Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole (27 page)

“Because every single sorcerer in the city will be on their way to help, and that’s where they’ll be going.”

“Into a trap.”

Skulduggery looked at him. “Aren’t you glad you got out of bed this morning?”

C
hina’s library never closed. No matter what time of the day or night, no matter what season, no matter the weather, the library stayed open. Knowledge did not take holidays, after all, and neither did China. There were no windows in the library – she hated the thought of the sun fading the spines of her books – but the windows of her apartment showed a Dublin that glistened with frost. It was cold and silver out there. It was warm and tastefully lit in her apartment. There were moments when China could not understand why anyone would ever want to go outside.

The man on the radio told her of police being called to a riot in North County Dublin. The man’s voice was too thin, too weedy for his chosen profession, but she forced herself to listen as he offered up the few meagre scraps of information he possessed. He mentioned the name of the nightclub, repeated the same eyewitness accounts, and generally got overexcited at the first real piece of news ever to come his way at this hour of the night.

China turned off the radio, then crossed the hall from her apartment and walked through the library, taking into account the shifting stacks that arranged themselves according to necessity.

It was an old trick, showy and gauche, and somewhat misleading. The stacks actually shifted in response to the mood of the room. If the mood was hostile, the books on combat would move to the front; if it was paranoid, the books on secrets and how to keep them would be foremost. It wasn’t a sophisticated trick, but China kept it because it reminded her of the library she’d had in her old family home.

She used to get lost in those stacks for hours, surrounded by books on the Faceless Ones. It had been a happy childhood. Completely insane, but happy. When she looked back on it now, she could see what a hollow comfort her faith in the old
gods had been. From the day the first cracks in that faith had appeared, it had taken decades for her to break through.

Every disciple of the Faceless Ones knew that if the old gods returned, they would bring hell with them. And yet every single one of them hoped that they would be among the few to be spared, to be elevated to godhood alongside their masters. A ridiculous expectation, but one that was reinforced by centuries of brainwashing.

As intelligent as sorcerers like Serpine and Vengeous were, as intelligent even as Mevolent himself was, they could not break free of a dozen lifetimes worth of conditioning. Bliss had managed it, and China had followed, but it hadn’t been easy.

But it
had
been worth it. True, she had generally had more fun in the old days, but at least she was alive, and independent, and she didn’t have to spend half her day praying. She’d never liked the praying part. She’d never been able to understand why the Faceless Ones weren’t praying to
her.

She slid a book from its place, catching sight of Flaring in the next aisle over. Flaring was an ideal patron of the library. She didn’t talk loudly, she didn’t leave books scattered around, and if she did have to borrow a work, she made sure to have it back within a reasonable amount of time. If only every library patron was as satisfactory as Flaring.

China opened the book in her hand, scanning the index, and something caught her eye. She looked back to the gap on the shelf. Flaring was out of sight now, but China knew she had seen a shadow move. She was not one to dismiss
anything
as her imagination playing tricks. China’s imagination was a wondrous thing, as every mage’s imagination needed to be, but it was also a disciplined,
ordered
thing. It was in many ways like a well-trained pet, and it did not, under any circumstances,
trick
her.

She became aware of a sound from the next aisle. It was Flaring. She sounded like she was retching. And then the sound suddenly stopped.

China was a logical woman, one not prone to jumping to conclusions, but two facts immediately surfaced in her thoughts. The first was that the Necromancers had a Remnant they’d been examining, and the second was a rumour she’d heard, just a few hours earlier, of an argument between Solomon Wreath and his High Priest.

Her mind flowed over the facts and the possibilities, and she replaced the book on the shelf and stepped slowly backwards. There was a Remnant loose. In fact, taking into account the nightclub riot so close to Haggard, there was probably more than one. A lot more.

China turned, walking smoothly and without unnecessary
haste. If she could silently alert the other patrons and evacuate them all, then she could seal the library and trap Flaring, and the Remnant, within. If she couldn’t, or if she felt the odds were leaning even slightly out of her favour, she would abandon everyone and seal the library anyway. Skulduggery could be here within minutes, take care of the problem, and the library would reopen without the loss of too much goodwill. A solution elegant in its cold simplicity.

But when she passed Jago Balance, and saw him struggling with a Remnant that was forcing itself down his throat, she knew her solution was no longer feasible.

She stepped back before he turned, taking a different route. She almost jumped when Hidalgo emerged from an aisle in front of her. He had that distracted look in his eye he always did, that seemingly only went away when he saw her. True to form, as soon as his gaze fell upon her, he straightened up and sucked in his belly.

“Hello, China,” he said quietly, a happy smile breaking out.

She put a finger to her lips, and he blushed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and hurried down another aisle like a chastised schoolboy. He was acting completely normally he wasn’t acting like he was possessed.

She started down the aisle after him, and froze. His back
was to her, his hands were at his face and he was gagging. Then he straightened up.

China walked on, forcing herself not to break into a panicked and undignified run. The door was close by. All she had to do was reach it and then she was out. Down the steps and into the car. Call Skulduggery as she was driving away. Once she knew she was safe.

But there were people by the door. China could see them through the narrow gaps between the books and the shelves. At least four of them, standing there, not talking. She heard someone behind her, but didn’t look round. Instead, she took a book from its place and moved onwards, flicking through the pages as she walked, pretending to read.

The material of her gorgeous skirt was soft and tight. Completely impractical for fighting. The heels of her gorgeous shoes were high and thin. Completely impractical for fleeing. For one dizzying moment, China found herself envying the rather vulgar style of Tanith Low, constantly attired as she was in the clothes of a common brawler – leather and boots and straps and buckles.

Then China came to her senses. All that leather may prove useful once in a while, but class was a gift that gave eternally.

She approached the back wall of the library without
encountering anyone, friend or foe. A secret door there led to a platform, just big enough for one. The platform lowered the passenger to the basement. All very secret, all very private. Nobody knew about it except for China. Well, except for China and her
assistant…

Who was standing there now, hands clasped before him. She ducked back before he saw her.

This was what she got for trusting someone. Back in her Diablerie days, she’d have killed anyone who knew about her secret escape route. Footsteps behind her and she dodged left, scowling as she did so. Forced to scurry in her own library. She hurried through the stacks and ducked down, and listened to them talking.

“Have you seen China?” her assistant asked quietly.

“Glimpsed her,” came the reply. Flaring.

“Think she knows?” asked another voice, a man’s this time.

“Possibly,” her assistant said. “Do we have everyone?”

“I think so.”

“Then there is nothing to be gained from stealth.”

China saw movement, and pressed herself back into the shadows.

“China,” her assistant called loudly. “We know you know. Why don’t you come out?”

“It’s really not that bad,” called Flaring.

“Be quiet,” the assistant said. “Whatever chance we have of her surrendering to me, we have none at all of her surrendering to the likes of
you.”
His voice grew louder again. “This is most undignified, I hope you realise. You’re hiding, for goodness’ sake. China Sorrows is
hiding.
I have to say, cowering does not become you.”

No matter how much she wanted to gouge out his eyes at that moment, she was forced to agree with him there.

“We’ll find you!” the man shouted. “If you fight us, we’ll hurt you!”

“Will you shut up?” the assistant barked. “China, we have known each other for a long time. I have been your faithful assistant for centuries. I don’t want to see you scrambling around in the dark, like a scared mouse with the cats closing in. If you’re worried about what will happen, please don’t be. You don’t lose who you are. I am still me. You will still be you. Once the Remnant is inside you, you become
more,
not less.”

Moving quietly, China took off her shoes. She closed her eyes. The other reason why she kept the old trick of the moving stacks was far less sentimental than reminding her of her childhood. Sometimes, very occasionally, old tricks became very useful, such as when the library was attuned to
her
moods
much more than anyone else’s. China told the library what she needed, and the library obeyed.

The stacks moved suddenly, slamming up against the possessed sorcerers, forcing them apart, making them stumble and stagger and cry out in shock. China leaped up and ran, bookcases creating walls on either side of her, forming a straight line to the door. But there was someone in her path. Hidalgo had managed to avoid being shunted aside. He turned and saw her, and started to smile just as the bookcase to his left shot into him, squashing him against the bookcase on his right.

China sprinted by. She plunged out into the corridor and slammed the door shut, tapping the symbol over the lock. The seal wouldn’t hold them for long, but it would be enough for her to make her escape.

She turned for the stairs, but two mages were just reaching the top. They smiled when they saw her. She didn’t wait to find out if the smiles were genuine, and she didn’t bother to warn them of the danger. She ran into her apartment, headed to her bedroom and grabbed the bag she kept for emergencies. She tapped the symbols tattooed onto her legs and felt the energy charge through her muscles.

At a gesture, the window flew open and China vaulted out. The cold hit her, the wind gushed around her, and she fell three
storeys to land in a crouch on the pavement. Nobody was around to stare. Headlights approached. She waved, and a taxi braked, skidding slightly on the icy road, and she jumped in the back.

“Drive now,” she commanded, “and drive quickly.”

The driver laughed, then glanced back at her, and fell in love.

“Drive!” she snapped.

Whimpering, he stomped on the accelerator and the car fishtailed as it leaped forward.

“Watch the road!”

He fixed his eyes ahead.

“Head for the city centre,” she said, unzipping her bag. “I’ll tell you where exactly we’re going once I make a phone call.”

She saw his eyes flicker to her in the rear-view mirror. “I love you,” he said.

China didn’t bother to respond. She took a pair of expensive boots from the bag, put them on the seat beside her, and took out the rest of the clothes. They were dark, tight-fitting, and stylishly practical.

“You don’t mind if I get changed back here, do you?” she asked.

She heard him whimper again.

“P
hilomena,” Scrutinous hissed. “Philomena! Get over here!”

Caught sneaking across the quiet street, Philomena Random jerked around, fists clenched, ready to fight. She saw Scrutinous waving frantically and hesitated, then jogged over. The moment she was close enough, Skulduggery stepped out and levelled his gun at Random’s face.

Random held up her hands. “Don’t shoot. I’m me.”

Skulduggery shrugged. “Unfortunately, Phil, if you were possessed, that’s exactly what you’d say.”

“Don’t call me Phil. My name is Philomena.”

“If you were possessed, you’d say that, too.”

“Geoffrey,” Random growled, “tell him to put his gun down. The Remnants didn’t get me. I’ve spent the last half-hour running from cover to cover to get here. I haven’t been seen by anyone or anything.”

“We’d like to believe you, Philomena,” Scrutinous said.

“Ask me then,” Random said. “Go on. Use your mojo on me.”

“I don’t know if it’d work on a Remnant.”

“Why wouldn’t it? It works on mortals, it works on mages. Why wouldn’t it work on a Remnant?”

“Do it,” Skulduggery said. The gun in his hand was scarily steady.

Scrutinous looked into Random’s eyes. “You’re going to tell me the truth,” he said.

“Yes, I am,” Random answered.

“You’re not going to lie to me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m me, you moron.”

“No need to be snarky.”

“Then get to the point.”

“Do you have a Remnant inside you?”

“No, I most certainly do not. Satisfied?”

Scrutinous looked at Skulduggery. “I didn’t feel anything odd. I think it’s her.”

Skulduggery put the gun away. “Philomena, we have reason to believe the Great Chamber is already infested. I think the Remnants are having a race to get to the most powerful vessels they can. This would be one of the first places they’d go.”

“So what are we going to do?” Random asked.

“We have to make sure. If we’re lucky, the sorcerers inside figured out what’s been going on in time, and they’ve sealed themselves away. If they have, we just have to reach them and get them out of there.”