The Maleficent Seven: From the World of Skulduggery Pleasant

by Derek Landy

  He looked at the leather coat in his hands. He wasn’t worried about Tanith. She’d get away. He knew she would. She’d probably led those Cleavers a merry dance, then disappeared, leaving them floundering, with only her mocking laugh to assure them she’d been there at all. He’d meet up with her soon enough and he’d give her back her coat, and they’d kiss, and he’d stroke her hair, and she’d tell him about all the Cleavers she’d killed. She was everything he’d always wanted in a woman. Beautiful, smart, tough, twisted.

  Sure, she was utterly devoted to this Darquesse person, this woman that all the psychics had dreamed about, the one that was going to end the world. Tanith had glimpsed the future, and the Remnant part of her was looking forward to all the devastation and destruction that was on the horizon. Was it healthy, loving someone who wanted to help end the world? He freely admitted that it probably wasn’t. And he knew that there was something she wasn’t telling him. Some little nugget of information she’d been holding back about who this Darquesse was or where she’d be coming from. He let that go. He didn’t mind that. People have secrets, after all. He had secrets. But apart from all that, they were a match made in heaven. Soulmates. Partners in crime.

  And when this little caper of hers was over, he was going to ask her to be his wife.

  he steps leading down were stone, old and cold and cracked. The walls were tight on either side, and curved with the steps as they sank into darkness. The girl’s parents didn’t say much. Her father led the way, her mother came behind and the girl was in the middle. The air was sharp and chill and not a word was spoken. Her mother hadn’t been able to look at her since they’d arrived at the docks. The girl didn’t know what she’d done wrong.

  When the steps had done enough sinking, they came to a floor, and it was as good a floor as any, she supposed. It was flat and solid and wide, even if it was just as cold and old as the steps had been, and the walls, and the low ceilings that kept the whole place from caving in around them. The girl didn’t like being underground. Already she missed the sun.

  Her father led them through a passage, turned right and walked on, then bore left and kept going. They walked on and on and turned one way or the other, and the girl quickly lost track of where they’d been. It was all sputtering torches in brackets, feeble flames in the gloom.

  “Remain here,” her father said once they’d come to an empty chamber. She did as she was told, as was her way, and watched her parents leave through another passage. Her father held himself upright and seemed suddenly so frail. Her mother didn’t look back.

  The girl stood in the darkness, and waited.

  And then she waited some more.

  Eventually, a man wandered in, dressed in threadbare robes and broken sandals.

  “Hello,” he said. Even with that one word, he didn’t sound English. The girl had never met a foreign person before.

  “Hello,” she answered, and then added, “pleased to meet you,” because that was what you said to strangers upon first making their acquaintance.

  He stood there and looked at her, and the girl waited for him to say something else. It wouldn’t have been right for her to speak. She was a child, and children had to wait for their elders to initiate a conversation. Her father had been very strict about that, and it was a lesson she’d learned well.

  “Do you have questions?” the man asked in that strange accent that clipped every word.

  “Yes. Thank you. Where am I, if I may ask?”

  “You do not know?”

  “I’m here with my parents. They—”

  “Your parents are gone,” said the man. “They went away and left you here. This is where you live now.”

  The girl shook her head. “They wouldn’t leave me,” she said.

  “I assure you, they have.”

  “My apologies, but you’re wrong. My parents would not leave me.”

  “They got back on the boat an hour ago. This is your home now.”

  He was lying. Why was he lying? The girl had inherited her manners from her father. From her mother, she had inherited other attributes. “Tell me where they are or they’ll be very cross,” she said, using a voice that brooked no argument. “My brother will come looking for me, too. My brother is big and strong and he’ll pull off your arms if he thinks it would make me smile.”

  The man sat on a step. He had an ordinary face. Not handsome, but not ugly. Just a face, like a million others. His dark hair drew back from his temples and was flecked with grey. His nose was long, his eyes gentle and the corners of his mouth turned upwards. “Did they give you a name?” he asked. “They didn’t? Nor a nickname? Well, that might get annoying in the next few years, but you’ll pick a name for yourself sooner or later and then we’ll have something to call you.”

  “I’m not staying here for the next few years,” said the girl, firmly acknowledging that the time for manners was at an end. “I’m not staying here at all.”

  The man continued like he hadn’t heard her. “My name is Quoneel. It’s an old name from a dead language, but I took it for my own because of what it means, and what it meant, and it is my name now and it protects me. Do you know how names work?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I’m eight, not stupid.”

  “And you have magic I take it?”

  “Lots,” said the girl. “So tell me where my parents are or I’ll burn you where you sit.” She clicked her fingers and flames danced in her hand.

  Quoneel gave her a smile. “You are indeed a fierce one, child. Your mother was right.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Gone, as I have said. I have not lied to you. They have left you here, as they once left your brother.”

  The girl let the flames go out. “You know my brother?”

  “I trained him. We all did. As we will train you. You will live here and train here and grow here, and when your Surge comes, you will leave as one of us.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Quoneel.”

  “But what do you mean? Who will I be when I leave?”

  “Who you will be, I do not know. But what you will be... If you survive, if you are as fierce as you seem, then you will be a hidden blade. Invisible. Untouchable. Unstoppable. You will be as quick and as strong as your brother, and as skilled and as deadly. Do you want that, little girl?”

  It was as if he could see into her dreams, into her most private thoughts. She found herself nodding.

  “Good,” said Quoneel, and stood up. “Your training starts today.”

  They called her Highborn, the other children. They used it as a weapon to wound her. One of them, a girl with dull brown hair, but a sharp cruel tongue, was too vindictive to cross, so the others flocked to her side. The cruel girl was the first one of them to take a name, and she chose Avaunt.

  Quoneel took the girl for a private lesson one day. “Do you know why they call you Highborn?” he asked.

  “Because they don’t like me,” the girl said. The practice sword was heavy in her hands.

  “And why don’t they like you?”

  “Because Avaunt doesn’t like me.”

  “And why doesn’t Avaunt like you?”

  The girl shrugged, and attacked, and Quoneel stepped out of the way and struck her across the back of the knees.

  “Avaunt doesn’t like you because of the way you speak and the way you look and the way you walk.”

  The girl scowled and rubbed her legs. “That seems to be a lot of things.”

  “It does, doesn’t it. You are well-spoken, and that points to breeding and education and privilege. You are pretty, and that means men and women will notice you. You walk with confidence, and that means people will know to take you seriously. All of these are admirable qualities in a lady. But we do not train you to be a lady here. Attack.”

  The girl came forward again, careful not to fall into the same trap as last time. Instead, she fell into an altogether different trap, but one which was just as painful.
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br />   “We are the hidden blades, the knives in the shadows,” said Quoneel. “We pass unnoticed amongst mortals and sorcerers alike. The privileged, the educated and the beautiful cannot do what we do. You must lose your bearing. You must lose your confidence. You must lose your poise.”

  His sword came at her head and she blocked, twisted, swung at him, but of course he was not standing where he had been a moment ago. He kicked her in the backside and she stumbled to the centre of the room.

  “They call you Highborn because that is what will get you noticed,” Quoneel told her. “You must learn to mumble your words, to shuffle your feet, to stoop your shoulders. Your eyes should be cast down in shame at all times. You are to be instantly forgettable. You are nothing to the mortals and the sorcerers. You are beneath them, unworthy of their attention.”

  “Yes, Master Quoneel.”

  “What are you waiting for? Attack.”

  And so she did.

  he key to any successful heist was the team assembled to do the job. That was the first law of thievery. The second law, of course, was that thieves, by their very nature, were an untrustworthy lot – and if team members couldn’t trust each other, then what was the point of being a team?

  Tanith felt she had the answer. Sanguine wasn’t so sure.

  “This has been tried,” he said. He was sitting at the small table in the small kitchen. “Me and my daddy tried it, got together a group of like-minded individuals and did our level best to kill everyone, yourself included. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be alive and kicking despite our best efforts.”

  Tanith stood by the window, mug of coffee in her hand. The safe house was drab and barely furnished, but at least they weren’t going to be surprised by an army of Cleavers any time soon. “Your little Revengers’ Club had a very basic flaw, though,” she told him. “You all wanted the same thing.”

  “How was that a flaw? It brought everyone together, united for a common goal.”

  “And how long did they stay together? By the end of it, everyone was betraying everyone else, because you all wanted to be the one to kill Valkyrie or Skulduggery or Thurid Guild... Your little club unravelled, Billy-Ray. Having a common goal is not always a good thing.”

  “And you have the answer, I take it?”

  She turned to him, smiling. He had his sunglasses off, and she looked into the dark holes where his eyes should have been. “Of course I do. The trick is to have everyone wanting something different – so that they’re all taking part for their own unique reasons.”

  “Which means that we need to have something that each one of them wants.”

  “And what do you think I’ve been doing these past few weeks? I’ve been collecting our incentives. Really, Billy-Ray, you’re just going to have to accept that I do know exactly what I’m doing.”

  He laughed. “Oh I believe you, darlin’. You’ve been proving yourself to be quite the cunning little minx lately.” He shrugged. “I’m behind you all the way, and you know it. So Springheeled Jack is the first team member to be recruited, is he?”

  “No, actually. We’re going to talk to an old friend of his first. Old friend of yours, too.”

  Sanguine’s grin soured. “Aw, hell. Not him. You know he creeps me out.”

  “Dusk is a harmless little puppy once you get to know him.”

  “Dusk is a vampire. There ain’t nothing harmless, little or puppyish about him.”

  Now it was Tanith’s turn to shrug. “Then he’ll be our rabid, bloodthirsty attack dog instead. Either way, he’s getting a cuddle. Does someone else want a cuddle? Someone who is in this room with me right now?”

  “I hope you don’t think you can sway me from every argument with the promise of a cuddle.”

  Tanith put on a sad face, and turned back to the window. “Shame,” she said.

  A moment later she felt Sanguine’s arms wrap round her. “Just this once,” he said, and she laughed.

  The vampires stood looking at the bones of the dinosaur and Dusk wondered what it would have been like to kill such a magnificent beast. Certainly it would have been more of a challenge than that posed by the mortals. He watched them hurry from exhibit to exhibit, either chasing after their squealing young or dragging them along behind, every sound they made amplified by the museum’s cavernous halls.

  “The boy?” asked Isara.

  “Dead,” said Dusk. “A year ago.”

  Isara nodded. Apart from that, she didn’t move. No words slipped by her lips. No emotions slipped on to her face. Even her eyes were calm. But Dusk knew that inside her, twisting within her, were feelings alien to him. Love and loss and sorrow. The only feeling he could recognise was anger. And she had that, too.

  “Did you kill him?” she asked.

  “Of course not.”

  The ghost of a smile. “Of course not,” she echoed. “You would not break the code, not even to punish one who had. How, then, did he die?”

  “He had developed another unhealthy attachment to a girl,” said Dusk, “but this one proved too much for him. She drowned him in salt water.”

  “Her name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not. The boy is dead, that’s all I really care about. In its way, justice has been served. You must feel some satisfaction also.”

  He looked at her. “Must I?”

  “Hrishi was your only friend in the world,” said Isara, “and when you involved him in business that was not his own, the boy broke the code and took his head. Surely you feel some sense of responsibility for what happened?”

  “No,” said Dusk. “Hrishi knew the boy was young and impetuous and violent, and he still let his guard down. Hrishi paid for his foolishness.”

  “Be careful how you speak about him,” Isara said, and looked at Dusk with fire and ice in her eyes. “It’s your fault he died. You should have killed the boy when you found him.”

  “The code—”

  “No one would have known. The boy was a danger to us all. He stalked and he tortured and he murdered every woman he became enamoured with. You should have killed him the instant you realised what he was. Hrishi’s blood is on your hands.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Do you even care?”

  Dusk didn’t see the point of stirring Isara’s anger any further, so he stayed quiet. After a moment she turned, walked away, left him alone.

  He looked at the dinosaur bones for a while longer, and then he too left the museum. The sun was warm on his skin as he walked. He got back to the house and found Tanith Low sitting on the cage in the living room, Billy-Ray Sanguine standing beside her.

  “Nice place,” Tanith said. “I have to admit, I didn’t see you as the suburbanite type. I figured you’d be at home in a nice crypt somewhere, surrounded by candles and tapestries. The cage is a nice touch, though. Homey.”

  He’d heard what had happened, of course. He’d heard that a Remnant had taken up permanent residence inside Tanith’s mind and body. But that still didn’t mean he liked her.

  “We’re here to make you a proposition,” said Sanguine.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “We’re putting a team together,” said Tanith.

  “It’s been tried. It didn’t work.”

  “We need your help.”

  “You can kill people without me.”

  “This isn’t about killing anyone,” Tanith said. “Quite the opposite, in fact. We want to save someone. We want to save Darquesse. A group of Elementals and Adepts has formed, a small team who are working on a way to stop her when she appears. Our aim is to stop them from stopping her.”

  “Why would I want to stop that? When she comes, she’ll destroy the world.”

  “Not all of it,” said Tanith. “Just the civilised part. And we’re going to help her. Won’t that be wonderful? She’ll kill sorcerers and mortals and burn cities to cinders and sink entire continents into the sea, and you’ll be free to hunt and kill the survivors. Doesn
’t that sound nice?”

  “I don’t care about any of this.”

  “We know you don’t,” Sanguine said, and nodded. “We know you’re looking out for number one. And hey, buddy, I get that. I do. But we need you on our side. It’s gonna be you, us, a few others... and Jack.”

  “Then I cannot be on your team. The last time I saw Springheeled Jack I was abandoning him to the Sanctuary authorities in Ireland.”

  “So you betrayed him,” Tanith said. “So what? A little betrayal never hurt anyone. Listen, I know I can convince Jack to play nice. I have something he wants, after all. Just like I have something you want.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Dusk, I look at you, and I see a soul without purpose. I mean, here you are, living in a very nice house with a time-locked cage where the couch should be. I don’t know how you came to own this place – I’m sure the story is suitably entertaining – but you don’t belong here. You’ve lost your focus.”

  “You think you can provide that focus?” Dusk asked. “I don’t care about Darquesse. I don’t care about anything.”

  “But that’s a little bit of a lie, isn’t it? See, Dusk, you do care about something. You care about one thing. You’ve always cared about this one thing, because you’re a vampire – and this one thing plagues all vampires who were not turned willingly.”

  Dusk frowned.

  “I know who turned you, Dusk.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not. I know your story. Out walking one night, you were attacked; a nearby farmer came to your aid − he frightened off the beast... You recovered at his cottage, under the watchful eye of the farmer and his wife. And on the third night, you tore off your skin and devoured them. By then, of course, the one who had turned you was long gone.”

  “And how do you know who it was?”

  “An Elemental was in the area around the time all of this was happening. He reported back to the Sanctuary like a good little operative, and in his report he mentioned the name of a vampire he had met. I know the name, Dusk. And I’ll tell you – providing you help us.”