Skulduggery Pleasant: Dark Days (19 page)
Read Skulduggery Pleasant: Dark Days Online
Authors: Derek Landy
“You got it,” Fletcher said, gently placing his hand on Tanith’s arm. They vanished.
“Did you catch Scarab?” Ghastly asked Marr when he’d picked himself up off the floor.
Marr shook her head. “All the major players are gone. All we’ve come across so far are Hollow Men.”
“Look what I found,” Detective Pennant said as he walked in. He was smiling triumphantly, a strange stone hourglass in his hand. Green liquid sloshed inside the twin vials. “Looks like they left without their toy.”
Valkyrie stared. “
That’s
the Desolation Engine?”
“I found a bunch of other stuff,” Pennant continued. “Bits and pieces, junk really. One of the Cleavers is taking it to the boffins to make them happy. But this –
this
is the big one.”
“That bomb is live,” Skulduggery said quietly.
Pennant laughed. “It can’t be live. The old man didn’t have time to fix it. You’re talking days of work and he had, what, a few hours?”
“There are three steps to setting that thing off. Do you see the way the liquid is slightly luminous? That tells us it’s live. That’s the first step. The second step is arming it. We’ll know that happens when the liquid turns red and starts to bubble. The third and final step is when it’s triggered. Detective Pennant, you are two steps away from obliterating us all. Maybe you should hand that over to me.”
Skulduggery stepped forward, but Marr took it from Pennant before Skulduggery got near. “You may have been granted temporary authority, Mr Pleasant, but I am still Prime Detective and, as such, this is my responsibility. Once it has been declared safe by Sanctuary experts, maybe
then
I will allow you to examine it. But right now, this is ours.”
Pennant strained to look professional, even as he backed away from the bomb.
Fletcher appeared beside Valkyrie and she jumped.
“Sorry,” he said. “The doctors are looking at Tanith now.” He saw Pennant and waved. “Hi. Didn’t I beat you up once?” Pennant glared, but said nothing.
“You should all return with us to the Sanctuary for a debriefing,” said Marr. She hadn’t even glanced at the Engine. “Standard operating procedure.”
“But as you’ve just pointed out,” Skulduggery said, “we’re not official Sanctuary operatives, so I think we’ll be skipping that part of things, if it’s all right with you.”
“It’s
not
all right with me.”
“And yet we’re going to skip it anyway. Please, feel free to tell Thurid Guild that this was all your doing, while we focus on going after Scarab and his lot. And don’t worry, when we arrest them, you can tell everyone
you
did it. We don’t do what we do for the glory or the fame or the credit; we do it for the quiet satisfaction of making the world a better place, saving the lives of innocents, and being better than you are.”
Skulduggery tilted his head to one side and Valkyrie knew he was smiling.
V
alkyrie and Fletcher teleported into Gordon’s house, arriving in the living room where the sun struggled to come in through the windows.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” said Valkyrie, making for the stairs.
“I’ll come with you,” Fletcher said, following.
She turned. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“I’m just going up to the study.”
“I’ll help you.”
“You don’t read.”
“I read loads. Just not when you’re around.”
“Read down here.”
“Why can’t I come up?”
“Because the study is a treasure trove of secrets, and somewhere I like to be alone. It’s my uncle’s space.”
“What’s a trove?”
“A trove is a collection of valuable objects.”
“How would you know that?”
“It’s the kind of thing Skulduggery tells me.”
“You must have scintillating conversations.”
“They do put this one in the shade. I like the use of scintillating by the way.”
“I thought you’d be impressed. So can I see the study?”
“You ask that like you think you’ve argued your point and won.”
“I haven’t?”
“Big words don’t win arguments.”
She left him and climbed the stairs. The study was the same as she’d left it – books on shelves, notes in bundles, awards as paperweights. Valkyrie closed the door and pulled back the false book on the far bookcase, causing the bookcase to swing open. She walked through into the hidden room, the room that contained all of her uncle’s most secret magical possessions. The Echo Stone glowed on the table, and Gordon Edgley shimmered into existence before her.
“Well?” he asked. “How did the rescue mission go? How is Skulduggery?”
“Oh, yes, we got him back.”
“You did? Well, that’s wonderful news! I’m so happy!”
“Yeah.”
Gordon looked around. “I’m always in this room. There are no windows in here.” He looked back at her. “What’s wrong? You look troubled. Are you feeling OK?”
“I’m fine. I’ve just got another headache.”
“Another…?”
“They’ve been popping up over the past day or so. It’s nothing. I have this thing, just on the edge of my memory, you know that feeling? Every time I reach for it, it scatters.”
“I remember the sensation. Highly annoying.”
“Highly. But that’s not why I’m here. What do you know about Remnants?”
“Lots,” he said. “Fetch me my notebook from my desk. The big one.”
Valkyrie went to the study and opened the desk. Masses of notebooks. She selected the biggest one.
“I’d like to go for a walk,” Gordon announced when she arrived back. “I haven’t gone for a walk since…well, since I was alive really. I’ve almost forgotten what the outside looks like. Is it still green?”
“It really depends where you are. Can you, like, actually
go
for a walk?”
“Not on my own, but if you put the Echo Stone in your pocket, I can walk beside you. It’ll be fun. Do you remember the walks we used to take?”
“Not especially.”
“I can’t either,” he admitted. “I wasn’t really a walker when I was alive, was I? I was more of a sitter.” He smiled wistfully. “I did love to sit.”
“I remember that.”
“So? Can we go for a walk? Just around here. Not too far, I promise.”
“I…I suppose we could. It can’t be for long though – we can only spend a few minutes here.”
“We? Someone’s downstairs?”
“Yeah, Fletcher.”
“Oh! The mysterious Fletcher Renn!”
Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re teasing me.”
Gordon laughed. “If you take me for a walk, I promise I won’t tease you. He’s a Teleporter, isn’t he? Send him away for ten minutes. Or let’s just sneak out. I haven’t sneaked out of a window in over thirty years!”
“I sneak out every day…OK, but just a short walk and I’m reading as we go.”
Her uncle grinned. “Perfect.”
They approached the wood on the east side of the house so Fletcher wouldn’t see them. It was a surprisingly lovely morning, the rain having taken a break for the day, and warm enough for Valkyrie to have her coat draped over her arm.
“Towards the middle somewhere,” Gordon said, peering over her shoulder as she flicked through the notebook. “There! The next few pages contain everything I’ve ever heard about the Remnants. Some of it is anecdotal, some pure, hard fact. There’s more relevant information in those few pages than in any book you’re ever likely to read.”
“I knew you’d have something useful.”
He went back to looking around as they strolled, and took a huge breath and expelled it.
“I don’t actually breathe,” he said happily, “but it’s a nice habit to have.”
“I’ve always thought so,” she agreed, then glanced back at the footsteps in the lawn, at the blades of grass that were slowly springing back into shape. There were only her footsteps though. To the blades of grass and the world around then, Gordon was something less than even a ghost.
He started naming the birds they heard in the trees, and she was pretty sure the last four or five were names he’d completely made up. Valkyrie didn’t mention it though.
“What are you looking for?” he asked absently.
“There’s a Remnant inside Kenspeckle Grouse and we want to get it out.”
“Ah. You’ll need China Sorrows and her symbols, and a few other bits and pieces. How long has it been inside him? If it’s possessed him for more than four days, I’m afraid that means it has permanently grafted itself to its host. It couldn’t leave even if it wanted to.”
“It hasn’t been four days.”
“Well then, you should be fine. It’s all in those notes.” He looked up. “Do you hear that birdsong, the particularly sweet one? That’s a Wallowing Twite, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Is there anything you don’t know, Gordon?” Valkyrie asked as she flicked through.
“Nothing of any importance.”
She sighed. “I can see why you and Skulduggery got along so well.”
“Planet-sized egos do tend to form an orbit around each other. So what does that make
you
, I wonder?”
“I have no ego.”
“Then you’d probably be a moon.”
“I’m not a moon.”
“Maybe even a gaseous giant.”
“And I’m not gaseous. I’m the sun, how about that? The pair of you can orbit around
me
for a change.” She closed the notebook. “Thanks for this, Gordon. I’ll come back when I actually have time for a chat, OK?”
“I’ll look forward to it. Take care of yourself, Niece Number One.”
“Always do.”
T
hey had Kenspeckle tied to a chair in the middle of the room. His wrists were shackled behind him, and Skulduggery was securing his arms and legs with a thick rope. Kenspeckle was grinning at them.
The Remnant inside him wasn’t bothering to hide any more. Dark veins spread beneath Kenspeckle’s suddenly pale skin, turning his lips black and his gums grey.
“You’ll never get him,” Kenspeckle said in a voice that was not his own. “He’s mine now and I’m not giving him back.”
Skulduggery didn’t answer. Kenspeckle’s eyes flickered to Valkyrie and he leered at her. Spittle flecked his chin.
“You’ll release me,” Kenspeckle said. “Won’t you? After everything I’ve done for you? All the times I’ve helped you?”
“Kenspeckle helped me,” she said. “Not you.”
“I
am
Kenspeckle,” he said with a little laugh. “I have all of his memories, don’t I? I might not be the Kenspeckle you knew, but I
am
Kenspeckle. Valkyrie, please. I’m your friend.”
“We’re getting rid of you,” Valkyrie said. “There was barely enough room in Kenspeckle’s head for himself – there’s certainly no room for a lodger.”
The smile turned to a growl. “I’m going to kill you.”
“That’s enough,” said Skulduggery.
“I’m going to kill all of you.”
The door opened and China came in.
“And here comes the witch,” Kenspeckle sneered. “Going to draw a little symbol, are you? You think that’ll force me out? It’ll never happen. I’m too strong. Too powerful.”
China didn’t respond. She barely looked at him. Her students had been working in the room for hours before they’d even brought Kenspeckle in. Skulduggery nodded to her and she closed her eyes, and the symbols that had been drawn in the room earlier shimmered into view. Ornate signs and complicated sigils appeared on the walls, swept down to join the patterns on the floor and rose upwards and spread along the ceiling. Kenspeckle’s arrogance vanished.
“This will kill him,” he said quickly. “You hear me? This will kill the old man.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” China told him. “The Mass Expulsion of 1892 left hundreds of people
unconscious
, not dead. Kenspeckle Grouse will wake up in a few minutes with a sore head and a gap in his memory, but you, my little friend, will be trapped in
this.
”
Skulduggery showed him the Soul Catcher. For all its dreadful connotations, it reminded Valkyrie of nothing more threatening than a snowglobe. “You can save yourself a lot of pain by leaving that body willingly,” Skulduggery said.
Kenspeckle glared. “I’m not going back to that room.”
“This will only take a moment,” said China.
The symbols glowed, bathing the room in blue and then red and then green light. Kenspeckle strained against his bonds, cursed all of them and screamed and cried and then cursed them again. China walked around the walls, her fingers touching parts of the sigils, and with each new touch Kenspeckle gave a new scream.
“It’s coming,” China said.
Kenspeckle arched his spine, his body rigid and his head thrown back. Valkyrie watched as the Remnant climbed out of his screaming mouth. She thought she saw arms, and white eyes, and it turned sideways and she could see its jaws. It darted to the ceiling and Skulduggery held out the Soul Catcher. The nasty little thing twisted and writhed and screeched as it was dragged into the globe, which instantly turned black and went dead.
And then it was all over.
W
reath found them waiting for him in the cemetery above the Temple, dressed simply in their dark robes and talking among themselves. He strode to them, his boots crunching on graveside gravel, his finely tailored coat flapping gently in the breeze. He had never had any time for the false humility the robes represented, a laughable idea that all Necromancers were pure of heart and mind and purpose. He liked nice clothes so he
wore
nice clothes. In his opinion there was nothing as pure and honest as
that.
The conversation faded as the others watched him approach. To Wreath’s right was Quiver, a tall man who was almost as thin as Skulduggery Pleasant. Quiver’s cheeks were sunken hollows and his eyes gleamed from shadowed pockets. He was a man who only spoke when he had something worthwhile to say – quite a rarity in Necromancer circles, Wreath had to admit.
The man on Wreath’s left was Quiver’s polar opposite. He was blandly good-looking, but a little too pale and a little too weak to be truly memorable. Craven’s flattering words had elevated him to an unlikely position of power, but as of yet, Wreath couldn’t see how this benefited him in any meaningful way. Because he spent all his time agreeing with everything the High Priest said, he never had a spare moment to exert any influence of his own. Wreath couldn’t figure him out, and as such, he trusted him about as much as he liked him. Which was to say, not at all.
The High Priest stood between Quiver and Craven, his robes setting him apart. A little more frayed, but a lot more regal. Wreath wouldn’t have been surprised if High Priest Tenebrae wore a brand-new robe every day and had a team of sycophants carefully fraying it overnight, purely for effect. The thought almost made Wreath smile.
Tenebrae folded his long-fingered hands inside his voluminous sleeves and tilted his head on his slender neck. He reminded Wreath of one of those ridiculous birds that stand around in water all day – a crane or possibly a flamingo. Whichever one looked the silliest.
“Your Eminence,” Wreath said, bowing with due reverence. “I thought we were going to have this conversation within the Temple walls.”
“Walls have ears,” Craven announced pompously.
“No, they don’t,” Wreath reminded him without gracing him with a glance. “You’re thinking of people.”
Craven glowered and Wreath ignored him.
“I would prefer to discuss this matter outside,” Tenebrae said, “where we will not be overheard. I believe the Soul Catcher has been retrieved?”
“Yes,” Wreath said. “Valkyrie informs me that they need it to transfer a Remnant back to the Midnight Hotel, but once that is done, it will be returned to us.”
“The Soul Catcher is
our
property,” Craven said to Tenebrae. “They have no right to dictate to
us
when we can have it
back.
We should demand it be returned to us
immediately.
”
“In which case,” said Wreath, “they will ignore our demand then we will look weak and ineffectual in their eyes.”
“They can’t
ignore
us!” Craven spluttered.
“They can and they will. If you were ever to leave the safety of the Temple, you would quickly realise that nobody likes us. They think we’re untrustworthy and dangerous.”
“Then they should
fear
us!”
“And if we had a history of stepping out into the world, they most assuredly would. But it is widely known that we Necromancers like to stay in our temples with our schemes and our plots, and we really don’t like getting our hands dirty. Lord Vile, of course, being the obvious exception.”
“Traitor,” Quiver said softly, in a tone that almost conveyed emotion.
“Now is not the time to talk of Lord Vile,” said Tenebrae. “He was once our Death Bringer, he is not any more and so our search continues. Solomon, you will offer to take the Soul Catcher off their hands once the Remnant is trapped.”
“Sir?”
“Tell them you will take it back to the Midnight Hotel yourself, or tell them you want to study the contraption once it has a soul inside it. I don’t care what lie you use, just bring me the Soul Catcher and bring me the Remnant. Can you do that?”
“Of course. May I ask why?”
“No, you may not,” Craven sneered. Wreath shifted his gaze to him and Craven held that gaze for three whole seconds before crumbling beneath it.
“The Cain girl,” Tenebrae said, changing the subject with no need for subtlety. “She knows about the Passage?”
“Pleasant backed me into a corner,” Wreath admitted. “It was either tell her or risk losing her.”
“I remind you, Cleric Wreath, that we do not all share your conviction that she is the one we’re looking for. She’s far too young for a start.”
“She’s a natural, your Eminence. She’s taken to Necromancy faster than anyone I’ve seen since Vile.”
“Not auspicious company,” muttered Quiver.
“Maybe not,” Wreath said, “but she has the potential to surpass even him. She’s the one we’ve been waiting for. I’m sure of it.”
“His Eminence is quite correct, however,” Craven said, finding his voice again after far too short a time. “She’s much too young. Plus, she’s entrenched with the skeleton detective. Do you really think you can pry her from
his
side?”
“Not easily,” Wreath said, “but it can be done. Skulduggery Pleasant is a fantastically flawed individual.”
“Much more than even
you
know,” Tenebrae said. “We will need to meet with her, of course. Our encounters in the past few months have been too brief, and we need to accurately form an opinion of her ability.”
“Of course, High Priest.”
Quiver spoke up. “If she
is
suitable, she will have to be monitored closely to be kept on the right path. History cannot be allowed to repeat itself.”
“Agreed,” said Wreath, then hesitated. “Your Eminence, if I may return for a moment to the delicate subject of Lord Vile…”
Tenebrae looked displeased, and Craven stood at the High Priest’s elbow and copied the look remarkably well. Nevertheless, Wreath continued.
“It seems to me that the closer we get to the Passage, the higher the likelihood of stern opposition from non-believers and enemies alike. News will travel and rumours will spread.”
“Are you afraid of rumours, Wreath?” Craven laughed. “Are you afraid of idle chatter? Perhaps you are not the man we thought you were. Perhaps you are unsuited to be our representative outside the Temple.”
“Then who will take my place?” Wreath answered icily. “You? If all my post required was a staggering expertise at fawning, then you’d be welcome to it.”
“How dare you!” Craven practically screeched.
Wreath took a sudden step towards him and Craven stumbled over his own robe to get away.
“Enough!” growled the High Priest. “Solomon, you’re concerned that these rumours will reach unwelcome ears, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Such a concern is reasonable, but I can assure you, you need not worry. The Necromancer Order is stronger now than it was during the war with Mevolent. We are more than capable of dealing with trouble, should it arise.”
“With respect, sir, this is more than mere
trouble.
Forgive the melodrama of what I am about to say, but if the news that we are preparing for the Passage were to reach whatever corner of the world he has secluded himself in, Lord Vile
will
return to destroy us all.”
“In that case,” High Priest Tenebrae said with a patient smile, “we need to be sure that Valkyrie Cain is strong enough to kill him for us, now don’t we?”
