by Derek Landy
“Well, uh, no,” said Omen. “We don’t know where they are.”
“Damn,” Tanith said. “These charming guys at my feet – they’re Coldheart inmates, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are. There’s about thirty of them here. They want to slaughter all the sailors and start a war. We’re here to stop them.”
“You two?”
“Um, yes.”
Tanith shrugged. “Fair enough. Four is better than two.”
Auger frowned. “There are two of you?”
There was a sudden squawk, and a convict came tumbling from the shadows. He hit the ground and stayed there – dead or unconscious, Omen couldn’t tell. The bearded man walked out after him.
“Boys,” said Tanith, “this is Dexter Vex. Dexter Vex, these are the Darkly boys.”
Dexter Vex, one of the Dead Men, big and strong and unsmiling, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt despite the cold.
“The inmates aren’t our only problem,” Tanith said. “There’s a private army called Blackbrook. They’re heavily armed mortals, trained for dealing with sorcerers and I haven’t a clue how they fit into all this. But they’re not the good guys.”
“We need a plan,” said Dexter. His voice was hoarse, like it hurt to talk.
Tanith nodded. “We identify the convicts’ leaders, and take them down. Maybe that’ll discourage some of the others.” She looked at Auger. “Who’s the leader?”
Auger looked at Omen.
“Um,” said Omen, “Abyssinia is the overall leader, obviously, but she’s not here, I don’t think. Parthenios Lilt is overseeing First Wave, so I suppose maybe he’d be in charge. Maybe?”
Tanith nodded. “Dexter, you and Auger do what you can. Auger’s a Chosen One, so he can handle himself. Omen, I’m going to need you to point out this Lilt guy, so you’re coming with me. That cool?”
“That’s cool.”
“Then let’s get going.”
Valkyrie pulled the mask down over her face. It sharpened the night as she moved through it, and caught sounds she might have missed. Footsteps ahead, coming up on the other side of this wall.
She pulled a shock stick from its mooring on her back and swung it into the head of the convict who appeared at the corner. The stick sparked and the convict went down and she returned the weapon to its place before its electric-blue glow gave away her position.
More sounds up ahead. A scuffle. She hurried towards it, arriving just as Skulduggery smashed his elbow into some guy’s face. She joined him.
“How many?” she whispered.
“Six,” he replied softly.
“I got four.”
“I’m sure you’re trying your best.” He was looking at her oddly.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s a little unsettling, that’s all. Talking to you while you’re wearing a skull mask.”
She moved on. “Now you know how I feel, every single day.”
He followed after her. “Honoured? Privileged? Blessed?”
An energy stream cut through the air between them and swept sideways, into her arm. Valkyrie hissed, spinning away as Skulduggery collided with the Energy Thrower and the stream was cut off.
Valkyrie checked the suit. Her arm was sore, but on the suit there wasn’t even a mark.
“You’ll do,” she murmured.
Omen felt better scurrying about in the dark with Tanith Low.
Tanith wasn’t doing much scurrying, if he was being honest. She crept and sneaked and stole through the shadows, as silent as a ghost, as agile as a cat, and as deadly as a cat ghost. She dispatched convicts quickly and quietly. It was, quite simply, amazing to watch.
Whereas Omen scurried. His little feet took little steps. He didn’t dispatch any bad guys. None of it was even a little bit impressive.
But, of course, she had the advantage that she could run up the sides of buildings and across rooftops while Omen had to stay at ground level. And he had to clamber over obstacles while Tanith just … flipped. It was unnerving, watching her move. It was also awesome, and Omen felt himself falling a little bit in love.
While she was moving across one of the rooftops, she turned and looked down, giving him the order to stay put. He nodded and she went on to deal with whatever lay before her. Omen looked around, making sure no one was about to jump out at him. And Mr Lilt jumped out at him.
Omen fell back, tried to shout for help, but Lilt was on him in an instant.
“Not a sound,” he said.
Omen nodded.
“Mr Darkly,” Lilt said, “you surprise me. I didn’t think you had it in you to escape. Of course, that idiot Lapse was guarding you, wasn’t he? He couldn’t have been that difficult to outsmart.” He raised his hand to Omen’s face, and flicked his nose. “You’re annoying,” he said. “Telling one’s students they are disliked is generally frowned upon in teaching circles, but I feel I am allowed, just this once. I don’t like you, Omen. I never have. You would have grown up to be such an unexceptional sorcerer. In that respect, it’s a good thing that you won’t live to see next week. It just means there’ll be one less mediocre mage in the world.”
“Can … can I say something?”
“If you promise not to scream.”
“I promise.”
“Then go ahead.”
“You’re a terrible teacher.”
Lilt chuckled. “Is that right?”
Omen tried to glare defiantly, but he couldn’t keep it up. “No,” he said glumly, “you were actually a very good teacher.”
“I know,” said Lilt. “But it’s nice to be told, just the same. I’m going to stand you up now, and shackle you somewhere so that you can be dissected by mortals in a few days. OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lilt stood, took hold of Omen’s jacket and pulled him to his feet. Immediately, Omen punched him in the groin.
Lilt groaned, doubled over, and Omen whacked him in the jaw. That spun him, and Omen kicked the back of his leg and Lilt dropped to one knee, still groaning. Omen ran round, tried to kick him in the stomach, but Lilt grabbed his foot, held on to it as Omen struggled to tug it back.
His eyes watering, his face pale, an impossibly long groan still in the process of dragging itself out between his lips, Lilt managed to topple Omen. Omen lashed out frantically, but Lilt just held him down and crawled up, placing one knee over Omen’s midsection, using one hand to pin Omen’s right arm, and raised the other one, clenched into a fist, ready to bring it down.
Omen snapped his free hand against the space between them and the air rippled and Lilt flew backwards. He tumbled, head over heels, came to a stop and cursed, and was just lurching to his feet when Tanith walked by him.
She did something, jumping into the air and spinning crazily upside down, and somehow her foot zeroed in on his chin and Lilt went down in a twisted heap and Tanith landed and kept walking.
“You OK?” she asked Omen.
He pointed. “That’s Lilt.”
She looked back, and nodded. “Nicely done, but I no longer think taking out their leader is going to stop them. Looks like we might have to take them all down, one at a time. You up for that?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Then why are you shaking your head?”
“Am I?”
Tanith’s gaze shifted and Omen turned and jumped back as two skeletons emerged from the darkness.
He put his hand over his thumping heart. Skulduggery. Of course it was Skulduggery. Skulduggery and a lady skeleton in a hood.
The lady skeleton stared at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Omen frowned. “Valkyrie?”
Valkyrie pulled the mask and the hood away and glared at him. “I told you to stay out of America.”
“This … this isn’t my fault,” Omen said. “I was kidnapped.”
Valkyrie loomed over him. “I don’t care. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it, even if you’ve been kidnapped. Do you under
stand me?”
“Yes,” he said meekly.
She looked at Skulduggery. “We have to get him out of here.”
“We don’t really have time,” Tanith said, “and we need all hands, Val. We have Dexter and Auger and that’s it.”
Valkyrie’s glare turned heat-seeking. “Auger is here too?”
“Omen,” Skulduggery said, “you stay with one of us at all times, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Omen said, avoiding Valkyrie’s eyes.
“Tanith,” said Skulduggery, “what’s the situation?”
“The convicts are here to kill all mortals,” Tanith said. “There are a few who look like they didn’t sign up for wholesale slaughter, but most of them seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“What about First Wave?”
Omen spoke up. “Apart from Jenan, they’re not hurting anyone.”
Skulduggery looked back to Tanith. “And Blackbrook?”
“Dexter and I followed Perkins to a staging area nearby. Three Blackbrook trucks are waiting there – don’t know what for. They had eyes on this place so we thought we’d come take a look.”
They looked round as Auger and Dexter Vex jogged up to join them. Dexter nodded to Skulduggery, who nodded back, and nodded to Valkyrie, who hugged him. “Good to see you,” she said.
“They’re gathering outside the barracks,” Dexter told them, indicating ahead. “There’s a vantage point on the roof of the mess hall, if we can get up there.”
“I’m sure I can manage that,” Skulduggery said, and they all started moving.
Omen kept up. He was sure Auger felt right at home, but he felt like a stupid kid hanging around with a bunch of adults – yet at the same time it was kind of thrilling. Now that he had seasoned warriors all around him, he could actually relax a little and start to appreciate how cool this all was.
Skulduggery swung his arms and the air took them all upwards to the mess-hall roof, and Omen had to stifle a giggle.
Razzia quite liked Naval Magazine Whitley. She liked the buildings, because the buildings had names. They were called barracks, and armouries, and latrines, and things like that. And she liked the pier. That was huge. And all the cranes. And all those little domes dotted around the peninsula, the concrete domes that held all the bullets and the bombs. They were supposed to be called magazines, but everyone called them igloos. Which was fun.
She followed behind Abyssinia, straightening her bow tie as she went. She’d worn her best tuxedo tonight. Her hair was perfect and her make-up was to die for. It was worth all the effort, of course. Tonight was special.
The Coldheart army – for that was how Abyssinia referred to the ragtag bunch of criminals – had brought the First Wave kiddies to the square with the flagpole, the one right in front of the barracks. Only Jenan had actually hurt someone. Razzia had expected that. The others were too soft, too undamaged. They had their prejudices and their snobberies, but, deep down, they were just normal kids, as plain and nasty as any others.
But Jenan … Jenan had the eyes of a killer, and a life of bitterness and entitlement to propel him towards bloodshed. Razzia had seen his type before.
He was too tightly coiled to really wonder, at first, why he and his little friends were suddenly surrounded, but a look of confusion did break across his sweaty face when he saw Abyssinia. He didn’t even glance at Razzia. She didn’t mind that.
Then the First Wave kids were in the centre, and Abyssinia and Razzia and the others were standing round them, and Jenan’s expression changed from confusion to anger. He jabbed his finger at the other members of First Wave. “They were never going to do it!” he screeched. “But I will!”
Abyssinia put her finger to her lips. “Keep your voice down, please, Jenan. You’ll wake the sailors.”
“Give me a chance,” Jenan said, only a little bit less screechy. “I’ll do it.”
“I know you would,” Abyssinia said, in that warm way of hers. “Your determination is impressive.”
Jenan turned that accusing finger to the Coldheart army. “We don’t need these criminals. Let me do it all. I’ll go in there right now and kill all of them on my own.”
“My dear, sweet Jenan,” said Abyssinia, “I’m not here to blame you. I’ve been very impressed with you, I really have. And the rest of you, my lovely children, don’t be afraid. I’m not disappointed in any of you.”
“You’re … you’re not angry that we didn’t kill anyone?” Colleen asked, her voice shaking.
“Not even in the slightest,” said Abyssinia. “I’ve been informed that we have suffered some losses, so there are people here – probably sorcerers, probably in league with Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain – who are working against us. Who might even be watching us right now. And that’s fine, too. This will do. This will do nicely.”
“Can we go?” Colleen asked.
Abyssinia smiled. “My dear … I’m afraid there are elements to my plan to which you have not been privy.”
“We’re starting a war,” Jenan said angrily. “We kill everyone in those barracks and we release the footage and there’s a new Pearl Harbour. What other element is there?”
Abyssinia smiled sadly. “A compromise,” she said. “President Flanery – a very disagreeable man – is incapable of seeing the virtues of being a victim. He has a need to project strength at all times. When I suggested that sorcerers attack a military base, he demanded instant retaliation.”
Colleen’s voice was trembling. “What does that mean?”
The Coldheart army parted, and six men in black body armour, with helmets hiding their faces and automatic weapons in their hands, came through.
“These gentlemen are soldiers, or contractors, as they prefer to be called, from a mortal army called Blackbrook,” Abyssinia said. “We reached a deal, the president and I. I would send a group of headstrong young sorcerers into a military base and they would kill and maim and destroy – like villains in a storybook – and then the mortals would fight back – like the heroes – and stop them. Only we can’t have sailors from the US Navy fighting back, because we need to kill them all. So we make these nice Blackbrook contractors into the heroes who, regrettably, arrive too late to save the base, but just in time to kill the villains. Is it perfect? No. But I get what I want and the president gets what he wants, which is a lot of rich mortals becoming even richer.”
The contractors surrounded First Wave, guns up and ready to fire.
The kids screeched and clutched at each other. Only Jenan had no one to hold. He spun in a crazed circle, eyes flitting from muzzle to muzzle.
“What are you doing?” he roared. “What are you doing?”
Abyssinia stepped back. “Tonight will announce to the world that sorcerers exist, that they are all irredeemably evil, and only by going to war will the mortals stand any chance of survival.”
“You can’t do this!” Jenan screamed. “My father’s a Grand Mage! You can’t!”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Abyssinia said. “Your sacrifice will not be in vain, and your names will be remembered.”
The contractors flicked the safeties off on their weapons. There was a moment of dreadful, wonderful silence, where nothing moved, and nothing breathed, a moment made all the more beautiful by the storm of violence that was about to be unleashed.
Razzia knew that storm well. Razzia lived in that storm.
But the contractors turned as they opened fire, away from the First Wave kids, and Razzia saw bullets hit Abyssinia, saw Coldheart convicts jerk and fall and scream, and, before she could even shout, the dark muzzle of a gun was pointed at her and fire blossomed from within.
Valkyrie watched as the Blackbrook contractors turned their guns on the Coldheart convicts. She saw Abyssinia stagger back under gunfire, saw Razzia fall.
The doors to the barracks burst open but instead of sailors streaming out, there were more Blackbrook guys, firing into the surging, panicking crowd of mages.
Some convicts fought back. Fireballs and streams of energy hit the Blackbrook troops, but their uniforms protected them from the worst of it. Those convicts got bullets in return, hundreds of them, angry little bees that weren’t going to be stopped by paltry human flesh.
Jenan ducked and ran, but the rest of First Wave huddled together and cried – right in the middle of a goddamn firefight.
Skulduggery stood up. “Omen, stay here. The rest of you, save those kids,” and then he jumped off the roof.
Valkyrie followed him down.
She blasted a convict and charged a contractor. They struggled. The contractor thought Valkyrie was trying to take his weapon, but all she was doing was pulling up his sleeve so she could press her hand against his skin.
She let him have it, a full blast of lightning, and moved on before he’d even fallen.
Tanith and Dexter were with the First Wave kids, dragging them off the street. Valkyrie turned and bullets peppered the back of her suit, making her gasp as they drove her forward a few steps. She turned the stagger into a run, got round the corner before she was hit with another salvo.
She risked a peek. Convicts and contractors were separating, ducking for cover. Abyssinia waded through what was left of them, hurling the Blackbrook troops through the air, demolishing them where they stood, soaking up the bullets that found her and healing instantly.
Another contractor came forward, holding a ridiculously bulky rifle. He dropped to one knee, took aim and fired. Gouts of steam erupted from the barrel on four sides and spots of black ink exploded upon Abyssinia’s chest. The ink, or whatever it was, instantly spread to her sides and across her back, meeting at her spine. Binding sigils glowed from that blackness.
The contractor let the bulky rifle swing free by its strap, and whipped a pistol from his holster. Bullets tore into Abyssinia’s shoulder, spun her round, a look of astonishment on her face.
Muttering to herself, Valkyrie ran forward. Her lightning hit the contractor. His uniform soaked up most of the damage, but at least he dropped the pistol.
She crashed into him, knee to his chest. He made a whooping noise as the air left his lungs. She grabbed his helmet with her left hand, yanked it to the side, and punched him in the neck. His legs gave out and he crumpled, and she pulled the helmet off and sent him to sleep with a kick to the head.
