Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole

by Derek Landy

  “I’ve never been good with sacrifice. I’m better with small donations.”

  “I’m pretty sure the Remnants intend to worship me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “What if this is how I become Darquesse? What if sealing my name didn’t change anything? What if I’m driven to do what I do because I have two thousand insane shadows telling me to? I don’t want to kill anyone, Gordon. I don’t want to hurt my parents. Please. Help us.”

  Gordon softened. “Very well, Stephanie. Take me to them.”

  She picked up the Echo Stone in its cradle. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. She tapped the Stone and his image faded away, and she went downstairs. The others were talking in the living room, arguing over plans and possibilities. They stopped when Valkyrie walked in and watched her place the cradle on the table.

  “There’s someone I want you to meet,” she said, a little nervously. “Before you do, I just want you to know that I didn’t like keeping this a secret.” She tapped the Stone again, and Gordon appeared.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Eyes widened. Mouths dropped open. Skulduggery remained still.

  Gordon quickly continued. “Do not blame Valkyrie for this. I insisted that she not tell any of you that I was… around. She tried to get me, on many occasions, to change my mind, but I was resolute. I suppose I was somewhat embarrassed, or ashamed of my current incarnation. And while I do not pretend to be the man you once knew, I believe that I can be of some assistance in this hour of need. Treat me the same way as you would a book, or similar font of knowledge.” Gordon cleared his throat and waited for the rebuke.

  “It’s about time,” Skulduggery said.

  Now it was Gordon’s turn to look surprised. “You knew?”

  “Of course.”

  Valkyrie frowned. “You knew? How could you know?”

  “Whenever we needed to find information that only Gordon would have,” Skulduggery said, “you’d come here, alone, take a few minutes, and arrive back with precisely the answer we were looking for.”

  “So you never believed me when I told you I’d been researching?”

  “No.”

  “You thought I was cheating?”

  “You were cheating.”

  “But you thought I was cheating! That’s worse than me cheating, the fact that you doubted me!”

  “Your logic is astoundingly confusing.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Gordon asked.

  “If I was right,” Skulduggery said, “and if Gordon had copied his consciousness on to an Echo Stone, I imagined that version of Gordon would be a tad sensitive about his situation. When you were ready to tell me, you’d tell me. I was prepared to wait. It’s good to see you, old friend.”

  Gordon blinked. “I… yes. It’s, it’s very good to see you too.”

  Ghastly smiled from across the room. “Welcome back. I’d shake your hand if I could.”

  “Ghastly, it truly is wonderful to see you,” Gordon responded. “I heard you were a statue for a time. You’re looking much better. And China… you’re even more beautiful than ever.”

  China’s own smile was warm. “Hello, my darling dear.”

  Tanith made her way forward. She licked her lips, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “I am,” she said, “such a big fan.”

  “Oh,” Gordon responded, obviously delighted. “Thank you.”

  “I have read all your books. All of them. And The Darkness Rained Upon Them was brilliant. It’s probably my favourite, after The Coward Colonel Fleece and Brain Muncher.”

  “Fleece has always been my best character. You must be Tanith, then. Valkyrie has told me so much about you, but I’d heard tales of your exploits even when I was alive. Did you know that one of my short stories is based on a tale I heard about you?”

  Tanith’s smile grew so wide Valkyrie thought she might swallow her own head.

  “Enough fawning,” Kenspeckle said. Tanith nodded self-consciously and stepped back. “Gordon, it’s good to see you, but we don’t have time for idle chatter.”

  “We were talking about my work,” Gordon replied. “There is nothing idle about that.”

  Kenspeckle sighed. “Nevertheless, can we move on to something that could help our situation? The more time we spend discussing how brilliant, or otherwise, your books may be, the more people get hurt.”

  “Of course,” Gordon said. “So long as we all agree that my books are indeed brilliant.”

  “Fine,” Kenspeckle growled. “Now can we talk about something that matters?”

  “By all means. Valkyrie told me your plan, and of Fletcher’s uncertainty. I spent four weeks interviewing Teleporters, and I am positive that I can impart what I learned quickly and easily. Uh, hello.”

  Clarabelle had walked up while he had been speaking, and now she stood in front of him with a faintly quizzical look on her face. She chewed lightly on her lower lip, like she was trying to solve a particularly difficult equation, and slowly bent forward, so that her head passed through Gordon’s chin.

  “Ah,” said Gordon.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Kenspeckle muttered. “Clarabelle, stop that.”

  She straightened up, and started to circle Gordon, examining how real and solid he looked. Gordon, for his part, smiled and did his best to ignore her.

  “So you can tell Fletcher how to teleport two thousand people?” Skulduggery asked him.

  Gordon nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s not a technique, you see. It’s a state of mind. It’s an idea that must be understood and accepted. I feel certain that if I explain it as it was explained to me, Fletcher will grasp the intricacies and be able to perform what is expected of him before the day is out.”

  “Perfect. It’s a good thing you’re still around, Gordon.”

  Gordon smiled, was about to say something modest, when two slender fingers emerged from his forehead and wriggled about.

  “Clarabelle,” Kenspeckle said crossly, “get your hand out of Mr Edgley’s head.”

  Clarabelle withdrew her hand sulkily.

  “There is another matter,” Skulduggery said. “The Receptacle.”

  “Yes, of course. Activated by a key that was broken into two pieces and hidden. It’s not a key as we know it, in fact; it’s just a flat piece of gold, the length and width of your hand. Whatever imperfections there are in the gold, however, activate the machine.”

  “Do you know where the pieces are?” Skulduggery asked.

  “One piece is in Drogheda,” Gordon said, “in St Peter’s Church. It was attached to Plunkett’s case, that’s all I know about it. The other piece was hidden in Newgrange, until it was stolen by a man named Burgundy Dalrymple. He lives in the outskirts of Meath.”

  “Dalrymple,” said China. “I’ve heard of him. He fought for Mevolent during the war. Good with a sword.”

  “Better than good,” Gordon said. “A master swordsman, he was. When the war ended and his side lost, he adjusted better than most, and he did OK, all things considered. But he was one of the people possessed the last time the Remnants were loose. The Remnant was torn out of him at MacGillycuddy’s Reeks, along with all the others, but Dalrymple… Dalrymple had difficulties after that.”

  “What kind of difficulties?” Skulduggery asked.

  “Once a Remnant abandons somebody, and then that person reawakens, they can’t remember anything of the experience. But occasionally, they do remember sensations. Dalrymple remembers the sensation of not being alone, of being part of something greater than he, and he’s been trying to recapture that feeling ever since. He’s been waiting for the Remnants to return, and he probably stole that half of the key so that when he is possessed once again, no one will be able to activate the Receptacle to tear them apart.”

  “What about the machine itself?” China asked. “Have you seen it?”

  Gordon shook his head. “It’s in a hidden cavern. I don’t know how to find it, and I don’t know ho
w to get to it. It’s supposed to be amazing though. I spoke with some of the sorcerers who built it and they told me enough to get my imagination working.”

  “Why didn’t they tell you how to find it?” Fletcher asked.

  “The Receptacle saved the world,” Gordon told him. “It was their last-ditch effort against the Remnants. Once it was used, they vowed to seal it up so no one could tamper with it, or take it apart, or corrupt it. One of them said to me that when you’re dealing with magic, you can never trust your enemies to stay beaten, or to stay dead. If we ever had to face those things again, they ensured that at least we’d have a weapon.”

  “And we have no time to waste,” Skulduggery said. “Fletcher, take us back to the Hibernian.”

  Valkyrie picked up the Echo Stone in its cradle and they all linked arms. In an eye blink, they were back in the Medical Bay.

  “That was much better,” Clarabelle beamed. “I only threw up a little bit in my mouth.”

  Skulduggery turned to Gordon. “Are you sure you can teach Fletcher what he needs to learn?”

  Gordon smiled, and nodded. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Then you’re going to get started almost immediately,” Skulduggery said. “But first, Fletcher is going to teleport Valkyrie and Tanith to Drogheda, to search that church and find the first half of the key. China, you’ll accompany me to track down this Dalrymple fellow.”

  “I love it when you get all commanding,” China said, without any significant trace of sarcasm.

  “Ghastly,” Skulduggery continued, “you’re going to drive Fletcher to MacGillycuddy’s Reeks. Gordon, I’d like you to accompany them to Kerry, if that’s OK with you?”

  Gordon blinked a few times, and when he spoke, his voice was oddly strangled. “Of course. Glad to be of assistance.”

  Valkyrie didn’t say anything, but she knew Skulduggery had just paid Gordon the highest possible compliment – he’d treated him like a real person.

  “You’d better hope you can educate this boy in a few hours,” Skulduggery said.

  “All he needs is to realise the fundamental truth behind teleporting,” said Gordon, “and then he’ll be able to do what he needs to. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Kenspeckle, I’m afraid we’re going to have to use this as our base of operations,” Skulduggery said. “When Ghastly and Fletcher reach the MacGillycuddy’s Reeks, they’ll teleport back to us, we’ll lure the possessed here until they’re all in one place, and then Fletcher will teleport everyone to the Receptacle.”

  “How are we going to lure them in?” asked Ghastly. “It’s chaos out there.”

  Skulduggery shook his head. “It’s not as disorganised as you might think. Look at it this way – the Remnants have been locked away without bodies for years. Their first night out, some of them are going to go a little crazy. But they do have purpose, and that purpose is Darquesse. They’re going to start to group together. The Remnants might not have leaders, but their human hosts do. Once we get the leaders chasing us, the others will fall in behind. And the fact is, sooner or later, Erskine or Shudder are going to figure out where we are. They will be coming for us.”

  “Happy happy,” Tanith said, “joy joy.”

  “We’re going to need some way to physically connect the possessed,” Fletcher said.

  “I can do that,” said Valkyrie. Everyone looked at her, and she reached out to the shadows in the room, and they rose up like mist around them. “It’s one of the training exercises in Necromancy,” she said. “When they’re this spread out, the shadows can’t hurt anyone, but it’d still work as a bond. All Fletcher would have to do is teleport me, and everyone these shadows are touching would come with us.”

  “That’s fine here in this room,” China said, “but would you be able to connect all those Remnants?”

  Valkyrie hesitated only a moment. “Yes,” she said. “I would.”

  “Excellent,” said Skulduggery. “Ghastly, you’d better set off as soon as Fletcher’s teleported Valkyrie and Tanith. It should take four or five hours in this weather to get to Kerry, even with the Bentley’s tyres.”

  Ghastly blinked. “You’re letting me take the Bentley?”

  “It’s faster than your van. Just… take good care of her, OK?”

  “I will.”

  Skulduggery went silent. When he spoke again, it was with great reluctance. “Not one scratch.”

  “OK.”

  “Not one, Bespoke.”

  “You concentrate on getting the keys. Let me worry about your car.”

  “I’m multi-talented, I can do both. OK, that’s everything. Unless anyone has any other questions, let’s get to it.”

  Fletcher took the Echo Stone from Valkyrie. “Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone,” he said to her. “I know you’re not going to be able to resist the temptation, but you have to remember that I won’t be able to rescue you.”

  Valkyrie smirked. “I think I can manage without you for a few hours.”

  He nodded, and leaned in, and they kissed. “Please stay safe,” he whispered. His kisses were much nicer than Caelan’s. Softer. Sweeter. Warmer. She banished thoughts of Caelan from her mind, and kissed her boyfriend again.

  “I will,” she whispered back.

  They looked around when Ghastly cleared his throat, and watched him touch the tattoos on his collarbones. Clear skin flowed over his scars, and he walked awkwardly up to Tanith. “Um,” he said to her. “Don’t die.”

  “OK,” Tanith said.

  “When this is over,” he continued, “I’m going to make you dinner. You don’t have to like it, and you don’t have to eat it, and I suppose you don’t even have to be there, but… But that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Tanith frowned. “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “I think so, yes. Will you have dinner with me?”

  Tanith smiled the most beautiful smile. “I’d love to,” she said. She laid a hand on his chest, tapped her fingers on his collarbones, and the clear skin retracted. Once his scars were revealed, Tanith kissed him, once, on the lips. “I like steak,” she said. “Can’t go wrong with steak.”

  “Steak it is,” he murmured.

  He stepped away, and Valkyrie grinned at Tanith.

  “Oh, good God,” China said, rolling her eyes. “I do hope the Remnants kill me first.”

  41

  THE HEAD IN THE BOX

  Drogheda town centre was lit up against the dark, but there was no one around to appreciate the Christmas lights. It was far too cold for people to be walking the streets, and the roads were far too icy for driving. Fletcher left Valkyrie and Tanith on the main street, gave Valkyrie a quick kiss, and offered another to Tanith. Valkyrie punched his shoulder and he vanished with a pained expression on his face.

  “My eyeballs are cold,” Tanith said. “That’s not a good sign.”

  They walked quickly, in an effort to warm themselves up.

  “They’re saying this is the coldest winter in sixty years,” Valkyrie muttered. “I need a woolly hat and mittens.”

  “Mittens,” Tanith echoed wistfully. “Maybe tied to my sleeves…”

  “I need earmuffs too,” Valkyrie decided. “Fluffy ones. My ears are red, aren’t they?”

  Tanith took a glance. “Yep. But not as red as your nose. I’m going to ask Ghastly to make me clothes like yours. Then only my hands and face will get frostbite.”

  “Have you thought, maybe, that the reason you’re freezing your bits off is because you don’t wear enough clothes? How about wearing something under that waistcoat?”

  Tanith pulled her coat tighter around her. “My waistcoat is not designed to have anything under it but me, Valkyrie.”

  “And you wonder why you’re cold.”

  They reached the church. As daunting as it was impressive, its spires stretched into the night sky like spear tips. The doors were locked, but clicked open at Tanith’s touch.

  With the main lights off, th
e inside of the church was creepy. They passed a tomb that had a carving of skeletons wearing shrouds. To the left of the massive altar was a shrine, the centrepiece of which was a pedestal that held a glass case ensconced in gold and surrounded by long candles. It was topped off with a brass spire that reached upwards for three metres. Resting inside the case was a mummified head, leathery and brown, with empty eye sockets and tiny yellow teeth. Tanith peered at it.

  “Who’s this guy?” she asked.

  “Oliver Plunkett,” Valkyrie told her. “In sixteen hundred and something, he was hanged, drawn and quartered for practising Catholicism in Ireland. By the English, of course.”

  “Of course,” Tanith responded solemnly. “And we’re all very sorry about that.”

  Valkyrie nodded. “As well you should be.”

  “And why is his head on display in a church?” asked Tanith.

  “Where else would you display a head?”

  “Doesn’t it seem kind of gruesome to you? I mean, we’re used to seeing stuff like this, but what about ordinary people just coming here to pray, kneeling and muttering and crossing themselves, and they look over and see someone’s head in a glass box? That’s pretty morbid, not to mention kind of weird.”

  “Excuse me?” said a voice from behind.

  They turned. A priest stood there, paunchy and middle-aged. “I’m Father Reynolds,” he continued. “Can I help you with anything?”

  Valkyrie held her hands down by her sides, ready to push at the air should she notice even one black vein. “We’re just passing through, Mr Reynolds,” she assured him.

  He stiffened slightly. “That’s Father Reynolds,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Valkyrie said. “And what’s your first name?”

  “My full name is Father Declan Reynolds, and you, young lady, have broken into this church.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Declan,” Valkyrie responded, ignoring the accusation. “I’m Valkyrie, this is Tanith. You might be able to help us, actually. We’re looking for something. It’s a flat piece of gold, about the length of your hand. Would you have seen it?”

  The priest frowned at her. “You lost some gold?”

  “We didn’t lose it,” Tanith said. “We’re just looking for it. A friend of ours told us it’d be somewhere near the head in the box. We’re assuming that he meant this head in the box, unless you have another one stashed away somewhere?”