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“You understood that, though.”
“Not at all.”
The American glowered. “I swear to God, I will reach across this counter and I will punch you right in the mouth.”
“Uh,” Valkyrie said, “I think we should all calm down a little. Sir, as you may have guessed, this isn’t the friendliest town in the world. You go to any other town in the area, I can guarantee that you will be greeted with the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen. But they do things differently here.”
“We just stopped off for some soda for my kids. And I’m not leaving until this guy takes my money and gives me my change.”
“Please,” Valkyrie said to the shopkeeper, “take his money.”
The shopkeeper lowered his eyes to the money on the counter. His lip curling distastefully, he placed a finger on the note and dragged it to the till.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” the American asked.
The shopkeeper ignored him, and spilled a few coins on to the counter. With a sigh, he looked up. “Happy?”
The American stuffed the change in his pocket then picked up the drinks. “I heard the Irish were especially friendly.”
“That was before anyone ever came here,” the shopkeeper told him. “Now we’re exactly as friendly as everyone else.”
The American narrowed his eyes, but managed to restrain himself from slipping further into the argument. “I’m going to walk out of here. Someone as rude as you, you’re not worth my time.”
The shopkeeper didn’t respond. He had gone back to looking up at the ceiling.
Valkyrie escorted the American to his car. “I’m really sorry about that,” she said. “I’ve been visiting this town for almost a year now, and they still don’t like talking to me, either.”
Skulduggery walked over, a bright smile on his fake face. “Hello there!” he cried. “Everything OK?”
The American frowned suspiciously, but Valkyrie nodded to him. “Just the shopkeeper being rude again, that’s all.”
“Ah,” Skulduggery said, “yes. Very rude man, that shopkeeper. All’s well, though? No harm done? Excellent.” He crouched at the car window and looked in. “What a lovely family you have. What a charming family. They’re all lovely. Except for that one.” His finger jabbed the glass. “That one’s a bit ugly.”
The American stepped towards him. “What? What did you say?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure his personality makes up for his face.”
Valkyrie jumped between them, keeping the American back. “He didn’t mean it,” she said quickly. “My friend is not right in the head. He just says things. Bad things. I’m really very sorry. You should probably go.”
“Not before this creep gives my kid an apology.”
“Oh, God,” Valkyrie muttered.
“Have I offended you?” Skulduggery asked. “Oh, dear. I really am sorry.”
“Don’t apologise to me,” the American snarled. “Apologise to my son.”
“Which one? The ugly one?”
“Whichever one you were talking about.”
“It was the ugly one,” Skulduggery confirmed.
“Stop calling my kid ugly!”
Valkyrie elbowed Skulduggery in the ribs. “Apologise this instant,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Of course,” Skulduggery said, and leaned down to the window. “I’m very sorry!” he said loudly so they could hear. “Sometimes I say things and I’m not aware that I’m saying them until it’s too late. It’s entirely my fault. My sincerest apologies for any offence caused.” He straightened up.
The American finally dragged his eyes off Skulduggery. “This,” he said, “is the nastiest town I’ve ever been to.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Valkyrie said.
He glared at Skulduggery one final time, then got into the rental car and drove off.
“What,” Valkyrie said, “was that?”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “What was what?”
“You called his kid ugly!”
“Did I?”
“It just happened twenty seconds ago!”
“Oh. I didn’t notice, to be honest. My mind was elsewhere. I’m sure I was joking, though. And I’m sure he knew I was joking. It’s all fine. It was an ugly kid, though. Did you see it? It’s like it had two half-finished faces pushed together. Still, all that’s in the past. I do hope they come back. They seemed nice. Come along.”
He walked towards the Sanctuary. Valkyrie hurried to catch up.
“Are you feeling OK?” she asked.
“Me?”
“You.”
“I suppose I’m feeling a little discombobulated. A little out of sorts. But I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Why are we here?”
She frowned. “We’re meeting with the Elders about Melancholia.”
He snapped his fingers. “Yes! Excellent. Good. So we are. Marvellous.”
The Bentley was parked outside an ugly building of concrete and granite. The Sanctuary was round and flat and low, and squatted beside the stagnant lake like someone had dropped it from a great height. It had one main entrance and three hidden exits. No windows. No paint. No frills. Inside it was just as frugal, stone walls and curving corridors flowing in a concentric pattern to the middle. Cleavers stood guard and sorcerers and officials went about their business. No matter the weather outside, it was always cold in the Sanctuary.
The Administrator met them when they entered. “Detectives Pleasant and Cain, the Council is waiting for you.”
Skulduggery nodded. “Lead the way, Tipstaff.”
Tipstaff nodded politely. They followed him on a bisecting route through the ever-decreasing circles of corridors, straight to the Round Room at the building’s core.
Pictures of dead Elders lined the walls, salvaged from the gloom by small spotlights. Three large chairs, like thrones, were placed in the middle of the room, and on those thrones sat the Elders. Ghastly Bespoke sat to the left, the light playing on the ridges of the scars that covered his entire head. In the middle sat Grand Mage Erskine Ravel, a handsome man with beautiful eyes and the slyest smile Valkyrie had ever seen, and on the right sat Madame Mist, a Child of the Spider, who looked at them through her veil. Out of all three Elders, she was the only one who didn’t seem to mind the robes they had to wear.
“Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain seek an audience with the Council,” Tipstaff announced, bowing before them. “Does the Council acquiesce?”
Ghastly sighed. “Is this really necessary?”
Tipstaff looked up. “Protocol must be followed, Elder Bespoke.”
“But they’re our friends.”
“That may be so, yet rules exist to guard us from chaos. This is a new Sanctuary, and protocol must be established and followed.”
“So we sit up here on these bloody thrones,” Ravel said, “and they stand down there? We can’t walk around or, I don’t know, grab a coffee while we talk?”
“If you want coffee, I’ll be more than happy to bring you some, Grand Mage.”
“I don’t want coffee,” Ravel grumbled. “Fine. OK. We’ll follow the rules. Skulduggery, Valkyrie, sorry about this.”
“No need to apologise,” Skulduggery said. “The whole situation is highly amusing, believe me. I like your robes, by the way.”
“I tried to redesign them,” Ghastly muttered, “but apparently, that’s not allowed, either.”
Tipstaff said nothing.
Madame Mist didn’t move an inch as she spoke. “Now that the quaint small talk has been dispensed with, perhaps the detectives could tell us what they came to see us about – something to do with Melancholia St Clair, no doubt.”
Skulduggery hesitated. “You’ve heard, then.”
“We have,” said Ravel. “What do we know about her?”
“She’s a few years older than me,” Valkyrie said. “Not much more than a low-level student. She’s spent her life in the Temple, reading the books and practising how to sound really pretentious when she talks. I don’t think anyone expected her to suddenly become so powerful. Wreath didn’t. Tenebrae didn’t.”
Ghastly moved in his seat, trying to get comfortable. “Is she trouble?”
“She’s nothing but a Necromancer,” Mist said in her soft voice. “All this talk of the Death Bringer is a waste of our time. Darquesse is the true danger. We should be focusing our energies on finding and killing her before she has a chance to strike.”
“The Necromancers should not be dismissed so casually,” Skulduggery said as Valkyrie looked away.
“I agree,” Ghastly nodded. “If Valkyrie had turned out to be the Death Bringer, we could have kept a close eye on things. That would have been ideal. But now that there’s an actual Necromancer in that position, we lose that advantage.”
Mist sighed. “The Necromancers are selfish cowards. They haven’t posed a threat to anyone in hundreds of years and I doubt they’re going to start now.”
“I hate to say it,” said Ravel, “but Elder Mist is right. It’s hard to take them seriously when they’ve barely poked a head out of their Temples in so long. Maybe if we knew a little more about this Passage thing …?”
“The Necromancers are working to keep us in the dark,” Skulduggery said. “Two people with vital information have so far been killed. That in itself tells me they’re planning something big.”
Ghastly frowned. “You told me once that the Passage is something that will break through the barrier between life and death.”
“Yes.”
“So what does that actually mean?”
“To be honest, Ghastly, I haven’t a bull’s notion.”
“Elder Bespoke should be addressed by his title,” Tipstaff said.
“Of course,” Skulduggery said. “To be honest, Your Highness, I haven’t a bull’s notion. The Necromancers believe life is a continuous stream of energy, flowing from life into death and around again into life. It’s all very vague and unsatisfying. They want to save the world, which is nice of them, but as of yet, they haven’t told us what they want to save the world from.”
“Well,” Ravel said, “maybe we’ll get lucky and Lord Vile will make an appearance, kill the Death Bringer like he said he would, take care of this whole thing before it becomes a problem and then walk off into the sunset.”
“I think it would be a mistake to count on Lord Vile to do anything other than murder a whole lot of people,” Skulduggery said.
“Agreed,” said Ghastly.
“Detective Pleasant,” Madame Mist said, “it is a well-known fact that you don’t like the Necromancer Order. That you take particular exception to their activities – especially since Solomon Wreath began training your protégée.”
“That would be an accurate summation, yes.”
“You don’t feel that your attitude could be tainting your objectivity?”
“When it comes to the Necromancers,” Skulduggery said, “I’m not objective in the slightest. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Our next move should be a visit to the Temple, where we can ask Solomon Wreath about this unknown agent who keeps killing the people we want to talk to.”
“So you’re requesting that more Sanctuary resources be made available to you, should you need them?” Ravel asked.
Skulduggery shrugged. “Yes I am, Your Almighty Holiness. What’s the point of having friends in high places if you can’t use them to settle old grudges?”
Ghastly looked at Ravel. “We need to find out what they’re up to.”
“This is a waste of our time,” said Mist.
Ravel shook his head. “I’m willing to go along with Skulduggery on this one. It might turn out to be nothing, but we need to find out what this Passage is, and we need to stop people dying.” He sat back in his throne, raising an eyebrow. “Hear that, Skulduggery? The Elders have spoken. That is the sound of the system working for you.”
Skulduggery tipped his hat to them. “I’m not going to lie to you, I could get used to this.”
(#ulink_1c776abb-fe36-57b5-97a1-fcdec31a804a)
alkyrie’s boots crunched on old graveyard gravel on their way to the crypt. Skulduggery didn’t even have his façade up – there was no one around on this bright evening to see them anyway. By this stage, Valkyrie knew the cemetery well, which was an odd boast for a sixteen-year-old to make, she was aware.
Skulduggery knocked heavily on the crypt door. Thirty seconds later, it opened, and a pale face regarded them with casual indifference. Valkyrie recognised him. His name was Oblivion, or Obliviate, or something. Or maybe Oblivious. No, she doubted it was Oblivious. Although …
“Yes?” said Oblivious. “What?”
“This is why I like Necromancers,” Skulduggery said. “You’re all so cheerful all the time. We’d like to speak with Cleric Wreath, please.”
“Cleric Wreath is busy,” Oblivious said lazily, and started to close the door.
Skulduggery jammed it with his foot. “I’m sure he’d love to see us, though. Look, she’s his favourite student.”
Oblivious observed Valkyrie then sighed. “We already have a Death Bringer, thank you. We don’t need another one.”
