Resurrection

by Derek Landy

  “You better not be assigning me babysitting duties because of my gender,” Razzia said, getting to her feet slowly. “I may be a very nurturing person by nature, but I will kill every ratbag at this table if you think you can—”

  “It’s nothing to do with your gender, Razzia,” Lethe said, hands up in a calming gesture. “And it’s got nothing to do with your nurturing nature. It’s your murderous nature that disqualifies you from this assignment. It’s imperative that each of the sacrificial lambs is brought back alive.”

  Razzia paused. “Alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not dead?”

  “No.”

  She sat back down. “Not dead, not interested.”

  “And that’s why you don’t have to go.”

  “Sweet.”

  Pleasant rubbed his hands together. “I like this,” he said. “The interplay. The camaraderie. It’s almost like what I have with Valkyrie, except much, much less. Cadaverous, I know we’re going to have our differences on this, but I want you all to know, from the bottom of the place where my heart used to be, that I’m really looking forward to killing Valkyrie.” He clapped, once and happily. “This is going to be fun.”

  44

  Valkyrie approached the Museum of Magical History from the east, walking quickly with her hands tucked into her pockets. It was another cold damn day in a cold damn week at the end of a cold damn month. She was tired of the cold. She was quite ready for it to be warm again. People were nicer when it was warm. Moods were lighter, and they lifted on the tides and eddies of warm air.

  Her phone buzzed. A message from her mum. She opened it. A picture of her sister wielding lipstick and her father in the background, the lower half of his face smeared bright red. Her mum had written Waiting for her next client across the bottom of the image. It was funny. Cute. Valkyrie stared at the screen for half a minute, thinking up a reply. In the end, she sent off a LOL and put the phone away.

  Militsa Gnosis was waiting for her at the entrance to the museum, shuffling from foot to foot in a feeble attempt to keep warm. She waved when she saw her, and Valkyrie gave an awkward wave back.

  “Hi,” Militsa said. “Thanks for coming. Isn’t it freezing?”

  “So cold,” Valkyrie responded. “You didn’t have to wait outside, you know.”

  “Ah, just wanted to make sure you found the place OK.”

  “Your directions did the job. So have you figured it out?”

  “I’m sorry? Figured what out?”

  “How to break Smoke’s influence over Skulduggery.”

  “Oh,” said Militsa. “Well, that’s … Without being able to examine any of the …” She faltered. “That’s not why I asked you here. I’m sorry.”

  The spark of hope, slight though it was, died in Valkyrie’s chest. “OK,” she said. “That’s fine. So why are we here?”

  Militsa’s smile reappeared. “Come on in.”

  She took Valkyrie’s hand and led her quickly up the steps and in through the door. Immediately, Valkyrie began to warm. The man behind the reception desk nodded to Militsa like he knew her well, but when his gaze flickered to Valkyrie he froze. Militsa missed it entirely, and Valkyrie ignored it.

  “Would it be incredibly lame,” Militsa asked as they followed the signs to the East Wing, “to admit that museums are some of my favourite places in the world? It probably would, wouldn’t it? You don’t even have to answer that. I know it is. I wish I hadn’t said anything now. I mean, it’s not only museums that I like. I like ordinary places, too, like libraries, and I’m quite partial to a good gallery. And ice-cream parlours.”

  “I like ice cream,” offered Valkyrie, and Militsa beamed.

  “See? We have something in common!”

  “Are we here to look at an exhibition?”

  “I’ll get to that, I will. This way.”

  They took the doorway to their right.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” Militsa asked. “Mementos of significant people and significant times in history all laid out for us, like knowledge waiting to be absorbed. Fair enough, it’s not as impressive as the Repository at the High Sanctuary and all the powerful artefacts that contains, but it’s still pretty mind-blowing, is it not?”

  Valkyrie passed an old pair of eyeglasses that once belonged to Jorge Desesperación (1781 to 1918).

  Militsa stopped suddenly, and turned. “Am I being awful? I’m being too chirpy, aren’t I?”

  Valkyrie took a moment to answer. “No,” she said.

  “It’s just, I don’t know what to say in situations like this. Not that I’ve been in many situations exactly like this. But you know what I mean? When I’m around people who are sad, I feel a ridiculous need to cheer them up, but I always make it worse. I think I’m just too obvious about it, and also I tend to tell people what it is I’m trying to do, like I did just there. The moment I do that it’s game over, you know? Oh, God. I just did it, didn’t I?”

  “You’re doing a good job,” Valkyrie lied. “You’re distracting me from my worries.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. Especially now at this moment.”

  “Oh, that’s a major relief, I don’t mind telling you. I was getting worried because you’ve barely said anything.”

  Valkyrie gave a small smile. “That’s just me being me. I take a while to loosen up around new people.”

  “And are you loosened up yet?”

  There was so much hope in Militsa’s voice that Valkyrie just had to say, “Yes. Totally.”

  Militsa beamed again. “Then do you have any questions for me?”

  Valkyrie nodded stiffly.

  “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

  “OK,” said Valkyrie. “Right. I will. How, uh … How did a Necromancer end up as a teacher?”

  “I went to university and got my degree.”

  Valkyrie nodded again. “I was actually expecting a more involved story.”

  Militsa made a face. “I know. It’s pretty boring. I taught English at mortal schools and that was fine and all, but then I heard that there was an actual school for sorcerers being built at Roarhaven and I moved here immediately, started teaching Magic Theory. I suppose I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. Probably the same way you always wanted to be a detective.”

  “I, uh, I never wanted to be a detective.”

  “Really? Never?”

  “Well, I didn’t grow up wanting this. When I was a kid, I didn’t know what I wanted to be. I wanted to ride horses, then for a whole summer I wanted to be an Olympic swimmer … Then Skulduggery came along and … ta-da.”

  “I keep forgetting you grew up mortal.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “My folks’re both sorcerers. I knew about magic from the time I knew about shapes. Mum and Dad, they’re nice people, so I was taught we’re all equal. Though I did meet some sorcerers who held quite a different opinion.”

  “I suppose one group of people will always find reasons to complain about another.”

  “Aye, I suppose. But this new strain of hatred … that’s only cropped up in the last ten or fifteen years. It’s scary. Insidious.”

  “So the sorcerers hate the mortals,” said Valkyrie, “and the mortals would hate the sorcerers if they knew we existed. This is a story that can only end well.”

  Militsa smiled. “As long as there are people like you and Skulduggery Pleasant fighting the good fight, we should be OK.”

  “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? We don’t have Skulduggery any more.”

  “I realised that just as the words were leaving my mouth. Really sorry. How are you doing?”

  “I’m OK.”

  “It can’t be easy.”

  “He’s not an easy man to out-think.”

  “I actually meant that it can’t be easy losing a friend in this way. How are you doing about that side of things?”

  “Oh,” said Valkyrie. “It’s …”

  “Yes?”

  “Scary,�
� Valkyrie said at last. “Not just having him as an enemy, but … not having him as a friend. Even when I was away, I knew I could pick up the phone and he’d answer. I knew he’d always answer. I was never alone, you know? Never.”

  “This may be completely presumptuous,” Militsa said, “but you’re not alone now, either. I’ll help however I can. I’m not the best at fighting, I really don’t like hurting people and I have a serious aversion to being the one who’s getting hurt, but if you need someone to stand there and lecture the enemy on Magic Theory then I am your girl.”

  “Thank you for volunteering,” Valkyrie told her, “but don’t worry, I’m not going to hurl you into a pit of danger or anything like that. Helping me out here will do fine … assuming this museum visit will help me out?”

  “Hopefully,” Militsa said. “Well, I don’t know how helpful it will actually be, in any useful sense, but, as my old piano teacher used to say, knowledge is power.”

  “Was she a sorcerer?”

  “No, just a piano teacher, back in Edinburgh. I’m really not sure what she was talking about, but it’s a good motto to live by. When we were on the phone earlier, you described what one of the anti-Sanctuary people was wearing – the guy in the mask?”

  “Lethe.”

  Militsa nodded. “Lethe, right. Now, I might be wrong, in which case this is a colossal waste of your time, but it sounded a lot like …”

  They quickened their pace.

  “It sounded a lot like …?” Valkyrie prompted.

  “I thought it was closer,” Militsa said apologetically. “Ah, here it is.”

  They came to a glass case, in which stood a mannequin dressed in a jumpsuit. The material on the outer layer, a deep grey, was tattered, burnt and slashed, barely held together in places. But beneath that was something that wasn’t quite leather and wasn’t quite rubber. It was black, and ribbed slightly. The boots were sturdy and the gloves were thin, and beneath the hood the mask was a shocking white against all that darkness – a stylised, angular skull with glass-covered eye sockets.

  “That’s it,” Valkyrie breathed. “That’s what he wears. The mask is different, it doesn’t have the hood or the fabric over it … but that’s it. What is it?”

  “It’s a necronaut suit,” Militsa said proudly. “Necromancers used them for Deep Venturing. That’s what they called it. It’s when they would explore the realms of death.”

  “Solomon Wreath told me about that. Entirely dead dimensions, right? Where nothing could ever possibly live?”

  “Not even Necromancers,” Militsa said. “So they wore these when they went exploring. They’re built to … I don’t know the best way to describe it. They’re built to contain, I guess. Like a Thermos flask keeping in the heat, although, when you’re Deep Venturing, you want to keep in your life. When it’s all done up like that, you don’t need food or oxygen … you don’t even need to take a pee. Which is simultaneously fascinating and gross.”

  “So Lethe’s a Necromancer?”

  “Maybe,” Militsa said, “but not necessarily. I’ve seen necronaut suits repurposed for a whole range of different things. Apart from anything else, they’re pretty durable. Bulletproof and fire-resistant, that kind of stuff.”

  “I’m guessing the answer is probably no, but do they have any glaring weaknesses to exploit? Like the way vampires are allergic to salt water?”

  “They’re not, actually.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “We’ve recently discovered that it’s a certain amount of sea salt they’re allergic to, not the actual salt water.”

  “Oh. Right. But … the suit?”

  “No real weakness that I know about,” Militsa said, “but it’s not indestructible. It’s bulletproof, though probably not as durable as the armoured clothing you used to wear.” She frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing those, by the way?”

  “They were getting a bit snug.”

  “What’s wrong with snug? I like snug. They looked really good on you.”

  “Thanks. So Lethe might not be using the suit for any specific purpose – he might just be using it as armour.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  Valkyrie nodded as they started walking back. “Well, every little bit of information we get is useful. And what about the reason I called? As the resident expert on Magic Theory, I was hoping you had some thoughts on how to break Smoke’s hold.”

  Militsa sighed. “I’m sorry, no. I’ll do more research into it, but from what you’ve told me about how it infects the aura … I don’t know if there’d be anything you could do to cleanse it. We’re not talking New Age hippies waving around cheap crystals here.”

  “But Skulduggery’s different. His aura is unlike any I’ve seen.”

  “Valkyrie, that might not be a good thing. Yes, it might mean that he overcomes the infection quicker than the forty-eight hours – or it might mean the opposite, or it might make no difference at all. There’s no way to tell. The fact is, we know very little about magic as it is. We’ve only just identified the gene that separates sorcerers from mortals, but we still don’t understand how it leads to us being able to access magic. Not really.”

  “Is there anyone else we could talk to?”

  Valkyrie could tell Militsa wanted to be able to give her hopeful news. It was in every helpless shrug and pained expression.

  “Possibly,” she said at last. “There’s a team of some awesomely brilliant people running tests on the Source itself. They’ve located what they think is one of the fissures that allows magic to flow through into our reality. It’s going to take them years of study, but they might have a theory about this. If I can get in touch with them. It’s all very top secret.”

  “Could you try? I could ask China to help.”

  “That might not be the best thing to do,” Militsa said. “The Supreme Mage doesn’t particularly trust Necromancers any more. It was hard enough getting her to accept me as a teacher. I’d probably be better off trying to get in touch with them myself.”

  “We don’t have an awful lot of time, Militsa.”

  “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

  Valkyrie’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the words on her screen. It was the address in San Francisco.

  “Good news?” Militsa asked.

  Valkyrie shrugged. “Depends on how many people I have to punch.”

  45

  They emerged into the cold again and Militsa waved down a tram. “I’m heading back to the school,” she said. “You?”

  “High Sanctuary.”

  “That’s where this line ends.”

  “Lead the way,” Valkyrie said, and jumped on after Militsa.

  The tram was, thankfully, well heated, and pretty empty. They chose the long seat down the back. A woman hugging her shopping bag to her chest glared at Valkyrie, who did her best to avoid her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” Militsa said loudly. “Can we help you?”

  The woman muttered something under her breath, and looked away.

  “I’ll probably have to get used to that,” Valkyrie said.

  “You shouldn’t have to,” Militsa responded.

  Valkyrie gave a half-shrug. “It’s the least I deserve.”

  Militsa went quiet for a few minutes. The ride was smooth, the tram gliding through the streets, only stopping to let passengers alight.

  “Was that a lead?” Militsa said at last.

  “Sorry?”

  “The message on your phone. Was it a lead?”

  “Yes. An address I’ve been waiting for.”

  Militsa smiled. “See? Look at you, doing the detective stuff. You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy it.”

  “I enjoy it a lot more when I have Skulduggery with me. There’s a very small group of people I like to spend time with, so I’m not looking forward to this next part at all. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to trust the Teleporter China sends me.”

  “Then use another.”

  “There
aren’t really any others, apart from Fletcher. I know one of his students can teleport, but we’ve already put one Corrival pupil in danger, and I don’t want to do it again.”

  Militsa’s friendly demeanour suddenly cooled. “I’m sorry?”

  “Uh …”

  Militsa turned in the seat to face her. “You put a Corrival Academy student in danger? Which one?”

  “I, uh … I really shouldn’t say …”

  “Auger Darkly?”

  “No,” Valkyrie said, drawing the word out.

  Militsa’s eyes widened. “Omen?”

  Valkyrie winced. “How did you know?”

  “Omen’s an easily distracted boy, but for the last few days he’s not even been on the same planet as the rest of us. How much danger was he in?”

  “Uh …”

  “Oh, Valkyrie,” Militsa said, wilting back into her seat. “You may have been able to handle a life of adventure at that age, but—”

  “I know.”

  “Omen’s a good boy. He’s a gentle boy. And why go for him, why not his brother? I shouldn’t be recommending any student for this kind of thing, but Auger is the Chosen One, after all. He’s used to it.”

  “Auger was too well known. We needed someone to blend into the background. In our defence, and I accept that we don’t have much of a defence, we honestly didn’t think it would get dangerous.”

  “How dangerous did it get?”

  Valkyrie hesitated. “Pretty.”

  “And what’s that, on a scale of one to ten?”

  “Like … two.”

  “Oh. OK. Well, that’s not that bad.”

  “If ten is no danger at all and one is all the danger.”

  Militsa’s hands went to her face. “Oh, Valkyrie … Omen’s a kid.”

  “I know. If I could go back, I wouldn’t do it. We had no right to involve him. It was a hideous, horrible thing to do, but we did it anyway because we needed it done. That’s not an excuse, that’s just a fact. But as awful as I feel about it, as much of a mistake as I think it was … Omen saved a life.”

  Militsa looked up. “He did?”

  “A friend of ours. Well, a friend of Skulduggery’s. Omen went into the enemy stronghold, found him and freed him.”