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21
Cadaverous preferred the silence. The others – Lethe and his gang of misfits – hadn’t returned to the prison yet, so he didn’t have to suffer through the banality of their conversation. There was no one there to engage with, anyway, no true discussions to be had. Debate with people so limited was a pointless exercise. He didn’t even hear the convicts, tucked away in their cells, as they begged for freedom. He was not their jailer and he would not be their saviour. He was just an old man listening to the voice in his head.
You are close, Cadaverous. Come to me.
Cadaverous enjoyed this time alone. He wandered the prison corridors and searched the offices, stepping over discarded scythes and fallen automatic weapons while he checked for hidden passages.
Two hours after beginning his search of the prison’s lower area, he found rough-hewn steps leading downwards, and downwards he went, feeling the cold and the damp seep into his bones. His flashlight was new, its bulb powerful, but the darkness ate up the beam, swallowed it, as if there were no walls for it to hit, no features for it to catch.
There was just the dark down here. The dark and the voice.
You will be rewarded.
He licked his dry lips. There was only one reward he was interested in, something he had possessed once, all too briefly, before it had been snatched away from him. He hadn’t known what he’d had. He hadn’t known the value of it until it was gone.
Free me, said the voice, and I will make you young again.
The walls closed in and the beam swept over the cold stones, which were wet to the touch. The walls brought a new sharpness to his footfall. The reflected light illuminated his frozen breath. He slipped on the steps, almost went tumbling, had to jam his hand against the wall to save himself, opening a cut along his palm. He examined it under the light, watching the blood trickle. He wiped it on his shirt. He couldn’t feel the pain.
At the bottom of the steps there was a steel door the colour of storm clouds. He took out the set of keys that he’d found in the control room and looked at each key in turn. He found the one most likely to fit and eased it into the lock. It turned smoothly, with a deep and satisfying clunk, and he pushed the door open.
It was a small room. Circular. No light. No ornamentation. In the middle of the room, there was a metal box on a pedestal.
Cadaverous approached. The hair on his arms, on the back of his neck, stood on end. The ring held a small key, much smaller than the others. He found it by touch, unable to take his eyes off the box.
The key turned in the lock. The lid opened ever so slightly.
Cadaverous pocketed the keys and reached out with trembling hands. He hesitated only a moment, then raised the lid fully. It was surprisingly heavy.
In the box, there was a heart.
In his head, there was a voice.
It said, Good.
22
Bad things happen all the time.
That’s the number-one lesson Valkyrie had learned in the last twelve years. Bad things happen, and they generally happen to good people. Innocent people. Passers-by, caught in the crossfire, consumed by the madness. Like Fletcher.
She stood by his bed in Reverie Synecdoche’s private medical practice, a three-storey building in one of the more affluent parts of town, and watched him. He didn’t move. A machine helped him breathe.
She reached out, touched his arm.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We were stupid and you saved us. It’s our fault you’re here.” She leaned down. Spoke softer. “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I’m able to do this any more. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to tell him.”
Voices reached her – Reverie talking to a nurse passing in the corridor outside. Valkyrie squeezed Fletcher’s hand. “Please get better,” she said.
Reverie walked in and Valkyrie turned.
“He’s stable,” Reverie told her. “We’ve stopped the bleeding. There is some nerve damage that we’re correcting. It’s a slow process, repairing nerves always is, but he’s going to be fine. Would you like to stay? I can have a chair brought in for you.”
“Thank you,” said Valkyrie, “but no. The Supreme Mage has requested a meeting. How’s Skulduggery?”
“We’re putting him back together. Again. His jaw has been reattached, so he just has to wait for his arm to set. He’ll be out within the hour.”
“Thank you, Reverie. Sincerely.”
“It’s what we do. I’ll let you know if there’s any change to Fletcher’s condition.”
Valkyrie thanked her again and left the clinic, taking a tram to the High Sanctuary. For a fleeting moment, she entertained the idea that maybe she’d skip the meeting, get in her car and drive home. She quite liked the thought of forgetting about all of this and just living a normal life, her and her dog. The twenty-four hours she’d promised Skulduggery had ended that morning, after all. She didn’t owe it to him to do this. She didn’t owe it to anyone.
But she flashed her badge at the door to the High Sanctuary and walked in, leaving the sounds of the city behind her, along with fanciful notions of a quiet life.
The Room of Prisms had changed since she’d been here last. There were still those slivers of angled glass that dropped from the ceiling and rose from the floor like stalactites and stalagmites. Some of them met in the middle, forming thin pillars she had to slip between. The change had come at the far end of the room, where the steps rose to the ornate throne on which sat the Supreme Mage.
Another image from the vision blossomed in Valkyrie’s mind, this time of China Sorrows lying on the ground, blood staining a blouse that looked remarkably similar to the one she was wearing now, the one that went so well with the black, high-waisted trousers. Over that blouse she wore her chain of office, fitted with three glittering jewels. Her hair was black. Her face was perfect. Her eyes were closed.
Two bodyguards flanked her, standing to attention. On China’s left, a woman with a mask covering everything but her eyes. Her arms were bare and muscled, skin like dark chocolate. A weapon of some sort was strapped to her back.
To China’s right stood a man in an identical uniform – a sleeveless robe, belted at the waist. His head was uncovered, however. He was a handsome man, looked Indian. He had two metal discs hanging from his belt.
There was movement reflected in the angled glass, but Valkyrie had to look around a bit before she pinpointed the source. Tipstaff worked his way over to her.
“Detective Cain,” he said, keeping his voice low, “it’s good to see you. How are your injuries?”
Valkyrie’s shoulder throbbed dully. “Fine,” she said. “I got off lightly.”
Tipstaff nodded, looking suitably concerned, then he motioned to the throne. “You’ll have to forgive the Supreme Mage,” he said. “She will be with you in a matter of moments.”
Valkyrie looked up the steps. “What’s she doing?” she asked. “Power nap?”
The briefest of smiles on Tipstaff’s lips. “Ha. No. She is accessing the Whispering. A recent development, inspired by your travels in alternate dimensions, actually.”
She looked at him, waiting for an explanation.
“When you reported back on the city controlled by the alternate version of Mevolent,” Tipstaff said, “you mentioned the World Well. The Supreme Mage was intrigued by the idea of what is essentially a psychic Internet, and so has had her best people working on one for Roarhaven. We call it the Whispering – a way to connect people and share information. It should be ready to be released to the citizenry in less than a year. Right now, the Supreme Mage is the only one with access. It is a much more efficient way of taking the pulse of the city than endless hours of briefings.”
“All the information is downloaded directly into her mind?”
Tipstaff nodded, then shrugged. “We’re trying to find a better term for it than downloaded, though.”
“Something that sounds more magicky?”
Another smile. “I suppose. Yes.”
“Just because it’s a mortal term doesn’t mean sorcerers can’t use it,” Valkyrie said. “Isn’t it one of the purposes of the Sanctuaries to remind us that we’re not above them?”
“Indeed it is,” Tipstaff said. “Although it’s hard not to feel superior when they have people like Martin Flanery as American president.”
“Flanery’s an idiot,” Valkyrie admitted, “but, as far as I know, he hasn’t tried to take over the world or kill everyone in it. Can I ask you something, in the spirit of sharing potentially catastrophic global events? Have you guys had any encounters with, or warnings of, a woman with silver hair?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Tipstaff. “Do you have a name I could check for?”
It would have been so easy to tell him, to mention the Princess of the Darklands, but something stopped her. Maybe it was Skulduggery’s newfound caution with information, or maybe it was simply the fact that she didn’t work for the Sanctuary any more. Whatever the reason, she gave a weak shrug and a weaker smile. “I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll check our records,” Tipstaff said, “see if anyone with silver hair has raised a flag lately.”
“Thanks.”
“Anything to help the Arbiter Corps.” Tipstaff looked at his watch. “The Supreme Mage should be surfacing any moment now …”
Valkyrie looked up as China’s pale blue eyes fluttered open.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Tipstaff said softly, and left.
“Valkyrie,” China said, taking a moment to get orientated. “What’s Skulduggery’s condition?”
“He’s fine,” said Valkyrie. “Annoyed, but fine.”
China sat forward, focusing fully on Valkyrie. “And Fletcher?”
Valkyrie hesitated. “They don’t know. There have been complications.”
China shook her head. “He’s become invaluable to me, that boy. He’s a teacher, did you know that? Single-handedly training up the next generation of Teleporters. He’s found his vocation.”
“Reverie is hopeful.”
“I was wondering about that,” said China. “Is there any particular reason you chose to go to Doctor Synecdoche over the medical team here at the High Sanctuary?”
“I didn’t choose anything. I didn’t even know she’d opened her own clinic. That was all Fletcher. I think he just brought us to her on instinct.”
“I see,” said China. “Yes. I’m sure that was it.” She sat back, allowing herself a smile. “How are you, Valkyrie? It’s been far too long.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You seem hesitant. Is something wrong?”
“Your chair,” said Valkyrie. “From down here, it looks a lot like a throne.”
“Is there anything wrong with that?”
Valkyrie shrugged. “I don’t know. Sitting in a throne all day might make it easy to forget that you’re an elected official and not, you know … a queen. Or an empress.”
China observed her, then stood and came down the steps, her bodyguards accompanying her. “There. Is that better?”
“Much,” said Valkyrie.
China got to the bottom, and embraced Valkyrie. “It’s good to see you again,” she said softly.
“It’s good to be here,” Valkyrie lied.
China stepped back. “The reports I’ve been hearing on what happened … they lack certain details, such as why on earth you went to the Narrows without Cleaver support. Obviously, as Arbiters, you have the authority to go where you like. But I have to ask, in light of what happened … was that wise?”
“In hindsight,” said Valkyrie, “no.”
China hooked her arm through Valkyrie’s and started walking. The bodyguards stayed behind them. “Who was it? Who attacked you?”
“I don’t know all of them,” Valkyrie said. “A man named Lethe. Another named Richard Melior. A Teleporter named Nero.”
“And you think they’re connected to this anti-Sanctuary?” China asked. “Oh, yes, Skulduggery told me all about his suspicions. I wasn’t sold on the idea, I have to admit. An organisation working behind the scenes for centuries without us knowing about it? It seemed preposterous.” She sighed. “It doesn’t seem so preposterous any more.”
“I’m assuming the Cleavers found no trace of them when they arrived?”
“None at all,” said China. “The City Guards conducted a thorough search of the area – I’m afraid we have no idea where this Melior man may have gone.”
“Why did Skulduggery quit?”
China frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“Being City Guard Commander. Why did he quit?”
“It was always going to be temporary,” said China. “I knew that when he took the job. Skulduggery wants to be out there, in the thick of the action. Being the Commander meant he was stuck behind a desk for most of his time here. He got it up and running, though, which is what I needed him for. When he left, there were no hard feelings.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. Why, did he say any different?”
“He didn’t say anything. Which made me wonder.”
China smiled again. “You know him well.”
She removed her arm from Valkyrie’s, and tapped the edge of her wrist. A tattoo glowed briefly, and the wall ahead of them turned transparent, revealing the city of Roarhaven below. “So what do you think of the place?” China asked. “Has it changed much since you’ve been away?”
Valkyrie nodded to their left. “The Cathedral is new.”
“Yes,” said China. “An impressive, if foreboding, structure, is it not? But it’s important to let the people have their faith. It rewards them. Keeps them happy.”
“Keeps them obedient?”
“Oh, Valkyrie … when did you become so cynical? But the Dark Cathedral is only one of our new additions.”
“I visited Corrival Academy.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?”
Valkyrie nodded. “That’s the kind of school I could have done with, growing up.”
“Which is exactly why it’s there,” China said. “Before, our children went to mortal schools and learned what they could about magic from a variety of sometimes unsuitable sources. But the Academy will give the next generation all the advantages they could possibly need. Teaching everyone the same rules, the same values …”
“Get them thinking the same way.”
An eyebrow arched. “You are cynical.”
“And so many students,” Valkyrie said.
“Yes. From all over the world. The best and brightest, all under one roof.”
“The children of the most powerful sorcerers, from every single Sanctuary on the planet … It’s some achievement. And hey, at least you know that it’ll keep their parents in line, right? No one’s going to want to go to war with Roarhaven when you have their kids under lock and key.”
China looked at her. “You make it sound like they’re prisoners.”
“Do I?”
China pointed straight ahead. “There we have the Fangs. Have you visited? Three square kilometres where the vampires have taken up residence. People told me it was a mistake to let them live among us, but do you know how many vampire attacks there have been in the last five years? Not a one. It’s been yet another great success – testament to what can be achieved when different people, different species, work together.”
“You sound like you’re angling for my vote,” said Valkyrie.
China laughed. “I’m just proud of what we’ve accomplished here, and I don’t want to see it threatened by a few angry young sorcerers. I’ve got Commander Hoc investigating the attack personally. He won’t be long finding those responsible.”
“That’s good of you,” said Valkyrie. “I doubt Skulduggery’s going to want to abandon his own investigation just yet, though.”
“Oh, absolutely. The advantage the City Guard have, however, is that they possess all the resources they could ever want – and they never go into a situation without back-up.”
“It does sound nice.”
“There’s always a spot open for you, should you decide to give it a go …”
“Without Skulduggery?”
“He’s spent five years without you. I’m sure he got used to it.”
Valkyrie shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not even sure if I want to come back.”
“Oh? This isn’t your triumphant return?”
“It’s more of a test run, really.”
“I see. Does Skulduggery know this?”
“I told him.”
“And does he believe you?”
Valkyrie frowned. “He’d better.”
China looked out across the city. “Skulduggery is a frightfully intelligent man, but, like all frightfully intelligent people, he assumes certain things. I think your return to his side would be one of those things he would assume to be a foregone conclusion.” She glanced at Valkyrie. “You may well have to remind him that it isn’t.”
Valkyrie returned to Reverie’s clinic. She got to Skulduggery’s room and stopped in the open doorway. He stood with his back to her. He didn’t have his shirt on. She watched his bones move as he examined his reattached forearm. Those bones were nicked and scratched with scars they’d picked up over the years. He flexed his fingers. Valkyrie didn’t say anything.
Skulduggery put on his shirt. It hung off him as he did up his tie, like it was still draped over the back of the chair. Suddenly it filled out, as if the man underneath was flesh and blood. Skulduggery tucked it in and reached for his waistcoat.
Valkyrie hesitated, then walked away.
23
His footsteps were lonely.
Odd that the word would occur to him like that. ‘Lonely.’ Up here, though, on the rooftop, his footsteps couldn’t be anything but lonely. He didn’t have anyone to talk to. Didn’t have anyone to wait with. It was just Sebastian up here, his coat flapping in the breeze, and being alone was a feeling he was just going to have to get used to.
Looking back, in the years to come, he didn’t think he was going to like this period of his life.
He walked to the open skylight and looked down into the dark bowels of the building. The ground was littered with rubble and debris, like a thin, flaky scab covering a wound. Sebastian didn’t like being perched on a roof while there were life-and-death struggles going on below him, but he was here for a reason. He had a mission. A calling. He couldn’t afford to get distracted.
A door crashed open somewhere in the shadows below him, and Sebastian dropped to his belly to get a better look. Kathryn Ether, a teacher from the Academy, sprinted into view. A dark shape coalesced before her and she stopped so suddenly her feet flew from under her. The darkness became a shape, a figure, a man. Ether scrambled back, and the man – long-haired, with burning orange eyes, dressed in chain mail – stalked after her.
Sebastian found himself tensing, but fought the urge to jump down. Rule One was don’t get distracted, and he figured getting horribly killed by a chain-mail-wearing lunatic would be a pretty big distraction, all things considered.
Then Auger ran from cover, holding a thick metal spear, and Sebastian actually sighed with relief. Arriving in the nick of time. Immediately, Auger’s friends Kase and Mahala darted from their hiding places, and they sprinted in from three directions. The burning-eyed man saw them coming, and roared. When the distance between them closed to five steps, Auger plunged the spear into the ground. Kase and Mahala did the same.
The spears started glowing. Threads of energy passed between them, trapping the burning-eyed man in a triangle. His roar of rage turned to a roar of panic. Mahala backed off. Kase too. Only Auger stayed where he was, eyes locked.
The spears grew brighter, the threads of energy getting thicker – and then the burning-eyed man arched his back and screamed, and the energy poured into him and turned him to ash.
The spears stopped glowing.
Auger ran to Ether and helped her stand. The others came over. Sebastian couldn’t hear what was being said. He had no idea who the burning-eyed man was, no idea why he had been after a teacher, but none of that mattered. Another monster had been stopped. Another threat had been averted.
He watched Mahala and Auger walk away with Ether, leaving Kase to gather up the spears and head in the opposite direction.
Sebastian didn’t know an awful lot about Mahala, but he’d done his homework on Kase. The funny one of the group, the one who used jokes to mask his unhappiness, the one who tried to hide the fact that his father had inadvertently formed a cult that worshipped Darquesse.
This made him interesting.
Sebastian followed Kase for a little under ten minutes. It was not easy, travelling across rooftops. It was even less easy to travel across rooftops while keeping track of the turns Kase was making. Eventually, Kase came to a house on Morwenna Row and sneaked in the back door. When he came out a few minutes later, he wasn’t holding the spears. He hurried off in the direction of the school, and Sebastian watched him go. He had arrived at his destination.
He jumped down, went to the back door and tried the handle. It moved easily. The door opened. Sebastian slipped inside.
Kase’s kitchen was a mess. Food-encrusted plates were stacked high in the sink. The table was covered in papers and battered notebooks. The floor needed a sweep, and a wash, and possibly a new floor.
Kase’s father was in the living room. Bennet Troth sat on the sofa, his head down, the TV on but muted. He had the same dark hair as his son, but like his house it looked like it needed a wash.
Sebastian stepped in. “Hello, Bennet,” he said calmly.
Bennet looked up and froze, his eyes wide, his mouth open.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” said Sebastian. “I’m here to talk. We have something in common, actually. If it’d be OK with you, I was hoping we could sit and have a chat. What do you say?”
Bennet blinked. His eyes were glassy, his face red. On the table before him was a half-empty bottle of wine.
“Bennet?”
Bennet got to his feet and immediately stumbled, clicking his fingers, throwing sparks and sudden flames, but was too drunk to cultivate them into anything useful.
Sebastian walked forward quickly, hands out. “I won’t hurt you, I’m just here to talk, I swear.”
Bennet lashed out, a punch that missed without Sebastian even having to duck. “Away from me!” he roared. “Get away!”
Sebastian backed off. “OK, Bennet, OK, whatever you want.”
“What I want?” Bennet raged. “What I want? I want my wife back!”
“I’m sorry?”
Bennet charged and Sebastian sidestepped, his coat flapping like a bullfighter’s cape, and Bennet hit the wall and spun.
“I think we need to calm down,” Sebastian said.
“You kidnapped her! Bring her back!”
“I didn’t kidnap anyone.”
“I’ll kill you, you hear me?”
“If your wife is missing, you should alert the City Guard.”
Bennet sneered. “They’d never help me. They laugh at me. They hate me.”
“Does Kase know?”
“Didn’t tell him,” Bennet said, emotion crumpling his face. “Don’t want to worry the boy. But you … you’re going to tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know where she is, but if I help you find her, you’ve got to help me, all right? Do we have a deal?”
“Yes. Yes, anything.”
“OK then. Do you know who would want to kidnap her? Do you have any enemies?”
And then it was like all of Bennet’s fury abandoned him, and he staggered to the sofa and collapsed on to it. “Too many,” he said, tears in his eyes. “Everyone knows. They know about …”
“They know you worship Darquesse?” Sebastian asked gently.
Bennet nodded. “I get rocks through my window. I … I lost my job. People around here, they hate me. My poor Odetta, she doesn’t even see Darquesse the way I do, but they still … they still went after her.”
Sebastian hesitated, then took a step closer. “What happened?”
Bennet looked up. “Who are you?”
“You can call me the Plague Doctor,” said Sebastian. “Like you, I see Darquesse differently from other people.”
There was a knock on the front door.
Bennet’s eyes widened. “Odetta!” he said, and lunged out of the room. Sebastian watched from cover as Bennet pulled the door open to reveal a pimply-faced boy.
“You Bennet Troth?” the boy asked.
Bennet’s shoulders fell. “Yes,” he said.
“Got a message for you,” said the boy. “It’s about your wife. You’re never going to see her again so don’t bother looking.”
Bennet grabbed the boy, shaking him. “Who sent you?” he roared. “Where is she?”
Sebastian ran forward as the kid struggled.
“Let go of me, you spanner!”
Sebastian pulled Bennet back, forcing him to release his hold.
“Easy now,” he said. “Easy. Let’s all just calm down.”
The kid stared. “Why are you dressed as a bird?”
“I’m not,” Sebastian answered.
“Yes, you are. You have a beak.”
“I don’t have feathers, do I?”
The boy shrugged. “Some birds don’t have feathers.”
Beneath his mask, Sebastian frowned. “All birds have feathers. Feathers are what makes them birds.”
“What about the duck-billed platypus?” the boy asked. “That doesn’t have feathers. It has fur. What kind of duck has fur?”
“The duck-billed platypus isn’t a duck. It’s a platypus.”
“What’s a platypus?”
“It’s a monotreme,” Bennet said miserably. “A mammal that lays eggs.”
“Oh,” said the boy. He looked back at Sebastian. “Is that what you’re dressed as, then? A duck-billed platypus?”
“No,” said Sebastian. “I’m the Plague Doctor. You have information about this man’s wife? Where is she?”
“Don’t know,” the boy said. “But if he grabs me again I’m gonna deck him.”
Bennet reached for the kid. “Tell me where she is!”
“Get your hands off me, you psycho! I don’t know where your stupid wife is! I was paid to knock on this door and give that message to a guy named Bennet Troth, that’s all.”
“Who paid you?” Sebastian asked.
“Some guy.”
“What guy?”
“I don’t know who he was,” the boy answered. “He was in a big coat and hat. Huge hands. Didn’t see his face.”
“What did he tell you to say? Exactly?”
The boy sighed again. “He didn’t say anything. Two minutes ago I was walking along and he shoved a note and some money into my hands. The note said to tell this nutbag that he’ll never see his wife again, so to not bother looking. If I’d have known I’d be attacked for delivering a message, I’d have asked for more money.”
“Only two minutes? Which way did he go? What direction?”
“I don’t know.” The boy looked around, then pointed to a street. “He went down there, I think.”
“Then we might be able to catch him,” Sebastian said. “Bennet – how do I get up on to your roof?”
