by Derek Landy
Stephanie moved backward, and the Cleaver attempted to stop her.
“I’ll hold him off,” Tanith said, not taking her eyes off her adversary. “You stop Serpine.”
Tanith drew her sword, and she heard Skulduggery and Stephanie hurry away. The White Cleaver reached over his shoulder and pulled out his scythe.
Tanith stepped toward him.
“I ordered you to distract the Hollow Men, didn’t I?” she said. “You were one of the Cleavers assigned to us.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even move.
“For what’s it worth,” Tanith said, “I’m sorry about what happened to you. But it was necessary. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what is going to happen to you. But that’s necessary too.” He started twirling his scythe, and she raised an eyebrow. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”
He lunged, and she blocked and sprang at him, her sword slicing through the air. He ducked back and blocked, spinning as the scythe whistled over Tanith’s head. Her sword clashed with his blade and then the handle of the scythe, and his blade clashed with her sword and then the lacquered scabbard she still held in her left hand.
She ducked under his guard, staying in close, where she had the advantage, where he couldn’t maneuver the scythe.
His blocks were lightning fast but he was on the defensive, and one of her strikes would get through eventually. Her sword sliced through his side and he stumbled back, out of range. Tanith looked at the blood on his white coat and gave him a smile. Then the blood started to darken, and a black stain moved over the red.
Her smile dropped, and the bleeding stopped altogether.
She backed away. There was a door behind her, and she waved it open as the Cleaver advanced.
The room she backed into was filled with cages, and in these cages, men and women stood and sat. She realized instantly where she was: the Sanctuary’s jail. The people in these cages were the worst of the worst, criminals of such a sickening and grotesque order that they had to be held here, in the Sanctuary itself. The cages bound their powers while at the same time sustaining their bodies, keeping them healthy and nourished. It meant neither the Elders nor the Cleavers had to bring them food and water—these criminals had only themselves for company. And when the person in the cage next to each of them was as maniacal and as egotistical as they were, that was hell itself.
The Cleaver pursued her steadily down the steps, sparks flying as their blades clashed.
The prisoners watched, and for the first few moments, they were confused. The Cleavers were their jailers, yet this Cleaver wore white, and they recognized something within him, something that identified him as one of them. They started to shout and cheer as Tanith was forced back, enemies all around her.
She blocked a strike and her bruised wrist gave way. The Cleaver took full advantage, his blade passing along her belly, drawing blood. She grimaced in pain and retreated under the Cleaver’s impossibly fast onslaught, barely managing to keep up her defense.
The prisoners laughed and jeered, reaching through the cage bars at her, pulling at her hair, trying to scratch her. One of them snagged her coat and she spun out of it, throwing her sword and scabbard into the air as she freed her arms from the sleeves and catching them again before the Cleaver could close the gap.
He swung, and she blocked with the scabbard and flicked up with the sword, but he was twisting the scythe, deflecting the strike and returning with one of his own.
She dodged back, lost her footing, and went into a backward roll as he brought the scythe down, the point of the blade striking the ground where she had just been.
The prisoners howled with laughter as she turned and ran to the wall, the Cleaver right behind her. She jumped to the wall and kept going till she was upside down, and she crossed the ceiling, trading strikes with the Cleaver below her. He was forced to walk backward, to defend and attack over his own head.
The Cleaver slashed and missed, and she saw her chance and took it. She struck his left hand with her scabbard and his fingers opened. She dropped and flipped, landing before he could recover, and snatched the scythe from his grasp. She kicked out and he stumbled back, and she drove her sword into him.
The prisoners stopped jeering. The Cleaver took a step back.
She swung the scythe, burying the blade in his chest. He fell to his knees, black blood dripping onto the floor.
She looked down at him, felt his eyes through his visor, looking back at her. Then his weight fell onto his haunches, his shoulders sagged, and his head lolled forward.
The prisoners were muttering now, cheated out of seeing her die. Tanith gripped her sword and pulled it from the Cleaver’s body, snatched up the scabbard, and ran for the steps.
She heard a crash from elsewhere in the Sanctuary—the Repository—and urgency lent her speed. Just as she neared the top step, however, one of the prisoners laughed.
She turned and, to her horror, saw the White Cleaver standing, pulling the scythe from his chest. He can’t be stopped, she said to herself. Just like Serpine, he can’t be stopped. She ran the last few steps to the door. Just as she reached it, the breath went out of her.
She stopped, frowning, willing her body to move, but it wouldn’t listen. She looked down—at the tip of the scythe that protruded through her chest.
She turned, cursing herself, saw the Cleaver walking up the steps toward her. That was some throw. She almost laughed. Her right arm was numb, and her sword fell from her grip. He stepped up beside her and took hold of the scythe. He circled, moving her around, looking at her like he was observing her pain, remembering what it was like.
A twist of his hands and she was forced to her knees. She gasped when he removed the weapon, saw her own blood, deep red, mix with the black blood already on the blade. Her body was shutting down. She wasn’t going to be able to defend herself.
He raised the scythe. Tanith looked up, ready to die, then realized that when he had circled her, he had passed through the doorway and was now standing in the corridor.
She lunged, slamming the door in his visored face. She pressed her hand against it and whispered, “Withstand.” The sheen spread over the door just as the Cleaver began to pound on it from the other side.
She had failed. She had slowed him down, but she hadn’t stopped him, and now Serpine had his attack dog back.
Tanith tried standing, but her body couldn’t take any more. She slumped to the ground. The prisoners watched from their cages with delighted eyes, and as her blood seeped through her tunic, they started whispering.
Twenty-nine
DEEP IN DUBLIN, DEATH
THE WHITE CLEAVER stood there, silent as a ghost, deadly as a plague.
“Valkyrie,” Tanith said, “get behind me.”
Stephanie backed up until she was beside Skulduggery.
“I’ll hold him off,” Tanith said. “You stop Serpine.” She drew her sword. The Cleaver drew his scythe.
Stephanie felt Skulduggery touch her arm, and they moved off.
“You’re going to have to go after the Scepter,” Skulduggery whispered as they jogged through the corridor. “You can get close to it; I can’t. It’s not much of a plan, but sometimes simplicity is the way to go.”
The Repository was just ahead. They slowed, and Skulduggery gripped both her arms and turned to her. “But you listen to me. If it goes wrong, if we lose the element of surprise, I want you to get out of here. No matter what happens to me, I want you to run, do you understand?”
Stephanie swallowed. “Yes.”
He hesitated. “Serpine used my wife and child as a weapon against me. In order to do so, he had to kill them. He took my family’s death and he made it about me. Valkyrie, when you die, it will be your death, and yours alone. Let it come to you on your own terms.”
She nodded.
“Valkyrie Cain,” he said, “it has been an absolute pleasure knowing you.”
She looked back at him. “You too.”
&
nbsp; If he’d had lips, she knew, he’d be smiling.
They sneaked up to the doors. They were already open, and Stephanie could see Serpine, the Scepter in his hand and his back to them, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the Book of Names. Sagacious Tome was watching, but he too had his back to the doors.
“I can’t see Mr. Bliss,” Stephanie whispered, and Skulduggery shook his head—neither could he.
Stephanie hesitated, then passed into the Repository and crept to her left. She reached a heavy table laden with artifacts and peered around. Serpine had stopped walking, and for a moment she thought he knew she was there; but as she watched, he turned and walked back, shaking his head.
“It’s still too strong,” he said.
“It’s as weak as it’s going to get,” Sagacious Tome said. “I thought with Meritorious and Morwenna dead, the barrier wouldn’t pose a problem. But I can’t withdraw my contribution to the spell, not without the others joining me in the ceremony.”
Serpine rejoined Tome, arching an eyebrow. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t have killed them.”
“I didn’t kill them!” Tome said defensively. “You did!”
Stephanie stayed low as she crept from behind the table. Serpine laughed. “I may have been the one to turn them to dust, but you set them up, Sagacious; you drew them in. You betrayed them.”
Tome spun on Serpine, jabbing at the space between them with his finger. “No, I didn’t! It was their weakness that led to their downfall, their own shortcomings. They had all this power, and they were satisfied to just—to just sit there and let it all go to waste.”
“Until recently, I had never thought of you as ambitious. …”
“No one did. ‘Sagacious Tome,’ they said, ‘he’s a nonentity. He’s not the strongest, he’s not the wisest … he’s nothing.’ That’s what they said. I know it. For years, people have been underestimating me. It’s time people recognized my power.”
Stephanie got to her hands and knees and started crawling. She was in shadow and they weren’t looking her way, but if either turned, there was a chance he would see her. Stephanie wasn’t in the mood to take any chances.
“I’m going to make them pay,” Tome was saying. “Everyone who ever questioned me. The streets will run red with their blood.”
“How dramatic,” Serpine said, and raised his hand. Stephanie saw the Book lift off its pedestal and hover there for a moment; then he grunted impatiently and let it drop again.
“I told you, that’s not going to work!” Tome said. “It’s how close you are to getting it. It doesn’t have to be physically close; it isn’t a physical barrier. It’s a mental barrier!”
Stephanie held her breath. She was behind the pillar next to them. Serpine’s voice was so close, he could have been speaking right into her ear. “So with you, the final Elder, remaining, the barrier isn’t sufficiently weakened to let me through, is that right?”
“Yes, but that’s not my fault! I did what I could!”
“Yes you did, yes you did. And now there’s one more thing you can do to help solve this little problem.”
“What are you talking about?” Tome asked, and then his tone changed suddenly, became afraid. “What are you doing? Point that thing somewhere else, Serpine. I’m warning you, point that—”
There was a black flash, and silence.
After a moment, she heard Serpine’s footsteps move off again, and Stephanie took a peek. He was walking slowly, concentrating on the Book, his back to her.
This was the only chance she was going to get.
She crept out from behind the pillar, ignoring the fresh pile of dust at her feet. There was no way she could close the distance without giving herself away. He’d hear her, sense her, whatever. But he was holding the Scepter in his hand so loosely. …
Stephanie narrowed her eyes and stepped forward.
He had heard her and was turning, but she didn’t care. The Scepter was coming up, the black crystal starting to glow. She flexed her fingers and splayed her hand, snapping her palm and pushing at the air, and the space around her hand rippled and the Scepter flew from Serpine’s grasp—flew away from them both and hit the far wall.
Serpine hissed in anger and turned. They heard the Scepter start to sing as Skulduggery sprinted. He dived into the air, and the space around him shimmered and he shot forward. He crashed into Serpine, taking him off his feet.
They hit the pedestal and it toppled, the Book falling as they sprawled onto the ground. Skulduggery was the first to stand, and he hauled Serpine up, shoved him against a pillar, and fired off a punch that jerked his head back.
Serpine lunged, but Skulduggery snagged his wrist and stepped in and then under the arm. He turned and wrenched, and Serpine yelled in pain as a loud crack echoed through the chamber.
Serpine tried gathering purple vapor in his hand, but Skulduggery batted the hand away and chopped into the side of his neck. Serpine gagged and dropped back, and Skulduggery kicked his legs out from under him.
“You never could fight worth a damn,” Skulduggery said, standing over him. “But then, you didn’t need to, did you? Not when you had lackeys to do the fighting for you. Where are your lackeys now, Nefarian?”
“I don’t need them,” Serpine muttered. “I don’t need anyone. I’ll crush you myself. Grind your bones to dust.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Unless you’ve got an army tucked away in that fancy coat of yours, I sincerely doubt it.”
Serpine scrambled up and rushed at him, but Skulduggery drove in a kick and brought his closed fist down onto his shoulder, and Serpine fell to his knees.
Stephanie had to get to the Scepter before Serpine recovered. She was pushing herself off the ground when she realized that the Book of Names was lying open right beside her. She glanced at the pages, and the columns of names started to rearrange themselves before her eyes. She saw her own name written there, but she looked up when she heard Skulduggery grunt.
Serpine was on his knees, but his lips were moving, and the wall behind Skulduggery came alive with hands that reached out and grabbed him. Skulduggery was pulled back, and Serpine stood. There was a series of dull cracks and pops as Serpine’s broken bones mended and realigned.
“Where are your oh-so-clever taunts now, Detective?”
Skulduggery struggled against the grip of a dozen hands. “You’ve got big ears,” he managed to say, before he was pulled even farther back, into the wall, and then he was gone.
Serpine looked over, saw Stephanie, saw how close she was to the Scepter.
He snapped out his hand and a thin purple tendril whipped toward the Scepter. He pulled his arm back and the Scepter flew off the ground, but Stephanie lunged and managed to grab it.
She was jerked off her feet, but her grip was strong and the tendril broke, becoming vapor, and she hit the floor. She heard a crash and looked around as a table hurtled straight at her. She tried to dive out of the way, but she wasn’t quick enough.
It hit her and she screamed, dropped the Scepter, and clutched at her broken leg. She shut her eyes against the tears of pain, and when she opened them again, Bliss was walking into the room.
“Where have you been?” Serpine snapped.
“I was delayed,” Bliss answered. “But you seem to have done fine without me.”
Serpine narrowed his eyes. “Indeed. Still, there’s one more adversary to deal with.”
Bliss looked at Stephanie. “You’re going to kill her?”
“Me? No. You are.”
“I’m sorry?”
“If you want to reap the rewards of this night, you have to get your hands a little bloody.”
“You want me to kill an unarmed child?” Bliss asked doubtfully.
“Look on it as a test of your commitment to our lords and masters. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
Bliss looked at him coolly. “Do you have a weapon for me, or do you just want me to beat her to death with a large stick?”
Stephanie felt her throat go dry.
Bliss looked at her but didn’t say anything. He just sighed and hurled the dagger, and Stephanie made a face and turned her head …
… and heard Serpine laugh.
She looked back. The dagger hadn’t touched her. It hadn’t even come close. It was in Serpine’s hand. He had caught it before it had sliced into his glittering left eye.
“I thought as much,” Serpine said.
Bliss flung himself at Serpine, but Serpine ripped his glove off and raised his red right hand, and Bliss collapsed. Serpine listened to him scream for a few moments before dropping his hand, and Bliss gasped.
“No doubt you want to kill me,” Serpine said as he approached him. “No doubt you want to rip me limb from limb, and with your legendary strength, I know you could do it and not even exert yourself. But answer me this, Mr. Bliss—what good is legendary strength when you can’t get close enough to use it?”
Bliss tried to stand, but his knees gave out and he hit the ground again.
“I’m curious,” Serpine continued. “Why the pretense? Why go to all this trouble, why put yourself in this position? Why didn’t you just stick with the detective?”
Bliss managed to shake his head. “We mightn’t have been able to stop you,” he said. “I know you, Serpine … you always have plans to fall back on. You were too … dangerous … too unpredictable. I needed you to get the Scepter.”
Serpine smiled. “And why was that?”
Bliss echoed that smile with one of his own, albeit a drained and sickly version. “Because once you had the Scepter, I could predict your actions.”
“So you predicted my invulnerability?” Serpine laughed. “Oh, well done.”
“No one’s invulnerable,” Bliss whispered.
“Yes, well,” Serpine said with a shrug. “You’re certainly not.”
Stephanie watched in horror as Serpine again pointed his right hand and Mr. Bliss contorted in agony. His screams reached new heights, and just when it seemed he could take no more, Serpine picked him up and, with his hands pressed against him, gathered the purple vapor in his fists. Bliss was blasted backward through the air, into a group of shelves at the far side of the room. He didn’t get up.
