by Derek Landy
Valkyrie was in darkness, watching, as Skulduggery donned the black armour. Cold flame flickered off the walls. He worked slowly, methodically, with buckles and straps and belts. Piece by piece the armour went on, each segment sliding into place, covering him, burying him, sealing him away, until at last the helmet went on and Skulduggery Pleasant was gone.
And there was only Lord Vile.
No.
She didn’t want to see this. She didn’t want to see Skulduggery like this. She didn’t want this memory. It wasn’t even hers. It belonged to Abyssinia, and Valkyrie wasn’t Abyssinia: she hadn’t watched her father die and she hadn’t joined Mevolent’s army in order to get close to the man who’d killed him.
She was in the hall, in the great hall in Mevolent’s castle, and she was talking, making a speech while they all looked on.
She was at the top table. Mevolent’s wife may have been seated at his right side, but Valkyrie was seated to his left. She could see the resentment in the eyes of the gathered sorcerers – Serpine in particular. Baron Vengeous was without expression, and beside him China Sorrows smiled, as if she was delighted that Valkyrie had been chosen as Mevolent’s favourite.
All her plans had led her to this point.
As she spoke, Valkyrie glanced behind her, to where Lord Vile stood. Upon hearing certain words, he would strike, plunging his sword through Mevolent’s back. And then, while he killed Serafina before she could even stand, it would be she herself who took Mevolent’s head.
And yet.
Fate had a cruel sense of humour, it seemed. Her plans, as careful as they were, as precise in their execution as their planning, had scattered before her mere hours earlier, when she had learned of the child growing within her.
Suddenly her thoughts of vengeance were nothing but smoke on the wind. Mevolent had robbed her of her family – though he did not know it – and yet she had the potential for a new family. She didn’t need to kill him. She didn’t need to take what was his. She could slip away in the night and seek happiness elsewhere.
Behind her, Vile waited for words that would never come.
Valkyrie paused in her speech, took a drink of wine, and found herself with her hand on her belly. She looked down, and smiled. This would be her final night in the castle.
And it was.
The tip of the sword slid through her chest and Valkyrie frowned. There were cries from the crowd.
She was lifted off her feet as the pain blossomed. Vile. He had betrayed her. She almost laughed.
Her feet kicked feebly as he carried her to the window on the end of his sword. Mevolent and Serafina, she noted, never even looked up from their meal.
Lord Vile threw her into the glass and it shattered around her and she fell into darkness, the wind snatching at her clothes and her hair and she fell and fell and the rocks met her at the bottom and broke her body.
She blinked up at the stars. It was all she could do.
Her strength had saved her from an immediate death, but that strength was leaking from her with every moment. She tried to touch her belly, but could not move her hands. Tears mixed with the blood on her face.
I’m sorry, she thought, for her lips could not form words. I’m sorry, my child.
Sadness overtook the pain and Valkyrie wept, and tore herself from the memory, and gasped, and looked down at herself, and saw the hole in her chest.
She was back in the East Room, back in the Sadists’ Club, back in Roarhaven, and Abyssinia was stumbling away and Valkyrie sank down, her back against the wall, while Skeiri wailed in the corner.
Skulduggery and Nero came back, Nero crying out, Skulduggery kneeling on him, pressing the revolver into his head. He looked up, saw Valkyrie, immediately left Nero where he lay and hurried over.
Nero pushed himself up, recognised a no-win battle when he saw it, and vanished, along with Abyssinia and Skeiri.
“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said, pressing his hand against the wound. “Valkyrie, can you hear me? You’re going to be OK. You’re going to be fine.”
She tried to speak but couldn’t, and as he lifted her into his arms the world drew in and darkness swallowed her.
28
The first classes of the day were business studies and double combat arts. Omen didn’t mind combat arts. He’d been through it all before when the best trainers in the world had taught Auger how to hit and Omen how to get hit. Now it was different. Now Omen was no longer the punchbag, and it was quite startling – to his classmates, to his teacher, to Omen himself – how much of that training he had absorbed over the years.
The only thing that prevented Omen from being one of the best in the class was the fact that he appeared to possess absolutely no aggression. At all. In the slightest. Which was a problem when it came to fighting.
These two classes turned out to be more theory than practical, and nobody broke much of a sweat, which meant Omen could skip the weekly torture of showering with the rest of the boys. Instead, he got dressed quicker than usual and found Never in the corridor.
“Hey,” he said.
Never looked up, hesitated, and smiled. His hair was tied back today. “Hey.”
“I was thinking,” Omen said, “about what we were talking about on Friday.”
Never frowned. “Remind me.”
“Y’know … we were talking about the fact that I’m sitting around, waiting for Skulduggery and Valkyrie to call me off on an adventure.”
“That was you?”
“I was thinking, maybe … I mean, obviously you had a point.”
“I am me.”
“And, if I reacted badly to it, then I’m sorry. I just … I don’t want to be boring. I don’t want to be like everyone else and I had a taste of what it’s like to have a life like that, like Auger’s, and I …” He sighed.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Never.
“Well, I am worrying about it,” Omen said. “And you know me better than probably anyone, and you were only trying to make me see sense.”
“Seeing sense is good,” Never said.
“Are we friends again?”
“When did we stop?”
“I mean, we haven’t really chatted in the last few days and I thought you were mad at me or something.”
“I’m not mad at you, monkey. I’ve just been busy. I’m a very busy person, you know. Like, right now? Right now I’m busy.”
Omen laughed. “Right now you’re talking to me.”
“And I’m busy, so, like, wrap it up.”
“Oh,” said Omen. “Oh, right, sorry. Um … well, that’s it, I suppose.”
Never put a hand on Omen’s shoulder. “Good talk. I’m glad we did this. It’s important, I think, to be able to talk about stuff.”
“So who are you waiting for?”
Never took his hand back. “I’m not waiting for anyone.”
“Is it a new boyfriend?”
“How do you know I’m not still with Wilder?”
Omen grinned. “He’s not your type at all. He’s too loud.”
Never shrugged. “Also, he’d never been out with someone as amazing as me, so I think he got intimidated. Ah, well, his loss.”
“So who’s the new guy?”
“There actually isn’t one. I’m off the market at the moment. I feel I need some space to reconnect with myself, to rediscover my own vitality.”
“What kind of books have you been reading?”
“Books with words and no pictures, so they’d be of no interest to you.” He checked his watch. “OK, I’ve got to get going. Omen, you have a good one.”
Omen laughed. “I’ll try my very best, but I will find out what you’re—”
And Never teleported away.
“Omen.”
Omen turned as Aurnia ran up. He blinked, not expecting to see her in the school corridor like this. “Aurnia! Hi! What are you doing here?”
“I’m lost,” she said. Her eyes were watery, like she was about to start cryi
ng. “All of the ambassadors are being brought in to discuss our concerns, and I was with the group and then I got distracted. This school is … huge. This is the biggest building I’ve ever been in. Back home our school is a single room in my uncle’s house.”
“So you got lost,” said Omen. “OK, that’s cool. I can help you. Come on.”
They started walking, Aurnia hugging herself and sticking close to his side. He noticed her shrink away from the people they passed, like a mistreated cat.
“Do you remember what room you were supposed to be heading to?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I wasn’t really listening. I’ve barely heard anything that’s been said since we arrived here. How does anyone get anything done here?”
“I still haven’t figured that out myself, to be honest.”
“You said that mortals have schools here, too – proper schools. Are they as big as this?”
Omen shrugged. “It depends. I mean, I suppose some of them are, the really exclusive ones, but most of them aren’t.”
“What was it like growing up here?” she asked.
“Oh, I didn’t. I grew up near Galway. Do you have Galway in your dimension?”
“Yes.”
“I grew up near there, in a small town, all very normal. My family’s magic, but Roarhaven wasn’t a city back then so we lived among mortals and basically pretended to be like everyone else. We even had mortal names and stuff. I liked it, actually, being just like everyone else. I suppose I fit in better as a mortal than I do as a sorcerer.”
“Why don’t you fit in as a sorcerer?”
“I’m just not very good at it. My brother, Auger, he’s good at it. He’s really good at it. But then he’s so good at everything. I was never much good at anything.”
“But you can do magic?”
“Yes,” he said. “Not much, but I can. Do you want to see?”
Aurnia looked alarmed and shook her head.
“OK,” said Omen quickly. “That’s cool.”
She actually smiled. “You used that word again. Cool. Why is cool a good thing?”
“I don’t really know. I suppose it came from, maybe, America, from back in the 1960s when everything was cool and groovy and stuff.”
“Ah,” said Aurnia, “so that’s why we don’t use the word like you do. We don’t have an America where I’m from.”
“How can you not have a country?” Omen asked, frowning.
“Well, we have it, it’s there, it exists, but no one lives there any more. Mevolent killed everyone in America hundreds of years ago and poisoned it all – the land, the water, the air …”
“Wow.”
“Yes.”
“So you guys don’t have Elvis or Jennifer Lawrence or Spider-Man … or anyone.”
“I don’t know who they are.”
“Elvis was a singer, and Jennifer Lawrence is in movies, and Spider-Man swings from buildings and stops crime.”
“Is he a sorcerer, too?”
“No, he was just bitten by a radioactive spider. It’s so weird that you don’t have those things.”
“Not really,” Aurnia said, shrugging. “From where I stand, it’s normal, and actually having an America with people in it, that’s, like you said, the thing that’s weird.”
He led her up the west staircase. She was no longer hugging herself. With every step she took, she was growing in confidence. He wished he was like that.
She laughed suddenly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I never thought this would happen.”
He grinned along with her. “What would happen?”
“This,” she said, gesturing to their surroundings. “Sorcerers everywhere and I’m just walking through them all.”
“It’s a different world.”
“Yes, it is.”
Axelia passed, eyes on her phone, and Omen waved to get her attention and said, “Axelia, hey.”
She looked up, smiled automatically. “Hey,” she said.
“Axelia,” said Omen, “this is Aurnia. Aurnia’s part of the volunteer group, from the camp? Do you know where the rest of them are?”
“I was just helping out with them,” Axelia said. “They’re in Meritorious Hall. The meeting hasn’t started yet, so you’ll be fine. It’s very good to meet you, Aurnia.”
“And you,” said Aurnia.
Axelia smiled again and walked on, and Omen took Aurnia right and down a corridor.
“She’s very pretty,” said Aurnia.
“Is she?” said Omen.
“Everyone here has such wonderful hair. Is it because of the shampoo?”
“You don’t have shampoo where you’re from?”
“Maybe the sorcerers do, but mortals use soap. My family received a bottle of shampoo in one of our care packages, though, and last night I washed my hair and … and it’s wonderful.”
“Your hair does look extra shiny today.”
She laughed again. “Thank you.”
The door to Meritorious Hall was open. Inside, sorcerers and mortals were finding their seats.
“Here we are,” Omen said.
Aurnia clasped her hands. “Thank you, Omen. Thank you so much.”
“No probs. Problem. No problem.”
She looked at him for a little bit, and then looked away. “Well, I’d better go.”
“Wait!” he blurted.
“Yes?”
“Um … would you like to do something?”
“I am doing something. I’m walking.”
“No, like, do something.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“With me,” said Omen. “Would you like to do something with me? Tomorrow, maybe? It’s just that I enjoy talking to you, and spending time with you, and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to, um, do it again?”
Aurnia frowned. “Are you trying to court me?”
“I don’t know. I think so?”
“Huh.”
“So … what do you think?”
“We have strict rules for courting where I’m from,” said Aurnia. “First, you must ask my parents.”
“Yeah, right, that makes sense.”
“And then my brother. He’s very protective of me, though, so that might be difficult.”
“I can do it.”
“And then you have to seek permission from the twelve village leaders.”
“All twelve?”
“And, before they make their ruling, you must do the Love Dance in the streets.”
“Wow. I don’t have much rhythm but, well, I suppose I could get my dancing shoes on.”
“No shoes,” she said. “The Love Dance is performed without clothes. When the dance is over, you must sing the traditional ballads, also naked. Then and only then will we receive the blessing of my people, and we shall be wed. My family will be expecting a child within the first year, so naturally you will have to commit to a lifetime of …” She grinned suddenly, a grin so pretty it made Omen’s heart lurch. “I’m joking. We don’t have strict rules for courting, and we don’t have to get married or have babies. The look on your face, however …”
Omen barked out a laugh and felt the tension rush from his body. “That was mean. That was very mean.”
“I would like to talk to you tomorrow, Omen. So the answer is yes.”
He gave a grin of his own. “Cool,” he said.
29
Here in this small town in Tuscany, where the streets were impossibly narrow, was where the flaw in the otherwise flawless route that Serafina’s people had planned out would be exploited.
This was where Cadaverous would ambush the ambulance.
Sitting in the shade, Cadaverous glanced at his watch. It was just gone midday, the ambulance was almost here, and there were no mortals about. This was beyond perfect.
“She cut it off,” Razzia said. “Just … swish. Cut it right off.”
Cadaverous didn’t respond.
Razzia looked up. “She deserved it, of course. Skeiri
, I mean. Ooh, I’m so great, I’m taking Razzia’s place … and now she has one less tentacle. That’s the moral of the story, right there.”
Nero teleported in. “They’re coming,” he said.
“Did it look like it hurt?” Razzia asked. “What Valkyrie did to Skeiri?”
Nero sighed. “Are you still talking about this? It was ages ago, OK? It was yesterday. How am I supposed to remember what happened or what hurt or what didn’t? All I know is, she wouldn’t stop moaning about it.”
Cadaverous stood. “In positions, everyone,” he said.
Nero scowled. “And why are you the one giving orders? I’m the one who should be in charge.”
“Is that so?”
Nero shrugged. “You’re all getting sidelined, now that Abyssinia has her pick of people from Coldheart. I’m the only invaluable one. I should get to call the shots.”
If you’re so invaluable,” Razzia said, “how come you’re here with the rest of us?”
“I really don’t know,” Nero answered. “Pity, maybe?”
“Or perhaps,” said Cadaverous, “for all your stupidity, you have still managed to recognise how easy it is to fall from Abyssinia’s favour. Let’s be honest, you didn’t exactly acquit yourself well during that encounter with Pleasant and Cain, did you?”
A glowering stare. “I did OK.”
“You’re here to prove yourself,” Cadaverous told him. “And, until you do, you take orders from your betters.”
“Whatever,” Nero muttered.
“Destrier,” Cadaverous said, “if you would …?”
Destrier nodded, and walked to the middle of the road.
For a few seconds, there was silence. The warm breeze kicked up a little dust on the road.
“It’s not like I don’t have sympathy for her,” Razzia said from behind cover. “I wouldn’t like to lose my guys. They’re my guys. But Skeiri shouldn’t have tried to take my place.”
“Razzia,” Cadaverous said, “maybe we should focus now, if that’s OK?”
She nodded. “Fair point, mate. Absolutely.”
She settled, and Cadaverous readied himself.
The ambulance, to all outward appearances a beaten-up old truck, came round the corner. Upon seeing Destrier, the driver immediately picked up speed. The passenger window whirred down and a gun poked out. But by then Destrier already had his hand raised.
