by Derek Landy
A small group of researchers had stumbled on to the cure, and they were getting all the attention and all of the praise. They had saved the country from a bizarre and mysterious new pathogen which had baffled experts from around the world. The virus had struck, receded, and was now eradicated.
Some thought it had been a terrorist attack. Others blamed secret government experiments, which drew much mirth from government representatives. People had been hurt, property had been damaged, and memories had been wiped. The number of dead, it was reported, was much lower than it could have been, for which everyone should have been thankful. But there would be no big parties or celebrations this New Year’s Eve. After the last few days, it seemed like the whole of Ireland just wanted to lay low.
Valkyrie wasn’t feeling especially thankful either. It was still freezing cold, still harsh and unforgiving, and Roarhaven was the last place she wanted to be tonight. She wanted to be back at home, where she’d been spending most of the last few days, keeping an eye on her parents.
Skulduggery had arranged for a squad of Cleavers to provide protection, in case Tanith decided to pay Haggard a visit, but Valkyrie was still worried, and in no mood to watch other people play politics.
Roarhaven Sanctuary was a mass of corridors that spiralled inwards to its centre. It was smaller than the old Sanctuary in Dublin, and less concerned with charm or, indeed, heat. Heavy doors led off into rooms of varying sizes and functions. Many of the corridors were swamped in darkness, and others too dimly lit to be of any real use.
They arrived at the centre room. Skulduggery pushed the doors open and Valkyrie and Ghastly entered after him. Ravel nodded to them, but didn’t break off his conversation with Geoffrey Scrutinous and Philomena Random. Valkyrie saw many people she recognised from the first meeting before Christmas. They were quiet, and looked tired.
The Necromancers stood off to one side, talking among themselves. To their right the Torment stood alone. The mood was sombre. Eyes were cast down. Gazes were not met. The atmosphere hung heavy with shame and regret and guilt.
Corrival Deuce was one of the dead. Who had killed him was unknown, and virtually impossible to establish, but it had sent all their plans and schemes into a spiral. Valkyrie hadn’t known him for long, but she recognised the loss as much as anyone. He had been their great hope, a leader strong enough to convince the international community that Ireland could stand on its own, without interference from others. And now that hope was gone.
Gradually, the conversation died down. Ravel cleared his throat. “I suppose we should start, then. Welcome, all of you. We’ve been through a lot in the last week, and I am immensely glad to see so many of you here tonight. We have lost friends and family, we have seen the whole country plunged into a nightmare we can only hope it will recover from – but of course, we don’t have the luxury of time in which to lick our wounds and grieve for the departed.
“We have a state of emergency. According to a trusted source in the German Sanctuary, in those few days when we were compromised, the international community, headed by the American Council, was about to swoop in and save the day. While it could be seen as reassuring to have such good friends around the world, the unfortunate fact of the matter is that if they did swoop in, they would never swoop out again.”
“Which means we need to consolidate our power as soon as possible,” Scrutinous said, “and that means choosing a new Council of Elders.”
“A vote,” said Shakra. “Now. Tonight. We need to show them we’re strong and decisive in the wake of what happened.”
“Erskine,” Skulduggery said, “I think the obvious thing would be to have you as the Grand Mage.”
Ravel frowned. “What?”
“I agree with Skulduggery,” Ghastly said. “You know how the game works. In fact, I’d say the internationals would actually find you better to work with than Corrival. You were his right-hand man for years – you share some of his views, but you aren’t nearly as extreme.”
Ravel rubbed his forehead wearily. “And does it matter at all that I have absolutely no interest at all in doing this job?”
“Not really,” Skulduggery said. “Desperate times, desperate measures.”
“A vote,” said Scrutinous. “All those in favour.”
Ayes filled the room.
Ravel sighed. “Fine. And in that spirit of desperation, Skulduggery can be my first Elder.”
Skulduggery shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“And how come you get to pass on the job offer and I don’t?”
“Because I’m me.”
“I have a suggestion,” said the Torment. Everyone looked at him. “We have already given you the Roarhaven facility to use as your new Sanctuary, which you have gratefully accepted. However, some of the citizens of our fair town have voiced misgivings. They feel that our good will has been taken advantage of.”
“Go on,” Ravel said, suspicion in his voice.
“It is our opinion that the Council of Elders should be comprised of three mages of firmly different sensibilities. For too long, the members of the Council have all thought the same way, held the same view, and clung on to the same prejudices. If Erskine Ravel is indeed elected Grand Mage, it is my feeling that the first of his Elders should be Madam Mist.”
Ravel actually recoiled at the suggestion. “But… Madam Mist is a Child of the Spider.”
“As am I,” the Torment said. “You would dismiss us all because of this?”
“No, of course not, it’s just… Children of the Spider have always been reclusive. Even more so than the Necromancers.”
The Torment nodded like a wise old man. “And it is time we changed our ways. Madam Mist would not only be a representative of the people of Roarhaven – and you would need their support for this Sanctuary to succeed – but she would also be a voice for the few, and the marginalised.”
“Everyone gets heard in the Sanctuary,” Ravel countered.
“And Madame Mist will ensure that valued tradition continues,” the Torment said. “Unfortunately, this is not open to discussion. If our request is denied, we will be forced to withdraw all assistance – this very building included.”
“You’re holding us to ransom,” Flaring said. “There’s no way we’d ever agree to that.”
“Excuse us for a moment,” Skulduggery said, drawing stares from everyone in the room. He walked to the side, followed by Ravel and Ghastly and Valkyrie.
“You can’t be serious,” Ravel whispered. “You can’t seriously expect me to work beside Mist.”
“It’s what they’ve been planning all along,” Skulduggery replied. “When they offered us this building, we knew there was going to be a hitch.”
“Mist is more than a hitch,” said Ravel.
“Your Council is going to need her in order to survive here.”
“If they planned this,” Valkyrie said, “then we’re just going along with their plan. How is that a good idea? This is the Torment we’re talking about.”
Skulduggery shook his head. “Their plan was for Mist to be an Elder alongside Erskine, with Corrival as Grand Mage. But that isn’t the case any more. Now Erskine is the Grand Mage, and so whatever schemes they’ve come up with are going to have to change.”
“Then we need another Elder who’s on our side,” Ghastly said. “To make sure Mist is kept in line.”
“Yes, we do,” Skulduggery nodded. “Which is why it should be you.”
Ghastly’s eyes widened. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Why not? You’re liked, you’re well-respected, and everyone knows about your bravery on the battlefield. This could be your chance to make a real difference.”
“I’m not a politician,” Ghastly said. “I’m a tailor.”
“You can still make my suits in your spare time, but we’re really going to need you to do this.”
Ravel nodded solemnly. “Destiny is calling, my friend.”
“That’s not destiny, that’s you. An
d if it’s bravery on the battlefield you’re after, why not ask Anton, or Vex, or any one of the Dead Men? There were more than just you, me and Skulduggery in our little group, if you remember.”
“Anton Shudder scares people, and Dexter Vex is halfway around the world, living the life of an adventurer.”
“Ghastly, think about what this will mean,” Skulduggery said. “As Elder, you could track down Tanith, capture her without harming her, and authorise a team of experts to figure out how to get rid of the Remnant inside her. Who else is going to take the time to do that? Who else is going to care enough?”
Ghastly closed his eyes. “Fine.”
“Well?” the Torment asked as they rejoined the others. “Have you reached a decision?”
“Yes, I have,” Ravel said. “I will need to meet with Madame Mist to discuss a wide range of matters, but it would be an honour to have her beside me, providing no one has any objection to my own nominee, Ghastly Bespoke. No? No objections? Excellent. In that case, we have a new Council of Elders. I think applause is due.”
They started to clap, and Valkyrie joined in. She waited until they were on their way out, when she was alone with Skulduggery, before speaking again. “Is it possible?” she asked. “To help Tanith?”
“No,” he said. “From what we know of Remnants, it’s permanently bonded to her. There’s no helping her, not any more.”
“So you lied to Ghastly.”
“Ghastly knows,” Skulduggery said, his voice sad. “He just doesn’t want to believe it.”
Fletcher was waiting outside. When Skulduggery left them, Fletcher gave Valkyrie a pair of sunglasses.
She frowned. “Where are we going?”
“Australia,” he smiled, and took her hand. In an instant they were standing in a park on a sunny Sydney morning, obscenely bright despite the sunglasses, and the heat hit her like a fist.
“Woah,” she breathed.
She turned, saw couples and families strolling in the sun. She saw the edge of the Opera House, half-hidden by tall trees, and she turned again and saw the city.
“Thought you might appreciate the change,” Fletcher said, slipping on his own pair of sunglasses.
Valkyrie took off her jacket and sat on the grass, then lay back, smiling broadly despite everything that had happened. “I should get you to bring me places like this more often,” she said. “Pack a pair of shorts, a bikini… I’d be set.”
Fletcher sat down beside her. “And how’d you explain a tan to your folks in the middle of winter?”
“I’m sure I’d find a way.”
“So why don’t you?” he asked.
“Why don’t I what?”
“Get me to take you to places like this more often?”
“I don’t know. I should. I suppose I’m always busy.”
“Well,” he said with a laugh, “it’s either that or you’d rather spend your time with Skulduggery than me.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Really?”
“It’s partly true,” she admitted.
Fletcher nodded. “I don’t blame you, actually. He didn’t try to hurt you like I did.”
Her smile dropped. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“It still happened.”
“And you can’t remember any of it.”
“Does that mean I don’t get to feel guilty?”
“We all feel guilty, Fletch.”
He looked at her, and she looked away. To her right, a bright green bird, some kind of parrot, was feasting on a discarded sandwich. Valkyrie watched it until it had eaten its fill, and then it hopped closer. She stayed very still. The bird hopped on to her folded jacket. It was so close she could sit up and touch it, but she didn’t move.
Fletcher looked at the bird and smiled. “This is what I love about Australia. If we were in Dublin or London, this would be a dull old pigeon, and we’d be shooing it away. But here, everything’s brighter, more colourful. More fun. I should take you down to the Gold Coast. Take you surfing.”
“Wait till I’m better at manipulating water,” Valkyrie replied. “Then I’ll surf.”
“But that takes the fun out of it.”
The bird hopped on to her leg, and she laughed. It travelled north, and stood on her belly, its head twitching as it surveyed its surroundings.
Fletcher grinned. “You’ve made a friend.”
“It’s waiting for me to give it some food. I haven’t got any food, birdie. Look, it’s completely ignoring me. If it perches on my face, I swear to God…”
“Give me a smile,” Fletcher said, moving his phone up slowly. He took three pictures, and on the third the parrot or cockatoo or whatever it was looked around, and Fletcher nodded. “That’s a good one,” he said. “That’s one you can never show your family.”
The bird flapped its wings. Valkyrie yelped and turned her face to the side as it lifted off, and when she looked back, it was sitting on Fletcher’s head. She burst out laughing and rolled away, fumbling with her own phone before the opportunity was gone. Laughing so much her hand was shaking, she took a half-dozen pictures of an increasingly horrified Fletcher.
“Please don’t poo,” he muttered.
The bird flapped its wings and he yelled as it leaped from his head and dropped down on the other side of him. Immediately, his hands went to his hair, fixing and straightening where the bird had flattened. Then he lunged, trying to grab the phone from Valkyrie’s hand, but she held on to it and curled up into a ball, laughing too hard to form words. Finally, he gave up, and lay back.
“Please don’t show that picture to anyone,” he said.
She slipped the phone into her pocket and lay against him. “No promises.”
Fletcher put his arm round her. “We should do this more often. You need a break, Val. A holiday. When was the last time you had a holiday? I bet it was years ago, wasn’t it? You need a week away from everything. A week where people aren’t trying to kill you, where you’re warm and happy and safe.”
She kissed his cheek. “You’re always looking out for me, aren’t you? That’s why I love you.”
She felt his body stiffen. “You love me?”
Her smile faded. “Pretend I didn’t say that.” Fletcher sat up to look at her, but she closed her eyes. “It’s a beautiful day, and it was a nice moment. Don’t spoil it.”
“OK,” he said. He hesitated, then lay back down. “Sure.”
They lay there, on the grass, in the sun.
“So when do you want to go back?”
“Let’s give it a half-hour,” she said. “I’m just getting warm.”
They stayed an hour, and then teleported back to Ireland. The cold came in at Valkyrie from all sides, and she groaned as she handed Fletcher back the sunglasses. She called Skulduggery to pick her up, and as the sun went down, they arrived at the Necromancer Temple.
53
TENEBRAE
Melancholia led them to the High Priest’s private meeting room. She looked tired, and thin, and didn’t even take the time to glare at Valkyrie like she usually did.
“The High Priest will be with you shortly,” she mumbled. She swayed slightly, like she might faint, but regained her composure and left them in the room.
“She looks sick,” Valkyrie said. Skulduggery nodded, but didn’t comment.
The meeting room was a circular chamber with a domed ceiling, lit by dozens of candles. Valkyrie sat at the round table and waited. Fifteen minutes later, High Priest Tenebrae walked in, and she stood. She was so used to seeing him flanked by Craven and Quiver, that meeting him alone was a little jarring. It was like he’d turned up without his clothes on.
“Detective Pleasant,” Tenebrae said, “Miss Cain, what can I do for you? We’re all very busy here, dealing with the fallout from the Remnant attacks.”
“You weren’t at the Sanctuary meeting,” Skulduggery said.
“I felt my time was better spent in an environment where I wasn’t despised. Fro
m what I hear, however, you all seem to have managed without me. Ravel and Bespoke and Mist – strange bedfellows. But I must ask why you are here. I am, as I have said, very busy.”
Skulduggery’s lunge was so sudden that Valkyrie jumped back in shock. He shoved Tenebrae against the wall.
Flustered, the High Priest tried to break the hold. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Skulduggery pointed his gun into Tenebrae’s face. “Where’s the Remnant?”
Tenebrae froze. “The Remnants are trapped. You said so yourself.”
“I mean your Remnant. The one you had trapped in your own little Soul Catcher. The one who inhabited Kenspeckle Grouse, who tortured Tanith Low. Where is that Remnant?”
“I… I assume it’s with all the others…”
“Five months ago, Solomon Wreath took possession of the Soul Catcher with that particular Remnant inside. We were assured it would be returned to the Midnight Hotel. Anton Shudder said that never happened.”
“There’s obviously been a mistake…”
“Finbar Wrong can’t remember much, but he can remember Wreath turning up with the Soul Catcher a few days before all this started.”
“You’re saying Wreath released the Remnant on purpose? To what end? To inhabit this Finbar Wrong person?”
Skulduggery stepped closer. “I’m saying you ordered him to.”
“Preposterous. This man is a Sensitive, isn’t he? Why would I order such a thing?”
“Maybe because you wanted a glimpse into the future.”
“In which case,” said Tenebrae, “I could have merely paid a Sensitive to do so.”
“Not if there was something in that future you wanted to keep secret.”
“Detective Pleasant, you’re accusing me without one single shred of proof that I had anything to do with this.”
“Where’s Wreath?” Skulduggery asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“He’s in hiding?”
“I told you, I don’t know. We haven’t seen him since the Remnant attack. I fear he may have been killed.”
