Scepter of the Ancients

by Derek Landy

  “Midnight, stroke of midnight, yes yes yes. When I’m strong.”

  “And you pop out from under there at whoever’s passing, don’t you?”

  “Three chances,” the troll said, nodding. “Three chances is what they get. Guess the name, don’t get eaten, get it wrong, come along.”

  “Do you want to play it with me?”

  The grin faded from the troll’s face. “Not strong yet. Need to wait, yes yes. Stroke of midnight.”

  “We don’t have to wait, do we?” she said with a pout. “I want to play now. I bet I can guess your name.”

  “No you can’t.”

  “Bet I can.”

  “No you can’t!” the troll said, giggling again.

  “Come on up out of there, and we’ll see.”

  “Yes yes, play the game.”

  Tanith glanced at her watch and stepped back as the troll scampered up. Two minutes to midnight. He was small, up to her waist, with thin arms and legs and a bloated belly. His fingernails were hardened and pointed, and he was grinning in anticipation, though keeping his distance.

  She let her coat fall open a little and smiled at him. “You’re a handsome little fellow, aren’t you? Are you the only troll in London?”

  “Only one,” he said proudly. “Now we play! Guess the name, don’t get eaten, get it wrong, come along. Guess guess guess.”

  “Let’s see,” she said, taking a step closer. The troll narrowed his eyes and stepped back, toward the edge of the bridge. She stopped moving. “Is your name Bollohollow?”

  The troll roared with laughter. “No no, not Bollohollow! Two guesses left, only two!”

  “This is harder than I thought,” she said. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

  “Best! Very best!”

  “Not many people have guessed your name, huh?”

  “No one.” The troll cackled. “Guess guess!”

  “Is it … Ferninabop Caprookie?”

  The troll whooped and hollered and danced, and Tanith moved a little closer.

  “Not Ferninabop!” he laughed. “Not Caprookie!”

  “Wow,” Tanith said, looking worried. “I’m not doing too well here, am I?”

  “Gonna get eaten!”

  “You eat a lot of passersby?”

  “Yes yes, yum yum.”

  “You gobble them all up, don’t you? They scream and cry and run away—”

  “But I catch them!” The troll giggled. “Stroke of midnight, I’m big and strong and fast, gobble them up, gobble them all up! They struggle and wriggle and tickle inside me!”

  “You kill a lot of people, don’t you?”

  The troll nodded and licked his lips.

  “I better get my last guess right then, eh?” Tanith said. “Okay, is your name … Rumpelstiltskin?”

  The troll laughed so hard, he fell onto his back. “No no!” he managed to say between gales of laughter. “They always say that! Always get it wrong!”

  Tanith took one more step and dropped her smile. The sword flashed from her coat, but the troll saw it just in time and squealed and rolled.

  Tanith cursed and swiped again, but the troll dodged beneath her. She spun and kicked out, sending him sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, hissing and spitting at her as she advanced, and then, in the warm London night, the sound of Big Ben. Midnight.

  Tanith lunged, but it was too late. The troll skipped back as his shoulders hunched, and he snarled and started to grow.

  “Nuts,” Tanith whispered to herself.

  Muscles bulged in his arms and legs, stretching the skin so tight, it looked like it might split. She moved forward again, but he flipped back through the air, and when he landed, he was as tall as she was. His chest broadened and his neck thickened and still he grew, and still he snarled. His bones popped and he finished growing. He was now almost twice her size.

  Facing down a fully grown troll was not what she had planned. She held the sword down by her leg and circled the creature.

  “You cheated,” the troll said, his voice deep and guttural now.

  “You’ve been a very naughty boy,” she said.

  “Gobble you up. Gobble you all up, yes yes.”

  Tanith shot him a smile. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough….”

  The troll roared and lunged, moving fast despite his size, but Tanith was ready. She slipped to the side and then past him, her sword opening up his thigh. He hissed in pain and swung a massive fist that slammed into her back. She hit the ground hard. He went to stamp on her, but she rolled, coming up on one knee and bringing the sword from her side to her shoulder, and the blade found his arm.

  The troll stumbled back, and she got to her feet.

  “Gonna bite you,” the troll growled. “Gonna bite you into little pieces, yes yes.”

  “The game’s not so much fun when you’re playing with someone who can fight back, is it?”

  “My bridge,” he snarled. “My game.”

  She smiled at him. “My rules.”

  Another roar and he dived straight at her. She stood her ground.

  One swipe of the sword took the fingers on his left hand. He howled in pain and staggered back, and she jumped. She planted her feet on his chest and swung, the blade flashing in the bridge’s lights as it took his head. The troll stumbled and she jumped off. The body hit the barrier and tipped backward into the river.

  Tanith stooped to pick up the head and moved to the barrier. She turned as a man walked up. She had never met him before, but she knew who he was. He was tall and bald, and his face was lined and his eyes were a startling blue, the palest eyes she had ever seen. His name was Mr. Bliss.

  Mr. Bliss nodded toward the head in her hand. “Risky.”

  “I’ve fought trolls before,” she said respectfully.

  “I meant the risk you took with being seen.”

  “It had to be done. This troll has killed many innocent people.”

  “But that’s what trolls do. You can’t blame him for doing what nature intended.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. Mr. Bliss smiled.

  “I’m not berating you,” he said. “You’ve done a noble and selfless thing. That is to be admired.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You puzzle me, however. I have been keeping an eye on your progress over the last few years. It is unusual to find a mage, even an Adept like you, focusing as heavily on physical conflict as you have done. Yet you don’t seek power.”

  “I just want to help people.”

  “And that is what puzzles me.”

  “My mother used to tell me stories about the war,” she said. “I think you may be forgetting some selfless acts of your own.”

  Mr. Bliss smiled softly. “There is no heroism in war; there are simply things that need to be done. The heroes come later. But I am not here to discuss philosophies.”

  He looked at her with his startling blue eyes. “A storm is brewing, Miss Low. Coming events will threaten to turn the tide of power in this world, and so I have left my place of solitude and come here, searching for you. I have a need for someone of your ability and your outlook.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “The sorcerer Serpine is about to break the Truce. If I fail in my endeavors, we will once again slip into war. I need you on our side.”

  “It would be an honor,” Tanith said.

  “We have much to learn from each other,” Mr. Bliss responded, bowing. “Make your way to Ireland,” he said, “and I will be in touch with you soon.”

  She nodded and he walked away. Tanith threw the troll’s head into the Thames and, hiding her sword under her coat, walked in the other direction.

  Ten

  THE GAL IN BLACK

  STEPHANIE WAS AWAKENED the next morning by the stereo playing very loudly indeed. Her dad had been trying to tune into a news station and the volume knob had snapped off, so instead of a quiet little traffic report, the family was treated to
Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” at full blast. He had lost the remote control down the back of the sofa and hadn’t the first clue how to turn the stereo off. The music reverberated through the floor and in the walls. There was no escaping its sheer power. By the time her mother yanked the plug out of the socket, Stephanie was wide-awake.

  Her mother poked her head in to say good-bye, and as her parents went to work, Stephanie threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. While she waited for Skulduggery to arrive, she thought about what would be a good name for her to take. Skulduggery had explained how the actual taking of a new name casts a seal around the old one—so if Stephanie took the name Crystal Hammer (she didn’t plan on it), then the name Stephanie Edgley would be instantly immune to any controlling spells. But while she went only by her given name, she was vulnerable.

  If she was to have a new name, it would have to be a name she wouldn’t be embarrassed about in years to come. It would have to be something classy, and also something she felt comfortable with. He had told her about people who’d taken names like Razor and Phoenix, and how he wouldn’t advise anyone to take a name that seemed cool. He’d once been introduced to a woman who had put on a little weight over the years, and her hair was a bit windswept and she had spinach in her teeth, and he was told her name was Jet. Jet did not suit this woman, the same way Razor did not suit the short fat man who had taken that as a name.

  She looked up from her desk as Skulduggery knocked. She opened the window.

  “I thought girls were supposed to be tidy,” he said as he peered in.

  Stephanie kicked some underwear under her bed and ignored the comment. “You okay out there?”

  “I’ve been perched on worse roofs, believe me.”

  “My parents have gone to work, you know. You could have used the door.”

  “Doors are for people with no imagination.”

  “Are you sure no one saw you? The last thing I need is for a neighbor to be passing and see you climbing up the side of the house.”

  “I was careful, don’t you worry. And I have something for you.”

  He gave her a short piece of chalk.

  “Uh, thank you,” she said slowly.

  “Go to your mirror.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Go to your mirror and draw this symbol on it.”

  He handed her a small card that showed an eye in a circle with a wavy line through it.

  “What’s this for?”

  “It’s to help you. Go on.”

  She frowned, then went to the mirror.

  “No,” Skulduggery said, “a full-length mirror. Do you have one?”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie said. Still with no clue why she was doing this, she opened her wardrobe and used the chalk to copy the symbol onto the mirror on the other side of the door. When she was done, she handed the card and the chalk back to Skulduggery. He thanked her, put them away, and then looked at the mirror.

  “Surface speak, surface feel, surface think, surface real.” He looked at her again. “Could you wipe the symbol off now, please?”

  “What is going on? What are you doing? Did you just cast a spell on my mirror?”

  “Yes. Could you wipe the symbol off?”

  “Well, what does the spell do?” she asked as she used her sleeve to erase the chalk.

  “You’ll see,” he answered. “Are you wearing a watch?”

  “My watch broke. I wore it swimming. I thought it was waterproof.”

  “Was it?”

  “As it turned out, no. Why do you need to know the time?”

  “Oh, I don’t. Touch the mirror.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “Touch it.”

  Stephanie hesitated, then did as he said and reached out, touching her fingers lightly against the mirror. But when she pulled back, her reflection did not. She watched in amazement as her reflection blinked, as if awakening from a trance, then dropped its arm to its side and looked around. Then, very slowly, it stepped out through the mirror.

  “Oh my God …,” Stephanie said, moving back as the reflection joined her in the room. “Oh my God,” she said again, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Skulduggery looked on from the window. “It will carry on with your life while you’re away, so you won’t be missed.”

  Stephanie stared. “She’s me.”

  “Not she, it. And it isn’t you, it’s a surface copy. It walks like you, talks like you, behaves like you, and it should be enough to fool your parents and anyone else it comes into contact with. When you return, it will go back into the mirror, and the experiences and the memories it has made transfer to you.”

  “So … so I can be in two places at once?”

  “Precisely. It can’t spend too long in other people’s company or they’ll start to notice that things aren’t quite right, and it would never fool a mage, but it is ideal for your needs.”

  “Wow.” Stephanie peered more closely at the reflection. “Say something.”

  The reflection looked back at her. “What do you want me to say?”

  Stephanie laughed suddenly, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “You sound just like me,” she said through her fingers.

  “I know.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “My name is Stephanie.”

  “No, a name of your own.”

  Skulduggery shook his head. “Remember, it’s not a real person. It has no thoughts or feelings of its own; they’re all imitations of yours. It’s your reflection, that’s all it is. Operating instructions are as follows: It cannot change out of the clothes you’re wearing when you cast it, so make sure you’re not wearing anything with a logo or insignia. They’ll come out backward. Make sure you’re not wearing a watch or a ring—they’ll appear on the opposite hand. Apart from that, it’s pretty simple.”

  “Wow.”

  “We should go.”

  She turned to him, frowning. “Are you sure they won’t realize it’s not me?”

  “It’ll stay out of other people’s way for most of the time, and try to avoid any long conversations. Even if your parents corner it and bombard it with questions, they’ll just think you’re acting strange.”

  Stephanie chewed her lip, then shrugged. “I suppose jumping to the conclusion that it’s my reflection come to life is a bit unlikely.”

  “You’d be surprised by how many things we get away with that fall into the category of ‘unlikely.’ You ready to go?”

  “I suppose I am.”

  “Do you want to leave by door or window?”

  “Doors are for people with no imagination.” She grinned.

  She joined Skulduggery on the sill and took one look back. The reflection was standing in the middle of the room, perfectly still.

  “’Bye,” Stephanie said.

  “’Bye,” the reflection responded, and tried a smile for the first time. It looked kind of eerie.

  Stephanie climbed out and hung on to Skulduggery as he jumped, displacing the air beneath them to act as a cushion. They landed gently and made it to the end of the road without any neighbors seeing them, but when they reached the pier, Stephanie’s face fell. She stared in horror as Skulduggery marched onward.

  “What the hell is that?” she demanded.

  “It’s my car,” he answered, leaning against it with his arms folded. The sea breeze ruffled his wig beneath his hat.

  She stared at him, at the car, and then at him again.

  “What happened to the Bentley?” she asked.

  His head tilted. “I don’t know if you noticed, but it was ever so slightly dinged.”

  “And where is it now?”

  “It’s getting fixed.”

  “Right. That’s a good answer. ‘Fixed’ is a good answer. But I don’t know, I’m kind of drawn back to my original question. What the hell is that?”

  Skulduggery was leaning against a canary-yellow hatchback with lime-green seat covers.

&nbs
p; “It’s my replacement car,” he said proudly.

  “It’s hideous!”

  “I don’t mind it, actually.”

  “Well, you’re wearing a disguise, so no one will recognize you anyway!”

  “That may have something to do with it….”

  “When will the Bentley be fixed?”

  “That’s the nice thing about living in a world of magic and wonder: Even our most extreme car repairs happen in less than a week.”

  She glared at him. “A week?”

  “Not a week,” he said quickly. “Six days. Sometimes five. Definitely four. I’ll call him, tell him I’ll pay the extra …”

  She was still glaring.

  “Day after tomorrow,” he said quietly.

  Her shoulders sagged. “Do we really have to ride around in this?”

  “Think of it as an adventure,” he said brightly.

  “Why should I do that?”

  “Because if you don’t, you’ll just become really, really depressed. Trust me. Now hop in!”

  Skulduggery hopped in. Stephanie dragged her feet around to the other side and more kind of fell in. She squirmed down in the lime-green seat as much as she could as they drove through Haggard. There was a parcel in the backseat, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Beside that was a black bag.

  “Is that the gear for breaking into the Vault?” she asked. “Is that where we’re going?”

  “Well, to answer your first question first, yes. That bag contains all the equipment needed for a beautifully executed break-in. To answer your second question, no, that is not where we’re going. Before I get to introduce you to a life of crime, I get to introduce you to the Elder Mages.”

  “Crime sounds more fun.”

  “As indeed it is, though I would never condone crime in any of its forms. Except when I do it, naturally.”

  “Naturally. So why are we delaying the fun? What do these Elder Mages want?”

  “They’ve heard that I’ve been dragging a perfectly nice young lady into all manner of trouble, and they want to admonish me for it.”

  “Tell them it’s none of their business.”

  “Well, while I do admire your moxie—”

  “What’s moxie?”

  “—I’m afraid that won’t work too well with these fellows. One thing you have to remember about the Elder Mages is that they’re—”