Until the End, page 19
“It kept growing,” she said. “It wasn’t ballooning out or anything, but the wrist kept growing longer. I knew I could do better, so I chopped it off, started again, and this time I got it right.”
“And what did you do with the hand?”
Valkyrie shrugged. “We put it in the bag with the others and Serpine said he was going to burn them. Obviously, he didn’t.”
“How much did that fourth hand grow?”
“Like, four or five centimetres over a week, something like that. What are you thinking?”
He looked at her and didn’t say anything.
Valkyrie laughed. “No. Come on. That’s silly.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” she said. “Skulduggery, the hand didn’t grow itself a new Serpine, OK? I was helping Serpine grow the hand, not the other way round.”
“And you’re sure it couldn’t have backfired in some way?”
“Like, am I absolutely, positively certain that it didn’t backfire? No. Obviously not. This is magic we’re talking about. There are unintended consequences to the simplest of things, and growing someone a new hand is not a simple thing. So, yes, it’s possible, but it’s just silly.”
“When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how silly, must be the truth.”
She folded her arms. “So you’re saying that I accidentally grew a new Serpine, and he’s the one who killed Scure.”
“Yes.”
Valkyrie thought about it. Thought about it some more.
“Dammit,” she said. “I grew a new Serpine, didn’t I?”
“I think so.”
She turned and stormed up the stairs.
“Say hi from me,” Skulduggery called after her.
She walked out of the front door and flew to the City Guard headquarters, where she demanded to be taken to Nefarian Serpine’s cell.
He was dozing on his bunk when she walked in. He sat up, surprised. “Are you breaking me out?”
“I am not,” Valkyrie said, standing with her arms folded as the door slammed shut behind her. “Why didn’t you destroy the hands, Nefarian?”
He pursed his lips. “You’ve been in my basement.”
“Yes, we have. Why didn’t you destroy the hands like you said you would?”
“Honestly? They’re good conversation pieces.”
“I’m sorry?”
“People come in, they see the hands, they ask what’s up with the hands, and the conversation starts. It’s an icebreaker. From there, you move on to topics not involving hands.”
“You think hands in jars make a good icebreaker?”
“Put it this way, Valkyrie: if you visited someone in their home for the first time, and you noticed that they had jars of hands on the shelves in their basement, wouldn’t you want to know more?”
“Tell me something, Nefarian – how many people have you invited back to your house?”
He made a face, as if the entire notion repulsed him. “None. Why would I invite anyone back? No. Never.”
“Then why would you need an icebreaker?”
He opened then closed his mouth.
“Where’s the fourth hand?” she asked.
He looked away.
“Where’s the fourth hand, Nefarian? What happened to it?”
“Nothing happened to it. Why would you even ask that? I didn’t get round to buying a fourth jar, that’s all.”
“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to think twice about lying to me. The fact is, depending on the answer, I might want you to lie to me, but it’s in your own best interests not to do that. Nefarian, as stupid and silly as this sounds, as ridiculous as it is, did the fourth hand go on to actually grow a new you?”
“Yes,” Nefarian said quietly.
“Oh, dammit.”
He stood. “Did you know that was going to happen? I didn’t even think it’d be possible. I put it away, I put all the hands in the freezer, and, when I took it out again, it had grown an arm up to the elbow. I didn’t know what to do, so I put it back. I left it for a week, and when I checked again it had a shoulder.”
“Why didn’t you destroy it?”
“Why would I destroy it? I was growing an extra body in my freezer. If ever I was injured, I had a spare. I think everyone should have one! It could very well be the way of the future!”
Valkyrie massaged her temples. “OK. OK then. I’m not going to even … Let’s just move past that. Where is the body now?”
Nefarian hesitated. “A secure location.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Of course.”
“You haven’t put it together yet? Nefarian, you’ve been arrested for a murder you claim not to have committed. The only explanation is that you were in two places at the same time. The only explanation for that is that your spare body is alive.”
Nefarian looked at her. “No,” he said.
“Yes.”
“It can’t be alive. There’s no consciousness there.”
“Maybe it’s fooling you.”
“It’s an empty shell, Valkyrie.”
“Tell me where it is, and I’ll go look.”
He shook his head. “You’ll destroy it.”
Her phone buzzed. Creed’s team were preparing to open the portal to the Void World.
“Listen,” Valkyrie said, putting the phone away, “I’m not going to destroy it. If it’s like you say it is, if it’s just a collection of spare parts, if there’s no sign of life whatsoever, then fine. I’ll believe you. We’ll leave it alone. But if I’m right, and it’s alive, then it killed Robert Scure and it wants you to be executed for it. Don’t you want us to find out if that’s what’s happening?”
Nefarian chewed his lip. “I would like to be released from jail.”
“Then tell me where your second body is. I have to go and visit an alternate world right now, but the moment I’m back, I’ll check it out.”
“And you won’t destroy it if you don’t have to?”
“Nefarian, come on. Trust me.”
Every morning and evening now, there was compulsory worship in the Corrival chapel, where a priest would come over from the Dark Cathedral and lead all the students, and most of the staff members, in prayer. Just about everyone, from what Omen could tell, resented every last thing about this painful half-hour – apart from the pupils and teachers who were already devout and, of course, the priest.
That day Omen just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t spend another minute on his knees, reciting the insane lyrics of some ode to a group of transdimensional super-fiends. So when he was faced with the chapel doors, the doors that all those other students were filing through, he turned and walked the other way, and felt pretty damn good about it.
It was the first time he’d felt good about anything in a while. Even the leather strap that he dug out of his pocket and placed over his bracelet filled him with anger. This was Crepuscular’s trick, yet another instance of his cleverness, his sneakiness, his untrustworthiness.
Omen was an idiot, without a doubt – that had never been in question – but he hated the idea of anyone taking advantage of his idiocy. And for what? To prove some ridiculous point to Skulduggery Pleasant, to prove that Crepuscular Vies was a better sorcerer?
Omen had thought they were friends, but the truth was that he’d been little more than a prop to be used in Crepuscular’s psychotic game.
He heard footsteps, remembered there was always a prefect on patrol in the hallways during prayer time, and quickly stepped to the corner. He peeked round, saw Filament Sclavi striding towards him.
“Hey!” Filament shouted. “Who is that? Show yourself at once!”
Obviously, Omen wasn’t going to turn himself in and get sent down to the detention cells, which sounded bloody awful, but there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it apart from run and hide, and he wasn’t about to do that. He wasn’t a child. He was halfway down the corridor when he realised he was already running, and he thought to himself, Oh, I am a child. That makes sense.
He heard Filament’s running footsteps and jumped, bringing the air in to boost him halfway to the next junction. He landed and staggered, almost fell, but got a hand to the corner and whipped round, somehow managing to keep upright.
“Stop!” Filament screeched from somewhere behind him.
Omen grinned, and ran on.
He got to the stairs and took them three at a time, his legs starting to burn when he reached the top. He risked a backward glance and caught a flash of Filament’s furious expression. He’d never liked running when he was younger – his legs were too short, and then they were too ungainly – but he was starting to see the appeal as he led the pursuit up and down stairs and through wings. He thought he might be able to lose Filament by cutting through the corridor bisecting the faculty offices, but the prefect seemed to be gaining, and Omen’s enthusiasm and enjoyment were deserting him along with his stamina.
A door opened ahead of him and Mr Peccant stepped out. Omen managed to stop right before he crashed into him. Peccant glared, then heard Filament running up and motioned Omen into his office.
Omen lunged in and hunkered down behind the door, struggling to get his breathing under control as he listened to Filament staggering to a stop.
“Sir!” Filament proclaimed.
“Yes?” Peccant responded.
“Sir, the student …”
“The student? The student what?”
“The student who … He ran into your …”
“For heaven’s sake, boy, stop your panting and form full sentences!”
Omen listened to Filament suck in a deep, deep breath. “The boy in your office, sir,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“The student. The one who ran in just now.”
“The one who ran in,” echoed Peccant.
“He’s skipping prayers, sir. I need to …” Another deep breath. “Sorry, sir. I need to report him and bring him to detention.”
“I see,” said Peccant.
“Apologies for panting, sir.”
“Your face is red.’
“Apologies for the red face, sir. I chased him from the chapel.”
“Chased who from the chapel?”
“Whoever’s in there, sir.”
“What do you mean? There’s no one in my office.”
A baffled moment for poor old Filament. “Sir?”
“There’s nobody in my office, Mr Sclavi. You’re mistaken. Run along now, if you can.”
“Sir, but I saw him. I saw him run in.”
“You’re wrong. I was standing here the whole time and I didn’t see anyone. Better get back to prayers, Mr Sclavi.”
“Sir—”
“Get back to prayers, I said!”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Filament’s footsteps trudging away.
Peccant stepped into his office and closed the door, then tapped the doorframe. Omen recognised the sigil that soundproofed the room.
“Thank you,” he said as Peccant went to his desk and sat. Omen had been here once before, after falling from the library balcony. Peccant had saved him that day, had dragged him in here, to safety.
“Causing trouble again, are we?” Peccant asked, picking up his pen.
Omen shook his head. “I just didn’t want to go to prayers.”
Peccant grunted. “An inclination I can understand. I never was one for the worshipping of deities, especially the kind that stand outside your window for weeks on end.”
“Filament will tell someone about this.”
“I imagine he will. He has that look about him.”
“I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble, sir.”
“It’s a bit late for that, Darkly. How’s the search for that brother of yours coming along?”
“They haven’t been able to find him,” said Omen. “Not yet.”
“The Network newscasters don’t seem to hold out hope for his safe return,” Peccant said, writing something in the margins of the paper he was correcting. “They seem to think this Obsidian persona has completely subsumed him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you don’t think that?”
“No. Auger’s still in there. I know he is.”
Peccant nodded. “Good. Someone needs to have faith in the boy. It’s what makes the world go round.”
“Sir?”
“Faith, Darkly. Faith. If a person can’t have faith in his brother, who can he have faith in?”
“No one, sir.”
“What?” Peccant said, looking up. “What nonsense. If you can’t have faith in your brother, have faith in your sister, or your parents or cousins or friends or neighbours. Have faith in your fellow humans, Darkly. There’s always someone to have faith in.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“As well you should be.”
“Do you have brothers, sir?”
“I do. Four of them. Five sisters, too.”
“That’s a big family.”
“Back when I was a child, everyone had big families.”
“Did you have faith in them?”
Peccant observed him. “I did,” he said. “In some of them, I still do.”
Footsteps approached – what sounded like Filament’s, and a pair of high heels.
Peccant sighed, and stood. “Back behind the door, Mr Darkly,” he commanded, and Omen hurried over.
“Mr Peccant,” came Duenna’s voice as she knocked. “Mr Peccant, I would like a word.”
“I have a choice few for you,” Peccant muttered as he tapped the sigil and then opened the door, blocking Omen from sight.
“Mr Peccant,” Duenna said, “this student has interrupted me at prayers with what I can only imagine to be a lie, or at the very least a mistake. Mr Sclavi, please repeat what you told me.”
Filament’s voice – hesitant to start. “I saw … like, I chased a student. He was missing prayers and I told him to stop and he ran and so I chased him, and he came in here.”
“And you’re absolutely positive he came in here?” Duenna asked. “There’s no chance you may have been mistaken?”
“None, miss.”
“But, when Mr Sclavi told you what had happened, Mr Peccant, you insisted that no such student had run in. Do you see my dilemma? Who am I to believe?”
“You’re to believe your staff,” said Peccant. “Kids are stupid. There have been studies that prove this. Sit in on any of my classes and I can confirm it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
“Uther – can I call you Uther? Uther, did a student run into your office?”
“No one ran into my office, Prunella. I don’t allow running.”
“My name is not Prunella.”
“That’s hardly my fault. Would you like to check? Would you like to conduct a search of my office to verify the veracity of my statement?”
“Oh, I think any student would have had ample time to scurry away by now, Mr Peccant.”
“Then are we done here? I have marking to get back to.”
“No, Mr Peccant,” Duenna said, her voice growing harder, “we are not done. Prayers are mandatory for students and faculty, so why weren’t you in the chapel?”
“If I’m to pray, I pray on my own time, and in my own way.”
“I’m afraid that just won’t do. That won’t do at all. Prayers have not been worked into our timetables just to offer thanks and love to the Faceless Ones, but also to ensure that the worshipping is done in accordance with the rules. Staff are encouraged to pray on their own time, absolutely, but they are also expected to attend the scheduled sessions.”
“Principal Duenna,” said Peccant, “you may be perfectly happy to dance round what you’re meaning to say, but I do have work to get back to – so please make your point and leave me to it.”
“Mr Peccant … I am unused to being spoken to in such a manner.”
“Then I’d get your hearing checked, because people have been saying things like that about you for the last seven years.”
Omen tried to picture Duenna’s face right at that moment, but nothing he could imagine seemed to do the trick.
“I will not stand for such insubordination,” she said in a voice Omen could barely hear.
More footsteps now. Heavier. Two sets, marching in unison.
“And what the hell is this?” Peccant asked. “City Guard officers on school grounds? Why do we need police officers in school?”
“Security is paramount,” Duenna responded. “Sedition can start from the most unlikely of places.”
Peccant laughed. “You mean here? You think a school is an unlikely place for sedition to start? Dear God, you really don’t know anything about students at all, do you? This is precisely where sedition should start. In the minds of the young and the curious. This is where thoughts of rebellion should spring from: the mind of the teenager, bolstered by great works of great art. It is in the classroom where freedom festers, under the stale floorboards of authoritarianism. You dare to think you can control them? You can’t stop progress with ignorance. If you try to prevent a society’s evolution by putting your foot down, the foot will be crushed by the turning of the wheel. Do you see that? Can you even comprehend the enormity of your growing irrelevance?”
“Officers,” said Duenna, “please arrest Mr Peccant.”
Omen listened to the clinking of a short chain and the heavy click of shackles closing.
“Oh, I do apologise,” Duenna said. “Did I interrupt your little speech?”
“Some revolutions are televised,” Peccant said. “Others don’t have to be.”
Omen listened to them take him away.
Creed’s team were ready.
Because they couldn’t be sure that opening a dimensional portal to the Void World wouldn’t flood the immediate area with life-cancelling energies, they decided to open the portal in a warehouse in the middle of Dublin in the middle of the night. Which was nice of them.
Valkyrie and Skulduggery walked in and Creed’s team turned to them.
“What are you doing here?” Pike said. “You can’t be here. This is a restricted area. The Cleavers should have stopped you.”
“The Cleavers aren’t going to stop the Child and the Mother and her faithful sidekick,” Valkyrie said with a big, cheery smile. “We’re just here to wish you luck.”
