Bedlam

by Derek Landy

Lapse frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “This is supposed to be a new Pearl Harbour, right? Wasn’t Pearl Harbour full of ships and soldiers? This place is … it’s a loading dock.”

  “So?”

  “When Jenan was telling me about it he made it sound like it was gonna be epic. How many soldiers are here?”

  Lapse snorted. “You don’t get soldiers in a naval base, idiot.”

  “Soldiers, sailors, whatever. How many?”

  Lapse shrugged. “Twenty-seven.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Twenty-seven is enough, Abyssinia says. She says anything more and it’d be hard to contain it. Man … the moment that signal comes, I’m outta here, and I’m gonna get some blood on my hands.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  Lapse grinned. “Excited. I mean … I mean, I am buzzing.”

  “You seem nervous.”

  “What? I’m not.”

  “But you seem like you are. A lot of nervous energy.”

  “That’s excitement.”

  “If you say so.”

  “If you say so,” Lapse echoed. “Do you think I’m stupid, is that it? You think you can convince me I’m nervous even though I know I’m just excited? You’re not that clever, Darkly. Fact is, you’re not clever at all.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Auger’s the clever one.”

  “Big shock there.”

  “If Auger were here instead of me, you’d be unconscious by now,” Omen said. “He would have found a way out of these shackles and you’d be, like, in a heap in the corner of the room with a broken jaw or something.”

  “He’d never get out of the shackles.”

  “He’s the Chosen One, dude.”

  “I don’t care, dude. People think way too highly of your brother. They think he can do anything, that nothing can beat him.”

  “Nothing can beat him.”

  “I’d beat him,” said Lapse, jabbing his thumb into his chest. “I would.”

  Omen laughed. “You’d barely beat me.”

  “What are you even on? I’d smack the hell outta you.”

  “Oh, really?” said Omen. “Like you did when you all turned up to catch me, and had to wait until Mr Lilt arrived and did it himself?”

  Lapse strode over. “I’ll beat the hell out of you now, if you like.”

  “Oh, sure,” Omen said, grinning. “Fight me when my hands are shackled. That’ll prove it.”

  Lapse grabbed Omen’s shirt, hauled him to his feet and pinned him against the wall. “You’re gonna want to be shutting up now.”

  “I thought you wanted me to talk.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Yeah, thought you might.”

  Lapse leaned in. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Go on, tell me.”

  “You talk tough, Lapse, but we both know—”

  Lapse punched him really hard in the shoulder. Omen twisted his body and couldn’t stop the groan, but he followed it with a laugh.

  “You think you’re being clever again,” said Lapse. “You think you can tease me into taking off your shackles.”

  “The word is goad.”

  “The word is shut the hell up,” Lapse said, and punched his other shoulder.

  “You think you can manipulate me?” Lapse asked. “You honestly think anyone would fall for this little game you’re trying to play?”

  “You’re falling for it.”

  “You just admitted it!” Lapse exclaimed. “You just told me that’s exactly what you’re trying to do!”

  “So?” Omen asked, straightening up again. His shoulders throbbed.

  “Here’s the really funny thing,” said Lapse, leaning in again. “Even if I did take off those shackles, which I’m not gonna do, you’d still have to fight me in order to leave. And you really think you’d stand a chance of winning?”

  “You obviously do, or else my shackles would be off by now.”

  Lapse prodded him in the chest. “I’m not taking off the shackles, all right?”

  “Because you’re scared.”

  “No,” said Lapse, his face growing redder and redder, “because you don’t take shackles off prisoners just to prove a stupid point.” He walked back to the window.

  Omen stayed where he was, and kept smiling.

  Lapse looked outside, then glanced back and narrowed his eyes. “Stop looking at me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And stop grinning.”

  Omen made a show of trying to stop his smile.

  Lapse stormed over, turned Omen round and slammed his face against the wall. “Fine,” he said, the key sliding into the shackles. “You want me to beat you up? You want it so much, great. Then the shackles go back on and nothing will have changed except now you’ve got a broken jaw and a busted nose.”

  The shackles dropped and Omen turned. Lapse raised his fists.

  “Just step back there,” said Omen. “Let’s have some room to do this.”

  Lapse retreated to the middle of the office.

  Omen followed, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “Right then, should we set some ground rules?”

  “No ground rules,” Lapse said. “This isn’t training, this isn’t Combat Arts class. This is real life. There are no ground rules in real life.”

  “Good point. OK, sorry, let’s get this started.”

  Lapse grinned. “This is gonna hurt.”

  Omen held up a hand. “Hold on, wait, sorry. What if I hurt you?”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Yeah, but what if I do? I mean, I get it, you hate me, you want to hurt me, but I don’t really want to hurt you, so maybe we should come up with a signal if you want to give up.”

  “I’m not gonna be the one giving up.”

  “Well, you don’t know that, now do you? Yeah, you’re bigger and stronger and you’ll probably win – but what if I get in a lucky shot? What if I, like, knee you in the groin? That’d put you down, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “But it would hurt, right? And now I’m realising that the only way to probably beat you, probably, is to knee you in the groin repeatedly. Like, over and over again. Until there’s nothing left.”

  Lapse looked appalled. “You’d do that?”

  “I’d have to,” said Omen. “I mean, there are lives on the line, right? I can’t let your groin stand between me and saving lives.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you really want that to happen?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither, man. So what are we going to do?”

  “You could … you could put the shackles back on.”

  Omen winced. “Ah, well, see, now that I’m out of them, I don’t want to go back into them. So again, there’ll be a fight and, well … your groin.”

  “Christ.”

  “Whichever way this goes, it looks like your groin is in for a nasty time.”

  “But that’s only if you get me,” said Lapse, “and you won’t have the chance because I’m gonna knock your head off before you even get close.”

  “Ah, now, that doesn’t help,” Omen replied. “Now that I know what you’re going for, I’ll just cover my head with my arms, and then knee you in the groin.”

  “Then I won’t go for your head. Maybe I’ll knee you in the groin.”

  “So, we’ll just be two guys with their arms over their heads, trying to knee each other in the groin?”

  Lapse dropped his hands. “Then what do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know,” Omen said. “It started out as a good idea, but now I’m not so sure.” He looked at the door. “I mean … I could leave.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You could let me walk out.”

  “Without a fight?”

  “The fight complicates things,” Omen said.

  “But I can’t just let you le
ave. I’m meant to be keeping an eye on you.”

  Omen frowned. “Or …”

  “Or what?”

  “I’m not sure if this makes sense, but I think it might,” Omen said, speaking slowly. His words started to speed up. “OK, so, in order to leave, we have to fight, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “But fighting would be painful, and would probably result in your groin being destroyed.”

  “Not forever.”

  “Oh, God, no, not forever. I wouldn’t do that to you. It’d get better eventually. Here, I’ll rephrase. Fighting would result in your groin being temporarily destroyed – which, to me, still sounds like a bad deal.”

  “Me too.”

  “But we’re the only ones here – so we don’t actually have to fight, do we?”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t we just skip that part, and move on to me leaving? Then you wait for a few minutes for the pain to die down, wink wink, and then come after me.”

  “You don’t have to say wink wink if you’re actually winking.”

  “Yeah, sorry. So what do you reckon?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Listen, is it a perfect solution? Probably not. But I think it solves most of our problems.”

  Lapse sighed. “Yeah. OK.” He went over to the door, opened it, and stood aside to let Omen out.

  Expecting Lapse to grab him or punch him at the last minute, Omen walked up … and stepped outside.

  It had worked. It had actually worked.

  Part one of his amazing escape was a roaring success. Now for part two. The tricky part. The part where he saved the day and managed to not get killed while doing so.

  The main strip of the naval base was well lit but here, between all these administrative buildings, it was dark, and full of shadows.

  From where he huddled, Omen could see right across to where the Pacific Ocean sploshed against the ridiculously long pier, with its four enormous mobile cranes. He could see the warehouses, which were a lot bigger than they’d appeared on the map, and, set well back from them, the military buildings, which included the barracks, where all those sailors lay sleeping.

  Omen started sneaking forward.

  He needed to raise the alarm before First Wave launched their attack. Get all those sailors to grab their guns and come outside. He was pretty sure First Wave would collapse in a whimpering heap if that happened. Admittedly, that would risk exposing magic to the world, but it was probably the best way to save lives.

  Saving lives had to come first, Omen reckoned. Saving lives had to always come first.

  He whirled when he heard running footsteps. Lapse sprinted straight for him.

  Omen held his hands out, and Lapse lost the violence in his eyes and stopped just short of a collision.

  “I got you,” Lapse said.

  “Well, yes,” Omen replied, his voice less shaky than he expected. “But that really doesn’t do us much good, does it? We’ll just go right back to where we were.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “You’ve got to give me a good head start, you know? How about this? I go this way, and you go that way. When you meet Mr Lilt or the others, tell them I escaped and you’re hunting for me.”

  “What if I catch you again?”

  “Unless you’ve got someone else with you, let’s just pretend we don’t see each other.”

  Lapse sighed. “Yeah, OK. Which way are you going?”

  Omen pointed.

  “Fair enough,” said Lapse, and ran in the opposite direction.

  Omen carried on, moving quickly but quietly and sticking to the darkness. The closer he got to the barracks the better he felt. It was OK. It was going to be OK. It was all going to be ohhh crap.

  He ducked back as Jenan and Gall walked into view. It was a miracle they hadn’t seen him. He took a peek. They were strutting around, throwing fireballs. He didn’t know what they thought they were doing until he saw the security camera and realised they were performing. They carried on until they were out of sight.

  Omen stayed where he was. The attack hadn’t started yet. First Wave probably needed to work themselves up to the slaughter. That was good. That bought him some time.

  He closed his eyes, pictured Auger’s face and repeated his name in his mind. He’d managed to form a connection back in Coldheart, if only for a moment. He could do it again. He had to. Lives were depending on him.

  He controlled his breathing and tried to build a tunnel with his thoughts.

  It wasn’t working. He furrowed his brow against the doubt that came creeping. It’d take over if he let it, that doubt. It’d overwhelm it like it always did and he’d have to give up. Like he always did.

  But not this time. This time it was too important. He needed to believe that he could do this. He could do this. He didn’t even have to do much because his brother was the Chosen One, for God’s sake. Omen just had to do the bare minimum and then trust that Auger had been trying to communicate with him since that attempt in the cell. His brother would have known he was in trouble. He’d be ready. Omen may have had precious little faith in himself, but he had all the faith in the world in his brother.

  DUDE.

  Omen hissed, hands clutching his head.

  DUDEWHEREAREYOU?

  His foot slipped and he fell backwards.

  DUDEWHEREAREYOUAREYOUOK?

  “Stop shouting,” Omen muttered, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

  SORRYSORRYAREYOUOK?

  “Talk slower.”

  NOTTALKINGTHINKING.

  “Then think slower.”

  There was a blessed moment of peace before Auger replied.

  IS THIS BETTER?

  “Barely.”

  DUDE WHERE ARE YOU? NO ONE AT SCHOOL’S SEEN YOU.

  Omen swayed on his feet. “I’m with First Wave.”

  YOU JOINED THEM?

  “What? No. They kidnapped me. I was in Coldheart. Now I’m in America.”

  WHAT’S GOING ON?

  “You need to get Skulduggery and Valkyrie and, like, the High Sanctuary. Jenan and the others … they’re going to kill everyone on this base.”

  WHATBASEWHERE?

  “You’re speeding up again. It’s called Naval Magazine Whitley. It’s a small base for restocking ships and stuff. Abyssinia wants them to kill everyone.”

  OMEN?

  “What?”

  OMEN, I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

  Omen narrowed his eyes and focused on the tunnel between them. “Can you hear me now?”

  YES.

  “I don’t know what to do. Do I raise the alarm?”

  IF YOU DO, THE SOLDIERS ARE GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN FIRST WAVE.

  “I don’t think they’re soldiers, I think they’re sailors.”

  DUDE, DOESN’T MATTER.

  “Sorry.”

  WE CAN SAVE EVERYONE. NO ONE HAS TO DIE. I’M COMING, OK? I HAVE NEVER WITH ME. HOLD ON A SECOND.

  Omen waited.

  NAVAL MAGAZINE WHITLEY. WE HAVE IT ON MY PHONE. YOU’RE CLOSE TO SEATTLE.

  “OK, cool. Now what happens?”

  NEVER SAYS SHE’S VISITED A PARTICULAR BRIDGE IN SEATTLE. SHE’S … SHE’S STILL TALKING ABOUT THE BRIDGE.

  “Yeah.”

  DID YOU KNOW SHE WAS SO INTO BRIDGES?

  “Never does love bridges.”

  LISTEN, WE’RE GOING TO START TELEPORTING TOWARDS YOU. IF IT’S A CLEAR NIGHT, WE WON’T BE LONG.

  “It’s clear.”

  THEN WE’LL BE TEN MINUTES OR SO. FIND SOMEWHERE TO WAIT.

  “I can’t just hide, Auger. I have to stop the others before they hurt anyone.”

  THEY’LL KILL YOU.

  “I have to try.”

  STAY WHERE YOU—

  “Auger, listen to me. Start teleporting. In the meantime, I’m going to do what I can.”

  DUDE, I KNOW HOW SCARED YOU ARE. I CAN FEEL IT.

  “I can’t just sit by and do nothing while people get hurt.”

&nb
sp; A pause.

  WE’LL GET THERE AS FAST AS WE CAN.

  “Thank you.”

  PLEASE BE CAREFUL.

  “I will.”

  AND PLEASE, said the voice from the other side of the world, DO NOT TRY TO BE THE HERO.

  Temper woke.

  He was outside, and he was cold, and it was raining, and he was wet. His magic was bound, as were his arms and legs, and his mouth was gagged. The wind was strong. He opened his eyes.

  Yep. He’d pretty much known it. He was strapped to a table on a platform that jutted out from the side of the Dark Cathedral. Roarhaven sprawled out far below him.

  He’d seen this table, or ones like it, a thousand times. It was oak, and carved into every centimetre of it were ancient prayers in ancient languages. It was an Activation table. It was where the Kith got lobotomised.

  Two Dark Priests from the Church of the Faceless helped Damocles Creed into his vestments. They were all drenched from the rain.

  The door to the platform opened and two people came forward. Temper couldn’t see their faces at first, but finally they stepped into the light and he recognised Abyssinia’s son, Caisson. He was with a stooped, elderly woman.

  “Caisson,” Creed said, his giant hand landing heavily on Caisson’s shoulder, “it is good to see you out in the world. You look well. You look healthy. It’s heartening to see that my sister failed in her mission to break you down.”

  “Your sister?” Caisson said, eyeing that hand distrustfully.

  “My apologies,” said Creed, stepping back and bowing slightly. “My name is Damocles Creed. I am the Arch-Canon of the Church of the Faceless. I have friends everywhere, and they talk to me, and I have heard so much about you that I feel we are already friends.”

  “You mentioned a sister,” Caisson said.

  “Of my many siblings in this world, the one you surely know of is Serafina Dey.”

  Caisson’s eyes narrowed, and the elderly woman clutched his arm.

  “This is no trap,” Creed continued quickly. “My goals and my sister’s goals are not compatible, I assure you.”

  None of them had even looked over at Temper this entire time. He started making noises. They ignored him.

  “What do you want, Mr Creed?” the elderly woman asked.

  “Merely to talk. Perhaps to seek an alignment.”

  “What kind of alignment?”

  Creed smiled down at them both. “My sister’s presence in Roarhaven is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. As Mevolent’s wife, she inspires a certain following, shall we say. This following draws numbers from my own congregation.”