The Dying of the Light

by Derek Landy

  “Good,” said Valkyrie. “That’s … that’s actually good. And Beryl and Fergus?”

  “Mum is sad,” Carol’s reflection said. “But she’s always been sad. She just disguised it with a sharp tongue. She thought money would make things better, but it hasn’t. Dad is worried about her. I think he’s worried about a lot of things. Stephanie told me that one of my jobs is to make their lives better by pretending they’ve been good parents. That is what I plan to do.”

  “OK,” said Valkyrie. “Well, I’ll … I’ll head off, then.”

  “Very well,” said the reflection, and went to close the door.

  “Wait,” said Valkyrie. “Listen. My reflection malfunctioned. She did some terrible things. But in the end … in the end, she’d changed. She had become a good person. I’d like you to become a good person.”

  “Very well.”

  Valkyrie stepped back. “OK,” she said. “See you around.”

  The reflection gave a convincing smile, and closed the door. Valkyrie got to the top of the road and a car passed her. Fergus and Beryl, returning home. She waved, and kept going.

  She hadn’t walked through Haggard in months. It felt nice. It felt normal. It was cold, and it looked like rain, but her childhood had been spent here, on these streets, on that beach, running and playing and chatting and laughing. It had been a normal life. It hadn’t been boring, as she had once thought. It hadn’t been drab. It had just been normal. Haggard was her own personal sanctuary, the place she could go now and be the person she used to be. Here, nobody knew her secret. Here, she could be Stephanie Edgley again.

  She got back to her house and walked into the kitchen. Her parents were sitting at the table, staring at the laptop.

  She grinned. “You get it working?”

  At the sound of her voice, they both looked up, startled. Afraid. Her eyes flickered to the screen. The video playing was of a war zone. Screams and shouts and a shaking camera. And there, in full view and perfect focus, was Stephanie Edgley, firing black lightning from the Sceptre of the Ancients.

  45

  A BRUTAL ACT OF KINDNESS

  arquesse stood over Tanith. “So, young lady,” she said. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”

  Tanith looked straight up at her. Not confrontational, exactly. Just … confident. Assured. From where she was sitting, with her hands shackled to the radiator, that was quite a feat. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Darquesse. “Perhaps an apology? You let Valkyrie escape and you cut off Mercy’s head. The second one was funny. The first was not.”

  “What do you care?” Tanith asked. “You’re getting your power back, aren’t you? Let Valkyrie be free. Let her enjoy her last few days.”

  Darquesse hunkered down. “What is this? Why did you betray me?”

  Tanith took a moment, like she was trying to figure it out in her own head. Then she said, “Valkyrie’s my friend.”

  “But you’re a Remnant. You have no friends.”

  “Then I also have no loyalty, so my betrayal shouldn’t come as a shock to you.”

  Darquesse sighed, and stood up. “I’m not shocked. Not really. I’m disappointed, though. I thought, out of everyone, you’d be by my side till the very end.”

  “I had every intention of doing that. But then I realised I had a choice. I could either be a bad guy, or a good guy. So I’m a good guy.”

  “And look where this choice has landed you. You don’t even know the trouble you’re in, do you? You think I’m going to chain you up, but eventually I’ll let you out because, hey, I’m a fun girl. But that’s not going to happen. Because of what you’ve done. Before today, I’d have found another way to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re right, of course,” Darquesse said. “My power’s coming back. I can feel it growing. It’s a nice feeling. But you know what I can’t feel? Ravel. He’s not there any more. Tanith, he deserves the pain I’ve been giving him, you know he does. But right now, Ghastly’s murderer is out there somewhere feeling fine. Feeling good. Feeling smug. He thinks he’s beaten me. He thinks he’s got away with it. But he hasn’t. I’m going to find him and I’m going to do far, far worse things to him than he could ever imagine.”

  “Maybe he’s dead,” said Tanith. “Maybe he couldn’t take any more and his body gave up.”

  “No,” said Darquesse. “I’d have felt that. He isn’t dead. He just isn’t here any more. He’s gone. They’ve taken him to the only place beyond my reach. They’ve shunted him.”

  “And what does this have to do with me?”

  “I need to find Argeddion,” she said. “I need to find him and absorb his knowledge. Then I’ll be able to shunt after them and bring Ravel back. Now, there are two ways to track down Argeddion. The first is to read the Hessian Grimoire. Unfortunately, that is locked away in the Sanctuary, so that’s not really an option any more.”

  “And the second way?”

  “I’m going to need the kind of knowledge that only Kenspeckle Grouse had.”

  “So you want to ask my Remnant side some questions,” said Tanith. “Well, I’m all for Ravel’s eternal agony, so go right ahead. A lot of Kenspeckle’s memories are closed off to me, but I’ll answer what I can.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be enough, Tanith. I’m going to need Kenspeckle’s knowledge for myself.”

  Tanith frowned. “I … don’t understand.”

  “I’m going to have to take your Remnant.”

  Immediately, Tanith’s eyes widened and her black veins rose. “You can’t. You can’t do that, it’s impossible. The Remnant is bonded to me. It’s a part of me.”

  Darquesse hunkered down again, closer this time, and said gently, “And like every part of you, it can be removed from the rest.”

  Tanith flinched away from Darquesse’s hand. “No. Stop. It’s not like you can just find the Remnant bits and put it back together.”

  “Actually, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Darquesse gave her a kind smile. “You forget, a Remnant once tried to take control of me, but I consumed it. I know the taste.”

  “Darquesse, wait, please don’t do this. I’ll be split into two again. I won’t be me any more. I’ll be Tanith and I’ll be the Remnant. You’ll kill me.”

  Darquesse’s fingers closed round Tanith’s chin, holding her head in place. “Look at me. Look how sad my face is. Don’t think for a moment that this won’t upset me. But I need to do it. I need the information that is resting somewhere below your thoughts.”

  “Help me find it, then,” Tanith said desperately. “Help me unlock the memories and I’ll tell you what you need to—”

  “Tanith,” Darquesse said softly, “I’ve made my decision.”

  Pulling a plaster off is best done quickly, so that’s what Darquesse did. She wrenched open Tanith’s mouth and jammed her hand in, breaking teeth. Tanith’s eyes bulged, her lips burst and her skin tore as Darquesse shoved her hand down the throat, ignoring the sounds of breaking bones and the gurgle-spit of screams. Deep inside, her fingers puncturing organs and rupturing meat, Darquesse called the Remnant to her. She poured her magic through her arm, into her hand, and this magic dragged the Remnant from Tanith’s being, corralling it, forcing it to take form. Piece latched on to piece and bit by bit the Remnant was put back together. Darquesse kept her eyes closed the whole time, seeing it in her mind, focusing on what she needed to happen. She was only dimly aware that Tanith had stopped struggling. She was only dimly aware of the massive damage she was doing, or the mere seconds Tanith had left to live.

  And then the Remnant was whole again, and her fingers closed round it, and she pulled her hand out.

  It writhed and squirmed in her grip, and she almost lost it for a moment, but then she opened wide and forced it into her own mouth. She swallowed, felt it tearing at her throat. Then it was inside her, and she took it apart once more. The memories of all its previous hosts washed ov
er her. Tanith’s were the most vivid.

  Tanith lay at her feet. She was ruined. There was blood everywhere. Darquesse could sense her life about to leave her. Poor Tanith. She hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Not really. She knelt, placed her hand on Tanith’s cheek. She wasn’t at full power yet – not even close – but even so she knit those broken bones and repaired those failing organs and healed that flesh and that skin, and when she was done she stood up and almost blacked out.

  She chuckled as she steadied herself against the wall. That could possibly be her last-ever act of kindness, and she would never be thanked for it. Typical.

  46

  THE CONVERSATION

  don’t get it.”

  There was a paused image on the screen, showing Valkyrie in the middle of a battle she didn’t remember. No, it wasn’t Valkyrie, it was Stephanie, and it was the Battle of Roarhaven. Around her, sorcerers fought Warlocks and Wretchlings in a frozen blur of violence and death.

  “I don’t get it,” her dad said again. “What is it?”

  Ice water flooded Valkyrie’s body. She was suddenly cold and sick and her head spun. No. No, no.

  “When did you do this?” her mum said. “It looks real. It doesn’t even look like special effects. When did you do this? Who did this?”

  The USB. Someone had given this to them. Valkyrie tried to speak. She couldn’t.

  “Stephanie,” her dad said, “the stuff on this video … I’m sorry, I don’t understand what it is.” He gave a shaky laugh. “I mean, it looks real, for God’s sake. And the guy, the guy talking over it, he said you died. That you died saving us, saving the whole world.”

  Valkyrie knew what she had to do. She had to grin, make a joke out of it, demand to see the footage, squeal in delight at how realistic the effects looked. She had to give herself time to come up with an excuse. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say anything.

  “He talked about Skulduggery Pleasant,” her dad continued. “Skulduggery Pleasant is that friend of Gordon’s. He was at the reading of the will.”

  “You don’t forget a name like that,” her mum said.

  Her dad shook his head. “No you don’t. What’s been going on, Steph? What have you been hiding from us? Gordon was mixed up with some shady characters, but I told him, I begged him, to keep all that craziness away from us. Away from you. For God’s sake, Steph, tell us what the hell is going on.”

  “Dad,” she said, “I …”

  Alice came in, saw Valkyrie and cheered and ran over. Instinctively, Valkyrie scooped her up, hugged her, her eyes wide, her blood still cold. Alice babbled and yapped excitedly, and eventually Valkyrie put her down.

  “I have to make a phone call,” she said numbly.

  Her mum shook her head. “Not until you—”

  “I have to make a phone call,” she repeated, and left the room. She made two calls, actually, standing in the hall, her voice low and even. When she was done, she walked back into the kitchen, stood against the cupboard while her parents watched the video again. Every few seconds their eyes would drift up to look at her, and then return to the screen.

  She heard a voice she knew from somewhere, asking a question. Kenny Dunne. The journalist. She heard her own voice saying things she’d never said. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Kenny spoke again. “I know plenty. These people call you Valkyrie, but I know you as Stephanie Edgley, eighteen years old, from Haggard, in north County Dublin. Recently left school and is considering college. According to your old teachers, you’re a bright girl who—”

  There was a knock on the door, and her mum paused the video. Valkyrie left the room, coming back a few seconds later with Fergus. When they saw who it was, her parents relaxed.

  “Now really isn’t a good time,” Valkyrie’s dad said.

  “I know,” said Fergus. “I warned her. What did I say to you, Stephanie? I said it was a sickness. This whole thing was a sickness.”

  “Wait,” her mum said, frowning, “what’s a sickness? Steph, you called him? Why? What does Fergus have to do with what’s on this video?”

  “All that stuff Gordon wrote about,” said Fergus. “Sorcerers and monsters and magic. It’s real, as insane as it sounds.”

  Both of her parents straightened up.

  “Des,” he continued, “remember the old stories Granddad used to tell us? About the Last of the Ancients and all that? About how we were magic? Turns out he was telling the truth.”

  Valkyrie’s dad took a long time to answer his brother.

  “Magic?” he said. “This is all about magic being real? Monsters being real? Granddad was nuts, Fergus. You’ve said it yourself a million times. He went nuts. The only person who bothered listening to his rants was Gordon – and you called him nuts, too.”

  Fergus nodded. “I was protecting you.”

  “You were, were you? Protecting me from what?”

  “From the sickness,” said Fergus. “Granddad had it, Gordon had it, and Pop made me promise to shield you from it if I could. You were the youngest and the smartest of us. I said I’d try, and I’ve been trying ever since.”

  Valkyrie wasn’t used to seeing her dad angry. She was seeing him angry now. “I’m not sure when I’m supposed to laugh,” he said. “I’m just waiting for the punchline.”

  Fergus raised his hand and clicked his fingers, and a flame leaped up from his palm. “This is all I can do,” he said. “I can summon one little flame, and that’s all. I can’t throw fire or fly or turn invisible. But even this you think is a trick, don’t you? A party trick.” He closed his hand and the flame went out. “But it’s not. It’s real magic. Actual magic. But I can’t convince you that we’re telling the truth, not with my little party trick.”

  “So what are we doing here?” Valkyrie’s mum asked.

  “Waiting,” Valkyrie said.

  Twenty minutes of silence passed, punctuated occasionally by questions that went unanswered.

  During this uncomfortable silence, her parents watched and rewatched the video.

  Finally, there was another knock on the door. Valkyrie went to answer it.

  She had briefly thought about calling Geoffrey Scrutinous. About having him rearrange her parents’ memories, convince them that nothing on that laptop screen was real.

  But they were her parents.

  So she hadn’t called Geoffrey.

  She came back into the kitchen with a tall man in a black three-piece suit, white shirt, and black tie. His shoes were polished to a gleam. His gloves were leather. His hat was in his hand. The expression he wore on the face he wore was calm. Confident.

  “Mum, Dad, Fergus … this is Skulduggery Pleasant.”

  Her dad stood up immediately. “What the hell have you been doing with our daughter?”

  “Desmond,” Skulduggery said, “please sit down. This will go a lot smoother if we remain calm. Before we begin, can I make tea for anyone? Desmond? Melissa? What about you, Fergus? Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Uh,” said Fergus, “yes. Please.”

  “I’ll make tea for everyone,” Skulduggery said.

  Valkyrie helped him. Nobody spoke while the kettle boiled. Nobody spoke while tea bags were dipped and milk added and spoons stirred. When everyone had a seat and a cup in front of them, Skulduggery sat. There was nothing special about where he sat, yet he made it seem like he was at the head of the table.

  “You’re not having one yourself?” Fergus asked hesitantly.

  Skulduggery smiled. “No. I don’t drink tea.”

  His hat was on the table at his elbow. He adjusted its position slightly. When he was ready, he looked up. “So you know about magic.”

  “Tell us what’s going on,” Valkyrie’s mum said.

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m here to offer you proof that what your daughter is saying is true. But before you see that proof, I have to warn you. I’m dead.”

  Valkyrie’s parents waited for an explanation. When one wasn’t forth
coming, her mum said, “Figuratively?”

  “Literally. I was killed three hundred years ago or thereabouts, when I was somewhere over a hundred and thirty years old. Tortured to death and then burned, had my remains thrown in a sack and then dumped in a river. For reasons too complicated to go into right now, I was able to put myself back together. This face you see is a mask. These clothes are, for want of a better word, enchanted, giving the illusion that my body has greater mass than it actually possesses.”

  “Uh,” said Valkyrie’s dad, “so what is it you think you are? A ghost? A zombie?”

  “Neither. I am … unique. Even though I’m dead, it would not be inaccurate to call me a living skeleton.”

  “You’re a skeleton?”

  “Beneath my disguise, yes.”

  “But … we’re all skeletons, aren’t we?” responded Valkyrie’s mum. “Beneath our skin?”

  “What a wonderfully enlightened view you have,” Skulduggery said, smiling. “Unfortunately, I’m not talking in riddles. I’m going to take off my glove now. I want you to prepare yourselves.”

  Valkyrie’s folks glanced at each other.

  “Sure,” her mum said.

  Skulduggery pinched the tip of his right thumb, pulling the glove loose. He went up the fingers, pinching and pulling at each one, and then, with unhurried elegance, he gently pulled the glove off, and laid it on the table. For a few seconds, it kept its shape, like there was a hand still in there, but then it deflated, and flattened. Not that Valkyrie’s parents were looking at the glove. Their eyes, and Fergus’s, were transfixed by the skeletal hand that clenched and unclenched for them to see.

  “How are you doing that?” her mum asked, her voice breathless.

  “Magic,” Skulduggery answered.

  “But how do they move? There’s no muscles or …”

  “If you would allow me to remove my mask?”

  They nodded, and the tips of his phalanges tapped the sigils at his collarbones, and his face flowed away, revealing the skull beneath.