Bedlam

by Derek Landy

  Flanery nodded up at her.

  “And can we agree that you’ll be keeping me up to date on any and all developments?” she asked. “We are at a crucial stage of the plan, and I really need to know that you’re doing everything I need you to be doing.”

  Flanery nodded again, and started to stand.

  “Oh, don’t get up on our account, Martin,” said Abyssinia. “We’ll see you soon.”

  And then they were out of the Oval Office and back in the Coldheart control room.

  “That man’s mind is impressively twisted,” Abyssinia said, wiping the hand she’d touched him with. “Thoroughly uninspired, but impressively twisted.”

  “Abyssinia, I’m sorry,” said Nero. “I didn’t mean to have a go at him like that.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” she responded, giving him a smile. “Martin Flanery represents every bad thing about mortals – their greed, their corruption, their destructive pathology. He’s why we’re doing what we’re doing. Personally, I can’t wait until I set off the bomb and we watch the life get sucked out of his body live on air.”

  “And the bodies of every living thing in a three-kilometre radius,” said Razzia.

  Abyssinia nodded. “That’s definitely going to be the highlight of my day.”

  Emerging from a troubled sleep, Valkyrie sat up in bed slowly, her hair over her face and her eyes half shut. She could hear the dog on the other side of her locked bedroom door, snuffling at the ground.

  She checked the time. She had another hour before Skulduggery got here. The sun wasn’t even up.

  She pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a warm hoody, tied her hair back into a ponytail and went downstairs, Xena leading the way. She did a few stretches in the hall, and went for a run.

  When she was done, she fed the dog, showered and dressed and had breakfast. She let Xena out of the house and free to roam, and Skulduggery pulled up a few minutes later. She put on a warm coat and got in the Bentley, and immediately turned on the heater.

  “This car is freezing,” she said.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Skulduggery responded.

  It took a little over three hours of driving fast to get to Malin Head in Donegal. They parked by the coast. It was raining. It was windy. Valkyrie wrapped a scarf round her neck, yanked a woollen hat down past her ears, and pulled on a pair of thick gloves. They left the warmth of the car and looked out to sea.

  “Do you know where Inishtrahull is?” she asked.

  “I do. Would you like to follow me, or …?”

  “Flying burns through my clothes,” she said. “I’ll take a lift with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  She made sure there was no one to see them, then wrapped her arms round him. They lifted off the ground, drifted over the grass, drifted over the rocks, and, once they were over the water, they started to pick up speed.

  God, it was cold up there.

  The wind grew stronger and, instead of fighting it, Skulduggery let it twirl them as they caught a ride on the air currents. They flew beside seagulls, then dipped low over the heads of the grey seals looking up at them from the churning water.

  Inishtrahull was small and rocky. It had a lighthouse, painted white, and a handful of stone houses, many of them missing their roofs.

  They touched down, and Valkyrie jammed her hands in her coat pockets and stomped her feet to get some feeling back. “OK,” she said, “we’re looking for the entrance to an underground psychiatric institution, right? So, there’ll be a door.”

  “There’ll be a door,” Skulduggery responded. “Or a cave. Or a hole in the ground.”

  Valkyrie looked around. “This place is small, but it’s not that small. This is going to take us days.”

  “Not necessarily,” Skulduggery said, holding up his hand and splaying his fingers. “The air is behaving curiously. It’s moving around something large.”

  Valkyrie turned, looked over at the empty expanse of grass and rock. She knew what that meant. The asylum wasn’t underground at all – it was invisible, cloaked by the same magic that protected Roarhaven from prying mortal eyes.

  “Well then, let’s go,” she said.

  They started walking, guided by the disturbances in the air, until finally Skulduggery told her to stop.

  She looked down. Her right elbow was missing. She took her hand from her pocket and moved it away from her body and it, too, disappeared. She was standing on the edge of a cloaking bubble.

  “Look at me,” she said, “finding clues wherever I—”

  Huge hands emerged from nothing, grabbing her, and a Hollow Man lunged into sight, forcing her backwards. More Hollow Men came through, surrounding her, pulling at her, their rough, leathery fingers scratching at her face, getting tangled in her hair, seizing her head, trying to twist it off. She glimpsed Skulduggery, fire in his hands, getting swarmed by the lumbering paper men.

  “Get off!” she yelled, her magic darting from her fingertips, and a half-dozen of them burst apart where they stood. She was instantly rewarded by green gas blasting into her face.

  Gagging, coughing, blinded and trying not to throw up, Valkyrie reeled, reaching out, bursting every Hollow Man she came into contact with. She dropped to her knees, tears streaming, and heavy feet tried to stomp on her. She curled up, focused on the feeling in her chest, letting it expand, letting it flow through and out of her body. She could feel it around her, forming a bubble. She heard Hollow Men burst as they came close. She heard the hiss of their gas escaping.

  The hissing died down. The bursting stopped.

  “Time to stand up now,” Skulduggery said.

  “I hate that gas,” she said, letting him pull her to her feet. She blinked rapidly until her sight returned. Her hat was gone and so was her scarf, and she’d burned through her gloves. She’d liked those gloves.

  They passed through the cloaking sphere, and Greymire Asylum loomed darkly before them.

  Tall and narrow, it was a building that seemed to consist mostly of spires and spikes and towers, with small, barred windows set unevenly into its thick stone walls. It was as if a dozen different architects had all tried to build a section at the same time, and none of them had bothered to check if any of it fitted.

  The place unsettled Valkyrie. It made her queasy.

  They walked up the winding path. The doors opened when they approached, groaning on their hinges like a bad horror movie. Noise drifted out. Voices – talking, shouting and screaming – were layered over each other, becoming denser the closer they got.

  The reception area of Greymire Asylum was vast, edged on both sides by steel stairs that curled upwards into the ceiling. The floor was fitted entirely with white tiles, apart from the strange black pattern that they had to walk over to get to the desk, set behind a cage. There was no one sitting there. By the looks of it, the reception area was not a well-travelled part of the asylum.

  The doors closed behind them. Slowly, with much groaning.

  Footsteps on those steel steps. They walked over to the stairs on their left as a man in robes came down. He wore a mask. Black cloth, eyeholes and two small holes for the nostrils and a hole at the mouth, big enough to fit a straw. His watery eyes peered out at them.

  “Visitors,” he said. He sounded surprised.

  “Hello,” said Skulduggery. “I’m Detective Pleasant, this is Detective Cain. We’re from the Arbiter Corps. We’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

  The man made a small noise behind his mask, and nodded. “My name is Brother Boo,” he said. “I suppose I am the one in charge. Please, come this way.”

  They followed him up the stairs. It was slow going. He was a small man with short legs. He didn’t move very far very fast.

  At the top of the stairs they came to a corridor that led to another corridor and then to another. The paint on the walls was faded. The walls themselves were damp. There were sections of the floors and ceilings that were just metal gr
illes. Beneath them and above them, people cried and begged and threatened.

  Brother Boo took them to his office. It was small, and smelled of sour sweat. There was a window behind his desk that looked out on to storm clouds.

  He sat. They sat.

  “Oh,” he said, like he’d just remembered he was wearing a mask. He took it off. His face was round and pale and his hair was decidedly sparse.

  “Well now,” he said, “this is interesting. As you can imagine, we don’t have many visitors to the island. We certainly don’t have many skeletons stopping by. It’s one thing to hear tales of you, Detective Pleasant, but quite another to see you in the flesh. So to speak.”

  “I hope I don’t disappoint,” Skulduggery said, as if they were old friends. “Can I ask, Brother Boo, to what order you belong?”

  “Of course, of course,” Brother Boo replied. “I am one of the surviving members of the Order of the Void. There used to be more of us, but I’m afraid time is a whittler. We have our faith, and we have our duties – chief among them, at present, being the asylum itself. May I ask you a question now? How did you find us? It’s no small feat, what you have managed.”

  “I confess,” Skulduggery said, “I read of your location in one of the diaries of Eachan Meritorious.”

  Brother Boo frowned. “Were the diaries not lost, some years ago? News is slow to reach us out here on the island, but I seem to remember reports of the Sanctuary being destroyed.”

  Skulduggery nodded. “The old Sanctuary is gone, as are the diaries, but I read this some time before we lost them.”

  “Ah,” said Brother Boo. “That explains it. And for what purpose have you travelled here?”

  “We’re searching for a cure,” said Valkyrie. “An associate of ours has been left badly traumatised by years of torture, and we’re here looking for a way to soothe his mind. We heard that we might be able to find such a cure here. Something called K-49?”

  “I see,” said Brother Boo.

  “Do you know what that is?”

  “I’m afraid you have been misled,” said Brother Boo. “We do not so much cure the afflicted here as contain them. We have our doctors, and they work extremely hard, but many of our patients are far too dangerous to risk treatment. Their insanity is the most wicked, the most insidious. They can never be released because they can never be cured.”

  “How many patients do you have?” asked Valkyrie.

  “We have one hundred and eight in total.”

  “And what do they do all day if you’re not treating them?”

  “What do they do? I’m … I’m afraid I don’t understand. They do nothing. They stay in their cells.”

  “All day? All day, every day?”

  “Yes. We could never let them out, Detective Cain. These are dangerous people.”

  “And you don’t even try to help them?”

  Brother Boo smiled patiently. “We’re helping everyone else by keeping them safely within these walls.”

  “That’s … that’s barbaric.”

  “No, no. It’s the patients who are the barbarians. They have committed crimes so unspeakable no gaol or prison in the world would take them. Greymire Asylum is their home.”

  “They’re ill,” Valkyrie said. “They need help.”

  “They need chains, Miss Cain.”

  “If I may interrupt,” Skulduggery said. “Brother Boo, this K-49 that our associate is seeking. What is it?”

  “I’m afraid I am not required to help you,” Brother Boo answered. “Greymire Asylum falls outside of any Sanctuary’s jurisdiction.”

  “We don’t work for the Sanctuaries,” said Valkyrie.

  “No, but you work within their system of governance and control. Greymire, as an institution, is separate from all that. The Sanctuaries have never wanted to take responsibility for the patients we house, and are only too happy to let us continue to work without interference.”

  “Well,” Valkyrie said, “we’re interfering now.”

  Brother Boo smiled again. “Indeed.”

  She clenched her fists to stop her hands from grabbing him.

  “Brother Boo,” said Skulduggery, “we’re on a mission of some importance. Whatever K-49 is, we need it. Greymire Asylum is obviously one of the most remote magical institutions in the world. You’ve cut yourself off from the rest of us, probably with good reason. But there must be something you need. Something, either magical or mortal, that we can get for you. Whatever it is.”

  “I thank you for your kind offer,” said Brother Boo. “But the Order of the Void is entirely self-sufficient.”

  Skulduggery tilted his head. “Everyone needs something,” he said, good humour in his voice.

  Brother Boo chuckled. “Those of us in the Order have a motto, Detective Pleasant. In the original tongue, it is ensa varden ne reviar. In a language you would understand? We require nothing. I am sorry, but regrettably you must leave without the thing you seek.”

  Brother Boo stood, as did Skulduggery.

  Valkyrie stayed seated. “So you’re not going to share it with us,” she said.

  “It was very nice meeting you both.”

  “If it’s a potion or whatever, you could just tell us how to make it. We don’t have to take any of yours.”

  “Brother Bear will show you out.”

  A large man in robes, wearing the cloth mask, appeared behind them.

  Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie. She sighed heavily.

  “Fine,” she said, standing. “Obviously, we’re not going to get what we came here for.”

  Brother Boo smiled. “I’m glad you understand.”

  “Before I go, though, could I use the convenience?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Brother Boo.

  “The bathroom,” she said. “The jacks. The bog. The loo. The toilet.”

  Brother Boo frowned. “The lavatory?”

  “Yes,” said Valkyrie, “could I use the lavatory?”

  “Of course,” said Brother Boo. “Brother Bear, please escort Detective Cain to the lavatory.”

  Brother Bear turned and Valkyrie followed him. She winked to Skulduggery as she passed. She had a plan.

  Brother Bear led Valkyrie down another long corridor. The sounds of sobbing dimmed slightly.

  “Thank you very much,” Valkyrie said when they came to a door. She pushed it open. The stench made her gag. Holding her hand over her nose and mouth, she entered.

  There were three wooden stalls set up inside, and exactly zero windows to climb out of. This was dismaying. Her entire plan consisted of sneaking out of a window. So far, it wasn’t going well.

  Brother Bear came in behind her. She looked at him.

  “Right,” she said.

  She chose the middle stall, and went in. There was a plank of wood with a hole cut into it. Valkyrie stared in horror.

  The plank did seem to be clean, though.

  She turned. Brother Bear looked at her, his hands clasped before him. She closed the door, securing it with a simple latch, and stood there. Well, this was a brilliant waste of time.

  She looked at the plank, and sighed. Now that she was here, she realised that she did actually have to go.

  She undid her jeans and sat. The door didn’t go all the way to the ground, and the stall was barely taller than she was.

  “Hello?” she called.

  Brother Bear didn’t respond.

  She continued. “Could you make some noise? I’m just very aware that you can hear everything, and … Could you hum, or something? Is there a sink out there? Maybe if you turned the tap on I’d be able to go.”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. No tap was turned on.

  Glowering, Valkyrie took out her phone, selected the first song that came up – “Time is Running Out” by Muse – and played it really, really loudly. She closed her eyes and sang along. When she was done, she left the stall.

  “Thank you for your help,” she said to Brother Bear. “Oh, look, there is a sink.
”

  She washed her hands, dried them on her coat, and left the room. Skulduggery and Brother Boo were waiting outside. Skulduggery tilted his head at her. She rolled her eyes in response.

  Brother Boo swept his hand towards a corridor. “The exit is this way.”

  Valkyrie trudged after them. Down one long corridor after another. “This place have a gift shop?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Brother Boo.

  Of course he didn’t.

  His office was just ahead. They were almost out. But she couldn’t just leave. She needed K-49, whatever the hell it was. They passed a corridor on their right.

  “Oh, what’s down here?” Valkyrie said as she strode through.

  “Excuse me,” Brother Boo said from behind her, “the exit is this way. Excuse me!”

  Brother Bear was thundering after her. She turned a corner and sprinted to the next and turned and energy crackled as she shot off her feet, blasting straight up and then she cut off her magic suddenly, letting her momentum carry her to the grilled ceiling. She managed to get her fingers through the grille and curled them, gritting her teeth against the pain as she hung there.

  Brother Bear came running. He passed underneath. Then Brother Boo, scuttling after him. Skulduggery followed.

  “Where is she?” asked Brother Boo, a little panic edging through his smug demeanour. “Where did she go?”

  “Oh, that girl,” Skulduggery said. “She’d get lost in her own house, she really would.”

  Brother Boo whirled to him. “Where is she?”

  “I have no idea,” Skulduggery said. “She does tend to wander off, but don’t worry – she will turn up eventually.”

  Her fingers were on fire. Her arms were on fire. Someone walked by above and almost trod on her.

  “You,” Brother Boo said to Brother Bear, “go that way. If you find her, drag her out of here, do you understand? Detective Pleasant, you will stay with me, and we’ll go this way.”

  “Excellent plan,” Skulduggery said. “She won’t go too far. The moment she gets hungry, she’ll come running back, you mark my words.”

  Valkyrie waited until they had gone, then she let herself drop. Using her magic to control her descent, she landed quietly and shook out her hands, wincing at the pain.