Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole

by Derek Landy

  “Is that Valkyrie?”

  It was a woman’s voice, sounding very distant, and the line crackled.

  “It is,” Valkyrie said. “Who’s this?”

  “Nye is ready for you.”

  It was the banshee. Valkyrie frowned. “What, today?”

  “Yes. Today. Now.”

  “But it’s Christmas.”

  “Doctor Nye cleared his schedule for you. Unless you’ve—”

  “No,” Valkyrie said quickly, “no, that’s OK. I can do it. Where do I go?”

  “You’ll be picked up,” said the banshee.

  “Where?”

  “Wherever you are. You have exactly ten minutes.”

  The banshee hung up. Valkyrie felt sick. Some advance warning would have been nice. It was bad enough she had to leave her parents on Christmas Day, but now this had to be the day she died? Granted, it wasn’t permanent death. At least, she hoped it wasn’t. All at once she felt glad this was happening so suddenly. If she had time to consider all the possibilities, she might not go through with it.

  She walked back to her folks. They were sitting at the fire, talking. If something went wrong, if Nye killed her but was unable to revive her, this would be the last time she’d ever see them. She hugged her dad, and then went and hugged her mum.

  “Thanks for a great Christmas,” she said.

  “Aww,” said her mum, “you’re welcome, love.”

  “I’m going to lie down for a bit,” she said. “I think I ate too much.”

  “That gym membership is really looking like a good idea now, eh?” her dad winked.

  She smiled and left, and the moment she was out of the room her smile disappeared. She’d had a lot of practice at closing off the part of herself that felt sad about things like this. Now it came naturally, and she felt the wall go up and didn’t stop it. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and called Skulduggery.

  “I can’t meet up later,” she said.

  “Oh,” came his reply. “That’s a pity.”

  “Yeah. There’s a family thing on that we’re all going to. Hopefully it won’t happen every year, but I couldn’t really say no.”

  “Of course not. Well, maybe I’ll drop by later tonight.”

  “I’m not sure when we’ll get back,” Valkyrie said, feeling terrible all over again. “How about, if I’m back at a reasonable hour, I let you know, OK?”

  “Sure, that’s fine. Are you having a good day so far?”

  She swallowed. “It’s great. Everything’s great.”

  “Even your cousins?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. I really have to go.”

  “All right then. Merry Christmas.”

  “Skulduggery?”

  “Yes?”

  Valkyrie hesitated, a jumble of words on her tongue. “I’m really glad we’re friends,” she ended up saying.

  “Me too, Valkyrie.”

  “Bye.”

  She called Fletcher, and told him she couldn’t see him. He wanted to know why he couldn’t just pop over, present her with her gift, and vanish. She didn’t tell him she didn’t want to see him. She could lie about this on the phone – not face to face.

  “Fine,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I won’t come over.”

  “But tomorrow,” she said. “I want to go out on a date.”

  “You what?”

  “A date. I think we should go out.”

  “Go out where?”

  “I want to go dancing.”

  His voice turned sceptical. “Seriously?”

  “There’s a nightclub in Skerries that has a disco thing every Christmas for under-eighteens. I just want to have a good time with you. We never get to do normal things, and we’re not going to live forever, you know? I think we should cram the normal stuff into our lives now, while we have the chance.”

  “You OK, Val? You’re sounding pretty… morbid.”

  “Will you take me dancing or not?”

  He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”

  “Also…”

  “Yes?”

  “Tomorrow, I think you should meet my parents.”

  For the first time since she’d known him, Fletcher Renn was too stunned to speak.

  Valkyrie put the phone down, undressed and touched the mirror. Her reflection stepped out, started putting on the clothes Valkyrie had just taken off, while Valkyrie donned her black outfit.

  “You’re going to die,” the reflection said as it dressed.

  “I know,” Valkyrie replied, irritated.

  “You might never come back.”

  “You know what to do if that happens.”

  The reflection nodded. “Take over your life. Be a good daughter. Make sure our parents are happy.”

  Valkyrie looked up. “What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You said make sure our parents are happy.”

  “I said make sure your parents are happy.”

  “You said our.”

  “Oh. It must be another glitch. I was never meant to be used this much, as you know. Do you have any more instructions for me?”

  Valkyrie looked at it. It would be an absolutely perfect copy except for the fact that she doubted her own face had ever looked quite so innocent. She put on her jacket, and went over to open the window. “Just stay up here for half an hour.”

  “OK. Merry Christmas.”

  Valkyrie slid out of the window and let herself fall. She landed gently and hurried away from the house.

  She went down to the pier, checked the time on her phone, and looked around for whoever it was who was picking her up.

  Valkyrie didn’t like the fact that the banshee apparently knew where she lived. Haggard was her safe place, her haven, and the times when her other life had encroached upon it disturbed her more than anything. Dusk had led a small army of the Infected here – it was on this exact spot that she’d finally managed to lose them. Remus Crux had visited Haggard twice — the first time to arrest her, the second to try to kill her. Such invasions were unforgivable in her eyes.

  She heard hoofbeats and turned as the great black Coach-a-Bowers materialised in front of her.

  “Oh, hell,” she said.

  The headless horses swung around as they slowed. The driver, the Dullahan, gave a last tug of the reins and the horses settled. Their bodies were sleek and muscled and beautiful. They were huge – their backs level with Valkyrie’s eyes – and steam rose from them into the cold air. Their heads had been severed halfway up the neck, and now that she was close enough Valkyrie could see that it hadn’t been a clean cut. She saw nicks and tears and false starts, evidence of uneven sawing. The wounds hadn’t healed over, but neither were they leaking blood.

  The Dullahan didn’t climb down. He didn’t even give any indication that he knew she was there. Could he see her? Could people without heads see?

  And then the carriage door opened and a single pale arm drifted out of the darkness within. The hand beckoned to her, the finger curling slowly.

  Valkyrie stepped forward on unsteady legs, and reached up to take it.

  21

  NYE

  The hand was cold to her touch. Another reached out, taking gentle hold of her wrist. Another hand then, closing around her sleeve, and another, and with every hand that held her, Valkyrie was pulled just a little closer to the open door. She put a foot on the step and rose up off the ground, and there was a sound, like a sigh, as the hands guided her inside.

  Valkyrie’s breath left her. Her lungs filled with cold. Her blood slowed in her veins as her heart stopped beating. She no longer felt the weight of her clothes against her skin. She sat back in the seat, a dead thing now, feeling nothing, and her mind became dull.

  There was no warmth in the carriage. Three people sat opposite, looking at her with blank eyes. A part of her wondered briefly where all the others had gone. She had expected, after all, a carriage filled with the dead. But no, there were just these three, and that idle
curiosity faded from her mind before she could ask them any questions.

  She looked away. She didn’t care what they were wearing, or what they looked like. A man and two women, that’s all she saw before she lost interest. The carriage trundled along uneven ground. The seats were red leather, but the colour was muted. She parted the black curtain with a hand so pale it was turning blue, and she looked at her reflection in the window and saw the face of a corpse, framed by dark hair.

  She took her hand away, the curtain falling back into place. She sat on the red leather seat, opposite the three dead people, and the dullness in her mind became a thick and heavy blanket that suffocated her thoughts in their infancy.

  And time did what time did – it passed.

  * * *

  Valkyrie was gazing blankly at the shoe of a fellow passenger when she became aware of the carriage slowing to a stop. She dragged her gaze upwards, to the window, but the curtains were still drawn and she felt no urge to part them now. The door to her right opened, and the three dead people left without speaking. Moving without energy, she followed them.

  They were in a warehouse of some sort. It was as cold here as it had been in the carriage. The Dullahan was waiting for her, and she followed him away from the others, into a room of tables. The head of a woman blinked at her from where it lay, on its side, beside a body separated from its limbs. Dead people, in various stages of dissection, hung from the walls on hooks and large iron nails. They looked at her as she passed, but made no sound.

  The Dullahan stopped before a creature wearing a grubby smock, its arms and legs impossibly long, hunched over a corpse on a table. It swivelled its head as Valkyrie approached. In the gap above the surgical mask and beneath the cap, she could see the oily pallor of its skin. Its eyelids were punctured with broken bits of black thread, and its pupils were small and yellow.

  It put away the knife it had been using to poke around inside the corpse, and pulled the mask down to its chin. It had a large scab where the nose ought to have been, and a mouth, like the eyes, that had once been sewn shut, but which now gaped at her with a smile like an open wound.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this,” it said, its voice high-pitched and breathless. It was impossible to tell whether this creature was male or female. “Do you know who I am?”

  Valkyrie nodded. “Your name is Nye.” Her voice sounded odd to her.

  “Indeed it is. I’m the only living thing in this place. Do you know what that makes me?” It didn’t wait for an answer. “It makes me better than you.”

  Valkyrie didn’t say anything. None of this mattered.

  Nye looked at the Dullahan, and annoyance flashed across its face.

  “I know, damn it. I will. Well, I’m not going to deviate, am I? I learned my lesson!”

  Seemingly satisfied, the Dullahan turned and walked out.

  “But just to be sure,” Nye called after him, “if she doesn’t make it, I get to keep what’s left, yes?”

  The Dullahan didn’t slow down.

  Once he was gone, Nye stood up straight, its head nearly brushing against the lights hanging from the ceiling. It looked at her. “You’re here to get your true name sealed,” it said. “It isn’t easy, you know. Not many people ever find out what their true name is, so people like me don’t get a lot of practice doing what we have to do. What did the banshee tell you?”

  “She said I’d have to die,” Valkyrie answered.

  “Which you have already done,” Nye nodded. “You died in the Coach-a-Bowers, and you’ll be dead until you leave this place and life returns to you. Did she say anything else?”

  “You’d need to operate.”

  That open-wound smile again. “Yes. It’s a delicate procedure, requiring me to carve three symbols on to your heart in an impossibly precise fashion. I would ask you if you are prepared to accept this risk, but I honestly don’t care. The fact is, you’re dead, and you’re here, so your free will is a little compromised, isn’t it? You’re not thinking too clearly. Even if you changed your mind right now, I’d still go ahead with the operation and you wouldn’t be able to stop me. I haven’t done this in years, so I’m mildly curious to find out if I can do it without killing you forever. Undress now, please.”

  No argument occurred to her, so Valkyrie did as she was told while Nye wiped its instruments on old rags and laid them out on a small tray. When she was done, she lay on a table and Nye strapped her wrists and ankles tight. It spat on the blade of its scalpel, and looked down at her.

  “The truly tragic thing about all of this,” it said, “is that you won’t feel any of the great pain I’m about to put you through.”

  Nye pressed the tip of the scalpel to Valkyrie’s shoulder and slit her skin all the way to the breastbone. Blood, with no functioning engine to pump it, trickled lazily.

  “This ought to be excruciating,” Nye said, its voice straining with effort as it continued to cut down to her belly. “If you were alive right now, you’d be screaming. Begging me to stop. I’m going to be cracking open your ribcage in a minute, so that would definitely be sore.”

  Nye stood back, putting down the scalpel and shaking its hand loosely, like it was getting rid of a cramp. “That wasn’t easy,” it told her. “You’ve got an impressive amount of muscle around the abdomen.”

  Valkyrie didn’t want to see this – didn’t want to see what Nye was doing to her. She tried telling it, but she possessed no energy to speak. Nye looked into her eyes and its own eyes widened, as if it understood.

  “Oh, my!” it said suddenly. “Oh, you’re quite right! I am being very unprofessional!” Nye took a moment to fix its surgical mask back over the lower half of its face. “Hygiene is most important in the operating theatre. I’m terribly sorry.”

  Nye peeled the flaps of skin away from the chest wall, and Valkyrie looked down at herself as her flesh came apart as easily as a zipper being undone.

  “Some people use an electric saw to get through the ribs,” Nye continued, “but I find it somewhat unsatisfying.” It held up large pruning shears, the kind Valkyrie would have found in the garden shed at home. “And these are much more effective.”

  Valkyrie closed her eyes as Nye bent over her again. She heard a loud crack, and looked around, craning her head, seeing all the dead people on the walls around her. None of them seemed to care about what was going on. There was another crack, and when she looked back at herself, Nye was lifting her sternum away from her body.

  “Almost at the heart,” Nye told her. “Now, I am going to have to remove it so that I can carve in some symbols, which will take a little time, but I’m fairly confident that I can reattach all the necessary arteries and such afterwards. Heart surgery isn’t brain surgery, after all,” it added with a chuckle. “Little medical humour for you there.”

  It went back to work and Valkyrie lay there, knowing she should be filled with pain, yet unable to escape the dullness that had settled over her mind.

  Nye lifted her heart from her chest and showed it to her.

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t make any jokes about how I’ve stolen your heart,” it said. “I’ve used them all up on previous patients, I’m afraid. Rest assured, every last one of those jokes was suitably morbid and witty.”

  Valkyrie watched her heart being placed on a tray beside the pruning shears. Nye’s yellow eyes narrowed as it smiled beneath its mask.

  “There,” it said. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it? I didn’t drop anything. I didn’t nick the kidneys or put my thumb through a lung. The first part of this operation, I think you’ll agree, has been a resounding success. And now it’s time for supper.”

  Nye turned and walked away on its impossibly long legs, leaving Valkyrie strapped to the table.

  22

  SOUL SEARCHING

  Nye returned an hour later and put Valkyrie’s heart in a vice. She watched the vice being tightened, and a part of her mind started to scream, fearing the heart would burst. Nye’s hand ca
me away from the vice and she relaxed, settling back into the dullness that death brought. Nye spoke to her while it held a scalpel over a flame, telling her about past glories, about the life it had had outside these rooms. The words meant nothing to Valkyrie, forgotten as soon as they reached her ears.

  Nye hunched over the vice and gently pressed the red-hot scalpel against her heart. A book lay open beside it, and before every stroke of the scalpel, Nye would consult the pages, measuring the length and breadth of the symbols detailed within, calculating depth. The scalpel went from her heart back to the flame, then to her heart. Again and again, this process was repeated. Slight trails of smoke rose from the lines being carved. Valkyrie could hear the soft sizzle of the meat.

  An hour, it took Nye, to complete the first symbol. The second one, a simpler pattern, took half that time, but the third one took twice as long.

  “Once this heart is back inside you,” Nye said, yellow eyes fixed on its work, “and once it begins beating again, these symbols will inhabit you. Do you understand me? Do you understand anything I’m saying? The dead here are so dim-witted.”

  Valkyrie grunted.

  “Oh, good, you can understand me. When you walk out of here, you will own your true name, instead of your true name owning you. Armed with this knowledge, you can do great things. You could be the greatest sorcerer this world has ever seen.” Nye glanced at her. “Or you could be the most terrible.”

  The door opened, and Nye’s eyes returned to the heart as the Dullahan strode in.

  “Almost finished!” Nye called. “I can’t be rushed on things like this, you know! One wrong stroke, one part of a symbol too thin or too thick or too deep or too shallow, and it’s not going to work! I am a professional and I must not be hurried!”

  The Dullahan stood still, and Nye straightened up, uncoiling its long body. “Oh,” it said, in response to whatever the Dullahan was silently saying. “Of course. No, no, I completely understand. Your duties take you elsewhere. You are a busy man, after all. Have no fear, when the operation is complete, I shall send this girl on her way, back to the land of the living. Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of such a… Now, listen, as I’ve said before, those experiments are over, and you know that. That part of my life is behind me. I realise now that I was misguided and… I learned my lesson. Yes. Well, if you can’t trust a surgeon, who can you trust?”