Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole (40 page)

Tanith’s black lips parted in a weak laugh that Valkyrie cut off by squeezing.

The rumbling was now nothing but a low, rhythmic throb. The orb was spinning on nothing but its own momentum, and that was slowing with every turn. Valkyrie squeezed tighter, and Tanith’s free hand tapped uselessly at her.

“Get out of there!” Valkyrie screamed.

The orb stopped spinning, and the rumbling stopped, and the Receptacle deactivated.

“No,” Valkyrie whispered.

Tanith smiled, grabbed Valkyrie’s t-shirt and pulled her closer, and her elbow cracked against Valkyrie’s head. The next thing Valkyrie was aware of was a gunshot. She was on the ground – she couldn’t remember falling – and she was watching Tanith run up a wall of rock and vanish into the darkness.

Skulduggery limped over, keeping his gun-hand trained on where Tanith had last been.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“No,” Valkyrie whispered.

I
reland was under quarantine, all flights in and out of the country cancelled. There were no boats or ferries, not even the fishermen could leave port. Europe was on high alert, even now that a cure had been found for the so-called Insanity Virus. The scientists had a technical name for it, but because they didn’t have a clue how it started, no one bothered with them.

A small group of researchers had stumbled on to the cure, and they were getting all the attention and all of the praise. They had saved the country from a bizarre and mysterious
new pathogen which had baffled experts from around the world. The virus had struck, receded, and was now eradicated.

Some thought it had been a terrorist attack. Others blamed secret government experiments, which drew much mirth from government representatives. People had been hurt, property had been damaged, and memories had been wiped. The number of dead, it was reported, was much lower than it could have been, for which everyone should have been thankful. But there would be no big parties or celebrations this New Year’s Eve. After the last few days, it seemed like the whole of Ireland just wanted to lay low.

Valkyrie wasn’t feeling especially thankful either. It was still freezing cold, still harsh and unforgiving, and Roarhaven was the last place she wanted to be tonight. She wanted to be back at home, where she’d been spending most of the last few days, keeping an eye on her parents.

Skulduggery had arranged for a squad of Cleavers to provide protection, in case Tanith decided to pay Haggard a visit, but Valkyrie was still worried, and in no mood to watch other people play politics.

Roarhaven Sanctuary was a mass of corridors that spiralled inwards to its centre. It was smaller than the old Sanctuary in Dublin, and less concerned with charm or, indeed, heat.
Heavy doors led off into rooms of varying sizes and functions. Many of the corridors were swamped in darkness, and others too dimly lit to be of any real use.

They arrived at the centre room. Skulduggery pushed the doors open and Valkyrie and Ghastly entered after him. Ravel nodded to them, but didn’t break off his conversation with Geoffrey Scrutinous and Philomena Random. Valkyrie saw many people she recognised from the first meeting before Christmas. They were quiet, and looked tired.

The Necromancers stood off to one side, talking among themselves. To their right the Torment stood alone. The mood was sombre. Eyes were cast down. Gazes were not met. The atmosphere hung heavy with shame and regret and guilt.

Corrival Deuce was one of the dead. Who had killed him was unknown, and virtually impossible to establish, but it had sent all their plans and schemes into a spiral. Valkyrie hadn’t known him for long, but she recognised the loss as much as anyone. He had been their great hope, a leader strong enough to convince the international community that Ireland could stand on its own, without interference from others. And now that hope was gone.

Gradually, the conversation died down. Ravel cleared his throat. “I suppose we should start, then. Welcome, all of you.
We’ve been through a lot in the last week, and I am immensely glad to see so many of you here tonight. We have lost friends and family, we have seen the whole country plunged into a nightmare we can only hope it will recover from – but of course, we don’t have the luxury of time in which to lick our wounds and grieve for the departed.

“We have a state of emergency. According to a trusted source in the German Sanctuary, in those few days when we were compromised, the international community, headed by the American Council, was about to swoop in and save the day. While it could be seen as reassuring to have such good friends around the world, the unfortunate fact of the matter is that if they did swoop in, they would never swoop out again.”

“Which means we need to consolidate our power as soon as possible,” Scrutinous said, “and
that
means choosing a new Council of Elders.”

“A vote,” said Shakra. “Now. Tonight. We need to show them we’re strong and decisive in the wake of what happened.”

“Erskine,” Skulduggery said, “I think the obvious thing would be to have you as the Grand Mage.”

Ravel frowned. “What?”

“I agree with Skulduggery,” Ghastly said. “You know how the game works. In fact, I’d say the internationals would actually find you
better
to work with than Corrival. You were his right-hand man for years – you share some of his views, but you aren’t nearly as extreme.”

Ravel rubbed his forehead wearily. “And does it matter at all that I have absolutely no interest at all in doing this job?”

“Not really,” Skulduggery said. “Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“A vote,” said Scrutinous. “All those in favour.”

Ayes
filled the room.

Ravel sighed. “Fine. And in that spirit of desperation, Skulduggery can be my first Elder.”

Skulduggery shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“And how come you get to pass on the job offer and I don’t?”

“Because I’m me.”

“I have a suggestion,” said the Torment. Everyone looked at him. “We have already given you the Roarhaven facility to use as your new Sanctuary, which you have gratefully accepted. However, some of the citizens of our fair town have voiced misgivings. They feel that our good will has been taken advantage of.”

“Go on,” Ravel said, suspicion in his voice.

“It is our opinion that the Council of Elders should be comprised of three mages of firmly different sensibilities. For too long, the members of the Council have all thought the same way, held the same view, and clung on to the same prejudices. If Erskine Ravel is indeed elected Grand Mage, it is my feeling that the first of his Elders should be Madam Mist.”

Ravel actually recoiled at the suggestion. “But… Madam Mist is a Child of the Spider.”

“As am I,” the Torment said. “You would dismiss us all because of this?”

“No, of course not, it’s just… Children of the Spider have always been reclusive. Even more so than the Necromancers.”

The Torment nodded like a wise old man. “And it is time we changed our ways. Madam Mist would not only be a representative of the people of Roarhaven – and you would need their support for this Sanctuary to succeed – but she would also be a voice for the few, and the marginalised.”

“Everyone gets heard in the Sanctuary,” Ravel countered.

“And Madame Mist will ensure that valued tradition continues,” the Torment said. “Unfortunately, this is not open to discussion. If our request is denied, we will be forced to withdraw all assistance – this very building included.”

“You’re holding us to ransom,” Flaring said. “There’s no way we’d ever agree to that.”

“Excuse us for a moment,” Skulduggery said, drawing stares from everyone in the room. He walked to the side, followed by Ravel and Ghastly and Valkyrie.

“You can’t be serious,” Ravel whispered. “You can’t seriously expect me to work beside Mist.”

“It’s what they’ve been planning all along,” Skulduggery replied. “When they offered us this building, we knew there was going to be a hitch.”

“Mist is more than a hitch,” said Ravel.

“Your Council is going to need her in order to survive here.”

“If they planned this,” Valkyrie said, “then we’re just going along with their plan. How is that a good idea? This is the Torment we’re talking about.”

Skulduggery shook his head. “Their plan was for Mist to be an Elder alongside Erskine, with Corrival as Grand Mage. But that isn’t the case any more. Now Erskine is the Grand Mage, and so whatever schemes they’ve come up with are going to have to change.”

“Then we need another Elder who’s on our side,” Ghastly said. “To make sure Mist is kept in line.”

“Yes, we do,” Skulduggery nodded. “Which is why it should be you.”

Ghastly’s eyes widened. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Why not? You’re liked, you’re well-respected, and everyone knows about your bravery on the battlefield. This could be your chance to make a real difference.”

“I’m not a politician,” Ghastly said. “I’m a tailor.”

“You can still make my suits in your spare time, but we’re really going to need you to do this.”

Ravel nodded solemnly. “Destiny is calling, my friend.”

“That’s not destiny, that’s you. And if it’s bravery on the battlefield you’re after, why not ask Anton, or Vex, or any one of the Dead Men? There were more than just you, me and Skulduggery in our little group, if you remember.”

“Anton Shudder scares people, and Dexter Vex is halfway around the world, living the life of an adventurer.”

“Ghastly, think about what this will mean,” Skulduggery said. “As Elder, you could track down Tanith, capture her without harming her, and authorise a team of experts to figure out how to get rid of the Remnant inside her. Who else is going to take the time to do that? Who else is going to care enough?”

Ghastly closed his eyes. “Fine.”

“Well?” the Torment asked as they rejoined the others. “Have you reached a decision?”

“Yes, I have,” Ravel said. “I will need to meet with Madame Mist to discuss a wide range of matters, but it would be an honour to have her beside me, providing no one has any objection to my own nominee, Ghastly Bespoke. No? No objections? Excellent. In that case, we have a new Council of Elders. I think applause is due.”

They started to clap, and Valkyrie joined in. She waited until they were on their way out, when she was alone with Skulduggery, before speaking again. “Is it possible?” she asked. “To help Tanith?”

“No,” he said. “From what we know of Remnants, it’s permanently bonded to her. There’s no helping her, not any more.”

“So you lied to Ghastly.”

“Ghastly knows,” Skulduggery said, his voice sad. “He just doesn’t want to believe it.”

Fletcher was waiting outside. When Skulduggery left them, Fletcher gave Valkyrie a pair of sunglasses.

She frowned. “Where are we going?”

“Australia,” he smiled, and took her hand. In an instant they
were standing in a park on a sunny Sydney morning, obscenely bright despite the sunglasses, and the heat hit her like a fist.

“Woah,” she breathed.

She turned, saw couples and families strolling in the sun. She saw the edge of the Opera House, half-hidden by tall trees, and she turned again and saw the city.

“Thought you might appreciate the change,” Fletcher said, slipping on his own pair of sunglasses.

Valkyrie took off her jacket and sat on the grass, then lay back, smiling broadly despite everything that had happened. “I should get you to bring me places like this more often,” she said. “Pack a pair of shorts, a bikini… I’d be set.”

Fletcher sat down beside her. “And how’d you explain a tan to your folks in the middle of winter?”

“I’m sure I’d find a way.”

“So why don’t you?” he asked.

“Why don’t I what?”

“Get me to take you to places like this more often?”

“I don’t know. I should. I suppose I’m always busy.”

“Well,” he said with a laugh, “it’s either that or you’d rather spend your time with Skulduggery than me.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Really?”

“It’s partly true,” she admitted.

Fletcher nodded. “I don’t blame you, actually. He didn’t try to hurt you like I did.”

Her smile dropped. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“It still happened.”

“And you can’t remember any of it.”

“Does that mean I don’t get to feel guilty?”

“We all feel guilty, Fletch.”

He looked at her, and she looked away. To her right, a bright green bird, some kind of parrot, was feasting on a discarded sandwich. Valkyrie watched it until it had eaten its fill, and then it hopped closer. She stayed very still. The bird hopped on to her folded jacket. It was so close she could sit up and touch it, but she didn’t move.

Fletcher looked at the bird and smiled. “This is what I love about Australia. If we were in Dublin or London, this would be a dull old pigeon, and we’d be shooing it away. But here, everything’s brighter, more colourful. More fun. I should take you down to the Gold Coast. Take you surfing.”

“Wait till I’m better at manipulating water,” Valkyrie replied. “Then I’ll surf.”

“But that takes the fun out of it.”

The bird hopped on to her leg, and she laughed. It travelled
north, and stood on her belly, its head twitching as it surveyed its surroundings.

Fletcher grinned. “You’ve made a friend.”

“It’s waiting for me to give it some food. I haven’t got any food, birdie. Look, it’s completely ignoring me. If it perches on my face, I swear to God…”

“Give me a smile,” Fletcher said, moving his phone up slowly. He took three pictures, and on the third the parrot or cockatoo or whatever it was looked around, and Fletcher nodded. “That’s a good one,” he said. “That’s one you can never show your family.”

The bird flapped its wings. Valkyrie yelped and turned her face to the side as it lifted off, and when she looked back, it was sitting on Fletcher’s head. She burst out laughing and rolled away, fumbling with her own phone before the opportunity was gone. Laughing so much her hand was shaking, she took a half-dozen pictures of an increasingly horrified Fletcher.