Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole (32 page)

“Sorry,” Fletcher said, “I can’t. You make me carsick.”

Ghastly frowned. “How does Gordon make you carsick?”

“Well, he keeps slipping, you know, out of the car, kind of.”

“That’s hardly my fault,” said Gordon. “Sometimes I don’t notice a turn coming up, or Ghastly switches lanes without telling me.”

“Sorry about that,” said Ghastly.

“It’s quite all right. Fletcher, I promise I’ll try harder.”

Fletcher exhaled, then nodded, and turned around in his seat. “OK,” he said. “Carry on.”

Gordon smiled gratefully, then the Bentley went over a bump and his face disappeared into the backseat. He had to lean forward to be visible again. The whole thing made Fletcher quite queasy.

“Instead of focusing on the distance travelled,” Gordon said, “think of it like this. You’re not the one moving.”

“I’m not?”

“You’re using your power to stay totally still, and the world moves around you until you are exactly where you want to be.”

“Uh…”

“It’s like me, right now. I’m tethered to the Echo Stone, and the Echo Stone is moving, but
I’m
not. The world is moving around me. And occasionally through me. For you, Fletcher, existence itself rotates and pivots according to your will. I’m sure someone of your self-esteem has no problem with the notion that the universe revolves around him, am I correct?”

“I think that all the time.”

Gordon smiled. “I know the feeling well. Emmett used to say that he let the world do the travelling while he stayed in the same place. He focused on where he wanted the world to stop, and that’s all he did. He didn’t burden himself with thoughts of distance, or how many people he was taking with him, or how big a cargo he was transporting. He saw his destination as a clear point in a whirlwind, and he let it come to him. Do you understand?”

“I… I think so.”

“That’s good. Understanding is the first step. Acceptance is the second. Once you’ve accepted this as fact, the possibilities are endless.”

B
urgundy Dalrymple didn’t live in a very nice house. It was, in China’s opinion, ramshackle to the point of dilapidation. It stood alone, a bungalow on a dead road. Two windows were lit up, and even the light was sickly. The garden was a jungle of weeds and long grasses. To be fair, China couldn’t see much of it in the darkness, and for that she was grateful. Squalor held no appeal.

Valkyrie called just as Skulduggery turned off the van’s engine. China waited while he spoke to her. They’d obviously succeeded in securing their half of the key. Skulduggery told
Valkyrie to wait for them, and then he activated his façade and nodded to China. They got out, and approached the house.

The front door opened slightly.

“Go away!” said a man’s voice from behind it.

Skulduggery and China stopped, and Skulduggery’s fake face smiled. “Hello, Burgundy,” he said.

“That’s not me,” said the man. “That’s somebody else. Go away.”

“Burgundy,” Skulduggery said, “we just want to talk to you. One minute of your time, and we’ll be gone.”

“I’m not Burgundy!”

“You’re Burgundy Dalrymple,” China said. “Master swordsman and war hero.”

The man’s laugh came out as something like a bark. “War hero? No one calls me a war hero!”

“Well,” China said, stepping out of the shadows so that he could see her face, “I suppose it all depends on which side of the war you were fighting on.”

There was a moment of silence, then his voice cracked as he said, “You’re China Sorrows.”

“I am, and this is Skulduggery Pleasant. We’d like to talk to you about Remnants, if you have the time.”

“I… I suppose…”

“May we come in?” Skulduggery asked.

“Well… all right. But I don’t allow people to bring in weapons. Are you armed?”

“No.”

“Show me. Open your jacket.”

Skulduggery hesitated. “Oh,” he said,
“armed.
Yes, I am armed. I’m a
little
armed. I just have a gun. In some people’s hands that’s
barely
a weapon.”

“Take it out and leave it there.”

Grumbling, Skulduggery did as he was told.

“OK,” said the voice, “come in.”

They stepped on to the porch. The wood was old and rotten and creaked under their weight. Skulduggery pushed the front door open. The hall which greeted them did so with dim light. The moment he stepped through, his face rippled, and withdrew from his skull. He stopped immediately, and turned to her. “Be careful,” he said, his voice soft. “This house has been bound.”

China felt it too upon crossing the threshold – the invisible tattoos that graced her body went dull as her magic was dampened.

“In here,” the man called.

They walked slowly into the living room. It was
surprisingly big, but barely furnished. There was a dining table in the middle of the room and a few chairs around it. A few lamps. That was it. The walls, however, were decorated with all manner of fencing swords, rapiers and sabres, and unlike their dusty surroundings, these swords looked like they were lovingly kept in perfect working order.

Burgundy Dalrymple stood on the far side of the dining table. He was a little too skinny and he needed a shave and a haircut and, China imagined, a wash.

“I’m Burgundy Dalrymple,” he said nervously.

“We need your help,” Skulduggery told him. “We know of your history with the Remnants, and we know how much it has affected you and how you live your life.”

“OK,” Dalrymple said. “Go on.”

“We also know that you have tracked down one half of the Receptacle key.”

“I’d have tracked them both down by now,” Dalrymple nodded, “but people stopped talking to me about ten or fifteen years ago, so no one would answer my, you know, my questions. Why? What do you want?”

“We want your half of the key,” China said.

Dalrymple’s tone was firm. “No. No. I’m keeping it so that
no one will be able to trap the Remnants ever again. I would have destroyed it already if I’d been able to, but it’s pretty durable. Why do you want it?”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “You mean you don’t know?”

“If I knew, would I be asking?”

“We need it to turn the machine on, Burgundy. The Remnants are loose.”

Dalrymple looked at Skulduggery, and for a long moment he said nothing.

“Where,” he said at last, sounding like he needed a drink of water, “where are they?”

“We need the key, Burgundy.”

“I thought you wanted to study it, or something. To run tests, to find out how something like that, how it works, but… But you want to
use
the Receptacle? Why would I help you do that? This is what I’ve been waiting for!”

“I don’t want to threaten you in your own home,” Skulduggery said, “so if you’d like to step outside, I can threaten you there.”

“Outside?” Dalrymple sneered. “Where magic isn’t bound? Where you can throw fire at me and take the key from around my charred neck?”

“Ah, so you have it
on
you?”

Dalrymple went to the wall, and grabbed a sword. “You want it? You’re welcome to take it.”

“It would really be much easier if you just gave it to me.”

“Come on!” Dalrymple snarled. “Let’s be having you!”

“I’d really rather not,” Skulduggery said.

“If you can beat me, you can take the key from my blood-soaked corpse!”

“Again, not entirely appealing.”

“Take up your steel!”

Skulduggery sighed, walked to the closest wall and chose a sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt. Dalrymple walked forward, and suddenly lunged. The blades clashed, and Dalrymple began circling.

“We really don’t have to do this,” Skulduggery said. “I mean you no harm. None at all.”

“I mean you
acres
of harm,” Dalrymple growled. “Untold
quantities
of harm. I will visit a whole
continent
of harm upon you before we are through.”

“You are an odd fellow.”

China watched Dalrymple come in with three quick jabs. Skulduggery parried the first two and sidestepped the third, responding with a riposte that Dalrymple blocked easily. They went at it again, blades flashing and singing together.
Dalrymple kept his left hand held high behind him in a classical fencer’s stance. Skulduggery kept his free hand low and out in front – far less flashy, far more cautious.

“You’re good,” Dalrymple said.

“You’re too kind,” Skulduggery responded.

“I haven’t faced anyone half as good as you in a hundred years.”

“That’s very nice of you to say so.”

“Not really. I just haven’t
fought
anyone in a hundred years.” Dalrymple pressed forward his attack, and Skulduggery retreated, barely keeping the slashing blade at bay. “I’m rusty,” Dalrymple continued. “Out of practice. My form is all wrong.”

“It looks fine to me.”

“It’s sloppy.” Dalrymple batted Skulduggery’s blade down and swiped at his head. Skulduggery jerked away and stumbled. “In my prime that would have taken your head off.”

Skulduggery scrambled to his feet. “How embarrassing for you.”

“There was a time in my life when swordplay was the only thing that meant anything.”

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

“But it was an empty time,” Dalrymple said, almost sobbed. “A lonely time.” Skulduggery moved in, trying to take
advantage of the distraction, but couldn’t get through Dalrymple’s defence. “And then the Remnant came into me, and that loneliness went away.” Dalrymple slashed, cutting through the sleeve of Skulduggery’s jacket.

Skulduggery backed off. “But you can’t remember any of it,” he said.

“I don’t need to remember details. It was the
feeling.
The feeling of being
whole.
Being
complete.
That’s what I remember. That’s what I miss. That’s what I want back.”

“And have you ever tried just making friends?”

Dalrymple snarled again, and stepped in quickly, his blade seeking out Skulduggery, who was doing his best to remain elusive. “You mock me.”

“I don’t,” Skulduggery insisted, on the retreat once more.

“You laugh at me.”

“I find it rude to laugh at a man with a sword.”

The blades scraped together and Dalrymple flicked his wrist. Skulduggery’s sword flew from his grip, and he had to dive to the floor to escape. He rolled and came up, giving himself some room.

“Burgundy,” China said, taking a rapier from the wall, “would you mind awfully if I replace Skulduggery for the remainder of this duel?”

Dalrymple looked around, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to spare you just because I’ve fallen in love with you,” he warned. “I know about you. I know it’s not real love.”

“But of course it’s real,” she said, flourishing the rapier. “All love is real love.” She sent out a light jab that he batted away. “Otherwise it’s not love, is it? Otherwise it’s pointless. A waste of time and energy. And I despise wasting either.”

Now it was Skulduggery’s turn to watch as Dalrymple came back at China and she blocked, replied with a swipe that
he
blocked, the shrill taps of blade on blade settling into a rhythm as they moved around each other.

“You’re trying to confuse me,” Dalrymple said.

“I am trying no such thing. The love you’re feeling is a real and genuine thing. Just because it is not reciprocated in the slightest does not lessen its worth.”

“You don’t love me,” Dalrymple sneered.

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

He neared. “You wouldn’t be fighting if you knew what it was like. When your body is a vessel for a Remnant, you don’t need tricks to make people fall in love with you. You don’t
need
their love.”

China backed away, blocking and countering. She stepped up on to a chair, and then she was on the table, and he was
following her up, the clashing of their swords only getting faster. It was dangerous up there, not much room to manoeuvre, and Dalrymple’s strikes were increasing in strength. China was impressed. Her wrist was already aching.

She saw Skulduggery, out of the corner of her eye, retrieve his sword and walk towards them. “Burgundy,” he said, “I am a firm believer in fair fights. I really am. But we did not come here to lose. We came here to get the half of the key that you stole, and we won’t be leaving without it. So I’m afraid we must cheat a little.”

While Dalrymple parried China’s thrust, Skulduggery poked at his leg – and Dalrymple’s blade clanged off his.

China blinked, then defended, and Skulduggery tried again to injure Dalrymple. But once again, Dalrymple’s sword flashed down, faster than her eye could follow, and he batted Skulduggery’s attempt away and then resumed his attack on China. She would have thought it impossible if she had not been there to personally witness it.

“Cheating against you isn’t easy,” Skulduggery murmured.

Dalrymple jumped down from the far side of the table. China followed him to the floor while Skulduggery moved around. They closed in, their swords cutting towards Dalrymple while he defended with startling alacrity. China
went left and Skulduggery went right, and still they failed to draw blood. The entire affair was becoming completely unacceptable. Any moment now, China was about to perspire.

She leaned in with a deep thrust that was parried, but she responded with a flick that almost took Dalrymple’s hand off at the wrist. Now the master swordsman was on the back foot. Skulduggery went low and China went high, and then they switched, and switched again, robbing Dalrymple of a chance to anticipate their next move.

“Surrender,” Skulduggery said.

Dalrymple didn’t answer immediately, too busy defending. “You seem to have me beaten,” he said at last.

“So it seems. But if this is true, then why are you smiling?”

“Because,” Dalrymple answered, “I know something you don’t know.”

“And what is that?” asked Skulduggery.

“I’m not right-handed,” Dalrymple replied, and threw the sword into his left hand. China cursed and fell back under his renewed onslaught, and Skulduggery cried out as a sliver of bone was cut from his arm. China lashed out desperately to keep Dalrymple away, but his sword was moving much faster than her own, and she couldn’t find her balance. She fell to one
hand, continuing the fight with her other while she tried to scuttle out of range.