Skulduggery Pleasant: Kingdom of the Wicked

by Derek Landy

  “You’re gonna do it yourself? What am I meant to do – play chequers with the doc here?”

  She hesitated. How to say this so as not to offend him? “You’re useless, Billy-Ray. Sometimes your power works fine and everything’s great, but then you have a bad day and every time you try to burrow somewhere it hurts. And then you complain, and gripe, and sulk, and really, I’ve had enough of you acting like a child.”

  He stared at her, and Tanith wondered if her plan not to offend him had actually worked. Regardless, she pressed on. “I can’t rely on you, and I need to rely on you. You’re a huge part of my plans, and I can’t continue without you. But this injury you’ve been carrying around... it just won’t do. So Doctor Nye here is going to patch you up.”

  “I told you,” Sanguine said, “no one can patch me up. It was a botched operation the first time round, and no amount of repair work is gonna fix it.”

  “Oh, I’m aware of that. So Nye isn’t going to try and repair the damage. He’s going to rip you open and start all over again.”

  “He’s gonna what?”

  Tanith looked up. “Doctor Nye, you’re not the bravest of creatures, are you?”

  “I have been known to run from my fair share of conflicts.”

  “And you’re not the most noble of creatures, either, isn’t that right?”

  “Nobility is a crutch for the ethically stunted.”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say. Or something like it. And given your history, and you do have a history, I would go so far as to say you hold no particular loyalty to the Sanctuary as it stands.”

  Nye gave a disturbing little giggle. “These people? Oh my, no.”

  “Then what will it take for you to fix my friend Billy-Ray here without alerting your colleagues?”

  Nye’s tongue flickered over the thread that punctured its thin lips. “A favour,” it decided. “Someone I might need killed when this is done.”

  “You have a deal. Can you operate now?”

  “I can. From what I know of the injury, it will take some time.”

  “Well then,” Tanith said, “you’d best get started. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  She ignored the look on Sanguine’s face as she left the Medical Bay. It was disappointingly easy to move through the shadows, passing mages of great reputation, coming so close she could have whispered in their ears. They were all too preoccupied to look up. They talked fast, walked faster, and there was that delicious tension again. It would have been all so very intriguing, if she cared about such things.

  She got to the detention area, slipped by the mage on duty and strolled past the doors, reading the names of the prisoners inside. When she found the door she was looking for, she pressed her palm to the lock, and it clicked as it opened. She stepped into the small cell, and felt her powers dampen. She hated that feeling, but pushed it away. Christophe Nocturnal was sitting on his bunk.

  “You’re a little early with the food, aren’t you?” he said, rolling his eyes. “And you’ve forgotten the food. Well done, idiot.”

  The door closed behind her and Tanith smiled. “You are a charming man, aren’t you?”

  “My charm is reserved for those who warrant it.”

  “I don’t warrant it?”

  “Only those who accept the Faceless Ones as the true masters of their souls warrant a kind word from me.”

  She walked slowly so that she was standing directly in front of him. “And how do you know I’m not a fan of the Dark Gods?” she asked.

  “Your apparel, for one thing.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

  “What’s wrong is that you are barely dressed. True believers pride modesty and humility above all other attributes save obedience. We do not try to overshadow or outshine our lords and masters by wearing tight or revealing clothing.”

  Tanith looked down at herself. “Are you saying I’d make the Faceless Ones feel inadequate?”

  He glared. “You are unclean.”

  “But I showered before I came here.”

  “You are tarnished by vanity.”

  “I’m tarnished by a lot more than that.”

  “Cover yourself up, repent for all the harm you’ve done, do penance and accept the Faceless Ones as your lords and masters. Maybe then your soul will not be burned upon their return.”

  “Covering up, repenting, doing penance... I’m sorry, but your church really doesn’t sound like it’s my kind of thing. I’m not here with your food, Chris. It has been brought to my attention that you know where a certain dagger is. I need to know what you know, Chris.”

  “Who are you?” he said, frowning.

  “According to you, I’m a sinner.”

  “You work with the Sanctuary?”

  “With them? I don’t know if I’d say with them. With them makes it sound like they know I’m here. I’d say more alongside them. Or possibly against them. Yeah, actually, I work against them. Kinda like you, except obviously in a more successful fashion.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I told you. The dagger.”

  “I don’t know what dagger you—”

  “Pish posh, Christophe. Of course you know what dagger I’m talking about. The only dagger worth talking about. You know who has it. That’s information I need.”

  “Get me out of here and I’ll tell you.”

  “You tell me, and I’ll get you out of here.”

  “Once you have the information, what’s to stop you from leaving me in this cell?”

  Her eyes widened, all innocence. “My word is my bond.”

  “I’ll tell you once I’m free.”

  “But what if you’re killed while we make our escape? Then after the weeks of crying and wailing and mourning your death, and thinking of what might have been between us – because there’s a connection here and you can’t deny it – then I’ll be left with nothing, not even the location of the dagger. Do you see my dilemma, my sweet pumpkin? Please spare me the heartache and tell me now.”

  “You mock me.”

  “Only because I care. Oh, Christophe, our moment is now. You and me, baby. Once I get you out of here, my boyfriend will be there, and of course Eliza will be waiting, and she’s so pretty, and I can’t stand the thought of you leaving me for—”

  “You’re working with Eliza Scorn?”

  “But of course.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that? Take me to her, damn you. Why waste time with this ridiculousness?”

  “Because you’re the one paying me to rescue you, Christophe. You’re paying me with the location of the dagger I want, and I always get paid before a job. Not after.”

  Nocturnal grabbed his coat, put it on. “You could have said that when you came in,” he snarled. “The dagger is in the possession of Johann Starke.”

  “Starke... One of the Elders in the German Sanctuary?”

  “Yes, him. Can we go now?”

  “Thank you so much, Christophe. You’ve been a great help.”

  “Take me out of here.”

  “No. I’ll be killing you now.”

  He froze. “What?”

  “I’m afraid Eliza doesn’t want you rescued. All your friends, back in your church? You know those people who really wouldn’t approve of me, or my clothes, or how I wear my clothes? Remember those good and decent people? Yeah, they want you dead.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Tanith drew her sword. “They’re worried you might start talking, maybe mention a few names.”

  Nocturnal backed away. He’d gone quite pale. “I haven’t said a word. I haven’t said anything!”

  “But your modest and humble friends can’t take that chance. They’ve decided it would be best for everyone, apart from maybe yourself, if you were to be killed.”

  “No, no. I can get you the dagger.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  He dropped to his knees. “Please...”

&
nbsp; “Don’t beg. It cheapens the moment.”

  “Have mercy.”

  She smiled with black lips, and showed him the veins beneath her skin. “I’m all out.”

  n their way into Dublin City, Skulduggery made a call, arranging for a plane to take them to Switzerland. When he hung up, he told Valkyrie that Ghastly had sounded especially harassed. The Supreme Council was making its presence felt yet again, it seemed, and new calls were coming in all the time about unusual disturbances. He took the next right.

  Valkyrie sighed. “Not another incident.”

  “No,” Skulduggery assured her. “Well, maybe. A missing person, one Patrick Xebec. Elemental. Last seen Friday afternoon.”

  “So? People go missing all the time.”

  “I think we should meet his wife, see what she has to say. This may tie in with what’s going on.”

  “Why? What did Ghastly tell you?”

  “Something about streams of energy in the sky. A public display of power like that could very likely be another mortal developing magical abilities. Does that pique your curiosity?”

  She considered. “No. But then I’m not easily piqued. I’ll reserve judgement.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  They parked near the city centre and walked for a few minutes until they came to the apartment complex where Patrick Xebec lived. They were let in by Xebec’s wife, a Frenchwoman with tired eyes.

  “I was on the phone to him,” she said. “We were talking about something, the neighbour’s cat, and then he said there were these lights in the sky. He said they were energy streams. I told him to call the Sanctuary but he said you wouldn’t get there in time. He said someone was going to notice and realise it wasn’t just a light show. He told me he’d ring me back once he figured out what was going on. I... I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Do you know where he was when he saw all this?” Skulduggery asked.

  “He was driving through Monkstown. But he said the energy streams were miles away. He didn’t say what direction. Patrick has never gone more than a few hours without checking in, let alone three days. Something bad has happened to him, I know it.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Please, Detective, find my husband.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Skulduggery said.

  They walked back to the car and Valkyrie’s arm started to ache. Skulduggery was talking about something that had just occurred to him, something to do with Greta Dapple.

  “She mentioned that her birthday is this Saturday,” he said, “which means it’s May the first – the start of summer. Coincidence? I don’t think so. But what does Argeddion’s old girlfriend have to do with mortals developing magic? What does she have to do with the Summer of Light?”

  The ache was spreading, turning to a dull but persistent throb that Valkyrie could feel in her chest. The world flickered and she stopped walking, suddenly dizzy. “Whoa.”

  Skulduggery took her arm, steered her round the corner. “Valkyrie, look at me.”

  He flickered and the whole world vanished, just for the blink of an eye. Valkyrie staggered back against the wall. “What the hell is going on? Skulduggery? Everything’s disappearing. What’s wrong with—”

  And then Skulduggery was gone and the building behind her was gone and she was falling backwards, splashing into a puddle. It took her a moment to figure it out.

  “Fletcher!” she called. He didn’t answer. She was sitting in a puddle in a filthy alleyway.

  She didn’t recognise her surroundings.

  Skulduggery was gone.

  She was alone.

  She got up. It had to be Fletcher. He was the only Teleporter left alive. No one else could have done that. She took out her phone. Impossibly, it told her she didn’t have a signal. But this phone always had a signal.

  She walked out of the alley. The buildings were all old, old and dirty and small, made of brick and stone and wood. A man passed, dressed in dark brown, the colour of mud. A woman walked the other way, wearing the same colour. Valkyrie followed the woman to a wider street, but then stopped at the corner, hung back. Everyone here wore brown. Brown trousers, brown shirts, brown coats. They didn’t wear it as a uniform, though – it was just as if the only clothes available were all the same colour.

  Valkyrie stepped into the street and suddenly people were turning around, changing direction, looking up at the sky or down at the road as they passed her. She started to feel very self-conscious dressed all in black. Two women approached, and Valkyrie walked over.

  “Excuse me?”

  They hurried by, heads down, pretending not to see her.

  “Hey,” she said. “Hey, hello. Excuse me.”

  “You should go.”

  She turned. A man in his forties, in those same brown clothes as everyone else. Balding and unshaven.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “Not where you’re supposed to be,” he said. “Do yourself a favour, do us all a favour, and leave. Please.” He started walking. She followed.

  “I don’t know where I am. Tell me where I am.”

  “Pageant Street,” he said brusquely.

  “I mean what city.”

  “Dublin.”

  She frowned at him. “This isn’t Dublin. I know Dublin, and this isn’t...” A thought struck her. A horrible, amazing thought. “What year is this?”

  “Year?”

  It made sense. The old-style buildings. The fact that there were no cars, no technology. She’d travelled back in time. “Tell me what year this is.”

  He stopped suddenly and looked at her, fear in his eyes. “You’re a sorcerer,” he said.

  Valkyrie blinked. “Uh...”

  He backed away. “Oh, my... Oh, you’re one of them. Please don’t kill me. I only wanted to help. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  She followed, keeping her hands up, trying to calm him down. “You know about sorcerers?”

  “I don’t know anything, I swear. I’m no one.”

  She clapped her hands in front of his face and he jerked his head back. “Hey! Listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know some things. I’m not from here and I don’t know how anything works. You say this is Dublin? What century?”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “Century? The twenty-first.”

  Oh. So she hadn’t time-travelled. Fine. “What happened to it?” she asked next.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what happened here? Where are the cars and the streetlights and how come everything is so old and dirty? Why is everyone wearing these clothes?”

  “I don’t want to get into any trouble.”

  “Answer my questions.”

  “But I don’t know what you mean. It’s always been like this.”

  “No,” she said, “it hasn’t. Dublin is brighter and bigger and flashier and... and OK, it’s not a whole lot cleaner, but the people wear better clothes, that’s for sure. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but this isn’t the Dublin that I know, all right? This...” And then it dawned on her. Nadir, the Dimensional Shunter. The throbbing in her arm. Whatever he’d done to her, this was the result. “I’m in a different reality,” she said softly.

  The balding man looked at her. “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m not from this world,” she told him. “You understand? I’m from one like it, but... different. We have cars and electricity and... Why is it like this? Why don’t you have cars?”

  “I don’t know,” the man said, distressed. “Is a car like a carriage? We have carriages. Horses pull them. I can show you where they’re kept.”

  Valkyrie looked around. “Never mind. There are sorcerers here, right? Maybe they can help me.”

  The man paled. “You don’t want to go to them.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you don’t know them, you don’t want to know them. You should leave. Now. You should run.”

  A woman hurried by, waving a handkerchief by her side. The man
turned.

  “They’re coming.”

  “Who are?” Valkyrie asked. “What’s wrong?”

  He took her hand, dragged her off the street. They ran between two buildings. He jumped a wall and she followed.

  “What’s going on?”

  He didn’t answer. He led her into a sagging house. The door was open and the floorboards were rotten. She followed him up the stairs and he crossed to the window.

  “The Sense-Wardens are patrolling,” he said. “Some of them can read your mind. When you see them, you have to just think of nothing, just focus on being empty, or they’ll see something in your thoughts and they’ll come for you. They got my wife, seven years ago. She didn’t know they were there and they grabbed her off the street, took her away. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “The ones in white,” he said, “they’re the Sense-Wardens.”

  Valkyrie joined him at the grime-covered window. Nine people passed below, three of whom wore white robes with hoods obscuring their faces. They walked slowly, hands clasped. Forming a circle around them were six people in robes of deep scarlet. Beneath the robes, black boots and loose garments. On their backs, scythes.

  “They send the Redhoods after us,” the man said bitterly. “There’s no point in running. They’re too fast. There’s no point in fighting. They’re too strong. And those blades of theirs... I once saw a man cut in two as easy as cutting paper.”

  “Cleavers,” said Valkyrie. “They’re called Cleavers. Or that’s what they’re called where I’m from. And they’re dressed in grey, not red.”

  “Well, here they’re called Redhoods,” said the man, “and if one is coming for you, you surrender. Save yourself the pain.”

  He stepped away from the window but Valkyrie stayed where she was, watching. There was a symbol on the breast of their robes – two circles, the smaller one barely bisecting the larger. She watched the Sense-Wardens and their guards move on, watched the people slow down to a stop as they approached. To suddenly turn and walk the other way would be a sign of something to hide, so instead the people paused, lowered their heads and closed their eyes. Probably focusing on being empty.