by Derek Landy
“You’ll release me,” Kenspeckle said. “Won’t you? After everything I’ve done for you? All the times I’ve helped you?”
“Kenspeckle helped me,” she said. “Not you.”
“I am Kenspeckle,” he said with a little laugh. “I have all of his memories, don’t I? I might not be the Kenspeckle you knew, but I am Kenspeckle. Valkyrie, please. I’m your friend.”
“We’re getting rid of you,” Valkyrie said. “There was barely enough room in Kenspeckle’s head for himself – there’s certainly no room for a lodger.”
The smile turned to a growl. “I’m going to kill you.”
“That’s enough,” said Skulduggery.
“I’m going to kill all of you.”
The door opened and China came in.
“And here comes the witch,” Kenspeckle sneered. “Going to draw a little symbol, are you? You think that’ll force me out? It’ll never happen. I’m too strong. Too powerful.”
China didn’t respond. She barely looked at him. Her students had been working in the room for hours before they’d even brought Kenspeckle in. Skulduggery nodded to her and she closed her eyes, and the symbols that had been drawn in the room earlier shimmered into view. Ornate signs and complicated sigils appeared on the walls, swept down to join the patterns on the floor and rose upwards and spread along the ceiling. Kenspeckle’s arrogance vanished.
“This will kill him,” he said quickly. “You hear me? This will kill the old man.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” China told him. “The Mass Expulsion of 1892 left hundreds of people unconscious, not dead. Kenspeckle Grouse will wake up in a few minutes with a sore head and a gap in his memory, but you, my little friend, will be trapped in this.”
Skulduggery showed him the Soul Catcher. For all its dreadful connotations, it reminded Valkyrie of nothing more threatening than a snowglobe. “You can save yourself a lot of pain by leaving that body willingly,” Skulduggery said.
Kenspeckle glared. “I’m not going back to that room.”
“This will only take a moment,” said China.
The symbols glowed, bathing the room in blue and then red and then green light. Kenspeckle strained against his bonds, cursed all of them and screamed and cried and then cursed them again. China walked around the walls, her fingers touching parts of the sigils, and with each new touch Kenspeckle gave a new scream.
“It’s coming,” China said.
Kenspeckle arched his spine, his body rigid and his head thrown back. Valkyrie watched as the Remnant climbed out of his screaming mouth. She thought she saw arms, and white eyes, and it turned sideways and she could see its jaws. It darted to the ceiling and Skulduggery held out the Soul Catcher. The nasty little thing twisted and writhed and screeched as it was dragged into the globe, which instantly turned black and went dead.
And then it was all over.
42
THE NECROMANCERS
Wreath found them waiting for him in the cemetery above the Temple, dressed simply in their dark robes and talking among themselves. He strode to them, his boots crunching on graveside gravel, his finely tailored coat flapping gently in the breeze. He had never had any time for the false humility the robes represented, a laughable idea that all Necromancers were pure of heart and mind and purpose. He liked nice clothes so he wore nice clothes. In his opinion there was nothing as pure and honest as that.
The conversation faded as the others watched him approach. To Wreath’s right was Quiver, a tall man who was almost as thin as Skulduggery Pleasant. Quiver’s cheeks were sunken hollows and his eyes gleamed from shadowed pockets. He was a man who only spoke when he had something worthwhile to say – quite a rarity in Necromancer circles, Wreath had to admit.
The man on Wreath’s left was Quiver’s polar opposite. He was blandly good-looking, but a little too pale and a little too weak to be truly memorable. Craven’s flattering words had elevated him to an unlikely position of power, but as of yet, Wreath couldn’t see how this benefited him in any meaningful way. Because he spent all his time agreeing with everything the High Priest said, he never had a spare moment to exert any influence of his own. Wreath couldn’t figure him out, and as such, he trusted him about as much as he liked him. Which was to say, not at all.
The High Priest stood between Quiver and Craven, his robes setting him apart. A little more frayed, but a lot more regal. Wreath wouldn’t have been surprised if High Priest Tenebrae wore a brand-new robe every day and had a team of sycophants carefully fraying it overnight, purely for effect. The thought almost made Wreath smile.
Tenebrae folded his long-fingered hands inside his voluminous sleeves and tilted his head on his slender neck. He reminded Wreath of one of those ridiculous birds that stand around in water all day – a crane or possibly a flamingo. Whichever one looked the silliest.
“Your Eminence,” Wreath said, bowing with due reverence. “I thought we were going to have this conversation within the Temple walls.”
“Walls have ears,” Craven announced pompously.
“No, they don’t,” Wreath reminded him without gracing him with a glance. “You’re thinking of people.”
Craven glowered and Wreath ignored him.
“I would prefer to discuss this matter outside,” Tenebrae said, “where we will not be overheard. I believe the Soul Catcher has been retrieved?”
“Yes,” Wreath said. “Valkyrie informs me that they need it to transfer a Remnant back to the Midnight Hotel, but once that is done, it will be returned to us.”
“The Soul Catcher is our property,” Craven said to Tenebrae. “They have no right to dictate to us when we can have it back. We should demand it be returned to us immediately.”
“In which case,” said Wreath, “they will ignore our demand then we will look weak and ineffectual in their eyes.”
“They can’t ignore us!” Craven spluttered.
“They can and they will. If you were ever to leave the safety of the Temple, you would quickly realise that nobody likes us. They think we’re untrustworthy and dangerous.”
“Then they should fear us!”
“And if we had a history of stepping out into the world, they most assuredly would. But it is widely known that we Necromancers like to stay in our temples with our schemes and our plots, and we really don’t like getting our hands dirty. Lord Vile, of course, being the obvious exception.”
“Traitor,” Quiver said softly, in a tone that almost conveyed emotion.
“Now is not the time to talk of Lord Vile,” said Tenebrae. “He was once our Death Bringer, he is not any more and so our search continues. Solomon, you will offer to take the Soul Catcher off their hands once the Remnant is trapped.”
“Sir?”
“Tell them you will take it back to the Midnight Hotel yourself, or tell them you want to study the contraption once it has a soul inside it. I don’t care what lie you use, just bring me the Soul Catcher and bring me the Remnant. Can you do that?”
“Of course. May I ask why?”
“No, you may not,” Craven sneered. Wreath shifted his gaze to him and Craven held that gaze for three whole seconds before crumbling beneath it.
“The Cain girl,” Tenebrae said, changing the subject with no need for subtlety. “She knows about the Passage?”
“Pleasant backed me into a corner,” Wreath admitted. “It was either tell her or risk losing her.”
“I remind you, Cleric Wreath, that we do not all share your conviction that she is the one we’re looking for. She’s far too young for a start.”
“She’s a natural, your Eminence. She’s taken to Necromancy faster than anyone I’ve seen since Vile.”
“Not auspicious company,” muttered Quiver.
“Maybe not,” Wreath said, “but she has the potential to surpass even him. She’s the one we’ve been waiting for. I’m sure of it.”
“His Eminence is quite correct, however,” Craven said, finding his voice again after far too short a time
. “She’s much too young. Plus, she’s entrenched with the skeleton detective. Do you really think you can pry her from his side?”
“Not easily,” Wreath said, “but it can be done. Skulduggery Pleasant is a fantastically flawed individual.”
“Much more than even you know,” Tenebrae said. “We will need to meet with her, of course. Our encounters in the past few months have been too brief, and we need to accurately form an opinion of her ability.”
“Of course, High Priest.”
Quiver spoke up. “If she is suitable, she will have to be monitored closely to be kept on the right path. History cannot be allowed to repeat itself.”
“Agreed,” said Wreath, then hesitated. “Your Eminence, if I may return for a moment to the delicate subject of Lord Vile…”
Tenebrae looked displeased, and Craven stood at the High Priest’s elbow and copied the look remarkably well. Nevertheless, Wreath continued.
“It seems to me that the closer we get to the Passage, the higher the likelihood of stern opposition from non-believers and enemies alike. News will travel and rumours will spread.”
“Are you afraid of rumours, Wreath?” Craven laughed. “Are you afraid of idle chatter? Perhaps you are not the man we thought you were. Perhaps you are unsuited to be our representative outside the Temple.”
“Then who will take my place?” Wreath answered icily. “You? If all my post required was a staggering expertise at fawning, then you’d be welcome to it.”
“How dare you!” Craven practically screeched.
Wreath took a sudden step towards him and Craven stumbled over his own robe to get away.
“Enough!” growled the High Priest. “Solomon, you’re concerned that these rumours will reach unwelcome ears, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Such a concern is reasonable, but I can assure you, you need not worry. The Necromancer Order is stronger now than it was during the war with Mevolent. We are more than capable of dealing with trouble, should it arise.”
“With respect, sir, this is more than mere trouble. Forgive the melodrama of what I am about to say, but if the news that we are preparing for the Passage were to reach whatever corner of the world he has secluded himself in, Lord Vile will return to destroy us all.”
“In that case,” High Priest Tenebrae said with a patient smile, “we need to be sure that Valkyrie Cain is strong enough to kill him for us, now don’t we?”
43
THE ROAD TO CROKE PARK
Valkyrie walked into a room with a massive tub built into the floor. There was a bouquet of flowers arranged in a delicate vase on a nearby table. The huge tub was filled to the brim with mud, and for a moment Valkyrie thought the mud had eyes, which opened as she came in and blinked up at her.
“Hey, Val,” the mud said.
“Hey, Tanith,” Valkyrie said back. “You’ve got something on your face…”
Tanith’s mud-covered features broke into a small smile. “Ghastly already made that joke when he brought me the flowers.”
“That was nice of him,” Valkyrie said. She pulled up the only chair in the room, and sat. “How are your hands?”
Tanith raised them for Valkyrie to see. They were heavily bandaged and wrapped in plastic so that the mud wouldn’t get in. “The Professor says they’ll be fine in a few days. The doctors in the Sanctuary soaked the bandages in something I never heard of to heal the wounds. The Professor inspected them the moment I was transferred here. He said they’d do the job. All this mud is for the swelling and the, you know, the trauma. I’ll be fine, he says. He’s doing everything he can to make up for it.”
“He blames himself,” Valkyrie said. “Even though he couldn’t do anything to stop the Remnant, and even though he can’t remember one thing about it, he still blames himself.”
“I’m not surprised,” Tanith said. “I mean, I know it wasn’t him that did this to me. But it used his face and it had his voice, and I don’t know…I think there’s a part of me that hates him for it.”
“But you’re here,” frowned Valkyrie. “If a part of you hates him, wouldn’t you have wanted to stay in the Sanctuary, away from him?”
“I’m a practical girl, Val, and the practical side of my brain pretty much tells the stupid side what to do. So I’m cool here.”
She shrugged and winced and Valkyrie noticed the bandages on her shoulders.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me how your injuries are.”
“All right then, I’m doing OK actually. The pain wasn’t really any worse than the White Cleaver stabbing me in the back, but the White Cleaver didn’t talk, you know? That Remnant thing in the Professor just would not shut up.”
“Tanith, you were tortured.”
“Everyone gets tortured these days. Skulduggery was tortured by Serpine, who then turned around and did that red right-hand thing at you. Then Skulduggery was tortured again by the Faceless Ones. I figured it was my turn, you know? You’re not part of the team if you haven’t been tortured – that’s what I always say. Well, I’ll be saying that from now on anyway.”
Valkyrie stood there, feeling stupid and awkward. Tanith had been put through hell and Valkyrie didn’t have the first idea how to talk to her about it. The pain was evident in her friend’s eyes, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Valkyrie searched clumsily for the words she needed, but they weren’t coming to her.
“What are they going to do with the Remnant?” Tanith asked, breaking the silence.
“We’ve handed it over to Wreath,” Valkyrie told her and Tanith’s face soured.
“Why does he want it?”
“Well, technically, the Soul Catcher is his and he asked for it back. He just wants to study it for a while, now that it actually contains something. He’ll bring the Remnant back to the Midnight Hotel when he’s done.”
“I don’t know how you can trust that guy, Val.”
“He’s helped me a lot over the last year. He’s helped all of us.”
Tanith looked like she was about to argue and then there was a beep from somewhere overhead, and she groaned. “Just when you get comfortable.”
Tanith gripped the edges of the tub and rose out of it, moving stiffly. The mud covered her completely as she reached her arm out. Valkyrie grabbed her elbow with both hands to make sure she didn’t slip and helped her into a white bathrobe. Tanith wiped her face clean with a towel.
There was a knock on the door. Valkyrie looked over her shoulder to find Skulduggery standing in the doorway.
“Tanith,” he said. “You’re looking great.”
“And I’m ready to go,” Tanith said.
“Is that so?”
“You give me my sword back and I’m right behind you.”
Before Skulduggery could answer, Tanith’s left leg buckled and Valkyrie grabbed her as she fell, guiding her to the chair.
“Bloody hell,” Tanith growled. “That hurts.”
“Tanith…” Skulduggery began.
“You want to know if I learned anything, right?” she said, pain lending her words an edge. “You want to know if Sanguine or any of them let something slip in all their gloating? They didn’t. They kept me shackled in a room and then they gave me to the Professor. Forgive me, but there are patches of the last twelve hours that are a little fuzzy.”
“They didn’t mention any names? Places? Times?”
“The Remnant in the Professor talked about a lot of stuff. Mainly about how happy he was to have finally found a friend.”
Skulduggery nodded slowly. “OK. All right, thank you.”
“But what does it matter? We have the Desolation Engine, right?”
“We do, but I’d have liked to have known their target. If they can’t take it down with the bomb, they might try some other way.”
“Or they’re all running,” Tanith said. “Let’s face it – none of these guys are great team players. They’re all in it f
or their own reasons, so the moment the big plan goes wrong, I think they’re going to split.”
“That is possible. It’s also very likely.”
“If you want my opinion, it’s over. Now all we have to do is track each one of them down. And I want in on that action, Skulduggery. Springheeled Jack threw me off a moving car. I owe him a few slaps.”
“The moment you’re fighting fit, we’ll call you.”
“I’m ready now.”
“You can’t even walk, Tanith.”
“An hour or two is all I need.”
“A few days’ rest – those were your doctor’s orders.”
“Yeah, well, my doctor’s the one who tortured me for God’s sake. I don’t think his opinion really matters, do you?”
Valkyrie looked at her boots. Skulduggery was silent.
“Fine,” Tanith muttered.
“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said as he left, “we have work to do.”
She looked at Tanith. “You’re really OK, huh?”
“Don’t start, Val.”
Valkyrie hunkered down until she was looking straight into Tanith’s eyes. “You’re my sister,” she said. “I have another sister or maybe a brother on the way, but you’re my sister too. I want you to stay here and get better, and try to accept the fact, with every part of you, that it wasn’t Kenspeckle who did this. I want you to be OK. OK?”
“OK,” Tanith said softly. Valkyrie hugged her and kissed her cheek.
“You’ve got mud on your chin,” smiled Tanith.
“Yeah, but I make it work.”
Ghastly and Anton Shudder were waiting for them in the darkened cinema. Fletcher appeared on the stage, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
“You have a visitor,” he said. “Your friend the vampire’s outside. He wants to talk to Valkyrie.”
“By all means,” Skulduggery said. Then, much to Fletcher’s satisfaction, he said, “Fletcher, you go with her. Caelan’s been banished from vampire society because of us. He might be cross.”
Valkyrie glared. “I don’t need protection.”
“A vampire’s waiting for you outside – of course you need protection. Keep it brief. We’ll be waiting for you.”
