by Derek Landy
Behind him, Ravel was practically posing for photos with one foot on the head of his unconscious opponent. Saracen dragged his own would-be assassin across the ground and dumped him in the clearing between them. Saracen’s hand was bleeding from a deep cut across the back of it. He looked annoyed.
“What’s your name?” asked Ghastly.
The failed assassin snarled.
“I know him,” said Ravel. “His name’s … something nervous. Like Worrying or Fretting or—”
“Anguish,” the assassin said. “But that’s all you’re getting out of me.”
Ravel looked at Ghastly. “Roarhaven mage.”
Ghastly rubbed his head where he had butted the knife-man. It was starting to swell. “This isn’t the first time Roarhaven mages have tried to kill us. You’d think they’d have got the message by now. Mr Anguish, we’re not going to be killed by the likes of you, so do yourself a favour and tell us who’s behind this.”
Anguish’s sneer was becoming unsightly. “You’re dead. All of you are dead. Everyone who stands between us and our destiny is dead.”
“And what destiny would that be?” Saracen asked.
“Ruling over the mortals like we were born to do,” Anguish told him. “And don’t try to read my mind. We all have Level 4 barriers.”
“I’m not psychic,” said Saracen. “Why does everyone think I’m psychic? I just know things.”
“Do you know who sent them?” Ravel asked.
Saracen gave a sigh. “I said I know things. Most of these are random things. Not especially useful things.”
By the time Saracen rejoined them with his hand wrapped in a bandage, the assassins had been hauled away and the rest of the Dead Men were gathered in Ravel’s tent. Ghastly kept his eyes on Valkyrie. Since Fletcher had been taken, she’d barely spoken to anyone except to argue her case in going after him.
“Madame Mist appears to be making her grab for power,” said Skulduggery. “Although it would seem to be an especially clumsy one for someone as meticulous as she is.”
“Maybe she just saw her chance,” said Vex. “Erskine and Ghastly are in the field, along with most of the sorcerers loyal to them. She’s not going to get an opportunity like this again.”
Valkyrie rubbed her forehead like she was trying to get rid of a headache. “But what’s the point?” she asked, her voice irritable. “Mist sets up roadblocks and takes over the Sanctuary … and then what? She’s seized a building. So what? That doesn’t mean she’s in charge, not while the other two Elders are still alive.”
“I’ll be sure to ask her when I get there,” Ravel said.
Ghastly saw a flicker of apprehension in Valkyrie’s eyes. Something about what Ravel said made her uneasy.
“That’s not a good idea,” said Skulduggery.
“Staying in this camp is not a good idea,” Ravel countered. “If Mist had four assassins hidden here, she could very well have more. You know me, Skulduggery – I have no patience for this kind of thing. If someone wants to kill me, I’ll meet them halfway.”
“You were in one of Cassandra Pharos’s visions,” Valkyrie blurted. “We didn’t tell you because of the whole, you know, affecting-the-future thing. But we saw you in the Sanctuary. You were in pain. A lot of pain.”
“I see,” Ravel said, raising an eyebrow. “Did she see anything else?”
“Nothing more to do with you,” Skulduggery said.
Ravel nodded, then shrugged. “The future can be changed just by knowing what’s going to happen. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s really not a good idea.”
“If Mist takes over, all this will be for nothing. I’m going back to Roarhaven, Skulduggery. It’s my decision.”
“I’ll go, too,” said Ghastly. “Cassandra didn’t see me in that vision, did she? So I’ll stick with Erskine, and make sure that future doesn’t happen.”
“Fair enough,” said Skulduggery. “Anton, you’re going, too, you’re on bodyguard duty. Valkyrie, Dexter, Saracen and I will stay here.”
Saracen frowned. “We’re splitting up,” he said. “When we fought against Mevolent, we had a rule. We don’t split up until the job is done.”
“It won’t be for long,” said Ravel. “A few days at the very most. If we get to Roarhaven and it’s too much for us to handle, we’ll hang back, wait until Mantis and his army are taken down. Then we’ll all march in together.”
“Unless you’ve had a premonition of something bad happening,” Vex said to Saracen.
Saracen glowered. “I’m not a psychic.”
“Then what are you?”
“Wary.”
“The awesome power of wariness,” Vex grumbled. “One of these days you are going to tell me what your magic discipline is.”
“How many times do I have to say this? I know things.”
“I hate you.”
“See? I knew that.”
“We’ve got two Australian mages with us,” Skulduggery said, still on topic, “Nixion and Zathract. Take them with you, they’re good in a fight. And the Cleavers have been given strict instructions to obey the Grand Mage above all else – you’ll need them, too.”
“Makes sense,” Ravel said. “How many?”
Skulduggery looked at the map. “All of them,” he said.
“But that’d cut our numbers here by a third,” said Ghastly. “If Mantis attacks, you’ll be crushed.”
Skulduggery tapped their position on the map. “We know Mantis has eyes in these woods,” he said. “If you leave now, they’ll need a few hours to verify that you’ve really gone. Maybe they’re behind what’s happening at Roarhaven or maybe not, but I bet they know something’s up. When you leave, taking the Cleavers with you, they’ll report back. Mantis won’t be able to let an opportunity like this pass, and it will attack.”
Valkyrie frowned. “Yay. It’ll attack and kill us, falling right into our trap.”
“Val’s right,” said Saracen. “I fail to see how any of this is to our advantage.”
“Mantis won’t know how long our forces will be depleted,” Skulduggery said. “I doubt it’d even wait until morning to attack. Under cover of night, it’ll come for us. They’re so fond of their shields over there. We’ll construct our own, all the way across this line. And up here, on this ridge, we already have Moloch and fifty vampires.”
The men around the table were too seasoned to show it, but the sudden silence that followed those words was proof enough of their shock.
“They’re up there?” Vex asked.
Skulduggery nodded. “I called Moloch this afternoon. They mobilise quickly, I have to say. They arrived before nightfall and set up a cage. If there’s one thing vampires know how to build well, it’s a cage.” He trailed his finger from Mantis’s position on the map to their own. “Mantis will charge straight at us. When its forces reach this point, the vampires will charge at them from the ridge, catching them in the open. The Cleavers will stand and fight, but all the sorcerers in the rear will know better. They’ll retreat. The sorcerers at the front will be caught between the vampires and our shields. We’ll be accepting their surrender and taking prisoners – Mantis among them.”
“Uh, OK,” said Vex. “And then there’ll be fifty vampires roaming around in this area here.”
“Moloch says he can control them. He’s already taken the serum, so he’ll stay human and herd them back to where they can do no harm.”
“He’s sure he can do that?”
“He seems confident. All we can do is take him at his word.”
“So your entire plan hinges on the word of a vampire?” Ghastly pressed. “Skulduggery, you hate vampires. I mean, out of all of us, you trust them the least. And we don’t trust them at all.”
“I trust that Moloch can’t afford to let us fail,” Skulduggery said.
“But what if he can’t control them like he thinks he can?” asked Saracen.
“Then we take them out,” Skulduggery said, “and solve Dub
lin’s vampire problem along the way.”
s Scapegrace swept the floor, he wondered if this was it. Was this his life? Was this the full extent of what he would achieve? Ex-zombie, now woman, owner of a modestly successful pub? What had happened to his dreams? Was he sweeping them up along with the dust? Was he abandoning them?
He’d dreamed of being the greatest killer the world had ever seen. He’d dreamed of having a horde of zombies at his command. He’d dreamed of being Roarhaven’s masked protector. But now, as he swept, a great sadness came over him, for he realised he was a failure. He’d lost his pride, his honour … even his magic was reluctant to return to him. He had nothing left.
Well, apart from the pub. A smile broke through his sadness. That was the one thing he hadn’t messed up yet. So what if he wouldn’t be a notorious villain or an adored hero? He could still be a good person. He could still live a good life, now that he’d thrown the mask away.
The door opened behind him and three men walked in, looking around like they owned the place.
“Hello, gentlemen,” Scapegrace said. “What can I get you on this fine evening?”
“Hello, Vaurien,” said the man in front.
“Do I know you?”
“What matters is that I know you, Vaurien Scapegrace. I have to say, you’re looking good these days. If I hadn’t heard so many reports on what you looked like in your old body, well … you and me might have had a shot.”
“I’m sorry??”
“Unfortunately,” the man continued, “I did hear all those stories. I know what you were like both as a disgusting zombie and as a pathetic human. You talked big. You boasted. You never did anything. You’re a coward, Mr Scapegrace, and you’re just not very bright.”
Scapegrace stood his ground. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Mud,” the man said, “and these are my friends, Shun and Bagatelle. We’ve been sent to give you a warning.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really,” said Mud, and at his nod the bigger of the other two men, the one called Bagatelle, picked up a chair and threw it over the bar. The mirror cracked, bottles smashed, and the shelf collapsed.
“Hey!” Scapegrace cried out, but Shun grabbed him, pulled him back, while Bagatelle threw another chair that demolished the freshly cleaned glasses.
“Master!” Thrasher shouted, charging out from the backroom. A stream of energy erupted from Mud’s hand, caught Thrasher full in the chest and launched him across the room.
Scapegrace tore himself free and stumbled, looking up to find himself surrounded.
“You’ve been going out at night and getting yourselves in trouble,” Mud said.
Scapegrace hesitated. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You wear silly little masks.”
“Then how do you know it’s us?”
Mud raised a fist and Scapegrace recoiled sharply. “OK, OK! It’s us!”
Mud lowered his fist into his other hand, started rubbing his knuckles in a threatening manner. “We’re here to tell you that you’re going to want to stop doing all that stupid stuff.”
“We’ve stopped! We’ve already stopped! When you walked in, I was thinking about that, how we’ve stopped. Because we have! We’re not even looking for him any more.”
“Looking for who?”
“Silas Nadir.”
“Silas Nadir isn’t even in the country, you moron. No one knows exactly where he is, but he’s not in Ireland and he’s definitely not in Roarhaven. You’re also going to want to forget you ever saw Creyfon Signate.”
“Who?”
Mud smiled. “Good man.”
“No,” said Scapegrace, “who’s Creyfon Signate? Is he the other Shunter? Did he bring the dog-creature here? A dog-creature attacked Thrasher. Did he bring it here on purpose, or did it sneak through on one of the shunts? Why is he shunting? What’s he doing here anyway? Where is everyone disappearing to?”
“You’re asking questions you shouldn’t be asking.”
“Am I?”
“I was told to make sure you stayed out of everyone’s business. I asked around, mentioned your name, and they all said you were a coward and a moron. They said some stern words and a little destruction of property and you’d fall right in line. But something tells me they’ve all misjudged you. I was instructed to kill you only as a last resort.”
“Wait,” said Scapegrace. “Kill me?”
“You picked the wrong time to have a change of heart.”
Scapegrace narrowed his eyes. “And you picked the wrong time to threaten me.”
With the speed of a cobra, Scapegrace lashed out at Bagatelle, catching him on the ear with a vicious chop. He ducked as Shun reached for him, and spun with a kick that came dangerously close to landing. Mud fired off a punch that Scapegrace blocked with his chin, and Scapegrace countered with a flailing hand to the air as he fell. He landed on the floor and the three thugs glared down at him.
Then the door opened, and everyone looked round.
“Forgive me,” Grandmaster Ping said, “but today I have business with Miss Scapegrace.”
“Get out of here, old man,” said Mud.
Ping shuffled forward. “I am so sorry, but my ears are not what they used to be. Could you repeat that, please?”
Bagatelle stepped in front of him. “He said leave.”
Ping peered up at Bagatelle, his curious eyes blinking. “My, my. You are a tall one. Still, as my honourable father used to say, the taller the tree, the further the fall.”
Bagatelle took hold of Ping’s bathrobe, and Ping’s liver-spotted hand closed gently round Bagatelle’s. He twisted and leaned in and Bagatelle cried out and fell to his knees. Before Mud or Shun could react, Ping struck Bagatelle with a lazy slap and Bagatelle lurched sideways and crumpled.
Shun ran at him and Ping avoided the kick and swept the supporting leg from under him. As Shun fell, Mud fired, and Ping stepped sideways and shoved the falling man into the path of the energy stream.
Mud cursed, tried backing away, but Ping was already too close to avoid. Mud tried punching, but that didn’t work. He tried kicking and that, too, failed. Then he tried being flipped through the air and landing on his head. That seemed to do the trick.
Scapegrace got to his feet as Ping turned. “That was amazing,” he said.
“That,” Ping said, “was kung fu. You are all right?”
“I am,” said Scapegrace.
“I’m OK, too,” moaned Thrasher.
“Nobody cares,” said Scapegrace. “They came here to kill me because we’re getting too close to the truth. We’ll … we’ll have to go into hiding.”
“Not to worry,” said Ping. “I will protect you.”
“Uh, I don’t think I can keep paying you.”
Ping chuckled, reached up, and pressed his long, bony finger to Scapegrace’s lips. “I do not help Miss Scapegrace for money. I help Miss Scapegrace for love.”
Scapegrace stared down at him. “Whu?”
hastly and Ravel had left with the Cleavers hours earlier. It was just gone four in the morning. The sky would be brightening soon, turning from black to blue, preparing for dawn.
The first strike came without warning. The enemy must have had a few cloaking spheres, because suddenly there were bullets and rockets and energy streams lighting up the shields. Someone behind Valkyrie launched a flare that illuminated the valley, casting the hundreds of charging sorcerers in a hellish red glow.
“Return fire!” Skulduggery roared, and the shout went up the line and things got louder. A writhing ball of energy slipped through the shield and exploded next to a truck, spinning it over on to its side.
An enemy Elemental used the air to propel himself high overhead. He landed on the curve of the shield, every touch lighting it up. He rolled until he found a gap and dropped off the edge, using the air to slow his descent. But the moment he hit the ground sorcerers jumped on him and he was lost to Valkyrie�
��s sight.
Skulduggery stuck his gun through a gap and fired. He pulled it back, reloaded. “Where the hell is Moloch?”
Valkyrie jumped back to let a trio of mages run by. Everyone had a job to do but her. She looked up to the ridge. Where the hell was Moloch?
Keeping low, she ran back and to the east, looping around out of the camp and towards the trees. She brought the shadows in to hide her as she sprinted across the open ground. She sank into the treeline, keeping her head turned away from the brilliant flashes of light from the battle. If Mantis had people creeping through here, she needed to be able to see them first.
She moved as quickly as she could, using the sounds of fighting to mask her footsteps. Every time she thought she saw someone in the dark, it turned out to be nothing. Which was odd. If she’d been in charge in place of Mantis, she would have sent a squad of her best fighters down here in an attempt to outflank the enemy. She knew that’s what Skulduggery was expecting. So where were they?
The ground turned steep and she slowed, creeping up the side of the hill towards the ridge. Up ahead she could hear snarling. Lots and lots of snarling. That low, guttural, savage snarling that could only tear itself from the throats of vampires.
She fought the irrational urge to rush forward, but it was her slow steps that prevented her from tripping over something lying in the undergrowth. She nudged it with her foot. It moved, then moved back, settling into its original position. She knelt, reached out. Felt a leg.
She cursed under her breath and fell on to her backside. Whoever it was didn’t move. She could see the outline of a shoulder. He was sitting up, resting against a tree.
Her mouth dry, Valkyrie got to her knees. When he still didn’t move, her hand went back to his foot. Soft rubber and laces. Running shoes. Her hand moved up. A tracksuit. Beneath it, a cold, cold leg.
Shielding one hand with the other, she clicked her fingers, summoned a small flame. Moloch’s tracksuit. She shuffled closer. Moloch’s blood. She raised her hand. Moloch’s dead body, sitting here in the woods, missing its head.
