by Derek Landy
"The game's not so much fun when you're playing with someone who can fight back, is it?"
"My bridge," he snarled. "My game."
She smiled at him. "My rules."
Another roar and he dived straight at her. She stood her ground.
One swipe of the sword took the fingers on his left hand. He howled in pain and staggered back, and she jumped. She planted her feet on his chest and swung, the blade flashing in the bridge's lights as it took his head. The troll stumbled and she jumped off. The body hit the barrier and tipped backward into the river.
Tanith stooped to pick up the head and moved to the barrier. She turned as a man walked up.
She had never met him before, but she knew who he was. He was tall and bald, and his face was lined and his eyes were a startling blue, the palest eyes she had ever seen. His name was Mr. Bliss.
Mr. Bliss nodded toward the head in her hand. "Risky."
"I've fought trolls before," she said respectfully.
"I meant the risk you took with being seen."
"It had to be done. This troll has killed many innocent people."
"But that's what trolls do. You can't blame him for doing what nature intended."
She didn't know how to respond. Mr. Bliss smiled.
"I'm not berating you," he said. "You've done a noble and selfless thing. That is to be admired."
"Thank you."
"You puzzle me, however. I have been keeping an eye on your progress over the last few years.
It is unusual to find a mage, even an Adept like you, focusing as heavily on physical conflict as you have done. Yet you don't seek power."
"I just want to help people."
"And that is what puzzles me."
"My mother used to tell me stories about the war," she said. "I think you may be forgetting some selfless acts of your own."
Mr. Bliss smiled softly. "There is no heroism In war; there are simply things that need to be done. The heroes come later. But I am not here to discuss philosophies."
He looked at her with his startling blue eyes. "A storm is brewing, Miss Low. Coming events will threaten to turn the tide of power in this world, and so I have left my place of solitude and come here, searching for you. I have a need for someone of your ability and your outlook."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"The sorcerer Serpine is about to break the Truce. If I fail in my endeavors, we will once again slip into war. I need you on our side."
"It would be an honor," Tanith said.
"We have much to learn from each other," Mr. Bliss responded, bowing. "Make your way to Ireland," he said, "and I will be in touch with you soon."
She nodded and he walked away. Tanith threw the troll's head into the Thames and, hiding her sword under her coat, walked in the other direction.
Chapter Ten
The Gal in Black
Stephanie was awakened the next morning by the stereo playing very loudly indeed. Her dad had been trying to tune into a news station and the volume knob had snapped off, so instead of a quiet little traffic report, the family was treated to Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" at full blast. He had lost the remote control down the back of the sofa and hadn't the first clue how to turn the stereo off. The music reverberated through the floor and in the walls. There was no escaping its sheer power. By the time her mother yanked the plug out of the socket, Stephanie was wide-awake.
Her mother poked her head in to say good-bye, and as her parents went to work, Stephanie threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. While she waited for Skulduggery to arrive, she thought about what would be a good name for her to take. Skulduggery had explained how the actual taking of a new name casts a seal around the old one — so if Stephanie took the name Crystal Hammer (she didn't plan on it), then the name Stephanie Edgley would be instantly immune to any controlling spells. But while she went only by her given name, she was vulnerable.
If she was to have a new name, it would have to be a name she wouldn't be embarrassed about in years to come. It would have to be something classy, and also something she felt comfortable with. He had told her about people who'd taken names like Razor and Phoenix, and how he wouldn't advise anyone to take a name that seemed cool. He'd once been introduced to a woman who had put on a little weight over the years, and her hair was a bit windswept and she had spinach in her teeth, and he was told her name was Jet. Jet did not suit this woman, the same way Razor did not suit the short fat man who had taken that as a name.
I30
She looked up from her desk as Skulduggery knocked. She opened the window.
"I thought girls were supposed to be tidy," he said as he peered in.
Stephanie kicked some underwear under her bed and ignored the comment. "You okay out there?"
"I've been perched on worse roofs, believe me."
"My parents have gone to work, you know. You could have used the door."
"Doors are for people with no imagination."
"Are you sure no one saw you? The last thing I need is for a neighbor to be passing and see you climbing up the side of the house."
"I was careful, don't you worry. And I have something for you."
He gave her a short piece of chalk.
"Uh, thank you," she said slowly.
"Go to your mirror."
"I'm sorry?"
"Go to your mirror and draw this symbol on it."
He handed her a small card that showed an eye in a circle with a wavy line through it.
"What's this for?"
"It's to help you. Go on."
She frowned, then went to the mirror.
"No," Skulduggery said, "a full-length mirror. Do you have one?"
"Yeah," Stephanie said. Still with no clue why she was doing this, she opened her wardrobe and used the chalk to copy the symbol onto the mirror on the other side of the door. When she was done, she handed the card and the chalk back to Skulduggery. He thanked her, put them away, and then looked at the mirror.
"Surface speak, surface feel, surface think, surface real." He looked at her again. "Could you wipe the symbol off now, please?"
"What is going on? What are you doing? Did you just cast a spell on my mirror?"
"Yes. Could you wipe the symbol off?"
"Well, what does the spell do?" she asked as she used her sleeve to erase the chalk.
"You'll see," he answered. "Are you wearing a watch?"
"My watch broke. I wore it swimming. I thought it was waterproof."
"Was it?"
"As it turned out, no. Why do you need to know the time?"
"Oh, I don't. Touch the mirror."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"Touch it."
Stephanie hesitated, then did as he said and reached out, touching her fingers lightly against the mirror. But when she pulled back, her reflection did not. She watched in amazement as her reflection blinked, as if awakening from a trance, then dropped its arm to its side and looked around. Then, very slowly, it stepped out through the mirror.
"Oh my God . . .," Stephanie said, moving back as the reflection joined her in the room. "Oh my God," she said again, because she couldn't think of anything else to say.
Skulduggery looked on from the window. "It will carry on with your life while you're away, so you won't be missed."
Stephanie stared. "She's me."
"Not she, it. And it isn't you, it's a surface copy. It walks like you, talks like you, behaves like you, and it should be enough to fool your parents and anyone else it comes into contact with.
When you return, it will go back into the mirror, and the experiences and the memories it has made transfer to you."
"So ... so I can be in two places at once?"
"Precisely. It can't spend too long in other people's company or they'll start to notice that things aren't quite right, and it would never fool a mage, but it is ideal for your needs."
"Wow." Stephanie peered more closely at the reflection. "Say something."
The reflection looked back at her. "What do you want me to say?"
Stephanie laughed suddenly, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "You sound just like me," she said through her fingers.
"I know."
"Do you have a name?"
"My name is Stephanie."
"No, a name of your own."
Skulduggery shook his head. "Remember, it's not a real person. It has no thoughts or feelings of its own; they're all imitations of yours. It's your reflection, that's all it is. Operating instructions are as follows: It cannot change out of the clothes you're wearing when you cast it, so make sure you're not wearing anything with a logo or insignia.
They'll come out backward. Make sure you're not wearing a watch or a ring — they'll appear on the opposite hand. Apart from that, it's pretty simple."
"Wow."
"We should go."
She turned to him, frowning. "Are you sure they won't realize it's not me?"
"It'll stay out of other people's way for most of the time, and try to avoid any long conversations. Even if your parents corner it and bombard it with questions, they'll just think you're acting strange."
Stephanie chewed her lip, then shrugged. "I suppose jumping to the conclusion that it's my reflection come to life is a bit unlikely."
"You'd be surprised by how many things we get away with that fall into the category of
'unlikely.' You ready to go?"
"I suppose I am."
"Do you want to leave by door or window?"
"Doors are for people with no imagination." She grinned.
She joined Skulduggery on the sill and took one look back. The reflection was standing in the middle of the room, perfectly still.
'"Bye," Stephanie said.
'"Bye," the reflection responded, and tried a smile for the first time. It looked kind of eerie.
Stephanie climbed out and hung on to Skulduggery as he jumped, displacing the air beneath them to act as a cushion. They landed gently and made it to the end of the road without any neighbors seeing them, but when they reached the pier, Stephanie's face fell. She stared in horror as Skulduggery marched onward.
"What the hell is that!" she demanded.
"It's my car," he answered, leaning against it with his arms folded. The sea breeze ruffled his wig beneath his hat.
She stared at him, at the car, and then at him again.
"What happened to the Bentley?" she asked.
His head tilted. "I don't know if you noticed, but it was ever so slightly dinged."
"And where is it now?"
"It's getting fixed."
"Right. That's a good answer. 'Fixed' is a good answer. But I don't know, I'm kind of drawn back to my original question. What the hell is that?"
Skulduggery was leaning against a canary-yellow hatchback with lime-green seat covers.
"It's my replacement car," he said proudly.
"It's hideous!"
"I don't mind it, actually."
"Well, you're wearing a disguise, so no one will recognize you anyway!"
"That may have something to do with it. ..."
"When will the Bentley be fixed?"
"That's the nice thing about living in a world of magic and wonder: Even our most extreme car repairs happen in less than a week."
She glared at him. "A week?"
"Not a week," he said quickly. "Six days. Sometimes five. Definitely four. I'll call him, tell him I'll pay the extra ..."
She was still glaring.
"Day after tomorrow," he said quietly.
Her shoulders sagged. "Do we really have to ride around in this?"
"Think of it as an adventure," he said brightly.
"Why should I do that?"
"Because if you don't, you'll just become really, really depressed. Trust me. Now hop in!"
Skulduggery hopped in. Stephanie dragged her feet around to the other side and more kind of fell in. She squirmed down in the lime-green seat as much as she could as they drove through Haggard. There was a parcel in the backseat, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string.
Beside that was a black bag.
"Is that the gear for breaking into the Vault?" she asked. "Is that where we're going?"
"Well, to answer your first question first, yes. That bag contains all the equipment needed for a beautifully executed break-in. To answer your second question, no, that is not where we're going. Before I get to introduce you to a life of crime, I get to introduce you to the Elder Mages."
"Crime sounds more fun."
"As indeed it is, though I would never condone crime in any of its forms. Except when I do it, naturally."
"Naturally. So why are we delaying the fun? What do these Elder Mages want?"
"They've heard that I've been dragging a perfectly nice young lady into all manner of trouble, and they want to admonish me for it."
"Tell them it's none of their business."
"Well, while I do admire your moxie — "
"What's moxie?"
" — I'm afraid that won't work too well with these fellows. One thing you have to remember about the Elder Mages is that they're — "
"Really old sorcerers?"
"Well, yes."
"Worked that out all by myself."
"You must be so proud."
"Why do you have to report to them? Do you work for them?"
"In a way. The Elders pass the laws, and they have people who enforce the laws, but there are only a few of us who actually investigate the breaking of those laws — murders, robberies, a couple of kidnappings, the usual. And while I may be freelance, most of my work, and my money, comes from the Elders."
"So if they want to wag their fingers at you ..."
"I have to stand there and be wagged at."
"So why do they want me to be there? Aren't I the innocent young girl being led astray?"
"See, I don't really want them to view you as the innocent young girl. I want them to view you as the rebellious, insubordinate, troublesome rapscallion who has made herself my partner.
Then maybe they'll take pity on me."
I39
"Wait, do they even know I'm coming with you?"
"No. But they like surprises. Almost always."
"Maybe I should wait in the car."
"In this car?"
"Ah, good point."
"Stephanie, we both know something serious is going on, but as yet the Elders have refused to consider that their precious Truce might be in jeopardy."
"And why would they believe me and not you?"
"Because I go to them loaded with baggage. I have a history, and some might say an agenda.
Besides, tales of horror are always more effective coming from a lady."
"I'm no lady."
He shrugged. "You're the closest I've got."
Skulduggery had another surprise for her as they drove. He pulled in to a fast-food place and nodded toward the parcel in the backseat.
"What's that?" she asked.
"What do you think it is?"
"It looks like a parcel."
"Then that's what it is."
"But what's inside it?"
"If I tell you, I deprive the parcel of its whole reason to be."
She sighed. "And what is its reason to be?"
"To be opened, of course, and to reveal what it's holding."
"You are so annoying," she muttered, reaching back and taking the parcel. It was soft to the touch. She looked at Skulduggery. "The clothes?"
"I'm saying nothing."
"Ghastly made the clothes already? I didn't think he was going to make them at all, not after, you know . . . the argument."
Skulduggery shrugged and started humming. She sighed, then took the parcel and got out of the yellow car and walked into the fast-food restaurant, making her way to the toilets at the back.
Once secured inside a stall, she pulled open the string, and the parcel unfolded before her. It was the clothes. They were the deepest black, made of
a material she had never seen before.
She got changed quickly, noting how perfectly everything fit, and stepped out of the stall to admire herself in the mirror. The trousers and the tunic, a sleeveless garment with silver latches, were pretty good by themselves, and the boots fit as though she'd been wearing them for years, but it was the coat that completed the picture: three-quarter length, shaped especially for her, made of a material so black it nearly shimmered. She resisted the temptation to leave her other clothes in the toilet, and instead wrapped them in the brown paper and left the restaurant.
"Surprise!" Skulduggery said when she was back in the Canary Car. "It's the clothes!"
She looked at him. "You are so weird."
Twenty minutes later they were walking into the Waxworks Museum. The building was old, in dire need of repair, and the street wasn't much better. Stephanie didn't say a word as they paid and went wandering through the dark corridors, surrounded on both sides by imitation celebrities and fictional characters. She had been here two or three times as part of school trips when she was younger, but couldn't see the point of visiting now. They hung back from a small group of tourists until they were certain they were alone, and only then did Stephanie say anything.
"What are we doing here?"
"We're here to visit the Elders' Sanctuary," Skulduggery replied.
"And are the Elders made of wax?"
"I like coming here," he said, taking off his sunglasses and ignoring her question. "It's very liberating."
He took off his hat and wig and pulled the scarf from his neck. Stephanie looked around nervously.
"Aren't you afraid someone might see?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Well, maybe we should go and talk to the Elders, then."
"Good idea."
Skulduggery moved to one side of the corridor and traced his hand over the wall. "Where is it?"
he muttered. "Bloody idiots keep changing it. ..."
The tourists came back around the corner and Stephanie went to drag Skulduggery out of sight, but it was too late — they had already seen him. A small American boy left his parents' side and walked right up to him. Skulduggery was frozen to the spot.
"Who's that supposed to be?" the boy asked, frowning slightly.
Stephanie hesitated. Now the entire tour was looking at her, including the tour guide. "This is,"
