Bedlam

by Derek Landy

  The pen stopped. Valkyrie looked up. “I don’t do that.”

  “Aw, just this once!”

  She closed the notebook, held it out for him. “I don’t do that,” she repeated.

  His smile faded. “I’m just asking you to write your name.”

  “That isn’t her name,” Militsa said.

  “Are we talking to you?” the waiter said angrily.

  Valkyrie was out of her seat before she knew what was happening and the waiter was bent backwards over a table with her hand on his throat and energy burning behind her eyes. She became aware of Militsa tugging at her, trying to pull her back.

  She released her hold and the waiter slipped sideways and fell off the table, sending chairs crashing into each other.

  “We’ll eat somewhere else,” Militsa told him as he tried to right himself. “We’re not paying for this food, by the way. You can explain that to your manager. Also, you’re not getting a tip. I always tip, because I appreciate floor staff and kitchen staff, and I realise that, generally, you’re not paid an awful lot, but you’re getting nothing this time. I think you know why. Sweetie, shall we take our leave?”

  “Yeah,” Valkyrie said quietly. “Let’s go.”

  Militsa linked arms with her, and marched her out on to the street.

  Once they were out of view, Militsa stopped and turned. “Are you OK?” she asked. “You don’t usually fly off the handle like that.”

  “I’m good,” said Valkyrie. “I’m fine. Just … just got a little angry.”

  Militsa hugged her. “Want to go somewhere else? I still have half an hour left of my break. Are you still hungry? What do you want?”

  “I want a muffin,” Valkyrie mumbled into her shoulder.

  “My baby wants a muffin,” Militsa said, “my baby gets a muffin. Come on.” They started walking. “So what did tall, dead and handsome want to talk to you about?”

  Valkyrie smiled. “‘Tall, dead and handsome’. That’s good.”

  “Isn’t it? I thought of it when I was peeing.”

  “You’re very clever.”

  “I am a teacher.”

  They walked on, looking for somewhere that sold muffins.

  Temper Fray left his sword and his City Guard uniform in his locker and dressed in civilian clothes for the meeting. He slipped his badge into his back pocket and his gun into the holster beneath his jacket. If there was one good thing about winter, it gave cops like him a good excuse to wear bulky coats.

  He took the tram across the city. He liked the tram. It was smooth, efficient and good for the environment. Just like him.

  He grinned to himself. That was funny.

  The store where he’d arranged to meet the guy was called The Cabinet of Curiosities. If it had existed in any mortal city around the world, it would have been one of those weird little shops that attracted only the most discerning customer, those with dark sensibilities pursuing arcane delights.

  But, because it was in Roarhaven, it was just another store that sold magical junk.

  Temper nodded to the guy behind the counter and walked to the back, where an over-the-hill surfer type with shaggy hair was trying on lacquered masks over his sunglasses. When he saw Temper coming, he tried to stuff the masks on to a nearby shelf. One of them fell, hit the floor and broke into two pieces.

  “Awwwwwww,” the surfer said.

  “Adam Brate?” Temper asked.

  “Yeah,” Brate said, eyes still on the broken pieces. “Aw, man.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Temper said quickly. “I’ll pay for the damage.”

  “That’s a Necromancer ceremonial mask,” Brate responded. “It’s worth more than my house.”

  “In that case, let’s talk over here,” Temper said, and led the way to the far corner. “You know who I am.”

  “Yeah, dude, I know who you are. Of course I do. I mean, I got in touch with you, didn’t I? You’re the traitor.”

  Temper let that one slide. “I guess I am.”

  “That’s, uh, that’s why I called. I figured you’d understand the, well, the implications of what I have to tell you.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “Oh, it is,” said Brate. “I mean, I think it is. I don’t have the full story, and you’ll certainly know more about this than I do, but … but I had to tell someone. For years, I’ve been … I mean, I have been devout, you know? My family have worshipped the Faceless Ones, we’ve gone to church, we’ve done the prayers, the offerings, read the Book of Tears …”

  “I’ve got some friends coming,” Temper said. “They’ll want to hear this, too.”

  Brate frowned. “What friends?”

  “Trusted friends. Don’t worry, you’re quite safe with them.”

  “I don’t know, man. I find it very hard to trust people. I’m a naturally paranoid person, you know?” He spun suddenly. “What the hell is that?”

  “That’s a wall, Adam.”

  “Oh,” said Brate, calming down. “Sorry. I’ve also taken a buttload of drugs over my lifetime? So I kinda see things that aren’t really there?”

  “Good to know. Ah, here are my friends now.”

  Brate turned as Skulduggery and Valkyrie walked in.

  “That’s … that’s Skulduggery Pleasant.”

  “Yes,” said Temper.

  “That’s Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain.”

  “It is.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about this,” said Brate. “I don’t know. I mean, these guys … Trouble follows these guys around, you know? I don’t wanna get killed, man.”

  “You won’t.”

  They came over, and Temper nodded to them. “Skulduggery, Valkyrie, this is the gentleman I asked you here to meet.”

  Brate stuck out his hand. Skulduggery shook it. “Dude. Adam Brate’s my name. I know who you are, of course, and I’ve waited a long time for this moment.”

  Skulduggery tilted his head. “Is that so?”

  “You have no idea, man. No idea at all. I just need someone to take me seriously, you know? Someone to believe me. I’ve been warning people about this for years, but no one has listened. Now, after all this time, I have the three of you.” He switched his attention to Valkyrie, shook her hand vigorously. “I feel like I know you already, I really do. Oh, hey, I apologise for wearing the sunglasses, you know? Not making eye contact? See, I’m in disguise. I think it’s safer for me if you don’t know who I am.”

  Valkyrie frowned. “But you just told us your name.”

  Brate stopped shaking her hand. “Aw, hell.”

  “Adam has some important information to share,” Temper said quickly. “That’s what you told me, right, Adam? Why don’t we get down to business?”

  “Yeah, man,” said Brate, “OK. Well. I’m … I was telling Temper here that I am, or I was, up until recently, a devout member of the Church of the Faceless. My family, back in California, were fanatical, and that’s how I was raised. I kinda drifted away in my adult years, but a few years ago the True Teachings were introduced, and I came back.”

  Valkyrie frowned. “The True Teachings?”

  “Peace and love,” said Brate. “The idea that the Faceless Ones were bringers of warmth and harmony instead of, you know, oppression and death.”

  “Ah,” said Valkyrie. “You’re talking about the Great Pivot.”

  “Am I?”

  “It’s what we call it,” Skulduggery said. “The Church needed to soften its philosophies in order to be allowed to practise, and suddenly they were all about sweetness and light.”

  Brate seemed a bit put out by that. “That’s a … that’s a cynical way to view what happened, man. Warmth and harmony have always been part of what the Faceless Ones promised us.”

  “Providing we worship them,” Skulduggery said.

  “Well, yeah,” said Brate. “But that’s the same with all religions, right? Obey our rules, worship our gods, and you’ll be rewarded, and the non-believers will burn in whatever
hell we imagine there to be.”

  “I think we’re getting a little sidetracked here,” said Temper.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Brate said. “My thoughts and feelings towards my religion are not actually relevant to what I have to say. I don’t think they are anyway. I dunno. I’m conflicted. But I have to do what I think is right.”

  Temper hoped his smile was both patient and reassuring. “Why did you bring us here, Adam?”

  “Arch-Canon Creed,” said Brate, squaring his shoulders. “He’s resumed his search for the Child of the Faceless Ones.”

  Temper’s chin dipped to his chest. “Damn.”

  “I’m sorry,” Valkyrie said. “The search for who?”

  “The Child of the Faceless Ones,” said Brate. “The offspring. The heir.”

  Valkyrie frowned. “The Faceless Ones had a kid?”

  “Temper,” Skulduggery said, “do you want to take this?”

  “I guess,” Temper muttered. He took a breath before speaking again. “OK, so, according to the legends, back when the Faceless Ones ruled the earth, before the Ancients rose up against them, they didn’t need human vessels. Back then, for whatever reason, they could survive in this reality in their true forms. But then the Ancients did something to turn the environment inhospitable, and, from that point on, the Faceless Ones needed to possess human bodies.”

  Valkyrie nodded. “I’ve seen that happen. Continue.”

  “The vessels didn’t exactly last too long, so most of the time the bodies would burn themselves out and the Faceless Ones would vacate them, move on to the next, and then the next, leaving a trail of burnt-out corpses behind. But sometimes they vacated the body before it burned out, and, if that happened, the person would return to normal.”

  “I‘ve understood all of this so far,” Valkyrie said. “This is good. Go on.”

  “So we’re left with a few ex-vessels getting back to their old lives,” said Temper, “and, for the most part, everything is the same – except for the slight alteration that has been made to their DNA. Nothing obvious. Nothing that changes their appearance or behaviour, nothing that changes their personalities. Nothing to mark them out. These ex-vessels have children, and pass on this particular strain of DNA. Generation after countless generation. We emerge from the mists of time, venture into recorded history, and still we go on. Generation after generation.”

  Valkyrie frowned. “So there are people out there, in the world, with Faceless Ones DNA? Seriously?”

  Temper nodded. “And Arch-Canon Creed wants to find them.”

  “One, actually,” Skulduggery interjected.

  “Yes,” said Temper. “He’s looking for one in particular.”

  “To do what?” Valkyrie asked.

  “Bring about the end of the world,” said Brate, eager to get involved in the conversation again. “Call the Faceless Ones back, man. Have them wipe the earth clean and allow their disciples to live in ecstasy for all eternity – while the rest of you heathens burn and die.” His smile faltered. “Which is, obviously, not cool.”

  Valkyrie stood there with her hands on her hips – one of those hips cocked. “How many?” she asked. “How many people are out there who are, you know, actually descended from insane supergods?”

  “It’s estimated that one in seven people carry this particular strand of DNA,” said Temper.

  Valkyrie stared at him. “That’s … that’s, like, a billion people. There are a billion people with Faceless Ones genes walking around? Well … Jesus. I mean, how do we stop Creed from finding them?”

  “Oh,” said Temper, “he’s already found them.”

  “What?”

  “He found thousands of them before his experiments were shut down. Tens of thousands. More, probably. He’d been conducting experiments for centuries. We didn’t have the terminology we do now, but essentially what he was doing, even back then, was Activating these latent genes. There’s someone out there, statistically there has to be, with a strong enough DNA strand to become the Child of the Faceless Ones. Once they’re Activated, they’ll be able to call their cousins home. Creed just hasn’t found the right subject.”

  “And what happened to all the people he’s experimented on?”

  “We call them the Kith,” said Skulduggery. “Creed Activated their genes, which led to a certain transformation. Their faces were … lost.”

  “Lost?” Valkyrie echoed.

  “They melted away,” said Temper. “They were left with, I don’t know, smoothness. No hair, no features, no eyes or ears, no mouth. And, from what we could tell, their minds were wiped. After they were Activated, they didn’t need to eat or drink. They didn’t communicate. They just … stood there. Some of my best friends are still standing in a bunker somewhere.”

  “Your friends?”

  Temper smiled weakly. “I was a Disciple. You knew that already, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I followed Creed. I was young, and stupid, and I needed somewhere to belong. Out of all my friends, he said I was one of his favourites. This gene had been detected in us, and it was strong. We were prime specimens. Creed would Activate others, develop this technique or that approach, and then take what he’d learned and apply it to us, one by one. He failed, over and over again. Like I said, my friends … I watched them being led away, excited at the possibility of being turned into the Child of the Faceless Ones. Next time I saw them, they’d be standing in a row, without a face, and the Activations and the experiments would continue. So I left. I renounced it all and ran.”

  “Years later, in order to take over the Church,” Skulduggery said, “Creed had to prove that he’d left his old ways behind. No more Activations. No more Kith.”

  “But he’s doing it again,” said Brate. “This Religious Freedom Act that was passed last year? It’s letting him get away with more and more.”

  “Where is it happening?” Skulduggery asked. “If we can catch him in the act, or at the very least find some of these new Kith, Supreme Mage Sorrows will have all she needs to have Creed arrested.”

  “We wouldn’t arrest him ourselves?” Valkyrie asked.

  “We could, but for something like this, something this big, it would be wise to have the support of the Sanctuaries.”

  “I don’t know that I can be of any, like, assistance, man,” said Brate. “I don’t know where the latest Activations are taking place. It might be in the Dark Cathedral; it could be in a whole different country. The Church of the Faceless, they got, like, places everywhere.”

  “Can you poke around?” Temper asked. “Nothing too aggressive. Just chat to people. See what they think. No one in the Church will speak to me any more, and they certainly won’t speak to these two.”

  “He has a point,” said Skulduggery. “Adam, we need to make this quite clear – we are not asking you to put yourself in any danger. We’re not even asking you to be a spy. We’re asking you to have a few casual conversations with people who might know something. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, man,” said Brate. “So do I need, like, a code name?”

  “I don’t think you understand.”

  “No, I get it, I do.”

  “OK.”

  “But …”

  “No.”

  “But,” Brate continued, “I think a code name might be a good idea. Like … Condor. Or Rattlesnake. Or, uh …”

  “You won’t need a code name because you’re not a spy,” Valkyrie told him.

  “I could wear a disguise.”

  “No.”

  “I’m really good with disguises. I bet if I wore a disguise you wouldn’t even recognise me. I’m not talking about sunglasses, even. I’m talking about a proper, full-on disguise. Like a moustache, or something.”

  “You don’t need a disguise,” said Valkyrie, “because you’ll be chatting to people who already know you. They wouldn’t chat to you if they didn’t recognise you, would they?”

  “Ah. Yeah. I guess not.”


  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Skulduggery murmured.

  “No, dude,” Brate said quickly. “I can do it. I can. I won’t mess it up. No one has ever believed in me. No one has ever trusted me with something this important. No one has ever trusted me with anything, man. But you guys do. You guys see something in me. Potential, maybe. True courage, perhaps. A steely-eyed determination, no doubt. I will not let you down. Skulduggery, Valkyrie and Temper – you’re, like, my Three Musketeers, you know? And I would be honoured to be your d’Artagnan in this time of need.”

  Temper looked at Skulduggery, and Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie, and Valkyrie looked fed up.

  “Fine,” she said. “You can be our d’Artagnan.”

  “One for all!” Brate cheered.

  “Don’t do that,” said Skulduggery.

  “Sorry.”

  “Empty your mind,” Miss Wicked said, and someone muttered, “That was fast.”

  Omen grinned as the class chuckled. Everyone shut up quickly and Omen knew that Miss Wicked had just used one of her glares. He couldn’t see it, of course. He was too busy sitting there with his eyes closed.

  He heard them all around him. The shuffling of feet. The creaking of desks. The entire class was watching Auger and him sitting opposite each other, trying to speak to each other without making a sound.

  All he had to do was concentrate, Miss Wicked had said. Focus. Twins had a higher chance than most of getting this right. For once, Omen could be ahead of everyone else. If he could just manage this one simple thing.

  Oh, God. He wasn’t concentrating. He was thinking too much.

  He stopped thinking.

  Stopped.

  It wasn’t easy.

  Every time he tried to stop thinking, it was like a thousand thoughts were knocking on the door of his mind, screaming to be let in.

  He was doing it again. He was thinking about his thoughts. Dammit. OK. He was definitely going to stop now. Definitely.

  Was Miss Wicked reading his thoughts right now? Was she checking on him? No. That could interfere with what they were trying to do. She wouldn’t do that. He hoped she wasn’t doing that. He hoped.