The Dying of the Light

by Derek Landy

  “Hello, Doctor Synecdoche,” said Clarabelle.

  Scapegrace held his breath. They were going to be discovered. Oh dear God, they were going to be discovered.

  “What do you have there?” Synecdoche asked.

  “Body parts,” said Clarabelle.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Body parts. Parts of a body. All gross and icky. I put the sheet over them because they’re far too disgusting to look at.”

  Synecdoche was silent for a moment. “Where are you taking them?”

  “Through there.”

  “I see. And where did you get them?”

  Scapegrace looked at Thrasher out of the corner of his eye. Thrasher was sweating. He felt it, too. This was it. This was the end.

  “Skulduggery Pleasant told me to put them somewhere safe,” Clarabelle said. “He told me they’re part of a very important case he’s working on. These are the remains of Lewis Holmes.”

  Clarabelle said that name like it was supposed to mean something.

  “Who?” Synecdoche asked.

  “Lewis Holmes. You haven’t heard of him?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Lewis Holmes died horribly while saving the world,” said Clarabelle. “He went up against an evil Warlock and the Warlock tricked him, drugged him and dismembered him. That means he cut off his limbs.”

  “I know what dismembered means, Clarabelle.”

  “The evil Warlock left him for dead,” Clarabelle continued, “but Lewis survived. According to Skulduggery, Lewis attached and tied four tourniquets, using only his teeth, and then he rose athletically to his buttocks and tracked down the Warlock with his keen sense of smell. Cornered, with no way out, the Warlock dived for his weapon, intending to use it to destroy the world. But Lewis bravely rolled into his path.”

  “Is any of this true?”

  “Skulduggery said they fought for eight days and eight nights. The Warlock’s blade separated Lewis from several body parts, including his favourite ear, but Lewis gave as good as he got.”

  “Clarabelle, I’m really quite busy.”

  “On and on they fought. The Warlock may have thought it would be an easy battle, but he didn’t know that Lewis had been trained in more fighting arts than he’d ever heard of. And the more injuries Lewis got, the more dangerous he became. It would be accurate to say that after his dismemberment, Lewis Holmes became a true master of unarmed combat.”

  “Oh dear God, Clarabelle.”

  “The Warlock fell backwards, impaling himself upon his own weapon, and Lewis Holmes lay there, panting, gazing up at the night sky. Triumphant.”

  Scapegrace waited. It seemed unlikely that anyone would believe such a story, especially someone as intelligent as a doctor, but Clarabelle had told it quite convincingly. He’d almost been convinced himself.

  “And how did Lewis end up here?” Synecdoche asked.

  Hell.

  “Hmm?” Clarabelle said.

  “If he survived eight days of fighting and blood loss without any arms or legs, what killed him in the end?”

  “Oh,” Clarabelle said. “Oh, yes. Well, he was lying there, being all triumphant and out of breath, and, like, a pack of wolves found him and ate him.”

  “Wolves.”

  “Yes.”

  “And where did all this happen?”

  “A land far, far away. Britain.”

  “Clarabelle … you made that story up, didn’t you?”

  Scapegrace waited for Clarabelle’s cunning reply.

  “Nnnnno,” she said slowly.

  “There is no Lewis Holmes, is there?”

  “There is,” Clarabelle insisted. “His remains are under this sheet. I can show them to you if you want, but they’re so disgusting you’ll probably explode your brain in horror.”

  “Lewis Holmes doesn’t exist, does he?”

  The sheet covering Scapegrace bunched suddenly as Clarabelle gripped it. “He does. He’s right here. I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”

  Oh dear lord, she was going to pull the sheet off. She believed her own story. She was going to pull the sheet off and then it would all be over.

  “Clarabelle, wait,” Synecdoche said. “You don’t have to. It’s OK. You’ve been working really hard to fit in and … I believe you. I do. Go on now, you’d better put those remains somewhere safe.”

  “I will,” said Clarabelle.

  Scapegrace heard Synecdoche walk away, and suddenly the gurney was moving again.

  “She believed me!” Clarabelle whispered.

  Scapegrace was too relieved to answer.

  The subdued bustle of the Medical Wing quietened, and the light beyond the sheet changed. They were in a new room. The gurney’s wheels squeaked. Clarabelle turned them into another room, and the light changed again.

  “OK,” Clarabelle said, pulling the sheet away, “we’re here.”

  Scapegrace and Thrasher sat up. It was a large room filled with electronic equipment that beeped and chattered. The centre of the room was taken up by a water tank in which floated Scapegrace’s old body. Beside it was Thrasher’s corpse.

  Scapegrace got off the gurney and approached the tank. It was surreal, seeing his old self like this. The body was rotten and burnt, though not as rotten and burnt as he’d remembered. In fact, it wasn’t looking half bad, all things considered. His eyes refocused on his reflection in the glass. Within the tank, Scapegrace was dead and decrepit and decomposing. Outside the tank, he was tall and strong and beautiful. But as he looked from his new face to his old one, he realised that the old one was home, and it always would be.

  “So these are Lewis Holmes, are they?”

  They turned. Doctor Synecdoche came forward, sighing. “Clarabelle, for the last time, this is a restricted area. That means unauthorised people cannot just wander in. We have a lot of sensitive projects being researched and we have to be strict about this. I’ve told you before about this kind of thing.”

  “But these are my friends,” said Clarabelle, blushing. “They miss their old bodies.”

  “That’s not the point, it’s just …” Synecdoche shook her head. “Oh, Clarabelle, what am I going to do with you?”

  Clarabelle hung her head.

  Scapegrace stepped up, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t blame her. We found out about this and forced her to take us here. It’s time you answered a few of our questions, Doctor. What are you doing with our bodies? Nye told us that once our brains were taken out of them, they’d be destroyed. Burned.”

  Synecdoche nodded. “That was the plan, but then one of the other doctors requested that they be kept intact to study the effects certain procedures have on necrotic tissue.”

  Scapegrace jabbed his finger at her. “So that’s your dark little secret!”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The secret you’ve been keeping! The conspiracy!”

  She looked genuinely puzzled. “Uh, there is no conspiracy, and it’s not a dark little secret. You should probably have been informed that your old bodies were still intact, but apart from that administrative oversight, everything that has occurred here has been above board.”

  “Oh.”

  Thrasher peered more closely at the glass. “They don’t seem as rotten as they were.”

  “They’re not,” said Synecdoche, turning away from Scapegrace. “We’ve actually been able to reverse a lot of the damage done by simple day-to-day wear and tear. It’s been hugely beneficial to work on such a fine pair of zombie specimens as these. Usually this sort of research is conducted on slabs of meat. The work we’re doing here could have far-reaching benefits across a whole array of medical and scientific areas.”

  Thrasher raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Synecdoche. “You two should be proud of yourselves. You’re going to make a real difference in the world.”

  Thrasher looked back at Scapegrace. “Do you hear that, Master? We’re going to make a difference.”
/>   Was this it? Was this what Scapegrace had been searching for? The chance to do something important, the chance to make a difference … Sure, it wasn’t what he’d had in mind. In truth, it had nothing to do with him. It was his old body that was doing all the work. But still … it was something. He was something. He mattered. Maybe this could be it. Maybe this could be his pathway to contentment. He wasn’t going to save the world, but by contributing to the world of science, well … That was something to be proud of. Finally.

  An odd thing happened to his face. His facial muscles contracted and pulled and his mouth twisted.

  “Master!” Thrasher exclaimed. “You’re smiling! And it’s beautiful!”

  25

  GOING TO AMERICA

  exter Vex was talking with Saracen Rue when she walked in, and they both turned and Vex smiled and came over, arms out for a hug.

  “Welcome back,” he said, and Darquesse hugged him. He smelled of pine needles and fresh air. She could have tightened her grip and crushed his spine, and all of those tightly-bound muscles underneath his shirt would have been for nothing. But she didn’t. She behaved.

  Saracen Rue, though. She was curious about how he would react to her. Saracen Rue knows things, that was what people said, after all. She wondered if he’d be able to see through her act. But he just came over, wrapped her up in another big hug, said nice things and gave her a lovely, happy grin.

  So she didn’t crush his spine, either.

  She got hugs off Gracious O’Callahan, clad in a Captain America T-shirt, and Donegan Bane, clad in extraordinarily tight jeans, and she got a friendly nod from Dai Maybury. Poor Dai. So cool, so aloof, and so recently an only child. She wondered how he’d react if she told him what she’d just done to his brother. Probably not well, she figured.

  Skulduggery walked in, followed by Stephanie and Fletcher.

  “Six renegade sorcerers are hiding out in the New York Sanctuary,” Skulduggery said, adjusting his cufflinks. Little black skulls that Valkyrie had bought him as a Christmas present. “If these renegades are being monitored, if they’re secure, we leave them alone. If they’re roaming free, however, they present a clear and present danger to the sorcerers around them and the public at large, and we will take them down. Questions?”

  “What do we do about Zafira?” asked Vex.

  “If Grand Mage Kerias is harbouring these renegades because she doesn’t think they’ll be treated fairly by us – that’s fine. If she has some other agenda, we’ll take that into account. Kerias was one of Ravel’s staunchest supporters, remember. We do not turn our backs on her for a moment.”

  Nods all round. Even Darquesse nodded.

  “Everyone link up,” Skulduggery said. “Fletcher, teleport us straight into the lobby area, if you please.”

  Darquesse held Vex’s hand and Donegan’s, and she had time to blink once before they were in New York.

  Sorcerers jumped back in surprise and two Cleavers started forward. Skulduggery turned his head to them and they stopped, and resumed their positions by the door.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  They turned to the young woman with the scowl on her face.

  “Adrasdos,” Vex said. “It’s been a while.”

  Adrasdos. A Necromancer. Darquesse looked her up and down. There was a sword hilt in a sheath on her hip, and to Darquesse it pulsed with cold power. That was her object, clearly, the same way that Valkyrie’s had been a ring, and Solomon Wreath’s was a cane. That little hilt contained all her power. Delightful.

  Adrasdos was looking at Vex with a confusing mix of emotions on her face. Anger at their presence, but a secret delight at seeing him in particular, it seemed. Did they once have a thing? They probably once had a thing.

  “Dexter,” Adrasdos said. “It’s … good to see you. It’s nice. But you can’t just teleport into the lobby like this.”

  “We were going to call ahead,” Skulduggery said, “but we thought Grand Mage Kerias would appreciate a surprise visit. Is she in? We need to speak with her. I’m here to extend an invitation to a celebration.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  “Apologies,” Skulduggery said. “Grand Mage Sorrows insisted we deliver it in person.”

  Adrasdos chewed this over. “Sure,” she said. “Follow me.”

  They went deeper into the building. Darquesse brought up the rear, taking her time. She smiled at everyone she passed. She didn’t care about appearing friendly, she just needed to practise smiling without menace.

  “Valkyrie!”

  She turned. A dark-haired girl ran up, excitement bouncing in her eyes. Darquesse had only seen her once before, when Valkyrie had gone up against her in London.

  “Hello, Ivy,” she said.

  Ivy’s eyes widened. “You know my name? Seriously?”

  “Of course,” said Darquesse. “It’s not every day someone beats me in a fair fight.”

  Ivy giggled. “Aw, I didn’t beat you! You’re the one who knocked me out, remember?”

  “Only because you talked too much.”

  Ivy giggled again. “That sounds like me, all right! Hey, heard you were Darquesse all along. What was that like? I bet it was amazing. Like, scary and deeply, y’know, unsettling, obviously, but I bet it was just … wow. Was it wow?”

  “It was wow.”

  “I knew it! I knew it! But I was delighted you came back. I mean, I heard that last night and I was, like, oh, cool! I know I’ve said this before, but, literally, I am your biggest fan! So what’re you doing here? You here for long? Can I introduce you to some of my friends?”

  “Flying visit,” said Darquesse, resisting the urge to punch her neck.

  “Aw, that’s a shame. Hey, d’you think, y’know, maybe some day when you’re not busy—”

  “I’m busy a lot.”

  “Right, yeah, OK, gotcha. You probably have to go off now, yeah? Could you do me one favour? Just one, I swear, and then I’ll go away!”

  “What kind of favour?”

  Ivy dug around in her pocket, pulled out a thick black marker. “Could I have your autograph?”

  “Uh … sure.”

  “Oh, you are the best!” said Ivy. “And could you sign my face? Just across it. From one side to the other. Thank you so much!”

  Darquesse hesitated. “Sure,” she said. Ivy did her best to stay still, and Darquesse wrote Valkyrie Cain from the left cheek to the right. Navigating over the nose was tricky, but she managed it, and handed the marker back.

  “Oh my God, that is so cool,” Ivy breathed, crossing her eyes in an attempt to look down at her own face.

  Stephanie appeared at the corner. “Hey,” she said, “we’re waiting for you.”

  Ivy’s eyes almost bugged out. “Two of you? There are two of you?”

  “It’s a long story,” Stephanie said.

  “We could be triplets! Oh my God, this is the coolest thing ever!”

  Darquesse nodded. “We need to go away now.”

  “Thanks, Valkyrie!” Ivy squealed. “Thanks, Other Valkyrie! Love you both!”

  “Sure,” Darquesse said, and joined Stephanie as she walked quickly away.

  They continued in silence, and caught up to the others as they were entering the Hall of the Elders. Adrasdos glared at them, but Stephanie ignored her and Darquesse didn’t take it personally. Adrasdos was glaring at practically all of them, apart from Vex.

  Grand Mage Zafira Kerias sat alone in the middle of the three chairs, the light illuminating her from above. It was all very impressive.

  “This is a rare honour indeed,” Zafira said, smiling benevolently. “It’s enough to make one wonder what I could have done to deserve such esteemed attention. Surely it can’t be for a mere invitation to a party, as Adrasdos tells me you’ve claimed?”

  “I’m afraid we misled her to gain an audience with you,” said Skulduggery.

  “Such chicanery, Detective Pleasant.”

  “Indeed. And of course w
e apologise. Our real reason for being here is these renegade sorcerers we’ve been looking for. Six of them. You’ve been sent the list of their names, I trust?”

  Zafira nodded. “I received the list, yes. I can’t remember who was on it, but I’m sure I’d have—”

  “We know they’re here,” Stephanie said, and Zafira’s eyes narrowed at the interruption. “We know you’ve been hiding them. Just tell us the truth and we can go.”

  “And which one are you, I wonder?” Zafira said, looking from Darquesse to Stephanie and then back again. “Are you the reflection or the real thing? It’s all very confusing. I must admit, I’m stumped. Flummoxed, even. Detective Pleasant, please help me out.”

  “That’s Stephanie,” said Skulduggery. He turned. “And that’s Valkyrie.”

  Darquesse smiled to herself.

  “The reports were right,” Zafira said. “It could almost pass for human, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t known that one of them was a fake, it might even have fooled me. Nevertheless, please remind the reflection of its manners. It is not polite to interrupt when real people are—”

  “Stephanie is polite enough,” Skulduggery said. “She just has very little patience for the games people play.”

  Zafira observed them without speaking for a few moments. “The sorcerers on your list did come here, seeking refuge,” she said. “They were in fear for their lives after Grand Mage Sorrows sent her death squads after them.”

  Donegan put up his hand. “I am not a death squad.”

  “And neither am I,” said Gracious.

  “Those sorcerers are not refugees,” Skulduggery said. “Their powers are unstable. They need to be isolated and closely monitored until the effects of the Accelerator wear off.”

  “So you claim you’ve not been sent here to kill them? How can I believe that you’re telling the truth?”

  “I sincerely don’t care what you believe,” Skulduggery said. “If they’ve turned themselves in to you, if you’re taking responsibility for them, then our work here is done. Deal with them as you see fit.”

  He turned to go, and Zafira sat forward. “I could turn them over to you.”

  Skulduggery looked round. “Why would you do that?”