Dark Days

by Derek Landy

  “Oh, he does,” Grouse said. “Oh, I do. And I have so much more.”

  “Then do we have a deal?”

  The old man looked at him and a smile drifted across his face like a seeping wound. “We have a deal, Mr Scarab.”

  34

  THE MEETING

  Davina Marr went up to the counter and told the dim-looking boy what kind of sandwich she wanted, then repeated her order slowly, using smaller words. He finally nodded and went away, and she just knew he was going to get it wrong. That’s what she despised about mortals – their ineptitude. Their casual ignorance. Their downright stupidity.

  She couldn’t say any of this out loud, however, not as an agent of the Sanctuary, and certainly not as its Prime Detective. It was part of her job to protect the mortals, to keep them safe from the dangers posed by the magical community. But was she still the Sanctuary’s Prime Detective now that Skulduggery Pleasant was back? Instead of doing her job, tracking down the vampire that had led the raid on the Sanctuary, Marr had been relegated to checking out castles as per the skeleton detective’s request. Such a task was so far beneath her it would have been almost laughable if it wasn’t so humiliating.

  She became aware of the man standing beside her, but she didn’t look at him. “You’re late.”

  “I had to make sure you weren’t leading me into a trap,” the man responded, his golden eyes scanning the menu above them. “Forgive me if I’m sceptical, but you have already turned us down twice. Why the change of heart?”

  “I’m seeing things clearer.”

  The dim-looking boy came back, checked her order and went away again.

  “Guild isn’t fit to run the Sanctuary,” she said. “He’s making stupid mistakes. Shirking his responsibility.”

  “We heard he demoted you.”

  The heat rose in her face, but Marr kept her voice even. “Temporary reassignment,” she said. “Just one of his recent errors of judgement.”

  “So you’ll help us then?”

  “Yes.”

  “We had Mr Bliss in line to take over,” the man told her. “His death has meant a drastic change in our plans. I hope you realise that.”

  “How drastic?” she asked.

  “We’re going to destroy the Sanctuary,” he said, “and take over what’s left.”

  The dim-looking boy returned with her sandwich. It was completely wrong, but she wasn’t hungry anyway. She paid for it and collected her change, catching the man’s eye as she turned.

  “Suits me,” she said and walked out.

  35

  MYRON STRAY

  The house had a face.

  The two large windows on the first floor peered down at the Bentley as it drew to a halt. The paint was like dried skin, cracked and peeling back, and the front door was open like a great gaping mouth. It would have been creepy, Valkyrie reflected, were it not for the drawn blinds that gave the face a half-asleep expression. As it was, it looked as if it was caught in the middle of a giant yawn.

  “Once upon a time,” Skulduggery said, “Myron Stray was an information broker, much like China is today. He was respected too. Until it all fell apart for him.”

  “What happened?” Valkyrie asked.

  “Mr Bliss found out Myron’s true name. Myron and Bliss never got on – always at each other’s throats. One night, in a pub in Belfast where they were supposed to be planning how to take down Mevolent, they got into an argument. I wasn’t there, but the way I heard it, Myron was taunting him, goading him, and Bliss just sat back in his chair and then very calmly, very quietly, said, ‘Laudigan, leave.’ Myron went white as a sheet, apparently, and walked out. Mr Bliss just smiled.”

  “Laudigan is his true name?”

  “Indeed it is. Something like that spreads like nothing you’ve ever seen. And just like that, Myron’s life, the life he had built up for himself, was over. He dealt in information and now anyone could use that name to control him, make him give up his secrets or lie to their enemies. His friends left. The woman he was living with walked out the very next day. His life fell apart.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I suppose it is. But taunting Mr Bliss – that was Myron’s mistake.”

  “But you stayed friends with him, right? With Myron? When everyone else abandoned him?”

  “To be honest, we were never really friends. And even if we had been, I wasn’t around in those days. I was sick of the whole thing. I was sick of the war and I just wanted it to be over. By the time I came back, and I heard what had happened, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do to help him out, even if I had wanted to.”

  “But you’re hoping that he still hears things, aren’t you?”

  “China is still recovering – she could have missed something important. We don’t have the luxury of waiting for her to get better, so yes, we’re forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel. And if there’s one place where Myron is at home these days, it’s the bottom of the barrel.”

  They got out of the car and Valkyrie followed Skulduggery through the broken gate and up the cracked path to the house. They peered in through the open door. The damp walls were covered with faded green wallpaper, bleached in places by the sun. The floor was bare, but the stairs were carpeted. Whoever had owned this house in the 1970s had obviously tried to match the stairs with the wallpaper, but the best they could manage was an ugly carpet the colour of bile. Skulduggery rapped his knuckles on the doorframe and Valkyrie heard movement from deep within the house.

  A moment later, Myron Stray appeared. He wasn’t too tall, wasn’t too slim, and wasn’t too good-looking. In fact, he wasn’t too anything. He was pretty average in a pale, unshaven kind of way.

  “Skulduggery,” he said. “You haven’t darkened my door in an age.”

  “I’ve been away.”

  “I heard. This must be Valkyrie Cain then.”

  Valkyrie smiled and held out her hand. Myron turned away.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  Valkyrie took an instant dislike to the man. They followed him into the kitchen. The table was a mass of pizza boxes and wine bottles, and dishes were piled up in the sink. Substances that may once have been food had long since dried and hardened to the plates, and each and every cup Valkyrie saw had fuzzy mould creeping over the brim. The air was stale, and flies tapped and buzzed against the grimy windows.

  “I like what you’ve done to the place,” Skulduggery said eventually.

  Myron took a can of beer from the fridge and cracked it open. “I always wanted someone to come up with a Mary Poppins trick, didn’t you? You know, just click your fingers and dishes wash themselves and the floor mops itself and all that stuff? It’d save me a bundle on housekeeping.”

  Valkyrie frowned. “You have a housekeeper?”

  “I was making a joke. This one’s not too smart is she, Skulduggery?”

  All pretence at being civil left Valkyrie’s face, to be replaced by open and obvious hostility.

  “Not like your last partner,” Myron continued, sitting at the table, “the one who died. How did he die again? I can’t quite remember.”

  “Horribly,” Skulduggery said.

  “He died screaming your name, didn’t he? Now here’s where things get a little fuzzy. When he was screaming your name, was he calling for help, or was he cursing you?”

  “A little bit of both I would imagine. Myron, I don’t appreciate you insulting my partner. I would have leaped to her defence, but Valkyrie is more than capable of fighting her own battles. Valkyrie? You can respond however you wish.”

  “Thank you,” Valkyrie said, smiling thinly. “In that case, we came here to ask you a few questions, Myron, and that’s what we’re going to do. You don’t mind if I call you Myron, do you?” He opened his mouth to utter a lazy reply, but she cut him off. “Thank you. I didn’t think you would. We need to know anything you’ve heard concerning Dreylan Scarab and any possible base of operations.”

  Myron looked at her
for a long time. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. I could continue calling you Myron, you see, or I could switch to your other name. What was it again? The name that makes you do anything you’re told?”

  Myron’s eyes turned hard and he looked at Skulduggery. “You promised me you would never use my true name against me.”

  “Yes, I did,” Skulduggery said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “And I won’t. Unfortunately, you were rude to my partner and friend, and she made you no such promise.”

  Valkyrie pulled a chair from beneath the table, wiped the seat and sat. “I read somewhere,” she said, “that you can protect your true name. Isn’t that right? There’s a way to seal it so it can’t be used against you? Why didn’t you do that?”

  Myron licked his lips. “It was too late,” he said stiffly. “That only works if you seal the name before it’s used.”

  “I see,” she nodded. “But you didn’t even know what it was, did you? And Mr Bliss did. And you annoyed him. I can’t possibly imagine how, seeing as you’re just so nice and polite, and such fun to be around.”

  Myron put his beer can on the cluttered tabletop and glared. “You want to know if I’ve heard anything? I heard about you. Both of you. Sensitives are talking and they’re saying that some freak called Darquesse is going to kill you. I for one can’t wait. Skulduggery, we’ve never really liked each other, and girl, I have certainly not taken a shine to you, either. If you ask me, the sooner this freak gets to you, the better.”

  “We heard about those visions,” Skulduggery said calmly. “But I wouldn’t sound too pleased about it, if I were you. Darquesse kills us, yes, but she kills everyone else while she’s at it. You may have missed that bit.”

  Myron rubbed the bristles on his jaw and didn’t respond.

  “We want to know where Scarab is hiding,” said Valkyrie.

  “I don’t know where. No one knows where. That bunch of psychos he has with him don’t let things slip to friends, because they don’t have any friends. Nobody knows where they are.”

  “We know that they’re in a castle somewhere,” Valkyrie said.

  “Well, why didn’t you say that at the start?” Myron snapped. “I didn’t pay this any attention when I heard it, but there’s been a lot of activity around Serpine’s old place recently.”

  “Serpine’s castle has been sealed off,” Skulduggery said.

  “Well, they must have found a way to unseal it then.”

  Skulduggery stood and put on his hat. He took a roll of cash from his coat pocket and left it on top of an upturned fried chicken bucket on the table. “Thanks for your help,” he said.

  “My pleasure,” grunted Myron.

  Skulduggery tipped his hat and walked out. Valkyrie got up to follow him.

  “Interesting people you hang around with,” Myron said, and she looked back at him. “Couple of bad habits you’re picking up too. Got a pretty smart mouth on you, don’t you?”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “Word of warning though. There might not be many people out there who trust me, but there are even fewer who trust your friend. Just something to think about.”

  He took a swig from his beer can and Valkyrie walked out to the car.

  36

  PLAYTIME

  Scarab and Billy-Ray walked over to inspect the bomb on the table.

  “That was quick,” Scarab murmured. “We had all the materials ready for you, but still, how did you do it so fast?”

  “This one has secrets,” Professor Grouse said. The chains that kept him on his side of the room weren’t bound, but they were enough to slow him down. “Who cares? I did the job, didn’t I? Didn’t I do the job? Now the job is done. Now you release me, yes?”

  “You added the specifications I asked for?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” the Professor replied. “It was no problem, not for someone like me. This mind is a wonderful thing. I’d be sorry to leave it, if the body wasn’t so decrepit.”

  Scarab didn’t know a whole lot about Desolation Engines, but everything seemed to be where it should be.

  “We’re not releasing you,” he said. “You’re too mischievous. You might tell our enemies where we are.”

  Grouse’s smile dropped, very slowly, from his face. “Your enemies are my enemies. My enemies are everywhere. Everyone is my enemy. You release me now!”

  “Not goin’ to happen,” said Billy-Ray. “But we sure do appreciate the work you’ve put into this. Assumin’ our plan goes well, we’ll release you after.”

  “You said now!”

  “Calm down, Professor. We understand how upset you must be, so we have a gift we’d like to give to you.”

  Grouse cocked his head curiously. “A gift?”

  “A lovely gift,” Billy-Ray said, smiling. “One for you to play with to your little heart’s content.”

  The door opened and, with a clang of shackles, Tanith Low was led in.

  “Our gift,” said Scarab, “to you.”

  Grouse clapped his hands and laughed.

  37

  CHINA’S DARK SECRET

  Over the bed there was a sigil painted on to the ceiling and it glowed gently, its power drifting down into China’s body. She lay with her eyes closed, hands folded on her stomach, her mind attuned to the sigil, manipulating its properties. The ebb and flow of magic raged like a storm-tossed sea, and yet none of that was evident from outward appearances. Instead of a storm-tossed sea there seemed to be a still lake, not even a ripple on the water’s surface, exactly the way China preferred it to be.

  The sigil stopped glowing and her eyes opened. She sat up smoothly, without hurry. As she dressed, she observed herself in the mirror. She looked pale and weak. Her body was still tired, her magic still exhausted. She wasn’t strong enough to do what she needed to do, but it had to be done.

  China left the bedroom, took the gun from her desk drawer and put it in her purse. She couldn’t risk taking one of her own cars, so she called a taxi and endured forty-five minutes of the taxi driver telling her how much he loved her before they arrived at their destination. The driver wept as he drove away.

  China stepped off the cracked pavement and followed a thin trail between a tall rotten fence and a high crumbling wall. The trail was overgrown with weeds and grasses, and it led to a small house, tucked away from prying eyes and passing cars. She knocked on the door and a small man in a three-piece suit answered. His face was a catalogue of disappointments, of cohesion attempted but never achieved. His name was Prave, and his bulbous eyes grew so wide they practically erupted from their sockets and rolled down his cheeks.

  “China Sorrows,” he said in a hushed tone. She had forgotten how nasal his voice was. “I knew this day would come. I knew it. You’ve come to kill me, haven’t you?”

  “Now why would I want to do something like that?” China asked. She didn’t smile at him. He wasn’t worthy of her smile. “May I come in?”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” he said quickly.

  “That must make a nice change. Stand aside, please.”

  Prave did as he was told and China walked in. The house was a hundred years old and she knew it well, for upon completion it had been converted into a church for the followers of the Faceless Ones. Its existence was one of the best-kept secrets in the city, mainly because the man who ran it, Prave himself, was an ineffectual fool who posed no serious threat to anyone. The walls were decorated with the paintings and iconography of the Dark Gods, and the main room contained an altar and a well-worn carpet, where a handful of desperate disciples had kneeled and worshipped and prayed for the end of humanity.

  “Where is he?” China asked, flicking through the book on the altar. It was a particularly battered edition of the Gospel of the Faceless, a moronic book written by a moron in an attempt to rationalise the behaviour of his ilk.

  Prave shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talkin
g about, but even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You are a traitor and a blasphemer and a heretic.”

  “I seem to be a lot of things. I’m looking for Remus Crux.”

  Prave adopted a look he probably thought was aloof. “I don’t know who that is. A lot has changed since you started your blaspheming ways, Miss Sorrows. We are a respectable religion now, and should be treated as such. We are tired of this persecution we have been subjected to. We have our rights, you know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Well, we should. We’re not hurting anyone, nor do we condone the use of violence towards anyone.”

  “So eleven months ago, when the Faceless Ones stopped by for a visit and all those people were killed…”

  “That’s different,” Prave said. “Those people were asking for it.”

  “You’re annoying me now, Prave, so you’d better answer. Where is Remus Crux?”

  Prave remained defiant for two or three seconds then wilted. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s been here a few times, but not with any regularity. He likes to sit around and talk in clichés about how the Faceless Ones are going to smite humanity and turn the world to ash, that kind of thing. He doesn’t understand the beauty of what they do – he’s just interested in the end result. I thought talking to him would be a revelation – his mind has been touched by the Dark Gods, after all. But no. He holds no insights, no startling truths. He’s just…insane.”

  “I need to find him.”

  “I can’t help you. I don’t know where he’s living. I don’t even know the people he knows. From what I can see, I’m the only one he talks to, and even then, most of what he says is gibberish.”

  “It must make you question your religion.”

  Prave glared. “Our gods will reward our faith when they return and wipe the heretics from the face of the world.”

  He didn’t know anything of use, and even if he did, she didn’t have the strength to get it out of him. China left him standing by the altar and let herself out. She started back down the trail, and noticed a man walking in off the street. His head was down and his hands were in his pockets. He walked quickly. He was ten steps away from her when he looked up.