by Derek Landy
Lillian clasped her hands to her bosom, as if praying. “He’s scared,” she said. “You’re right, he’s mixed up with some bad people. He told me that. He’s in a lot of trouble. He said when you went to arrest him, he panicked. He shouldn’t have done it, he’s sorry, but he’s managed to sneak away, and he wants to surrender.”
“So he spoke to you,” said Valkyrie, “told you to arrange all this, and told you to tell us about Ironfoot Road. Lillian, the moment we read your note, it sounded like we’d be walking into a trap.”
She looked horrified. “A trap?”
“How do you even know we’re looking for him? It’s not common knowledge. The only reason we didn’t break down your door is because Skulduggery has been watching you all night. We had been thinking you were in on it, that you were trying to lead us into an ambush.”
“No,” Lillian said, her eyes wide. “No. Goodness, no. I would never do that, and Richard … Richard is a good man.”
“And he’s waiting for us at Ironfoot Road?”
She nodded quickly. “Apartment 4. Just him. Nobody else.”
“We really want to trust you, Lillian.”
“Then trust me! I promise you, this is no trick!”
“Did he say anything else? Anything about some friends of his, about what they’re planning?”
“He said if they’re not stopped then everything will change. He mentioned a war.”
“What war?” Valkyrie asked.
“The war to come,” she said. “The war between sorcerers and mortals.”
29
Looking back on his life up to the previous night, Sebastian had come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, a pacifist, who just happened to get caught up in extreme acts of violence at regular intervals.
If he’d had his way, the last few years would have contained far less punching, kicking, destruction and death than they had, and he’d be a happier person for it. Then his nights could be spent reading books until his eyes grew tired, after which he’d fall into a comfortable bed and wouldn’t stir till morning.
Instead, he had spent the previous night on a rooftop, watching a small house on the edge of the Herbal District. He’d been led here from Bennet Troth’s house by the lumbering man in the coat and hat, the same lumbering man who had given that note to the kid, the same one who – Sebastian hoped – knew where Bennet’s wife was being kept.
An entire night spent crouched on a rooftop, all so that he could help Bennet so that Bennet, in turn, would help Sebastian.
All for Darquesse.
Now it was halfway through the following day and Sebastian was still here, waiting for something to happen. He really didn’t want to have to kick the door down. Kicking the door down would probably lead to violence. Plus, he’d never kicked a door down before and was worried his foot might just bounce off.
A little after noon, he saw Bennet harassing people on the street, waving a photograph under their noses until they snapped at him, in some cases shoving him away. Sebastian tried waving, tried catching the man’s attention, but eventually had to resort to shouting Bennet’s name to make him look up.
They met in the alley behind the small house.
“I thought I’d hallucinated you,” Bennet said. He needed a shave and a shower, but at least he was sober.
“Bennet, you should go home. The man I followed yesterday led me to that building, right there. If Odetta is inside, I’ll bring her to you.”
“No, I have to be here, I have to do this. She’s my wife – don’t you understand that? Are you married?”
“I am not, no.”
“Then you don’t understand. But I can’t leave. If she’s in there, I have to go in. Now.”
“We don’t know who else might be waiting,” Sebastian said, placing a restraining hand on Bennet’s arm. “It’s better if we keep an eye on the place, make a note of who comes and goes, formulate a plan, so that when we do go in, we’re prepared.”
“Has anyone come and gone since you’ve been on that roof?”
“Well … no.”
“Whoever has her, they’ve obviously no intention of bringing her back to me,” said Bennet. “We don’t know what’s happening in there. We don’t know if she’s hurt, or how scared she is, and we don’t even know why she’s been taken. But I cannot stay here while the love of my life is being held captive. I’m going in. Now, I don’t know you, but—”
“I’ll help,” Sebastian said, sighing. “Just please follow my lead, OK?”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Bennet confessed. “I’ve never been in a fight in my life.”
“Yeah, well, I have,” Sebastian said. “And I really try to avoid them as much as possible.”
With Bennet behind him, Sebastian sneaked up to the small house. He took off his hat, and peered through the window. He counted three men in the gloom. They were big, and seemed to just stand there, stoop-shouldered, not saying anything.
Bennet peeked. “Hollow Men,” he whispered.
Sebastian examined what he could in this light. Hollow Men: artificial beings of leathery skin, pumped full of the foulest of gases and used as mindless muscle around the world. The cheaper sort could be dispatched with one slash from a sharp knife – the more expensive kind took a lot more effort. From their vantage point, it was impossible to say which kind these were.
“Do you have any weapons?” Sebastian asked softly.
“Just these,” Bennet said, pulling out a knife and handgun.
Sebastian jerked back. “What the hell are you doing with a gun?”
Bennet looked offended. “I’m here to rescue my wife from kidnappers. I figured a gun would be a good idea.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Of course. It’s not rocket science.”
“Have you ever shot at anyone before?”
“Hollow Men aren’t people,” Bennet said. “Shooting them is no different from shooting a target at the range.”
“And have you shot targets at the range?”
Bennet faltered. “I kept meaning to get around to it.”
“Listen to me,” Sebastian said, injecting a little calm into his voice, “I don’t feel safe around you when you have a gun. I feel, and I might be way off here, that you can’t be trusted with a firearm. If Odetta is in there, I worry you may accidentally shoot her.”
“Right.”
“Would you say that’s an understandable concern?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
“So will you put it away and promise not to use it?”
“OK,” Bennet said, looking embarrassed as he returned the gun to his pocket. “What about the knife?”
“Actually,” Sebastian said, taking it from him, “I’ll have that, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Probably wise,” Bennet said, then frowned. “But what am I going to do? I mean … I’m an Elemental. I could throw fireballs. Hollow Men are made of paper – they’d go right up.”
“Right, yes, maybe – but is Odetta fireproof?”
“Well, no …”
“Ah,” said Sebastian, “then probably not the best idea.”
“So what do I do?”
“You come in after me, and you try not to fall over. That sound good?”
Bennet sighed. “Yeah.”
“Then that’s our plan.”
Sebastian sneaked round the corner, and straightened. The knife felt good in his hand. Well-balanced. He took a deep breath. The door looked sturdy. He wondered how much this would hurt.
Before he kicked, a thought struck him, and he reached forward, turned the handle. The door opened.
OK then.
He ran in. The first Hollow Man started to turn and Sebastian slashed it across the arm, then spun, whipping the blade along the next one’s back. He flipped the knife in his hand and flung it. It went right through the third one’s chest, embedding itself in the wall behind. The Hollow Men staggered, not even attempting to stop the gas from esc
aping. Protected by his mask, Sebastian watched them deflate through a fog of green.
“Odetta!” Bennet called, hurrying in behind him. He immediately started coughing, his eyes streaming. “Is she here? I can’t see her! I can’t see anything!”
“I’ll check,” Sebastian said, guiding him back to fresh air. “Stay here.”
He had finished the search in less than thirty seconds, and joined Bennet outside.
“She’s not here,” he said.
Bennet was on his knees, blinking madly. “As soon as her kidnappers find out someone’s been here, they’ll kill her. They’re going to kill her and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Hold on a second,” Sebastian said. “Whoever’s been storing those Hollow Men here, they have to be the ones behind this. You’re a connected guy, Bennet – who do you know who can find out who owns this house?”
“None of my old connections will speak to me any more.”
“Surely there’s someone? Surely you still have friends who could check around for you?”
Bennet stopped snivelling. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I know someone who can help.” He took out his phone.
While he made some calls, Sebastian gave the small house another search. He found plates in the kitchen cupboard, and a single cup. There was a small amount of food – enough for one person.
“I might have something,” Bennet said when Sebastian stepped out. “This house is being rented by someone. I can’t find out the name, but whoever it is is renting a second house here, somewhere in Roarhaven. Maybe Odetta is there?”
“Maybe,” said Sebastian.
“We’ll have to wait a few hours before I can get the address, but you’ll help me? When I have it, you’ll help me?”
“Of course,” said Sebastian. “That was our deal, right? I help you, and then you help me.”
“Thank you,” Bennet said, grabbing Sebastian’s hand and shaking it. “Thank you so much for all of this. I’ve got such a good feeling. We’re going to get her back. I just know we are.”
30
Omen’s hands were shaking.
This was normal, he supposed, in the aftermath of a near-death experience – that and the chattering teeth were to be expected. He’d had a dose of adrenaline dumped into his system and now what was left of it was sloshing around in his bloodstream, causing all kinds of tics.
Someone had tried to kill him. Someone had actually tried to kill him.
A few younger boys came into the bathroom, chatting and calling each other names. One of them tried Omen’s cubicle. The lock rattled in its bracket and the kid said, “Sorry,” and went into the next one. Omen waited until they were all gone before holding up his hand again.
Yep, still shaking. That was probably going to last a while.
His knee hurt. It throbbed, actually. He must have injured it when he’d slammed into the wall under Peccant’s balcony.
Peccant had saved him. Wow. Peccant, of all people. Of course, Omen had been wearing a mask, so Peccant didn’t know who it was he was saving. If he’d known, he probably wouldn’t have bothered.
But that raised a question. Did the others know? Did Jenan, or any of the Arcanum’s Scholars, figure out who he was in the short few seconds he’d been in their sights? Probably not. No, definitely not. All they had to go on was hair colour, height and the fact that he was a Third Year. Omen was suddenly grateful that the school had a uniform and that he hadn’t been born a redhead. He figured redheads would have a harder time getting away with stuff.
He was safe. He was pretty sure he was safe. Now all he had to do was act natural. Jenan and his friends would be on the lookout for someone behaving suspiciously around them. He could act normally. He’d been doing it all his life. The knack wasn’t about to abandon him now.
Omen left the bathroom. He glimpsed Jenan passing in the corridor ahead and he forgot how to walk properly. He frowned as he wobbled. One foot in front of the other, right? Wasn’t that it? He leaned on the wall for support, then kind of slid sideways to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Chocolate asked, walking by.
“Resting,” he answered, like it was perfectly normal.
“You’re weird,” said Chocolate, and left him there.
He had to tell someone. Skulduggery and Valkyrie – they were the obvious choice. They were the only ones who’d understand, after all, and probably the only ones who’d actually believe him. But, of course, it was Skulduggery who’d fired him, precisely to prevent something like this from happening. He wondered if Skulduggery would be mad. Probably, he decided.
But if not those two then who? Auger? It’d definitely be the smart move … but then everything would change. Omen could see just how it’d happen. Auger would make sure Omen was safe and then he’d talk to Skulduggery and then they’d all go and take care of it together, and Omen would become the insignificant brother again. He couldn’t go back to that. Not yet. This was his first taste of something different, of something more. He wasn’t ready to give that up.
“Get off the floor, Omen,” said Miss Ether as she passed.
“Yes, miss,” Omen said, and got up slowly. His legs didn’t buckle. That was promising.
The bell rang, signalling the end of break time and the start of the next class – a class that’d have half the Scholars in it, Jenan included. This would be Omen’s first real test. He just needed to be normal. He just needed to blend in.
It’s what he was good at, after all.
Omen sat with his eyes closed, his legs folded under him and his hands resting on his knees.
“Breathe,” said Miss Gnosis. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
Omen breathed. He was pretty good at breathing. Certainly as good as anyone else in the room. Top marks for breathing.
“Let your body relax,” Miss Gnosis said in that Scottish accent Omen loved so much. “Listen to my voice. My voice is the only voice. My words are the only words. Let them fill you, like water fills a jug. Let them fill you like magic. Magic is like water, is it not? It ebbs and it flows. It nourishes. It destroys. It is all things.”
Omen could hear his classmates around him. One of them made a whistling noise when they breathed in. It was faintly distracting, but Omen did his best to push it from his mind. He was actually getting relaxed now. The adrenaline was gone from his system. His teeth no longer chattered. His hands no longer trembled.
Miss Gnosis continued to talk. “It doesn’t matter what discipline you decide upon, if you choose Adept or stay Elemental – because magic relies on the same muscles. We draw from the Source and we give back to the Source. You can feel it, can’t you? All around us?”
The whistling was getting louder. How come nobody else was getting annoyed by it?
“We’re not magic’s masters,” said Miss Gnosis, “any more than a windmill is master of the wind. But the windmill allows the wind to push it, to move it, to power it. The wind? The wind is indifferent to the windmill, because the wind is something vast and unknowable. The same with magic.”
Now Omen was confused. Was magic water or wind?
“It comes to us from the Source and it seeps into our universe,” Miss Gnosis said. “How much of our reality has been defined by magic? How much mortal technology is dependent on the energies it produces?”
Omen cracked one eye open. It was Gall. Gall and his musical nostrils preventing Omen from finding his centre or whatever it was he was supposed to be finding. He frowned. Was it his centre he was looking for? Was it something else? Had he missed it? He probably hadn’t been paying attention. He was always doing that.
“Once we respect magic,” Miss Gnosis was saying, her own eyes closed, “truly respect it and everything it can do … only then can we possibly hope to direct it, however briefly, to our own ends.”
Omen looked around. Everyone had their eyes shut. They had weird looks on their faces, like they were close to inner peace. He wondered if they were, or if they
were just faking it.
“The Surge that you will experience in four or five years’ time – maybe six, maybe three – that’s just the beginning of your journey to becoming a true sorcerer.” Miss Gnosis smiled gently, though only Omen could see. “You have wonders ahead of you, experiences you have not yet even imagined. But first comes work, and preparation and, most of all, patience. I’m going to count backwards from ten now. The closer I get to one, the more alert you will feel, until you open your eyes and you’re fully awake and ready to take on the rest of the day.”
She started counting down, and Omen yawned. He swivelled his head as he did so, and found Jenan Ispolin staring straight at him.
Omen snapped his head back round and squeezed his eyes shut, very possibly the worst, most suspicious thing he could do under the circumstances. He wondered if Jenan was still looking at him. He cracked an eye open, turned slightly.
Yep, still looking. This was not good.
Miss Gnosis reached one, and everyone else opened their eyes and started getting to their feet. Omen’s left foot had pins and needles that took him by surprise as he stood. He stumbled but Never caught him, steadied him. He shot him a look of thanks and Never sighed and rolled his eyes.
“We all live hectic lives,” Miss Gnosis said. “Some of you live more hectic lives than others.” At this, everyone chuckled and glanced at Auger, who looked around innocently. “Take a moment out of every day to close your eyes and just … feel. Experience what it is to be you. Experience the moment. Experience happiness. That’s where true magic lies.”
She clapped her hands gently, signalling the end of class.
Omen tried engaging Never in conversation, but he was already heading out of the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Omen saw Jenan coming for him, fists clenched by his sides. Omen tried smiling. It didn’t work.
And then Auger stepped between them.
“Hey, Jenan,” he said, and Jenan froze, uncertainty flickering across his features.
“Hi,” Jenan responded, like it was a trick question.
“Have you decided?” Auger asked. “What discipline are you going to specialise in? Do you know?”