Skulduggery Pleasant: Last Stand of Dead Men (21 page)

“What does Fergus think?” Valkyrie’s mum asked.

“Who knows?” said Beryl. “He doesn’t talk any more, either. He spends his time reading his brother’s books. I never read Gordon’s work, it was all too violent and graphic for my taste, but I really can’t see how that could be healthy. I’m not saying that reading, in itself, is bad although, personally, I’ve never trusted books, but aren’t Gordon’s novels just a little bit … disturbing?”

Valkyrie seized the moment to pour the juice. “Reading horror books isn’t going to disturb Fergus, Beryl.”

“But how do you know? Reading those books is all he does these days. I think he’s even read some of them
twice
. What kind of disturbed individual would read the same book twice, I ask you?”

“It sounds to me like everyone is adjusting,” Valkyrie’s mum said. “You sold Gordon’s boat, didn’t you? Even in this market you still got enough so that Fergus and you can retire comfortably. You’ve got to understand that when some people retire they need time to figure out who they are now that they don’t work.”

Beryl hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose Fergus has always defined himself by his job.”

Valkyrie frowned as she sipped her orange juice. “And what did he do?”

Beryl waved her tissue. “Sick leave, mostly. And what about the twins?”

Valkyrie’s mum patted Beryl’s hand. “It’s like you said, they’re at an awkward age. Give them time. They’ll figure it out between themselves.”

“Yes,” said Beryl. “You’re right. I’m worrying over nothing.”

“Is that why you came over?” Valkyrie’s mum asked. “To talk?”

Beryl nodded. “I don’t have many friends, Melissa. You’re probably not surprised by that, but you’re too polite to say it. But it’s true. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about this and it’s been … it’s been eating away at me.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel you can talk to me.”

Beryl smiled bravely. “You’re my best friend, Melissa.”

She blew her nose, missing the astonished looks on the faces around her. Alice wandered out of the kitchen and Valkyrie finished her orange juice and followed close behind. She picked her sister up and walked into the living room.

“Wow,” she whispered. “Did you hear that? Mum and Beryl are best friends now.”

Alice said something nonsensical.

“You’re going to have to watch out for that, OK? Make sure Mum isn’t forced to spend too much time with her. She might need a few excuses every now and then to leave the room, so you’ll have to be prepared to poo yourself at regular intervals. Think you can do that?”

“Yes,” Alice said immediately.

Valkyrie nodded. “Good girl. Now listen to me for a moment. I have to go away for a bit, OK? The other me will still be here, don’t worry about that, but I’ll be gone. I’ll be in a whole heap of other countries. That’s exciting, isn’t it? Sort of. It might be for a week, or a few weeks … but not much more than that, I promise. Some things are happening and … Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I miss you every day I’m not home, and I’m sorry I’m not around more.” Valkyrie’s throat tightened. “And if … if I don’t come back … please know that I love you. I love you so, so much, and all of this, everything I’m doing, is to make sure you’re safe. OK?”

“Down,” said Alice, and Valkyrie let her down.

“I love you,” Valkyrie said, but Alice was already wandering out of the door.

Valkyrie stayed where she was for a moment, taking a deep breath. When she let it out, she let out all the sadness, too, just blew it all out between her lips. Her eyes were dry. Her throat was normal. She was not about to start crying.

She got back to her room, took off her shorts and T-shirt and let the reflection out of the mirror. Valkyrie pulled on her black clothes as the reflection dressed. When she was done, she took her backpack from under the bed and looked around the room, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

The reflection looked at her. “I’ll talk to Carol, if you want,” it said. “Make sure she’s OK.”

“Yeah,” said Valkyrie. “Actually, yeah, that’d be cool. I don’t know why she’s not spending time with Crystal, but if it’s got anything to do with magic, then I suppose we’d better try to sort it out.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Right, thanks. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but …”

“I know.”

“Yeah. Of course you do. I’ll call when I can, just to see how everyone’s doing, and to keep you updated.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Her phone beeped. Valkyrie nodded. “He’s outside.”

The reflection crossed to the window, opened it and stood back. “Good luck,” it said.

Valkyrie threw her bag out, used the air to lower it gently to the ground.

“I’m nervous,” she said.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” Valkyrie gave a little laugh. “You know, I’m not entirely sure I want to go.”

“You don’t want to fight against other Sanctuaries.”

“I really don’t.”

“But you’re going to anyway.”

“Yeah. I suppose I am.”

The reflection hesitated. “She’s getting louder, isn’t she?”

Valkyrie turned away.

“She’s talking to you all the time now. You listen to her too much. If you listen to her she’ll get stronger. You may not want to fight against other Sanctuaries but you
need
to keep fighting against Darquesse. You’ve seen what she’ll—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The reflection shut up, and Valkyrie turned again, surprising herself as much as the reflection by hugging it. “If I die,” she whispered, “please …”

“Don’t worry,” the reflection said softly. “I’ll be the best daughter and the best big sister they could ever hope for.”

Valkyrie stepped back, and nodded, and without another word she slipped out of the window. Before she’d even landed beside her bag, the reflection had closed the window behind her.

he trucks pulled up to the Sanctuary and sat with engines idling as the Cleavers loaded themselves on. Ghastly watched as Tipstaff co-ordinated from the centre of the maelstrom, eyes constantly flicking down to the sheaves of paper he had pinned to his clipboard. Cleavers and mages and supplies and equipment, all shipping out to reinforce the outposts around the country, leaving only a skeleton crew to man the Sanctuary.

Madame Mist had spoken to her people within Roarhaven, and they claimed they would defend their town and the Sanctuary itself if outside forces converged. Ghastly had no reason to doubt them, yet he always found it difficult to trust a single word these people said. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that three of their mages had tried to kill both Ravel and him just a few months earlier. While he had no proof that this attack had been orchestrated by Madame Mist – the three would-be assassins had so far been able to resist the psychics that Ravel had assigned to their interrogation – Mist was hiding something, of that Ghastly was certain. Quietly, and without fuss, he and Ravel had worked to reorganise the Sanctuary’s structure. Madame Mist had the entirety of Roarhaven to call upon, after all – it seemed only fair that the Cleavers now answered only to Ravel, and the Sanctuary mages answered only to Ghastly.

He left Tipstaff to his co-ordinating and walked back into the busy corridors of the Sanctuary. If it hadn’t been for the Accelerator, he would have happily abandoned the place altogether. It was such an obvious target for the Supreme Council, and as such it was a magnet for trouble should the shield be somehow breached. But they couldn’t let the Accelerator fall into enemy hands, and neither could they let it fall into the hands of the people of Roarhaven. A dozen trusted sorcerers were to remain here, plus twenty Cleavers, whose job it was to transform the Sanctuary into an impenetrable fortress.

Swapping the grey concrete and harsh lighting of the corridors for the bright and antiseptic gleam of the science-magic department, Ghastly walked in to find two lab technicians struggling to carry away a blue-haired woman who had both hands wrapped round a narrow pillar. The technicians were red-faced, straining and sweating, while the blue-haired woman seemed quite at ease as she clung on.

“Elder Bespoke,” one of the technicians gasped, “please tell her we’re all evacuating. She thinks we’re kidnapping her.”

“Clarabelle,” said Ghastly, “what’s wrong?”

“This is my home,” she said. “I don’t want to leave. I still haven’t found a sandwich I lost in here weeks ago. I can stay here when everyone else is gone. I can dust.”

“The Sanctuary isn’t safe any more.”

“Then why is it called the Sanctuary? Sanctuaries are meant to be safe. It’s where we all go when nowhere
else
is safe. I think I should stay, concentrate on finding that sandwich. I’ll be fine on my own.”

The door to the backroom opened and Doctor Nye squeezed through. Once clear of the doorframe, the creature straightened up, its long limbs unfolding. The surgical mask it usually wore was absent, allowing Ghastly a distressing view of its wide-gash mouth and the scab where its nose had been cut from its face. Its small eyes, yellow and blinking, fixed on Ghastly as it passed.

“Elder Bespoke,” Doctor Nye said in its high-pitched, breathless voice, “you have caught us at a busy time. I’ve spent the last few hours instructing clumsy oafs in the gentle art of moving my equipment without breaking it. Their ineptitude has set me back weeks in some very important experiments I’ve been running.”

“Maybe if your equipment was located in the science-magic wing,” said Ghastly, “it could be moved by people who know what they’re doing.”

Nye waved one long hand dismissively. “Those people don’t like me. They don’t want me near them on account of some things I did during the war.”

“You mean the crimes you committed.”

“Under orders, Elder Bespoke. And am I not as eligible for the amnesty as any other follower of Mevolent? Have I not repented and paid for my sins?”

“Probably not. Sorcerers have long memories, Doctor.”

“Only when it suits them. You’re looking for this, I take it?” Nye passed him a triangular strip of thin metal, the size of a guitar plectrum.

Ghastly examined the symbol etched on to one side. “It does what we need it to do?”

“That and more,” Nye said. “It was the simplest of tasks to construct, but it will not let you down, you have my word as a scientist. Now, if I can be of no further use to you, I have a journey ahead of me.”

“And what journey would that be?”

“I intend to return to my old laboratories and wait there for this whole nasty business to blow over. I have everything I need there to continue my experiments, and if you should find yourself in need of my services—”

“You’ll be within easy reach,” Ghastly finished. “You’re not going back to your old labs, Doctor. You’re being relocated to the Keep.”

Nye shook its head. “I have already had this conversation with the Administrator. The Keep’s facilities are practically non-existent. How am I expected to run my experiments—”

“Doctor, I really don’t care about your experiments. Everything I’ve heard about them strikes me as being just so incredibly
wrong
. I’m telling you what’s going to happen. You’re going to the Keep, and you’re going to prepare. If things go according to plan, you’ll have something new to keep you busy before long.”

“You can’t expect a creature of my talents to sit around twiddling its thumbs while—”

“There are two Cleavers outside these doors who will be accompanying you. They have strict instructions to never leave your side.”

A peculiar shade of red flushed beneath Nye’s natural grey pallor. “Elder Bespoke, I am
not
your prisoner and I refuse to be treated as such.”

“Who said anything about being a prisoner? Those Cleavers are there for your protection. Think of them as your bodyguards.”

“I have my own—” Nye said, then stopped.

Ghastly frowned. “What was that? You have your own what? Doctor, there are plenty of people out there who have lost friends and loved ones to your experiments during the war. Your safety is all that matters.”

Nye looked down at him, its lipless mouth curled in distaste. “Of course,” it said at last. “I will travel to the Keep and upgrade its facilities. Thank you for your … concern.”