Last Stand of Dead Men Page 8

  “Weakness,” said Madame Mist.

  Ravel looked at her. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re worried about being rude, and so we tiptoe where we should stride. Our enemies will see this as a weakness.”

  “They are not our enemies.”

  “Of course they are. Friends become enemies in times of war. If we enter into this with timid hearts, we will be crushed. We must stride, we must bellow, we must be merciless. That is how we win.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ravel asked, frowning at her. “Win? What might we win? If we defeat the Supreme Council, then what? Do we take over? Do we run every Sanctuary around the world? Why would we even want that? We’re not in this to win. We’re in it to survive. We defend ourselves. If we have to go to war, we strike at key strategic points. We weaken the Supreme Council and we chip away at their support. Then, when their rank-and-file sorcerers have had enough, we withdraw and let them sort it out among themselves.”

  Mist looked at him a moment longer, then sat back. “How … noble,” she said, distaste curling the word.

  “We don’t want a war, Elder Mist,” Ravel said. “If you find fault in our tactics, I invite you to offer alternatives. If you don’t have any, we may as well work with what we have. Valkyrie, I see you’ve met Saracen. Only believe half of what he tells you. Skulduggery, you’ve been looking deeper into these Warlock rumours. Any progress?”

  Skulduggery took a moment to answer. “Our investigation is ongoing,” he said.

  “Do you know something you’re not telling us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. Well, at least someone knows something. That’s a nice bloody change.”

  he Repository in the old Sanctuary had been much better. Its ceilings were higher, its aisles were longer, the various magical artefacts were spaced out more. But here, in the Roarhaven Sanctuary, the ceiling was low, the aisles were short and uneven, and all of these wonderful and rare objects were crammed together on the shelves, which made finding one teeny-tiny box all the more difficult.

  “Can we interrogate Bernard Sult?” Valkyrie asked as they searched.

  “Why would we want to?” Skulduggery murmured, his gloved fingers rifling through a large box of smaller boxes.

  “Because we might get a confession out of him.”

  Skulduggery put the large box back on the shelf, and kept looking. “We don’t need a confession. Ghastly caught him red-handed.”

  “But a confession might make the Supreme Council back off.”

  “Only if they were denying his mission, which they’re not.”

  She frowned. “I still think we should interrogate him.”

  “Why?”

  “To get the truth, the facts … also to gloat.”

  Skulduggery got to the end of the aisle, and started down the next one. “Gloating is unbecoming of you.”

  Valkyrie trailed after him. “You gloat all the time.”

  “Because when I do it it’s admirable and funny. Bernard Sult is a political prisoner. The situation must be handled with great care and sensitivity – neither of which are your strong points.”

  “Did … you just insult me?”

  He stopped, and looked back. “Not that I am aware. Let others be caring and sensitive, Valkyrie. You concentrate on being effective. It’s what you’re good at.” He resumed his search.

  “I can be effective while I’m being caring and sensitive,” she said to the back of his head. “You’ve seen me with Alice. You’ve seen how caring I can be. I’m the most caring person in the world when I’m with her. I’m almost too caring.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  She glared. “I care. And I’m sensitive. You need to be sensitive in order to be a good big sister.”

  “I’ve clearly struck a nerve.”

  “No you haven’t. It’s not a nerve. It’s just a thing. I’m a good big sister, and I’m going to keep being a good big sister while she grows up. I’m going to give her advice on school, on clothes, on boys … I’m going to make sure she’s happy and safe and nothing bad ever happens to her.”

  Skulduggery turned. “This conversation has shifted.”

  “Has it?”

  “It has. Who have you been speaking to?”

  Valkyrie hesitated.

  “Ah,” said Skulduggery. “It was something you were discussing with China. I see. And what did China say that has you so confrontational?”

  “I’m not confrontational.”

  “You think there’s an argument coming so you’ve started arguing early. It’s what you always do.”

  “Fine. OK. Yes, there’s an argument coming. Oh, look, it’s already arrived. Big deal.”

  “And may I ask what it is we are arguing about?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe not, but I think it would probably be useful nevertheless.”

  Valkyrie sighed, and put some irritation into it to hide her own uneasiness. “I was talking to China about the Second Lifetime Syndrome, and about maybe telling my parents the truth.”

  Skulduggery looked at her with his empty eye sockets.

  It was very quiet in the Repository. She could hear her own breathing, and every slight rustle her clothes made as she stood there.

  “Hmm,” Skulduggery said.

  “China’s not in favour,” Valkyrie said quickly. “Just in case you think she’s talked me into anything.”

  He nodded. “Hmm,” he said again.

  “She gave me loads of reasons why I shouldn’t, so you don’t have to. I haven’t even decided. I just mentioned it. It’s a possibility. I don’t want to lose my family. Is that so wrong?”

  He didn’t answer, and her eyes widened.

  “I mean … I’m sorry, I didn’t … That was a dumb thing to say.”

  “Why?” he asked, and tilted his head. Then he clicked his fingers. “Oh, yes, because my family is dead. I’d completely forgotten.”

  The warmth in his voice made her smile. “You’re such a moron. Sorry, though.”

  He waved her words away. “If people had to apologise to me every time they made some random comment about dead families, I’d never get any work done. As for your dilemma, I’m not going to tell you what to do. I want you to be happy and for your parents and sister to be happy and safe. Whatever way you can achieve that is fine with me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So long as you take into account all the possible repercussions of your actions before you do anything, I’m confident you’ll make the right decision.”

  Her smile soured. “Cheers. Are we going to find this crystal or not?”

  “Already have,” Skulduggery said, and held up a small, felt-covered box. He opened it and withdrew a purple crystal the size of a peanut.

  “Hmph.”

  He tilted his head. “Hmph?”

  Valkyrie shrugged. “It’s not very impressive, is it? I was expecting … I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was expecting something less … meh.”

  “I have never admired your professionalism more than right at this moment. Anyway, this is the amethyst crystal China told you about – though, to be honest, I didn’t know it could be used to affect the memory in such a selective way. It’s usually wielded with such clumsiness, used to wipe a mind clear. Whoever our mystery man is, he knows what he’s doing.”

  “If they’re so powerful,” Valkyrie said, “it couldn’t be easy getting your hands on one.”

  “It’s not – certainly not one as loaded with power as this is. A lot of them have been destroyed. Most of the others have been locked away in vaults and Repositories around the world.”

  “So our mystery man has a crystal of his very own,” said Valkyrie.

  Skulduggery nodded slowly. “Either that or he uses this one.”

  She looked at him. “Are you being serious?”

  “They’re really not easy to get hold of.”

  “So he borrows this one whenev
er he needs it, then puts it back when he’s done? But then … I mean, if that’s true, then we’ve probably passed him in the corridor a hundred times.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So we’re pretty sure now that not only is he a Roarhaven mage, he’s also a Sanctuary mage. That means he’s one of us.”

  He looked at her. “Yes.”

  “Well … that’s just creepy. Can we take fingerprints or something?”

  “Crystals of this nature don’t hold any oily residue,” Skulduggery said, “and the box is covered in felt. We’ll have someone go over the CCTV footage for this room, but I doubt we’ll find anything useful. The one lead we have, though, that we didn’t have before, is the description of the old man with the long grey beard. Take that description, combine it with Roarhaven, and who springs to mind?”

  “The Torment.”

  “That being the case, what do you think our next move should be?”

  Valkyrie smiled. “Scapegrace.”

  hen they walked into the pub, it was empty except for Thrasher behind the bar and Scapegrace sweeping up. Scapegrace brightened when he saw them. When she saw them. He saw them. God, this was confusing.

  Scapegrace threw the sweeping brush away and came forward, clasped Skulduggery’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “My friend,” he said. “It is good to see you again.”

  “Uh,” Skulduggery said. “Right.”

  “And Valkyrie,” Scapegrace said, turning to her, smiling broadly. “How goes the fight?”

  She had to look past the impressive figure, the pretty face, the dazzling smile, and remember the brain that lurked within that head. “What fight would that be?”

  “The fight against evil,” said Scapegrace. “How goes it? Does it go well?”

  “Sure,” Valkyrie said, a little doubtfully.

  “I heard there was an explosion in the Sanctuary. Do you have any leads?”

  She frowned. “Yeah.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “The people who set the bomb were arrested at the scene.”

  Scapegrace nodded thoughtfully. “I see, I see. Convenient. A little too convenient, wouldn’t you say? Almost as if they wanted to be caught.”

  “I don’t think so …”

  “Well, maybe not, I know nothing about it. But if you need our help, just give us the sign. We’ll need to work out a sign. Then you can give it, and we’ll come and help. Some kind of signal, or alarm, or, I don’t know, maybe I could give you my phone number, or you could pop by, I suppose. We’re only up the road from you, so that’d probably be handiest.”

  “You feeling OK?”

  Scapegrace laughed, and stepped back. “Me? I’m fine. Better than Thrasher, that’s for sure.”

  Thrasher walked up, a sheepish look on his handsome face. “Hi, Valkyrie. Hi, Skulduggery.”

  “You’re not feeling well?” Skulduggery asked.

  Before Thrasher could answer, Scapegrace did it for him. “He’s constipated.”

  “Master!” Thrasher said, horrified.

  “Oh, shut up. We’re all friends here. We can talk about these things. It’s just like Doctor Nye told us. We each got a blast of magic to reanimate these bodies, and that magic has been keeping us going for the past few months. But now our own biological processes are starting to reawaken and take over.”

  “I got hungry for the first time on Tuesday,” Thrasher said, somewhat guiltily. “So I ate something.”

  Scapegrace grinned happily. “But while his stomach has reactivated, his bowels are still asleep.”

  “It’s very uncomfortable,” Thrasher confessed.

  “As zombies, we didn’t feel anything,” Scapegrace said, “but now that we’re human again, something like constipation is a real problem. For some of us.”

  Thrasher blushed and Scapegrace’s grin widened. Valkyrie felt the need to step in.

  “How about you?” she asked. “Have all of your biological processes reawakened yet?”

  Scapegrace’s grin faded immediately. “Not yet,” he said. “I can feel my magic beginning to reawaken, but the biological processes are … taking their time. But it … it should be fine. I have a book about it. About what to expect. Actually, now that you’re here, I was wondering … If I have any questions about, you know, certain aspects of womanhood, could I ask you?”

  “No,” she said.

  “But just a few tips—”

  “Under no circumstances. God, no. No way.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Fair enough. I suppose … I suppose, OK, let’s keep this professional.”

  “Professional is a good way to keep it.”

  “It’s just … I don’t have any other female friends.”

  She frowned. “We’re friends?”

  “What about Clarabelle?” Skulduggery said. “Have you asked her?”

  “I have,” Scapegrace said. “She tried to help, but then she started laughing, and she wouldn’t stop. She was laughing so much she couldn’t catch her breath, and she passed out.”

  “She did,” said Thrasher. “I was there.”

  “It’s all so confusing,” Scapegrace said, sitting down. “I don’t even know what size clothes to wear. I got a big bundle of clothes from a charity shop, but I don’t even know how to wear most of it. This top, the top I’m wearing now, it took me fifteen minutes to work out how to do it up.”

  “It’s on backwards,” Valkyrie said gently. “It’s got a scoop neckline. That shouldn’t be on your back.”

  “How am I supposed to know that? That’s ridiculous!”

  “Also, yellow is not your colour.”

  “I told him that,” Thrasher murmured.

  Scapegrace jumped to his feet. “Now I have to figure out what my colour is? How is any of this fair?”

  “It can’t be all bad,” Valkyrie said, trying for a reassuring smile. “You’re healthy, aren’t you? You’re alive. That’s something.”

  “Yeah,” Scapegrace said, face in his hands. “I suppose.”

  “And from what I’ve heard, the pub is doing really well.”

  At this, Thrasher’s face soured. “It’s just a pity our clientele couldn’t be a bit … classier, that’s all.”

  Scapegrace glared. “Our?”

  “Sorry, Master. Yours.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my clientele. Most of them are old friends of mine. Well, not really friends, but … but people I’ve known for years.”

  “It’s nice that they’re supporting you,” Valkyrie said.

  Scapegrace took a moment. “They treat me differently,” he said. “They’re nicer to me. They laugh now when I say something funny. No one ignores me any more.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes,” he said, and then shook his head. “Oh, who am I kidding? At least when they ignored me, they ignored me for the man I was, not the woman I’m not. Now I’m just an object to them. A pretty face serving them drinks.”

  Thrasher’s eyes welled up. “They don’t see you like I see you.”

  Scapegrace whirled round to him instantly. “Again, kind of an odd thing to say.”

  “Sorry, Master.”

  “Stop saying odd things.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Scapegrace turned back to Valkyrie and Skulduggery. “You need something. Information? I’m your man. Sort of.”

  “We’re looking for information about the Torment,” said Skulduggery.

  “Ah, the Torment. I haven’t thought about him for years.”

  “Who is he?” Thrasher asked.

  “He’s before your time,” Scapegrace said, somewhat wistfully. “He was a Child of the Spider, or an Old Man of the Spider, whatever. He didn’t like Valkyrie because he could sense Ancient blood in her, and also he just wasn’t a very nice man. He could turn into a giant spider, though, which was pretty cool. Skulduggery, remember the first time you questioned me? You wanted me to bring you to him. They were good times, weren’t they? I was so different then. I wasn’t a
zombie. I wasn’t a woman. I was me.”

  “You brought the Torment to Roarhaven,” Valkyrie said. “You let him stay beneath this very pub.”

  “And did I get any thanks for that? All the work I put into converting the cellar into a place someone could live – do you know how long that took? I mean, fine, I may have stolen most of the materials, but it was still a huge undertaking.”

  Skulduggery tilted his head. “You stole the materials to convert the cellar?”

  “Sure I did. There were enough construction supplies coming into Roarhaven to rebuild the town ten times over.”

  “What was it all used for?”

  “Never did find out. But for ages I thought every house had another house underneath it, because there were just too many people here, you know? Too many people passing through, and I couldn’t see how they’d all fit. That’s how I got the idea to convert the cellar.”

  “There are tunnels connecting this building to the Sanctuary,” Skulduggery said. “There might be more. Buildings under buildings, as you said. Streets under streets.”

  “Maybe,” Scapegrace said, and shrugged. “I went looking one day, though. Couldn’t find anything. Although that could have just been because I’m rubbish and nobody likes me for who I am.”

  “I like you, Master,” Thrasher said.

  “You don’t count,” said Scapegrace.

  Skulduggery pressed onwards before the conversation derailed. “All of this was happening after the Torment arrived?”

  “No, a lot of it was going on before I ever met him. I convinced him to stay here because, you know, I thought it’d make the other mages respect me if I had someone like the Torment as a friend. But he hated me. He talked to other people. Never me.”

  “What other people? Who did he associate with?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone. He had meetings. I used to call them secret meetings, but they probably weren’t secret. They were just secret from me. People always wanted to talk to him, but I don’t think he was interested, I think he just wanted to retire. But that didn’t stop them. I remember the first time I saw Madame Mist come into town. At first I really wanted to find out what she looked like behind that veil, but then she creeped me out so much that I started to hide until she was gone.”