Death Bringer (17 page)

“That's not how things work.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it is.”

“Not any more. There are things you don't know about, Vaurien.”

“What things? The people of this town will still do what you tell them, right?”

“The Torment changed all that. He started talking, himself and his friends. They started telling people about their big ideas… You think it's an accident the Sanctuary was relocated here? You think that wasn't part of their plan?”

“Part of whose plan?”

McGill sighed. “Listen, Vaurien, I've known you a long time.”

“We're friends.”

“We're not friends, but I've still known you a long time. If you stay here for a few weeks, I don't think anyone will object too loudly.”

“Thank you, Taciturn. And I swear, we'll only be here a few months. A year, tops.”

“Weeks, Vaurien.”

“Right. Yes.”

“Try not to annoy anyone, and try to, y'know, stay away from people. Nobody likes zombies.”

Scapegrace chuckled. “I know the feeling.”

“You
are
a zombie.”

“Yes, but I was talking about Thrasher.”

“Who's Thrasher?”

Thrasher sat forward. “Hello.”

McGill jerked away. “Ahh! How'd he do that? I didn't even see him there! Is he some kind of ninja?”

“No,” Scapegrace said sadly. “He just fades into the background really well. You have my word, McGill, we will not get into trouble. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” McGill said, and stood up. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Of course I won't,” Scapegrace said, crossing his fingers behind his back. He must have crossed them too hard, though, because one of them came loose and fell to the floor. He waited until McGill had walked out before picking it up, then trudged away to find some ice.

Chapter 24
The Temple Siege

t a little past noon, the first truck pulled up to the gates of the cemetery. The rear doors opened and Cleavers slipped out quietly. They moved in easy formation through the rows of graves to the crypt that acted as the entrance to the Necromancer Temple. One of them twisted the hemispheres of a cloaking sphere, and a bubble of energy rippled outwards. Once the bubble had expanded to the outskirts of the graveyard, the second truck arrived. More Cleavers disembarked and took up positions around the perimeter.

Wreath and Tenebrae watched the Cleavers, viewing it all on a large screen broken into squares. Each of these squares was a different camera angle. The cameras wouldn't last long, but at least they gave an indication of what the Necromancers were up against. From what Wreath could see, they were up against a lot.

Men and women joined the Cleavers, sorcerers of both Elemental and Adept magic. Sanctuary agents, operatives and detectives. These people didn't wear uniforms and didn't carry badges. Some of them were armed, some of them weren't. All had power coursing through their veins.

Seven minutes after the first Cleaver had stepped off the first truck, Wreath watched Valkyrie Cain follow Skulduggery Pleasant up the cracked path to the crypt. They stopped under a camera, looked right up into it.

“My name is Skulduggery Pleasant,” the skeleton said, his voice coming loud and clear through the speakers. “I have with me a warrant for the arrest of Melancholia St Clair, to be charged with the assault of a Sanctuary operative and detained by us until trial. If this door is not opened immediately, we will be forced to break it down.”

Pleasant waited a full five seconds, then nodded. Wreath's gaze flickered to another feed, as a battering ram was brought up, held by two Cleavers, who swung it into the crypt door in a heavy rhythm.

The screens went blank. So much for technology.

“The doors won't hold for ever,” Wreath said, as Quiver and Craven came in behind them.

“What about their Teleporter?” Tenebrae asked.

Wreath shook his head. “Fletcher Renn can only teleport to places he's been or can see. He's never even seen inside the Temple.”

Tenebrae sat back in his chair. “Reinforcements?”

“A dozen of our brothers and sisters are on their way from London,” Wreath said. “But whether they'll make it in time, I don't know.”

Tenebrae looked at Quiver. “Our escape routes?”

“Available,” Quiver said in his steady, measured tone, “for the moment. Sanctuary operatives are covering over half of them – more than we thought they knew about – but there are still plenty we could use to evacuate key personnel.”

“Speaking of key personnel,” Tenebrae said, turning to Craven, “how is she? Is she well enough to be moved?”

Craven took a deep breath, and for a long moment he didn't speak. Just before Tenebrae opened his mouth to demand a response, Craven nodded. “She could make it if she had to, but I'd really rather keep her stationary. Her power ebbs and flows. If we can keep them out for five hours, maybe six, she should be back to full strength. Then we won't need to run anywhere.”

Wreath frowned at him. “Six hours? We'll be lucky if they don't burst in here halfway through this
conversation
. The Temple is not a fort.”

“But it
is
well protected,” Craven said, hands clasped and looking off somewhere beyond Wreath's elbow. It was a new habit Craven had picked up, and Wreath didn't like it. It made Craven look like a holy man. “Once the barricades are in place, we could collapse the tunnels and seal ourselves in.”

“We don't
want
to seal ourselves in,” Tenebrae said gruffly. “We want an escape route.”

“I understand, High Priest, but as I have said, once Melancholia regains her strength, we won't
need
to run.”

“That, Cleric Craven, is your
opinion
.”

“Indeed it is, Your Eminence. And with all humility, may I remind you that it was I who guided Melancholia to the brink of the Passage. Without meaning to overstep my bounds, one might think I was entitled to a little faith in return.”

“I think,” Tenebrae growled, “that you have indeed overstepped your bounds.”

Craven bowed his head. “My apologies, High Priest.”

With Craven's head still bowed, Tenebrae looked at Wreath.

“If we collapse the tunnels,” Wreath said reluctantly, “we could hold them off for twelve hours at the most. The barricades would need to be reinforced. We'd need to move people around. But make no mistake, we
would
be sealing ourselves in. If Melancholia doesn't regain her strength, it could be disastrous.”

“The Death Bringer will be strong when we need her,” Craven said solemnly.

Tenebrae's jaw clenched. “Cleric Wreath, see to it.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.”

Wreath left the room, a plan of his own forming. He ignored the barricades for the moment and went deeper into the Temple.

Despite the alarming turn of events, there was still protocol to be followed, still rules to obey and pay heed to. Wreath was a senior Cleric with the ear of the High Priest, but even he had to slow down and wait like everyone else if he wanted to see the Director of Storage. It was a mundane title that suggested pedantry and a multitude of lists, but the reality was much different. The Director of Storage was the person who oversaw and controlled equipment and food supplies, and as such, he acted within a bubble of his own authority. Wreath was kept waiting almost ten minutes before he was told that the Director would see him now.

Cleric Bertrand Solus didn't bother to raise his eyes from the papers on his desk as Wreath walked in. He was a busy man. There was only one chair in the office, and Solus was sitting on it.

“Yes?” Solus said, his pen scratching ink on to parchment. Why these people couldn't invest in a computer was beyond Wreath's understanding.

“Sanctuary agents have us surrounded,” Wreath said.

“I am aware of the situation.”

“To keep them out until the Death Bringer regains her strength, we need to collapse the auxiliary tunnels and barricade the main door.”

“As I said, I am aware.”

“But there is one tunnel that we do not know the location of.”

Finally, Solus's pen stopped scratching, and he raised his eyes.

“You have your own tunnel,” Wreath continued. “You use it to bring in supplies you don't want anyone to know about. I've never had a problem with this. You do your job well, and if sometimes you feel that you are best served by secrecy, who am I to say different?”

“Why are you here?” Solus asked.

“I don't want to collapse your tunnel. I want to use it. If things go bad, I want as many personnel as possible to get to safety. The Sanctuary agents know about some of our tunnels, but not all. I doubt they have any idea about a tunnel so secret that it doesn't even exist in any official capacity.”

“It's not wide,” said Solus, “and it's long. If the Temple is breached, you could use it to evacuate perhaps ten or twelve people at a time. Any more, and it would be discovered.”

“Twelve people at a time, then,” Wreath said. “The first of which shall be the Death Bringer, the White Cleaver and ten senior Clerics. Yourself included, of course. Where is the entrance?”

Solus regarded him with cautious, wary eyes. “The small storage room below us,” he said. “The tunnel is two miles long. It emerges into a small warehouse the Temple owns through three different subsidiaries. There are vehicles in the warehouse, enough to take a substantial number to a safe house.”

“Thank you very much for your co-operation, Cleric,” Wreath said. “If you'll excuse me, I have much to arrange.”

Solus waved him away, his pen already scratching as Wreath left his office.

Chapter 25
The Vivid Dead

he world felt different to her now, ever since the Surge. It even looked different: paler, more vague. Less real. The people looked different too. She could see, for the first time, how glassy and unfocused their eyes were, how translucent their skin. She thought, if she concentrated hard enough, that she'd be able to see through them, to the underneath, to the blood and the veins and bones. She wondered if that would reassure her that all this was real. She doubted it.

The White Cleaver was at the door. He stood like a statue, his scythe held in one hand. He was real to her. He was solid. He was as different to a zombie as humans were to apes, but he was still a dead thing. And as such, she didn't even have to look at him to know he was there. She could feel him. She didn't know how, she couldn't explain it, but while everyone else had become vague and distant, he was the one clear thing she could latch on to for comfort.

The other man in the room, another guard, was so insubstantial he was almost a ghost. She'd spoken to him a few times, and before the Surge he had appeared perfectly normal. But she was seeing things differently now. She reached out with her mind, trying to sense him in the same way she sensed the White Cleaver. She could feel her awareness expanding around her, moving out in all directions like a bubble. She felt emptiness, and the emptiness made her uneasy, tied a knot in her stomach. But still she expanded her awareness, searching for the man. He made a sound, his body stiffening, and he became real to her so suddenly that she pulled back in shock. The bubble of her awareness retracted and the man toppled. She knew he was dead, she could feel it before he hit the floor, and she pulled his death into her, absorbing it, letting it make her stronger.

The White Cleaver turned his head slightly to look at the dead Necromancer, but made no move other than that. Melancholia stared at the dead man, marvelling at how vivid he seemed now that he was dead. She reached out, touched his leg. He was so solid, she almost laughed. She wasn't alone. So long as there were dead people around her, she wasn't going to drown in a sea of uncertainty. Her heart felt lighter than it had all day.

Chapter 26
Terminal Two

kulduggery's phone rang, and Valkyrie stepped away while he answered it. Cleavers and sorcerers were gathered in groups around the cemetery – the largest group stationed at the crypt that housed the Temple door. She wondered for a moment if Wreath was down there, and felt a stab of guilt that her side was taking action against his side. Then she thought about Melancholia, and all feelings of guilt evaporated.

Skulduggery put his phone away. “A man answering Bison Dragonclaw's description was spotted in Terminal Two at the airport a few minutes ago.”

Valkyrie made a face. “His first name is
Bison
?”

“He must be there to meet their reinforcements,” Skulduggery continued. “It stands to reason that the other Necromancer Temples around the world would send people over to help the Death Bringer. We'll have to take care of this ourselves.”

“We will?”

“Unless you want to stay here. I feel I have to warn you, though, we're probably not going to find a way past their barricades for another few hours.”

“You're bored, aren't you?”

“I need constant distraction. Shall we go?”

“Uh, aren't you going to delegate responsibility or something? If you're not here, who's in charge?”

Skulduggery looked around, and pointed to a sorcerer at the far side of the cemetery. “He is.”

“Who is he?”

“Don't know. He looks like leadership material though, doesn't he?”

“Does he?”

“He's wearing a hat.”

“And that means he's a leader?”

“Leaders wear hats. It's to keep the rain off while we make important decisions. He'll do fine.”

“Shouldn't you tell him that he's in charge?”

“And spoil the surprise?” Skulduggery asked, and started towards the Bentley without waiting for an answer.

Valkyrie sighed and followed.

They left the Bentley on the second floor of the Terminal Two car park, and walked to the Arrivals Area. Skulduggery's façade had a small beard. It went well with the face.

They caught sight of Dragonclaw almost immediately. Dressed in black, thin, bald, with that ridiculously wispy goatee. He had his back to them, waiting with everyone else as passengers poured in. They moved up behind him, waited for a big cheer to go up somewhere to their left, and moved.

“Bison,” Skulduggery said as he gripped his elbow. “What a silly name for a skinny man.”

Dragonclaw's free hand went to his belt, but Valkyrie grabbed his wrist with both hands and stepped close to him.

“No public displays of magic, please,” she said with a smile.

Skulduggery leaned in. “If you draw attention to your predicament, it will be most unfortunate. Not for us, but definitely for you. For you, there will be a lot of pain involved, and crying and squawking and horrible sounds like breaking bones. You're not a fan of pain, are you, Bison? Of course you're not. You're a reasonable fellow, after all. Let's take a little walk, shall we? Away from the nice people.”

Still gripping each arm, they walked him from the crowd, looking like an exceedingly odd family during a really awkward reunion.

“You'll regret this,” Dragonclaw snarled. “You'll regret standing against us. I'll
make
you regret it.”

“You're in a bad mood,” Skulduggery said. “I understand. I do. You're saying things you don't really mean. It's OK.”

“I'll kill you both.”

“Hurtful things said in the heat of the moment. We're not going to hold it against you, Bison. We're all friends here.”

Valkyrie nodded. “We love you, Bison.”

“We do,” Skulduggery agreed. “You're our favourite Necromancer. You're the cuddly one.”

“Shut up,” Dragonclaw said. “Both of you just
shut up
.”

They paused to allow a large group of large people to pass by, and then, from nowhere, there was a flash of yellow jacket.

“Excuse me,” Dragonclaw said loudly, and the cop stopped, and looked at them.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Valkyrie turned Dragonclaw's wrist painfully, and she felt Skulduggery apply pressure on his side. Dragonclaw yelped in pain and the cop's eyes widened.

“We're looking for the toilets,” Skulduggery said quickly. “Our friend here isn't the best at holding it in, and sometimes he needs a little assistance.”

The cop nodded in understanding. “Of course, yes. The toilets are right over there. See them?”

“There they are!” Valkyrie said brightly. “Thank you so much! It would have been a mess!”

Dragonclaw hissed in pain as they hurried him away.

“Try anything like that again,” Skulduggery told him, “and you'll be talking to us with two broken arms. Whimper if you understand.”

Dragonclaw whimpered.

They got to the toilets. Valkyrie grabbed an Out of Order sign from a nearby cart and propped it up at the entrance. Skulduggery threw Dragonclaw against the wall and searched him while Valkyrie checked that each of the stalls was empty. Skulduggery pulled Dragonclaw's knife from his belt, then took a scrap of paper from Dragonclaw's pocket and passed it to Valkyrie. On it was a time and a number.

“The flight he's waiting on has already landed,” he said. They both looked at Dragonclaw. “How many are coming?”

Dragonclaw rubbed his arm, and sneered. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Skulduggery shook his head. “I would love to have a battle of wits with you, Bison, but I doubt it'd be a fair fight.”

“Shut your face.”

“Exactly my point. So if you think we're going to trade banter or get into wordplay or anything like that, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. Instead, we're going to be very simple and very direct, because we obviously don't have a lot of time. How many are coming? And before you try another sneer, please understand that I will inflict pain if you fail to answer.”

“Save yourself the bother,” Valkyrie said. “You're going to tell us anyway, and you know you are. So why get hurt? Why not skip to the end?”

Dragonclaw looked at both of them for a long time before shaking his head. “No. I'm not a traitor.”

“Yes, you are,” Valkyrie said. “You just don't know it yet.”

Dragonclaw stood up straight, chin stuck out defiantly towards Skulduggery. “If you're going to hit me, hit me. I haven't got all—”

Valkyrie rapped her knuckles right on his chin. Dragonclaw's eyes bulged and his knees quivered, then he fell backwards to the wall and slid down to the floor. Skulduggery looked at her and she shrugged.

“You'd have knocked his teeth out or something,” she said. “All I did was give him a little brain-shake.” She looked down. “Bison. Bison, can you hear me? How many are coming?”

“I'll never tell…”

“The plane landed ten minutes ago,” Skulduggery said to her. “If we're lucky, they're only just starting to disembark. You need to get to them before they clear Customs.”

Valkyrie's eyebrows shot up. “What? Me? Alone?”

“I need to ask Bison some questions about getting into the Temple. You'll be fine.”

“How am I supposed to get by the security section? I don't have a ticket.”

Skulduggery cocked his head. “Valkyrie, you've got magical powers. If you can't get through airport security, then I have failed in whatever capacity I have as a mentor.”

She glowered. “Fine. What do I do when I find them?”

“You need to delay them for a few hours, at least.”

“And how do I do
that
?”

“They'll be very serious people wearing black. It won't take much for the police to stop them for a chat. Go on now.”

Still glowering, Valkyrie left the toilets and walked to the Departure gates. The queue wasn't very long. She followed an old couple and a businessman through the cordoned-off section. The businessman was obviously in a hurry, and the old couple weren't moving fast enough for his taste. He muttered and sighed and cursed under his breath, loud enough for them to hear. Valkyrie didn't like him. His passport and ticket were in his jacket pocket. She gripped the air and pulled it back, the ticket slipping into her hand.

The old couple showed their tickets to the woman at the desk and passed through. Valkyrie took the opportunity to wave the businessman's ticket to the woman while the businessman cursed loudly as he searched his pockets. The woman nodded to her and Valkyrie smiled, left the ill-tempered man to his bluster and frustration, and approached the metal detectors. Even if she'd been hiding a dozen guns on her person, the clothes would have shielded them all. She walked through and strode on.

She passed through the Duty Free shops, resisting the sudden urge to check out the sunglasses on offer. On the other side of the glass wall travellers walked in the opposite direction, having just arrived. That's where Valkyrie needed to be. There were a few Staff Only doors she could have tried to sneak through, but she didn't know where they led, and she didn't have the luxury of trial and error. The only way she was guaranteed to get where she needed to be was to get out on to the tarmac, and then come back in through an Arrivals door.

She reached the Departure gates. Three flights were boarding. She went to the huge windows that looked out on to the tarmac. Only one of those flights didn't have a walkway that connected to the door of the aircraft. She joined that crowd as they showed their passports and filtered through. She smiled at a man and he let her in front of him, then she waved her hand slightly and all the papers on the flight attendant's desk fluttered into the air. The attendant grabbed at them as Valkyrie slipped by unnoticed. She took the steps down, following the passengers out of the building. Another attendant directed them to the pedestrian pathway that led to the plane. She was wearing a nice hat. Valkyrie waved her hand, less gently this time, and the hat flew off the attendant's head. Valkyrie turned sharply, heading for the door further on.

A man in uniform frowned at her. “Are you supposed to be here?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “I got delayed.”

She went to walk by him, but he stepped in her path. “Are you sure? What flight did you come in on?”

“Heathrow,” she said. “I don't know the number of the plane, sorry. It was a big one, though. The plane, not the number. Though the number was pretty big too.”

He held up a hand. “Could you hold on a minute? I'm going to have to call someone.”

“Sure.” She beamed a smile at him as he took his radio from his belt. “I bet your job's fun.”

“Pardon me?”

“Being around airplanes and everything, meeting exotic people. Having a radio in a holster. I bet it's really fun. Did you have to do any special training for it?”

“Uh, yes. Excuse me, I have to call this in.”

“Sure. My name's Valerie, by the way.”

“I'm going to call my boss, all right?”

“Why? Did you do something wrong?”

“What? No, it's not for me. It's for you.”

Valkyrie's face fell. “What did I do?”

“You shouldn't be here.”

“But the plane landed here.”

“I mean, you shouldn't be
here
, you shouldn't be standing here. You should be further on.”

“Oh,” she said, and laughed. “Sorry. God, I'm so dumb.”

“We'll get it sorted out, don't worry.” His radio clicked and he spoke into it. “Anthony, it's Sean. I'm down here with – hey.” Valkyrie walked by him and he caught up with her. “Where are you going?”

She blinked at him. “You said I shouldn't be here.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I'm just going to where I should be.”

“Just hold on a second.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No, you're not, but—”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“Arrest you? No.”

“I just got lost. I got off the plane and there were so many people. Please don't arrest me.”

“Listen to me. I'm not going to arrest you, OK? I'm not a cop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I'm not a cop? Yes, I'm sure.”

“You might be undercover.”

“I still think I'd know if I were a cop, though. I work for the airline. I'm not a Guard. I just work here.”

“OK,” she said, and breathed out. “Sorry. I panic sometimes.”

“It's fine. Were you travelling alone?”

“No, there were other people on the plane.”

“I mean, are you travelling with someone? A friend or family member?”

“Oh. No. Just me. Where do I collect my bag?”

“At the Luggage Section. Do you know where that is?”

“Is it up those stairs?”

“It is. First you come to Passport Control, then you pick up your luggage, and then you exit Customs.”