The Dying of the Light

by Derek Landy

  “You think we’d let you off that easily? After what you’ve done?” asked Skulduggery.

  “You deserve a lifetime of agony,” Valkyrie said, rejoining them.

  “I thought I did,” Ravel said. “But what Darquesse did to me … that’s what we’d label cruel and unusual. I can’t go back to that. I just can’t. You have no idea what it was like. You’ve no idea what something like that does to you. I’m exhausted. I need to recover. I need to get strong again.”

  “You need to put those shackles back on and come with us,” Skulduggery said.

  “No!” Ravel said, almost shouting, before visibly calming himself. “No. You’re not taking me back. Darquesse will find me and it’ll start all over again.”

  Skulduggery thumbed back the hammer of his gun. “This is not a negotiation.”

  Ravel offered a wan smile. “You won’t shoot me. You need me alive.”

  “I’ll settle for wounded.”

  “Go ahead. Wound me. Hope the wound slows me down but doesn’t bleed me dry. Hope it makes me more co-operative and not more stubborn.”

  Skulduggery didn’t respond for a moment, and then he gave a shrug. “Very well,” he said, passing his hat and his gun to Valkyrie. “Hold these.”

  Ravel chuckled softly as Skulduggery stepped towards him, and flexed his fingers, readying his magic. Before he could raise his hands, however, the door opened beside him and four unsuspecting Children of the Spider walked out.

  Alarm swept over their faces, and Ravel lunged at one and Skulduggery dived at another. Ravel was still recovering from Darquesse’s punishment, so the dismantling of his opponents wasn’t as precise or as polished as Skulduggery’s, but it was impressive nonetheless. Valkyrie had seen Skulduggery fight like this before, alongside Ghastly or any of the other Dead Men, giving battle with the absolute assurance that the person by his side was doing his job. The Children of the Spider didn’t have time to even cry for help. Fist collided with chin and elbow smashed into jaw and forehead met nose, and in moments Skulduggery and Ravel were standing over four unconscious, broken bodies.

  “You’re going to need my help getting out of the city,” Ravel said. “I came here looking for assistance. It’s obvious I’m not going to get it, so I need to escape, too.”

  “And when we’re out of here,” Skulduggery said, “you’ll surrender?”

  “Not a chance. But we can have that argument once we’re clear.”

  From somewhere close, running footsteps. A whole lot of running footsteps.

  “Come on,” Skulduggery said, turning to the window. He flicked his hands and the glass exploded outwards, and then all three ran forward and jumped.

  Air rushed.

  It brought Valkyrie to Skulduggery’s side. She hung on. The street hurtled towards them. No Redhoods gathered below. Not yet.

  They slowed, following Ravel’s trajectory, and landed at the same time.

  “Get to the back streets,” Skulduggery instructed. “Get under cover as fast as—”

  He stopped talking. Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery, then at Ravel, noticed how pale he’d become. Then she saw what they were looking at. Three men, walking up the street towards them.

  Baron Vengeous.

  Lord Vile.

  And Mevolent.

  52

  THE DEVIL COMES TO PLAY

  he world got very quiet all of a sudden.

  Baron Vengeous wore his grey hair short and his grey beard tight. His uniform was spotless and his boots were polished, his sabre still in its scabbard at his belt. All of this Valkyrie expected. She did not expect his skin to be so pale as to be almost blue. His face, usually so stern, so filled with anger, was slack. Lifeless. Anton Shudder had, it seemed, killed him – but Mevolent had not let him rest.

  Lord Vile’s black armour twisted lazily around him, savouring the calm before the storm.

  Between his two generals, and taller than either of them, Mevolent wore his battlesuit of grey chain mail and black leather. His tattered cloak, covered as it was with sigils, caught the breeze as he walked. The hood was down. His face, that gaunt, nicotine-yellow face, was hidden behind his metal helmet’s screaming visage.

  Shadows curled round Vile and he disappeared into them. At that same instant, he stepped out of the swirling shadows right in front of Skulduggery.

  They stood there, looking at each other.

  “You’d think we’d have a lot to talk about, you and I,” said Skulduggery. Vile didn’t answer, so Skulduggery continued. “You’d think we’d have questions that needed answering. But I don’t. All I need to know is that you’re still here. You didn’t fight it, like you should have. You weren’t strong enough to control it.”

  Vile’s armour grew spikes.

  “I’ve done terrible things,” Skulduggery said. “Things I will never make right. But there’s one thing I know. There’s one thing of which I’m certain. I’m a better man than you.”

  Shadows crashed into Skulduggery and sent him flying.

  Ravel snapped his palms against the air, but Vile was already moving. In a blur of shadow, he batted down Ravel’s arms and took his legs from under him. Before Ravel could recover, the shadows grabbed him and threw him.

  Ravel rolled to his feet, but now Vengeous was behind him. That slack face didn’t change its expression as he wrapped his arm round Ravel’s throat. Ravel was lifted off the ground. The choke came on instantly. A few seconds later, he collapsed.

  Valkyrie stood motionless. Her shock stick was still on her back. Vile was watching her, waiting for her to make a move. For all he knew, she was Darquesse, here to tear the city down. One slight twitch on her part would probably lead to him lashing out, killing her in an instant.

  She left the stick where it was.

  And then, from the street to the west, a siren.

  Vile and Vengeous looked round. With that particular slow confidence that characterises the most powerful player on any field, Darquesse came walking.

  Vile looked at Valkyrie, quickly deciding she was not the threat he thought she was. He rejoined Mevolent and Vengeous, and the siren cut off.

  Darquesse gave them all a smile, and pointed at Ravel, who was doing his best to get to his feet. “I just want him,” she said loudly. “I learned how to shunt and came all this way simply to make sure he didn’t run off. Hand him over. You can do what you want with the others.”

  Vile and Vengeous remained silent. Only Mevolent spoke. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Darquesse laughed. “I bet you’ve thought about nothing else. But I’m not here for a rematch. You don’t interest me. None of you do. Only him. Only Ravel.”

  Mevolent turned to observe Ravel for a moment. “He doesn’t appear to be that special.”

  “Oh, but he has sentimental value,” said Darquesse. “I won’t bore you with the details. I don’t have much sentiment left, to be honest. But he has earned a special place in my heart. Give him to me, and I’ll let you live.”

  As if by a silent command, Redhoods melted from doorways and alleys, surrounding Darquesse. She shook her head as she rose into the air. “You do not want to test me, Mevolent. I have punishments to deliver.”

  Valkyrie became aware of Skulduggery standing at her elbow. They watched as Alexander Remit teleported in, passed Mevolent a brown metal gun, and vanished again.

  It was the size of a shotgun, but thicker, like a rocket launcher. Glowing sigils ran around its circumference. Mevolent’s right hand curled round the grip; the mouth of the barrel was open and jagged, like the thing had teeth.

  Darquesse surrounded herself with a bubble of energy as she hovered there. “You’re not going to hurt me with toys,” she said.

  A single beam of green light burst from the gun, sliced straight through the energy shield and hit Darquesse square in the chest.

  The bubble vanished and Darquesse dropped. She landed on her feet, staggered a little, then straightened up and laughed. “That’s it? That barel
y tingled.”

  Then a Cleaver hit her from behind and she went stumbling to the ground.

  Valkyrie’s eyes widened.

  A kick came in that snapped Darquesse’s head back. She sprawled, got up, the confusion vanishing from her face as anger swarmed in. She grabbed the nearest Redhood and tore him apart. A scythe came for her and she caught its blade in her hand and snapped it, then took out its wielder with an eye blast.

  Mevolent fired again, the beam hitting Darquesse in the side just as she waved her hand.

  A scythe flashed and took her fingers.

  Darquesse screamed, clutching her hand, too shocked by the sight of her spurting blood to do anything about it. The Redhood whirled, taking her legs out from under her. She hit the ground and tried to scramble away. Her jacket bunched up, exposing her back, and the Redhood impaled his blade in her flesh.

  Her scream was cut off. Her mouth was open but no sound came out. Pain danced in her wide eyes.

  And then, as if the pain had only been an act, her eyes narrowed and the terror washed away. Black flames consumed the Redhood and burned him from existence. She stood, pulled out the scythe and dropped it with one hand even as her fingers grew back on the other.

  The other Redhoods closed in. She swept her arms wide and they exploded into nothing. Then she fixed her glare on Mevolent.

  She dived into the air and flew at him, but he caught her again with that dazzling green light and she fell into the street.

  Lord Vile shadow-walked to her side. She sprang up, waved her hand, but nothing happened. Tendrils of darkness lashed at her face, drawing blood and cries of pain. She ran, slipping and sliding away from the shadows. She didn’t even see Baron Vengeous waiting for her. He ran her through with his cutlass, finding the space between her jacket and waistband, and Darquesse gasped, gagged, fell sideways, sliding off the blade.

  Her strength returned and she swung wildly, but Vengeous was already calmly stepping away.

  She got up, healing her injuries. But instead of attacking, she stayed where she was, looking from Vengeous to Vile to Mevolent. Her face was tight with anger, but tempered with something else – the realisation that she was not going to win this.

  She started to flicker, slowly at first and then faster. The gun in Mevolent’s hands was getting ready to fire again, but before he could aim she straightened up, looked over at Valkyrie and gave her a shrug, and then she shunted.

  Mevolent lowered the weapon.

  Hands seized Valkyrie from behind. Skulduggery tried to fight, but there were too many Redhoods. She glimpsed Ravel being thrown to the ground and shackled, and then someone hit her and the world spun. Her knees gave out, but she wasn’t allowed to fall.

  Baron Vengeous came into view. From this close, he looked like a corpse. “Take the skeleton and the Elemental to the Racks,” he told someone. “I want them screaming before the hour is up.”

  “And the girl?”

  Vengeous barely glanced at her. “Take her to Professor Nye. Tell it, it can do whatever it likes to her.”

  53

  THE END IS NYE

  trapped to another damn table.

  This one was elevated so that Valkyrie was almost vertical. She couldn’t see the mechanism that raised it to this position. She couldn’t tell if it was magical or mechanical. It was silent, though, and smooth, the result of thought and effort and ingenuity. This was the work of someone who liked to get straight down to business.

  Professor Nye stooped low to get through the door of its laboratory, and once it was through it unfurled to its full gangly height. The surgical scrubs it wore were a deep red, and the leather apron was old and black. Like its counterpart in Valkyrie’s dimension, it wore a surgical mask and cap, so that only its small yellow eyes were visible.

  “Professor,” its assistant said, hurrying to its side, “we have a new patient. Female, approximately eighteen years old. In good health.” The assistant’s name was Civet. He had assisted Kenspeckle Grouse back in the reality Valkyrie knew, before the Grotesquery had killed him one lazy afternoon. He’d been a goofy guy. Here, he assisted a murderous sadist.

  “I can see all that,” said Nye in that curious, high-pitched voice, pulling the clipboard from Civet’s hand. “The only thing I can’t see is why she’s here.”

  “Baron Vengeous sent her to us,” Civet said. “She was with the living skeleton and another man. The Baron wants to know more about her.”

  Nye leaned in, its long fingers tracing lightly down Valkyrie’s arm. “This jacket is armoured,” it said, almost in wonderment. “I haven’t seen quality like this in … I don’t think I’ve ever seen quality like this.” It moved to the cabinets, taking out trays of instruments. “Remove her clothes,” it said. “I want every centimetre of this material examined.”

  Civet nodded, stepped forward, and Valkyrie glared. “Touch me and die.”

  Despite the manacles and the straps holding her down, Civet faltered.

  Nye looked round, saw the distance between its lackey and Valkyrie, and pulled down its surgical mask in annoyance. Its skin was as pallid as the Nye that Valkyrie had known, but this one had not had its mouth sewn shut or its nose cut off, and so its ugliness was marginally less horrifying. “She intimidates you? She’s powerless, you cretin. She’s tied down. What exactly is she threatening you with?”

  “She, ah, appears easily agitated.”

  “And yet harsh words are the only things she can throw at you. Are you afraid of harsh words? No? Then remove her clothes before I remove your skin.”

  Nye turned back to its trays of sharp-bladed tools, and Civet took one more hesitant step closer to Valkyrie. He reached out to unzip her jacket and she bared her teeth. He thought better of putting his hands anywhere near her mouth, and dropped them to waist-level, where he hesitated again. He glanced up, saw her glare, and looked away quickly. After another moment’s hesitation, he knelt, one hand on her ankle.

  “If I take the manacle from around your foot so I can get at your boot,” he said, “are you going to kick me?”

  “Without a doubt,” said Valkyrie.

  “That’s what I thought,” Civet said miserably.

  Nye came back, shoving Civet out of its way. “Leave me, you buffoon. You can strip the clothes from her corpse, as that’s all you’re good for.”

  “Yes, Professor,” Civet said, bowing as he took his leave. “Sorry, Professor.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” Valkyrie asked.

  “Poke you,” said Nye. “Prod you. Do unpleasant things.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can,” it said, reading the information on the clipboard, “and it amuses me, and you’re a curious creature. You are clearly mortal, with no aptitude for magic, and yet …”

  “And yet what?”

  Nye examined a nearby monitor. “And yet there is something …”

  The last time Valkyrie had been strapped to a table like this, she’d had an autopsy performed on her while she was still conscious. She doubted this Nye would be any gentler. She couldn’t escape. She had no magic and her shock stick was on a table across the room. The only thing she could do was delay the inevitable, offer up distractions.

  “I’ll save you some time,” Valkyrie said. “I found out my true name. My true name then took on a life of its own, and was recently separated from me.”

  Nye swivelled its head towards her. “You offer this information freely?”

  “I want to know what I am even more than you do. You said there was something. What is it? Is it magic?”

  Nye blinked a few times. “I … I do not know, I … ah …”

  Valkyrie sighed. “I get it, OK? You’re not used to the people you experiment on asking questions, but I need this to happen, so buck up, bucko. I don’t have a true name any more. My magic has left me. Can I get it back?”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone being separated from their true name before,” Nye said. “It will take some time for
me to come up with a hypothesis, and there – there are so many tests to run and I … I don’t, I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Do what?”

  It didn’t answer.

  “Do the tests?”

  “I can’t work with you when you’re like this!” it blurted. “To every one of my specimens, I am the last thing they see! Terror is what I am used to – terror is what I like! I prefer my subjects to scream and beg, not ask to see results!”

  “I’ll scream my questions, if that helps.”

  “It won’t,” it said sadly. “I’ll know you’re only trying to make me feel better.”

  “Well then, it looks like you’re in for an uncomfortable few hours, Professor. Unless of course you’d like to tell Mevolent you were unsuccessful.”

  Nye’s small eyes narrowed.

  “Run your tests,” said Valkyrie. “When you’re done and you have an answer for me, I’ll behave.”

  Elsewhere in Dublin-Within-The-Wall, Skulduggery Pleasant and Erskine Ravel were being tortured. She knew this. She didn’t give a damn about Ravel’s discomfort, but she was worried about Skulduggery. She just didn’t think it was fair. He’d been tortured so much in the course of his lifetime, after all. That’s how he’d died. Nefarian Serpine had tortured him for three days, using that red right hand of his, employing all manner of barbaric techniques and cruel instruments. Skulduggery had died screaming, looking into the face of the man who had killed his wife and child. And now he was back on the torture table while Mevolent or Vengeous or even Vile took turns.

  “Curious,” Nye muttered.

  Valkyrie looked up. “What is?”

  “You said you’d pretend to be unconscious.”

  “Well, now I’m pretending to wake up. What’s curious? What?”

  Nye sighed. “It’s merely a theory, based upon the most rudimentary of tests already run, and I do not know how to explain it, exactly.”

  “Please,” said Valkyrie, “use small words.”