Skulduggery Pleasant: Last Stand of Dead Men (12 page)

“How about you?” she asked. “Have all of your biological processes reawakened yet?”

Scapegrace’s grin faded immediately. “Not yet,” he said. “I can feel my magic beginning to reawaken, but the biological processes are … taking their time. But it … it should be fine. I have a book about it. About what to expect. Actually, now that you’re here, I was wondering … If I have any questions about, you know, certain aspects of womanhood, could I ask you?”

“No,” she said.

“But just a few tips—”

“Under no circumstances. God, no. No way.”

“Oh,” he said. “Fair enough. I suppose … I suppose, OK, let’s keep this professional.”

“Professional is a good way to keep it.”

“It’s just … I don’t have any other female friends.”

She frowned. “We’re friends?”

“What about Clarabelle?” Skulduggery said. “Have you asked her?”

“I have,” Scapegrace said. “She tried to help, but then she started laughing, and she wouldn’t stop. She was laughing so much she couldn’t catch her breath, and she passed out.”

“She did,” said Thrasher. “I was there.”

“It’s all so confusing,” Scapegrace said, sitting down. “I don’t even know what size clothes to wear. I got a big bundle of clothes from a charity shop, but I don’t even know how to wear most of it. This top, the top I’m wearing now, it took me fifteen minutes to work out how to do it up.”

“It’s on backwards,” Valkyrie said gently. “It’s got a scoop neckline. That shouldn’t be on your back.”

“How am I supposed to know that? That’s ridiculous!”

“Also, yellow is not your colour.”

“I told him that,” Thrasher murmured.

Scapegrace jumped to his feet. “Now I have to figure out what my colour is? How is any of this fair?”

“It can’t be all bad,” Valkyrie said, trying for a reassuring smile. “You’re healthy, aren’t you? You’re alive. That’s something.”

“Yeah,” Scapegrace said, face in his hands. “I suppose.”

“And from what I’ve heard, the pub is doing really well.”

At this, Thrasher’s face soured. “It’s just a pity our clientele couldn’t be a bit … classier, that’s all.”

Scapegrace glared. “
Our?
”

“Sorry, Master. Yours.”

“There is nothing wrong with my clientele. Most of them are old friends of mine. Well, not really friends, but … but people I’ve known for years.”

“It’s nice that they’re supporting you,” Valkyrie said.

Scapegrace took a moment. “They treat me differently,” he said. “They’re nicer to me. They laugh now when I say something funny. No one ignores me any more.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes,” he said, and then shook his head. “Oh, who am I kidding? At least when they ignored me, they ignored me for the man I was, not the woman I’m not. Now I’m just an object to them. A pretty face serving them drinks.”

Thrasher’s eyes welled up. “They don’t see you like I see you.”

Scapegrace whirled round to him instantly. “Again, kind of an odd thing to say.”

“Sorry, Master.”

“Stop saying odd things.”

“Yes, Master.”

Scapegrace turned back to Valkyrie and Skulduggery. “You need something. Information? I’m your man. Sort of.”

“We’re looking for information about the Torment,” said Skulduggery.

“Ah, the Torment. I haven’t thought about him for years.”

“Who is he?” Thrasher asked.

“He’s before your time,” Scapegrace said, somewhat wistfully. “He was a Child of the Spider, or an Old Man of the Spider, whatever. He didn’t like Valkyrie because he could sense Ancient blood in her, and also he just wasn’t a very nice man. He could turn into a giant spider, though, which was pretty cool. Skulduggery, remember the first time you questioned me? You wanted me to bring you to him. They were good times, weren’t they? I was so different then. I wasn’t a zombie. I wasn’t a woman. I was me.”

“You brought the Torment to Roarhaven,” Valkyrie said. “You let him stay beneath this very pub.”

“And did I get any thanks for that? All the work I put into converting the cellar into a place someone could live – do you know how long that took? I mean, fine, I may have stolen most of the materials, but it was still a huge undertaking.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “You stole the materials to convert the cellar?”

“Sure I did. There were enough construction supplies coming into Roarhaven to rebuild the town ten times over.”

“What was it all used for?”

“Never did find out. But for ages I thought every house had another house underneath it, because there were just too many people here, you know? Too many people passing through, and I couldn’t see how they’d all fit. That’s how I got the idea to convert the cellar.”

“There are tunnels connecting this building to the Sanctuary,” Skulduggery said. “There might be more. Buildings under buildings, as you said. Streets under streets.”

“Maybe,” Scapegrace said, and shrugged. “I went looking one day, though. Couldn’t find anything. Although that could have just been because I’m rubbish and nobody likes me for who I am.”

“I like you, Master,” Thrasher said.

“You don’t count,” said Scapegrace.

Skulduggery pressed onwards before the conversation derailed. “All of this was happening after the Torment arrived?”

“No, a lot of it was going on before I ever met him. I convinced him to stay here because, you know, I thought it’d make the other mages respect me if I had someone like the Torment as a friend. But he hated me. He talked to other people. Never me.”

“What other people? Who did he associate with?”

“I don’t know. Everyone. He had meetings. I used to call them secret meetings, but they probably weren’t secret. They were just secret from me. People always wanted to talk to him, but I don’t think he was interested, I think he just wanted to retire. But that didn’t stop them. I remember the first time I saw Madame Mist come into town. At first I really wanted to find out what she looked like behind that veil, but then she creeped me out so much that I started to hide until she was gone.”

“Ever hear him mention the Warlocks?”

“Not that I can remember. Whenever Madame Mist was around, I didn’t go near the three of them.”

“Three?”

“Sorry?”

“You said the three of them.”

“Yes. The Torment and Madame Mist and the other guy.”

“What other guy?”

“I don’t know who he was.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“Sure. He was … well, he was regular height. Might have been taller. Or maybe below average. But anyway, his hair was … there. I think. He had a … face …”

“Do you remember anything
specific
about him?”

Scapegrace furrowed his brow. “It’s like … it’s on the tip of my tongue, but …”

“Don’t worry,” Valkyrie said. “We’ve been hearing a lot of that lately.”

“Would you be willing to sit down with a Sensitive?” Skulduggery asked. “They can enter your mind and might be able to lift that block.”

“My mind?” said Scapegrace. “No. God, no. That’s the only original part of me I have left.”

“We need to know who that man is.”

“Ask Madame Mist. They were always together. But no psychic is going rooting around in my brainspace, you got that? I have a secret identity to protect.”

Valkyrie frowned. “What secret identity?”

Scapegrace went pale. “None. No secret identity.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

Thrasher grabbed something from behind the bar and hurried over. “Um, Valkyrie, I don’t want to distract you or anything but, uh, this came for you …”

He handed Valkyrie an envelope addressed to the pub, but with her name on top. She opened it, unfolded the letter halfway and read.

“It’s from Cassandra Pharos,” she told Skulduggery. “She’s had a new vision. She wants us to go over there tonight. There’s no date, but … when did this arrive?”

“Yesterday,” said Thrasher.

Valkyrie frowned. “So are we late?”

“We’re dealing with a Sensitive who can see into the future,” Skulduggery said. “She knew when you’d read that. She means tonight.”

Valkyrie opened the letter fully. Her frown deepened. “She says say hello to the vampire for her. What does that mean?”

“Oh, yes,” Skulduggery said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you …”

hey didn’t talk about vampires.

That was a rule Valkyrie introduced right after Caelan had tried to kill her. It wasn’t possible to obey it at all times, of course – there were occasions when talking about vampires was sadly necessary – but for the most part they avoided the subject whenever possible. It wasn’t that Valkyrie had developed a phobia about them, either. She wasn’t
scared
. The fact of the matter was that she’d fallen into the arms of a gorgeous, brooding vampire, and he’d revealed himself to be a possessive, obsessive psycho.

The reason she didn’t talk about vampires wasn’t simply because of the sheer embarrassment of it all.

And now here she was, accompanying Skulduggery to Faircourt Flats, where vampires were all anybody ever talked about.

To the best of her knowledge, the situation here was unique. The ordinary tenants of the flats provided a constant supply of blood for Moloch and his pack, and in return the vampires kept the area clean from drugs and crime. Moloch’s apartment was on the thirteenth floor, and it was barely furnished. Deep grooves carved the walls. Moloch himself sat in the throne that was his couch, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a silver chain around his scrawny neck. His face was pockmarked but his skin was healthy. He must have fed recently. His eyes never left Valkyrie from the moment she stepped in the door.

“You killed Caelan,” he said.

“He died because of me,” Valkyrie clarified. “So what? You would have killed him yourself if it wasn’t for the vampire code.”

“Maybe,” Moloch said, “but I
didn’t
kill him, did I? You did. And so you’ve officially joined the ranks of the Fearless Vampire Killers, up there with Blade and Buffy and other anti-vampire propaganda. You must be so proud.”

“I didn’t want him to die.”

“I’m sure you did everything in your power to save him,” said Moloch, and looked at Skulduggery. “Is that why you brought her? To send a message or something? Is this your version of a sneaky little threat?”

Skulduggery shook his head. “Sneaky little threats are not my thing. I threatened someone once, but I was too subtle about it, so when it came time to throw him off the cliff, he looked awfully surprised. These days when I threaten someone I do it loud and blatant, just to make sure my point has been taken. It could be argued that Valkyrie is responsible for the death of a vampire, but how many have I killed over the years? Vampires die, Moloch, and it’s usually people like Valkyrie and me who are around to make sure it happens. May I sit?”

“The armchair’s for friends.”

“Do your friends ever wash? That cushion looks like someone congealed into it. I’ve changed my mind – I’ll stand. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“I didn’t offer.”

“But it’s the thought that counts and that’s the important thing. Moloch, you must know why I’m here.”

Moloch chewed on something. Valkyrie didn’t want to guess what it could be. “This war thing.”

“This war thing, exactly. We have a lot of trouble headed our way.”

“What’s this
we
business, pale-face?”

“We’re all in this together, I’m afraid.”

Moloch laughed. “We don’t have anything to do with you sorcerers. We keep to ourselves, we don’t bother no one, and no one bothers us.”

“And what if the Supreme Council takes over?” Skulduggery asked. “Do you think you’ll be able to continue with your peaceful co-existence? You know who’s one of the driving forces behind the Supreme Council? Grand Mage Wahrheit. And you know how much he loves you bloodsucking types.”

Moloch scratched himself. “Looks like I’ll just have to cross my fingers and hope you wand-waving types save the day at the last minute, then.”

Skulduggery shrugged. “And if we fail?”

“We’re all screwed.”

“You could help make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Moloch laughed again. “This is rich, this is. You people hate us. You despise us. Most of you don’t even rate us as anything above animal.”