Skulduggery Pleasant (11 page)

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"--I'm afraid that won't work too well with these fellows. One thing you have to remember about the Elder Mages is that they're--"

"Really old sorcerers?"

"Well, yes."

"Worked that out all by myself."

"You must be so proud."

"Why do you have to report to them? Do you work for them?"

"In a way. The Elders pass the laws, and they have people who enforce the laws, but there are only a few of us who actually investigate the breaking of those laws--murders, robberies, a couple of kidnappings, the usual. And while I may be freelance, most of my work, and my money, comes from the Elders."

"So if they want to wag their fingers at you ..."

"I have to stand there and be wagged at."

"So why do they want me to be there? Aren't I the innocent young girl being led astray?"

"See, I don't really want them to view you as the innocent young girl. I want them to view you as the rebellious, insubordinate, troublesome rapscallion who has made herself my partner. Then maybe they'll take pity on me."

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"Wait, do they even know I'm coming with you?"

"No. But they like surprises. Almost always."

"Maybe I should wait in the car."

"In this car?"

"Ah, good point."

"Stephanie, we both know something serious is going on, but as yet the Elders have refused to consider that their precious Truce might be in jeopardy."

"And why would they believe me and not you?"

"Because I go to them loaded with baggage. I have a history, and some might say an agenda. Besides, tales of horror are always more effective coming from a lady."

"I'm no lady."

He shrugged. "You're the closest I've got."

Skulduggery had another surprise for her as they drove. He pulled in to a fast-food place and nodded toward the parcel in the backseat.

"What's that?" she asked.

"What do you think it is?"

"It looks like a parcel."

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"Then that's what it is."

"But what's inside it?"

"If I tell you, I deprive the parcel of its whole reason to be."

She sighed. "And what is its reason to be?"

"To be opened, of course, and to reveal what it's holding."

"You are so annoying," she muttered, reaching back and taking the parcel. It was soft to the touch. She looked at Skulduggery. "The clothes?"

"I'm saying nothing."

"Ghastly made the clothes already? I didn't think he was going to make them at all, not after, you know . . . the argument."

Skulduggery shrugged and started humming. She sighed, then took the parcel and got out of the yellow car and walked into the fast-food restaurant, making her way to the toilets at the back. Once secured inside a stall, she pulled open the string, and the parcel unfolded before her. It was the clothes. They were the deepest black, made of a material she had never seen before.

She got changed quickly, noting how perfectly everything fit, and stepped out of the stall

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to admire herself in the mirror. The trousers and the tunic, a sleeveless garment with silver latches, were pretty good by themselves, and the boots fit as though she'd been wearing them for years, but it was the coat that completed the picture: three-quarter length, shaped especially for her, made of a material so black it nearly shimmered. She resisted the temptation to leave her other clothes in the toilet, and instead wrapped them in the brown paper and left the restaurant.

"Surprise!" Skulduggery said when she was back in the Canary Car. "It's the clothes!"

She looked at him. "You are so weird."

Twenty minutes later they were walking into the Waxworks Museum. The building was old, in dire need of repair, and the street wasn't much better. Stephanie didn't say a word as they paid and went wandering through the dark corridors, surrounded on both sides by imitation celebrities and fictional characters. She had been here two or three times as part of school trips when she was younger, but couldn't see the point of visiting now. They hung back from a small group of tourists until they were certain they were alone, and only then did Stephanie say anything.

"What are we doing here?"

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"We're here to visit the Elders' Sanctuary," Skulduggery replied.

"And are the Elders made of wax?"

"I like coming here," he said, taking off his sunglasses and ignoring her question. "It's very liberating."

He took off his hat and wig and pulled the scarf from his neck. Stephanie looked around nervously.

"Aren't you afraid someone might see?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Well, maybe we should go and talk to the Elders, then."

"Good idea."

Skulduggery moved to one side of the corridor and traced his hand over the wall. "Where is it?" he muttered. "Bloody idiots keep changing it. ..."

The tourists came back around the corner and Stephanie went to drag Skulduggery out of sight, but it was too late--they had already seen him. A small American boy left his parents' side and walked right up to him. Skulduggery was frozen to the spot.

"Who's that supposed to be?" the boy asked, frowning slightly.

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Stephanie hesitated. Now the entire tour was looking at her, including the tour guide. "This is," Stephanie said, racking her brains for a likely-sounding explanation, "this is Sammy Skeleton, the world's worst detective."

"Never heard of him," the boy said, giving Skulduggery's arm a poke. He shrugged and lost interest, and Stephanie watched the tourists move on. When they were out of sight, Skulduggery swiveled his head to her.

"'World's worst detective'?" he asked.

She shrugged and hid her grin, and Skulduggery hrmphed good-naturedly and went back to running his hand along the wall. He found what he was looking for and pressed inward. A section of the wall slid open to reveal a hidden passage.

"Wow," Stephanie said. "The Sanctuary is here? I used to come here when I was little. ..."

"Never knowing that beneath your feet was a world of magic and wonder?"

"Exactly."

He tilted his head slightly. "Better get used to that feeling."

She followed him in, and the wall sealed shut behind them. The stairway downward was

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lit by torches that flickered in their brackets, but the closer they got to wherever it was they were going, the brighter it became.

They emerged into the gleaming foyer of the Sanctuary. It would have reminded Stephanie of the lobby of a high-tech company's building--all marble and varnished wood paneling--had it not been for the lack of windows. Two men stood guard against the far wall, hands clasped behind them, dressed entirely in gray, with long coats and some sort of helmet with a visor that covered the entire face. Each had a scythe, a wicked-looking blade on a five-foot staff, strapped to his back. A slight man in a suit came out to greet them.

"Detective," he said, "you are early. The Council is not ready to convene. I could show you to the waiting area, if you wish."

"Actually, I might take the opportunity to show our guest around, if that's all right."

The man blinked. "I'm afraid access is strictly limited, as well you know."

"I was just going to show my friend the Repository," Skulduggery said. "The Book, in fact."

"I see. Well, as Administrator of the Sanctuary, I would have to accompany you, naturally."

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"Wouldn't have it any other way."

The Administrator bowed and spun on his heel, then led them down an adjoining corridor. They passed more people in gray uniforms as they walked. Stephanie was getting used to dealing with people with no eyes and no expressions, but there was still something about them that unnerved her. Skulduggery, living skeleton though he was, was still fundamentally human, and yet these people, who merely wore helmets to hide their faces, seemed to her much more sinister.

"Who are they?" Stephanie whispered as they walked.

"Cleavers," Skulduggery replied in a low voice. "Security guards, enforcers, and army, rolled into one. Dangerous individuals. Be glad they're on our side."

She did her best not to look at them as they passed. "Where are we going?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"I'm taking you to see the Book of Names," Skulduggery said. "Some say it was created by the Ancients, but the truth is no one knows who really made it, or how it was made. It

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lists the names of every person living on this Earth: the given name, the taken name--when and if a name is taken-- and the true name. Every time a baby is born, a new name appears in its pages. Every time someone dies, the name fades away."

Stephanie looked at him. "So my true name is in that Book?"

"As is mine. As is everyone's."

"Isn't that dangerous? If someone got their hands on that, they'd be able to rule the world." She let a few moments pass. "And I felt ridiculous even saying that."

The Administrator glanced over his shoulder as he walked. "Not even the Elders open the Book. It is too powerful--it can corrupt too easily. But they can't find a way to destroy it--it can't be torn, it can't be burned, it can't be damaged by any means we have at our disposal. If the legends are true and the Book was created by the Ancients, then it stands to reason that only the Ancients could destroy it. The Elders, for their part, see it as their responsibility to protect it, to keep it away from prying eyes."

They reached a set of double doors. The Administrator waved his hand, and the heavy

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doors swung slowly open. They walked into the Repository--a large room with marble pillars-- which, as Skulduggery explained, housed some of the rarest and most unusual magical artifacts in existence. They passed row upon row of shelves and tables, on which lay items so bizarre they defied description. The Administrator pointed out one of the strangest of these: a two-dimensional box that held wonders to sate the most jaded of appetites, but which existed only if approached from a right angle. In contrast to this clutter, however, was the center of the room, which was empty save for a pedestal, and on that pedestal a book.

"That's the Book of Names?" Stephanie asked.

"Yes, it is," the Administrator answered.

"I thought it'd be bigger."

"It's as big as it needs to be--no more, no less."

"And it's okay to leave it out in the open like that?"

"It's not as vulnerable as you might think. When it was placed here, the security

arrangements did cause the Elders some concern. How would it be protected? Guards can be overcome. A locked door can be unlocked. A wall can be broken. A shield can be pierced."

"So, what? They decided not to bother?"

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"Actually, they came up with a most ingenious defense. Willpower."

"Sorry?"

"The Book is protected by the Will of the Elders." . Stephanie wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

"See for yourself," the Administrator said. "Take the Book."

"Me?"

"You. You won't be harmed."

Stephanie glanced at Skulduggery, but he gave no indication as to what she should do. Finally she just turned and started walking toward it.

Her eyes darted from one side of the room to the next. She thought about trapdoors and immediately started examining the floor she was walking on. What form did willpower take? She hoped it wasn't bullets or anything painful like that. She was mildly annoyed that she was even doing this, walking right into whatever trap the Elders had set up, and doing so willingly. For what? To prove a point that wasn't hers? She didn't even want to take the Book. This whole thing was ridiculous.

She glanced back, saw the Administrator standing there with a placid expression on his

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face, obviously anticipating whatever was about to happen, whatever was going to pop out in front of her to stop her from taking their precious Book. She stopped walking. If he wanted the Book, he could get it himself. She turned and walked right back again. The Administrator peered at her.

"You didn't take it," he said.

Stephanie forced herself to remain polite. "No, I didn't. But I'll take your word for it that it's well protected."

"When you started walking, you wanted to take the Book, yes?"

"I suppose so."

"And why didn't you?"

"Because I changed my mind."

"Because you didn't want to take it anymore."

"Well, yes. So?"

"That is the Will of the Elders. No matter how badly you want that Book in your hands, the closer you get, the less you want it. It doesn't matter if you want it for yourself, if you want it because you were ordered to take it, or because your very life depends on it. With every step you take, your indifference toward the Book increases, no matter who you may

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be or what power you may have. Even Meritorious himself couldn't get close to it."

She looked at him, taking it all in. Finally, she had to say it; there was no way she couldn't: "That's very impressive."

"It is, isn't it?" The Administrator turned his head a little, as if hearing something. "The Council is ready for you now. Please come this way."

They walked into an oval-shaped room and stood facing a large door. There was only one light source, from somewhere overhead, and the edges of the room remained in relative darkness.

"The Elders will be but a moment," the Administrator said, and walked quietly away.

"They always do this," Skulduggery said. "Keep people waiting."

"My headmaster does the same thing whenever someone's called to his office. He thinks it makes him look important."

"Does it work?"

"It makes him look late."

The door ahead opened and an old man entered. He had short white hair and a tightly cropped beard, and he was tall, taller than Skulduggery. He wore a suit the color of