Bedlam

by Derek Landy

  “Skulduggery—”

  “Just one night. I’ll talk to her when she’s calmed down, and I’ll convince her. You have my word. Then you can fix Alice. OK? I promise.”

  “You’re certain you can convince her?”

  “Fletcher’s going to teleport me to America first thing in the morning. Tanith and Oberon have found where Blackbrook operate from. I’m going to join them and we’re going to get some answers, so I’ll be able to approach China with real, concrete results. I’ll tell her I need you by my side. She’s angry, yes, but she’s not going to keep you locked up out of spite.”

  “OK,” Valkyrie said. “That sounds like it might work.”

  “Just one night,” Skulduggery said. “That’s all.”

  Her cell wasn’t that bad, all things considered.

  It was clean. It had a desk, screwed to the wall. The mattress was thin but fine. The pillow was new. The toilet was uncomfortable, but she could handle that.

  Valkyrie lay there, in the dark. She wasn’t wearing the shackles that bound her magic any more, but they’d put a metal bracelet around her wrist that did the same job.

  She was getting worried. She hadn’t been able to listen to the music box since she’d parked. Right now, she was fine. No voices, no panicking. No Ghastly. No Nemesis of Greymire.

  She just needed to stay like this. To stay calm. To fall asleep. That wasn’t too much to ask. She’d been falling asleep all her life, for God’s sake. She was good at it. And tomorrow Skulduggery would convince China to let her out and she could go straight to her car and open that music box. And then she could heal her sister.

  The problem was she’d been lying here for hours. She didn’t know how long exactly, but she guessed that it must have been around two in the morning. And the more she stayed awake, the more her mind churned. And a churning mind was not a calm mind. If she didn’t fall asleep soon, she was going to start to panic, and, if she started to panic, Ghastly would appear, and if Ghastly appeared—

  She took a deep breath. No. Calm down. Calm down.

  She heard footsteps and she felt her face go cold and she sat up.

  She listened as they got closer, and she relaxed. Too many footsteps. She laughed to herself. Unless Ghastly had brought along a bunch of imaginary friends, that wasn’t him.

  The footsteps stopped outside her door. A key rattled in the lock.

  He’d done it. Skulduggery had done it. She was getting out already.

  The door opened and Sergeant Yonder stepped in.

  Valkyrie didn’t get it. She didn’t get how he could be standing there with his hands on his hips, wearing his City Guard uniform and a smile.

  “They reinstated me,” he said. “Commander Hoc called me himself, said the City Guard was understaffed, and needed good people like me. The Supreme Mage was forced to take me back.” He laughed. “That’s your friend, isn’t it? The Supreme Mage? Or she was your friend. But she’s thrown you away, hasn’t she? You’re a traitor now. An enemy of Roarhaven.”

  Valkyrie realised what was about to happen. It made her mouth dry. Her heart beat so hard she could feel it in her wrists.

  “You’re not so chatty now,” Yonder continued. “When you were arresting me, you were all chat. You wouldn’t shut up, would you, you and the skeleton? You had your witty banter thing going on. Has anyone ever told you how annoying it is to listen to that? It’s like you think you’re the king and queen of your own little world, and the rest of us are just here to stand around and listen to how smug you both are. Where are your jokes, Cain? Huh? Where are they? Where’s the arrogance now that you’re in a cell without your magic or your horror-show partner to back you up?”

  He perched on the edge of the desk. “Nothing to say? That’s disappointing. I told all my friends how chatty you were. You’re going to make me look bad.”

  More City Guards came in. Valkyrie recognised two of them from the arrest at the mortal shop – Lush and Rattan. The other man she didn’t know. They all held shock sticks – like the ones Valkyrie used but bigger. Heavier. Lush handed Yonder a stick of his very own.

  Valkyrie stood up slowly. It was coming. It was inevitable. There was nothing she could do to stop it from happening, and nothing she could do to defend herself. They were going to beat her. They weren’t going to kill her – that would be going too far, even for them. But beating her … that was just far enough.

  There was no chance she could talk her way out of it, and no chance they’d have mercy. In a way, it had already happened. That made her feel better, knowing it had already happened. It allowed her to detach.

  “Careful,” Yonder warned with a smile. “Any move we deem potentially aggressive shall be met with reasonable force.”

  His friends laughed at the reasonable part.

  “If you’re going to do it,” Valkyrie said, “do it.”

  Yonder lost his smile. “What’d you say? What was that, Prisoner Cain?”

  She wanted to repeat it, but her mouth was too dry.

  He came closer. “Are you challenging my authority, Prisoner Cain?”

  He jabbed his stick into her belly. It hurt, made her step back. He hadn’t shocked her, though. That was coming.

  “You’d better watch yourself,” he continued. “Down here, we are the only law that means anything. If you upset us, we upset you. You don’t want to upset us, do you?”

  Maybe she deserved what was about to happen. She’d been given a choice, after all, and she’d chosen to betray the High Sanctuary. She thought maybe she’d be given a slap on the wrist. She hadn’t thought she’d be shackled. Maybe she should have.

  What had she learned in the last few years if not that her actions had consequences? What had she learned if not that she possibly deserved those consequences?

  Valkyrie looked at them, Yonder and his little gang of eager thugs, as they lit up their shock sticks. She watched them shift their weight, narrow their eyes, and grip the weapons tighter. Their adrenaline was coursing. Their hearts were beating faster. Violence was but a moment away. They were athletes at the starting blocks, their bodies ready to spring forward. All they needed was the starting pistol.

  Valkyrie licked her lips, got some moisture back into her mouth, and then she said, “Let’s be having you.”

  Yonder swung first. The stick connected with her skull and the world flashed white and the only reason she didn’t fall was because her legs were too stupid to get the message. The others crowded round as she stumbled back against the wall. Their sticks left crackling blurs in the air as they swung. She felt ribs break. Every touch jolted her into a new position that she was immediately punished for. Someone, she thought it might have been Lush, broke her jaw. She swallowed blood. She swallowed teeth. Her knee buckled – broken? – and she fell. Their boots came for her, then. She curled. More ribs broke. Her cheekbone shattered. Shock sticks rammed into her side and she screamed, arching her back, giving them more targets. They beat her until they couldn’t touch her any more, until she fell into endless night. She didn’t know what happened after that.

  Omen sat and worried.

  The prison buzzed outside his cell. Convicts looked in as they passed, cracked jokes, made threats, laughed about it and clapped each other on the back as they moved on.

  Omen didn’t answer any of them. He just sat on the bed, knees drawn in, and did his very, very best not to cry.

  A big man came up to the bars and looked in.

  “Oh, God,” said Omen.

  The big man sniffed. “Remember me, do you?” he asked. He had a cold.

  Omen stood up. “You’re Immolation Joe.”

  “Last time I saw you,” said Immolation Joe, “I asked you to let me out of my cell. You were worried that I might kill you. Because of my name. And the fact that I kill people. I asked you to let me out, but you kept saying no.” He paused to blow his nose. “The thing is,” he said, “you were right not to. I wasn’t ready to be released. Abyssinia, she released all of us
a little bit later, and since then I’ve killed seven people.”

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  Immolation Joe frowned. “Why would you think I’d kill you? Why would you automatically assume that I’d do that? There’s more to me than killing. There’s more to all of us than the things we like to do. I have facets, kid. Facets.”

  “I’m … I’m sorry.”

  “I mean, I could do it. There’s a part of me that wants to.” He clicked his fingers and stared into the flames that danced in his palm. “I’d love to just … set you on fire. I love setting things on fire.” He quashed the flame. “But they’ve got plans for you, haven’t they? Abyssinia and whoever?”

  “I … I think so.”

  The big man grunted. “So I really shouldn’t kill you. I know I shouldn’t. They’d kill me if I did, you know? What’d that be? Would that be ironic?”

  “Maybe,” said Omen, though he seriously doubted it.

  Immolation Joe looked away for a few seconds, and sniffed again. “I’m considering leaving,” he said.

  “You are?”

  He nodded. “This isn’t for me. Being part of an army and all? I wasn’t born to take orders or to carry out … plans. I’m just a guy who likes to burn people. Abyssinia and that lot, they want to rule the world – but where do I fit in? If we do end up ruling the world, where am I going to be in the hierarchy? Am I going to be at the top, sitting on a throne being fed grapes, or am I going to be scurrying around with a whip somewhere, scaring the mortals and making sure they carry rocks or build pyramids?”

  “Probably the pyramid thing,” said Omen.

  “Yeah,” said Immolation Joe, “that’s what I think, too.” Another sniff. “I like the world the way it is. I don’t hate mortals – not any more than I hate most sorcerers anyway. I eat the food they make, I watch their movies, I drive their cars. Why would I want to do anything that’d mess that up?”

  “Do you think there are others like you?”

  “Who are considering leaving? Yeah, probably. No one talks about it, though. Most of them, they try not to even think about it, what with Abyssinia being able to read their minds.”

  “Maybe you could, um, form a club or something.”

  Immolation Joe frowned at him. “Why?”

  “So you could talk about it. And, if there were enough of you, maybe you could approach Abyssinia with your concerns. Like a trade union.”

  “Huh.”

  “We kind of had a trade union in school,” Omen said. “Well, I wasn’t involved, but some others formed a student council, and went to Principal Rubic with a list of things they’d like changed.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Some things were changed, I think. A little.”

  Immolation Joe blew his nose again, and examined the contents of his handkerchief before putting it away. “Ah, I don’t know, kid,” he said. “Something like that’d only draw attention to me and make it harder to leave. Besides, everyone’s buzzing about the Sanctuary thing right now. There’s no talking to them.”

  “What Sanctuary thing?”

  “Just a thing,” said Immolation Joe, and Omen didn’t press it. “So, yeah, I reckon I’ll just split. But, before I do, I owe you something.”

  Omen’s stomach went cold. “You do?”

  Immolation Joe nodded. “I asked you to let me out, and, even though I wasn’t ready, you still opened my cell door.”

  Omen blinked. “That’s right,” he said. “I did.”

  “And I appreciated that,” Immolation Joe said. “Even though it was by accident, and even though Temper Fray kicked me back in, you did let me out. So, I guess, thank you.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome. Are you going to let me out now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you going to help me get off the island?”

  “Nope. I’m already doing enough for you by letting you out and not burning you alive. I’m not a charity, kid.” He nodded to Omen. “Good luck.” He walked away, and a moment later the cell door clunked slightly as the lock retracted.

  The binding seal broke instantly, and Omen felt his magic return. His first instinct was to throw open the door and run, but he had nowhere to run to. He stood there, beside the bunk, trying to imagine what Auger would do in this situation. It was obvious, really. Auger would find a way to turn the tables on the bad guys and either call for help or just take them all down single-handedly. The second option was out of the question for Omen, so that left him with the first. Call for help. Unfortunately, he didn’t have his phone, and there was no other way to …

  His eyes widened.

  He sat on the edge of the bunk, startled by the very fact that something he’d learned in school might actually come in useful, and he did his best to empty his mind. It wasn’t easy in a prison, and each time he’d get close a random thought would blurt its way across his consciousness.

  He did what Miss Wicked had taught them, though, and focused on his brother’s name and repeated it in his head, over and over again. He pictured Auger’s face. His breathing deepened. His brow furrowed.

  After ten minutes, he stopped, his head aching and his ears ringing. He waited until the pain receded a little, then closed his eyes and tried again.

  Immediately there was a rush of thoughts inside his head and he latched on to something, someone, far away in the darkness.

  “Auger?” he whispered. “Auger, can you hear me?”

  For a moment there was nothing – and then a voice screamed in his head –

  OMENWHATISTHISYOUOMEN?

  – and Omen hissed in pain, the words vibrating off his very skull as he fell sideways off the bunk and he lost it, he lost the connection.

  Then he heard footsteps. Slow footsteps, and a tune being whistled. ‘Flowers in Your Hair’. He stood quickly.

  A man with long grey hair came into view, dressed in jeans and a ripped T-shirt, with tattoos all over his arms. He had another tattoo over the lower half of his face – a grotesquely grinning mouth. His real mouth, his actual mouth, was also grinning.

  “I know you,” he said.

  Omen knew him, too, from Never’s description. Mr Glee, the serial killer from San Francisco. Omen was suddenly all too aware that the door between them was unlocked.

  “How is she?” Mr Glee asked. “The girl I had a tussle with?”

  Omen tried to answer but couldn’t.

  “I think about her, you know. I think about her a lot. The one that got away.” He shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, though. Life moves in circles, does it not?”

  Mr Glee shrugged, went to move away – then turned, reached over and shut the door. It clicked and Omen’s magic left him.

  Whistling, Mr Glee moved on.

  Valkyrie woke without opening her eyes.

  Her body ached. Her face felt swollen. She breathed tiny daggers into shallow lungs. She was badly damaged and lying on a thin mattress, and she was cold.

  Beyond the darkness were the sounds of the uninjured world. Voices and machines and phones ringing.

  She opened her right eye. Her left wouldn’t open.

  The ceiling was cracked. The light was a boulder that rolled into her head and crashed around her skull. She closed her eye, waited for the boulder to settle before opening it again.

  She saw wires and tubes. A curtain.

  Her tongue was thick and heavy. She probed the inside of her mouth, felt the broken teeth. She remembered losing a tooth years ago, having it knocked out. She remembered she’d cried about it.

  Her jaw was wired shut.

  Valkyrie lay there, not moving, trying not to panic, trying not to feel like she was trapped in a broken body. She closed her eyes and pictured the farm back in Colorado. She pictured the mountains. The sky. She calmed herself, using all the tricks Coda had taught her.

  Minutes passed and kept passing. Perhaps they became an hour.

  The curtain was pulled back. A doctor loomed over her, tapping the machines t
hat beeped, ignoring her in favour of the screens. He was thin. He looked hassled and unhappy. He’d missed a spot shaving, right at the hinge of his jaw.

  He noticed her looking at him, and took a moment, like he was deciding whether or not he should speak.

  “My name is Doctor Whorl,” he said at last. “You arrived here early this morning. Apparently, you’d fallen down in your cell. This fall resulted in four broken ribs, one fractured zygomatic bone, a fractured patella, a fractured eye socket, a punctured lung, breaks in your jaw, your tibia, your …” He sighed. “You have sixteen broken or fractured bones. You have internal injuries. You’ve lost teeth. You have first-degree burns on your back, chest, sides and legs. You are being treated for all of this, and, thanks to the wonders of modern technology and ancient magic, you’ll be able to return to your cell late this afternoon.”

  Someone called him, someone Valkyrie couldn’t see, and he nodded, but before he left he looked down at Valkyrie again.

  “I know you’re not Darquesse,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know you didn’t kill all those people. I know it wasn’t you who destroyed half the city.” He leaned down. “But she was a part of you. So a part of you killed all those people six years ago, and a part of you destroyed half the city, and a part of you killed my friends. So I will do my job, Prisoner Cain, but I will do it slowly. I will mend your broken bones one at a time, and you will have nothing to dull the pain. I want you to suffer, you see. And I happen to know that you will. I happen to know that you’re going to be falling down in your cell again tonight. So I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

  Then he straightened up, and walked away.

  On the top of a hill on this alien planet, by a jagged outcrop of rock, Sebastian Tao found Darquesse.

  She lay on the ground, her arms spread wide, one leg bent back at a distinctly unnatural angle. Her clothes were filthy and torn and stretched between protruding bones. Her jaw, clearly broken, hung at an angle, kept in place only by her dried and lined skin. There was so much dust in her hair that it appeared grey.