Until the End, page 4
He ignored her question and asked one of his own. “How is he choosing his victims?”
“We haven’t confirmed it, but Skulduggery thinks Obsidian might be psychic. He passes by, he hears particularly loud thoughts, and he pops in to erase someone’s existence.”
“So long as those thoughts are in favour of the Faceless Ones.”
“Looks like it. We might have a prejudiced serial killer on our hands. Like serial killers aren’t bad enough already, right?”
“And Detective Pleasant, once again, chose not to deliver this report alongside you? I worry.”
“Do you now?”
“I think he might be a subversive.”
She laughed. “Of course he’s a subversive. It’s Skulduggery Pleasant we’re talking about.”
“Subversives are to be put to death. That is the law.”
“That law doesn’t apply to Skulduggery.”
“Your fondness for him is admirable, the way fondness for an unruly dog is, but are you entirely sure he’s worth the effort?”
“You’re not killing him.”
“Because you believe you share a bond, yes? With everything you’ve been through, with your friendship, you believe this bond is unbreakable. Valkyrie, you’re young, and so take it from me when I tell you that nothing is unbreakable. Maybe once, years ago, Skulduggery would have sacrificed the world for you – but do you really think that’s true any more?”
“He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I believe he would because the Valkyrie Cain he knows would never forgive him if he chose her over others.”
“I am the Valkyrie Cain he knows.”
“No. You’re not.”
She went to the window, gazing up Khrthauk as it stood over Dublin city.
“You’re not killing him,” she repeated.
“I may have to,” said Creed.
“Then I’ll kill you.”
“You don’t believe in killing people.”
Valkyrie looked at him. “Get me mad enough, Damocles, and you’ll see what I believe.”
He returned her gaze for a long moment, and then nodded. “Of course. Whatever the Child and Mother of the Faceless Ones wants.”
“So glad we agree. Now then – seeing as how Obsidian seems to have a thing for killing the members of your congregation, maybe it’d be an idea to pause with the worshipping and stuff. Maybe tell them to think about other things until we find a way to stop them from getting erased.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. The faithful are willing to die for their beliefs.”
“I notice you haven’t asked their opinion on that.”
“Because I don’t have to.”
“You’re putting the whole of Roarhaven in danger.”
“The dangers of the flesh pale in comparison to the dangers of the soul, Valkyrie. Besides, I have every confidence that you and your pet skeleton will stop Obsidian before many more lives are lost. If you can’t, after all, then who can?”
“It’s not easy,” said Bennet Troth, “worshipping someone who’s probably going to kill you.”
He kept his voice down because the others were sleeping, but it really didn’t make any difference. There was always someone talking or shouting or begging or crying down here, down in the dungeons beneath the City Guard headquarters. In the cell across from them, there was a man who screamed himself hoarse every morning.
“I don’t know why we do it,” Bennet continued. “Sometimes I think we’re all quite mad. Maybe we’ve been mad for years, you know? Since Devastation Day, when Darquesse levelled half the city and we got our first real glimpse of an actual god.”
Sebastian lay on his bunk, eyes focused on the end of the beak of his plague doctor’s mask, and grunted a response. He’d had this conversation before. It was one of Bennet’s favourites. When he had nothing left to talk about, he would always start wondering about his own sanity. Sebastian couldn’t blame him. They’d been down here since June, and the only charge levelled at them so far was of being “members of an illegal organisation”. Sebastian doubted that the Darquesse Society was illegal: it had a grand total of six living members, and no one else even knew it existed.
He knew why they were down here, though, and it wasn’t because they posed a threat to anyone. They were insurance, or maybe a human shield, in case Darquesse escaped wherever they were keeping her.
Sebastian had found, as the weeks had turned into months, that he cared less for his own circumstances – which were, to be honest, too dreary and mundane to bother fretting over – and more for the current well-being of Darquesse, whom Commander Hoc had dragged away, bound and unconscious. He worried about her constantly. A concrete ball had formed in his stomach like a tiny, heavy planet with its own gravitational pull, and it caught every other thought in his head and dragged it down so that he was incapable of thinking about anything else.
Darquesse was not his biological daughter, and due to her rapid ageing until she hit twenty-six, he’d only had to take care of her for a matter of weeks. But there was still some part of him that demanded that she be protected from harm at all costs – and that part had been tortured every single day since they’d been captured.
Bennet started praying, his mutterings like the faint dripping of water. The other members of the Darquesse Society also spent a good portion of their day praying to Darquesse. Sebastian didn’t pray – he just worried.
Bennet finally fell asleep and Sebastian dozed. Midway through the night, he turned over to gaze upon the brickwork of the wall next to him and jerked back so suddenly he fell off his bunk.
Instead of a patch of empty ground between Sebastian and the wall, there was now a blanket, and upon that blanket lay a figure, stirred now by Sebastian’s reaction. An old man with long grey hair as straggly as his long grey beard sat up and blinked at Sebastian through the gloom.
“You look like a bird,” the old man said in a thick Kerry accent. “Do you sound like a bird? Say something to me and try not to squawk. What kind of bird are you? Do you lay eggs? I’d quite like some eggs. I haven’t had eggs in a long, long time.”
Sebastian checked behind him as he stood. None of the others had woken. “Who are you?” he asked, keeping his voice down.
The old man got to his feet. He was dressed in rags, and his coat looked as old as he was. “Name’s Flibbertigibbet Bedfellow, though you can call me Nuncle if you want. Everyone does. Everyone who knows me – and everyone does know me, even if they don’t know they know. I would digress, but I’d never be able to find my way back. You’re a curious-looking thing. Were you born with that face?”
“It’s a mask,” said Sebastian, tapping the nose.
Nuncle laughed. “I know that, lad. You’re wearing a mask; I’m wearing a mask; we’re all wearing our masks. But were you born with yours?”
“Uh, no.”
“You have quite a beak.”
“Yeah. I didn’t hear them bring you in.”
“Didn’t hear who?”
“The guards. I didn’t hear them chain you up.”
Nuncle nodded. “They must have been very quiet.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I was a million miles away,” Nuncle said, putting his fingertips to his temple and fluttering his hand in the air. “Can I ask you a question, boy?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” said Nuncle. “You should never be afraid of questions. That’s what my mother used to tell me, whenever I got chased home by a pack of them. Course, back when I was a lad, questions were a different sort. They had teeth, and they snatched little children and ate them up like crunchy apples.”
“Right,” Sebastian said slowly. “What did you do? To get thrown in here, I mean. What did you do wrong?”
The old man frowned. “I don’t rightly know. I’m not sure I did anything. Or maybe I did everything. Ah, sure, how are you meant to know these days? Time makes a fool of us all, does it not?”
“I suppose.”
“Are we going to be friends, then?”
“Uh … I suppose.”
“Well, that’s good news,” said Nuncle, smiling. “You can never have too many friends.” He lay back, and before Sebastian could ask him anything else, he went to sleep.
A torn piece of paper skittered by on the breeze and Omen curled his fingers and the breeze diverted the paper into his hand. Feeling pretty good about managing that move without blasting himself with a gust of wind, he scrunched the paper up and tossed it into the recycling bin next to the bench. Feeling absolutely astonished that he had managed that without missing, the promise of an amazing day where everything went right was shredded by Filament Sclavi appearing before him, his prefect badge shining.
“You can’t help it, can you?” Filament asked with a smile that was not technically unkind, but which was loaded with an as yet unknown agenda.
“Sorry?” Omen said, looking up at him, but making no move to stand.
“Do you even realise it when you do it, I wonder?” Filament said. “Or is it unconscious? Is it such a part of you that you have no idea it’s even there?”
“Well, I have no idea what we’re talking about, if that’s any use to you.”
“Are you trying to make up for what’s happening with Auger? Everyone knows that the Chosen One brand is very important to your family. Is that what it is? Are you trying to be the hero now that Auger’s the bad guy?”
Omen’s chest tightened, but he said nothing.
Filament pointed to a First Year picking up rubbish across the courtyard. “Cleaning up the litter is what he’s doing. It is a punishment. You know this concept? The definition of punishment is the infliction of a penalty as retribution for an offence. It is meant to be a burden on the transgressor of this offence, and nobody else. Do you understand this?”
“I’m still dealing with the fact that you went to the trouble of looking up and memorising the definition of the word punishment, to be honest.”
“If you help someone with their punishment, it is no longer their punishment.”
“What’d he do?”
“That is no concern of yours.”
“Are you even allowed to punish First Years? You’re not a teacher.”
“Under the new Code of Conduct for Prefects, introduced by Principal Duenna, I am allowed to punish any student for certain transgressions.”
“Like what?”
Filament folded his arms. “Disrespect for one. Authority must be maintained – that is one of Principal Duenna’s guiding rules. If the students don’t respect the prefects, order crumbles and chaos reigns.”
“Order’s on pretty shaky grounds already if a little cheekiness could topple it.”
“Principal Duenna gave instructions to send you to her office if you disrespected us, did you know that?”
“Really? You’re going to send me to the Principal’s Office?”
“Not yet,” Filament said. He started walking. “Come with me.”
Omen watched him without moving. When it became obvious that Omen was staying where he was, Filament stopped, sighed and turned.
“Mr Darkly,” he repeated, like he was calling a dog to heel.
Omen just smiled and waved and walked the other way.
Hurrying footsteps, and then Filament was standing in front of him.
“Filament,” Omen said, “what’s up?”
“I told you to follow.”
“You did, yeah.”
“Then follow, Mr Darkly.”
“We don’t have to be so formal, Filament. You can call me Omen.”
Another theatrical sigh. “Omen, follow.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
“Getting someone to follow you isn’t one of your prefect powers, though, is it?”
“I never said that it was.”
“Then I’m not going to follow you.”
“I have something to show you.”
“What is it?”
“Come with me and you’ll see.”
“You sound like you’re going to take me on a tour of your chocolate factory.”
Filament frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You sound like you’re going to break into song and take me on a tour of your – never mind. What do you want to show me, Filament?”
“You’ll have to see for yourself.”
“I think I’ll wait and see it later.”
“But you need to see it.”
“I don’t really, though, do I?”
“Omen,” said Filament, taking a deep breath, “I’m asking you to come with me. I have something to show you. I don’t want to tell you what it is because I want it to be a surprise. You’re not going to like it, but believe me when I tell you that you need to see it.” He bristled. “Please.”
“Will it take long?”
“No.”
“I have somewhere to be.”
“It’ll only be a few minutes.”
“OK.”
They made their way towards the stairs.
“I was lying,” Omen said. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”
They went outside, walked up to the school gates, and Filament checked his watch.
“Gonna tell me what the big surprise is?” Omen asked.
“No,” said Filament. “But it should be here any second.”
“Can I ask a question? Now that we’re alone and everything. Do you like being a prefect?”
“Of course.”
“Why, though? Everyone hates the prefects.”
“They hate us because they fear us.”
“You’re thinking of the X-Men. Everyone hates prefects because you’re a bunch of narks.”
Filament frowned. “What’s a nark?”
“Oh, it’s someone who turns you in to the authorities whenever you do the slightest thing wrong.”
“Yes,” said Filament. “Because we’re like the secret police.”
“That’s really not it. It’s way less cool.”
“I like being a prefect because it means I can serve my school and my city,” said Filament. “It means I can serve the Faceless Ones, even in small ways.”
“Like giving detention to little kids who don’t know the rules? Yeah, that’s really helping the Faceless Ones. That’s really proving your worth there.”
Filament looked at him. “You think you’re on the right side, but you’re not. You think you’re one of the heroes, but you’re not. The funny thing is, it’s too late for you to change, and it wouldn’t do you any good anyway.”
Omen patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to head off now, dude. Have a nice time standing here.”
“Wait,” said Filament, eyes on a car that was pulling up outside the gate. “He’s here!”
Omen had to admit he was curious as to who it was who’d got Filament so excited, so he stayed still while the car idled. It was a nice car, big and expensive with tinted windows. Finally, a door opened and Jenan Ispolin got out.
Omen’s insides went cold and plummeted.
“They let him out,” Filament informed him gleefully. “Jenan’s father, he’s the Bulgarian Grand Mage – you know that, right? He’s been trying to get Jenan released from prison, but China Sorrows kept saying no – she probably thought Jenan was too much of a threat and that you, personally, would be in danger. I don’t think Supreme Mage Creed cares about that a whole lot.”
Jenan saw them, his eyes fixing on Omen, and he came over.
“Hello, Jenan,” Filament said brightly.
Jenan ignored him and kept his eyes on Omen. He leaned in and Omen resisted the urge to lean away.
“I’m going to kill you,” Jenan said into Omen’s ear, and then looked at him again, before walking away.
Filament laughed and clapped. “This,” he said, “has been so much fun.”
Leaving a trail of crackling white energy behind her, Valkyrie touched down at the gates of Corrival Academy and smiled as the passers-by broke out into a spontaneous round of applause. Cars driving by honked their horns to show their support for the Child and the Mother, and there were even a few cheers. It was a nice change from the accusatory whispers and not-so-subtle glances she used to get.
The students in the school stared as she walked by, like she was a movie star they’d never expected to see in real life. Yes, there was some fear in the air, but the students here were young – they had plenty of time to realise they were all on the same side.
Fletcher Renn nodded to her from the staffroom, but the look on his face was decidedly unfriendly. The City Guard were keeping close tabs on him: as the only experienced Teleporter in Roarhaven, he was extremely valuable, but his ties to various members of the resistance marked him as a high-risk individual.
Principal Duenna and an assistant rushed to meet Valkyrie. “Detective Cain!” Duenna said quite breathlessly. “If I had known you were coming, I’d have prepared a suitable reception!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Valkyrie said as her necronaut suit flowed into the black skull amulet on her belt. Her smile was polite and she genuinely appreciated being welcomed into the school as opposed to being banned from setting foot in the place, but the inescapable fact was that she just didn’t like Duenna. She was a manipulative opportunist, and had proven all too eager to impose harsher and more stringent rules on her students. It had been eight years since Valkyrie had been a student herself – in a regular mortal school – and she hadn’t much liked obeying the rules back then. She liked it even less now.
“I just have a bit of business with Militsa – is she around?”
“I’ll send for Miss Gnosis immediately,” Duenna responded, ushering her assistant away. “Can I get you anything while you wait? Tea or coffee? Would you like a quick tour of the chapel?”
“There’s a chapel? In the school?”
“We renovated some space. Quite a large amount of space, actually. I find it’s important to lead by example, so the full teaching staff prays to the Faceless Ones twice a day and, of course, all of the pupils join us. Would you like to see it? The carvings are quite exquisite.”
