The Faceless Ones

by Derek Landy

  “That’s one friend. Name two more.”

  Valkyrie opened her mouth, but no names came out. Kenspeckle finished the stitching.

  “I can afford to have no friends,” he told her. “I am old, and cranky, and I long ago decided that people are an annoyance I can do without. But you? You need friends and you need normality.”

  “I like my life the way it is.”

  Kenspeckle shrugged. “I don’t expect you to take my advice. Another problem with young people like you, Valkyrie, is that you think you know everything. Whereas I am the only one who can make a claim like that without fear of ridicule.” He stood back. “There. That should keep your face from falling off. The splinters should be out now too.”

  She looked at her hands, just in time to see the last splinter rise from her skin into the clear ointment. She didn’t even feel it happen.

  “Wash your hands in the sink, there’s a good girl.”

  She got up, went to the sink, and put her hands under the tap. “Will you help us out?” she asked. “Can Fletcher stay here?”

  Kenspeckle sighed. “There is nowhere else to keep him?”

  “No.”

  “And he truly is in danger?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Kenspeckle. Really.”

  “You’ll probably be back to see me again before the day is out,” he said as he walked to the door. “You’ll no doubt want me to sew your head back on or something.”

  “And you’ll be able to do it, right?”

  “Naturally. I’m just going to fetch you a bandage—then you can go.”

  He left, and Clarabelle breezed in.

  “Hello,” she said brightly. “You got into another fight. Did it hurt much?”

  Valkyrie smiled faintly. “Not really.”

  “The professor is always going on about how you’d be dead if it wasn’t for him. Do you think that’s true? I think it’s probably true. The professor’s always right about things like that. He said one of these days he’s not going to be able to save you. He’s probably right about that, too. Do you think you’ll die one of these days?”

  Valkyrie frowned. “I hope not.”

  Clarabelle laughed like she’d just heard the funniest thing ever. “Of course you hope you won’t die, Valkyrie! Who would hope to die? That’s just silly! But you probably will die, that’s what I’m saying. Don’t you think so?”

  Valkyrie dried her hands. “I’m not going to die anytime soon, Clarabelle.”

  “I like your coat, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s a little small for you though.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I have it when you’re dead?”

  Valkyrie paused, trying to think of an appropriate response, but Clarabelle had already flitted out of the room. A few moments later, Kenspeckle returned.

  “Clarabelle’s odd,” Valkyrie said.

  “She is at that,” Kenspeckle agreed. He fixed a small bandage over the stitches. “Give it an hour or so. The stitches will dissolve. It’s not going to scar.”

  They walked out of the medical bay.

  “I heard Cameron Light was killed yesterday,” he said. “I’ve never liked Teleporters, but even so, it’s a terrible world we live in.”

  “Why does everyone dislike Teleporters?” Valkyrie had to ask. “Practically no one I’ve met has a good word to say about them.”

  “Teleporters are a sneaky lot. Sagacious Tome was a Teleporter, in case you’ve forgotten, and he turned out to be a traitor. I just don’t trust anyone who would choose it as their magical discipline. How are the rest of us supposed to feel safe if there are people out there who can appear anywhere at any moment? When I was a younger man, I had a stifling fear that someone would appear beside me as I was using the toilet—and I had an anxious bladder at the best of times.”

  “Oh my God,” Valkyrie breathed. “I didn’t need to know that.”

  Skulduggery was waiting for them at the next corner, and immediately Kenspeckle’s face soured. “Are you going to be dragging her into more danger, Detective?”

  “She can handle it,” Skulduggery said. “Fletcher, on the other hand, cannot. Can he stay here?”

  “As long as he doesn’t annoy me too much,” Kenspeckle replied grumpily.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Then do me a favor, Detective, and solve this particular case as fast as you possibly can.”

  “Maybe you could help with that. If you could examine the body of the last victim …”

  Kenspeckle shook his head. “Unlikely. The Sanctuary has its own supposed experts, as you well know, and they wouldn’t appreciate my … input. From what I have heard, however, the killer has left no traces and no clues. He is, distastefulness aside, quite admirable.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass on the compliment when I’m hitting his face,” Skulduggery assured him.

  Kenspeckle shook his head. “Do you really think Valkyrie needs a role model who meets every obstacle with his fists? She is at a very impressionable age.”

  “I am not,” she said defensively.

  “Valkyrie is doing important work,” Skulduggery said. “She needs to be able to handle herself.”

  “That’s right,” Valkyrie agreed. “And you’re not my role model.”

  “The war is over,” Kenspeckle countered. “Those days of death and mayhem are gone.”

  “Not for some of us.”

  Kenspeckle looked at Skulduggery, and there was something in his eyes Valkyrie had never seen before.

  “Perhaps,” the old man conceded. “For those of you who need it.”

  Skulduggery was quiet for a moment. “Professor,” he said at last, “I hope you’re not implying that I like the death and the mayhem.”

  “Without it, where would you be? Or, more to the point, who would you be? We are defined by the things that we do, Detective. And you tend to hurt people.”

  Skulduggery’s chin tilted slightly. “The world is a dangerous place. In order for people like you to live in relative safety, there need to be people like me.”

  “Killers, you mean.”

  The simple viciousness of the words stunned Valkyrie, but Skulduggery’s body language showed no signs of anger, or even annoyance. “You are an interesting man, Professor.”

  “Why is that, Skulduggery? Because I’m not scared of you? Even during the war, with the reputation you and your friends enjoyed, I spoke out against your methods. I wasn’t afraid of you then and I’m certainly not afraid of you now.”

  There was a pause; then Skulduggery said, “We should probably go.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Kenspeckle agreed. “Valkyrie, it was lovely seeing you again.”

  “Right,” she murmured, unsure.

  She walked with Skulduggery to the double doors. Just as they reached them, Kenspeckle spoke again.

  “Detective, have you ever considered the fact that violence is the recourse of the uncivilized man?”

  Skulduggery looked back. “I’m sophisticated, charming, suave, and debonair, Professor. But I have never claimed to be civilized.”

  They walked out, and the doors swung shut behind them.

  Nine

  THE ENEMY

  TANITH LOW didn’t much like protection detail. It was often dull and deathly boring, and being in the same confined space as the person you were protecting meant a lot of cross words and general crankiness. She just wasn’t cut out to be a bodyguard.

  But Skulduggery had called her, told her she’d be doing him a favor if she helped out Emmett Peregrine, and she’d said okay. Peregrine wasn’t bad anyway, and all he really needed was for her to look out for him while he grabbed a few hours’ sleep. By the looks of him, he needed it.

  Tanith didn’t agree with Peregrine’s choice of safe house, though. They were in an apartment he owned in London, and he insisted nobody
knew about it. She’d tried to persuade him to go somewhere else, anywhere else, but he had that Teleporter arrogance she’d seen before. For hundreds of years, he had been a man who could not be captured, or cornered, or hunted, and that arrogance was still with him, even now.

  Together, they’d drawn enough protective symbols on the walls of the bedroom so that if anyone entered while he was sleeping, the entire building would know about it. They weren’t taking any chances, not when the enemy had someone like Billy-Ray Sanguine in their employ.

  Tanith spent the first few hours on a chair in the hall, looking at the door. She took a bathroom break, then went to the kitchen to look for something to eat. She was trying to figure out how the microwave worked when her phone rang.

  She answered and a man with a deep Kenyan accent said, “It does my heart good to hear your voice.”

  She smiled. “Hi, Frightening.”

  Frightening Jones was an old friend. They’d dated briefly back in the 1970s, before he took up a position within the English Sanctuary. Her natural distrust of authority meant that the relationship couldn’t continue, but they’d remained close, and anytime he heard something that involved her, he would call and let her know.

  “What have I done wrong now?” she asked.

  She could hear the TV on in Peregrine’s bedroom.

  “You’ve broken no laws lately,” Frightening replied, “or at least if you have, you have broken them very, very quietly. No, this is just a routine report that had your name on it. One of my agents has seen you with Emmett Peregrine.”

  Tanith’s smile vanished. “What?”

  “You are at his apartment, yes?”

  “Frightening, who else knows about this?”

  “The agent who saw you, and Elder Strom, whom I report to, and I. Is anything wrong? You can trust my agent, and Elder Strom is a good man. No one is going to hear about this who doesn’t have to, I assure you. And of course, Elder Strom has informed the Irish Sanctuary.”

  Tanith unsheathed her sword. “Why?”

  “The Irish are spearheading the Teleporter investigation. It was common courtesy that … Tanith, what is the matter?”

  “There’s a spy in the Irish Sanctuary,” she said, whispering. “If they know, the Diablerie know.”

  She hung up. That wasn’t the TV she had heard—it had been Peregrine, talking to someone. And he hadn’t been in his bedroom, either. He had been at the apartment door.

  Tanith lunged out of the kitchen in time to see the shadow of Peregrine’s killer in the corridor outside the apartment.

  In an instant, she was at Peregrine’s side. He was already dead. His warm blood was soaking through the back of his shirt.

  She ran to the open door, managing to catch a glimpse of the killer on the stairs, heading up. She gave chase, fearing that she was already too late. She reached the stairs and jumped, running up the wall, closing the gap between them. A door slammed shut overhead.

  Tanith grabbed the stairwell railing and vaulted over. Her boot met the door and it sprang open, and she ran out onto the roof of the building. A fist hit her like a wrecking ball. She went down and rolled, dimly aware that the sword was no longer in her grip. She got to her feet and fought the dizziness, backing away from the huge man with silver hair tied in a ponytail.

  His fist came at her again and she ducked, responding with a punch of her own that got him in the ribs, but it was like hitting a brick wall. It was like hitting Mr. Bliss. Tanith dodged back. This wasn’t the person who had killed Peregrine. He was much too big. Which meant that there was someone else on the roof.

  She tried to turn, but it was no use. A black boot came at her and she went spinning. She fell to one knee, and a dark-haired woman grabbed her and hauled her backward. Tanith saw a pretty face contorted with savagery and ruby-red lips that twisted in a sneer. She struck out with her elbow and the woman grunted, but when Tanith tried to follow it up with another strike, she was flipped over the woman’s hip.

  This woman wasn’t the killer either. Tanith cursed. She was being distracted while her quarry got away. She somersaulted backward and got up. The big man wore trousers with old-fashioned suspenders, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up on his muscular forearms. The red-lipped woman wore an outfit made up of an assortment of black straps that wrapped tightly around her body. Most of those straps held knives of varying sizes.

  Tanith waited for them to say something, to boast or threaten or tell her how they were going to take over the world, but neither of them spoke.

  Her sword was behind them. There was no way she could get to it, and she didn’t fancy the idea of taking them on unarmed, not without knowing who they were or what they could do. They moved with a violent confidence she found unsettling.

  She backed up to the edge of the building and they followed her. There was a man standing by the door she had come through. He must have been there all along and she hadn’t noticed him. He was slender, with dark hair, and he watched her with indifference.

  A thought came into her head and she didn’t like it. She was outclassed. Whoever these people were, she didn’t stand a chance against them.

  “This isn’t over,” she said, and blew them a kiss.

  The woman moved like nothing Tanith had ever seen. There was a flash of steel, and suddenly a knife was sticking through the hand she had used to blow the kiss. Tanith roared in pain and stepped back into nothing; then she was falling down the side of the building.

  Her hair whipping in her face, she reached out and felt brickwork. The friction peeled the skin from her fingertips. Her good hand snagged a window ledge, and her body swung in and smashed against the wall, and she was falling again. She tried bracing her feet against the bricks, to use her skills and shift her center of gravity, but her own momentum was working against her, and still she fell.

  She stuck both arms out and grabbed another window ledge. Now her knees slammed against the wall, and she screamed as the knife shifted in her hand. But she didn’t let go.

  Muscles straining, sweat coating her entire body, Tanith hauled herself up and through the window, into an empty apartment. She had failed her assignment and lost her sword, and her hand was bleeding profusely, but she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. They’d be after her.

  Her face burning with anger, Tanith ran.

  Ten

  FINBAR’S LITTLE TRIP

  IT WAS RAINING again by the time they got to Temple Bar, and dark. People hurried through the narrow pedestrian streets, collars turned up. Valkyrie nearly had her eye taken out by a spoke from a wayward umbrella, and she glared, but the woman was already moving on.

  “Skul-man!” Finbar Wrong said when he opened the door to greet them. His face, adorned as it was by piercings, split into a slow and happy grin. He was wearing a Stiff Little Fingers T-shirt that showed off the tattoos on his skinny arms. “Valkyrie!” he exclaimed with equal delight when he saw her. “C’mon in, the pair of you!”

  They stepped into his tattoo parlor, the walls of which were layered with designs and pictures and photographs. The whir of the needle drifted down from upstairs. Music was playing somewhere.

  “How’s it going?” Finbar asked, nodding his head as if they had already answered.

  “We’re on a case,” Skulduggery said. “We’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

  “That’s awesome, man, yeah. Hey, Skul-man, did you hear? Sharon’s pregnant! I’m gonna be a dad!”

  “That’s … great news, Finbar.”

  “It is, isn’t it? I know, I mean, I know it’s a lot of responsibility and all, and I know I haven’t been, like, the most responsible of cats. I know what you’re thinking—you’re thinking, Now that’s an understatement, isn’t that right?”

  Finbar laughed, and Skulduggery shook his head.

  “Not really.”

  “You know me too well, man! You remember how I used to be? Remember all the crazy stuff I used to get up to?”

  “No.�
�

  “Man, those were the days, huh? But hey, I’ve calmed down. Sharon’s been, like, this beacon of light, yeah? I have mended my ways, I can tell you that much. I’m ready for a kid. I’m ready for that responsibility.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear,” Skulduggery said.

  “Hey, you know, I was thinking … Skul-man, would you do us the honor of being godfather to our child?”

  “No,” Skulduggery said immediately.

  Finbar shrugged. “That’s cool, that’s cool. Sharon might be disappointed though.”

  “Sharon doesn’t know me.”

  “And hopefully that’ll ease the blow, but … I’m sorry, man, you wanted my help with something?”

  Skulduggery explained that they needed him to go into a trance and find the location of the gateway, and Finbar nodded, eyes half closed. Once or twice, Valkyrie was sure he was already in the trance, but when Skulduggery had finished explaining, he nodded again.

  “No problemo, el Skulduggo,” he said. “I’m gonna need absolute peace and quiet though. Being a Sensitive isn’t like any other kind of magic. I need total and utter seclusion, you know? Most Sensitives are hermits, like, living in caves and monasteries, somewhere in the mountains….” He looked around, eyes settling on the small kitchen at the back of the shop. “I’ll do it in there.”

  They followed him in. He flicked on the light, and Valkyrie closed the door while Skulduggery drew the tattered curtains across the window. Finbar took a map from a cupboard and laid it on the table.

  He sat and closed his eyes, and began to mutter in a language Valkyrie didn’t understand. Then he started to hum. At first she thought he was humming an ancient chant, something to elevate his consciousness to the higher plane. Then she recognized the first few bars of “Eat the Rich” by Aerosmith, and she stopped trying to guess what he was doing.

  “Okay,” he said in a dreamy voice, “I’m floating, man. I’m up here. Floating up through the ceiling … into the open … floating through the sky … Dublin looks so pretty, even when it’s raining….”

  “Finbar,” Skulduggery said. “Can you hear me?”