Resurrection Page 3

  Just one more thing for Valkyrie to feel guilty about.

  Roarhaven’s population had surged in the last few years. There were magical communities all around the world – some consisting of nothing more than a single street, and some as big as a mid-sized town. There were even three Mystical Cities that only appeared on earth every few decades, places of wonder and absolute freedom. But Roarhaven … Roarhaven was not only the biggest sorcerer city there ever was, it was the first to become part of the landscape. Mages came with their families, and they suddenly didn’t have to hide who they were or what they could do. Those who didn’t find jobs immediately worked at creating them. It may have been a city of mages, but it was still a city, and like any city it ran on its businesses. It had its shops and its stores and its restaurants and cafés, and it had cinemas and theatres and libraries and swimming pools. It had its own financial sector, albeit a small one, and it was all linked to – and dependent on – the mortal world beyond the wall. The highest salaries went to the people who integrated Roarhaven’s activities with the rest of the world without mortal accountants or lawyers or politicians noticing anything amiss. Roarhaven: the Invisible City.

  Once they were through Oldtown, the traffic eased up. Travel here was mainly by silent trams that hovered centimetres off the ground, as any cars other than those with Sanctuary tags were forbidden to enter the Circle zone.

  In the middle of the Circle stood the High Sanctuary, a palace by any other name, raised thirteen marble steps above street level. Its walls were thick, formidable, and its towers and steeples stretched for the sky as if rejoicing in their own splendour. Twelve years ago, the Sanctuary had been located beneath a waxworks museum in Dublin. When that had been destroyed, it had moved to a flat, unimpressive circular slab of a building that had once stood here.

  Now, that slab was hidden deep within this majestic structure, an imperfection to be painted over and forgotten about.

  A cathedral reared up on the east side of the Circle. This was new, and it worried Valkyrie. Black and grey, it had wide shoulders, and its towers were almost as tall as the High Sanctuary’s. In exchange for various concessions, including a vow of non-violence, the Church of the Faceless had been granted legitimacy before Valkyrie had left for America. Disciples of the Faceless Ones had been allowed to worship openly from that point on.

  For centuries, the Faceless Ones had been regarded as little more than sadistic fairy tales – insane gods banished from this reality aeons ago by the Ancients, the first sorcerers – but Valkyrie herself had witnessed their attempts to regain a foothold in this reality. Their existence confirmed, sorcerers flocked to their teachings, and Church numbers had exploded. Otherwise good people attended this cathedral and the other churches throughout the city – and the world – and prayed to cruel gods whose very appearance would have driven them insane. Valkyrie didn’t understand it, but then she didn’t understand most religions. Faith, she had learned, just wasn’t for her.

  The Bentley slowed to allow a tram to pass, then moved on to the entrance to the High Sanctuary’s underground car park. A City Guard, flanked by Cleavers, held up his hand, and they rolled to a stop. He came forward, eyes on the Bentley, an unimpressed curl to his upper lip. The dark blue uniform struggled to contain his gut, and the badge on his chest glinted in the sun. He had two stripes circling his shoulder, indicating his rank, and his thick belt, on which hung his gun and sword, was polished black leather. The City Guards hadn’t existed when Valkyrie had left. There had been a sheriff’s position and the Cleavers, of course, but they had been all that were needed to safeguard the streets. Apparently, those days were gone.

  Skulduggery rolled down his window. “Corporal Yonder,” he said, “how are you this fine morning?”

  “Identification, please,” the City Guard responded, hooking his thumbs into that belt of his.

  Valkyrie frowned. “Being a living skeleton isn’t identification enough?”

  “Corporal Yonder has always been a stickler for the little rules that make life worth living,” Skulduggery said, taking a wallet from his jacket and handing it over. “Though not so keen on the bigger rules, are you, Corporal?”

  Yonder didn’t answer, just glared at them both before opening up the wallet and examining the credentials within. “State your business,” he said at last.

  “We’ve come to pick up an ID just like that one, which has been delivered here for collection,” Skulduggery said. “My partner has finally agreed to accompany me on an investigation. It is truly a momentous day.”

  Yonder closed the wallet with a flick of his wrist, but held on to it. “It doesn’t feel momentous to me,” he said. “It feels like a Tuesday. You can’t use the car park.”

  Skulduggery’s tone was amused. “I can’t?”

  “The car park is for Sanctuary staff only.”

  “I have jurisdiction here, do I not?”

  “The way it’s been explained to me,” Yonder said, “is that while you may technically have jurisdiction, we are not obligated to assist you in any way. So you can’t use the car park. It’s staff only. Also, there are no pets allowed.”

  “Well,” said Skulduggery, “that’s quite rude. I mean, I wouldn’t call Valkyrie a pet so much as a—”

  Valkyrie sighed. “He meant the dog.”

  “Oh,” Skulduggery said. “Yes, the dog. I can assure you, Corporal Yonder, that the dog will be staying in the car.”

  Yonder opened his mouth to argue, then turned, somewhat sharply, and Valkyrie watched a City Guard with three stripes around his shoulder striding towards them. Valkyrie recognised him from his time as a Sanctuary operative. His name was … dammit, what was it? Larrup? She was pretty sure it was Larrup. He was saying something she couldn’t hear, but it made Yonder flush a deep red. Yonder stepped back, jaw clenched, as Larrup reached them.

  “Detective Pleasant,” Larrup said, snatching the wallet out of Yonder’s hand, “my apologies for the delay. You have business inside?”

  “Yes, we do,” said Skulduggery.

  “Go right in, sir.” Larrup returned Skulduggery’s ID to him, then waved for the Cleavers to stand aside. He bent down, looked in at Valkyrie. “Detective Cain,” he said. “Good to have you back.”

  “I’m not back,” said Valkyrie. “I’m visiting.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Larrup. “Good to have you back, nonetheless.”

  He gave them a quick salute and the Bentley moved forward smoothly, and took the ramp down, into the High Sanctuary.

  5

  “Explain,” Valkyrie said, a moment later.

  Skulduggery steered them between the aisles of cars. “Explain what?”

  “Why did the idiot think he could stop us parking here? You do still work for the Sanctuary, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Skulduggery said. “Well, no, not really.”

  “But didn’t you tell me that you’d been made Commander of those morons?”

  “I did, and I was, though they prefer the term City Guard, if I remember correctly …”

  “So what happened?”

  “I quit.” The Bentley swerved into an empty space and Skulduggery turned off the engine. “I felt I would be better suited operating outside the system, as it were, and it just so happened that there was a job opening for exactly that position.” They got out of the car. Xena barely stirred on the back seat.

  “So, if you’re not City Guard Commander or a Sanctuary Detective, what are you?” Valkyrie asked as they started walking.

  “Centuries ago,” Skulduggery said, “before the Sanctuaries were formed and each territory had its own Council of Elders, magical communities were bound together by way of a loose, international agreement of sorts. We’ll help you if you need it, providing you help us if we need it – that kind of thing. During this time there were certain sorcerers, much like the Marshal Service in the Old West, who delivered justice around the world and enforced the recognised law. They were called Arbiters. When the S
anctuaries came along, Arbiters weren’t needed, but the institution was never actually disbanded.”

  “So the new Supreme Mage in all her majesty made you an Arbiter?” Valkyrie said.

  “Actually, it was a lowly Grand Mage who bestowed that honour upon me,” Skulduggery said. “Grand Mage Naila. The African Sanctuary has troubles of its own right now, but they’ve been keeping an eye on how things have been going over here. As Arbiter, I now have jurisdiction all around the world and I’m free to investigate whatever I choose.”

  “And who’s your boss?”

  “Technically, I don’t have one.”

  “How do you get paid?”

  “I don’t do what I do for money.”

  There was a low buzzing in Valkyrie’s ears that she tried to ignore. “But you do get paid, right? Who pays you?”

  He sighed. “Each Sanctuary contributes a proportional amount in order to fund the Arbiter Corps.”

  “And how many people are in the Arbiter Corps?”

  “Including me and you? Two.”

  “I’m not a part of it.”

  “Your credentials were approved two hours ago.”

  “By who?”

  “Me.”

  The buzzing got louder until it filled her head, and then her vision blurred for a moment, then came sharply into focus like a new lens being attached to a camera. The world suddenly burst with colour, a glorious red that overlaid Skulduggery’s body, and Valkyrie staggered.

  “Valkyrie?” he asked. “Are you OK?”

  She nodded, aware that she was blinking madly. “I’m just … I can see your aura.”

  He tilted his head. “I didn’t know it was showing.”

  “Give me a moment. It’ll go away.”

  “Take your time,” he said, but even before he’d got the words out her vision had already snapped back to normal.

  She straightened. “I’m good.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am. Really. It’s happened plenty of times before.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “I call it my aura-vision. I really need a better name for it, but whatever. If you’re interested, your aura is a vibrant red.”

  “Ah, excellent,” he responded. “Is red a good colour for one’s aura to be?”

  “I have no idea. Most auras I see are orange. I think you’re different because … you’re different.”

  He nodded. “That would make sense.”

  They walked on towards the far wall, where the concrete ground gave way to highly polished tiles. Skulduggery stood on one, making sure to keep his feet in the centre. Valkyrie did the same on the neighbouring tile.

  “Skulduggery,” she said, “do you really think that you being your own boss is wise? You’re an incredibly irresponsible person.”

  He nodded. “That did worry me at first, yes, but the more I thought about it, the more accustomed I became to the idea. I think I’ll be a wonderful boss, actually, and I certainly intend to lead by example.”

  The tiles lifted off the ground, and Valkyrie had a moment to steady herself before shooting upwards to the squares of light in the darkness above. She still didn’t know what was so wrong with the regular old elevators just a little bit further on. At least you weren’t in danger of falling off one of them. This was, in her quiet opinion, needlessly magical.

  Skulduggery swerved in front of her and her tile darted around him, twirling as it ascended. They passed through the empty squares above, the tiles clicking into place, and Valkyrie stepped off, a little dizzily, into the obsidian and marble foyer of the High Sanctuary.

  The Cleavers standing guard remained impassive, but there were some curious glances from the people hurrying by. After a moment, Valkyrie realised they weren’t looking at Skulduggery – they were looking at her. It was like they’d never seen a pair of ripped jeans before.

  Administrator Tipstaff came over. A narrow man with a neat haircut, he held a stack of folders under his arm and looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

  “Detective Pleasant,” he said, “Detective Cain, thank you for being on time.”

  “We’re on time?” Skulduggery asked, sounding surprised.

  “I truly appreciate it,” said Tipstaff, “as I am incredibly busy today. While I do acknowledge the magnitude of Detective Cain’s appointment to the Arbiter Corps, I’m afraid we’ll have to dispense with the usual pomp.”

  Skulduggery tilted his head. “There’s pomp usually? I wasn’t shown any pomp when I collected my badge. There was a smidgen of circumstance, but no pomp. I feel quite let down.”

  Tipstaff ignored him, and handed Valkyrie a wallet. “Detective Cain, I have been instructed to tell you that even though the Supreme Mage had no say in approving your appointment, she supports you one hundred per cent and welcomes you back into the fold.”

  “I’m not back,” said Valkyrie, opening the wallet. Beside her name and photograph there was a sigil made of silver, half the size of her palm. She slipped the wallet into her back pocket.

  “May I enquire as to what case you are working on?” Tipstaff asked. “Of particular interest would be any potentially catastrophic global events. Our early-warning system in this regard has been quite limited ever since the Night of Knives.”

  The Night of Knives had taken place two years earlier. At precisely the same time in four European countries, assassins unknown had slit the throats of eleven psychics as they slept. How the assassins had plotted against and then killed people who could literally see the future remained a mystery, almost two years on.

  “If you are investigating something of appropriate seriousness,” Tipstaff continued, “the Supreme Mage has extended to you our full co-operation.”

  “Supreme Mage,” Valkyrie echoed. “Grand Mage just wasn’t enough for her. She had to go all Supreme on us.”

  Tipstaff gave a quick, polite smile. “Her duties are immense, as you are probably aware. There were no objections, however, when she claimed her new title.”

  Valkyrie gave him a small smile back. “Lack of response isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Tipstaff. “But the case you are working on …?”

  “Probably nothing,” said Skulduggery. “I thought I’d bring Valkyrie in on something nice and gentle, just to ease her back into things. But I assure you, if the potential for catastrophe increases by any significant margin, we’ll let you know.”

  “That would be much appreciated,” Tipstaff said, and glanced at his watch. “And now I must depart. Good luck, Detectives.”

  Valkyrie nodded to him as he spun on his heel and hurried away, and in that moment she caught another person glancing at her. She glared and the man looked away quickly.

  “People keep staring at me,” she said.

  “I’m sure it’s just your imagination,” Skulduggery responded, heading for the exit.

  Valkyrie followed him as the doors opened into the sunshine. People strolled across the Circle and a few even braved the cold to eat lunch at the fountain and the base of the clock monument. Beyond them, the Dark Cathedral loomed.

  “I don’t like it,” she said.

  Skulduggery didn’t even have to ask what she was referring to. “It is quite an imposing structure, if one were to be imposed by structures.”

  She folded her arms. “I don’t like where it is. It looks like it’s challenging the Sanctuary’s authority. I bet Eliza loves that.”

  Skulduggery adjusted his cufflinks. “Actually, Eliza Scorn is no longer leader of the Church. I don’t even think she’s in the city any more.”

  “How awful,” said Valkyrie. “I’m really going to miss her.”

  “She was quite charming.”

  “I think I’ll get over it, though.”

  “The rest of us have.”

  “So who’s in charge now?”

  “That’s where things get decidedly less fun,” Skulduggery said. “A man named Creed is to take over. Quite a pious fellow. Likes the
rulebook. Is fond of self-flagellation.”

  “Ah,” Valkyrie said dismissively, “who doesn’t like to self-flagellate every now and then?”

  “During the war, he denounced Mevolent as having strayed too far from the teachings of the Faceless Ones.”

  “He thought Mevolent was too soft?” Valkyrie asked. “Mevolent? The guy who tried to take over the world and kill all mortals?”

  “Ah-ah. He never said he wanted to kill them all, just that he wanted to kill some of them and enslave the rest.”

  “And this new guy denounced him. He sounds lovely.”

  “You’re going to like him, I just know it.”

  They watched the people go by.

  “You didn’t tell Tipstaff what you’re working on,” she said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Skulduggery shrugged. “I don’t have to. I don’t report to anyone here. If they’re smart, they’ll keep out of my way and let me do my job. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes it doesn’t.”

  The monument in the Circle, across from the fountain, was a huge, three-sided clock, its inner workings exposed to the elements. The clocks were each stopped at different times, representing different stages of Devastation Day. The first clock was frozen at the moment Darquesse broke through the energy barrier protecting the city, the second clock was trapped at the moment she set off that devastating explosion in the eastern quarter, and the hands of the third clock were eternally stuck at the moment Darquesse left this reality, believing she had destroyed everything worth destroying.

  It appeared, however, that a clock wouldn’t be a clock, even one as symbolic as this, without the ability to tell the actual time, so within every face there were the shadows of hands that weren’t there. This, Skulduggery had explained to Valkyrie upon her return, was a metaphor for life carrying on after catastrophe. They were also pretty accurate, which was a plus.