confident in their ability to handle it alone? Or would you feel the need to lend some support?”

Ravel said nothing.

“The other Sanctuaries are worried,” Strom said. “They want reassurances that you are prepared and that you are capable. And so I am among the three they have elected to act as their representatives to—”

“I’m sorry,” Ghastly said. “What?”

Ravel was frowning. “They elected you? When? In what forum?”

“It was a private meeting,” Strom said, “where we all came together to voice our concerns.”

“Without inviting us.”

“We didn’t want it to seem like an attack. We wanted to voice our opinions, not intimidate you. During the meeting, the decision was taken to approach you with our concerns. Grand Mage Renato Bisahalani of the American Sanctuary, Grand Mage Dedrich Wahrheit of the German Sanctuary and I were elected, and it was decided that I should come here, representing the interests of the Supreme Council—”

Ravel laughed. “That’s what you’re calling yourselves? The Supreme Council? Well, that’s not intimidating at all, is it, Ghastly?”

“Sounds positively cuddly,” Ghastly responded. “So here you are, as the spokesman for the Supreme Council, to tell us what, exactly?”

“We’re not here to tell you anything,” said Sult. “We’re just here to offer our help should it transpire that you need it. As Grand Mage Strom was saying, the other Sanctuaries need reassurances.”

“That’s no problem,” Ravel said. “Go back and reassure them that everything is fine.”

Strom smiled sadly. “If only it were that easy. Erskine, we have been tasked with verifying, for an absolute fact, that you and your Sanctuary are ready for whatever happens next. And I have to say, this business with the mortals does nothing to boost our confidence in you. I gather a werewolf was on the loose last night. A werewolf. We fear, and again we mean no disrespect, that your relative inexperience shows through at times like these.”

Ravel nodded. “But I’m still not entirely sure what purpose the Supreme Council actually serves. You want reassurances, but don’t appear satisfied when we give them. What more do you want?”

“We need to verify your competence for ourselves.”

Ravel looked at Ghastly. “What does that sound like to you?”

“Sounds like they want to watch over us and tell us what to do. Which makes no sense, because as everyone knows, each Sanctuary is its own watchdog, answerable only to itself.”

“Times have changed,” said Strom. “We can’t take the chances we used to take. In the past six years alone you’ve had Serpine and Vengeous and the Diablerie trying to bring the Faceless Ones back. You’ve had Scarab’s attempt to murder eighty thousand people live on air. You’ve had a Remnant outbreak which threatened to spread across the globe and, only twelve months ago, the Necromancer’s messiah turned up with the intention of killing three billion people. If this Darquesse lunatic really does start her Armageddon here in Ireland, that’s seven world-changing events one after the other. How do you expect us to react, after all that? The Sanctuaries are afraid that one of these days your people aren’t going to make it in time.”

“Before you protest,” said Sult, “let me ask you a question. If you didn’t have Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain on your side, would we even be alive to have this conversation right now?”

“Detectives Pleasant and Cain work with the full support of this Sanctuary and its mages,” Ravel said quietly. “It’s a team effort.”

“You support them, but they do the work,” said Sult. “And they’re not always going to be around, or they’re not always going to be quick enough. They’ll make a mistake. They’ll slip up. And when they do …” Sult trailed off, and Strom continued for him.

“Administrator Sult’s point is merely that you can’t put the security of the world on the shoulders of two people. Sooner or later, it’s going to crush them. We’re simply offering you support, Erskine. If we feel your Sanctuary is strong enough, then that is what we’ll report back and the matter will be forgotten.”

“And if you don’t feel that we’re strong enough?” Mist asked.

“Then we’ll help you. We’ll supply you with Cleavers, with sorcerers should you need them. There is also, I suppose, the option of sharing responsibility.”

Ghastly fixed him with a look. “Meaning you’d take over.”

“No, of course not. We’re here to help, for God’s sake. We don’t have an ulterior motive.”

“And if we don’t want you here?”

Strom looked hurt.

“I’m afraid we’d have to insist,” said Sult. “And I mean no disrespect when I say this, but the Supreme Council has been granted certain powers of veto and authority that I’m sure we can discuss at greater length later on.”

“Certain powers,” Mist said, “that were not agreed upon by us.”

“This is true,” Sult admitted. “If you want to deny us access, that is your right. However, such a move could cut you off from the rest of the world. You’d be isolated. Alone. With no one to call on for help should you need it.”

“That sounds like a veiled threat, Mr Sult.”

“I apologise. I only meant to stress the seriousness of the situation.”

“I think we’re beginning to grasp it,” said Ravel. “We’ll need to discuss your … proposal before giving an answer.”

“Of course,” Strom said, and both men got to their feet. “We have sorcerers and Cleavers standing by, ready to help in a purely supportive capacity, but we can only keep them in place for seven days. After this day next week, our offer of assistance must be withdrawn.”

“And then?” said Ghastly.

“And then we’ll have to take more decisive measures.”

Strom and Sult bowed slightly, and walked from the room.

“So not only do we have a threat,” Ghastly said when they were gone, “now we have a deadline, too.”

Ravel sank back into his chair. “This is going to be trouble.”







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he arrow sliced through the running man’s leg, sending him to the mud, screeching.

“Good shot,” Eliza Scorn said.

Christophe Nocturnal nocked another arrow in his bow as they walked through the dark forest. “They say man is the most dangerous prey, but the fact is that rabbits are much harder to hit. Still, there’s nothing quite like the panicked squeal a mortal makes when they know they’re about to die. It’s quite relaxing, in its own way.”

“I had heard you were quite the hunter, and now I see all the stories are true.”

“I’ve been doing this since I was a boy,” he said. “My father used to take us out, me and my four brothers.”

“I didn’t know you had any siblings.”

“I don’t. When we reached our teenage years, my father threw us all into a pit and announced that only one of us was coming out alive. I was the smallest of my brothers, but the most ruthless.”

“What a charming story.”

“It was a different time back then. A simpler time.” Nocturnal settled into an archer’s stance, pulled the bowstring back, and let fly. The arrow caught the hobbling mortal in the back. The mortal fell, face down. “What do you want, Eliza?”

“Oh, it’s not just what I want,” said Scorn. “It’s what you want, too. We should be allies. Combining the Church of the Faceless with the church you lead in America, we could get this world back on track, you and I.”

Nocturnal chuckled. “And there, you see, we have our problem.”

“Oh?”

“My church doesn’t need you, Eliza. We’re strong enough as we are. We’re funded and resourced by seventy per cent of those mages who worship the Faceless Ones. Aligning ourselves with your church would not give us the rewards it would give you.”

“Ah, but I think you’re deliberately ignoring some key facts. We have something you don’t – we have a Cradle of Magic. The Diablerie successfully brought through three Faceless Ones only a couple of years ago. We have a track record, as they say. We have credibility.”

“But you’re weak.”

“Compared to your organisation, perhaps. But we’re growing stronger. And I don’t say this to cause offence, but at least I’m not a wanted criminal.”

Nocturnal laughed. “No offence taken. To be honest, though, my renegade status has actually helped my church. The people I represent are nervous by nature, unwilling to proclaim their beliefs for all to hear. They look to me for leadership, as someone who isn’t afraid to stand up to the Sanctuaries.”

“And they’re also, I would expect, more than a little afraid of you?”

“Fear helps things run smoothly.”

“I would imagine so,” said Scorn. “But you didn’t come all this way to turn me down straight, now, did you?”

“No. No, I didn’t. I’m interested in your offer, with a few amendments.”

“Such as?”

“Your church is absorbed into mine, not the other way around. You would be kept on, naturally, but as my second in command.”

Scorn bristled. “I would have thought partners would be more fitting.”

“My people are nervous,” Nocturnal said. “They’d feel safer if they knew I was still in charge. Unfortunately, it is a requirement, not a request.”

“Of course. That … isn’t a problem.”

“And one other thing,” said Nocturnal. “Before we go ahead, the mages I represent would like one little favour. A demonstration of goodwill.”

“And that is?”

“They’ve all heard the stories of what happened when the Diablerie brought the Faceless Ones back. They heard about the girl, Valkyrie Cain, and how she used the Sceptre of the Ancients to kill two of our gods, and my people don’t think she should be allowed to get away with that.”

“What would you have me do, Christophe?”

“I would have you kill her.”

“She is under the protection of Skulduggery Pleasant. You know how dangerous it would be to risk—”

“She is the ultimate blasphemer, Eliza. She must be punished.”

Scorn considered it, then smiled. “Very well. Cain will die. And as it happens, I know just the person for the job.”







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alkyrie climbed through her bedroom window, careful not to make a sound. Her reflection sat up in bed, looked at her with her own dark eyes.

“You’re hurt,” it whispered.

“Oh, yes,” Valkyrie replied, keeping her voice low. “But physically all I have are cuts and bruises. Mentally? You just wait till you remember what happened to me tonight. Pay particular attention to Jerry Houlihan. It’ll stay with you. Believe me. So how were things here?”

The reflection got out of bed as Valkyrie undressed. “I had an uneventful few days,” it told her. “The most exciting thing was an hour-long lecture from the headmaster on taking our studies seriously. He said next year’s exams will arrive sooner than we think.”

“No, they won’t,” Valkyrie said, frowning. “They’ll arrive next year, exactly when we expect them.”

“That’s what I told him,” the reflection nodded. “I don’t think he’s comfortable with logic, because he didn’t look happy. He sent me to the Career Guidance counsellor, who asked me what I wanted to be after college.”

Valkyrie stowed her black clothes. “What did you say?”

“I told her I wanted to be a Career Guidance counsellor. She started crying, then accused me of mocking her. I told her if she wasn’t happy in her job then she should look at other options, then pointed out that I was already doing her job better than she was. She gave me detention.”

Valkyrie grinned. “You’re getting me into so much trouble.”

The reflection shrugged. “We keep being asked to fill out the college application forms. Getting thrown out of class is the only way I can think of to avoid it. Have you figured out how to solve this problem over the past few days?”

“Amazingly, no. My folks expect me to go to college and I don’t want to disappoint them, but …”

“But how long are you going to have to keep lying to them?” the reflection asked, finishing the thought.

“Yeah. It’d be nice to give them the Stephanie they want while I’m off doing my Valkyrie thing, but let’s face it, I can’t keep you around for ever, can I?”

“I’ve already been active longer than any other reflection anyone has ever heard of. I wasn’t designed for this.”

“I know,” Valkyrie said, “and I never meant to spend so much time away from this life. I need to take control again, bring my two lives together. When I’m finished school, that’s when I’ll do it. Do you think you can keep going for another year or so?”

“I don’t see why not,” said the reflection. “I haven’t been acting strangely lately, and I haven’t been blocking any memories or thoughts, like you were getting worried about. I think I’m OK now. I think I’ve repaired myself. Plus, we’re getting along much better, you and I.”

“Well,” Valkyrie said, “how could I fail to get along with myself? Am I not brilliant company?”

“That I am,” said the reflection, smiling.

“Especially since I don’t have Tanith or Fletcher any more.”

“Or even China.”

Valkyrie couldn’t help but laugh. “My God, do I have any friends left?”

“Skulduggery,” the reflection said. “Ghastly, of course, not that you’ve ever spoken to him about anything other than clothes and hitting people. And me.”

“What more could a girl want?” Valkyrie asked, her eyebrow raised. The reflection gave her a smile in return, and stepped into the mirror. Valkyrie touched the glass, absorbing two days’ worth of memories. The reflection at school. The reflection at the dinner table. The reflection playing with Valkyrie’s little sister. All nice memories. All unexceptional memories. So unlike the two days that Valkyrie herself had experienced.

She checked the time as she climbed into bed. Five in the morning.

An early night for a change.

Valkyrie woke but didn’t open her eyes, preferring instead to drift slowly in darkness for a while. She loved her bed. She’d slept in others, of varying degrees of comfort, but her own bed in her own room was by far her favourite. It was smaller than was probably practical, narrower, and the mattress wasn’t as firm as she’d have liked, and there was a spring by her hip that threatened to jab into her every time she turned, but for the overall experience of a good night’s sleep, her bed was definitely the best.

She shifted on to her back, finally letting her eyes open. The ceiling sloped upwards from the wall beside her. When she’d been little, she’d had a load of horse pictures stuck up there, and they’d be the first thing she’d see every morning. She moved her leg from under the duvet, raised it and pressed her foot against the space where the posters had once been. Nothing there now. No horses. China Sorrows had said something once about taking her riding and Valkyrie had been looking forward to it. But that was before Eliza Scorn had told them about China’s involvement in the deaths of Skulduggery’s wife and child, a slice of history that China herself had always managed to skip over.

Lazily, Valkyrie reached for her phone to check the time. When the screen lit up, she sprang out of bed, cursing. She pulled on her dressing gown, flung open the door and bolted down the stairs into the kitchen, going straight for the cereal in the cupboard.

“Good morning,” her mum said as she fed Alice.

“I’m late!” Valkyrie responded, grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Alarm didn’t go off! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, I suppose I should have,” her mum said, delivering another spoonful into Alice’s waiting mouth. “But then I got so distracted by the cuteness of your sister here, and then by the cuteness of your father, and then I saw my reflection in the toaster and I got so distracted by my own cuteness, that I completely forgot about you. I’m a bad mother. I’m a bad, bad mother.”

“I’ve already missed the bus. Would you be able to drive me to school?”

“But I’m still in my slippers.”

Valkyrie paused, the first spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. “Or … you know … I could stay home today. Do some studying at home. There are a few tests I need to revise for …”

“I don’t know,” her mother said dubiously. “Stay home? From school? Stay home from school on a Saturday?”

Valkyrie dropped the spoon back in the bowl. “What?”

Her mum grinned. “It’s the weekend, Steph. You’re allowed to sleep in.”

Valkyrie shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Two sets of memories and neither of them bothered to inform her of this fact. “I’m overworked,” she decided. “I’m doing too much in school. I need to cut down on my studying, maybe stop doing homework. I should definitely switch to a three-day week.”

“Somehow,” her mum said, “I don’t see any of that happening. Maybe instead you could try paying attention to what day it is.”

Valkyrie frowned. “I don’t see how that’s going to decrease my workload,” she said, and munched on her cereal.

The front door opened, and her father walked in, placing a grocery bag on the table. “The great hunter-gatherer has returned victorious,” he announced. “I bring the womenfolk newspapers, fresh milk and bread. The newspapers led me on a merry chase but the bread and fresh milk didn’t stand a chance.”

“Well done, dear,” Valkyrie’s mum said.

Her dad sat. “And I’ve also found Stephanie a new boyfriend.”

Valkyrie choked on her cereal and her mum looked up sharply. “You’ve done what?”

“I know,” he said. “You’re impressed. You send me out for bread and I come back with a boy. Well, not literally. That would be weird. Even for me.”

“Dad,” Valkyrie coughed, “what did you do?”

“I met Tommy Boyle in the shop,” he said. “You know Tommy Boyle, don’t you? About my age? A little smaller than me, with sandy-coloured hair? He always wears these polo shirts. You know him, you do. You’ve seen him around. He’s from Navan originally, so he has this real Navan accent when he speaks. He’s married to that woman with the brown hair, who always wears those shoes. You know him.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“No, you do,” her dad insisted. “He’s got sandy-coloured hair.”

“Dad, I don’t.”

“You do. I don’t know how else to describe him. Melissa, how would you describe him?”

Valkyrie’s mum fed another spoonful to Alice. “He’s only got one arm.”

“Oh, yeah, the arm thing.”

Valkyrie stared. “Why couldn’t you have started with that? Wouldn’t that be the most obvious characteristic?”

Her dad looked confused. “But his hair is really sandy, and he always wears those polo shirts. He’s always in them, no matter the weather.”

She sat back in her chair. “Right, so that’s Tommy Boyle. I’ve seen him around town. So what? What’s that got to do with a boyfriend?”

“His son. His name is Aaron. Very nice lad. He’s your age. Tommy was saying that Aaron’s never had a girlfriend, and I said he should go out with you, so Tommy’s bringing him over to introduce you.”

“Oh, Desmond,” Valkyrie’s mum said. “Oh, Desmond, no.”

“What? What’s wrong? We’re just introducing them, not arranging their marriage. They might like each other.”

“Get on the phone,” Valkyrie said, “and tell him you’re calling it off.”

“I can’t do that, Steph. It’d be rude. Just meet the boy. Have a chat. No pressure.”

“Lots of pressure, Dad! Loads of pressure! I can’t believe you did that!”

He folded his arms. “I don’t see what you’re both getting so upset about. I thought you’d be happy. You haven’t had a boyfriend since Fletcher, so any day now you were going to walk in with this strange fella on your arm and say, Hey, Dad, hey, Mum, this is my new boyfriend. And then we’d have to get to know him and get used to him, and figure out if he’s a good sort. Who knows what kind of lad you’d bring back to us? Fletcher was older than you so the next one would probably be older still, and have tattoos or piercings or ride a motorbike or something. I don’t want you going out with someone in their twenties. You’re too young for that. I’ve met Aaron Boyle and he’s a nice lad, Stephanie. He’s quiet and polite and he’s the sort of boy I wouldn’t have to worry about, because with all your self-defence stuff you’d probably be able to break him in two.”

“Call Tommy,” Valkyrie said, “and cancel it.”

“Ah, Steph …”

“Des,” her mum said, “I know that you’re doing this because you love Stephanie and you want all her boyfriends to treat her with respect, but that isn’t up to us. We just have to trust our daughter to be a good judge of character.”

An image of Caelan popped into Valkyrie’s head and she beat it back with a big mental stick.

“But Aaron’s a lovely guy,” her dad whined. “And I can’t call Tommy. I just can’t. I don’t know his number.”

“I’m not talking to you until this is cancelled,” Valkyrie told him, and went back to eating cereal.

Her father sagged. “But what if I go over there and Aaron answers the door? Then I’ll have to tell him that my beautiful daughter wants nothing to do with him. Something like that, it’d crush a fragile soul like his.”

“You should have thought about that when you arranged this whole thing,” said Melissa. “And until it’s done, I’m not talking to you, either.”

He looked at his wife with big imploring eyes, but she ignored him and focused her attention on Alice. Up to that point, Valkyrie’s sister had been gurgling away quietly, but even she stopped talking. That was the final straw. Valkyrie’s dad got up.

And then the doorbell rang.

“No,” Valkyrie said.

“Ah,” said her dad, checking his watch. “He’s a bit early.”

Valkyrie jumped to her feet. “You told them to call round this morning?”

“Tommy’s got things to do this afternoon. I thought it’d be best. What do you want me to do? Will I tell them to go away?”

“Yes! Tell them I’ve gone horse-riding, or something.”

“You haven’t ridden a horse in years.”

“They don’t know that!”

“Aaron will be very disappointed.”

“Dad!”

He went to the front door. Valkyrie heard a murmured conversation, then her dad returned to the kitchen table. “Well, I hope you’re happy,” he said. “I’ve just turned away a boy and his father and they both looked very disappointed.”

“Well, that couldn’t be helped. Did you tell them I was horse-riding?”

“No, I couldn’t find a way to make that believable. I just told them you had diarrhoea.”

Valkyrie closed her eyes. “Mum?”

“Yes, Steph?”

“Kill him for me, will you?”

“With pleasure, dear.”

Valkyrie went upstairs. She checked for messages on her phone, then took a shower. She stood under the spray and closed her eyes. It had been twelve months since she’d split up with Fletcher – a split that hadn’t exactly broken her heart, since she’d been the one who’d dumped him. In the weeks that followed, however, she’d been surprised to realise she missed him. She missed the obvious things about having a boyfriend, naturally, but more than that, she missed the friendship he brought.

It was around that time, though, that the reflection had stopped malfunctioning and started behaving the way it should, and Valkyrie began to see other advantages to its continued existence. One of these advantages was simply having someone to talk to, someone she didn’t have to hide anything from. Someone she couldn’t hide anything from. It was liberating, in a way.

It could also be disturbing. There were things Valkyrie didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to talk about or even admit to herself. Things like Darquesse, and how good it felt to let her take control. But the reflection had no sense of shame, and so it spoke without fear until Valkyrie told it to shut up. Which it did, immediately and without any feelings to hurt.

Valkyrie dried herself off, walked to her room with her dressing gown bunched in her hand while her mother continued to scold her father downstairs, and touched the mirror. The reflection stepped out, smiling. Valkyrie knew it wasn’t a real smile, that the reflection wasn’t actually amused, but it was doing what it was made to do, pretending, and so she didn’t mind that much.

“Poor you,” the reflection said. “What is your dad like?”

“He’s something else,” said Valkyrie as she dressed. “Definitely doesn’t live in the same world as the rest of us.” She pulled on her boots and zipped up her jacket. “There. How do I look?”

“Amazing.”

“You’re not biased?”

“That’s entirely possible, but you still look amazing.”

Valkyrie laughed, and jumped out of the window.







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oarhaven sat beside a dark and stagnant lake, and was surrounded on all sides by barren lands of coarse grasses and dead trees. Nothing ever grew in Roarhaven. No birds ever sang.

The Sanctuary squatted on the edge of town, a low, circular building like a rusted hubcap that had come spinning off a passing car and then had just fallen over. The building itself went five floors beneath the surface, and was riddled with tunnels and secret passageways. Everything was dark and damp and smelled vaguely of mould. On the third floor down there was a large room filled with cabinets, and it was to this room that Valkyrie and Skulduggery were headed, to look for information about this Argeddion guy the werewolf had dreamed about.

“I’m so excited right now,” Valkyrie said as they neared.

“Stop complaining.”

“Finally, a reason to go into the fabled Mystical Hall of Magical Cabinets.”

Skulduggery looked at her. “That’s not what it’s called.”

“A chance to sort through millions of files and really do some good old-fashioned detective work. This is where the job gets glamorous. This is where I come alive.”

“You can stop being sarcastic any time now.” He led the way through the doors, and they walked along the rows of cabinets.

Valkyrie sighed. “Wouldn’t it be simpler if this was all on a computer somewhere? It’d take up a bit less space, for a start.”

“Computers crash,” said Skulduggery. “Electronic information can be hacked. Sometimes, hard copy is the way to go.”

“But there’s so much of it,” she whined. “Please tell me that there’s some sort of cool magical search system where the name we seek will suddenly appear to us.”

“Yes,” said Skulduggery. “It’s called Alphabetical Order.” He opened a cabinet, skimmed over the files, then opened another one.

Valkyrie thought about helping, then decided against it. She’d probably just get in the way. “Is Argeddion really a problem?” she asked.

“You don’t think everything that’s happened has been a problem?”

She shrugged. “It’s been an inconvenience, and it’s been unfortunate, because of the people who have been hurt or killed. But if Argeddion was really going to affect the world, or if this Summer of Light thing is bad news, the Sensitives would have seen something, wouldn’t they?”

“They don’t see everything,” Skulduggery murmured, and looked up. “In fact, they see very little. In the past they have missed huge, world-changing events. In 1844, a psychic called Ethereal Ethel – yes, she chose that name herself – had a vision. She saw into the future, to Sunday the twenty-eighth of June, 1914. Do you remember why this date is significant?”

“Did Ireland win a big football match that day?”

“You would have learned about this in school. I also went over it as part of your close-protection training.”

“Oh, was this about Ferdie?”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“Archduke Franz Ferdinand, then.”

Skulduggery returned his attention to the cabinets. “Go on.”

“He was assassinated in Sarajevo. There was an attempt on his life with a grenade that didn’t kill him but injured the people around him. He wanted to visit the hospital on his way back, so he deviated from the agreed route and promptly got himself killed like an idiot, which basically kick-started World War One. So Ethereal Ethel had a vision of his assassination?”

“No. She had a vision of a woman in Greece who would invent a new kind of shoe.”

“Oh.”

“Every psychic missed the assassination. It changed the world, and they all missed it.”

“What about the shoe?”

“The Greek woman invented the shoe, then was run over by a train. Ethel missed that bit as well.”

“She wasn’t a very good psychic.”

“No, she wasn’t,” he said, searching through another cabinet. “But that’s what you get when you rely on prophecy to highlight oncoming threats – you’re going to be caught by surprise nine times out of ten. It’s a trap you must not fall into.”

“But psychics saw Darquesse’s arrival, and look at me, here I am.”

“You’re talking about it like it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, like the only reason you’re Darquesse is because they had a vision about you. That’s not what happened. Self-fulfilling prophecies don’t exist. The threat you pose as Darquesse did not come about because of what they saw. You didn’t learn your true name because of a vision. You learned your true name from the Book of Names, and once you became a threat, they started having the visions. When a psychic does have a vision, they are rarely wrong. The problem is they don’t see everything that’s going to happen.”

“Right.”

“You look confused.”

“I feel confused. The Death Bringer—”

“Was a scientific inevitability, not a prophecy. You’re not the Chosen One, Valkyrie. There is no Chosen One, there never was and never will be. The very idea is ridiculous. You’re your own person, independent and free to choose.”

“But we saw Darquesse. We saw what she does.”

“We saw a possible future, and if we’re very unlucky, that future will happen. But you’re not going to destroy the world just because people have seen you destroy the world. You’re going to destroy it for your own reasons.”

“That really fails to make me feel better.”

“I realised that halfway through. Sorry.” He slid the cabinet shut and stood there, tapping his fingers. “Nothing here. No files on Argeddion, no notes or cross-references or mentions of the Summer of Light. How annoying. We walked all the way in here and now have nothing to show for it. What a waste of walking. We could have walked somewhere else and be having a great time by now.”

“Yeah,” said Valkyrie as they started back, “it’s a real tragedy, all right. Maybe we should get the word out that we’re looking for him.”

“Already taken care of, but it could be days or weeks before we hear from anyone – if anyone out there does know him.”

They climbed the stone stairs into the main corridor network. “Do you think the Sensitives would have any information?” she asked. “Maybe we should call in on Finbar.”

“Finbar is out of the psychic business, Valkyrie, you know that.”

“But he’d do it for us. He likes us.”

“I’m sure he adores us, but it’s not that he won’t use his powers, it’s that he can’t. The Remnant possessing him like that, it overloaded his mind. And the mind is a delicate thing. If he tries opening it up to the psychic highways and byways, he may well never get it back. Besides,” Skulduggery continued, “I’ve already alerted a Sensitive to be on the lookout.”

“You have been busy.”

He shrugged. “What do you think I do at night while you’re sleeping? I asked Cassandra Pharos to let us know if she senses anything.”

Valkyrie’s smile faded. “Oh.”

“Do I detect reluctance? What’s wrong with Cassandra? You’ve only met her once.”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with her. It’s just … You know that dream whisperer she gave me? I burned it.”

“You did what?”

“Oh, come on!” she exclaimed. “It was Blair Witch creepy and you know it! A little man-shaped bundle of sticks that whispered to you at night? How could you not burn something like that?” She quietened again. “But the problem is, with Cassandra being a psychic and all, the next time she sees me she’ll know instantly what I did.”

“She can’t read minds, Valkyrie.”

“She’d be able to read mine. I just know it.”

“I’m sure she’d understand.”

“Well, of course you think that. You have no idea about presents or what they mean. The last present you gave me was a stick.”

“You wanted a weapon.”

“It was a stick.”

“It had a bow on it.”

“It was a stick.”

“I thought you liked the stick. You laughed.”

“I laughed because I thought the stick was a joke and you were about to give me my real present, but then you went home and I was standing there with a stupid stick with a stupid bow on it.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Skulduggery stopped, turned his head. “Hear that?”

“What?”

He didn’t answer, he just changed direction and she followed. Gradually she heard the rhythmic slap of flesh on leather, and they walked into a sparse room with only a punchbag hanging from the ceiling. Ghastly Bespoke moved around it, wearing jogging bottoms and nothing else, sweat running over his scars as he made the punch bag regret the day it had come into existence. They stood watching him until he saw them, and he finished with a flurry and stepped away, breathing hard.

“Hello, underlings,” he said.

“Elder Bespoke,” Skulduggery responded, leaning against the doorframe. “Did that bag do something to upset you in any way?”

Ghastly wiped his face with a towel. “It was mocking my choice of friends.”

“Aha, so you were defending our honour.”

“Actually, I was trying to make it shut up before someone passed by. I’m a respected member of the Council of Elders, I can’t be seen to be taking advice from large bags of sand.”

Skulduggery shrugged. “I can see how that might give the wrong impression.”

“I heard you’ve the word out for someone called Argeddion,” said Ghastly. “Any luck?”

“None so far.”

“Any idea how he’s mixed up in all this? We’re getting a lot of pressure from the international community to get this solved and squared away.”

“Is that who the VIPs were last night?” Valkyrie asked.

Ghastly looked at her. “That was official Sanctuary business. I’m sorry, but I can’t be talking about that with you. I can’t say, for instance, that Quintin Strom turned up on our doorstep as the voice of the Supreme Council, elected by a virtual conglomerate of other Councils around the world, to voice their concerns over matters of Irish security.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Simply to voice their concerns?”

“Oh, yes,” Ghastly said. “No other agenda than that, he assured us. And please ignore the fact that he brought a small army of mages with him as bodyguards, an army that stands ready to act at a moment’s notice, or that we have a week to resolve this situation with the mortals or something unspecified will happen.”

“Ah,” said Skulduggery. “An unspecified threat. The worst kind.”

“Indeed,” said Ghastly. “Thank God we’re all friends, that’s all I can say. A more suspicious man than I might grow paranoid with all these foreign agents hanging around, especially with most of our own operatives spread out around the country to try and contain this magical outbreak. Why, if the Supreme Council got it into their little heads to launch an attack, we’d be completely defenceless.”

“It’s a good thing we’re all friends, then,” Skulduggery murmured.

“Indeed it is. So you see how finding this Argeddion person is suddenly very high up on our list of things to do and do quickly.”

“Then we’ll get back to it,” Skulduggery said. “Oh, did you get that jacket I left in to be repaired?”

Ghastly’s eyes narrowed. “I told you to be especially careful with that suit, didn’t I? I told you I was especially proud of my work on that suit. And what did you do? You wore it werewolf-hunting.”

“I only did it to help you, Ghastly. I fear this job robs you of the simple pleasures of tailoring that you need to remain true to your roots.”

“You’re so thoughtful.”

Skulduggery doffed his hat. “Always thinking of others, that’s me.”

They left Ghastly and headed for the main doors. Valkyrie chewed her lip a moment before asking, “Are we in danger?”

“Constantly,” Skulduggery replied.

“I mean from the Supreme Council.”

He looked at her. “Why would we be in danger from them?”

“Something Ravel said last year. If the other Sanctuaries try to take over, you and me would be the first people they’d kill.”

“Ah, yes, because of our wonderful propensity for causing trouble.”

“So? Are we in danger?”

They passed a Cleaver standing guard. “I honestly don’t know,” Skulduggery said. “If they do want to take over, and I’m confident they do, there are different ways to go about it. If they had chosen a hostile takeover, then absolutely, one of their first moves would be to have us killed. But the route they appear to have chosen is far more insidious – they’re using logic and reason against us. The fiends.”

“But they do want to take over?”

“They’ve wanted to for some time now.”

Valkyrie kept her voice down so passing sorcerers wouldn’t hear. “So do you think they’re behind this Argeddion stuff? If they wanted an excuse to stick their noses in, mortals turning magical would seem to be a great one.”

“I don’t think so. This is far too uncontrollable. One mistake and magic is revealed to the world. That’s too much of a risk for them to take. No, I think they’re doing what every good invading force does – simply taking advantage of an obvious weakness.”

“Do you think we’ll go to war with them?”

“I hope not,” Skulduggery said. “War doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me.”

“Detectives.”

They turned as the Sanctuary Administrator approached.

“There’s a woman here to see you,” Tipstaff said, “one Greta Dapple. She claims to be familiar with this person you’re looking for.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “She knows Argeddion?”

“Knows him?” Tipstaff said. “From what she says, she used to date him.”







(#ulink_6382d36d-c679-5471-992d-45c50f5f6fbc)





reta Dapple was old. Valkyrie was used to old people – Skulduggery was somewhere over 400, after all – but very rarely did she meet someone who looked old. Greta had white hair, tied in a bun. She was small and frail and it was like she’d been left out in the sun too long. She sat in the interview room with her hands folded across her purse, and smiled at them when they entered.

“Miss Dapple,” Skulduggery said, “thank you for coming in. We were told you know a man named Argeddion – is this true?”

“Yes, it is,” Greta said, “although he was Walden D’Essai when I first met him. Lovely man. Had the kindest eyes I ever did see. We fell in love one summer. The kind of love you have to hold on to. But I didn’t, because I was young and I didn’t know any better. I’ve never regretted anything so much.”

“Walden D’Essai,” Skulduggery murmured. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”

“I’m not surprised, Detective – aren’t the people you do hear of mostly criminals or terrorists or troublemakers? Walden was none of those things. He was a pacifist. He was so gentle, he’d never hurt another living thing. That’s what I loved about him most. He believed in the goodness of people. That’s probably what got him killed.”

Valkyrie frowned. “He’s dead?”

“Of course he is. Isn’t that why you want to talk to people who knew him? To solve his murder?”

“That’s exactly it,” Skulduggery said. “We just want justice. Tell us what you know.”

“Magic was never that strong with me,” said Greta. “I’ll be two hundred years old this week and I look one hundred. My magic has never been strong enough to slow my ageing to any great degree. Not that I have any cause to complain. I’ve lived twice as long as I should have, and I’m grateful for it. But Walden was strong, and he loved magic. Not in a bad way, though. He didn’t get like some people get – it wasn’t the power he loved. It was simply the magic. He said it was the most beautiful thing in existence. Well, actually, he said that I was the most beautiful thing in existence, but magic came a close second.” She chuckled and Valkyrie smiled.

“When we weren’t together,” Greta continued, “he was studying. Reading. Researching. He went on vision quests, looking for answers. He wanted to find the source of magic – where it came from, how it worked. He wanted to know why Ireland was a Cradle of Magic, and Australia and Africa. He wanted to know if there were any other Cradles that we didn’t know about. Oh, the things he discovered. The secrets he learned.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Did he happen to tell you any of these secrets?”

Greta laughed. “A few. But it’s not my place to repeat them. These answers came to him after years of searching – you’ll forgive me if I don’t cheapen his achievements by simply blurting them out.”

“Annoying,” Skulduggery said, “but completely understandable. Go on.”

“Thank you. One of Walden’s overriding beliefs was that our true names are not actually the source of our magic, but rather they are directly connected to the source – it is through them that magic flows.”

“Flows from where?”

“He was never that specific, I’m afraid. He talked about the source as a place, but didn’t explain how it fitted into his theory. I suppose he would have, if I had asked, if I had even pretended to understand the things he got excited about. But as I said, I was young, and my mind was elsewhere.

“He became obsessed with learning his own true name. He poured all his energies into it. Vision quest after vision quest. He withdrew from the world. Withdrew from me. I know now that I should have fought him, that I should have refused to let him go, but … I didn’t. He grew more distant and I left. I don’t think he even noticed I was gone for the first few weeks.”

“Argeddion was Walden’s true name,” Skulduggery said slowly, and Valkyrie’s mouth went dry. Argeddion was like her – a sorcerer who knew his own true name. The most dangerous thing imaginable.

Greta nodded. “A year after I left him, he got in touch. He told me he’d finally discovered it, that he was now Argeddion, and that all the answers were within his reach. But something else had changed, apart from what he called himself. He wasn’t the obsessed man that I’d walked out on. He had a new name, but he was his old self again. Full of wonder and joy. I was so happy to see that his gentleness had returned, but I was also nervous. Only a handful of people had ever discovered their true names. I didn’t know what would happen, what he’d become. I wasn’t … You must understand, I wasn’t scared of him, but I was scared of what it might mean.”

Greta was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was sad. “I wasn’t the only person to feel that way. Somehow, they heard about what was happening, and they came to my door asking questions.”

Valkyrie frowned. “They?”

“Sorcerers. There were four of them, three men and a woman, but I only remember one name, the leader’s – Tyren Lament. The woman was a Sensitive. Lament said she’d had a vision of the future or some such rubbish. I’ll tell you honestly, I’ve never trusted those people.”

“But this Sensitive,” Skulduggery said, “she saw a future where Walden had done something wrong?”

Greta looked flustered. “She saw nonsense, that’s what she saw. Walden D’Essai was a pacifist. He’d lost his mother to violence at an early age and it affected him deeply – he couldn’t stand to inflict pain on anyone. But this Sensitive, this psychic, had a little nightmare where there’s violence and death and suffering and Walden is apparently the cause of it all. After they’d left, I called Walden, told him they were looking for him. He told me not to worry, he’d explain everything and they’d understand that he wasn’t a threat. That was the last time I ever spoke to him.”

“You think they killed him?”

“I do. Can you arrest them?”

“Tyren Lament disappeared thirty years ago,” Skulduggery said. “If Walden is dead, it sounds like he wasn’t the only one to die that day.”

“If they died,” said Greta, “it was their own doing. Walden would never raise a finger to hurt anyone.”

“Maybe not directly,” Skulduggery said, “but we’ve been dealing with a lot of unexplained phenomena where people have been hurt and killed – and someone called Argeddion would seem to be behind it.”

“Wait. You think my Walden is alive? No. I’m sorry, but no. If Walden were still alive, he’d have contacted me long before now. He’s dead. I know he is.”

“And theoretically that would be enough to keep him down,” Skulduggery said, “but in our line of work death is seldom an obstacle.”

The Council of Elders had never convened faster. They dropped whatever it was they were doing and immediately met Skulduggery and Valkyrie in the throne room. Ravel and Mist wore their traditional robes, but Ghastly was fresh out of the shower and sat there with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Skulduggery filled them in on what Greta Dapple had told them.

“So you think Argeddion is still alive,” said Ravel, “just hiding somewhere, and has unimaginable power from discovering his true name, which allows him to enter people’s dreams and give them magical abilities?”

“In a nutshell,” said Skulduggery.

“Well, now I’m conflicted. On the one hand, it sounds like things are progressing quickly, which is wonderful news. On the other, it means that there’s a sorcerer out there who could kill us all with a wave of his hand – which dampens my mood somewhat. I’m assuming that Ghastly has already broken with protocol and told you about the Supreme Council and their deadline?”

“He has,” said Skulduggery.

“Then let’s focus on the positive. A quick solution is what we need to get them off our backs. Whatever you need from us, just ask.”

“That’s why we’re here, actually,” said Skulduggery. “We need to know about Tyren Lament.”

Ravel nodded. “All right, then. Good.”

Skulduggery waited. “So?”

“So what?”

“So what can you tell us about him?”

Ravel laughed. “Me? I knew him as well as you did, which wasn’t very well. Why don’t you look up his file?”

“We did. His files are missing.”

“Missing? Then why would you think I’d know anything?”

“Because you’re the Grand Mage,” Skulduggery said. “You have access to the Elders’ Journals.”

“Oh,” said Ravel. “Oh, yeah.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “You have read them, haven’t you? One of the requirements for taking a seat on the Council is you have to read the Journals of those who have gone before.”

“I was getting around to it,” Ravel said, a little defensively. “I was about to start, but … Listen, being an Elder is not an easy job. I rarely sleep, did you know that? I go to bed late, I get up early. Every day I’m in meetings or briefings or I’m doing this or that. I would love the opportunity to take a few afternoons off and read those Journals, I really would. The chance to learn from the wisdom of past Elders … It would be an honour, and I’m looking forward to it.”

Skulduggery nodded. “There are three hundred and forty-four Journals.”

Ravel blanched. “Seriously?”

“All big leather-bound books, a thousand pages long. Single-spaced.”

“Dear God.”

“It’s going to take more than a few afternoons to get through them.”

“So it would appear.” Ravel scowled. “OK, you caught me out, I haven’t read the dusty old diaries. Big deal. I’ll get to it. Ghastly, you’ve read them, what can you tell us about Lament?”

“Uh,” said Ghastly.

Skulduggery shook his head. “Oh, not you, too.”

“One of them is on my bedside table,” Ghastly said quickly. “I started it. I did. But my God it was boring. It was all ‘forsooth’ and ‘verily’ and ‘forthwith’. Did we really speak like that back then?”

“So no one has actually read the Journals,” Skulduggery said. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Ravel and Ghastly both looked sheepish. Finally, Madame Mist spoke.

“I have read them.”

Ravel looked startled. “You have? You didn’t find them … boring?”

“I find many things boring,” Mist said in that quiet way of hers. “It does not mean I’m going to forsake my duty.”

“Well, good,” Skulduggery said, “at least someone here is doing what they’re supposed to. What can you tell us?”

Madame Mist observed him through her veil. “Nothing,” she said.

“Lament wasn’t mentioned?”

“He was mentioned, but I cannot tell you in what context. Only Elders are allowed to know what those Journals contain.”

“Well, we can tell Skulduggery and Valkyrie,” Ravel said.

“No. We can’t.”

Ghastly sat forward so as to look at Mist better. “Yes, we can. They’ve earned that right.”

“It is not for us to decide,” said Mist. “It is a rule.”

“We’re breaking the rule,” said Ravel. “Today that rule is broken. I’m Elder Mage, I decree it. The rule is no more. So tell them what the Journals said.”

“If we want to change the rules, we must vote on it. It need not be unanimous. A simple majority would suffice.”

“So you’re looking for a two-to-one majority,” sighed Ghastly, “when you know exactly how myself and Ravel are going to vote? What’s the point?”

“It is the rules, Elder Bespoke.”

“Fine. All in favour of telling Skulduggery and Valkyrie what the Journals say, raise your hand.” Ghastly and Ravel voted. “There. Two-to-one. We win. Now, if you would be so kind – what did the Journals say about Lament?”

“Tyren Lament was a detective under Meritorious,” Mist said, “specialising in science-magic.”

“That much I know,” said Skulduggery.

“There were others, but their names weren’t mentioned and a definitive number was never given. Lament and his colleagues were a specialist group, tasked with dealing with global threats in as quiet a manner as possible. Meritorious and the Elders spoke very highly of them, but provided few details as to their assignments. There were notes on some low-profile arrests at the beginning of Lament’s Sanctuary career, but even that tailed off.”

“What about Argeddion?” asked Valkyrie. “Was he ever mentioned?”

“No. Neither was the disappearance of Lament and his group.”

“So they vanish off the face of the earth,” Skulduggery said, “and none of the Elders even bother to make a note of it. It sounds like Lament and his friends were Black Ops, the same as our Dead Men, or Guild’s Exigency Mages, but in peacetime. The dirty jobs that have to be done. They went in to take down Argeddion and whatever happened has been wiped from official records. Meritorious covered it up.”

“Not the first time,” Ghastly murmured.

“But wouldn’t that mean Argeddion is dead?” asked Valkyrie. “If they went in and failed, Meritorious would have just sent someone else. He’d probably have sent you. But he didn’t.”

Skulduggery nodded. “Which would seem to indicate that it was mission accomplished.”

Ravel shifted in his chair. “So if everyone who knew about this mission is now dead, where does that leave us?”

“Maybe not everyone,” Skulduggery countered. “Lament may have been killed, maybe most of the others, but there’s no reason to think there wasn’t a survivor who reported back to Meritorious when it was done.”

Valkyrie looked at him. “So we need to find out who else was in Lament’s group. How do we do that?”

Skulduggery put his hat on. “In order to find a man’s friends, who are the best people to ask?”

Valkyrie smiled. “His enemies.”







(#ulink_5a59e600-d1b1-588e-88b0-f0a9728a706f)





ammer Lane Gaol was, to all outside appearances, a small house on the border of Laois and Offaly that stood with its front door open. There were a few dead trees out front, and a garage in the back, and plenty of mud all around. And inside was one of the last men arrested by Tyren Lament.

The Bentley splashed through puddles on the uneven road and pulled up. They got out, and Skulduggery didn’t bother with his façade as an old man wandered over.

“Hi there,” the old man said. “Lost, are you?”

“You really think we’re lost?” Skulduggery asked. “You really think we’re civilians just passing through, one of whom happens to be a skeleton?”

“Oh, yeah,” said the old man. “Yeah, that kind of gives the whole game away, doesn’t it? Suppose you’re wanting to visit the prison, then.”

“I suppose we are.”

“Stay right here, I’ll put the call through. What’d you say your names were?”

“Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain.”

“Pleasant and Cain,” said the old man, nodding. “And you have an appointment?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Be right back.”

He shuffled off into the garage, and Valkyrie looked at the little house with its open door. It shimmered slightly, like it was caught in a heat haze.

“Why’s it doing that?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Skulduggery said. “It could be some kind of projection, or it could be an energy shield of some description.”

“It’s a little small and, I don’t know, accessible to be a prison, isn’t it? Unless it’s a prison for really tiny criminals who aren’t too bright and who don’t really want to escape.”

“Just the regular-sized criminals, I’m afraid. And the house would merely be the entrance – the prison is underground.”

Valkyrie sighed. “Everything is underground. I’m sick of things being underground. Sanctuaries are underground, gaols are underground …” She faltered.

“Wow,” said Skulduggery. “Two things that are underground. That’s a pretty exhaustive list.”

“Shut up. All I’m saying is, it’d be nice if there were a base or a headquarters of something that had big windows and a nice view and maybe even a little sunshine every now and then.”

The old man wandered back. “The warden is ready for you,” he said. “You ever been to Hammer Lane before? The only tricky bit is getting through that front door there. The important thing is not to touch the sides as you walk through. For slender people such as yourselves, this should pose no particular problem. But for other people …” He shook his head, like he was remembering a personal tragedy.

“What happens if we touch the sides?” Valkyrie asked, but he was already walking away. She looked at Skulduggery, and motioned to the open door. “Age before beauty.”

“So kind,” he said, and walked through. He looked back at her. “Well? Are you coming?”

Valkyrie hesitated. The doorway shimmered. She licked her lips, then turned sideways and inched forward into the house.

Skulduggery stood watching her. “What are you doing?”

“Being careful,” she said under her breath.

“You walk through doorways every day and manage not to bounce off one side or the other.”

“Stop distracting me.”

“You could walk in with your hands on your hips and you still wouldn’t touch the sides.”

She took a deep breath and took the last step as a hop, then gasped in relief.

“You puzzle me,” Skulduggery said.

It was a one-room house. There was a tattered armchair and a tattered rug and peeling wallpaper. Something beeped, and the floor started to descend.

“Cool,” Valkyrie whispered.

They left the peeling wallpaper above them and descended through a brightly lit steel shaft, picking up speed as they went. Just as Valkyrie was beginning to enjoy the experience, it was over, and a door slid open to reveal a man in a suit and tie and a smile.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Delafonte Mien, I’m the warden here. Can I get you folks some lemonade?”

Their tour through Hammer Lane Gaol took them through gleaming corridors and steel doors. The main body of the prison was a vast cylinder, at the base of which was the mess hall and social area. There were five levels of cells built into the walls, each one with a circular perimeter walkway that was bordered with a clear material that sounded like glass when Valkyrie knocked on it. They were standing on the Observation Deck, the sixth and highest level, allowing them to overlook the whole structure.

“It sounds like glass,” Mien told her, “because it is glass. Reinforced, of course. It’d take a rocket launcher to even make a crack in one layer of this thing – and it’s four layers thick. Impenetrable.” He waved his hand along the metal barrier, and a section of glass retracted. They leaned over, looking straight down. Valkyrie felt a touch of vertigo.

“Your prisoners are very well behaved,” said Skulduggery. Far below them, the convicts sat in their bright orange jumpsuits at their tables in perfectly ordered groups.

Mien chuckled. “Ah, I wish I could say they’re always like that, but any minute now one of the inmates is going to be rejoining them from a month in solitary confinement. He’s a bit of a troublemaker, so I have extra security down there to deal with any messing.

“You know, before I came here, this was the worst gaol in Europe. Disruptive behaviour, riots, inmates escaping … I was assigned here seventeen years ago, I looked around at what we had at our disposal, and I made changes. Within two years, this place had become a fortress. No prisoner has escaped in fifteen years. Even attempted breakouts have dropped to almost zero.”

“How did you manage it?” Skulduggery asked, stepping back from the barrier, casting his eyeless gaze to the pipes that ran in crazy zigzags across the high ceiling.

Mien waved his hand again, and the glass sealed over. “You may have noticed a slight flickering on your way in. That was the entire building oscillating between dimensions.”

Valkyrie looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

“As we’re talking here,” Mien said, “we’re travelling through eight dimensions a second. Forty dimensions in all, and then back again. A continuous loop. If anyone were to breach the walls, they’d be torn to pieces and scattered through half a dozen realities. There really is no escape except through the front door. The inmates know this. They know it’s hopeless. Because of that, I’ve been able to cut back on the amount of sorcerers and Cleavers needed to run this facility. We operate with a skeleton staff, if you’ll excuse the expression, Detective.”

“Expression excused,” Skulduggery murmured. “So how do you do it?”

“Ah,” Mien said, laughing, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.” They started walking back the way they’d come. “Every warden of every gaol around the world has tried to find out, but I’m keeping it to myself for now. It won’t be long before I’m assigned to one of the bigger prisons, though, and maybe then I’ll share the secret of my success.”

Skulduggery looked at him. “An ambitious man, are you, Mr Mien?”

“I suppose you could say that. Nothing wrong with ambition, is there?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Skulduggery said, “so long as it’s channelled the right way.”

“I assure you, all of my ambition is channelled to enable me to better perform my duties.”

They passed through another steel door, and a uniformed man handed Mien a touch-screen device the size of a brick.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Skulduggery said, taking out his phone and stepping away.

Mien took the opportunity to show Valkyrie the device in his hand. “I control the entire building with this,” he said, his fingers tapping and sliding over the screen. “My own design, actually. I hope to get it smaller, but with the amount of power it has to generate this is the best I can do at the moment.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked. “To have everything centralised in something someone could run away with?”

Mien smiled. “I’m the only one who can operate it, and it’s kept here, within the confines of the main facility. I never bring it outside that door. Security is my business, Detective Cain. I know a thing or two about it.”

Skulduggery came back. “It all looks very impressive, I have to say. It’s certainly a unique set-up. Were you told which prisoner we’re here to see?”

“I wasn’t,” said Mien, “but it doesn’t matter. With the protocols I’ve installed, any inmate can be accessible within minutes. Just give me a moment to call up the proper screen … OK. Name of prisoner?”

“Silas Nadir.”

Mien’s fingers hesitated over the device.

“N,” he said. “N … where’s the N? I can’t … can’t find the … Oh, here we are. Nadir. And what was the first name?”

“Silas,” said Skulduggery.

Mien nodded, tapped the name in, and waited.

“Oh,” he said.

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Oh?”

“I’m terribly sorry, it looks like you’ve had a wasted trip. Silas Nadir died two years ago.”

Skulduggery stopped walking. “What?”

“Oh, this is awful,” said Mien. “I’m terribly sorry. He had a heart attack. The staff here weren’t even aware he had a medical condition. He died in his sleep.”

“So why wasn’t his death reported?”

Mien blinked. “It was. I … I’m sure it was. It would have had to have been. Our Chief Medical Officer would have been required to process all of the appropriate paperwork.”

“Can we speak to him?” Valkyrie asked.

Mien looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. Doctor Taper no longer works at this gaol. Can I ask why you wanted to speak with Nadir? Maybe someone else could help you?”

“We needed Nadir,” Skulduggery said curtly. “Do many prisoners die while in your custody, Mr Mien?”

Mien’s look of embarrassment faded quickly as his mouth set into a straight line. “No, Detective Pleasant. They do not.” He started walking again. Skulduggery and Valkyrie kept up.

“How many prisoners have died here in the last year?” Skulduggery asked.

“None. The inmates may be convicted criminals but they are nonetheless entitled to the best care we can provide.”

“How many prisoners have died here in the last ten years?”

Mien bristled. “Three. Nadir and two others – Evoric Cudgel and Lorenzo Mulct. Should I have personally informed you of their deaths as well?”

“Mulct and Cudgel,” Skulduggery said. “Never heard of them. What were they in for?”

Mien turned to them, jabbing irritably at the device. “Mulct was … Mulct was found guilty of multiple counts of robbery. Cudgel was one of Mevolent’s men. Just another low-level sorcerer.”

“And yet,” said Skulduggery, “you remembered the names of these unexceptional inmates without a problem. But when you heard the name Silas Nadir, a notorious serial killer with murders in the double digits, you had to look him up.”

“After a hesitation,” said Valkyrie.

“Indeed,” Skulduggery nodded. “After a very telling hesitation that seemed for all the world like you were frozen for a moment at the mere mention of his name.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mien, “I have no idea what either of you are talking about.”

“What happened to Silas Nadir, Mr Mien?”

“I told you what—”

“And I think you’re lying.”

“This is preposterous. Why would I lie? I’m not a criminal. The criminals are the ones in the cells.”

“The prisoners are the ones in the cells,” Skulduggery corrected. “Criminals can be anywhere.”

“I’m very sorry but I can’t help you,” Mien said, his voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a gaol to run. The way out is just ahead of you, but I’ll have the Cleavers escort you just to be sure.” Mien turned, started walking away.

“What happened to Nadir?” Skulduggery asked after him.

“Good day, Detectives.”

“Where is he, Mr Mien?”

“Good day.”

“How about the Summer of Light?”

Mien froze. Turned. “How do you know about that?”

“You know what it is?”

“No. No, I don’t have the first idea what it is. But the inmates … Our more psychologically disturbed inmates have taken to screaming about a man named Argeddion. They say he comes to them in their nightmares. Some of them have written his name, in their own blood, on the walls of their cells, along with that phrase. The Summer of Light.”

“What do they say about Argeddion?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just his name and that he appears in their dreams.”

Skulduggery considered the gaoler. “We’d like to speak to one of these inmates, if you wouldn’t mind. Preferably one of the more lucid ones. Do you have the list there?”

Skulduggery walked up to him, Valkyrie following behind.

“What does any of this have to do with Nadir?” asked Mien.

Skulduggery didn’t get a chance to answer. An alarm rang out, so sudden and so loud it made Valkyrie jump. She looked around, looked back, and a wall of glass slammed down in front of her, sealing her off from Skulduggery and Mien. At that moment, sigils faded up along the walls, and she felt her power dampen. On the other side of the glass, Skulduggery looked at her, then spoke to Mien, who was clearly agitated. Valkyrie couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying. Mien hurried away, and she raised an eyebrow at Skulduggery.

His jaw moved up and down. She pointed at her mouth.

His hand went to his collarbones, and a false face spread over his skull. This time, she could read his lips.

Don’t panic, he said.

I’m not, she mouthed back.

He knocked on the glass. We can’t break through this. We’ll get you out in a second.

Cool.

Mien appeared behind Skulduggery. He looked even more agitated than before. Skulduggery exchanged words with him. A lot of words. Still the alarm rang out. Finally, Skulduggery turned back to her. Good news, he said. You can start panicking now.

She glared. He took out his phone and rang her.

“It seems that a riot has broken out,” he said when she answered. “That prisoner who was released back into the general population evidently started some trouble. Now, before you begin to worry, the section of the gaol that I’m standing in is completely secure. No problems here. I’m not in any danger whatsoever.”

“And the section I’m standing in?”

“Well,” he said, “the important thing to remember is that I’m perfectly safe.”

Valkyrie sighed. “I’m stuck in here with the bad guys, aren’t I?”

“Or you could be glass-half-full about it and say that they are stuck in there with you. Which might make you feel better.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“Mien’s working on a way to isolate this corridor from the rest of the gaol in order to get the door open, but it might take – oh, do you mind holding on for a moment? I have another call coming in.”

She stared. “What?”

The line went silent, and she watched Skulduggery talk into his phone. She knocked on the glass. He held up a finger as he spoke.

She stood there and fumed.

Finally, he nodded to her, and she raised her phone to her ear.

“You look angry,” he said.

“You put me on hold.”

“For a very good reason.”

“You put me,” she said very, very slowly, “on hold.”

“And judging by the look on your face, and what a pretty face it is, I’m going to be very sorry about that later on. Back to now, though, that was Ghastly. A few moments ago I called him, asked him to get a Sensitive to run a remote scan of the facility, just out of curiosity. I wanted to know where the power was coming from to keep this place oscillating between dimensions. It’s coming from deep down in the lower levels.”

“Yay,” Valkyrie growled, still glaring.

“Before his apparent demise, Silas Nadir was a Dimensional Shunter. He could move himself, or other people or objects – such as the bodies of his victims – into different realities. They call it shunting.”

“I gathered that. You think he’s still alive and he’s being kept in the basement, where he’s constantly shunting this whole building around.”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you can’t get to the basement, can you? But I can. And that’s where you want me to go. You want me, a seventeen-year-old girl without any magic or protection, to wander through a prison while the convicted murderers and God-knows-whats are running around having a riot. Is that what you want me to do, Skulduggery?”

“It is.”

“And is this a safe thing for me to do, Skulduggery?”

“It isn’t. But there are two very good reasons why you should do it anyway. Reason number one, it’s our chance to look around without Mien’s interference. Reason number two, the corridor you’re standing in will soon be filled with convicts.”

“How do you know?”

“You heard Mien. The front door is the only exit. This is the only corridor to the front door. There are bound to be some convicts who are going to try and take advantage of the distraction the riot provides.”

“So I should go now, before they get here.”

“Indeed you should. Keep your phone to your ear, I’ll guide you.”

“How do you know the way?”

“I glanced at the schematic on the way in.”

“You memorised it?”

“Glancing, memorising, it’s the same thing. You should really, really go now.”

She took a deep breath. “Get this door open and come after me.”

“Count on it.”

Valkyrie looked at him, then turned, ran down the corridor and round the corner.

“At the junction,” Skulduggery said, “turn right. Can you see anyone?”

“No,” she said, moving fast, “not yet.”

“Hopefully, we’ll be able to keep you out of sight. You won’t be in the prison area as such – but then neither will the prisoners, so …”

“I have to admit,” she said, “I’m worrying.”

“Perfectly understandable. I’m heading to the security room. I’ll be able to see you on the monitors soon enough. You should be seeing three doors ahead of you.”

“Yeah, I’ve just reached them.”

“Take the second one to your left.”

She tried it. “It’s locked.”

“Kick it open.”

“It’s a sturdy door, Skulduggery.”

“But it’s not reinforced. It’s not designed to keep any prisoners in or out, it’s designed to keep unauthorised personnel from going places they don’t have clearance for. It’s just a simple door with a simple lock. And you’ve got very strong legs.”

She looked at the door. “See, this is where a gun would come in really handy.” She kicked. “Ow! Oh, God!”

“Are you OK?”

“Kicking doors hurts! Even with Ghastly’s boots!”

“Put your weight behind it. Pretend the door is someone who has really annoyed you recently.”

“Can I pretend it’s you?”

“I really don’t see how that would—”

She kicked it, and the door burst open. “I’m in,” she said, closing the door behind her. “And that really hurt my foot. I’m in a room with machines along the walls. Lots of blinking lights.”

“Do you see the ventilation duct along the floor?”

She froze. “Please tell me I don’t have to crawl through that.”

“I’m afraid you do.”

“No. I can’t. It’s too small.”

“The measurements are—”

“I get claustrophobic! You know I do! Especially after the caves last year, with all those things and I couldn’t move my arms and they were in my hair and—”

“Calm down.”

“I’m not getting in there, I’m just not.”

“You’ll be able to fit,” he said, his voice gentle. “You will have space to move. You won’t be trapped.”

“I can’t.”

“Valkyrie, listen to my voice. I know you don’t want to, I know you don’t think you can, but you don’t have a choice. I’m in the security room now and I can see the monitors. The prisoners are swarming the building. You can’t let them catch you.”

She dropped to her knees at the duct. “How do I even open it? It’s screwed in place.”

“You’re going to have to prise it open. Is there anything you could use?”

She looked around. “There’s a bench here with things on it, bits of machinery and stuff. And some tools. There’s a screwdriver! I could use the screwdriver to prise it open!”

“Yes,” Skulduggery said, “or you could use it to unscrew the screws.”

“Oh, yeah,” she muttered. She grabbed the screwdriver, hurried back to the duct and got to work.

“The Cleavers are doing a good job with the riot,” Skulduggery said, “but there are prisoners running everywhere. How are you doing?”

“One almost … OK, it’s out. Three left.”

“The prisoners have reached the security door.”

The screwdriver kept slipping out of the groove. “The glass door?”

“Yes.”

“So they’re really close.”

“Yes.”

Her mouth was dry. “The moment they realise they can’t break through that door they’re going to turn around, find their way through here.”

Skulduggery hesitated. “They’ve turned around, Valkyrie.”

Two screws left.

“They’re heading towards you.”

The screwdriver slipped again.

“Valkyrie …”

“I’m going as fast as I can.” Her heart hammered. The third screw fell. “One left.”

“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said, “you’re going to have to be really, really quiet.”

She heard voices, and running footsteps. She turned, screwdriver clutched like a knife, waiting for the door to burst open.

The voices passed the door, started to grow distant.

“They’re carrying on to the end of the corridor,” Skulduggery said. “There’s no way out there. They’ll have to double back. You don’t have long.”

She spun, screwdriver working, twisting and twisting until—

“Done,” she said, the last screw joining the others on the ground. She dug the screwdriver in at one corner and prised the covering loose, then got her fingers in there. She bit her lip and pulled, ignoring the pain as the metal dug into her skin. It came free all of a sudden and she lifted it away. She looked at the square hole. It was dark, and looked too small to fit in.

“Are you sure I won’t get stuck?” she asked.

“You don’t have a choice,” Skulduggery said. “They’re on the way back to you. You’re going to be crawling to your left. Move!”

Valkyrie took a deep breath, and plunged in.







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t was tight.

It was small and tight and dark. She couldn’t even raise herself up on to her hands and knees. She shuffled forward on her elbows.

“See?” Skulduggery said. “I told you you’d be fine.”

She kept shuffling until she froze. She closed her eyes, turned her head so she could whisper into the phone. “Get me out of here. It’s too small. How am I going to get out? I can’t turn around.”

“It won’t do you any good to panic.”

“I’m going to get stuck in here, I know I am.”

“Shh. They’re in the room behind you.”

She quietened. She could hear them, their raised voices, arguing among themselves. One of the voices got suddenly louder, and she twisted to look back. A head appeared in the shaft, examining the space. He couldn’t see her, lying there in the dark.

“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said, very softly. “There aren’t any cameras in the room. I can’t see what they’re doing.”

She didn’t answer. The head ducked back out and the voices started up again. Valkyrie crawled on, as fast and as quietly as she could. There was a series of loud noises behind her.

“They’re in here with me,” she whispered. “They’re following me.”

“Just keep going,” she heard Skulduggery say. “You’re going to pass four more covers like the one you just opened. The fifth one will overlook a stairwell that should be empty. That’s where you’re getting out.”

The first ventilation cover was up ahead. Already her muscles were burning. Her hair fell over her face but she didn’t have room, or time, to tie it back. She crawled on, phone in one hand, screwdriver in the other.

The closer she got to the vent, the louder the alarm sounded.

She didn’t want to glance back, didn’t want to see anyone moving back there. She kept her eyes front, kept her elbows working. She reached the vent and glanced through into a dark room. She moved on. She could hear voices behind but she did her best to block them out.

There was another vent ahead. Light streamed in through the slats. There was some movement outside. People running. She reached the vent and shuffled onwards, but a voice behind her drifted up.

“You see that?” the voice said. “There’s someone up there.”

She froze.

“No there’s not,” said another voice. “Just keep going, will you?”

“Just look. See? They were moving just a second ago. Hutchinson, get up here. See that?”

“Yeah,” said the third voice, the one they called Hutchinson. “Hey there! Hold on a sec!”

Valkyrie took a deep, deep breath and started crawling again, as fast as she could, without caring about the noise she was making. The men behind her shouted but she couldn’t hear the words. She didn’t want to hear the words. They were far behind her and there was no way they were going to catch up.

Her muscles burned and she stopped for a moment, heard frantic movement close behind her and glanced back, saw a grinning face moving through the slotted light.

“Hey!”

It was the one called Hutchinson. He was small and thin and squirming through the ventilation shaft like a rat. She started crawling again but it was no use. She felt his grip on her boots and tried to stamp her foot back into his face. His soft chuckle echoed as his hands wrapped round the back of her knees. He hauled himself forward, moving over her kicking legs centimetre by centimetre. He got another handhold, the waistband of her trousers this time. She squirmed, reached behind her and tried to keep him away, but he pushed her hand down and now he was squeezing in on top of her. He wasn’t heavy but he was filling every space now, and she couldn’t even move her arms.

“It’s OK,” he whispered as he crawled up her back. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She could hear the smile in his voice. He tried to slip his right arm round her throat but she tucked her chin down. His fingers worked beneath her jaw. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “Shhh …”

He pulled her hair with his free hand, but didn’t have the space to make it unbearable. He abandoned that tactic, tried to make her loosen up by jabbing at her, but she kept her chin down. Even so his right hand was getting in there. He was going to get in eventually. She readied the screwdriver.

His hand slipped through and suddenly his arm was round her throat. She jabbed blindly over her shoulder with the screwdriver and he squealed, started thrashing as she heaved herself ahead of him. He didn’t try to stop her. He fell against her legs and she grunted, kicking back to shove him off. She’d lost the screwdriver but it had been worth it, and now he was an obstacle to the men crawling behind him.

But his screams had attracted attention. There were shouts from up ahead, and someone started kicking the vent. If they got it open, she’d be trapped.

She stuffed her phone into her jacket pocket, and crawled faster.

The men behind were shouting now, trying to make themselves heard over Hutchinson’s screams. And then there was a horrible cracking sound, and the screams stopped. Valkyrie didn’t have to look back to know what they’d done.

“Kick it in!” one of them shouted. “She’s trying to get by!”

The kicking resumed. Intensified. The covering started to buckle.

Valkyrie reached it, didn’t even glance through the slats.

“There she is!” a man shouted. “Get it open!”

Multiple boots, kicking. She got by but the ventilation cover burst open behind her and a man reached in, grabbed her ankle.

“Got her!”

She kicked, kept kicking, kept slamming her heel on to his hand, even as she was hauled backwards. She looked over her shoulder, saw more hands reaching in, grabbing her, and now her feet were out of the duct, and she was dragged out after them.

She slid across the floor, men in prison uniforms staring down at her. She got her legs free and scrambled up, burst through them into the corner of the room then turned, hands clenched, teeth bared. Exhausted, sweating, terrified.

The men formed a semicircle, cutting her off from the open door. Four of them, and now two more crawling out of the duct. All the shouting had ended. All the cursing. Now they looked at her, and she looked at them, and none of them said anything.

One of them, the biggest, started to grin. It started small, then spread across his face. “I haven’t killed anyone so pretty in years.” He stepped forward.

Another man, a skinhead with facial tattoos, put a hand on his arm. “No,” he said. “We use her as a hostage. She’s our ticket out of here.”

The big man tried to shake the hand off. The skinhead held on. A scuffle broke out, and then a fight, and suddenly all six men were slamming into each other. One of them, a man with yellow teeth, reached for her, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her through the gap he had made.

“Run!” he shouted, and cried out as the big man snapped his neck.

Valkyrie ran, kept running, found herself skirting the top tier of the Observation Deck. Two convicts were sitting against the wall up ahead, just talking, looking like they’d opted out of all the violence going on down below. She ran past them and they stared at her, but didn’t try to follow. There was a shout and she glanced back. The big man was coming.

She saw an AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY sign and followed it, sprinting through a narrow corridor that ended with a door. A convict was on his knees by the door, trying to pick the lock. He gave a little cheer and stood up, opened it and turned with a smile on his face that she wiped off with a flying elbow. She didn’t even see him crumple to the ground, and now she was in a stairwell, jumping down the steps.

The big man was hurtling down after her.

There were no cameras in the stairwell, but surely Skulduggery had seen where she was heading. She jumped and slammed against the wall, pushed herself off, almost falling down to the next level. Speed was one thing, but if she twisted her ankle trying to get away, she’d never leave this stairwell alive.

She heard the big man stumble and fall, his curses ringing out, giving her a boost of hope. She was going to make it. Five more floors to go before she reached the basement. He was, what, maybe three levels above? She was going to make it. She was going to get to the basement level and burst through the door and Skulduggery was going to be there, gun in hand.

He’d better be.

Valkyrie got to the basement, all cold walls and leaking pipes, flickering lights and gloom stretching into shadows. She lunged out through the door, into a small maze of corridors. Skulduggery wasn’t there.

The big man came through the door like a bull and she took off. He was right behind her, and gaining. Valkyrie dodged left so he overshot, then took the adjoining corridor, glancing back to see him stumbling to correct his course. There was a door ahead, marked MAINTENANCE. She ran into the tiny room, slamming the door shut behind her. She spun, planted her left foot forward, her right leg ready. His footsteps and his curses got louder and as he burst in, she was already kicking.

Her boot hit the door, the door hit his head.

Valkyrie fell back from the impact and he dropped to his knees, hands clutching his face. She sprang up, grabbed a mop, smacked the handle on to the top of his skull. He howled, started moving away. She jabbed him in the face with the handle until he knocked it from her hands, and she jumped out after him, swinging kicks into his side. He caught her leg, held it to him as he struggled to his feet. He was panting heavily from the exertion, blood running from his nose. He slammed her back against the wall, one hand still holding her leg, keeping her off balance while the other hand wrapped round her throat.

She went for his eyes, digging her thumbs in. He tried turning his head, then took her violently to the ground. Kneeling between her legs, both hands now at her throat. Unable to breathe, her head suddenly pounding, Valkyrie squirmed into position then turned on to her hip, bringing one leg in to press against him. He pushed forward and she scissor-swept his legs, flipping him on to his back. Now she was on top and she rose up, started raining down palm shots and elbows. Four of them were all she needed, but she kept going, just to be sure. When he sparked out, unconscious and limp, she rolled off, breathing hard.

She forced herself to her feet. Her arms and legs were drained. She couldn’t get her breathing under control. She staggered away from him, turned a few more corners before she let herself stop and bend over, hands on her knees, panting. While she was down there, she noticed a series of pipes free of rust or wear. She started following them, all the way to a door.

Once she was breathing properly again, she wiped the sweat from her forehead, and stepped into the room. “Ah,” she said. “Found you.”







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er magic returned to her the moment she set foot in there but she almost didn’t notice it, what with the man lying flat in mid-air, suspended off the ground by dozens of cables and wires that stretched taut from his wrists and ankles to the four corners of the room. The cables pulsed with an energy that emanated outwards. The man’s eyes were open but unseeing. Some kind of helmet was strapped to his head. Thick bundles of wires cascaded from the back of it, disappearing through a small hole in the floor. Valkyrie stared at Silas Nadir and wondered if he was even aware of what was going on.

The door burst open behind her and Skulduggery ran in, gun in hand. He saw her. Froze. “Are you OK?”

She nodded.

“They didn’t hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“The Cleavers are taking back control. The riot has been subdued. The last stragglers are being rounded up. You’re sure you’re OK?”

“I’m grand. You can probably put your gun away.”

He looked at it. “I think I’ll keep it out, actually. In case I want to shoot someone. I see you’ve found the dearly departed Mr Nadir.”

“Mien’s been using him to shunt the prison through realities. Look at all these wires. The whole place is hooked up to him. It must be awful.”

Skulduggery joined her. “Don’t forget, the man is a serial killer.”

“He still shouldn’t be used like this.”

“The alternative is to keep him in a cell, being of no use to anyone.”

“Are you actually in favour of this?”

“Not at all,” Skulduggery said. “But I understand how Mien justified it to himself. Of course, I doubt either of us would be so morally righteous if Nadir had murdered anyone we knew.”

“That’s not the point,” said Valkyrie. “So what do we do now?”

“We unhook him,” Skulduggery said, examining the cables. “Hopefully, he’ll wake up and we can question him about Lament. Once we have our answer, we throw him back in his old cell.”

“Do you know how to unhook him?”

“I’m assuming we just take off the helmet.”

“Just like that? Will he be harmed?”

“If we’re lucky, it might sting him a little. If we’re unlucky, it might cause irreversible brain damage. I’m feeling lucky, though, aren’t you? It’s a Saturday. Saturdays have always been lucky for us.”

“I hadn’t noticed. Look, we should probably find someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Probably,” Skulduggery murmured. “However …”

His gloved fingers skipped lightly over the helmet, then gripped a wire and yanked it from its slot.

Valkyrie’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I think I’ve worked it out,” he said. “I just need to disconnect the Emergency Valve Regulators one at a time. Once that’s done, removing the helmet shouldn’t result in any significant trauma.”

“Emergency Valve Regulators,” she repeated. “So you do know what you’re doing?”

“Not really,” he said, yanking another wire. “I made that term up to keep you happy. I’m just pulling all the red wires because they’re the pretty ones.”

Before she could protest, he’d yanked another three, then nodded. “That should do it.”

“Oh, dear God.”

He started undoing the helmet straps. “If this works, you’re going to be mightily impressed with me.”

“And if it doesn’t work, you could kill him.”

“For the chance to see the look of sheer awe on your face, Valkyrie, I’m willing to risk it.” He removed the helmet and let it fall. Nadir’s head lolled back and his eyes closed.

Valkyrie frowned. “When will we know if he’s OK?”

“When he wakes up, I should imagine. Help me unstrap him.”

They worked together to free Nadir of the wires and cables holding him off the ground, and together they laid him on the floor.

Valkyrie stood quietly for a few seconds, and asked, “Can we wake him now?”

“Patience has never been your strong suit, has it?” He slapped Nadir’s face. “Excuse me. Excuse me, could you wake up now, please?”

Nadir moaned, and frowned, and Skulduggery slapped him again. His eyes snapped open and he looked at them, glared at them, and scrambled up.

“Mr Nadir, my name is Skulduggery Pleasant, and this is my partner Valkyrie Cain. We’re here to—”

Whatever those cables were they must have been exercising his muscles as he slept, because there was no sign of atrophy as he lunged forward. He grabbed Valkyrie’s arm and she cried out and he tried grabbing Skulduggery but Skulduggery just punched him. He staggered into the wall and Skulduggery cuffed his hands behind his back, then looked at Valkyrie as she rubbed her arm. “Are you OK?”

“Fine,” she growled. “Just static electricity, gave me a little shock.”

“What the hell is going on?” Nadir raged. “What is this? What are you doing to me?”

“We’re actually helping you,” Skulduggery told him. “You’ve been napping down here for the last fifteen years, Mr Nadir. You must be well rested.”

“Fifteen years? What are you talking about with your fifteen years? I was just in my cell this morning!”

“I don’t generally have much time for serial killers, so I’m going to explain this to you once and then immediately move on. You were sentenced to seven hundred years for multiple counts of murder. You were sent here, to this pretty shoddy gaol. When Mien took over as warden, he connected you to the building and began using you to shunt the entire facility through dimensions. It’s the ultimate security system. No one can break in or break out because the prison travels to eight different realities every second, and it’s all thanks to you. Are you with me so far?”

Nadir gaped at him. “Fifteen years?”

“Indeed. Now then, we are here for an entirely different reason – but if you help us, we will ensure that you spend the remainder of your prison sentence, all six hundred and seventy-eight years of it, in the comforts of your duly-appointed cell. Understand?”

“Fifteen years?”

Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie. “Oh, dear. I think he might be brain-damaged.”

The door burst open again and Mien ran in.

“You!” he cried. “What are you doing? You can’t be here! This is a restricted area!”

“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said.

She walked up to Mien, and the prison warden turned his attention to her. “This is my gaol and when you are here you operate by my rules, and this is not—”

Valkyrie smacked her palm into his jaw and he went backwards, his legs giving out. He crumpled to the floor where she cuffed him, binding symbols glowing on the narrow shackles. “Mr Mien,” she said, kneeling on his back, “you’re under arrest for, uh …” She looked to Skulduggery for help.

“Improper use of inmates,” he suggested.

“There you go,” she nodded. “You have the right to remain unconscious.”

Mien did not respond.

“Very well done,” said Skulduggery. “What do you think, Silas? Do you think that was well done? How does it compare to the way you were arrested all those years ago? Tyren Lament, wasn’t it, the man who arrested you?”

“Lament,” Nadir said, and spat. “It’s his fault I’m here. His fault I’m—”

Skulduggery interrupted him. “Actually, it would be your fault. You know, for killing all those people. Speaking of Lament, as we were, I need to know the names of his associates.”

Nadir glared. “Go to hell.”

“Silas, now really. Is that any way to speak to the person who has just liberated you from the void? Lament’s colleagues. Who were they?”

Nadir licked his lips. “And what if I tell you? What do I get?”

“You get unhooked, Silas.”

“You say I’ve been here for fifteen years? The last thing I remember is being in my cell. OK. OK, I’ll help you, but in return you hook me back up.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “I’m sorry?”

“You hook me back up to this thing. Let me serve my sentence here. If you do that, I’ll help you.”

“See?” Mien said from beneath Valkyrie, his voice shaky. “He wants to be here …”

“Shut up,” Valkyrie said. “He wants to be here because fifteen years went by and he didn’t even notice it. But he wasn’t sent to prison just so it could pass in the blink of an eye. He has to suffer.”

“That’s my condition,” Nadir said. “I know a few of Lament’s buddies. He called in three or four of them when he was hunting me. I can help you. I know what you need.”

“OK,” Skulduggery said, “you have a deal. Give me the names.”

Nadir laughed. “Call me cynical, skeleton, but I don’t trust you. I want this deal on paper and signed by the Grand Mage himself – by the end of the day. And I want it on that special Sanctuary paper I’ve heard about, the kind that can only be written on by the Elders. You’re not going to cheat me out of this.”

Skulduggery was quiet for a moment. “We’ll see what we can do,” he said.

Nadir was sitting behind a desk when a Cleaver escorted them in three hours later. Skulduggery slapped the page down in front of him. Smirking, Nadir ran his finger along the embossed header.

“Official Sanctuary paper,” he breathed, then laughed as he started reading. Valkyrie watched him. His lips moved, forming the words. When he’d finished, he looked up.

“It’s already signed,” he said. “I wanted the Grand Mage to sign this in front of me.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Skulduggery said. “He’s a busy man. Too busy to be visiting prisons. You know it’s genuine – only the Grand Mage can write on that paper.”

Nadir tipped a finger to his lips. “And what about dear old Delafonte Mien? How is he going to be punished for his blatant abuse of power?”

“Mien is already in a cell in the Sanctuary. His punishment is yet to be decided.”

“You be sure to throw the book at him, you hear me? I feel violated, Detective. Violated.”

“I’ll throw this table at you if you don’t give us the names we’re looking for.”

Still smirking, Nadir lounged back in his chair. “Lament was a scientist, so he never went anywhere without his muscle to back him up – Vernon Plight. That woman was with them too sometimes, the small one, the psychic. Lenka Bazaar, that’s her name. And someone else.”

“Who?”

“Can’t remember.”

Skulduggery reached for the contract but Nadir snatched it back. “Kalvin Accord! That was it! That’s all I know.”

Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie. “Vernon Plight is missing presumed dead. Same with Kalvin Accord, and I’ve never heard of this Lenka Bazaar.”

Nadir shrugged. “That’s not my fault. I fulfilled my side of the deal.”

“Yes, you did,” said Skulduggery. “There’s no one else you remember? No one else they mentioned?”

“I wasn’t really taking much notice of what they were saying in between hitting me. Those are the names I’ve got for you. That’s all.”

“OK. It’s something to go on, at least. Cleaver, could you escort Mr Nadir to his cell, please?”

Nadir stared. “What? You said you’d hook me back up. You said you’d take me back to that contraption!” The Cleaver hauled him to his feet and shackled his wrists. “We had a deal! We have a contract!”

“Yes, we do,” Skulduggery said, picking it up off the desk. “Unfortunately for you it’s not binding.”

“But the Grand Mage signed it! Eachan Meritorious himself signed it!”

“The Grand Mage did sign it,” Skulduggery nodded, “but Eachan Meritorious is dead – which you wouldn’t have heard about, what with being hooked up to that thing for the last fifteen years. And unless Erskine Ravel, the current Grand Mage, signs this contract with his own name, well … It can hardly be considered a legal document, now can it?”

“You cheated me!” Nadir screeched as the Cleaver dragged him to the door.

“You’re a serial killer, Mr Nadir,” said Skulduggery, tearing up the page. “You deserve to be cheated.”







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offee. That’s all she wanted right now. Just coffee. Sunday morning coffee. Lovely Sunday morning coffee. Just the thing to take her mind off the dull throb that was making her arm ache, right where Nadir had grabbed her the day before. Just the thing to take her mind off the mystery surrounding Argeddion and Lament. Coffee, in fact, was almost a wonderful enough experience to take her mind off the fact that her next port of call would be a murder scene.

Valkyrie didn’t like murder scenes. The more she’d visited, the less she’d liked. If they were more along the lines of the murder scenes that her gran watched on TV, where elderly detectives tut-tutted around beautiful countrysides and manor homes, she might have changed her opinion. But the murder scenes she tended to visit belonged in horror movies or police procedurals, where the emphasis was on blood splatter and defensive wounds and, occasionally, finding the head.

Skulduggery had warned her that this morning’s murder scene contained blood, and lots of it. But that was ages away. Skulduggery wouldn’t be picking her up for another half an hour or so. If she were a mayfly, that would be practically a lifetime away. So here she was, in a nice bright coffee shop in town, standing in line like a normal person.

She gave her order, paid and stepped back to wait. A middle-aged woman in the queue behind her stopped rooting through her handbag long enough to look at the selection available and annoy the people behind her by taking ages to make a choice. She smiled at Valkyrie and Valkyrie smiled back politely. She looked like a nice enough person. She probably had a nice enough name, like Helen, or Margaret. Seven people stood behind Margaret, getting increasingly irritated. An eighth person walked in, joined the queue at the end. A big man in a long coat with a shaven head, looking straight at Valkyrie.

She met his gaze and he looked away. He was broad-shouldered. Looked strong. Margaret finally handed over her money and then stepped away to let the next person place their order.

“I always take so long,” she said.

Valkyrie took her eyes off the big man. “I’m sorry?”

“To choose,” Margaret said. “I always take so long to choose.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“And I can always feel the daggers being stared into my back,” said Margaret, chuckling. “I suppose I’m just not cosmopolitan enough for somewhere like this.”

Valkyrie gave her another polite smile, then took her coffee from the girl behind the counter and went to an empty table by the wall. Weird woman, being all chatty to a complete stranger. She blew on the coffee to cool it down and let her eyes drift. The big man wasn’t looking at her any more. Margaret was now chatting to the girl at the till. Music played. A young man sat by the window. He was dark-haired, heavyset, wearing a suit. Bad tie. He smiled at her. What was this, Be Nice To Strangers Day? She gave him a curt nod, which he mistook for an invitation. She groaned silently as he picked up his coffee and his pastry and approached.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Something wrong with the table over there?”

“It’s a lonely table. All the beautiful girls are at the tables over here.” His smile widened and he sat. “Hi. I’m Alan.”

“Hi, Alan.”

“Can I get your name?”

Valkyrie. “Stephanie.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. So, Stephanie, what do you do?”

Catch bad guys. Save the world. “I’m still in school, Alan.”

He laughed. “No, you’re not. Seriously? Wow. How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Seventeen. Wow. You look older. I don’t mean you look old. You don’t look old. Oh, God, I’ve probably insulted you now, haven’t I?”

He really did like to laugh, this Alan.

“I just saw you sitting here,” he continued, “dressed all in black, standing out from the crowd, looking like a girl who was worth getting to know. Are you a girl worth getting to know, Stephanie?”

“Nope,” she said, “not me.”

“I think you’re being modest.”

She took another sip of coffee.

“Well,” he said, “in case you were wondering, I’m twenty. I work in Boyle Solutions, around the corner there. It’s a pretty good job. Pays well.”

“Good for you.”

“I only started a few months ago but already my boss is lining me up for a promotion. I mean, here I am on a Sunday, on my way in for a few hours when everyone else is at home. They appreciate that kind of dedication, you know? In fact, there’s this office thing, some kind of get-together, next week, and I was wondering if maybe, if you’re not doing anything, you’d like to accompany me? It’d only be for an hour or two, but we could grab something to eat afterwards if you’d like.”

“I don’t think I’ll be available.”

“But I haven’t told you what day it’s on.”

“That really doesn’t matter.”

Alan laughed. “Oh, I like you. I like your style.”

“Excuse me,” she said when her phone beeped. She took it out. She didn’t recognise the number, but she read the message.

ONE OF THESE PEOPLE IS HERE TO KILL YOU.

She put the phone away, took another sip of her coffee. Alan sat there and smiled. Six people standing in line, the big man at the till. Margaret sitting in the corner. Another five people sitting around the shop. Four coffee shop employees behind the counter. Seventeen people in all.

“Good news or bad news?”

She looked back at Alan. “Sorry?”

“The text message. Good news or bad news?”

She shrugged. “Just news.”

He leaned closer. “Really? You’re not going to say it’s from your boyfriend or something? Maybe use it as an excuse to get me to go away?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Alan.”

“Now that is a crime.”

The big man passed behind Alan and Valkyrie tensed, but he walked on and sat at a table without making any suspicious moves. His boots were slightly scuffed, his jeans worn. The coat had seen better days but had character because of it. He wore a thick watch. No jewellery.

Now that the conversation had stalled, Alan hid his awkwardness by taking a drink and looking at something interesting on the wall. Valkyrie glanced at him. Out of shape but not obese. Soft hands, though. A watch that looked expensive but wasn’t. Off-the-rack suit, badly ironed shirt, bad tie. She leaned back, her eyes flickering to his shoes. No laces, no grips.

“Don’t you just love awkward silences?” he asked, and she smiled as he chuckled, and looked over his shoulder at Margaret. Her coffee lay untouched on the table before her. Her bag lay open, within easy reach. Anything could be in that bag. She was casually watching the people queuing up, like she was keeping her eyes away from Valkyrie’s side of the room on purpose.

And those were only the three people who had paid attention to her. There were over a dozen more in here who hadn’t even glanced her way. There were the men in suits and the harried-looking women and the dude in the jeans and the idiot in the—

Margaret glanced at her and looked away immediately. Valkyrie settled her gaze. Another few seconds passed and their eyes met again. Margaret gave a cheerful smile, and when Valkyrie didn’t return it, that smile faded into a straight line.

They stared at each other across the coffee shop.

Alan was saying something and the people to her left were laughing, and a new song came on the radio and Valkyrie looked at Margaret and Margaret looked at her. She watched her right hand slip into the bag. Valkyrie’s own left hand raised her coffee cup to her lips. Her right hand flexed.

Alan was still talking. About what, Valkyrie didn’t have the slightest idea.

“Alan,” she said softly, without taking her eyes off Margaret, “would I be unforgivably rude if I asked you to go back to your table?”

He didn’t answer right away. “No,” he said. “Not at all. You’d be honest. And I appreciate that.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

He gathered up his pastry and his coffee. “It was very nice to meet you, Stephanie.”

“Same here,” she murmured.

She didn’t watch him as he walked away. Margaret gave her a nod of acknowledgement. Valkyrie nodded back.

Moving very slowly, Valkyrie stood up. So did Margaret, who took her hand from her bag. She wasn’t holding anything. Three chatting teenagers passed between them.

Valkyrie stepped towards the door and Margaret stood in her way.

“Leaving?”

Valkyrie nodded.

“But you haven’t finished your coffee.”

“My friend’s waiting for me outside.”

Margaret smiled. “I don’t think so.”

Margaret took a step towards her. She was wearing a ring she hadn’t been wearing before. She grabbed Valkyrie’s arm. Valkyrie tried to pull away but Margaret wouldn’t let go. Margaret was smiling. And then she frowned, looked down, looked at Valkyrie’s jacket.

In the movies, spies killed other spies by jabbing them with poisoned spikes concealed in rings. Valkyrie grabbed Margaret’s wrist, pulled her hand away, saw the spike that had failed to puncture her sleeve. Margaret twisted, locking Valkyrie’s elbow, tried to grasp her bare hand. While people chatted and laughed around them, Valkyrie manoeuvred to the side, teeth gritted, trying to turn the ring away from her. They were being noticed now, conversations dying down. The spike drew closer to her bare skin.

Valkyrie bit Margaret’s face and Margaret turned and dragged Valkyrie across her hip and flipped her. Valkyrie slammed down on to a table, people jumping back and shouting, but all Valkyrie cared about was keeping that spike away from her face. Margaret pressed down. She was stronger than she looked.

The big man stepped in, tried to separate them, and Margaret jabbed him in the eye with her free hand. He fell back, cursing, and Valkyrie tried to get a knee between them. Margaret raised her up then slammed her down again, the table almost toppling, the spike almost nicking her chin, but now Valkyrie had one leg wrapped round Margaret’s head. She dragged the hand with the ring to one side, then hooked her other leg over her foot, caught Margaret in a triangle choke. People stood and stared. The only sounds were the music, the table rocking on its struts and the older woman’s strangled grunts.

Margaret heaved herself to one side and they both fell to the floor. But Valkyrie kept the choke on. Margaret’s face was bright red. She was sweating. Spittle flew from her lips. She was close to passing out. She brought her legs in, got her feet under her. Any second now. Any second now she was going to pass out. Margaret lifted Valkyrie off the ground. Any second. And then this frumpy, dowdy, middle-aged woman straightened her back, lifted Valkyrie high in the air, turned around, and dropped face down. Valkyrie hit the ground and her legs flew apart and Margaret rolled out, sucking in lungfuls of air.

Valkyrie focused on a shocked face staring at her. Poor Alan, frozen where he stood, probably vowing not to chat up another girl in a coffee shop ever again.

Still trying to get her breath back, Margaret grabbed Valkyrie’s leg, going for the ankle. Trying to find bare skin. There was a commotion, and then two men in luminous yellow jackets were there, pulling Valkyrie and Margaret to their feet. Guards.

Even as the Guard holding Valkyrie was telling everyone to just calm down, Margaret swung an elbow into her cop’s throat and ran, barging through the onlookers.

“I’m really sorry,” Valkyrie said as she turned and drove her knee between the legs of the cop holding her. He doubled over and she let him fall. The crowd parted for her as she hurried to the girl behind the counter. “Where are the security logs? I don’t have time to argue, just tell me where they are.”

“Backroom,” said the girl, her eyes wide. “To your left.”

Valkyrie rushed in, found the monitor hooked up to the CCTV. She clicked her fingers and fried the hard drive. Then she ran out into the street, scanning the faces of the people passing by until she saw Margaret’s scarf by an open door. Obviously a trap.

She crossed the street, passed through the door into what had once been a shop. Now it was just empty, with a ladder and a few tins of paint. There was a sound behind her and she turned. Margaret stepped in, a gun aimed directly at Valkyrie’s head.

“Do not raise your hands,” she said. “Keep them by your sides, away from your face. Those clothes of yours are bulletproof, I take it? Pretty fancy, but I suppose I should have expected that. Only the best for Skulduggery Pleasant’s favourite little pet.”

“Who are you?” Valkyrie asked, backing away slowly.

“You won’t care what my name is when you’re dead. I just want to say that I had planned to do this low-key. You wouldn’t have felt even the tiniest of pinpricks. And the poison? It wouldn’t have hurt. You’d have gone to sleep tonight and just not woken up in the morning. Painless. Subtle. But what happens instead? A fight in a coffee shop in front of dozens of witnesses. And cops! There were even cops!”

Wherever Valkyrie moved, that gun tracked her. “And you’re blaming me for this?”

“Yes, actually, I am. I’m a professional. I fly under the radar. A fight in a coffee shop is not under the radar. I have a reputation to maintain, for God’s sake. If I can’t take care of one teenage girl, what use am I?”

“Funny,” said a voice behind her, “that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Margaret turned and a blade flashed. She dropped the gun, took a step and crumpled face down. Her last breath escaped her body and then she was completely still.

The woman standing over her wore boots, brown leather trousers and a brown leather waistcoat. She was blonde and pretty and her arms were strong, her shoulders wide. Tanith Low wiped the blood from her sword and smiled. “Hey, Val. Missed you.”

The fallen gun sped towards Valkyrie’s outstretched hand but a man in a suit and sunglasses shot out of the wall, snatching it before it reached her.

Shadows wrapped round Valkyrie’s fist but Billy-Ray Sanguine backed off.

“We’re not here to fight,” Tanith said, hands up. “Well, we are, but not here to fight you. Her, your would-be assassin there, that’s another matter entirely. Although you were pretty much taking care of business without us. Up until the end.”

“You sent me the text,” Valkyrie said.

“What are friends for?”

“You’re not my friend. You’re a Remnant.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not a good person,” Tanith said. “Well, hold on, no, actually that’s exactly what it means, but that’s no reason why we can’t still be mates. I miss talking to you, Val. I miss all the gossip. How’s Fletcher?”

“What do you want, Tanith?”

“Just to save your life, Val. Some Americans want you dead. Christophe Nocturnal and his funky little church of idiots demanded that this lovely lady be sent after you. Seems they didn’t appreciate you killing their gods.”

“What? That was years ago. They’re just getting around to revenge now?”

Tanith shrugged. “I think they might be lazy.”

“And how did you hear about it?”

“We were hired to protect you,” said Sanguine. “Someone over on Nocturnal’s side, and I ain’t sayin’ who, figured that the skeleton would hunt down whoever killed you, and whoever paid them, and everyone they knew, and probably their dogs and cats too for good measure, and this someone figured it just wasn’t worth the hassle and eventual death. So we were called to swoop in and save your little life. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“But none of that’s important,” Tanith said. “What’s important is that we’re back, Val, you and me. We heard what’s been happening with mortals getting magic. Need any help with that? I’m stronger and faster than I was before, and I was plenty strong and fast back then.”

“You can’t help, Tanith.”

“Sure I can help,” said Tanith. “Just point me at the bad guys.”

“You can’t help because you are a bad guy.”

“One of these days, you’re just going to have to get over that little fact.”

“If you want to come back, then come back. Come back to the Sanctuary, let the doctors figure out a way to cure you. I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not. You look like my friend and you sound like my friend but you’re not her. You’re someone else. Do you have any idea what that’s like, to look at a face you know so well and not actually recognise the person behind it? You used to say we were like sisters, Tanith. Prove it. Do this for me. Get cured.”

“There is no cure, Val. There’s no getting the Remnant out. It’s bonded to me now.”

“I miss you. Ghastly misses you.”

Sanguine slung an arm round Tanith’s shoulders. “And he can go on missin’ her. We are, in case you’ve failed to notice, what you might call an item.”

“Billy-Ray,” Tanith said gently, “don’t embarrass yourself.”

Sanguine took his arm away.

Tanith smiled at Valkyrie. “Ghastly is a lovely guy. He is. And if none of this had happened, yeah, we’d probably be together right now. But there’s no point living a life of regrets.”

“He really wants to see you.”

“Tell him I said hi.”

“We should go,” Sanguine said.

“Right. Yes. Val, you might want to send a few Cleavers after Christophe Nocturnal before he sends another assassin after you. Just a thought. Last I heard, he was staying somewhere in Killiney. It was great seeing you again. You look amazing, by the way.”

She held Sanguine’s hand, and they sank down through the ground.

Valkyrie allowed herself a moment, then went back to the door. There were squad cars all over the place, Guards milling around the street and barking orders into walkie-talkies. The poor guy she’d kneed in the groin stood hunched over by an ambulance, and the cop that Margaret had struck stood nearby, glowering.

The Bentley pulled up, and she waited until the cops had stopped admiring it before stepping out and running over. She jumped in.

Skulduggery looked at her, then looked at all the cops. “Your doing?” he asked. She nodded, and he sighed as they pulled away. “OK then, who tried to kill you this time?”







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rom one scene of violence and death to another – Valkyrie didn’t know how she managed to be so lucky. The house was cordoned off with official Garda tape, but the men and women in the uniforms who were standing around were not Guards.

Skulduggery led the way up the garden path, talking on the phone as he did so. He was arranging for a squad of Cleavers to comb through Killiney with a Sensitive leading the hunt. He was confident that if Christophe Nocturnal really was staying there, they’d bring him in. Valkyrie was only half listening. She nodded to a mage she knew at the door, and went in through the hallway. It was a nice house, small but well maintained. Skulduggery put the phone away and they stepped into the living room.

“My God,” he said.

There were recognisable body parts in the mess, but not many. Valkyrie lunged back out of the door and threw up in the flower bed. When she’d finished, she leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes. A few moments later, Skulduggery joined her. He was quiet.

He spoke to the other mages, then they both got in the Bentley and Valkyrie wiped her eyes.

“The house belongs to a Gary and Rosemary Delaney,” he said, “both of whom are confirmed to be at work at the moment. They have one son, Michael, eighteen years old. We’re waiting on the test results to get back, but it would appear that Michael is the one in the living room.”

“That’s weird,” Valkyrie said. “I’m crying. Look. I’m crying. I don’t feel like I’m crying but look at my eyes. Those are tears. Why am I crying?”

“Because you know that somebody did that,” Skulduggery said. “Somebody, a human, not an animal, purposefully ripped that boy apart. You’re crying because you can’t understand how anyone could do such a thing.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “You didn’t spend long in there.”

“I got what I needed.”

She looked at him. “You know who did it?”

“No. But I have enough information to start narrowing it down. So do you.”

“I just glanced in.”

“And what did you learn?”

“Skulduggery, please, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“Which is why it’s important.”

Valkyrie sighed. “The whole place was covered in blood. There were pieces of him everywhere.”

“How was he killed?”

“Ripped apart, like you said.”

“But how, Valkyrie? Claws? Was he ripped apart by the killer’s bare hands?”

She pictured the scene and shook her head. “No. There were no footprints in the blood. If there had been someone in there, physically attacking him, there’d be footprints. There’d probably be drops of blood leaving the house, too. I didn’t see any.”

“What does that tell us?”

“Whoever killed him did it remotely. From a distance of more than two or three metres, I’d say.”

“Very good.”

“Apart from all the blood, the room was tidy. No signs of a struggle. There was no scorching, either.”

“Why does that matter?”

“If he was killed with an energy blast, you’d expect it to go through him and out the other side to get a result like that.”

“Then that’s not how he was killed.”

“The killer could have a power like Baron Vengeous. You told me about that friend of yours. Vengeous just looked at him and his whole body ruptured.”

“It shares similarities, yes. But there are a dozen ways to kill someone like that.”

She hunted around in her pocket, came out with some chewing gum that she popped in her mouth to get rid of the horrible taste. “Can we leave this to someone else? We have enough to be dealing with, and there are other detectives. Let’s give this case to them.”

Skulduggery considered it. “We do have a heavy workload.”

“Hell yeah, we do. We should be concentrating on Argeddion, pouring all our energy into that. Forget this horrible murder and forget people trying to kill me and forget Tanith hooking up with Billy-Ray bloody Sanguine … Let’s just solve a problem. Summer starts next Saturday, so we have until then to figure out what’s going on. Let’s get this thing solved and put it away and forget about it, and then move on to the next.”

“Sounds like a lovely idea.”

“That’s because it is. And we let the Cleavers arrest Nocturnal and deal with him. I know his people want me dead, but I really don’t want to have to deal with religious fanatics today.”

“Understandable. Then how about we return to the Sanctuary, open some files, and do a little research on the names that Nadir gave us?”

She made a face. “Research?”

“It’s the bedrock of any investigation.”

“Isn’t that punching?”

“It’s the bedrock of most investigations.”

“Most?”

“Some. Listen, we’re doing research and that’s that.”

“Blood-splattered crime scenes and musty old filing cabinets,” she said. “My life is beyond glamorous.”

They got back to Roarhaven and Valkyrie trudged after Skulduggery on their way to the Magical Hall of Mystical Cabinets, which she insisted on calling the file room, mainly because it annoyed Skulduggery. They walked down the steps, turned the corner, and a man in a black suit was standing there.

“Name, please,” he said, holding up a hand. He was big and strong with a Newcastle accent, one of Quintin Strom’s heavies.

Skulduggery tilted his head. “I’m sorry?”

“Name, please,” the heavy repeated. “I have a list of people authorised to pass beyond this point. What are your names?”

Valkyrie frowned. “We always pass beyond this point. We’re allowed to pass beyond this point.”

The man nodded. “And so long as your names are on my list, you are free to do so again.”

Skulduggery took a moment to observe him, then spoke. “I have to say, without any sense of false modesty, that I am a unique and distinctive person. Look at me. I’m a skeleton in an exquisitely tailored suit. I would even go so far as to say that I am somewhat famous in the circles in which you, Valkyrie and I all move. So the question do you know who I am, which I could ask, is immediately made moot. Of course you know who I am. I’m me. And of course you know who Valkyrie is. She is she. Neither of us knows who you are, but we seem quite comfortable with the lapse.”

“My name is Grim. I am the bodyguard to—”

“The point I am making, Mr Grim, is that since you know who we are, and since you know what our role is in this Sanctuary, then you are either impeding our progress because you have been ordered, specifically, to keep us out, or because you have taken it upon yourself to do so. Which is it?”

“You’re not—”

“Never mind, I don’t really care. Move aside.”

Grim puffed out his chest. “By order of the Supreme Council, no one gets by here without—”

“The Supreme Council has no jurisdiction in this country.”

“You’ll have to take that up with them. I just do what I’m told.”

“Oh, good,” Skulduggery said, “that’ll make this much easier. Move aside.”

He went to walk past and Grim moved directly into his path. “You’re not getting through.”

“I actually think we are.”

“I’m giving you this one and only warning.”

“How nice of you,” said Skulduggery. “By the way, the sparrow flies south for winter.”

Grim frowned, opened his mouth to form a question and Skulduggery swung his hand up, catching him in the side of the jaw with his palm. Grim went down like a sack of rocks.

“Do you think we’ll get into trouble for that?” Valkyrie asked.

“I might,” Skulduggery said, walking on. “You probably won’t, unless there’s a new accessory-to-slapping law that I don’t know about.”

“What are they doing acting as security men?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt Ravel approved this.”

There was a man talking to Tipstaff as they approached, and when he caught sight of them, he shook Tipstaff’s hand and walked over. Tipstaff, for his part, looked unimpressed.

“Mr Pleasant,” the man said in an American accent, hurrying over to shake Skulduggery’s hand. “I am such a huge – forgive me for saying this – a huge, huge admirer of yours. I’ve followed all of your cases, scoured the archives. Huge, huge admirer. Oh, heavens, sorry, my name. I’m Bernard Sult. I’m one of the Junior Administrators at the American Sanctuary. And Miss Cain, very lovely to meet you. We all owe you a gigantic debt of gratitude for the service you’ve done in a few short years. Thank you, Miss Cain. Thank you.”

Valkyrie shook his hand. “Sure,” she said. “No problem.”

“No problem!” Sult repeated, almost spluttering the words as he laughed. “No problem, she says! Defeating Serpine and Vengeous and the Diablerie, defeating gods, recapturing the Remnants …! No problem to Valkyrie Cain, maybe, but for the rest of us, it would have been a great big problem indeed!”

He laughed again, had to wipe his eyes he was laughing so hard. Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery and he shrugged.

“You’re here with the Supreme Council, then,” Skulduggery said, walking on. Sult kept up with them. “We met one of your friends back there. He didn’t want to let us by.”

Sult looked horrified. “He tried to stop you?”

“He definitely tried. You might want to check on him when you have a spare minute.”

“Well,” said Sult, “I must apologise most profusely if he offended you in any way. Some of our people, they’re so eager to make a good impression that, well, sometimes they’re a little too stringent with the rules.”

“And what rules would they be, Bernard? As far as I’m aware, you and your associates have no duties whatsoever in this Sanctuary.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Sult said, nodding. “But we were just talking with your Cleaver commander about lending a hand if a hand was needed, all in a very unofficial capacity, you understand. Could I ask, was the gentleman who interrupted you from the English Sanctuary?”

“Indeed he was. A Mr Grim.”

“Ah, the bodyguard. That explains it. We had different briefings. I can assure you that such a misunderstanding will not happen again. You have my word. It’s all very embarrassing.”

Now that Sult was focusing on Skulduggery, Valkyrie gave him a quick once-over. Looked to be in his thirties. Dark hair, cut short and neat. Nice suit, tasteful tie. Shiny shoes. Gold wedding ring. Apart from that, there was nothing distinctive about him at all.

“Do you work closely with Bisahalani?” Skulduggery asked.

“With Grand Mage Bisahalani, indeed I do,” Sult said, nodding again. “Well, I say closely, but really I’m just one of his many aides. Still, I’m honoured that he chose me to represent him here.”

“I would say so. The Supreme Council and all that. It all sounds so very important.”

Sult laughed again. “It does, doesn’t it? To be honest, I wish they’d have chosen a less grand name but, well … what sorcerer doesn’t love a grand name, eh?”

“Very true,” chuckled Skulduggery. “I suppose that’s one crime we’re all guilty of. At least the Supreme Council is upfront about its intentions. It’d be so much worse to be stabbed in the back by something called the Nice and Friendly Council, wouldn’t it?”

“Stabbed in the back?” Sult laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t get it.”

Skulduggery and Valkyrie stopped walking. “Oh, come now, Bernard. The Supreme Council want nothing more than an excuse to come in here and take over, isn’t that right? What are they looking for? What excuse do they need before they’ll be happy?”

Sult’s smile wavered. “I … I don’t know what you—”

“A huge admirer, are you?” Skulduggery said, talking over him. “Is that why your mouth keeps turning down in contempt? Is that why you practically sneered when you said Valkyrie’s name?”

Sult stepped back. “I assure you, you’re mistaken. I’m—”

“Just because I don’t have a face to call my own does not mean I can’t read other people’s,” said Skulduggery. “You don’t like us, Bernard. In fact, you hate us. You despise us. You’re here to take this Sanctuary down. And as for this administrator thing, this unimportant aide to Grand Mage Bisahalani story, well, I think we can both agree that that’s not entirely true, can’t we? Who are you? You’re not one of his detectives – I’d know you. You don’t step into the light much. You prefer working in the shadows. Is that who you are, Bernard? Bisahalani’s invisible enforcer?”

Sult smiled, and for the first time Valkyrie believed the smile was genuine. Cold, unfriendly, but genuine.

“We’re not here to take over,” Sult said. “We’re just here to help. And I don’t dislike you, Detective. You’ve saved the world. Both of you have. The problem is, you’ve mainly saved the world from your own mistakes. Time and again, this Sanctuary and its Council of Elders have endangered the lives of the people it is supposed to protect. And in doing so, it endangers the lives of everyone else on the planet. And speaking for everyone else on the planet, that isn’t exactly fair.”

“And yet,” Skulduggery said, “by interfering, you’re breaking the international Sanctuary code. What’s next? We don’t solve the latest crisis in six days, and you take the decision out of our hands entirely? Purely for our own good, of course.”

“If we have to,” Sult said. “And it’s five days.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Skulduggery. He went to move off but Sult put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t act like we’re the villains,” he said. “We have been forced to step in because this Sanctuary is incapable of handling its own affairs. This isn’t our doing. It’s yours. And you know it.”

Skulduggery didn’t say anything, he just waited until Sult removed his hand, and then he walked away.

He gave Valkyrie an armful of files and told her to go through them while he went off to find Ghastly. She wanted to be there as they discussed what had just transpired, but reluctantly accepted that she’d probably be able to offer very little insight into what their next move might be. So she found an empty room and settled down and started reading.

It took twenty minutes before she threw the first file back on to the desk in disgust. Nothing was going in. She’d read the words and seen the words but there was a room full of blood and a middle-aged woman with a poisoned ring to keep the words from sinking in. And if that wasn’t enough, there was also the man who’d tried to stop them coming down here and there was Sult, impossibly smug Sult and his stupid face. And her arm still throbbed. She didn’t know what Nadir had done to her, but whatever it was, it was irritating.





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