Skulduggery Pleasant: Last Stand of Dead Men (55 page)

hina’s shadows never left her. Everywhere she went in Roarhaven, they were behind her. She didn’t know their names. Two mages, that’s all they were, but they were impossible to lose. Not that she tried. She was focusing on getting her strength back, not on ditching the people who’d been assigned to keep an eye on her. She’d been from one side of this dreary little town to the other. She’d walked round the stagnant lake and approached the shield. On the other side, she could see Mantis’s army, preparing for attack. They’d been preparing for days.

When she got back to the Sanctuary, Ravel was waiting for her. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d murdered Ghastly Bespoke. Behind him stood the Black Cleaver, as silent and still as a corpse.

“You’re back early,” Ravel said. “You don’t usually return from your walk for another hour.”

She gave him a smile. “My shadows looked weary.”

“Ah, yes, they’re not very subtle, are they? I hope you’ll forgive me, China, but you have a proud history of treachery. I doubt it’d take much to get you to add us to your list.”

“Betray the only people keeping me safe?” she said. “You know me well enough to know that I am entirely self-serving. Vincent Foe and his group of miscreants are on the other side of your rather glorious shield. Believe me, I have no intention of doing anything to jeopardise my place
within
said glorious shield.”

“Madame Mist tells me you’ve had a lot of phone calls lately. Don’t worry, we haven’t been listening in. With the number of firewalls you have in your phone, I’m surprised even you can hear what’s being said. But one of her little spidery acolytes had been making a note every time someone calls you.”

“I’m a popular girl.”

“Well, that’s just it. You’re not, are you? You once were, before Eliza burned your library to cinders.”

“A temporary lapse, I assure you. Informants are notoriously fickle people, and they’re scared of uncertainty and loud noises. But now that I’m part of the Sanctuary, now that I have been seen to ally myself with Erskine Ravel himself, some old lines of communication are opening back up. I’m hearing whispers again.”

“Anything interesting? Maybe something useful enough to allow you to remain under our protection for a while longer?”

“I may have something for you.”

“Skulduggery?”

“The Warlocks.”

“They don’t worry me. They may be powerful, but there are only a handful of them. And I don’t think we’ll be their target anyway. I have reason to believe they’ll be striking Dublin.”

“Maybe you should start to worry. Do you remember what Wretchlings are?”

Ravel frowned. “Yes. I think. They’re before my time, before yours too, but in the simplest terms, they were organic Hollow Men. Artificial, man-made people.”

China nodded. “But instead of being made from foul gases and paper skin, they were made from meat and blood and entrails. Because of this, they were in a constant state of rot. No one has constructed any for a thousand years because of their sheer savagery. It would appear that thousand years is now up.”

“Charivari has Wretchlings?”

“Indeed he does. As to how many, I couldn’t say. It all depends how long he’s been planning this.”

Ravel nodded slowly. She could tell he hadn’t expected this. It felt good to watch him frown after what he’d done.

He snapped out of it. “That is interesting,” he said, “but I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t handle. I have a favour to ask, actually.”

“Oh?”

He gestured, and two men came hurrying forward. The sloppy one with the beard held a camera. The clean-shaven one held a notepad.

Ravel smiled, all charm. “China Sorrows, allow me to introduce Kenny Dunne and Patrick Slattery.”

They stared at her, and the one called Kenny started to blush.

Slattery stepped forward. “I don’t make much money, but I will give you all of it. Whatever you want. I know we’ve just met, but I feel a connection between us, a real connection, and that’s not something that happens every day, it’s not something you can ignore. So here I am, a boy, standing in front of a girl, telling her he loves her.”

Kenny barged forward. “He stole that from a movie.”

“I did not,” said Slattery quickly.

“He did. He stole it from
Notting Hill
.”

“Only the last bit.”

“I’d never steal a line from a movie for you,” Kenny said, gazing deep into China’s eyes. “You deserve more than that. You deserve poetry and originality and you deserve everything, everything in the whole world. I don’t deserve
you
, but … but if you give me a chance, then maybe I can become a man that you could some day love.”

“He stole that from a movie,” Slattery said.

“No I didn’t,” said Kenny. “It just sounds like I did because it’s from the heart.”

“Mine was from the heart.”

“Yours was from a DVD collection.”

“I don’t own
Notting Hill
,” Slattery said, derision in his voice. “The only Richard Curtis film I own is
Love, Actually
because it’s actually a really lovely film.”

“I haven’t seen it,” China said.

“You could have a loan of mine if you like,” said Kenny.

“Gentlemen,” Ravel said, “I asked China to talk to you in an effort to convince you to get our message across. China, some of my people stumbled across these two in Dublin, asking all sorts of odd questions. They brought them to me and I saw a way to help the Arts and our cause. Gentlemen, you’re making a documentary about us, after all. Wouldn’t it be better to let us help you make it?”

Kenny spoke to Ravel, but couldn’t take his eyes off China. “We’re journalists,” he said. “We have journalistic … integrity. What you … what you were talking about sounded like you’d be telling us what we could and could not … you know … film …”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Ravel said. “All I meant was that if, God forbid, some people attack the mortal population of this country, you would have documented proof that we leaped to the mortals’ defence the first chance we got. Something like this, broadcast around the world, would show people that we weren’t a threat to them – that there was really no need to fear us. That in fact they might benefit from our … guidance.”

“Sounds like propaganda,” Slattery said, smiling at China. “We’re journalists … our duty is to the … the … the whatchamacallit … the truth …”

China looked at them both, and smiled. “Please?”

Slattery whimpered and Kenny nodded so fast he could have given himself whiplash. “OK, no problem, I love you.”

“Aw,” China said, “thank you.”

he jeep slowed, and Skulduggery turned off the engine and they got out. The first thing that struck Valkyrie was how cold it was. There were no clouds, and more stars in that vast sky than she had ever seen. Her sense of wonderment was ruined by the yawn that overtook her. It had been a long flight and then a long drive and she was sore and tired. She didn’t know the name of this village, but it perched quietly on the edge of the Sahara Desert like an obedient puppy waiting to be petted.

A man emerged from the shadows, walked over to them with a smile on his face. “Detectives,” he said, shaking their hands. “My name is Tau. The Council of Elders asked me to meet you here, and offer you any and all assistance. I believe you wish to visit the dwelling of the Brides of Blood Tears, is that right?”

“They’re holding an associate of ours,” Skulduggery said. “We’re just here to ask for him back.”

“The Brides are not known for giving up those things they have taken.”

“We plan on being persuasive,” said Valkyrie.

Tau smiled. “Indeed. The Brides live in a vast pyramid to the west of here. Come with me. I will take you to your transport.”

Tau led the way round the outskirts of the sleeping village. A dog crossed their path, looked at them without interest and continued on.

“Hey,” said Tau, “did you hear? Renato Bisahalani is dead.”

There was surprise in Skulduggery’s voice. “By whose hand?”

“He was struck down by assassins, so I’ve been told,” said Tau. “They’re dropping like flies, aren’t they? I am glad I have never been respectable enough to become an Elder.” He chuckled.

A truck was parked behind a crumbling white wall. Valkyrie’s Necromancer ring turned cold.

She reached out, a hand on Skulduggery’s arm, and they slowed. A dark mass lay crumpled by the truck’s rear wheel. Tau noticed it and jerked to a stop. Skulduggery tapped her, nodded to a pile of broken pots beside them. Behind it, another dead body.

Tau turned, the shadows falling over his face. Then his hand started crackling with energy and he raised his arm and a large figure rushed him, a sword cutting through the arm at the wrist.

Tau screamed, staggered backwards, and the sword swung again and took his head.

Skulduggery remained absolutely still, so Valkyrie fought the urge to leap forward. She couldn’t see in the dark like he could.

“Apologies for the drama,” Frightening Jones said, wiping his sword clean as he neared. “Their associates ambushed me this morning. One of them stayed alive long enough to tell me what they planned. Skulduggery, you’re looking well. Valkyrie, a pleasure as always.”

Whenever she met Frightening, Valkyrie had to consciously stop herself from bowing. There was just something so inherently regal about this calm African – the way he carried himself was almost king-like.

“Who were they?” Skulduggery asked.

“Pirates,” said Frightening. “There is really no other word for it. They steal and loot and if their prize is worth enough, they sell it on. That’s what they were planning to do with you. The Supreme Council would pay handsomely for either of you in shackles.”

“But you guys are on our side,” Valkyrie murmured, her eyes irresistibly drawn to Tau’s head, lying in the sand.

“There are three Sanctuaries in Africa,” Frightening pointed out. “At the best of times, there are opposing factions. But now that our Elders are dead, more sorcerers are breaking away and looking out only for themselves.”

“How are the replacement Elders?” Skulduggery asked.

“Doing their job. Doing their best. Ravel made some good choices when he appointed them.” He lowered his eyes. “I … was sorry to hear about Ghastly. He was a friend, and a good man. I couldn’t believe that it was Ravel who did it.”

“We’ll make him pay,” Skulduggery said.

“Is it true?” Valkyrie asked. “About Bisahalani?”

“It is,” said Frightening. “Zafira Kerias has assumed his place as Grand Mage of America. These are turbulent times we live in. But for now, your chariot awaits.” He led them round the truck. “It’ll take you most of the way, but from its endpoint on, you’ll need to walk. The Brides live in a pyramid that’s only visible from a certain angle, and they value their privacy. I’ve never been there myself, but I’ve been told if you stay on a south-south-westerly trajectory, you will eventually reach it.”

“Eventually?” Valkyrie said, frowning. “How long is ‘eventually’?”

“No more than seven hours.”

“Wow. It’s a good thing Skulduggery can fly, then.”

“Ah, no flying, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“The Brides will detect any extraordinary usage of magic. Throwing a fireball will be fine. Flying, I am afraid, will not.”