Death Bringer (31 page)

Chapter 44
Mission Accomplished

or once, Scapegrace didn't mind the midday sun, or how harsh it was on his skin. He would gladly let the seasons rot him away if that was the Master's wish – although he sincerely hoped it wasn't. He climbed down from the Penguin-Mobile to the dirt track, and hurried over to where High Priest Craven and the White Cleaver were waiting. Secret meetings were exciting.

“Sire,” Scapegrace said, dropping to one knee and holding the gold disc up to him with both hands. “I have returned.” Thrasher fell to both knees beside him, hands clasped in prayer.

“I see that,” High Priest Craven said, snatching up the disc. “You did as I instructed?”

“Oh yes, Sire.”

“Exactly as I instructed?”

“I located Ghastly Bespoke's quarters, let myself in—”

“Let
ourselves
in,” Thrasher corrected.

“– and then I located the disc. I substituted—”

“
We
substituted,” Thrasher corrected.

“– the fake disc you had given me, and returned here to you, now, with the real disc. So now he has the fake disc and you have the real disc. I live only to serve.”

“
We
live only to serve,” Thrasher corrected.

“You don't live,” the Master said, examining his prize. “And nobody saw you?”

“Nobody, Sire. I was like the wind.”

“
We
were like the wind,” said Thrasher.

“But I was like the wind more.”

“I was more breeze-like,” Thrasher said, and bowed forward until his forehead was touching the ground. It was, once again, an unsurprisingly pathetic display, and one that Scapegrace would have no problem surpassing.

He laid himself flat on the ground, face stuck into the dirt, and waved his arms in the air. “Give me another order, Master, I beg of you.”

“Me too,” Thrasher said, lying beside Scapegrace, doing his best to wriggle deeper into the dirt. Furious, Scapegrace started wriggling alongside him.

“If you were not already dead,” the Master said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I would gladly kill you both. Stop wriggling, and listen very closely. I want you to gather more like you.”

“More zombies?” Thrasher asked, spitting out a small stone.

“I said
listen
, not
talk
. I want twenty by this time tomorrow. If you fail me…”

“I won't,” said Scapegrace.

“I won't,” said Thrasher.

“He might,” said Scapegrace.

“Shut,” the Master said, “up.”

Scapegrace stayed where he was until the Master and the White Cleaver were gone, and then he got up. Thrasher stood beside him, brushing the dirt from his clothes. “You're pathetic,” Scapegrace sneered.

“I know,” Thrasher said meekly. “But whenever the Master is around, nothing else matters but him. It's like he said, zombies are made to serve Necromancers. That… that doesn't mean I still don't value your leadership, sir.”

“Yeah, well,” Scapegrace said, curling what was left of his lip, “just don't you forget it.”

Chapter 45
The Nicest Town in Ireland

eoffrey had been the key.

It was a good trick, all right, getting people to believe whatever he told them. He hadn't reckoned on Kenny's journalism training being able to renew his interest in the story, but that wasn't Geoffrey's fault. It was a fluke, nothing more. Kenny had no trouble believing that Geoffrey's power would work on anyone. And that had got him thinking.

He had spent the last few days digging out all the reports he'd found that had later been retracted. He read over them again with fresh eyes, with a new perspective. What if these reports hadn't been hoaxes or mistakes? What if they were genuine, and had only been retracted after someone like Geoffrey had convinced the poor, frightened people that they hadn't seen what they'd thought they'd seen?

Kenny had laid all these reports out on his floor, and he'd spent hours going through them. One of them caught his eye. Only a few lines long. A few years ago, a man in north County Dublin had called the cops after witnessing a dark-haired girl fleeing from a pack of white-skinned “animals” who ran on two legs. The girl – he hadn't seen her face – led them towards the pier.

His statement was taken by the local cops. The next day he denied ever seeing such a thing. The day after that, the cops who had taken his statement denied ever doing so. It would have been completely forgotten about if Kenny hadn't been such a keen collector of oddness.

It was a long shot, Kenny knew. There were plenty of darkhaired girls in Ireland. There was absolutely no reason to think that it was the same girl who Geoffrey had called Valkyrie Cain. But the name of the town in which this had happened was Haggard, which was only a kilometre or two from the town in which there had been all that Insanity Virus trouble at that nightclub. And so Kenny got the bus to Haggard. He stayed in a B&B and talked to the couple who owned it about any odd occurrences they might have heard about.
Odd?
they said.
Sure nothing odd ever happens in Haggard
.

By the end of his second day, he was believing that. Haggard was rapidly becoming the nicest town in Ireland, where nothing weird ever happened.

The oddest thing, according to a small old man in a farmer's cap who didn't appear to have any teeth, was a car that had been showing up regularly for the last five years or so. Kenny didn't know much about cars, but he knew what a Bentley was when the old man mentioned it. A real beauty too, apparently. A few times a week, usually at night, the Bentley could be seen driving through town. Nobody knew who owned it. Sometimes there'd be a passenger, a dark-haired girl. She always kept her head down.

Kenny felt the flutter of excitement building inside him. It was them. He knew it was. It had to be.

His attention caught by this mysterious Bentley, Kenny didn't pay much attention to the news that a local woman had been mugged on Main Street. Everyone was talking about it. Melissa Edgley had had her handbag snatched by a thug called Ian Moore. Melissa's husband had thrown Moore through a window, and the cops had come and Moore had been escorted into a cell. No magic or super powers involved.

But then, the next day, they were all talking about Moore again. The Guards had been forced to let him go, the nice people of Haggard said, and he'd gone straight to Melissa Edgley's house looking for revenge. Melissa's daughter, Stephanie, had been home with her new-born sister, and Stephanie had managed to overpower the thug and call the police.
The poor girl
, the good people of Haggard said.
She must have been terrified. It must have been awful. Isn't it great how she overpowered him, though? Isn't that amazing? Wonder how she did it?

And then the good people of Haggard would shrug.
But then, she's always been an odd one, has that Stephanie.

And Kenny's interest was piqued.

Chapter 46
The Requiem Ball

here was a box on the table when they walked into Skulduggery's house. It was done up with a ribbon tied into a bow. Valkyrie opened it, took out a beautiful black dress.

“Wow,” she said.

“Normally, Ghastly would have been happy to make you a dress,” Skulduggery said, “but all his spare time is invested in tracking down Tanith. So I thought I'd spoil you.”

“This is… wow.”

“I'm glad you like it. We leave for the Ball in twenty minutes.”

She glared at him. “I have to wash my hair.”

“Then you had better hurry.”

She showered in the bathroom that had been specially installed for her. As she did her make-up, she checked herself for scars and bruises. Apart from the bandage on her forearm there was nothing much to report. She would have liked to have gone to one of the Sanctuary doctors instead of making do with stitches and a bandage, but mortal problems meant mortal solutions. A physical injury that could be photographed and documented would help the Guards in their prosecution, whereas an injury that disappeared overnight would only help Valkyrie look better in her dress.

Not that she needed any help as far as that was concerned. The dress was long and slinky, strapless, silk and chiffon. Her shoes were gorgeous.

She stepped into the living room and Skulduggery, wearing the sharpest tuxedo she had ever seen, complete with black gloves and a white scarf, tilted his head to her.

“You're late,” he said.

“I'm beautiful.”

“You're always beautiful.”

“I'm always late, too.”

He put on his hat, black to match the tux, and they walked out of the house. He opened the car door and she slipped in.

They left Dublin City, heading north, passed the turn-off for Haggard and continued on to Gordon's house. There was no one guarding the gate, but even so, Skulduggery slowed to a stop. He took their passkey from his pocket, a gold disc no bigger than his palm, and pressed it between his thumb and forefinger. Once it started to glow they drove on, and Valkyrie saw the symbols pulse on either side of the gate, nullifying the security measures. Gleaming cars were parked on both sides of the long driveway, and Valkyrie glimpsed figures standing in the darkness. Men and women, dressed similarly to Cleavers but in black, with twin sickles in sheaths on their backs.

“They're Rippers,” Skulduggery said. “Cleaver-trained private security. Only the richest can afford them.”

They got out of the Bentley. Skulduggery had a stern word of warning with the valet, and they walked into the house.

Valkyrie imagined that this was what a high society party looked like – people in expensive clothes sipping champagne and laughing politely. The only difference was that, here and there, there were examples of the extraordinary – an otherwise sombre gentleman with green hair, a woman in a shimmering dress with shimmering skin, a man with claws, and of course the walking skeleton beside her. The richest and the most influential sorcerers in the world. Valkyrie could feel the power the moment she stepped in the door, and it made her insides tingle.

A waiter with dirty fingernails offered her a glass of wine on a silver tray. She politely declined, and as the waiter disappeared in the crowd she frowned after him. Dirty fingernails, at a function like this? She shrugged, letting it go. In one of the rooms there was a small orchestra, whose music drifted throughout the house at a perfect pitch. No one had to raise their voice to be heard.

Everything in here positively glowed. Valkyrie was glad the dress Skulduggery had bought her was so beautiful – it was a match for the others she saw.

Skulduggery handed his hat and scarf to a woman who smiled and took them away. Valkyrie stayed by his side. They passed through to the next room, and Skulduggery did his best to tell her who everyone was. She recognised a lot of the names.

Everyone, it seemed, knew Skulduggery, but not all of them liked him. For every smile they got, there was at least one scowl.

“As you can see,” Skulduggery said quietly, “I'm very, very popular.”

“I can tell.”

Gordon stood by his Echo Stone, chatting to a group of people who laughed at whatever story he was telling. He saw Valkyrie and waved, his eyes sparkling, then returned to his story. She grinned.

Ravel came over, shook Skulduggery's hand and kissed Valkyrie's cheek. “You look stunning,” he told her.

She smiled back at him. “Not so bad yourself, Grand Mage.”

He laughed, then caught sight of a group of foreign sorcerers standing nearby, and sighed unhappily. “I must go,” he said. “The curse of this job is that I have to mingle. Just when you meet someone interesting, you're called away by someone mundane.”

Ravel moved off, and Ghastly arrived to take his place. “Sorry I'm late,” he said. “I'd trouble getting in. My disc wasn't working right, and I'd barely passed the gates before I was surrounded by Rippers.”

“Oh Elder Bespoke, that's dreadful,” Valkyrie teased. “Didn't they know who you were?”

He looked at her. “You're making fun of me, aren't you?”

“Not Valkyrie, Your Lordship,” Skulduggery protested. “She wouldn't dream of it.”

“I hate you,” Ghastly muttered. “I hate you both. Oh, we have a surprise guest.”

Skulduggery's head tilted. “We do?”

Ghastly nodded ahead of them, and the crowd parted to reveal a man with short blond hair, his face lighting up when he saw them. He looked young and fit and healthy – no more than thirty years old, wearing his tuxedo with the bow tie undone and the top buttons of his shirt open.

Skulduggery stepped forward to clasp this man's hand in his, as if they were old friends.

“It's been too long,” Skulduggery said.

“It has at that,” the newcomer replied. His eyes left Skulduggery and found Valkyrie.

“Hi,” she said. “I'm—”

“Val!” he exclaimed, and enveloped her in a hug. “Any friend of Skulduggery's, providing she's pretty enough, is a friend of mine!” He let go of her and stepped back. “You are now my friend.”

“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said, “allow me to introduce the one and only Dexter Vex, obviously taking a short break from his life of adventuring and derring-do.”

“A very short break,” Vex said, stepping back and flashing her a grin. Oh, she liked
him
.

“I've heard a lot about you,” she said. “You were one of the Dead Men.”

“Indeed I was,” Vex nodded, “cursed to follow this bumbling fool from misadventure to misadventure in the days of our youth. Is he treating you well? He doesn't boast too much, does he?”

“Sometimes it's like that's all he ever does.”

He held her hand in both of his. “I feel your pain,” he said sadly.

Skulduggery pulled their hands apart. “Yes, well, quite enough of that. If you feel the need to gang up on me, at least have the decency to wait until my back is turned. When did you get into town?”

“This morning,” Vex said. “Ghastly sent me an invitation a few weeks ago, and even though I was kind of busy, when someone like His Holy Eminence sends you an invite, you really can't say no.”

“Oh, great,” Ghastly said, “now you've got him at it.”

Valkyrie laughed, hooking her arm through Ghastly's. “We're only messing,” she said. “And by the way, you look
amazing
in that tuxedo.”

Ghastly smiled. “Why thank you, Valkyrie.”

Vex chuckled. “See that? He hasn't changed a bit. No matter how bad a mood he pretends to be in, all it takes is a nice word from a pretty girl and he's putty in her hands. Skulduggery, remember that French girl we met in Saipan? What was her name?”

“Oh,” Skulduggery said. “Françoise.”

“That's it,” said Vex. “Françoise. Remember her, Ghastly? Remember that weekend we couldn't find you? We thought Mevolent had snatched you away and was torturing you to within an inch of your life. Valkyrie, would you like to know what he was
really
doing that weekend?”

“Yes I would,” said Valkyrie.

“No she wouldn't,” said Ghastly.

“I think she would,” Skulduggery said.

“If you tell her,” said Ghastly, “I will have the both of you arrested. And possibly flogged.”

Vex sighed. “Sorry, Val. What
happens
in wartime, apparently
stays
in wartime.”

“Aw,” Valkyrie said, her shoulders drooping.

A woman stopped beside Ghastly, whispered something into his ear. He nodded.

“If you'll excuse me,” he said, “I have people to talk to. Important people, people of influence and stature, and hopefully people who won't laugh at me.”

He walked away, and immediately Vex leaned in.

“Don't worry,” he said, “we have plenty of other stories to tell you. And I have plenty of stories to tell you about Skulduggery too. Good stories. Scandalous stories. Stories to use against him no matter what the situation.”

“Suddenly this entire night seems like a bad idea,” Skulduggery said.

The conversation died as a man appeared beside them, luxurious blond hair swept back off his fleshy face, wet lips curled in a smile. Behind him stood a boy of Valkyrie's age.

“My my,” the man said, his chins quivering with his words, “if it isn't the Skeleton Detective himself, come down off his mountain to grace us lowly sorcerers with his presence. I am so honoured and awestruck that I fear I am at a loss. Should I bow? Kneel? Curtsey?”

“Leave?” Skulduggery suggested, and the man laughed uproariously.

His small eyes turned to Valkyrie. “And you, my dear, this vision in black, must be Valkyrie Cain herself.” She didn't like the way he looked at her – he was taking far too long. “Skulduggery, my sincerest congratulations – you've picked a good one here. Pretty, too. I can see why you take her wherever you go. Not too smart, though, am I right?”

Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery. “It's not just me, is it? He is begging for a box, isn't he?”

“Indeed he is,” Skulduggery said.

“I think so too,” nodded Vex.

“You can go ahead and hit him if you like,” said Skulduggery.

The man laughed, held up his hands. They were pale and soft, like they'd never seen a day's work. “I surrender!” he mock-cried. “I yield! Please don't let the girl strike me!”

Valkyrie was going to hit him out of pure principle, but the boy in the tuxedo took hold of the fat man's arm and tugged it sharply.

“Father,” he said, “I think you've had too much wine. Perhaps you would like some air?”

“There's plenty of air in here,” the man said, “although it seems to be primarily
hot
air.” He laughed at his own joke, and disentangled himself. “Miss Cain, this is my son, who has taken the grand and noble name of Hansard Kray, and I am his embarrassing father, the scurrilous and drunken Arthur Dagan. See how he blushes for me? Is that not the sign of a loyal and loving child?”

“I'm very sorry,” Hansard said. He was taller than his father, and lean. The only trait they seemed to share was the colour of their hair.

“Don't apologise for me!” Arthur snapped. “And especially not to her!”

Skulduggery was right by Valkyrie's elbow, but remained quiet. She appreciated that. Any other man would have leaped in to defend her honour. Valkyrie was quite capable of doing that herself.

“Do you have a problem with me?” she asked Arthur.

“A problem?” he echoed. “No! My word, no! Not at all! I'm sure, given time, we could be the best of friends, were it not for your unfortunate habit of murdering my gods.”

“Oh,” she said, understanding at last. “You're a disciple of the Faceless Ones.”

“Indeed I am,” Arthur said, bowing before her. “In the spirit of openness and togetherness that the new Council of Elders wants to project, I have been invited, for the first time, to the Requiem Ball, where all you people laugh and chortle and pat each other's backs for defeating the evil Mevolent and his evil followers – of which I was one.”

“You didn't have to come,” Valkyrie pointed out.

“And
you
don't tell
me
what to do,” Arthur sneered. “You'll get your come-uppance, you know. You'll pay for all the things you've done.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Hansard Kray said, trying to pull his father away.

“I should put you over my knee,” Arthur said loudly, keeping his eyes on Valkyrie, “and spank you here in front of everyone.”

A waiter appeared, tried to help Hansard's efforts, but Arthur shoved him back. He waved a fat finger at Valkyrie. “You watch yourself, girl. You watch yourself. Your time is coming.”

Finally, Hansard managed to turn his father, and they plunged through the gathered crowd until it swallowed them up. A moment passed, and slowly the conversations picked up again.