by Derek Landy
Skulduggery tapped the symbols, and the face slid away. “You want me to use it only when I have to?” he asked.
“Not at all,” China said. “It’s just that talking to you when you have a face is quite disconcerting. I much prefer you as a skeleton.”
“Me too,” Valkyrie agreed.
As Skulduggery stood up and buttoned his shirt, China began to pack away her equipment. “Then maybe it isn’t the Americans,” she said. “Maybe Marr was working undercover for somebody else.”
“It could be someone who just doesn’t like us,” said Valkyrie. “We’ve already had Dreylan Scarab and Billy-Ray Sanguine come after us for revenge, so what about other bad guys we’ve beaten? What about Jaron Gallow? No one’s heard from him since he chopped off his own arm and ran away from the Faceless Ones. And Remus Crux. If there’s anyone crazy enough to want to kill that many people, it’s that lunatic.”
“It’s not Remus Crux,” China said.
“How do you know?”
“Because Davina Marr would never work with someone so unstable.”
“Then what about the Torment? Roarhaven stands to benefit a lot from this. They get the Sanctuary right in the middle of their creepy little town.”
“But that still doesn’t grant them any great degree of power,” Skulduggery argued, fixing his tie. “There will still be a Council of Elders, and an entire staff of non-Roarhaven sorcerers. All they gain is the proximity of location.”
“Which is not a good enough reason to set off the Desolation Engine,” China said. “The Children of the Spider are known for their cunning, but the fact is, this may have nothing to do with Roarhaven.”
“I still think the Torment is behind this,” Valkyrie muttered.
Skulduggery’s smile was in his voice. “Is that because he tried to get me to kill you?”
“I think he’s behind this because he’s a horrible old man who turns into a giant spider. But mostly because he tried to get you to kill me. There are still plenty of others to choose from, though. And don’t forget, we only have Scarab’s word that he wasn’t behind it. This might be his last bid for revenge before he dies in prison, to make us think there’s someone else out there.”
“So,” Skulduggery said, “to sum up: Davina Marr’s co-conspirators could either be the Roarhaven mages, the Americans, or anyone else who just doesn’t like us.”
China smiled. “I’m just glad we could narrow it down.” She walked from the room, Valkyrie and Skulduggery following her into the library. “And may I say what a privilege it is to be involved in this investigation at its inception. It fills my heart with warmth to know that, finally, you trust me enough to bother me with things at a much earlier stage than I am used to or am, indeed, happy with.”
“They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Valkyrie said.
China glanced at her. “They’ve obviously never met me.”
“The fact is,” Skulduggery said as they walked through the labyrinth of bookcases, “over the past few years you’ve proven yourself to be someone who can be depended on.”
“And the unfortunate side effect of that,” Valkyrie continued, “is that you get to join our little crime-fighting club, whether you like it or not.”
China stopped, and turned to them, a slight frown on her face. “Does this mean… Please don’t tell me this means we are all now friends. I have done very well without friends up to this point and I have no intention of developing any now.”
Valkyrie frowned. “You make us sound like a rash.”
“An irritation that shows up when you least want it? I think the analogy is quite apt.”
“You do realise that I know what all the big words you’re using mean, right?”
“And there I was, trying to baffle you with my verbiage.”
“Understood that, too.” Valkyrie glimpsed a familiar face in among the stacks. “Be right back,” she said. They walked on and she approached her friend. “This is where we first met,” she said.
Tanith Low looked up, and smiled. “God, that seems like a hundred years ago. You were so small.”
“I was never small.”
“And so narrow. Now look at you. How are the arms?”
“I’m not showing you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not. We’re in the middle of a library.”
“A library frequented solely by freaks and other assorted weirdos. I haven’t seen the arms in weeks. Come on.”
Valkyrie tried to sigh, but ended up grinning. She unzipped her jacket and took it off.
“Damn,” Tanith said, drawing the word out. “I hope Fletcher appreciates all the work I’ve put in to making his girlfriend rock solid.”
“I’ve told him I’m aiming to have shoulders like yours. He kind of dribbled when he heard that.” Valkyrie put her jacket back on. “But I was never small.”
Tanith laughed, slid the book she’d been reading back on to the shelf. “You were so unsure and innocent and wide-eyed and shy… Well, maybe not shy.”
“Never shy.”
“But definitely unsure. I knew from the moment I met you we’d be friends, you know.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t know we’d be quite so close, but I saw you and I went, yeah, she’s cool. Hadn’t a clue you had anything to do with why I was over here, though. Things kind of worked out quite well, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they did.”
“My folks say hi, by the way. And my brother wants to meet you. He’s heard so much about the great Valkyrie Cain.”
“Your parents are lovely, and I’ve seen a picture of your brother. I definitely want to meet him.”
Tanith wagged her finger. “You, my dear, are a one-man woman. Stick with Fletcher, and stay away from my older brother.” Tanith’s smile faded slightly. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“I said ‘one-man woman’ and you… you practically flinched.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Everything OK with Fletcher?”
“Yes,” said Valkyrie. “Things are great.”
“And you’re happy with him? Still having fun?”
“Sometimes it’s like leading a child around, but yes, absolutely, still having a laugh.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Valkyrie said, and laughed.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know who—”
Tanith looked into her eyes.
“Oh no,” she breathed.
“Oh no what?”
“Not him.”
“Tanith, I really don’t know what you’re on about.”
“The vampire, Val? Really? The vampire?”
“He has a name.”
“He’s a vampire!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, OK? Nothing happened!”
“Oh, that’s a big old lie right there.”
Valkyrie prepared to argue, but she knew there was little use. She sagged. “Fine. OK. We kissed.”
Tanith covered her face with her hands. “No. No no no. You can’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything. It was a one-off. It’s not going to happen again.”
“He’s too old for you.”
“I know that.”
“And he’s a vampire.”
“Tanith. Caelan has problems, but he’s not like the others.”
“Valkyrie. You’re insane. He’s exactly like the others. This isn’t some brooding Gothic rubbish.”
“I swear to God, I know all this. I explained to him, it’ll never happen again. I’m not in love with him, for God’s sake. It meant basically nothing.”
“It might have meant nothing to you,” Tanith said, “but I can tell you that it meant a lot to him.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It will be. Val, I hate to disapp
rove of anything that you do. We’re friends. I shouldn’t lecture you. I should support you. And I will. And I do. But something like this, you’re just going to have to forgive me, because I’ll keep going on about it until it’s over for good.”
Valkyrie nodded. “I understand that.”
“I take it Fletcher doesn’t have any idea?”
“God, no.”
“Good. There’s no point in hurting him and destroying your relationship when you don’t have to. It was a mistake.”
“Yes, it was,” said Valkyrie.
“And it’ll never happen again.”
“No, it won’t.”
“But if it does, you can talk to me about it and I won’t shout at you too much.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not even going to ask if Skulduggery knows. If Caelan’s still alive, that means he doesn’t.”
Valkyrie nodded her agreement, the truth of that statement making her uneasy. They walked out of the stacks, to where Skulduggery and China were talking.
“Oh, good,” China said without enthusiasm, “Tanith’s here.”
Tanith’s smile made no effort to reach her eyes. “Hello China. You’re looking radiant as ever.”
“And your leather seems to have shrunk since the last time I saw you,” China responded. “Don’t you all have somewhere else to be? It’s not that I want you to go, it’s just that I don’t want you to stay.”
13
SUFFERING
Cleric Craven was in no hurry as he walked the cold corridors of the Temple. He’d always disliked the cold, but such was the Necromancer way. Hardship and suffering, misery and discomfort. The Temple was, almost to its last metre, cold and dark and dank, lit only by sputtering torches in rusted brackets on the walls. To suffer is to live, as the saying went – one of the basic tenets of his faith. Who was Craven to object to that? Who was he to demand special consideration? Who was he to forgo the suffering, when so many of his fellows shivered and rattled and didn’t complain?
Beneath his robes he was wrapped in thermals.
He knew for a fact that High Priest Tenebrae wore thermals beneath his robes. Cleric Quiver didn’t, as far as he could tell, but then Quiver was the kind of man who enjoyed the odd bit of suffering. As for Cleric Wreath, he didn’t even wear his robes, and his clothes always looked warm. Craven would expect no less from a Cleric who had spent so many years out there, in the world. The house where he lived was furnished, insulated and warm no matter how cold it got elsewhere. Decadent. Indulgent. How Craven envied him.
He reached the iron door of the High Priest’s office and let himself in. Shelves of books and papers. Cabinets of trinkets. Bare walls, bare floors. A single desk. Two chairs. No decoration. The bare necessities – nothing more.
Tenebrae, seated at his desk, glanced at him, scowling, before returning his eyes to Wreath. Behind him, the White Cleaver stood, scythe strapped to his back. Quiver stood by the far wall, hands clasped beneath the sleeves of his robe. Immediately, Craven regretted his tardiness. Wreath was agitated. Craven fought to contain his grin.
“Cleric Wreath,” Tenebrae interrupted, “I understand your concerns, but we are quite safe here in the Temple.”
“The Remnant is loose,” Wreath said angrily. “The moment they realise this they’ll be coming here to ask questions.”
“Let them come.”
“Your Eminence, with all due respect, they are going to want to know how the Remnant escaped. Skulduggery Pleasant will work out that we attempted to use it to control someone.”
“Nonsense. We can tell them one of our acolytes set it free, quite by accident. We’ll tell them the acolyte has been punished and will never do it again. You’re getting upset over nothing, Cleric.”
Craven stood by the door, enjoying this immensely. It wasn’t often he got to see Solomon Wreath being patronised.
“Having a Remnant loose out there is a good enough reason to be upset,” said Wreath. “If we are going to tell people it got free by accident, then at least let it become public. Sorcerers have to know of the danger.”
Tenebrae sat back. “Solomon, for all we know, the Remnant will leave the psychic’s body and fly off somewhere to be alone, and never bother anyone ever again. Why invite scrutiny and derision when we don’t have to? If it makes a nuisance of itself, and if the Skeleton Detective or anyone else comes here asking questions, we can feign surprise and shame upon learning of this terrible, accidental oversight on our part.”
“What did he see?” Quiver asked.
Wreath looked at him. “What?”
“The Sensitive. What did he see when you put the Remnant in him?”
Wreath sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nothing. Nothing useful. He got sidetracked.”
“By what?” Tenebrae asked.
“He saw a vision of Darquesse. Seemed quite enamoured with her.”
“So he saw nothing about the Cain girl?”
“Actually, I think there’s a reason Darquesse intruded upon his vision. I think Valkyrie is going to be the one to defeat her. I think that will be the start of her journey to becoming the Death Bringer.”
Craven cleared his throat, pleased with the anger that flashed in Wreath’s eyes. “If I may, High Priest?”
Tenebrae waved a hand. “Of course.”
“Cleric Wreath, I admire your tenacity, and I admire your faith in Valkyrie Cain. I do think, however, that you have allowed yourself to focus on her to the exclusion of all others. You say it is now your opinion that Miss Cain defeats Darquesse. And yet every vision we have heard about has Darquesse killing both Cain and Pleasant, before starting in on the rest of the world.”
“The future can be changed,” Wreath growled.
“Oh, yes, indeed it can. I’m not arguing with you there. I’m just wondering about your interpretation. Have you considered the possibility that the Sensitive saw a vision of Darquesse because there was no Valkyrie Cain to see? She is obliterated. Wiped from existence. That, to me, would seem the logical interpretation.”
“Cleric Craven makes a valid point,” Tenebrae nodded. “Solomon, I wanted proof that Cain is strong enough. We have not had that proof.”
“What we have had,” Quiver said, “is a warning. We can’t waste any more time on candidates who are going to fall short of what is required. This Darquesse woman is coming. Unless we find our Death Bringer before she arrives, this world will be destroyed.”
Wreath’s jaw clenched and his face flushed. Craven’s grin was itching to spread.
“And the Remnant?” he asked. “We’re just going to let it go free?”
“What would you have us do?” Tenebrae asked, almost laughing. “Form a search party? Track it down? Cleric Wreath, that is not the Necromancer way. The Remnant, at this moment, is not our problem. Let others deal with it, if they have to.”
“Your Eminence—”
“You are not to involve yourself in this matter any further. Do you understand me, Cleric?”
Wreath stopped himself, and bowed. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
Craven walked into the depths of the Temple, allowing the grin to consume his face. That had been most enjoyable. That had been altogether thrilling. Not only had Solomon Wreath been humbled before him, but also permission had been given, in a way, for Craven’s own plans to commence. The need was apparent. The time frame inescapable. Tenebrae didn’t know about it, of course, but then His Eminence was too cautious a leader. In times of strife, victory favoured the bold.
Craven came to a section of the Temple that he had quietly, and secretly, sequestered for his own use over the years. This was the darkest and dankest and coldest part of the Temple, at its lowest point beneath the graveyard. He took a long key from his robes, slotted it through a door and turned. A heavy clunk rewarded him, and he stepped in. Melancholia was already standing beside the chair he had given her. She waited with her head down, hands by her sides.
“You may raise your eye
s,” Craven said. “Cleric Wreath has returned. His mission, unfortunately, a failure.”
Melancholia’s eyes sparkled. “Then Cain isn’t the Death Bringer?”
“We can’t be sure, and my fellow Cleric has not been forbidden to continue her lessons… but it is looking increasingly unlikely. You never believed she would be the one, did you?”
Melancholia hesitated. “No, sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t.”
“Neither did I.”
She frowned. “Cleric?”
“Even if Valkyrie Cain does have the power to usher in the Passage, I don’t think she would. She’s the wrong person. Just like Lord Vile was the wrong person. But you, Melancholia, you might just be what we’ve all been waiting for.”
“Me?”
“You may not have Cain’s natural gift, but you make up for it in passion and dedication – attributes I value much more highly. What age are you?”
“Twenty, sir.”
“And you haven’t reached the Surge yet.”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure it’s Necromancy you want, then? When your power surges, in a month, in a year, whenever it happens, your choice is over. From that point, you will be locked into one, and only one, discipline, for the rest of your life.”
“Necromancy is all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Good. Good. I have been waiting for someone with the right qualities, of the right age, on the cusp of the Surge. I’ve been waiting for you, Melancholia.”
“You really think I can be the Death Bringer?”
“With my help, yes. I do. We will need to work hard. It won’t be easy and it will be painful. We’re going to have to prepare you, so that when the Surge happens, you will be infused with shadow magic.”
“Is that… is that possible?”
“I’m not going to lie to you. This has never been done before. It’s never even been thought of. My research into the language of magic has opened up possibilities that we had never considered. But I’ve grown tired of waiting. My patience has ended. If we can’t find someone powerful enough to assume the mantle of the Death Bringer, then we will make someone powerful enough. You, Melancholia, will be the one to save the world. Do you accept?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl said, her eyes gleaming. “Oh yes, sir.”