The Dying of the Light (45 page)

“Professor,” its assistant said, hurrying to its side, “we have a new patient. Female, approximately eighteen years old. In good health.” The assistant’s name was Civet. He had assisted Kenspeckle Grouse back in the reality Valkyrie knew, before the Grotesquery had killed him one lazy afternoon. He’d been a goofy guy. Here, he assisted a murderous sadist.

“I can see all that,” said Nye in that curious, high-pitched voice, pulling the clipboard from Civet’s hand. “The only thing I
can’t
see is why she’s here.”

“Baron Vengeous sent her to us,” Civet said. “She was with the living skeleton and another man. The Baron wants to know more about her.”

Nye leaned in, its long fingers tracing lightly down Valkyrie’s arm. “This jacket is armoured,” it said, almost in wonderment. “I haven’t seen quality like this in … I don’t think I’ve
ever
seen quality like this.” It moved to the cabinets, taking out trays of instruments. “Remove her clothes,” it said. “I want every centimetre of this material examined.”

Civet nodded, stepped forward, and Valkyrie glared. “Touch me and die.”

Despite the manacles and the straps holding her down, Civet faltered.

Nye looked round, saw the distance between its lackey and Valkyrie, and pulled down its surgical mask in annoyance. Its skin was as pallid as the Nye that Valkyrie had known, but this one had not had its mouth sewn shut or its nose cut off, and so its ugliness was marginally less horrifying. “She intimidates you? She’s powerless, you cretin. She’s tied down. What exactly is she threatening you with?”

“She, ah, appears easily agitated.”

“And yet harsh words are the only things she can throw at you. Are you afraid of harsh words? No? Then remove her clothes before I remove your skin.”

Nye turned back to its trays of sharp-bladed tools, and Civet took one more hesitant step closer to Valkyrie. He reached out to unzip her jacket and she bared her teeth. He thought better of putting his hands anywhere near her mouth, and dropped them to waist-level, where he hesitated again. He glanced up, saw her glare, and looked away quickly. After another moment’s hesitation, he knelt, one hand on her ankle.

“If I take the manacle from around your foot so I can get at your boot,” he said, “are you going to kick me?”

“Without a doubt,” said Valkyrie.

“That’s what I thought,” Civet said miserably.

Nye came back, shoving Civet out of its way. “Leave me, you buffoon. You can strip the clothes from her corpse, as that’s all you’re good for.”

“Yes, Professor,” Civet said, bowing as he took his leave. “Sorry, Professor.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Valkyrie asked.

“Poke you,” said Nye. “Prod you. Do unpleasant things.”

“Why?”

“Because I can,” it said, reading the information on the clipboard, “and it amuses me, and you’re a curious creature. You are clearly mortal, with no aptitude for magic, and yet …”

“And yet what?”

Nye examined a nearby monitor. “And yet there is something …”

The last time Valkyrie had been strapped to a table like this, she’d had an autopsy performed on her while she was still conscious. She doubted this Nye would be any gentler. She couldn’t escape. She had no magic and her shock stick was on a table across the room. The only thing she could do was delay the inevitable, offer up distractions.

“I’ll save you some time,” Valkyrie said. “I found out my true name. My true name then took on a life of its own, and was recently separated from me.”

Nye swivelled its head towards her. “You offer this information freely?”

“I want to know what I am even more than you do. You said there was something. What is it? Is it magic?”

Nye blinked a few times. “I … I do not know, I … ah …”

Valkyrie sighed. “I get it, OK? You’re not used to the people you experiment on asking questions, but I need this to happen, so buck up, bucko. I don’t have a true name any more. My magic has left me. Can I get it back?”

“I’ve never heard of anyone being separated from their true name before,” Nye said. “It will take some time for me to come up with a hypothesis, and there – there are so many tests to run and I … I don’t, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?”

It didn’t answer.

“Do the tests?”

“I can’t work with you when you’re like this!” it blurted. “To every one of my specimens, I am the last thing they see! Terror is what I am used to – terror is what I like! I prefer my subjects to scream and beg, not ask to see results!”

“I’ll scream my questions, if that helps.”

“It won’t,” it said sadly. “I’ll know you’re only trying to make me feel better.”

“Well then, it looks like you’re in for an uncomfortable few hours, Professor. Unless of course you’d like to tell Mevolent you were unsuccessful.”

Nye’s small eyes narrowed.

“Run your tests,” said Valkyrie. “When you’re done and you have an answer for me, I’ll behave.”

Elsewhere in Dublin-Within-The-Wall, Skulduggery Pleasant and Erskine Ravel were being tortured. She knew this. She didn’t give a damn about Ravel’s discomfort, but she was worried about Skulduggery. She just didn’t think it was fair. He’d been tortured so much in the course of his lifetime, after all. That’s how he’d died. Nefarian Serpine had tortured him for three days, using that red right hand of his, employing all manner of barbaric techniques and cruel instruments. Skulduggery had died screaming, looking into the face of the man who had killed his wife and child. And now he was back on the torture table while Mevolent or Vengeous or even Vile took turns.

“Curious,” Nye muttered.

Valkyrie looked up. “What is?”

“You said you’d pretend to be unconscious.”

“Well, now I’m pretending to wake up. What’s curious? What?”

Nye sighed. “It’s merely a theory, based upon the most rudimentary of tests already run, and I do not know how to explain it, exactly.”

“Please,” said Valkyrie, “use small words.”

“Your magic is, indeed, gone. When your true name was taken from you, all your magic went with it. But my tests did pick up something. And that something led to a thought, and the thought to an idea, to a theory, and lastly to a hypothesis. Our true names act as our link to the source of all magic, this we know, and every sentient being has such a name. In theory.”

“Only in theory?”

“Magic is too vast a subject to be mastered. We view magic one way, from one perspective. Who are we to say that ours is the only perspective? Warlocks and witches are virtually extinct thanks to Mevolent’s purges a hundred years ago, but they didn’t follow our rules and yet they had access to the source, and their access was arguably purer than our own. There could be a thousand different aspects to magic that we don’t know about, that are invisible to us, that we will
never
know about.”

“And what does this have to do with me?”

“You do not have a true name, and yet there is, as I have said, something. Or rather, the complete
lack
of something. Which is, in itself, rather something.”

“I know you’re trying to dumb it down for me, but I think you’ve gone a smidge too far.”

“My tests show nothing,” Nye said impatiently. “Absolutely no trace of magic within you. Zero. Even in the most mundane mortal, there’s a sliver of a trace. Not enough to ever activate or ever affect anything or be affected, but a sliver nonetheless. But within you, there is nothing.”

“So Darquesse took everything with her.”

“Yes. But that’s not important. The complete lack of magic may not necessarily indicate that there’s no magic within you. It may instead indicate that there’s something
blocking
you from magic.”

“But since I don’t have a true name—”

“Then you’re an empty vessel,” said Nye. Almost excitedly. “You are something unique. Something I’ve never seen before. And, like any empty vessel, you’re just waiting to be filled.”

“So how do I get … filled?”

“I do not know. As I said, all this is conjecture. I will know more after the autopsy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Valkyrie. “The what?”

“I’ve done all I can with your living body,” said Nye. “Once I’ve dissected you, I’ll know more.”

“I won’t be much use to you dead.”

“That’s what every living person says. They’re always wrong.”

“But there have to be more tests you—”

“This is why I do not like conversing with specimens on my table,” said Nye, interrupting her. “Arguments. Discussions. Appeals to my humanity. I am a Crengarrion. I am not human. I will now cut you up into little pieces that I will weigh and catalogue. You only interest me from this point on as a collection of body parts.”

“What about the soul?” Valkyrie asked. “The Nye in my reality was always looking for the soul. Don’t you want to do that?”

Nye leaned over her. “The soul? I found where the soul resides four years ago. Rest assured, I’ll be dissecting that also.”

Civet came back in. He walked stiffly. He looked terrified. “Professor …”

Nye turned to him. “Yes? What is it? What do you—?”

Civet was shoved sideways into the wall, and a silenced pistol gripped by a red hand was aimed straight into Nye’s startled face.

Nye raised its hands. “Wh-what is this?”

“What does it look like, you ridiculous creature?” Nefarian Serpine asked. “It’s a damn rescue.”

n Valkyrie’s reality, Emmett Peregrine was a Teleporter who had been dead for years, killed by the Diablerie. In this reality, he was alive and well and waiting for them in the corridor outside Nye’s laboratory. With her stick in one hand, Valkyrie grabbed his arm and Serpine took hold of the other, and suddenly they were outside.

Valkyrie stepped away from them both. They were in a small village. People hurried by. She could hear the sea. She could smell fish on the evening air.

Peregrine disappeared, and Serpine turned to Valkyrie and smiled. “Hello, Valkyrie.”

“What do you want?”

“That’s all the thanks I get?” he said. “I just saved your life. A little gratitude would be nice.”

“What do you want?”

Serpine didn’t seem overly wary of the stick in her hand at all. “Valkyrie, this may come as a shock to you, considering the history you’ve shared with both me and my counterpart from your dimension, but I’m not altogether a bad guy. I have my good moments. I have my redeeming features. In the time since you were last here, I’ve taken over as leader of the Resistance. Are you shocked?”

“I don’t care enough to be shocked.”

“Not caring is a sign of shock. After China Sorrows was so tragically killed during Mevolent’s attack on Resistance territory, I put myself forward for—”

“You killed her.”

“Eh?”

“You killed China. You broke her neck.”

Serpine frowned. “You saw that?”

“Darquesse did,” said Valkyrie. “Which means I did.”

“Ah,” said Serpine, “well, it was a chaotic day. Lots of people did lots of things. It was very confusing. Who knows who did what?”

“I know you killed China.”

“Let’s not get bogged down in specifics,” he said, speaking quietly. “Yes, I killed China, but in a more general sense, China was killed and I was nearby. That’s just a lot softer to say, isn’t it? It isn’t nearly as spiky as
I killed her
. So let’s stick with China was killed, and I was nearby, and let’s not tell anyone the rest. It’d just complicate matters – for you, as well as me. And now here I am, striking a blow against tyranny by releasing you, Valkyrie Cain. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Why?”

“Because I am in need of you. Come. Walk with me.”

“No,” said Valkyrie.

He sighed. “You’re stubborn. Some people might find that admirable. I find it annoying.”

Valkyrie looked around. “Are all these people sorcerers?”

“Hmm? Oh, no.” He chuckled. “Not at all. Look at them. What a sorry state we’d be in if they were.”

“So this is a mortal village?”

“Yes. It’s the perfect hiding spot. There’s enough depressing mundanity here to frighten off even the most ardent of Sense-Wardens before they get too close.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“We can handle it.”

“Not for
you
,” she said, glaring. “For them. The mortals. If Mevolent finds out your base is here, all these innocent people will be caught in the crossfire.”

Serpine nodded. “So?”

“So these are the people you’re supposed to be protecting.”

“Who told you that? It’s not our job to protect them. Our job is to fight Mevolent.”

“And if you beat him?”

“
When
we beat him.”

“What then? Are you going to rule over these people just like he did?”

“Of course,” said Serpine. “What did you expect? You really think we’d let mortals run the world? Look at them. Watch them stumble and fumble. Gaze into their dull eyes. Can you see even the faintest glimmer of intelligence? Mortals are not fit to run their own lives, Valkyrie, let alone the world.”

“If you give them a chance—”

“They don’t want a chance. They need guidance. They need wisdom. The oldest mortal is still only a child compared to a sorcerer. Would you trust children to run your life?”