by Derek Landy
“I can get us past them,” Sanguine said, “but I’d probably be better going alone.”
Donegan frowned. “That’s uncharacteristically brave of you.”
“Not at all. Lugging you idiots around would slow me down and get me killed. Where’s the off switch?”
“Upstairs,” Donegan said. “There’s a clock on the wall. Press your hand against the face and turn it very slightly to the left. There’ll be a click to tell you it’s done.”
“Sounds easy enough,” said Tanith.
“Yes it does,” said Sanguine. “Kiss for good luck?”
“Maybe later,” said Gracious.
“How about a handshake?” asked Donegan.
“Ignore them,” said Tanith, and pulled Sanguine in for a deep, long kiss. “Now go. But don’t take any stupid chances.”
“Me?” Sanguine said. “Never.” And then he sank into the ground.
Tanith looked at the Monster Hunters. “If he can’t get to the clock, any idea how we deal with this lot?”
“With great care,” Donegan suggested.
“How about we run off shouting and they follow?” said Gracious. “Then, just when they think they’ve caught us, they fall into our trap.”
“OK,” said Tanith. “And the trap would be?”
“A big hole that we’d dug earlier and covered with branches.”
Tanith frowned. “I thought you were meant to be smart.”
Gracious frowned back at her. “Who told you that?”
“Gracious is book-smart,” said Donegan. “He leaves the real-world thinking to people like you and me and small dogs that he meets.”
“The innocent are often the wisest.”
The sound of smashing glass whipped Tanith’s eyes back to the hotel in time to see Sanguine falling from a top-floor window. The sorcerers below scattered and he landed in the clearing between them amid a hailstorm of glass shards. Tanith stared. Sanguine lay face down, and didn’t move for the longest time. Then he coughed.
Moments later, the door opened. The sorcerer called Mantis emerged from the hotel, unfolding its body as it straightened in the open air. Tanith knew a little of the general’s history. The same genderless species as Doctor Nye, its arms and legs were just as long but not quite as narrow. It stood at twice the height of any of the sorcerers around it, its skin pale and puckered and clumsily wrapped in something that looked like cellophane. Only its head was hidden, encased as it was in a helmet like an oversized gas mask. It looked like a giant insect as it peered down at Sanguine.
Mantis looked up suddenly, as if it had heard something. Tanith lowered herself further, holding her breath. She risked another peek, only breathing again when she saw the ground cracking and Sanguine sinking down into it. Mantis moved impossibly fast, its long fingers closing round Sanguine’s ankle. It hauled him out of the ground, throwing him behind it. Sanguine smacked into the hotel wall and fell in a crumpled heap.
At Mantis’s instruction, its soldiers tied a rope round Sanguine’s ankles, looped the other end round a branch, and hoisted him up off the ground. He dangled there, unconscious.
Tanith observed the scene, and Donegan asked her, “Would you be opposed to just … running away?”
She wouldn’t be. They didn’t even have to call it running away. They could call it a strategic retreat or a withdrawal or a regrouping. But when Valkyrie and the others heard that Tanith had abandoned Sanguine to the enemy without even trying to get him back, they’d look at her and all their suspicions would be confirmed. In their eyes, she’d be the cold, inhuman psychopath that they couldn’t trust. And a part of Tanith wanted them to trust her. She didn’t know what part, and she didn’t know where it was located, but it was there.
“We’re not leaving him,” she said. “He’s my fiancé, and we’re going to get him back.”
“Any idea how?”
“That depends,” she said. “Did you bring any guns with you?”
Tanith held her hands up high and announced herself loudly, so that no one would try to take her head off in surprise. The sorcerers parted for her and she walked into the clearing, and General Mantis peered down at her.
“Hello,” she said. “I just want to talk.”
Mantis’s small yellow eyes were magnified by the lenses of its gas mask. “Are you turning yourself in?”
“Now why would I do that?”
Its voice was strangely accented, but not as high-pitched as Nye’s. “Because you are wanted for the murder of Grand Mage Quintin Strom. As is Mr Sanguine.”
Tanith smiled. “Billy-Ray just got me into the room. I was the one who cut his head off. But no, I’m not here to turn myself in. I’m here to negotiate for the release of my fiancé, the aforementioned Billy-Ray.”
“And what do you have to negotiate with?”
“Information. I could be a double agent. I know all the Irish Sanctuary’s secrets and plans.”
“Tell us how to dismantle the shield and I will let Sanguine go.”
“Ah, now that information, unfortunately, I do not possess. But anything else. Their favourite TV shows, breakfast cereals, anything.”
“Give me the current location of the Dead Men.”
Tanith winced. “I would if I could, but they didn’t tell me where they were going. To be honest, they don’t trust me a huge amount. I can’t say I blame them. I mean, here I am, offering to be a double agent. That’s not exactly trustworthy behaviour, now is it?”
“Do you have any information which could be useful to us?”
“Loads,” Tanith said. “For example, you haven’t even asked why we’re here in the first place.”
“I imagine you were tasked with stopping the hotel from being used as a transportation device.”
“Oh. Yeah, OK.”
“If you have nothing more to share …”
“Now just wait a second. Just let me think here, OK? Here, how about this? I’m not alone. I’m here with the Monster Hunters.”
“Bane and O’Callahan?”
“You know them?”
Mantis nodded. “I’ve read their books.”
“Then how about an exchange? You give me Billy-Ray, I give you Bane and O’Callahan. You can imprison them, kill them, get a photograph with them, whatever you want.”
“You would betray your allies?”
“My loyalties are fluid.”
“That is tempting,” said Mantis. “The Monster Hunters could be a fly in the ointment. Left to their own devices, they could pose a credible threat to our operations.”
“So we have a deal?”
“But you and Mr Sanguine would also pose a threat – and we already have both of you. Exchanging you for the Monster Hunters strikes me as somewhat illogical.”
“I haven’t finished negotiating yet.”
“Yes you have.”
“I’ve got some cash in my pocket.”
“Place Miss Low under arrest.”
A Cleaver made a move.
“If you take one step closer,” said Tanith, “Bane and O’Callahan will open fire.”
Mantis’s small eyes blinked behind its mask. “You want me to believe they are close enough to be effective?”
“They don’t have to be close,” Tanith said. “You know their reputations. They’re both top-class snipers. Right now they’re each up a tree, with you and you alone in their scopes.”
Mantis sounded amused. “A moment ago, you were about to betray them.”
“That was a bluff.”
“How do I know this is not also a bluff?”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
Mantis looked at her for a few seconds, then turned its head. “Mr Habergeon, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Habergeon was a bearded man with a shotgun. He walked to the edge of the clearing, put the shotgun at his feet, and rolled his shoulders. Then he held up his hands. For a moment, nothing happened. A sudden jolt passed through his body and a shield of blue energy sprang
up before him, high enough and wide enough to protect the hotel and everyone standing outside.
“Habergeon’s force field will protect us all from pesky bullets,” Mantis said to Tanith, motioning to a pair of Cleavers. They came forward, shackles open, and Tanith drew her sword. All around her, energy crackled and rounds were chambered.
“If your next move is a foolish one, you will die,” said Mantis.
Tanith hesitated, then forced a smile on to her face, and let the Cleavers take her sword.
“An excellent decision,” said Mantis. It turned to a man and woman. “Regis. Ashione. Take twenty sorcerers each and track down the Monster Hunters. Take no chances.”
Regis and Ashione nodded and moved out, and Mantis turned back to Tanith. “This,” it said, “is probably the most ill-advised rescue attempt I have ever witnessed.”
“Funny,” Tanith said, “I was just thinking the same thing.”
hey may have been flying on a commercial passenger plane, but of course they were flying First Class.
Skulduggery sat by the window, his hat pulled low and a scarf around his jaw. His façade needed to be conserved for when he really needed it, so the plan was to sit like this for the whole flight, pretending to be asleep. He’d succeeded admirably on the flight from Dublin to Paris. But now that they were on the second leg of their journey, Valkyrie’s toes were tingling, the way they did when she was restless and wanted to run around and hit something. But she behaved, because she was a good girl.
Ghastly and Ravel sat across the aisle. Ghastly wore a similar disguise to Skulduggery to cover up his scars. They needed to be as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t easy – not with Shudder glaring at everyone who came close and Saracen chatting up the stewardesses.
Valkyrie nudged Skulduggery. “I’m bored.”
“I’m meditating,” he murmured in reply.
“Do they show movies on this plane?”
“It’s only two hours to France. No, they don’t show movies.”
A thought struck her. “What happens when we pass through the shield? Am I going to fall into a coma?”
“Would that I were so lucky.”
“What?”
“The shield is designed to keep people out – not to keep people in. We’ll be fine.”
The captain came on over the speaker. She could make out every third word he said. None of it was very interesting. She waited till he finished and nudged Skulduggery again. “Want to talk about the case?”
“Our mystery man? What is there to talk about?”
She shrugged. “I was just wondering if you’d come up with any new theories you wanted to discuss. We usually use these quiet moments to talk about cases.”
“But then they cease to be quiet moments.”
“So you don’t want to talk about the case. OK. Want to play I Spy?”
He turned his head to her. She could see her own reflection in his sunglasses. “You’re worried, aren’t you?”
“I’m not worried. I’m just …”
“Anxious.”
“Anxious sounds worse than worried. I’m curious, that’s all. Curious to find out what’s going to happen.”
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” he said. “We’re going to land in Annecy, sneak by security, disabling any cameras as we go. Then we’re going to hire or steal a large car and we’re going to drive for about two hours.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
“And then we’re going to leave the car, and walk.”
“That’s the bit I’m not looking forward to.”
“A nice walk will do you good.”
“We’ll be walking through mountains, Saracen said. That’s called rock climbing.”
“It’s called hillwalking. You’ll be fine. After a few days of that—”
She gasped. “Days?”
“—we’ll get to a town called Wolfsong or, as it is otherwise known, Chant le Loup. Here, we’ll try to enlist some help to get us into the research facility further on.”
“Where they know we’re coming.”
“Yes.”
“And they’re planning an ambush.”
“Yes.”
“And the only way we’re going to get out of there is if the Australians and the Africans have secretly decided to help us.”
“Exactly. So, as you can see, there is nothing to be either worried, anxious, or even curious about. It’s all been sorted out.”
“How about, instead of all that walking, you and me just fly there?”
“I’m afraid not. We’re going to have to restrict our usage of magic to the minimum until we’re in areas where it won’t be noticed. The Supreme Council will have Sensitives scanning the world for unusual activity.”
“Seriously? But … but what’s the point of having magic if we can’t do awesome things?”
“My thoughts exactly. But it won’t be for long.”
“Then … then will you give me a piggyback?”
“Absolutely not.”
They landed in Annecy and had to wait ages for the doors to open. Private jets in private airfields were so much handier, and much less annoying. Once they deplaned, Saracen took the lead and guided them away from cops and civilians and airport staff. Skulduggery fried a camera lens and they jumped a few fences to land in an outdoor car park. Vex hot-wired a minibus and they drove for a little over two hours before pulling in to the side of the road.
Valkyrie hopped out and climbed up on to a rock to take in the view. A lake on one side, mountains on the other, and the sun overhead. France certainly was a pretty place to visit.
The Dead Men were changing out of their normal clothes. She was already wearing her combat gear – the black clothes Ghastly had made her were suitable for practically every occasion.
She saw Skulduggery’s bleached-white bones and looked away immediately, then laughed at her own reaction.
Shudder walked by her, eyes on the compass in his hand. She heard chatter behind her and turned as the rest of the Dead Men approached.
Skulduggery wore black leather, old and scuffed and cracked. His boots were thick and heavy, steel-toed and polished to a gleam despite their age. On his left arm he wore a dull black metal gauntlet that travelled from wrist to shoulder, with a hinge-joint at the elbow. Instead of his gun resting in a shoulder holster, it was now slung low on his right thigh. On the other side of the belt there was a sword in a scabbard.
“Whoah,” said Valkyrie.
He raised his head to her. “You didn’t expect me to fight a war in a suit and tie, did you? These may not be as durable as the clothes you wear, but they’re close.”
She looked at the others, all of whom were kitted out in a similar fashion. “Is that what you wore during the war?”
“This,” Skulduggery said, “and variations of it.”
“You don’t even have a hat.”
He reached behind him with a gloved hand, pulled a hood over his skull. “Happy?”
“Over the moon. What’s the armour thing?”
He pulled the hood back down, and held up his left arm. “In the olden days, mortals charged into battle with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. For sorcerers, this didn’t leave us any hands free to use magic, so we relied on these instead. It’ll stop a Cleaver’s scythe – which is exactly what we need it to do.”
“Cool.”
“I happen to have one in your size.”
“No thanks.”
He tilted his head.
“I was wearing a gauntlet in Cassandra’s vision,” she explained.
“But that was on your right hand,” Skulduggery said, “and it covered no higher than your wrist. Even if you saw yourself wearing the exact same one I have for you, it means nothing. The future in Cassandra’s vision will not be decided by the gauntlet you wear. If you refuse it, that future or one like it will still happen – you’ll just be a little more vulnerable to attack. The clothes Ghastly made will protect you, but somethi
ng like this is an added layer.”
Valkyrie sighed. “Fine. I’ll wear it. Is it cool?”
“It’s very cool. It’s pink, though.”
“I’m not wearing it.”
“It’s a very cool shade of pink.”
“Skulduggery … you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Slightly.”
“I hate you so much.”
He left her for a moment, came back with a long bag. From this he drew her gauntlet – black like his own – and held it out while she slipped her left arm through. Once in place, the fastenings tightened till it was snug but not uncomfortable. She flexed her arm, testing the hinge. It moved with her, like a second skin. “Do I get a sword?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “but I did get you this.”
He reached into the bag, and took out a stick.
She looked at it. “What?”
“Did you really think I’d forgotten my promise to get you a stick for Christmas?”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“Happy birthday.”
She took it from him. It was some kind of dark wood, a little over an inch thick and hexagonal in shape, with symbols carved into it. It was oddly cold in her hand.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Skulduggery said.
“It’s a stick.”
“It’s a special stick.”
“It’s a stick.”
“Well, yes, but it is, as I say, a special stick. The sharpest Cleaver blade couldn’t cut through this. Probably. I’ve trained you in stick-fighting. Tanith trained you in staff-fighting. All you have to do to turn the stick into a stun baton is press your thumb against this symbol here.”
He showed her, and she pressed, and the stick remained a stick.
“Hmm,” said Skulduggery.
“It’s broken,” Valkyrie said.
“It does appear to be not working.”
“You got me a broken stick for my birthday.”
“A broken stick is still a stick.”
“Which brings us back to the fact that you got me a stick for my birthday. I want a sword.”
“You don’t want a sword. Swords are sharp. Especially these swords. You’d lose a finger on these swords. There’d be no chance of you losing a finger on that stick. It’s not sharp, for one thing. It doesn’t work, for another. It’s perfectly safe.”