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8
Cadaverous Gant was of the opinion that this world was not worth saving.
It was peopled with savages who revelled in their own ignorance, who splashed about in the mud and the mire like children. This was a Truth he had glimpsed even before his Great Awakening, a Truth that had stained his hands red, that had left bodies in his wake, and it was a Truth that would rend flesh and shatter bones for years to come. Cadaverous would be there to see it happen. This he had been promised.
Sorcerers called them mortals. Cadaverous preferred to call them what they were: cattle. Dead-eyed and unthinking. Bags of meat and fountains of blood, unimaginative animals awaiting slaughter. In the end, they all sounded the same. They all wept the same tears, prayed to the same gods, offered the same feeble entreaties. And they all died the same. Every single one of them.
And there had been many. The methods he had used may have varied, but the deaths were identical. Once they’d got past the terror, once they’d realised their fate was inevitable, they were still surprised by the very act of dying, as if they hadn’t truly believed it could happen to them.
In his mortal youth, he had gloried in the hunt. They ran, screaming and sobbing, the perfect prey, and he pursued, calm and determined, the perfect predator. When his muscles were strong and his legs were quick, their deaths were explosions of brutal violence. When his muscles weakened and his legs grew tired, their deaths were splendid blueprints of meticulous planning. His house was his weapon, his traps mere extensions of his will.
And then his heart attack, and the voice, the woman’s voice, that whispered to him and led him to his Great Awakening.
Charles. Charles, open your eyes. Open your eyes, Charles. You are mine. You will come to me.
And so he left his mortal life behind and opened his eyes to the lights of the operating room and the sounds of the machines and the doctors and the nurses and the clink of scalpels on trays and the squeak of the wheels of gurneys and the faraway voices and the chatter and that soft whispering in his mind that said, Charles, welcome back, we have work to do.
She had brought him magic in those moments of death. He was an old man, but his magic made him new again. He was strong, and quick, with a new appetite for killing and a new mission. The war they were to bring about. The things they were to do.
There had been missteps. There had been failures. He had suffered defeat and suffered loss. The boy he had mentored, the boy to whom he had bequeathed his knowledge and his insight and his philosophy, who had grown to be a man of sterling character and dark potential, had been delivered a meaningless death at the hands of a mewling, pathetic young woman, a woman just like all the others except for that crackling, cackling power that she held in her fingertips.
Cadaverous had wanted immediate vengeance, but the voice in his head commanded him to wait. Soon, she said. Soon you will have her life in your hands. Free me, and you will have both your reward and your revenge.
And it was almost here.
He stood on the clifftop, looking out to sea, the cold wind snagging at his coat. The others stood beside him but not with him. He was apart from them. He was special.
“I can’t see it,” said Nero. His voice had adopted the annoying whine that irritated Cadaverous so much.
“Of course you can’t,” Smoke said. “It’s got a cloaking shield around it.”
“But if I can’t see it then I can’t teleport on to it, can I?”
“You can and you will,” said Lethe. “We know exactly where it’ll be in three minutes, so, in three minutes’ time, you’re going to teleport out there.” He pointed directly in front of them. “It’s perfectly safe.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Nero asked.
“We’re not. We have its schedule.”
Nero hugged himself against the cold. “What if the schedule’s wrong? We’re going to be teleporting into empty space.”
“It won’t be empty.”
“But what if it is?”
“Then you’ll start falling, and you’ll teleport yourself to safety.”
Nero’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, what? No one’s coming with me?”
“It’s too risky.”
“You just said it was safe.”
“It is safe. But it’s too risky for all of us to go at once. You go, confirm it’s there, then come back for us.”
“Sounds pretty easy to me,” Razzia said, nodding with confidence.
“OK,” said Nero, “so what if it is there, but I ’port right into the middle of a group of Cleavers?”
“Then extricate yourself from the situation,” Smoke said, like he was talking to a four-year-old.
Nero shook his head. “Everyone here seems to have this idea that I’m just a mode of transport. Listen to me: I’m not a car, OK? I’m not a car or a train or a plane. I’m a person. Teleporting somewhere blind is a sure way to get myself killed.”
“Trust in the plan,” said Lethe.
“If I get caught or get killed, there is no plan,” Nero countered. “I want someone to come with me.”
Razzia stuck her hand in the air. “I’ll go with him!”
“Not her,” Nero said immediately.
Razzia frowned. “Why not me? What’s wrong with me?”
Nero looked around for help. With none forthcoming, he swallowed thickly. “Uh … you’re just … You’re not very stealthy.”
“Bull dust! I take off these heels and I barely make a sound when I walk. My feet are tiny. Look at them. It’s amazing I don’t fall over more often.”
“Well, it’s not really the stealth that’s the problem,” Nero said. “You just, in certain circumstances, you tend to go a little … crazy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“At times.”
“Crazy?”
“A little.”
“I go crazy?”
“No,” Nero said. “No, you don’t. At all.”
She snarled. “Then you’ll let me go with you?”
Nero paled. “Of course.”
“Yay!” Razzia said, happy again.
Lethe held up a hand. “Nero may have a point, Razzia. This infiltration requires a certain deft touch that you may be lacking.”
Razzia bit her lower lip while she pondered. “Well,” she said, “I suppose I do go a little crazy sometimes.”
“I’ll take Memphis,” said Nero, but Memphis shook his head.
“Hell, no, I ain’t going.”
Nero looked dismayed. “Why not?”
“You might get it wrong, man,” Memphis said, running a comb through his hair. “Or you might teleport us into a group of Cleavers. I’ll stay here until I know the coast is clear, thank you very much.”
Cadaverous sighed. “I’ll go with him.”
Nero scowled. “I don’t want him to come.”
“You’ve already turned down one and been rejected by another,” Cadaverous said. “It’s me or it’s no one. I’m sick of listening to you complain about not being appreciated for who you are or what you contribute to the team. That’s all I’ve heard from you for the last few weeks. If you’re too scared to go alone, then I shall hold your hand. Is that acceptable to you, Mr Nero?”
“I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.”
“I somehow fail to care.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Lethe said, holding up his hands, “there’s no need for hostility. Cadaverous has made a kind-hearted offer. Nero, will you accept?”
“Sure,” Nero said grudgingly.
“Beautiful,” Lethe said. “Razzia: what is the time?”
Razzia nodded. “Time is a social construct designed to derive order from chaos.”
“Well put, Razzia. And do you have the time?”
“Oh,” she said. “No, I don’t wear a watch. I don’t believe in them. Time’s never done me any favours, and that’s fair dinkum.”
“I see. Smoke?”
“It’s twelve oh four,” Smoke said. “Twenty seconds to go.”
Lethe rolled his shoulders. “Nero, Cadaverous, prepare yourselves. The rest of us will stand ready.”
Cadaverous took hold of Nero’s wrist.
“We don’t need to be touching,” Nero complained.
Cadaverous gave him a smile. “I’m just making sure you don’t forget about me in all the excitement.”
Nero took a moment to roll his eyes before looking straight ahead, at the patch of thin air he was aiming to arrive at. As the seconds ticked away, Cadaverous used his tongue to pick a piece of meat from between his teeth. He spat it out.
“Go,” said Smoke.
Suddenly they were 1,100 metres off the coast and falling towards the churning, freezing sea. Cadaverous’s body released a bolt of adrenaline. Nero tried to snatch back his arm. He was about to panic, about to teleport away. Cadaverous tightened his grip.
And then his feet vanished.
The rest of him followed, almost too quick to register – his knees, thighs, hips, chest – and then they had dropped through the cloaking shield and Coldheart Prison burst into existence beneath them, a floating island of rock on which sat the walls, the fences, the watchtowers and the prison buildings themselves.
They teleported lower and flipped, so that their momentum took them upwards and then cancelled out. When they stopped rising, Nero teleported them once more, straight down to solid ground. They landed gently and crouched, waiting for the alerts to be called. When they heard no shouts, heard no alarms, they dared to raise their heads.
They were on the very edge of the island, perched on the slippery rocks. Before them was a fence. Beyond that, another fence. Towers, manned by Cleavers, stood at regular intervals – eight towers to a side. Walls and more fences separated the yard into sections for prisoner recreation and sections for staff. The buildings were big and blocky and imposing. Small windows and few of them. Solid doors.
The main prison building was a massive tower with broad shoulders. Slanted windows at the very top gave it its scowl. The inmates called this building the Brute.
“Fetch the others,” Cadaverous said, the wind whipping away his words. Nero vanished.
As irritating as Nero could be, he was also the key to taking this prison. So long as his enemies were within a certain range, he could teleport them away without having to lay a finger on them. The sigils and safeguards that kept out others of his ilk had no effect on him. He was, to all intents and purposes, virtually unstoppable. That reason, and that reason alone, was enough to keep him alive.
He arrived back with Lethe and the others.
“Cleavers in every tower,” Cadaverous told them. “Electrified fences. Cameras covering the yard. Just as we were warned.”
“And we’re not yet fighting for our lives,” said Lethe, “which means we are indeed in the one blind spot the island offers.”
“Our information was correct,” Smoke said.
Lethe looked at him. “You doubted it?”
“I don’t like spies,” he said, pulling at the braids in his goatee. “Theirs or ours.”
“Well,” Lethe said, “I for one am grateful for our spy. It bodes well for what is to come. You all know what to do. You all know where to go. We want the Cleavers and all Sanctuary personnel dead or gone. This is to be a clean sweep. Ignore the convicts. They’ll beg you to open their cells, but we’re not here for them. We’re here for her. We’re here to find the box.”
“And while we’re all risking our lives,” Nero said, “what are you going to be doing?”
Lethe nodded towards the Brute’s slanted windows. “I’m going to be in the control room,” he said. “Someone’s got to steer this thing, after all.”
9
Skulduggery and Valkyrie watched as Omen Darkly, his schoolbag slung over his shoulder, failed utterly to take his leave with anything resembling dignity. He tried two locked doors before finding the one that led off the balcony and into the tower. He waved, blushing madly, and disappeared.
“Interesting boy,” Skulduggery said. “Not what I would call especially impressive, but an interesting boy, nonetheless.”
“I don’t know about this,” Valkyrie said. She was getting cold. “He’s a kid, Skulduggery. We shouldn’t be involving him in this stuff.”
“Perhaps,” Skulduggery said, “but he did make a valid point. I involved you in ‘this stuff’ when you were even younger.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“That was me,” she said. “I could handle it.”
“I think Omen will surprise you.”
“He forgot which door he literally just came through.”
“So it’ll be an even bigger surprise.”
She peered over the railing, down on to an empty courtyard. “He’s not going to get the chance, though, is he? He keeps an eye out for this recruiter person and that’s it, he goes home.”
“This is a boarding school.”
“You know what I mean.”
“That’s all we’ll need him to do, yes. But there’s a stubbornness in his eyes that I’ve really only seen once before.”
“I was never stubborn,” Valkyrie said, climbing over the railing. “I just happened to be right.”
She let go and plummeted. The South Tower was six storeys high and she was halfway to the hard ground before the air began to slow her descent. Skulduggery drifted down beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“I do wish you’d tell me before you jump,” he said, “especially if you aren’t even going to attempt to use your powers.”
“I can’t fly,” she reminded him.
“You’ve flown before.”
“I’ve hovered.”
“Hovering is the first step to flying,” he said as they touched down gently in the empty courtyard. He released her. “That’s what I tell people who ask for tips.”
“Do many ask?”
“More and more,” he said. “Apparently, there’s been a resurgence in people choosing Elemental magic as their discipline, all because they want to learn to soar above the clouds.”
The wind had messed up her hair, so she tied it back into a ponytail. “Even though none of their Elemental teachers can fly? This doesn’t suggest to them that maybe flying is harder to master than it would appear?”
“They don’t care,” Skulduggery said. “They just want to emulate their heroes.”
“You mean you.”
“As the only Elemental who can actually fly, yes, I mean me. Don’t you miss it?”
“Flying? The only times I’ve properly flown, Darquesse had taken over. The memory’s a little tainted.”
“I suppose,” he said, then took his pocket watch from his waistcoat and glanced at it. “There’s someone I need to talk to before we leave. Will I meet you back at the car?”
“Ah,” she said, “I kinda want to explore a little, see what’s what.”
“Oh. OK. And you’re sure you don’t want to head back to the car and wait for me there?”
“You’re worried that my dog will have peed on your seats, aren’t you?”
“The thought has occurred to me.”
“Xena will still be asleep, believe me, and she doesn’t pee in cars. You go talk to whoever you have to talk to, I’ll have a walk around and I’ll meet you out front in, what, twenty minutes?”
They split up, and she passed through the nearest door, found herself in a corridor just as the bell rang and students swarmed out, filling the spaces and jostling Valkyrie as they squeezed by. She sighed with irritation, kept her elbows down and didn’t hit anyone. After another few seconds, the crowd started to thin and she could walk without tripping over anyone.
Four kids with green ties stood in a group ahead of her. They started whispering. Valkyrie kept her head down and her eyes on the floor as she passed them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw them glance her way, and when they were behind her the whispering picked up again.
Valkyrie turned to face them. “What?” she snapped. “What is it that’s so fascinating about me? What?”
The kids froze. They actually looked scared. One of them snapped out of it, hurried away, and the others quickly followed. Valkyrie glared at them until they had disappeared round the corner. Then she started to feel stupid for overreacting.
She turned again, just as a young woman dressed all in black strode up to her with an arm outstretched.
“Hello!” the young woman said, and Valkyrie was shaking her hand before she knew what was happening. “It’s very good to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you, naturally, but it’s so good to finally meet you in the flesh!”
She was Scottish, had long red hair, a few freckles and the brightest smile Valkyrie had seen in a long time.
“You’ll have to forgive the students,” the woman said, lowering her voice slightly. “It’s not often they meet someone famous.”
Valkyrie took her hand back. Gently. “I’m not famous.”
“Ah, well, infamous, then.”
Valkyrie took a moment to work it out, then she sagged. “Oh, right. Darquesse.”
“They’ve seen all the pictures,” the redhead said, “all the videos. And there are plenty of videos of Darquesse tearing the place up. They don’t mean anything by staring, really they don’t.”
“It’s fine,” Valkyrie replied. “Amazingly, I kind of forgot that people would associate me with her, even though we shared the same face. Just another thing to feel bad about, I suppose.”
“Mmm,” said the redhead, because she obviously couldn’t think of a way to salvage this topic of conversation. Then she brightened again. “I’m Militsa Gnosis. I teach Magic Theory.”
“You’re a Necromancer?”
“Guilty as charged,” Militsa said, and then suddenly stopped smiling. “Which is probably not the best phrase to use when most of your Order plotted to kill billions of people. If it makes any difference, though, I didn’t know anything about the Passage or what the Clerics were planning.”
“So you’re a good Necromancer?”
“Yes,” Militsa said, beaming once again. “I was going to store my magic in a ring like you did, but I didn’t want you to think I was copying you, even though I so would have been, so I keep it in this instead.” She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a thick bracelet. “It’s pretty cool, I think.”
“Yeah.”
Militsa’s smile faltered. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“I’m being lame, aren’t I?”
“Sorry?”
“I’m being so lame right now,” Militsa said, her chin dropping. “You think I’m a complete idiot, don’t you?”
“Do I?”
“You must.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But I’m babbling. I’m just a babbling idiot that ran up to you and started babbling. This is so embarrassing. Why do I have to be so lame?”
“I … I don’t think you’re lame.”
“That’s just because you’re a nice person.”
“I’m not that nice,” Valkyrie said. “Really, I’m not. I’m quite rude.”
“You’re not rude.”
“I am,” Valkyrie insisted. “Before this conversation is done, I bet I’ll have been rude to you by accident.”
Militsa looked up. Her eyes were huge. “You mean it?”
“I do. And you’re not lame and you’re not an idiot. You’re just being friendly. You’re a friendly Necromancer, which is kind of unique.”
“We’re not known for being friendly, I’d have to agree,” Militsa said, brightening.
“So you’re a teacher here?”
“Yep. I guide students through their options, as far as choosing a discipline goes. I never meant to be a teacher, to be honest. It’s not something I ever saw myself doing, but it combines two of my favourite things – talking about magic and … and, well, reading about magic, I suppose. I don’t have a very wide range of interests.”
“Maybe you should get out more.”
“That’s what my mum says, but then she’s three hundred years old. I think she has unrealistic expectations when it comes to me. I’m just a normal girl. Give me a good book and a sofa and I’m happy, you know?”
“Can’t beat a book and a sofa.”
“If I wasn’t a teacher, I’d probably be a researcher, maybe be a part of Project Torchlight. Have you heard of it?”
“I haven’t, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, no matter. My point being, I specialise in the Source – which is another reason I’m so pumped to be meeting you.” Militsa hesitated, her eyes sparkling. “Could I see your magic? Could I see what you can do?”
“Uh …”
“Just a little bit, I swear. You’re incredible to me, that’s all. You’re connected to the Source of all magic like nobody else. Your magic is … it’s pure. Unfiltered.”
“I’m not very good at controlling it,” Valkyrie confessed.
“I’m not surprised,” said Militsa. “I’ve got theories about it, if you’d like to hear them.”
“Uh, maybe. I’m a little busy right now …”
“Oh, of course,” Militsa said, laughing at her own stupidity. “Of course you’re busy, you’re Valkyrie Cain! But if ever you wanted to talk about it, just knock on my door. I will literally drop everything to talk to you. Literally. Everything.” She brushed her hands together. “Dropped.”
“OK,” said Valkyrie. “Well, I might do that.”
“Or if you just want to hang out,” Militsa said. “You haven’t been to Roarhaven much, have you? Again, I’m not a stalker, I just … I’d have heard if you were in town a lot. I could show you around. There’s actually a pretty good arts scene here. Bizarre, I know, but there you go. Might be fun, if you’re into that kind of thing. Or we could go for a coffee. Or a drink. Or dinner. Would you like to go to dinner?”
“No thank you.”
“Right, of course, you’re busy, I get it.”
“It’s not that I’m busy,” said Valkyrie. “It’s just that I don’t want to.”
Militsa blinked. “Oh. Well, I mean, OK. That’s cool.”
Valkyrie’s face soured. “And now I’m being rude, just like I knew I would.”
“You’re not rude, no.”
“It’s just I’m not looking for a friend right now.”
Militsa blinked. “Ohh. OK.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to offend you, but I’m trying to stay away from people until I get my head straight.”
“Gotcha,” Militsa said. “No explanation needed. You’ve been through a lot and the last thing you need is someone to talk to.”
“When you say it like that,” Valkyrie said, “it sounds stupid.”
“Not at all. This is totally my fault – I just feel like I know you already. I’ve asked Fletcher so many questions.”
Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “You know Fletcher Renn?”
Militsa looked surprised. “Well, of course. He’s a teacher here.”
Valkyrie couldn’t help it – she grinned. “Fletcher? Seriously? What does he teach? What does he know well enough to teach?”
Militsa grinned with her. “Teleportation. He’s only got three students, and only one of them can actually teleport, but he’s pretty good. I think you’d be impressed.”
“That’s hilarious,” said Valkyrie. “Is he all strict and stuff?”
“Very. He has a teacher voice.”
“Oh, wow.”
Valkyrie’s phone buzzed with a message from Skulduggery, saying he’d be delayed another ten minutes. As she slipped it back into her jeans, she noticed Militsa glancing at her watch.
“You probably have work to do,” Valkyrie said.
Militsa nodded. “I’m supposed to be teaching a class right now. If this was a mortal school, the kids’d be tearing up the place, but Corrival students tend to be so boringly well behaved that they’re probably cleaning the windows. The coffee offer will remain open, by the way, for as long as you need it to be. Or, you know, dinner. Whatever.”
“Thank you. Really. I appreciate the gesture.”
“No problem,” Militsa said, and beamed another smile. “It was so nice to meet you, Valkyrie. I hope we can get to know each other better.”
Valkyrie smiled back, and Militsa turned with a swirl of her cloak and walked off. She wore a cloak. Valkyrie hadn’t known very many people who wore cloaks. Not even Skulduggery wore a cloak. What an odd girl. Valkyrie liked her.
She left the school, with its magnificent arches and grand staircases, and walked the wide streets. Plenty of time to double back and meet Skulduggery. There was a guy on the corner, barefoot and dressed in sackcloth, holding a sign that warned her that the end was nigh. To reinforce the point he was making, he shouted it at anyone who was passing.
“The end is nigh!” he screeched to Valkyrie, shaking the cardboard sign. “The end is nigh!”
“Isn’t it always?” she asked, and left him shaking the sign resentfully.
She made a note of the street names as she went by. Gorgon Street. Titan Street. Bellower Road. She crossed Meritorious Square and took the narrower streets now, away from the staring, whispering people. She walked down Blood-drenched Lane, took a right on to Decapitation Row. At least they were easy to remember.
She smelled food and her tummy rumbled, so she followed the smell and then abruptly lost it in a dead end that went by the charming name of Putrid Road. She turned, and stopped.
Three people stood there – two men and one woman – staring at her with a special kind of look in their eyes. Valkyrie had seen that look before. She was well used to that look.
That look meant that, at some point in the next few minutes, they were going to try to kill her.
