by Derek Landy
Valkyrie picked up the fallen stick, placed it end to end with the other one. They attached and she twisted, the staff lengthening, and when the Ripper ran at her she whacked it into his leg, then spun and cracked it against his head. He fell back and she followed, the staff striking him once, twice, and then a twirling third time. He dropped one of his sickles.
She went to finish him off and he dodged, dodged again, dodged faster than she could strike. He jumped over to the wall and rebounded, flipping over her head. She whirled but he was too close, and he grabbed the staff and pulled her into a headbutt that would have broken her nose had she not lowered her head. Even so, bright lights flashed, and she felt the staff being wrenched from her grip as she went staggering.
The Ripper let the staff drop, and swung his remaining sickle towards her neck. She raised an arm, her armoured clothes saving her once again, and snatched the weapon away. It fell, clattering against the stones.
Valkyrie ducked low and powered forward, grabbing him round the waist. Snarling, she lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall, then seized his helmet, searching for the twin releases, and tore it from his head. The Ripper fell back, blinking, and she swung the helmet into his jaw and he went down, and she hit him again and again until she figured that was probably enough.
She dropped the helmet and got her breath back.
“You got his helmet off,” Skulduggery said, standing over the motionless form of the second Ripper. “How did you manage that?”
She shrugged. “I adapted accordingly. Come on. We have a doctor’s appointment.”
3
She pushed open the double doors and Doctor Nye waved a long-fingered hand.
“Do not disturb me,” it said in that familiar high whisper. “I left strict orders not to be—”
It looked up then, and its small eyes widened and its wide mouth opened as it got to its feet, the stool crashing to the ground behind it.
Skulduggery held his gun low, by his hip. “The moment you set off an alarm, I will shoot you. I feel we ought to be clear on that from the very beginning.”
Nye stopped moving backwards, and raised its arms. “I have no weapons.”
Up close, Valkyrie could see that the threads that had once sewn Nye’s mouth and eyes shut were still there, poking out of its skin. She walked forward. “You act like you’re not pleased to see us, Doctor. That hurts my feelings. I thought we’d bonded that time you autopsied me.”
“The years have been good to you,” Skulduggery said, coming round the table. “I mean, you’ve obviously shrunk, but apart from that you look great. How have you been spending your time? The last I heard, you’d escaped from Ironpoint Gaol. Who was it that broke you out? Eliza Scorn?”
“How is Eliza?” Valkyrie asked. “Any word?”
“I haven’t seen Eliza Scorn in years,” Nye said. “I was not the only one she freed. There were others.”
“But she set you up here,” said Skulduggery. “You’d lost everything when we imprisoned you. We made sure of it. She helped you.”
Nye licked its lips. Its tongue was small and pink. “She could see the importance of my work.”
Valkyrie picked up a scalpel and walked over slowly. “Excavating the soul,” she said. “How’s that going for you? Found it yet?”
“I believe I have,” said Nye.
“So what next? Now that you’ve found where it hides, what are you going to do with it?”
“Finding the soul was only the first step. Now I follow it to where it leads. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not experimenting on anyone. You can search the castle. I have no patients here.”
“No?” Valkyrie asked. “You don’t have anyone strapped to a table somewhere, their ribcage open, their organs on a nearby tray while they look around, hallucinating friends and family come to rescue them? No? Well, I have to say that’s an improvement. You’re practically reformed. Skulduggery?”
“You’re quite sure there is no one being tortured, Doctor?” Skulduggery asked. “Maybe having their skin peeled off? I heard about one experiment you ran during the war where you decapitated prisoners and then kept their heads alive in jars.”
Nye backed up. “What do you want?”
“You’re under arrest,” Skulduggery said. “You’re going back to Ironpoint.”
“We’ll be sure to request a smaller cell this time,” Valkyrie said. “Something snug.”
“Or you can make it easy on yourself,” Skulduggery said. “You can tell us where Abyssinia is.”
Incredibly, Nye paled even further.
“Wow,” said Valkyrie, “your poker face sucks, dude. That means we get to bypass the bit where you tell us you don’t know what we’re talking about – and we threaten you and you eventually break – and go straight to the part where you answer our questions. So where is she?”
“I do not know.”
“I’m just going to warn you that we’ve been looking for Abyssinia for almost seven months. Do you hear me? Seven months. And we haven’t found her, or the flying prison she’s commandeered, or any of her little anti-Sanctuary friends. We’re both extremely annoyed about this. Our patience has worn thin, Doctor. When we found out that she paid a visit to this charming castle no less than two days ago … Well, I’m not going to lie: I cried a little. Tears of happiness. And when we learned that you were working here? It was like all my birthdays had come at once. Not only do I get to see my old friend Doctor Nye, but Doctor Nye gets to help us in our search, and tell us where Abyssinia has gone.”
“I promise you, I do not know.”
“Then why was she here?” Skulduggery asked.
“If … if I tell you, you must let me go.”
“OK.”
“I think you are lying.”
“Of course I’m lying. You’re going back to prison, Doctor. The only choice you’ve got is the size of your cell.”
Nye hesitated, then sagged. “It was not a thing she was looking for. It was a person. His name is Caisson.”
“And who is Caisson?”
“Abyssinia said he is her son.”
“I see,” Skulduggery said, taking a moment. “Does he work here? Is he a scientist or manual labour?”
Nye hesitated.
Valkyrie folded her arms. “He was a patient, wasn’t he? You may not be experimenting on anyone right now, but up until two days ago you were.”
“When I came here, this facility had already been running for decades,” Nye said. “I was brought in to replace a scientist who had gone missing. My instructions were clear: I was to continue the work of my predecessor. On my initial tour, I was shown the room in which Caisson was being kept – but I was not the one who worked on him.”
“How long had the experiments been going on for?”
“As far as I am aware, for as long as this facility has been operational.”
“Which is?”
“Sixty years.”
Valkyrie frowned. “He’s been experimented on for sixty years?”
“No,” said Nye. “He was experimented on here for sixty years. I do not know where he was before this.”
“What else do you know about him?” Skulduggery asked.
“Nothing. Experimenting on Caisson was not my job.”
“So who did the work?”
“An associate. Doctor Quidnunc.”
“Is he in today?” Valkyrie asked.
“I have not seen him in a week, since Caisson was removed from this facility.”
“Caisson was removed a week ago?” Valkyrie said. “So when Abyssinia came for him, he was already gone? Why was he moved?”
“I do not know for certain,” said Nye, “but I imagine somebody learned that Abyssinia was drawing close and we were told to evacuate as a result. Caisson was the first to be moved.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“I, and a handful of other scientists, refused to leave. I can only speak for myself, but my work had reached a criti
cal stage and I could not possibly depart.”
“Abyssinia wouldn’t have been happy that her son wasn’t here,” Skulduggery said.
“She was not,” said Nye. “She killed many Rippers.”
“Did you tell her where he was moved to?”
“I did not, and do not, possess that information.”
“Who took him?”
“I do not know. A small team of people. The owner of this facility sent them.”
“Which brings us back to Eliza Scorn.”
Nye shook its head. “Eliza Scorn does not own this facility. As far as I know, she was merely obeying orders when she delivered me here.”
“Then who’s your employer?”
“I am afraid I do not know.”
“You’re working for someone and you don’t even know who it is?”
“What does it matter?” Nye asked. “My work is important and needs resources. I do not care who provides them.”
Valkyrie sighed. “What about Abyssinia? Did she say anything that could lead us to her? Remember, you really want to make us happy.”
“She provided no such information.”
“Did you tell her about Quidnunc and his experiments?” Skulduggery asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her where she could find the good doctor?”
“I do not know where he is.”
“Then how are you still alive?” Skulduggery asked. “You don’t know anything helpful, you worked in the same facility where her son was being experimented on … Why didn’t she kill you, Doctor?”
“Because I did to her the same thing as I am doing to you,” Nye responded.
“And what is that?”
“Delaying you.”
The shadows converged and twisted and from the darkness stepped a woman in a black cloak, her face covered by a cloth mask so that only her eyes were visible.
Skulduggery raised his gun and the woman’s cloak lashed out, and Skulduggery ducked and fired. The cloak absorbed the bullets and whipped again, slicing through the table to get to him. Skulduggery jerked to the side, his hand filling with flame, but the cloak twisted back, covering him – and when it whipped away, Skulduggery was gone.
The woman turned to Valkyrie, but Valkyrie had already moved behind Nye and was buckling its legs. It dropped to its knees and she gripped its throat, keeping her eyes on the newcomer.
“Have to admit,” Valkyrie said, “that was pretty cool, even for a Necromancer. But, if you try anything like that on me, I will fry the stick insect here.”
The woman in black didn’t respond. Her cloak coiled around her.
“You would not kill me,” said Nye, its voice a little garbled. Its skin felt oily in her grip.
“I wouldn’t want to kill you,” Valkyrie corrected him. “I wouldn’t want to kill anyone. But, if your awesome bodyguard tries to kill me, I’ll kill you faster than your beady little eyes can blink.”
Nye made a small sound, like a laugh. “Then it seems that we have reached an impasse.”
“Not at all,” said Valkyrie. “An impasse implies that we’re evenly matched. But we all know that’s not true.” She glanced at the woman in black. “I dabbled with Necromancy. Did you know that? Solomon Wreath taught me a few things. So I know that you can shadow-walk. That’s what you did with Skulduggery, right? But I also know that the range for shadow-walking is limited – so he’s already on his way back here and he’s coming mighty fast. We only have a few seconds before he bursts through these doors, and when that happens … it’s not going to be pretty. All I have to do is wait, because time is on my side. But for you the clock is ticking. Can you hear that? The tick-tock in your head?”
“I am not going back to Ironpoint,” said Nye. “I only have a few years left in my life. I will not spend them in a cell. Whisper – kill her.”
“Whisper – wait,” Valkyrie said, tightening her grip. “Why is it always killing, huh? Why is it always fighting? Why is violence always the default position?”
Nye held up a hand to Whisper, even though the woman had not moved. “You offer an alternative?” it asked.
“Give me Quidnunc, and I’ll let you go before Skulduggery gets back.”
“I do not know where Quidnunc is,” Nye said. “But I do know one thing that could possibly lead you to him.”
“Did you tell this one thing to Abyssinia?”
“I did.”
“So we’d be playing catch-up.”
“Yes.”
Valkyrie considered her options, of which there were none. “OK,” she said. “Deal.”
“First, you must release me.”
“I don’t trust you enough to release you, Doctor.”
“Then you had better make a decision before the Skeleton Detective gets here, Miss Cain. Time is ticking away.”
Valkyrie almost smiled. She took her hand from Nye’s throat and stepped back as it stood. It turned, looking down at her, as Whisper came up behind it. Her cloak swirled around them both.
“Quidnunc suffers from liquefactive necrosis,” Nye said, and the shadows convulsed and Valkyrie was left alone.
“Huh,” she said.
The doors burst open and Skulduggery stormed in, gun in one hand and fire in the other. “Where are they?” he demanded.
“Gone,” said Valkyrie. “You just missed them.”
Skulduggery stood there for a moment, then shook the flames from his hand and slipped the gun back under his jacket. “That’s annoying,” he said. “Are you OK?”
She shrugged. “Grand. Quidnunc has, um, liquid active necrosis.”
“Do you mean liquefactive necrosis?”
“Let’s say that I do. What is it?”
“A form of organic rot that Mevolent had weaponised during the war.”
“That the same thing Tesseract had? So Quidnunc wears a mask, like him?”
“Perhaps,” Skulduggery said. “In any case, he will need the same serums that kept Tesseract alive, and those serums are hard to come by. If we find who makes them, we’ll find Quidnunc.”
“Cool. Although Nye told Abyssinia, y’know, about the liquid factor thing.”
“Liquefactive necrosis.”
“He told her about that, too.”
“Then we have no time to waste,” Skulduggery said, stalking to the door. He spun round. “Unless you’re hungry. Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten since noon.”
“I’m pretty hungry, yeah.”
“Then we’ll stop for pizza,” Skulduggery said, and marched out.
4
Education, Omen Darkly mused as he examined the test he’d just got back, may not have been the area in which he was destined to excel.
While Corrival Academy was indeed a school for sorcerers, that didn’t mean all the lessons were about throwing fireballs or shooting streams of energy out of your hands/eyes/mouth – although there was a fair bit of that stuff.
Mostly it was sitting at desks, reading textbooks and scribbling answers – pretty much the same experience Omen had had when he’d gone to a mortal school, back in Galway. A lot of the time, in fact, things at Corrival were worse. Because there were more subjects to cover – Omen not only had to study history and science, but also mortal history and mortal science – the school day was longer. PE wasn’t just about combat training and self-defence, as tough as those things could be – it was also about picking a sport and playing it, magic not allowed. Students were taught to be the best sorcerer they could be, but they were also taught how to live, behave and thrive in the mortal world. Which meant more work, more tests, and more opportunities to fall short.
Omen folded the test paper, hiding the big red E from view. It wasn’t that big a deal. It had been a difficult test – everyone said so, even the smarter kids. What chance did he have, really, when even the smarter kids were finding it tricky? Sure, they still technically passed, as did just about everyone else in his class, but he wasn’t a big believer in grades anyway. He prefe
rred to get his education out there, on the streets. Where it mattered.
Omen chewed his lip. That said, his parents were probably going to kill him if they found out.
He stuffed the test paper down into his bag. That was one of the good things about Corrival being a boarding school, he supposed – less exposure to disapproving parental figures. Of course, there was a pretty fair chance that they wouldn’t actually care about a failed test. Omen had, quite by accident, cultivated a relationship with his folks that depended entirely on their low expectations. He sidled along in the background of their lives while their focus was on his twin brother, Auger – the subject of an actual prophecy, destined to face the King of the Darklands in a battle to save the world. In order to aid him in this battle, Auger had been born strong, fast and smart – not to mention naturally talented, extremely hard-working, courageous, decent, resourceful, charming, funny, tall and good-looking. Because being good-looking was obviously a vital quality in any self-respecting Chosen One.
Omen had missed out on being the Chosen One by virtue of being born second, so he didn’t possess any of Auger’s attributes. What he did have, however, was a plucky demeanour and a never-say-die attitude – but he didn’t really have them, either.
Life was one bitter disappointment after another. Sure, there had been glimmers of hope along the way. His best friend was pretty cool, for a start, and seven months ago he’d helped Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain stop an ancient evil from being reborn. Well, sort of.
No, he had helped. He had been right there, sharing in the adventure. He’d come away with the bruises to prove it. The problem was that the ancient evil hadn’t actually been stopped. Abyssinia, after all, had succeeded in coming back to life. Taking this into account, he supposed that meant he had helped Skulduggery and Valkyrie fail in their mission. Which may have explained why they hadn’t called on him since.
What made things worse was that word of his involvement hadn’t spread through the school like he’d expected. A few people knew a little of what happened, but it was as if his fellow students couldn’t be bothered to spread cool rumours about him. There were no whispers in the corridor as he passed, no wide-eyed stares, no clusters of girls giggling whenever he smiled. After a brief spell as an adventurer, he was returning to being that insignificant little speck of a boy he’d always been.