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43
He was going to kill her. He was going to torture her. He’d make Valkyrie Cain scream and cry and beg. He’d draw it out. Make it last. He was going to enjoy it, too. Killing her would be his most enjoyable murder since the first, all those years ago.
Cadaverous sipped from his glass of water. Thoughts like that made his mouth dry and his heart beat faster.
The others talked. They sat around the table, located in Coldheart’s only conference room, and chatted – Nero and Memphis and Razzia – but Cadaverous stayed quiet. It wasn’t that he couldn’t chat – he could chat with the best of them. He was the master of small talk. He’d had to be, back when he’d been mortal, having to go to all those insufferable social engagements. Book launches for stale academic tomes. Office parties. After-work drinks. He’d been pretending the whole time, of course, hiding his hatred behind a smile or a witty remark. That’s how he’d blended in. That’s how nobody suspected anything – not until the very end.
But these days he just wasn’t in the mood to talk, to chat. Not since Valkyrie Cain had killed Jeremiah.
Skulduggery Pleasant walked in, went right up to Nero. “May I?”
Nero laughed, and the chatter died down. “May you what?”
“Sit.”
Nero indicated around him. “There are two free chairs.”
Pleasant nodded. “And I want your chair. May I?”
Cadaverous watched. Such an obvious alpha-male ploy. If Nero had any sense, he’d call it out for what it was and refuse to budge.
But after a long moment of hesitation Nero got up, and Pleasant sat, leaned back and put his feet up on the table. Nero chose one of the other chairs, blushing impotently.
“Now then,” Pleasant said, “you probably dislike me intensely – I can understand that – but let’s try to move past it as quickly as possible. Who’s in charge here? Anyone? It doesn’t matter. Allow me to put my name forward as leader of this anti-Sanctuary of yours. It’ll save time and prevent a lot of arguments later on. Really, a lot. All those in agreement say aye.”
“Aye!” shouted Razzia.
“Thank you,” said Pleasant.
“No worries,” Razzia said, grinning. “What were we talking about? I wasn’t listening.”
“That barely matters,” Pleasant said, taking off his hat. “A vote from you, a vote from me, and the rest have abstained out of sheer respect. I thank you all. It has been decided.”
“I’d heard you didn’t quit talking,” said Memphis, in that half-slurred, half-drawl way of his. “I just didn’t believe it.”
“Ah-ah, young man,” Pleasant said, wagging his finger, “I hold the Speaking Hat. You may not speak without holding the Speaking Hat. That’s one of the new rules I’m introducing as leader.”
“You ain’t our leader.”
“Again – Memphis, is it? – who holds the hat? Who does? Me, that’s who. Talking privileges are mine. This way we’ll all get a chance to be heard eventually. It’s called being civilised, which is something else I’m introducing.”
Memphis shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”
Cadaverous had to hand it to the skeleton, he had style. He didn’t even take his feet down. He used the air to boost himself up to a standing position on the table, whipping his gun out as he did so, and took two steps before pointing the gun right between Memphis’s eyes. It all took less time than a hiccup.
There was shouting and roaring and consternation – and much laughter from Razzia – but Memphis remained very still, the colour draining from his face.
Finally, everyone else stopped making idiots of themselves, and things quietened down.
“The only thing ridiculous,” Pleasant said softly, “aside from your garish jacket and uneven pompadour, is the blatant disregard for the rules of debate. When I am finished talking, you may retort. Otherwise it ceases to be about the content of our conversation, and becomes little more than a contest in volume. Would you agree?”
Memphis didn’t say anything. Pleasant let go of his hat, and it floated slowly down to the table. Memphis swallowed, and picked it up. “Yes,” he said.
Pleasant put away his gun. He walked back, jumped down and retook his seat, then indicated to Memphis that he should continue.
Memphis cleared his throat. “Not many folks get to pull a gun on me, man. Most who try end up deader than disco. I’m going to kill you for that, just so you know.”
Pleasant nodded.
Memphis cleared his throat and adjusted his position. “What I was saying was that you ain’t our leader. We don’t even trust you. Smoke can do his thing and compel you to obey and all, but I’m sure someone like you, someone who reckons he’s the smartest guy in the room, could find loopholes in his orders. You want a vote? My vote is we take care of business, and kill you now.”
“I agree,” said Cadaverous.
Pleasant flicked his hand, and his hat leaped from Memphis’s hands and whirled across the table, landing in Cadaverous’s lap. It was a good hat. Expertly made, like the black suit he wore. Cadaverous threw it behind him, aware that it didn’t even touch the ground before Pleasant used the air to catch it.
“There are plenty of ways to kill a dead man,” Cadaverous said. “Give me a day. I’ll figure it out.”
“Crush his bones,” said Memphis.
“Dump him on the moon,” said Nero.
Pleasant shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re all finding so hard to grasp about the principle of the Speaking Hat.”
The door opened and Lethe walked in. He stopped when he saw their new addition. “Ah,” he said. “You’re here. Welcome.”
Pleasant plucked his hat from the air. “Thank you.”
“It’s an honour to have you here,” Lethe went on, sitting at the table. “You are a legend, Skulduggery. The things you’ve done, the feats you’ve accomplished … It humbles me. I may have beaten you in single combat, but please know that I am in awe of you. You have my utmost respect.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
“You know everyone here, I take it? Small talk has been exchanged?”
“To a degree. So do I get to see it?”
“See what, Skulduggery?”
“The little box,” said Pleasant, “with the little heart.”
“You’ll see it when you’ve proven yourself. When we can trust you. You must understand, Skulduggery … we know what you’re feeling right now. You’re confused. You have all these dark thoughts in your head.”
“I’m used to them.”
Lethe laughed. “Maybe you are. Maybe. But not like this. Not … concentrated like this. It can be overwhelming. The urge to destroy just to destroy … it is a powerful urge.”
Pleasant tilted his head. “You think I’ll turn against you.”
“It’s possible,” said Lethe. “These urges can make people do terribly destructive things, not always in our favour. And if that happens we’ll kill you, naturally, but I’m hoping that you’ll decide to join us. All we want is our rightful place as kings and queens of this world. Wouldn’t you love to walk through O’Connell Street or Times Square or Piccadilly Circus without bothering with your false face? Isn’t it time that sorcerers like you and Neoterics like us stopped hiding away from the mortals? Isn’t it time we took up our crowns? Maybe you don’t agree. Maybe you’re happy where you are.”
“I’ve never had a problem with the mortals,” Pleasant said. “One of my best friends was a mortal.”
“So you’re not going to help us?”
“I didn’t say that. Those dark thoughts you mentioned, they’re doing quite a number on my morality, such as it is. There are all kinds of people I suddenly want to kill, mortals included. I’ll help you, because I like your plan and I’m interested in seeing if it’ll work, but I have one condition. More of an unbreakable rule, actually. Valkyrie Cain is mine.”
“Ah,” said Lethe. “Yes, we thought you might bring this up. Valkyrie Cain, unfortunately, is already promised to Cadaverous here.”
“And I’m not letting her go,” Cadaverous said.
Pleasant turned his eye sockets to him, and Cadaverous could see the light reflecting on the inside of his skull. “You blame Valkyrie for your friend’s death.”
“Jeremiah Wallow,” Cadaverous said. “He had a name.”
“And yet, the way Valkyrie tells it, Mr Wallow fell. She didn’t push him. She didn’t kill him.”
“She’s responsible for his death.”
“So is gravity, but you’re not out to kill gravity, are you? Your friend is dead, you’re angry and upset, you want someone to blame. Perfectly understandable, if completely redundant. Your sadly deceased friend’s own clumsy incompetence does not guarantee you the right to Valkyrie’s life. It just doesn’t.”
“I’ve already staked my claim.”
“Calling shotgun does not guarantee you a front seat, Cadaverous. We’re not children here, are we?”
“Skulduggery,” Lethe said, “I’m afraid we have already agreed that Cadaverous kills Valkyrie.”
Pleasant went quiet for a moment, and sat back, steepling his fingers. “I’m trying to decide,” he said.
“Decide what?” Lethe asked.
Pleasant stood, and took out his gun. “Which one of you I kill first.”
“Sit down,” said Smoke, walking into the room, and immediately Pleasant sat. It was a petty joy that leaped into Cadaverous’s heart, but it was a joy, nonetheless.
“How’s it feel,” Nero asked, “to be his puppet?”
“This is an odd sensation,” Pleasant muttered.
Smoke sat at the table. “I control you. You do what I tell you. If I instruct you to dance for us, you’ll dance for us. If I instruct you to only talk in rhyming couplets, that’s what you’ll do. You are mine – you understand that? You have no free will when it comes to me.”
“This is interesting,” Pleasant said. “But I’m afraid it’s completely unacceptable.” In a flash, the gun was pointed straight at Smoke’s head—
—but Pleasant’s finger froze over the trigger.
Smoke sighed. “You think you’re the first person to try that? Seriously? You can’t and won’t hurt me. Put the gun away.”
“But of course,” the skeleton said, holstering the weapon inside his jacket like it was his own idea. Cadaverous found that vaguely annoying. “Where were we?”
“I was about to suggest a compromise,” Lethe said, “regarding this whole killing Valkyrie disagreement.”
Cadaverous leaned forward. “No compromise,” he said. “We had a deal.”
Lethe held up a hand. “You both will refrain from killing her until, at the earliest, the resurrection of Abyssinia. The moment is close, but has yet to arrive, and who knows what will happen before then? If only one of you reaches the moment, you get to kill Miss Cain. If both of you survive until then, you’ll fight for the honour.”
Cadaverous frowned. “In a place of my choosing?”
“You were first to make the claim, so yes.”
Cadaverous smiled. “Deal.”
Pleasant shrugged. “I’m in,” he said, and clapped his hands. “So, what’s the next step?”
“First Wave,” said Lethe. “This is a crucial juncture and they need guidance. They need Parthenios Lilt.”
“He’s being kept in a cell in the High Sanctuary,” Pleasant said. “Do we break him out?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lethe responded. “We have our man on the inside who can take care of this for us.”
Pleasant tilted his head again. “Who?”
“A man on the inside,” Lethe repeated. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Pleasant shrugged. “If you have a secret you want to keep, then you keep your secret. Just tell me what you want me to do. How about the Soul Catcher that Melior’s going to need for the resurrection? I happen to know where we could pick one up without too much trouble.”
“Again,” said Lethe, “that is already taken care of. We have one that Destrier is adapting to Doctor Melior’s specifications. Your job, Skulduggery, will be to track down a Neoteric. The good doctor reckons he’ll need the life force of two sacrificial lambs for the ritual to be successful, but I think three. It’s better to have a sacrificial lamb and not need it, than need a sacrificial lamb and not have it. Memphis and Nero, you’ll be going after the first. Smoke and I will go after the second. Skulduggery … you’ll be teaming up with Cadaverous here, and you’ll bring us back the third. Is that OK with you?”
Pleasant spread his arms wide. “I’m part of the team, Lethe. I’ll do whatever I’m told.”
“Wait a second,” Razzia said, frowning. “How come I don’t get to play?”
“Well,” said Lethe, “someone has to stay here and make sure Doctor Melior doesn’t go anywhere and Destrier doesn’t accidentally suck everyone’s souls into a snow globe.”
“You better not be assigning me babysitting duties because of my gender,” Razzia said, getting to her feet slowly. “I may be a very nurturing person by nature, but I will kill every ratbag at this table if you think you can—”
“It’s nothing to do with your gender, Razzia,” Lethe said, hands up in a calming gesture. “And it’s got nothing to do with your nurturing nature. It’s your murderous nature that disqualifies you from this assignment. It’s imperative that each of the sacrificial lambs is brought back alive.”
Razzia paused. “Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Not dead?”
“No.”
She sat back down. “Not dead, not interested.”
“And that’s why you don’t have to go.”
“Sweet.”
Pleasant rubbed his hands together. “I like this,” he said. “The interplay. The camaraderie. It’s almost like what I have with Valkyrie, except much, much less. Cadaverous, I know we’re going to have our differences on this, but I want you all to know, from the bottom of the place where my heart used to be, that I’m really looking forward to killing Valkyrie.” He clapped, once and happily. “This is going to be fun.”
44
Valkyrie approached the Museum of Magical History from the east, walking quickly with her hands tucked into her pockets. It was another cold damn day in a cold damn week at the end of a cold damn month. She was tired of the cold. She was quite ready for it to be warm again. People were nicer when it was warm. Moods were lighter, and they lifted on the tides and eddies of warm air.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her mum. She opened it. A picture of her sister wielding lipstick and her father in the background, the lower half of his face smeared bright red. Her mum had written Waiting for her next client across the bottom of the image. It was funny. Cute. Valkyrie stared at the screen for half a minute, thinking up a reply. In the end, she sent off a LOL and put the phone away.
Militsa Gnosis was waiting for her at the entrance to the museum, shuffling from foot to foot in a feeble attempt to keep warm. She waved when she saw her, and Valkyrie gave an awkward wave back.
“Hi,” Militsa said. “Thanks for coming. Isn’t it freezing?”
“So cold,” Valkyrie responded. “You didn’t have to wait outside, you know.”
“Ah, just wanted to make sure you found the place OK.”
“Your directions did the job. So have you figured it out?”
“I’m sorry? Figured what out?”
“How to break Smoke’s influence over Skulduggery.”
“Oh,” said Militsa. “Well, that’s … Without being able to examine any of the …” She faltered. “That’s not why I asked you here. I’m sorry.”
The spark of hope, slight though it was, died in Valkyrie’s chest. “OK,” she said. “That’s fine. So why are we here?”
Militsa’s smile reappeared. “Come on in.”
She took Valkyrie’s hand and led her quickly up the steps and in through the door. Immediately, Valkyrie began to warm. The man behind the reception desk nodded to Militsa like he knew her well, but when his gaze flickered to Valkyrie he froze. Militsa missed it entirely, and Valkyrie ignored it.
“Would it be incredibly lame,” Militsa asked as they followed the signs to the East Wing, “to admit that museums are some of my favourite places in the world? It probably would, wouldn’t it? You don’t even have to answer that. I know it is. I wish I hadn’t said anything now. I mean, it’s not only museums that I like. I like ordinary places, too, like libraries, and I’m quite partial to a good gallery. And ice-cream parlours.”
“I like ice cream,” offered Valkyrie, and Militsa beamed.
“See? We have something in common!”
“Are we here to look at an exhibition?”
“I’ll get to that, I will. This way.”
They took the doorway to their right.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Militsa asked. “Mementos of significant people and significant times in history all laid out for us, like knowledge waiting to be absorbed. Fair enough, it’s not as impressive as the Repository at the High Sanctuary and all the powerful artefacts that contains, but it’s still pretty mind-blowing, is it not?”
Valkyrie passed an old pair of eyeglasses that once belonged to Jorge Desesperación (1781 to 1918).
Militsa stopped suddenly, and turned. “Am I being awful? I’m being too chirpy, aren’t I?”
Valkyrie took a moment to answer. “No,” she said.
“It’s just, I don’t know what to say in situations like this. Not that I’ve been in many situations exactly like this. But you know what I mean? When I’m around people who are sad, I feel a ridiculous need to cheer them up, but I always make it worse. I think I’m just too obvious about it, and also I tend to tell people what it is I’m trying to do, like I did just there. The moment I do that it’s game over, you know? Oh, God. I just did it, didn’t I?”
“You’re doing a good job,” Valkyrie lied. “You’re distracting me from my worries.”
“I am?”
“Yes. Especially now at this moment.”
“Oh, that’s a major relief, I don’t mind telling you. I was getting worried because you’ve barely said anything.”
Valkyrie gave a small smile. “That’s just me being me. I take a while to loosen up around new people.”
“And are you loosened up yet?”
There was so much hope in Militsa’s voice that Valkyrie just had to say, “Yes. Totally.”
Militsa beamed again. “Then do you have any questions for me?”
Valkyrie nodded stiffly.
“Go ahead. Ask me anything.”
“OK,” said Valkyrie. “Right. I will. How, uh … How did a Necromancer end up as a teacher?”
“I went to university and got my degree.”
Valkyrie nodded again. “I was actually expecting a more involved story.”
Militsa made a face. “I know. It’s pretty boring. I taught English at mortal schools and that was fine and all, but then I heard that there was an actual school for sorcerers being built at Roarhaven and I moved here immediately, started teaching Magic Theory. I suppose I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. Probably the same way you always wanted to be a detective.”
“I, uh, I never wanted to be a detective.”
“Really? Never?”
“Well, I didn’t grow up wanting this. When I was a kid, I didn’t know what I wanted to be. I wanted to ride horses, then for a whole summer I wanted to be an Olympic swimmer … Then Skulduggery came along and … ta-da.”
“I keep forgetting you grew up mortal.”
“You didn’t?”
“My folks’re both sorcerers. I knew about magic from the time I knew about shapes. Mum and Dad, they’re nice people, so I was taught we’re all equal. Though I did meet some sorcerers who held quite a different opinion.”
“I suppose one group of people will always find reasons to complain about another.”
“Aye, I suppose. But this new strain of hatred … that’s only cropped up in the last ten or fifteen years. It’s scary. Insidious.”
“So the sorcerers hate the mortals,” said Valkyrie, “and the mortals would hate the sorcerers if they knew we existed. This is a story that can only end well.”
Militsa smiled. “As long as there are people like you and Skulduggery Pleasant fighting the good fight, we should be OK.”
“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? We don’t have Skulduggery any more.”
“I realised that just as the words were leaving my mouth. Really sorry. How are you doing?”
“I’m OK.”
“It can’t be easy.”
“He’s not an easy man to out-think.”
“I actually meant that it can’t be easy losing a friend in this way. How are you doing about that side of things?”
“Oh,” said Valkyrie. “It’s …”
“Yes?”
“Scary,” Valkyrie said at last. “Not just having him as an enemy, but … not having him as a friend. Even when I was away, I knew I could pick up the phone and he’d answer. I knew he’d always answer. I was never alone, you know? Never.”
“This may be completely presumptuous,” Militsa said, “but you’re not alone now, either. I’ll help however I can. I’m not the best at fighting, I really don’t like hurting people and I have a serious aversion to being the one who’s getting hurt, but if you need someone to stand there and lecture the enemy on Magic Theory then I am your girl.”
“Thank you for volunteering,” Valkyrie told her, “but don’t worry, I’m not going to hurl you into a pit of danger or anything like that. Helping me out here will do fine … assuming this museum visit will help me out?”
“Hopefully,” Militsa said. “Well, I don’t know how helpful it will actually be, in any useful sense, but, as my old piano teacher used to say, knowledge is power.”
“Was she a sorcerer?”
“No, just a piano teacher, back in Edinburgh. I’m really not sure what she was talking about, but it’s a good motto to live by. When we were on the phone earlier, you described what one of the anti-Sanctuary people was wearing – the guy in the mask?”
“Lethe.”
Militsa nodded. “Lethe, right. Now, I might be wrong, in which case this is a colossal waste of your time, but it sounded a lot like …”
They quickened their pace.
“It sounded a lot like …?” Valkyrie prompted.
“I thought it was closer,” Militsa said apologetically. “Ah, here it is.”
They came to a glass case, in which stood a mannequin dressed in a jumpsuit. The material on the outer layer, a deep grey, was tattered, burnt and slashed, barely held together in places. But beneath that was something that wasn’t quite leather and wasn’t quite rubber. It was black, and ribbed slightly. The boots were sturdy and the gloves were thin, and beneath the hood the mask was a shocking white against all that darkness – a stylised, angular skull with glass-covered eye sockets.
“That’s it,” Valkyrie breathed. “That’s what he wears. The mask is different, it doesn’t have the hood or the fabric over it … but that’s it. What is it?”
“It’s a necronaut suit,” Militsa said proudly. “Necromancers used them for Deep Venturing. That’s what they called it. It’s when they would explore the realms of death.”
“Solomon Wreath told me about that. Entirely dead dimensions, right? Where nothing could ever possibly live?”
“Not even Necromancers,” Militsa said. “So they wore these when they went exploring. They’re built to … I don’t know the best way to describe it. They’re built to contain, I guess. Like a Thermos flask keeping in the heat, although, when you’re Deep Venturing, you want to keep in your life. When it’s all done up like that, you don’t need food or oxygen … you don’t even need to take a pee. Which is simultaneously fascinating and gross.”
“So Lethe’s a Necromancer?”
“Maybe,” Militsa said, “but not necessarily. I’ve seen necronaut suits repurposed for a whole range of different things. Apart from anything else, they’re pretty durable. Bulletproof and fire-resistant, that kind of stuff.”
“I’m guessing the answer is probably no, but do they have any glaring weaknesses to exploit? Like the way vampires are allergic to salt water?”
“They’re not, actually.”
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ve recently discovered that it’s a certain amount of sea salt they’re allergic to, not the actual salt water.”
“Oh. Right. But … the suit?”
“No real weakness that I know about,” Militsa said, “but it’s not indestructible. It’s bulletproof, though probably not as durable as the armoured clothing you used to wear.” She frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing those, by the way?”
“They were getting a bit snug.”
“What’s wrong with snug? I like snug. They looked really good on you.”
“Thanks. So Lethe might not be using the suit for any specific purpose – he might just be using it as armour.”
“It’s a possibility.”
Valkyrie nodded as they started walking back. “Well, every little bit of information we get is useful. And what about the reason I called? As the resident expert on Magic Theory, I was hoping you had some thoughts on how to break Smoke’s hold.”
Militsa sighed. “I’m sorry, no. I’ll do more research into it, but from what you’ve told me about how it infects the aura … I don’t know if there’d be anything you could do to cleanse it. We’re not talking New Age hippies waving around cheap crystals here.”
“But Skulduggery’s different. His aura is unlike any I’ve seen.”
“Valkyrie, that might not be a good thing. Yes, it might mean that he overcomes the infection quicker than the forty-eight hours – or it might mean the opposite, or it might make no difference at all. There’s no way to tell. The fact is, we know very little about magic as it is. We’ve only just identified the gene that separates sorcerers from mortals, but we still don’t understand how it leads to us being able to access magic. Not really.”
“Is there anyone else we could talk to?”
Valkyrie could tell Militsa wanted to be able to give her hopeful news. It was in every helpless shrug and pained expression.
“Possibly,” she said at last. “There’s a team of some awesomely brilliant people running tests on the Source itself. They’ve located what they think is one of the fissures that allows magic to flow through into our reality. It’s going to take them years of study, but they might have a theory about this. If I can get in touch with them. It’s all very top secret.”
“Could you try? I could ask China to help.”
“That might not be the best thing to do,” Militsa said. “The Supreme Mage doesn’t particularly trust Necromancers any more. It was hard enough getting her to accept me as a teacher. I’d probably be better off trying to get in touch with them myself.”
“We don’t have an awful lot of time, Militsa.”
“I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Valkyrie’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the words on her screen. It was the address in San Francisco.
“Good news?” Militsa asked.
Valkyrie shrugged. “Depends on how many people I have to punch.”
