by Derek Landy
“It’s a memorable face.”
“Is it?”
“Look at it.”
“I am, but I’m forgetting it even as I’m looking at it. Do you remember anything you read in his rap sheet?”
Skulduggery shrugged. “He’s been arrested before, multiple times, spent a total of thirty-seven years in various gaols for assault, robbery and murder.”
“I never assaulted, robbed or murdered no one!” Pelt screeched.
“He was sentenced to nineteen years in Coldheart for killing a mortal in a bar fight three years ago.”
“I’m innocent!” Pelt roared. “I wasn’t even in that bar! My reflection did it!”
“And he always says his reflection did it,” Skulduggery continued.
“It did!”
“You’ve been examined by Sensitives, Mr Pelt. They all say you committed those crimes.”
“My reflection’s got them all fooled!” Pelt roared. “Listen to me, OK? My reflection sneaks out of my mirror at night while I’m sleeping. It goes out and commits crimes. Then it sneaks back into my house and transfers its memories back to me, and that is what the bloody psychics see when they go poking around my head! I’m an innocent man, I tell you!”
“Then why haven’t you thrown out the mirror?” Temper asked.
“I can’t. The reflection’s blackmailing me, see. It’s committed worse crimes, and it’s got evidence, and if I get rid of the mirror then the evidence will be sent to the Sanctuary and I’ll be locked away forever.”
“That is one hell of a devious reflection you got there, Mr Pelt.”
“I know,” Pelt said, his eyes brimming with tears. “I used it too much, see, when I was younger. I broke it, and now it’s evil. Or, you know, smarter than me.”
“Why are you following me, Argosy?” Skulduggery asked. “I’m assuming you were sent because Abyssinia thought I wouldn’t recognise you.”
Pelt nodded. “I was told to stay at a distance, but keep you in sight. It wasn’t easy. I thought I’d lost you, like, at least three times.”
“You did,” said Skulduggery. “And then you were following the wrong man for ten minutes.”
“I was?”
“The tall man in the brown suit.”
“That wasn’t you?”
“Is my suit brown?”
Pelt looked at Skulduggery’s suit. “Oh,” he said, “it’s blue. But – but I found you again, didn’t I?”
“I let you find me, Argosy.”
“Oh.”
“Why were you following me?”
“It wasn’t anything bad, I swear. I wasn’t sent to kill you, or anything. Abyssinia just told me to keep you in sight, and she’d call when she was ready and I’d tell her where you were.”
Pelt’s phone rang.
He looked at Skulduggery. He looked at Temper.
He twisted, lunging for his phone, ripping it from his pocket as he lashed out, hitting no one, managing to trip over himself while Temper and Skulduggery just stood and watched.
“They caught me!” he yelled into it. “It’s a trap! It’s a trap!” He stopped rolling around on the ground and listened for a moment, then held the phone out to Skulduggery. “She’d like to talk to you,” he said.
Skulduggery took the phone and held it to his skull. “Hello,” he said.
Temper pulled Argosy Pelt to his feet. “Your reflection is framing you, is it?”
“I swear it is. I swear.”
Temper nodded. “I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much! I’m going to run away now, if that’s OK.”
“Yeah, sure, man, whatever.”
Pelt smiled gratefully, and fled. Temper turned back as Skulduggery was telling Abyssinia what street they were on. Then he hung up, and dropped the phone.
Temper raised an eyebrow. “This is risky.”
Skulduggery adjusted his tie. “She wants to talk.”
Temper looked round, saw Nero and Abyssinia teleport in on the other side of the street. She was wearing a red bodysuit that practically sparkled in the afternoon sun. She spoke a few quiet words, and Nero stayed where he was while she walked over.
Temper and Skulduggery took out their guns.
Abyssinia held up her hands. “Don’t shoot,” she said. “As unlikely as it sounds, I come in peace.”
Skulduggery thumbed back the hammer. “I think I might shoot you anyway.”
“I’m here because I need your help. Cadaverous Gant has Caisson.”
“Isn’t Cadaverous on your side?” Temper asked.
“He was,” said Abyssinia. “He’s not any more. Call it what you will – a disagreement, a falling-out, a betrayal – the end result is the same. I need to find Caisson, retrieve him safely, and kill Cadaverous.”
“And to do this,” Skulduggery said, “you need my help. This is an interesting request, Abyssinia, seeing as how I can’t see why on earth I would ever possibly help you.”
“Because he’s our son, Skulduggery.”
“Wait,” said Temper, “what?”
“Skulduggery is the father,” Abyssinia said. “Well, it’s either him or Lord Vile, I can’t be too sure.” She smiled. “But I know which one I’d prefer.”
Temper stared at Skulduggery. “Is this true?”
“So she claims.”
Temper took a moment to process the possibility. He had a friend who’d used magic to have a kid. It wasn’t exactly common, but not unheard of, either. He shrugged. “Congrats.”
“She’s undoubtedly lying,” Skulduggery said, “and has yet to provide me with a good reason not to shackle her right here.”
Abyssinia lowered her hands. “Because you’re going to need my help, too. If Cadaverous has gone so far as to make an enemy out of me, then he knows his time is ticking away. Which means he will attempt to tie up any unfinished business he might have left.”
“Meaning what?” Temper asked, but Skulduggery was already pulling out his phone.
Temper watched him dial and then put the phone against his skull. When no one answered, Skulduggery marched up to Abyssinia and pressed his gun to her forehead. “Where’s Valkyrie?”
“I assure you, I don’t know,” Abyssinia answered calmly. “But wherever she is, our son will probably be there, too. So I’m coming with you.”
“The only way you’re coming with us is if you can help us,” Skulduggery said. “If you don’t know where he’s taken Valkyrie, then who would?”
45
It took under an hour to get to the address on the white card. Valkyrie pulled up outside the small cottage just outside Ferbane in Offaly just as the clock on the dashboard turned 8.30, with Omen still unconscious in the back seat of the car.
Three and a half hours to get Alice back.
Valkyrie got out, jogged up to the door, and a white-haired old woman in a floral dress and a heavy cardigan opened it before she could knock.
“Come in, come in,” said the old woman.
Valkyrie hesitated, then entered, walking into a warm kitchen where a fire burned in an ancient stove.
“I’m Rosemary,” the old woman said, closing the door behind them. “That useless lump over there is Pádraig.”
The old man in the armchair smiled and gave a nod, then went back to reading his newspaper.
Rosemary waved at a rickety chair by the table. “Sure, take off your jacket there and have a seat. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“I’m OK, thank you, and I won’t be staying long.”
“Not even for a cup? Be God, but it’s warm in here. Are you not roasting, altogether?”
“My, uh, my jacket’s pretty light.”
Rosemary peered closer. “That’s some outfit, that is. What’s it made of? Is it leather?” She reached out, caught a crease between her thumb and forefinger and rubbed gently. “No, not leather. Much softer. What is this?”
“I don’t really know,” Valkyrie said, resisting the urge to move away.
> “Pádraig, come over here and feel this.”
Pádraig rolled his eyes. “I’m sure the nice girl doesn’t want us feeling her clothes, Rosemary. For God’s sake, leave her alone.”
“She doesn’t mind,” Rosemary said. “You don’t mind, do you? Can I try it on?”
It took a moment for Valkyrie to answer. “My jacket?”
Pádraig laughed. “Sure, that’s not going to fit you, woman! You’re huge!”
“Shut up, you!” Rosemary snapped. “I’m only asking to try it on!”
“You’re embarrassing her,” Pádraig said.
“No, I’m not! How am I embarrassing her?” She smiled at Valkyrie. “I’m not embarrassing you, am I?”
Pádraig lowered his paper. “She’s hardly going to say yes, now is she? She doesn’t want to insult you.”
“And how would she insult me?”
“By telling you you’re way too big to be wearing a jacket that size. Look at her, would you, and then look at yourself. She’s a grand girl, big and strong, but compared to you she’s a stick. And you? You’re the opposite of a stick.”
“Oh, really?” Rosemary said. “And what exactly is the opposite of a stick?”
“Ah, I don’t know,” Pádraig responded. “The rest of the tree, I’d imagine.”
“And I suppose you’re some fine specimen of a man!” Rosemary said. “I suppose you’re perfect in every way, are you? With your ears and your nose and your big hairy belly?”
Pádraig grinned and patted his stomach. “It’s a sight to behold, all right.”
“I’m sorry,” Valkyrie said, “but I’m in a bit of a hurry, so if I could just get what was left here for me …”
Rosemary flapped her hands at the notion. “That’s the problem with the world today, in my opinion. Everyone’s in a hurry to get somewhere else. Sit down there now and I’ll make you that cup of tea.”
“Thanks, but I really have to get going.”
“Just one cup!”
“Sorry, no.”
“Ah, you’ll have just one cup, won’t you?”
“Go on, go on,” muttered Pádraig, and laughed.
“Shut up, you big eejit,” Rosemary scowled, then turned her smile back on. “You must think we’re awful thicks. It’s just … we’ve been very excited about this. We know who you are. The Valkyrie Cain. I’ve heard so much about you. Mr Gant never stops going on about how much he wants to kill you, how much he wants to bash your brains in.” She laughed. “But I’m sure you’re used to that sort of attention, a pretty girl like you. Probably have men lining up down the street to get a chance to bash your brains in.”
“You’re embarrassing the girl again,” Pádraig said, not looking up.
“You have something for me?” Valkyrie asked. “Something from Cadaverous Gant?”
“Yes, we do,” Rosemary said, “yes, we do. He has your sister, doesn’t he? He told us about that. Isn’t this exciting? He has your sister and he’s going to kill her. Ooh!”
Valkyrie stopped herself from throttling this woman. “Could I have it? Whatever he left for me?”
“Yes, yes,” said Rosemary, and started looking around. “Pádraig. Pádraig!”
Pádraig sighed. “I heard you the first time. What is it?”
“Where’s the card?” Rosemary asked.
“What card?”
“The card, you daft eejit! The card! The card!”
“You can repeat yourself till the cows come home,” Pádraig said, “but I still don’t know what it is you’re looking for.”
Rosemary froze, like she’d just been reminded of something, then turned to Valkyrie with a worried look on her face. “You’ve got those sigils, don’t you? Mr Gant told us about them. On your eyes? So he can see what you see?”
“Yeah.”
Immediately, Rosemary straightened up and started tugging at her hair. “Pádraig!” she whispered loudly. “Mr Gant! He can see us!”
“Ah, Jaysis,” Pádraig said, throwing the newspaper to one side and getting to his feet. He smoothed down his scruffy V-neck jumper.
“Mr Gant,” Rosemary said loudly, looking Valkyrie straight in the eye, “I would just like to once again thank you for the honour of being included in these activities. I have led a humble life, as has my husband, but we are endeavouring to—”
“He can’t hear you,” Valkyrie said.
Rosemary faltered. “Beg pardon?”
“He cannot hear you.”
“Well … maybe not, but I’m sure he can lip-read.”
“Right,” said Valkyrie, “I’ve been as polite as I can with you people, but I don’t have time for this. Cadaverous Gant gave you something to give to me. So give it to me before I lose my goddamn temper.”
Rosemary’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Oh! Oh, well …!”
Pádraig hurried over, patting his wife on the back. “You’re OK there, Rosemary.”
“I’m in shock, Pádraig,” Rosemary said, sagging against him. “Shock, I say!”
Pádraig glared at Valkyrie. “Look what you’ve done, and in our own home, no less!”
Rosemary clutched at him. “Oh, Pádraig! I think I might faint!”
White lightning tore a chunk out of the wall behind them, and Rosemary and Pádraig cried out and whirled to Valkyrie as energy crackled between her fingertips.
They blinked.
“Pádraig,” Rosemary said, her voice quiet, “go get that card, there’s a good man.”
Pádraig made sure Rosemary wasn’t about to fall over, then went into another room. Rosemary took a moment to compose herself, and walked to the cutlery drawer.
“Mr Gant left something else, as well,” she said. “Told us to make sure you put it on before you’re given the card.”
She took out a bracelet made of burnished gold metal and passed it over.
There were sigils carved into the metal – sigils Valkyrie recognised. She got the sense that Cadaverous was looking through her eyes right at that moment, so she put the bracelet on, made sure he could see it click shut round her left wrist. The sigils glowed once and she felt her magic dull.
“Can he still see?” she asked.
Rosemary folded her arms. “What?”
“The bracelet binds my magic,” Valkyrie said. “Does it have any effect on the sigils on my eyes?”
“Do you know nothing?” Rosemary responded, a sneer on her lips. “Those are passive sigils. Passive sigils can’t be bound quite so easily. So don’t you be worrying, girly, Mr Gant can still see what you see, so you better keep behaving or he’ll cut your little sister’s throat.”
Valkyrie shoved Rosemary back. “Say that again,” she said. “Say one more thing about my sister. See what happens.”
Rosemary’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a nasty girl. I knew it the moment you stepped in here. You’re dirty, aren’t you? Dirty girls are all the same. Harlots. You’re probably oozing with diseases, aren’t you? Dirty, filthy girl.”
Pádraig walked back into the room, holding up an identical white card to the one in Palter’s metal box. “Found it,” he said.
Valkyrie strode over, snatched it out of his hand. “Is that it? The bracelet and the card: that’s all he gave you to give me?”
“That’s all he gave us,” said Pádraig.
“And he didn’t say anything else?”
“He did say one other thing,” Pádraig replied, and frowned. “Rosemary, what was that last thing? After we give her the bracelet and the card, what did he say we had to do?”
“Whatever we wanted,” Rosemary said.
“Ah, yeah,” Pádraig said. “That’s right.”
Valkyrie stuffed the card into her jacket pocket and turned for the door. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it, then. Have a nice life, you frickin’ psychos.”
“Where are you going?” Rosemary asked, and swung something hard against Valkyrie’s head.
Valkyrie stumbled, tripped on the edge of the rug and fell, turned
over as Rosemary advanced.
“Mr Gant told us we could do whatever we wanted with you,” she said, and swung the poker again.
46
Temper didn’t like being teleported – it made him feel queasy and off balance. He especially didn’t like being teleported by a murderous little psychopath with bleached hair. That just upset him at a fundamental level.
But, most of all, he didn’t like being teleported straight into Coldheart Prison, where hundreds of convicted killers, terrorists and general whackadoos walked freely and without shackles.
The convicts stared down at them from the higher tiers as Temper and Skulduggery followed Abyssinia to the dais that hovered over the deadly energy field.
“What has Cadaverous been doing lately?” Skulduggery asked. “Where has he been spending his time?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Abyssinia replied. “He would get in that black car of his and disappear for days. As for what he’s been doing, I’ve been assigning him his duties – duties that he deemed unworthy of his skills.”
“He was unhappy here?”
“Apparently. I will admit, I did notice his growing discontent as my search for our son continued.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“Let’s get back to Cadaverous.”
“Of course,” said Abyssinia.
“Traitor,” Nero muttered.
Temper looked over his shoulder. “You say something, buddy?”
Nero scowled. “You betrayed us.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“You pretended to be one of us.”
“I was undercover, jackass. Pretending to be one of you is what undercover means. I can’t betray you if I was never one of you to begin with.”
“You said you were my friend.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you still hold a special place in my heart.”
“Shut up.”
“Need a hug?”
“Shut. Up.”
Temper grinned.
“Cadaverous killed one of my most promising sorcerers,” Abyssinia was saying, “I think to spite me. A wonderful young man called Avatar. I suspect that his body was thrown overboard or vaporised in the energy field. Speaking of which – watch your step.”