Skulduggery Pleasant (28 page)

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out its bolt of black lightning, but Skulduggery had seized the Book of Names and held it as a shield.

The black lightning hit the Book, which disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"No!" Serpine screamed. "No!"

Stephanie stared as the Book that the Elders couldn't destroy sifted through Skulduggery's fingers. He charged through the cloud, slamming into Serpine. The Scepter fell and rolled away. Serpine's hands closed around Skulduggery's neck, forcing his head back.

"You ruined it!" he snarled. "You ruined it all, you pathetic creature!"

Skulduggery slammed a fist into Serpine's face and batted the hands away. He stepped in with a jab that rocked the sorcerer's head. Serpine blasted Skulduggery with purple vapor, and Skulduggery was flung off his feet.

He landed on his side and rolled, coming up to his knees as Serpine whipped a tendril out for the Scepter. It sped toward him, but Skulduggery pushed outward at the air, breaking the tendril and knocking the Scepter off course.

Skulduggery gathered flame in his fist and threw it at Serpine, who barely managed to

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deflect it. It exploded on the wall behind him and Serpine hissed, stumbling away before being launched backward as the air rippled around him. He hit the wall and stayed there, high off the ground, held up by Skulduggery's outstretched hand from across the room.

"I'll destroy you," Serpine snarled, his emerald eyes blazing with hatred. "I destroyed you once. I will do it again!"

He struggled to raise his right arm. Skulduggery pressed against him harder, drawing on his last reserves. But Serpine refused to be beaten. The fingers of his red hand pointed at Skulduggery.

"Die," Serpine whispered.

Skulduggery inclined his head a little to the right, and didn't fall. Serpine's face contorted with rage.

"Die!" he screamed.

Skulduggery remained standing. "Looks like there's something that hand of yours can't kill after all."

A figure moved in the doorway. Serpine's laugh was one of spit and gritted teeth as the White Cleaver appeared.

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"So you have an immunity to my power. ... No matter. That scythe of his will shear through your bones. You'll be nothing but rubble when he's through with you. Cleaver, attack!"

But the Cleaver stayed where he was, and Serpine's confidence started to ebb. "What are you doing? Kill him!"

The White Cleaver took another moment and then walked away.

Serpine screamed his rage.

"You've lost, Nefarian," Skulduggery said. "Even your henchman is abandoning you. Even he recognizes your defeat. I'm placing you under arrest for murder, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, and, I don't know, possibly littering."

Serpine spat. "You will never beat me. I will always find a way to make you suffer."

And then Serpine's green eyes flickered toward Stephanie, still lying on the ground.

"Don't," Skulduggery said, but Serpine was already moving his hand across his body. "Serpine, don't!"

Stephanie cried out as a pain more intense than anything she had ever felt scourged her

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body. Serpine twisted his fingers and the pain intensified, turning her cry into a scream, turning the scream to silent agony. She curled up, feeling something cold spread from her belly, a welcome numbness that canceled the pain, that moved into her arms and legs, that wrapped itself around her heart and seeped into her mind. And now there was nothing, now there were just vague images of Serpine and Skulduggery; a distant voice, Skulduggery calling out to her, but that too was fading. No pain now. No sound. Her eyelids fluttered. Serpine, with that grin. Skulduggery, holding his free hand out, and something moving through the air, everything moving so, so slowly.

The Scepter. It was the Scepter, and then it was in Skulduggery's gloved hand, and his fingers were tightening around it. He was raising his arm, and pointing, pointing the Scepter at Serpine, and the little crystal started to glow. It glowed dark, a pretty little darkness, and then the air cracked.

The coldness had overtaken her now, the numbness was everywhere, and the last bits that made her who she was were gradually drifting away. She didn't care. She didn't mind at all. Let them go. She didn't have a care in the world.

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Serpine's grinning face. His eyes. His smile. All those teeth. His skin, creased in savage pleasure. And now that skin was changing, and it was drying, and it was cracking, and the smile was fading, and the emerald-green eyes were losing their gleam, clouding over, and Serpine turned to dust that fell to the floor.

And there was a ringing, a ringing in her ears, and her fingertips were tingling, and warmth was rushing back to her and her heart was beating again and her lungs sucked in air and Stephanie gasped.

Skulduggery ran over and knelt beside her. "Are you all right?" he asked, but all she could do was shiver. Her leg twisted and she hissed in pain, but it was a bearable pain, it was a good pain.

"Come on," Skulduggery said, taking her arm gently. "Let's get you out of here."

He put her weight on him and half carried her, half lifted her out of the chamber and into the corridor. They passed the jail as the door opened and Tanith toppled out. She hit the ground and groaned. Stephanie looked down at her friend, at all that blood.

"Tanith?"

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Tanith raised her head. "Oh good," she muttered. "You're alive."

Skulduggery reached for her, pulled her carefully to her feet, and with an arm around each, guided them both to the foyer. They climbed the stairs slowly and moved through the Waxworks Museum. The rain had stopped and the ground was wet as they emerged into the night.

China Sorrows was standing beside her car, waiting for them. When they were so close that Stephanie could see the delicate earrings she was wearing, China spoke. "You've all seen better days."

"Could have used your help," Skulduggery said as they came to a stop.

China shrugged her slender shoulders. "I knew you could do it without me. I had faith. Serpine?"

"Dust," Skulduggery said. "Too many plans, too many schemes. Sooner or later they'd cancel each other out. That was always his trouble."

"How did you manage it?"

"He wanted immortality, so he chose death on his own terms--a living death."

China smiled. "Aha. And because the Scepter can only be wielded when its previous

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owner is dead, or in this case, when its owner is the living dead ..."

"I took it and used it on him." He held up the Scepter. "Something happened, though. There's no power in it anymore."

China took it from him, turning it over in her hands. "It was fueled by his hate. Obviously, using it against him made it feed on itself. Congratulations, Skulduggery--you've managed to break the ultimate weapon. It's nothing but an ornament now."

"An ornament I'd like back," he said, holding out his hand. She smiled, turning her head slightly to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"I'll buy it from you," she said.

"Why would you want it?" he asked. "It's worthless."

"Sentimental reasons. Besides, you know what an avid collector I am."

He sighed. "Fine, take it."

There it was, that smile again. "Thank you. Oh, and the Book?"

"Destroyed."

"How very like you to destroy the indestructible. You have quite an appetite for destruction, don't you?"

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"China, these bones are weary. ..."

"Then I shall leave you."

"Bliss is still in there," Stephanie said. "I think he was working against Serpine the whole time. I don't know if he's alive, though."

"That brother of mine is quite resilient. I've tried to kill him three times already, and he just won't stay down." China got into her car, looked at them through the open window. "Oh, by the way, all three of you--congratulations on saving the world."

She gave them a beautiful smile and they watched her drive off. They stood there for a while. The sky was beginning to brighten, the first rays of the morning sun seeping into the black.

"You know," Tanith said weakly, "I still have a gigantic hole in my back."

"Sorry," Skulduggery said, and he helped them both toward the Bentley.

Chapter Thirty

An End, a Beginning

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somewhere in Haggard, a dog was barking. Somewhere a driver beeped his horn, and somewhere else people were laughing. It was a Friday night, and music drifted to Stephanie's open window from the bars and pubs on Main Street, snatches of songs piggybacking on the warm breeze.

Stephanie sat in her swivel chair, her foot resting on the bed. Skulduggery had taken her to a friend of his, a cantankerous old man who had mended her broken leg within an

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hour. It was still stiff, still sore, but the bruising had gone down, and in another few days it would be like it had never been broken at all.

She didn't mind the recuperation period she had been advised to take. After the week she'd just had, a week in which she'd seen wonder and magic and death and destruction, she could do with a little holiday.

Skulduggery Pleasant sat on the windowsill and told her what was happening in the world outside her bedroom. The White Cleaver had vanished, and they still didn't know why, or even how, he had ignored his master's final command. Skulduggery had a suspicion that he was under orders from somebody else, but just who this mystery master was he didn't yet know. Serpine's allies had resurfaced and struck, and then vanished again when the news of the sorcerer's demise had reached them. Serpine's grand scheme might have failed, but because of it, the Cleavers' numbers had been decimated, and their duties now stretched them thin.

"How's Tanith?" Stephanie asked. "Will she be okay?"

"She's lucky to be alive. The injury she took was severe, but she's strong. She'll pull

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through. I'll take you to see her when you're rested."

"And Ghastly? Any change?"

"I'm afraid not. They're keeping him safe, but. .. we don't know how long he'll stay like that. Fortunately for him, the time will pass in the blink of an eye. The rest of us will have to wait. On the bright side, the Sanctuary has a new and interesting addition to their Hall of Statues."

"Do they have a Hall of Statues?"

"Well, no. But now that they've got a statue, maybe they'll start."

"What are they going to do about the Council of Elders?"

"Meritorious was a good man, the most powerful Grand Mage we had seen in a long time. The other Elders in Europe are worried about who will fill the vacuum now that he's gone. The Americans are offering their support, the Japanese are sending delegates to help us wrest back some control, but ..."

"It sounds like a lot of people are panicking."

"And they have a right to. Our systems of power, our systems of self-government, are delicate. If we topple, others will follow. We need a strong leader."

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"Why don't you do it?"

He laughed. "Because I'm not well liked, and I'm not well trusted, and I already have a job. I'm a detective, remember?"

She gave a little shrug. "Vaguely."

Another snippet of pub music drifted by the window, and she thought about the world she'd grown up in, and how different it was from the world she'd been introduced to, and yet how similar. There was joy and happiness in both, just as there was heartbreak and horror. There was good and evil and everything in between, and these qualities seemed to be shared equally in the worlds of the magical and the mundane. It was her life now. She couldn't imagine living without either one.

"How are you?" Skulduggery asked, his voice gentle.

"Me? I'm fine."

"Really? No nightmares?"

"Maybe one or two," she admitted.

"They'll always be there, reminding us of where we went wrong. If you pay attention to your bad dreams, they can help you."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I'm asleep."

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"Good," said Skulduggery. "In any event, get well soon. We have mysteries to solve, and adventures to undertake, and I need my partner and student with me."

"Student?"

He shrugged. "Things are going to get a lot rougher from here on in, and I need someone to fight by my side. There's something about you, Valkyrie. I'm not quite sure what it is. I look at you, and ..."

"And you're reminded of yourself when you were my age?"

"Hm? Oh, no; what I was going to say is there's something about you that is really annoying, and you never do what you're told, and sometimes I question your intelligence--but even so, I'm going to train you, because I like having someone follow me around like a little puppy. It makes me feel good about myself."

She rolled her eyes. "You are such a moron."

"Don't be jealous of my genius."

"Can you get over yourself for just a moment?"

"If only that were possible."

"For a guy with no internal organs, you've got quite the ego."

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"And for a girl who can't stand up without falling over, you're quite the critic."

"My leg will be fine."

"And my ego will flourish. What a pair we are."

She had to laugh. "Go on, get out. Mum'll be up soon to check on me."

"Before I go . . ."

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to show me what you've been practicing? You've been dying to show off from the moment I knocked on this window."

She looked at him and arched an eyebrow, but he was right and he knew it. The other good thing about this recuperation period was that she had all the time she wanted to develop her powers, and she hadn't wasted the few days that had passed already.

She clicked her fingers, summoning a small flame into the palm of her hand. She watched it flicker and dance, then looked up at Skulduggery and grinned.

"Magic," he said.

EXTRAS

Skulduggery Pleasant

An Exclusive Interview with the Skeleton Himself,

Mr. Skulduggery Pleasant

Derek Landy's Short Story about Skulduggery in

Captivity, "The Lost Art of World Domination"

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An Interview with Mr. Skulduggery Pleasant

Being a skeleton. Please discuss!

Ah yes, that whole skeleton thing. It really isn't as bad as it sounds, you know. I never put on weight, for one thing. I never have a bad hair day, for another. It took a little getting used to, I'll admit, and for the first few weeks I kept expecting my jaw to fall off, but I like to think that I've grown into a very well-adjusted skeleton. I'm happy with who I am, thank you very much.

Has using magic ever got you into an embarrassing situation?

Me? No. But I did witness an amusing event when an evil sorcerer, who shall remain nameless to spare his blushes, tried to evade me by turning invisible in a crowded market place. He really should have practiced that skill a little harder, however, because while his clothes became transparent, he himself did not. Needless to say, he surrendered himself immediately and asked for something to cover himself up. I gave him my hat. Waste of a good hat, if you ask me.

You have said that everyone has three names--please tell us more, including how you came up with the name Skulduggery Pleasant.

Names are power, you see. When we are born, we are given a name, but that name can be used against us, to control us. So, we sorcerers take another name, to protect ourselves. But there is a third name, a true name, the source of all our power, and this name rests in

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our dreams, and should never be spoken to another person. As for the name I took, and the reasons I took it? Well now, that's a secret.

What made you decide to become a detective?

Well, for a time I was a soldier, for lack of a better word. I fought against evil, and I did my best, and when that war was over I realized there was still a lot of fighting left to be done in the world. As a wise man once said, "You've got to be one of the good guys, because there's way too many of the bad."

What do you hate most in the world?

People trying to kill me. It happens more often than you'd think, and can grow quite wearisome.

If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

Why would I want to change anything? Am I not perfect the way I am? Thank you, I think so too.

What is your most prized possession?

My car. It's a 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental.

Describe yourself in 5 words.

Charming. Witty. Lethal. Brilliant. Modest.

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The lost Art of World Domination

With the shadows wrapped around him and the sliver of light falling dramatically over his eyes, the evil sorcerer Scaramouch Van Dreg stood in the dungeon and watched his captive with predatory amusement.

The dungeon was dark and damp and dank, and the chains that bound the skeleton detective were big and thick and heavy. They shackled the bones of his wrists to the stone floor, forcing him to kneel.

Scaramouch liked that. The great detective, the living skeleton who had foiled plan after plan, scheme after scheme, was now forced to look up at Scaramouch. Like he had always been meant to. Like everyone had always been meant to.

The detective, his dark blue suit burned and torn and muddy, hadn't said anything for almost an hour. In fact, he hadn't moved for almost an hour. Scaramouch had been standing in the shadows, gloating, for a little more than fifteen minutes, but he wasn't entirely sure that his captive had noticed.

He shifted his weight noisily, but the detective still did not acknowledge his presence.

Scaramouch frowned. There was very little point in going through all this if his efforts weren't rewarded with due and proper attention.

He brought himself up to his full height, which wasn't very high, and sucked in his belly, which was substantial. He gathered his cloak and stepped forward, gazing down at the top of the detective's skull with the pitiless gaze he had practiced for hours.

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"Skulduggery Pleasant," he sneered. "Finally, you are within my grasp."

The detective shitted slightly, and muttered something.

Good God. Was he asleep?

Scaramouch cleared his throat and gave the detective a little kick. The detective jerked awake and looked around for a moment, then looked up with those empty eye sockets.

"Oh," he said, like he had just met a casual acquaintance on the street, "hello." Unsure how to counter this unexpected approach to being a captive, Scaramouch decided to replay the sneer.

"Skulduggery Pleasant," he repeated. "Finally, you are within my grasp."

"It does appear so," Pleasant agreed, nodding. "And in a dungeon, no less. How brilliantly postmodern of you."

"You have interfered in my plans for the last time," Scaramouch continued. "Unfortunately for you, you will not live to regret your mistake."

Pleasant tilted his head curiously. "Scaramouch? Scaramouch Van Dreg? Is that you?"

Scaramouch smiled nastily. "Oh, yes. You have fallen into the clutches of your deadliest enemy."

"What are you doing here?"

Scaramouch's smile faltered. "What?"

"How are you mixed up in all this?"

"How am I . . . ? What do you mean? This is my plot."

"You're plotting to use the Crystal of the Saints to bring the Faceless Ones back into our reality?"

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Scaramouch frowned. "What? No. What do the Faceless Ones have to do with this? I don't want the Faceless Ones back; I don't even worship them. No, this plot is for me, to gain absolute power."

"Then . . . you're not in league with Rancid Fines or Christophe Nocturnal?"

"I've never even met Rancid Fines," Scaramouch said, "and I hate Christophe Nocturnal."

Pleasant absorbed this information with a nod. "In that case, I'm afraid there's been a bit of a misunderstanding."

Scaramouch felt like he'd been punched in the gut. All the breath left him, and his shoulders slumped. "You mean, you're not here for me?"

"Dreadfully sorry," Pleasant said.

"But--but you arrived at the hotel. You and your partner, the girl. You were asking all those questions."

"We were looking for Fines and Nocturnal. We didn't even know you were in the country. To be honest with you, and I don't mean to offend you or anything, but I thought you had passed away some time ago."

Scaramouch gaped. "I just took a little break . . ."

Pleasant shrugged. "Well, at least now I know. So what are you up to these days?"

"I'm--I have plans," Scaramouch said, dejected.

"The absolute power thing you mentioned?"

Scaramouch nodded.

"And how's that going?"

"It's going okay, I suppose. I mean, you know, everything's on schedule and proceeding apace ..."

"Well, that's good. We all need something to get us up in the mornings, am I right? We all need goals."

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"Yeah." An unwelcome thought seeped into Scaramouch's mind and lingered there. He tried ignoring it, but it flickered and swam, and finally he had to ask: "You don't view me as your deadliest enemy, do you?"

Pleasant hesitated. His skull remained as impassive as ever, but this hesitation spoke volumes. "I view you as a deadly enemy," he said helpfully.

"How deadly?"

"I don't know . . . relatively?"

"Relatively deadly? That's all? I thought we were archenemies."

"Oh," Pleasant said. "No, I wouldn't call us archenemies. Nefarian Serpine was an archenemy. Mevolent, obviously. A few others."

"But not us?"

"Not really . . ."

"Why? Is it because I'm not powerful enough?"

"No, not exactly."

"Then why? What's so different between me and, say, Serpine?"

"Well," said Pleasant, "Serpine had options. He was adaptable. Remember, the deadliest enemies are not necessarily the strongest, they're the smartest."

"So it's because I'm not smart enough? But I am smart! I am highly intelligent!"

"Okay," Pleasant said in an understanding voice.

"Don't patronize me!" Scaramouch snapped. "I have you as a prisoner, don't I? You fell into my trap without even a hint of suspicion!"

"It was a clever trap."

"And those chains that bind your powers--you think that's easy to do? You think that doesn't require intelligence?"

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"No, no," Pleasant said, "I have to admit, you got me fair and square."

"You're damn right I did." Scaramouch sneered. "And you don't even know about my plot yet, do you? You don't even know how intelligent that is."

"Well, like I said, I've been busy."

"Busy with Fines, and with Nocturnal, busy with the threat of the Faceless Ones--but you haven't been busy with the real threat, have you?"

"I suppose not," Pleasant said, and then added, "You mean you, don't you?"

"Of course I mean me! I've been smart enough to fool you all into thinking I was dead. I've been smart enough to work under your radar, to set in motion events that will grant me absolute power, which will lead to my total dominion over this world! Now that, Detective, that is smart!"

"Total dominion?"

"Oh, yes, skeleton. How does it feel to know that an opponent such as I, an adversary you would have classified as merely 'relatively deadly,' will soon rule this planet with a will of iron, and a fist of...," he faltered,"... iron."

"Urn ..."

"What?"

"I was just going to say, have you really thought this through?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're talking about ruling the world, right?"

"Yes."

"Not bringing back old gods, not turning the world into some new version of hell, not remaking it as you see fit . . ."

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"Well, no."

"You're just talking about ruling it, then?"

"Yes. With a will of iron and a fist of iron."

"Yes. And again, I'm compelled to ask--have you really thought this through?"

Scaramouch pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He was getting a headache. He could feel it coming on. "What do you mean? What is so wrong with planning to rule the world?"

"Well, for a start, think of all the work."

"I'll have minions," Scaramouch said dismissively.

"But they'll still need orders. They'll need you to tell them what to do. You'll be inundated with reports, with documents, with briefings. There won't be enough hours in the day to go over them all, let alone make any decisions."

"Then I'll just order that the days be longer," Scaramouch said. "I will decree that a day stops and starts when / decide, not the sun or the moon."

"And how will you cope with warring nations?"

Scaramouch laughed. "When I am ruler, there will be no wars. Everyone will do what I tell them."

"There are billions of people in the world, all with their own viewpoints, all with their own rights. It won't be as simple as telling them to just stop. What about famine?"

"What about it?"

"What will you do about it?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"If famine strikes a country, what will you do?"

Scaramouch smiled evilly. "Maybe I will do nothing. Maybe I will let the country die."