Skulduggery Pleasant: Dark Days (8 page)

17
DEAD MAN TALKING

V
aurien Scapegrace was dead and Billy-Ray Sanguine had killed him.

Scapegrace was pretty sure that’s what happened anyway. He couldn’t remember all of it.

He remembered Sanguine taking him to one side, and telling him that he’d made a few calls and asked a few people, and nobody could vouch for Scapegrace as a remorseless killer of unparalleled skill, like he’d claimed. Scapegrace had tried to explain then that, fair enough, he hadn’t actually killed anyone
yet
, but it was only a matter of time, and if Sanguine and Scarab could just give him a chance, he’d prove himself
worthy to be included in their plans.

At least, that’s what he’d
planned
to say. He dimly remembered getting as far as “Fair enough” and then…nothing.

Sanguine had killed him.

He opened his eyes, in a dark and dank dungeon, and looked up to see his Master’s face.

“Finally,” Scarab said and it was the greatest word Scapegrace had ever heard uttered.
Finally. Here is my loyal companion, never to leave my side.
Scapegrace smiled as he lay there.

“Stop grinning,” Scarab ordered. “You look deformed.”

“Sorry, Master,” Scapegrace said, sitting up. Why was he calling Scarab Master? He didn’t know, but it seemed so
right
, so he just continued. “Master, what’s happened to me?”

“You’re dead,” Master Scarab said. “You lied to us, Scapegrace. You’re not a killer. Knew it from the moment I saw you.”

“Was it because I fell off the chair?”

“It doesn’t matter what it was. But because you lied to us, wasted our time, made us rethink some of our plans, we decided to put your death to good use. We killed you and brought you back. Do you know what you are?”

“Very lucky?”

“You’re a zombie.”

Scapegrace laughed. “No, Master. Not me.”

Scarab took a knife from his pocket and stabbed it through Scapegrace’s arm. Scapegrace stared.

“You feel no pain,” Scarab continued.

“Oh.”

“Your corpse is being sustained by magic.”

“I’m a…I’m a zombie.”

“Yes.”

“Am…am I like that White Cleaver person?”

“I’ve been in prison for 200 years. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You are, to be blunt, a fairly
basic
zombie. You’re not one of those fully reanimated, self-healing zombies. You’re a lower class. Best I could do with the stuff I know.”

“Oh, I
do
appreciate it, Master.”

“Shut up. Do you know
anything
about zombies?”

“Not really…”

“You have no magic. The magic you
did
have is being used to keep your body moving and your brain thinking – I wouldn’t imagine much magic is required for
that
particular feat.”

“I wouldn’t say so, sir.”

“The advantage of being such a basic zombie, however, is that you can pass on your condition with simply a bite. See, I want you to go out there and recruit.”

“Recruit?”

“One bite’ll do it. These people you recruit do not need to be sorcerers – in fact, it would be best if they weren’t. The thing is, you’re the only one who can bite, you get me? None of the others, and I mean
none
, can even
taste
human flesh.”

“Why can’t they?”

“Because I’m telling you they can’t. You are the only one who’ll be immune to its effects. They’ll be sustained by trace amounts of magic, though they’ll decompose faster than you will. The thing is they’ll
want
human flesh. They’ll
need
human flesh. You’ve got to make sure they don’t get any.”

“You can count on me, Master!”

Scarab sighed then looked at him. “You’re going to be killing folk, Mr Scapegrace. You’re finally going to be the killer you always dreamed of being. Do
not
mess this up.”

18
DARQUESSE

T
hey drove away from the graveyard.

“Have you heard anything about Sanguine?”

Skulduggery asked. “Has he been spotted at all since I’ve been away?”

“He vanished,” Valkyrie said. “We didn’t know if he was dead or alive. I got him pretty good with Tanith’s sword, right across the belly. I suppose a bit of me actually thought I’d killed him.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“I don’t know whether to be disappointed or glad.”

“Pick glad. You’ve got plenty of time to regret the things you haven’t done yet.”

“I’m…not sure what that means.”

“Take it home with you and think about it.”

“I will, thanks. So, anyway, we have no way of knowing
when
Sanguine stole the Soul Catcher.”

“That
is
annoying,” Skulduggery murmured. “Still, it’s not our concern.”

She frowned. “What?”

“It’s not our case. Why should we worry about what someone like Sanguine does? I’m bored with all of them. I need something new. I need a new mystery, with new people.”

“And so where are we going?”

“That snivelling boy said the Sanctuary Detectives are worried about a vision one of their Sensitives had. That sounds intriguing, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

“It does. It sounds new and exciting. I wonder if they’ve seen the end of the world. I love end-of-the-world visions. They’re always so graphic.”

“I don’t like visions at all.”

“Really?”

“I don’t like things being inevitable.”

“Ah, but visions of the future are
not
inevitable. The very fact that someone sees a
vision
of what will happen automatically
changes
what will happen. Granted, sometimes these changes are too infinitesimal to notice, but they are still changes. I find the whole thing quite fascinating to be honest. After all, you’re working against the natural course of events. You are working against your own destiny every time.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“That’s my way of looking at it,” Skulduggery said happily. “Give me a few minutes and that way will change.”

Even at this time in the morning the tattoo parlour was open. The low buzz of the tattooist’s needle greeted them the moment they stepped through the door. They climbed the narrow steps, passing all the photos of tattooed body parts.

The parlour’s only customer was a fat man lying face down on a tilted table. The skinny tattooist with the shaved head and the Dublin football jersey looked up from his work and a grin broke across his face.

“Skul-man!” he exclaimed as he rushed forward to shake his hand. “How is this possible? Last I heard you were trapped on a dead world overrun by evil trans-dimensional superfiends!”

Skulduggery nodded. “Just got back.”

“That’s awesome, man. That’s really great. So did you get me anything?”

“Like…a souvenir?” Skulduggery asked doubtfully.

“Doesn’t have to be anything big. A rock, maybe, or a twig. Just
something
from an alternate universe, you know? It’d be something to show the kid when he’s older, tell him it was an early birthday present from his Uncle Skulduggery.”

“I’m sorry, Finbar, I don’t have anything.”

“That’s OK, that’s OK. I suppose I could just give him any old rock, couldn’t I? He’d never know that it wasn’t from an alternate universe. He’d be so happy. I can just see him, bringing the rock into school, showing his little friends, carrying it around with him everywhere. I used to have a pet rock when I was a kid, but it ran away. At least, my mother
said
it ran away, but I think my dad just picked it up one afternoon and threw it out the window. I went looking for it, but…” Finbar’s voice cracked. “They all looked the same, you know? They all looked the same…” He narrowed his eyes. “Hey, Skul-man – you wearing a new head?”

“Yes, actually,” Skulduggery said, sounding very pleased. “What do you think?”

“Oh, man, I like it. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the other one, but this is just…better looking, y’know? The cheekbones are higher.”

Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie, his better-looking head tilted at quite a smug angle. She sighed then gestured to the fat man on the table. “Is it OK to be talking about, um, business stuff with…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about
him
,” Finbar said. “He came in as soon as we opened, asked for a growling panther on his shoulder blade. He fainted the moment I started.”

“A growling panther?”

“Yep.”

“Then why are you giving him a tattoo of a kitten?”

Finbar shrugged. “I’m just in a kitten kind of mood, y’know? So if you’re not here to give me a present, why are you here?”

“Have you had any particularly weird or unsettling visions lately?” Skulduggery asked. “We’ve been hearing about—”

“Darquesse,” Finbar said immediately.

Valkyrie frowned. “Darkness?”

“Darquesse, with a
q
and a
u
pronounced like a
k.
It’s causing a stir in the Sensitive community, let me tell you. And if
that
many psychics are having the same dream, you know it’s got to be trouble. I’ve been having these really freaked-out visions. They come to me day and night, and they’re so…disturbing. It’s like watching a horror movie without eyelids. Can’t even blink.”

“Who or what
is
Darquesse?” Skulduggery asked.

“Darquesse is the sorcerer who destroys the world,” Finbar said. “And I mean she
levels
it. I’ve seen cities flattened, like a nuke had gone off. Everything’s burning. I see little snippets as it happens. This woman in black…Mevolent was
nothing
compared to this kind of evil.”

“Do you know when this will happen?” Valkyrie asked.

“I don’t, but I think Cassandra Pharos may have some idea. The visions are coming to her pretty vividly for some reason. I can take you there if you’d like. Sharon and my kid are at her cult meeting, so I’m not doing anything for the next few hours.”

“Sharon’s in a cult?”

“Yeah, it’s one of those funny ones that try to get the women members to sacrifice their husbands at every full moon or something. I don’t know if that’s an appropriate atmosphere to bring a kid into, but everyone needs a hobby, am I right?”

Valkyrie didn’t quite know what to say to that, so she nodded to the unconscious fat man. “And it’s OK to leave him here?”

“He’ll be fine,” Finbar said, grabbing his jacket. “Will we take your car or mine?”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Do you have a car?”

“Nope.”

“Then we’ll take mine.”

“Probably wise. I think I’ve forgoten how to drive.”

They left the city and for most of the journey Finbar lamented the fact that his psychic powers could not ascertain who would win the All-Ireland Championship. What good were psychic powers, he asked, if they couldn’t tell you who was going to win the Gaelic football?

They drove on until they came to a cottage, surrounded by nothing but fields and meadows and hills, rolling back as far as they could see. A light headache pressed against Valkyrie’s temples, but she did her best to ignore it.

“Cassandra’s one of the best Sensitives around,” Finbar said as they got out of the Bentley. “Skul-man knows her, am I right?”

“You are,” Skulduggery confirmed.

“Cassandra’s a nice old bird,” Finbar continued, leading them to the cottage, “and she has all these fancy little doodads that help her with her psychic mojo stuff. Wait till you see the dream whisperers, Val. They’re like something out of
Blair Witch.
”

Valkyrie didn’t know what a Blair Witch was, but before she could ask the cottage door opened and a woman appeared. She looked to be in her fifties, and her long hair was grey and hung loosely around her shoulders. She wore a faded dress and a light cardigan.

“Cassandra,” Skulduggery said, a smile in his voice. “You’re looking well.”

“You’re a liar,” Cassandra Pharos said, “but I don’t care. It’s good to see you again.”

“Cassie,” Finbar said, “this is Valkyrie Cain.”

“I’ve seen you in my dreams, Valkyrie,” Cassandra said. “But in my dreams you’re older than you are now. That’s a good thing.”

“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Right.”

Cassandra ushered them into the cottage and closed the door behind them. It was an almost perfectly ordinary cottage. It had rugs, it had a sofa, a TV, a bookshelf, a guitar in the corner and doors leading off into the other rooms. But what set it apart from any other cottage Valkyrie had been in were the dozens of little wooden figures hanging from the rafters.

Each one was about the size of her outstretched hand and was made up of bundles of twigs, bound with strips of black ribbon. Two arms, two legs, a torso and a head. Cassandra saw her looking.

“My abilities don’t work the same as Finbar’s,” she said. “Mine require a lot more effort for significantly lesser results. For me, glimpses of the future can come during meditation, they can flash into my head without warning or they can come in dreams. I have all sorts of tools of the trade to help me, from every culture and country.” She took a twig figure off a shelf. “This is a dream whisperer. Dreams that you forget, that drift from your mind when you wake, they collect. They keep them as long as they have to, and when it’s time, they tell you about them. You have to be really quiet to hear their whispers though, which is why I live all the way out here.”

Valkyrie did her best to look interested and not creeped out. Cassandra was making it sound like the little figure was alive.

Cassandra smiled and held it out. “Take it,” she said. “You look like you have interesting dreams.”

Valkyrie hesitated then took it. “Thank you. It’s…lovely.”

It didn’t have any features, no mouth or eyes, but she could still feel it watching her. She smiled tentatively and put it carefully in her coat pocket.

Cassandra led them to a narrow door and they followed her down into the cellar. In stark and unpleasant contrast to the cosiness of the cottage, the cellar was an ugly room of cement brick walls and harsh lighting that made Valkyrie’s headache jab at her. The floor was a large metal grille and beneath the grille, coals. Rusted old pipes ran from a red wheel, up the wall and across the ceiling. Sprinklers protruded from the pipes and hung down half a metre below the protected lights. In the middle of the floor was a single straight-backed chair. A yellow umbrella lay beside it.

“This is the Steam Chamber,” Cassandra said as she sat in the chair. “This is where I can project what I’ve seen into images. Sometimes it’s hazy; sometimes it’s clear. Sometimes there is sound, sometimes not. At the very least, you can get an idea of what’s in my head. Before we begin, however, you have to understand something. This future you’re about to see is not set. You can still change it. All of you can.”

Even though Cassandra was speaking to all three of them, Valkyrie had the distinct impression that the comment was directed solely at her. Suddenly she wasn’t altogether certain she wanted to see what Cassandra had to show her.

“Why haven’t you gone to the Sanctuary with this?” she asked. “You and Finbar must be better than any psychics they have on the staff. They could probably use the help.”

“I don’t talk to
The Man
,” Finbar scowled. “
The Man
keeps me down.”

“In what way?” asked Valkyrie, genuinely puzzled.

Finbar hesitated. “General ways,” he said at last. “Just…general ways, keeping me down, oppressing me.”

“We’re not too fond of the Sanctuary,” Cassandra told her gently. “Any establishment as big and as powerful as that is rife with corruption. I suppose we’re still activists at heart, even after all these years.”

“Damn
The Man
,” Finbar said proudly.

“Now then,” Cassandra said, “to business. Skulduggery, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie. “This may get a little warm.”

He clicked his fingers, summoning flame into both of his hands, and then he tossed the fireballs at the ground. They fell through the grille and he gestured, and the flames spread out and started to burn with the coals.

Cassandra closed her eyes and stayed like that for a minute or two. Valkyrie wanted to ask if she could open the door at the top of the stairs to let some air in because Skulduggery hadn’t been lying. It was getting uncomfortably warm down here.

Without opening her eyes, Cassandra reached down, picked up the umbrella and opened it. She rested it against her shoulder, open above her head, and she nodded.

“I’m ready.”

Finbar turned the little red wheel on the wall and Valkyrie heard the water gurgling through the pipes. She stepped back as a few drops started to fall from the sprinklers, and Skulduggery moved her back three more steps just as the full spray came on. Valkyrie stood with her back to the wall, the spray just hitting her boots. The water passed through the grille, hissing as it hit the burning coals, and steam began to billow.

Cassandra sat in the middle of the room, her yellow umbrella doing its best to keep her dry, and then she was lost from sight. The steam was thick like mist, like fog, getting denser with each passing moment. Valkyrie’s head was pounding by now.

She heard Finbar turn the wheel again, though she couldn’t see him, and the sprinklers turned off. The steam, however, stayed.

Someone moved in front of her and Valkyrie reached out then pulled her hand back sharply. There was another figure behind it and there was movement to her right. They weren’t alone in here.

Someone stepped up beside her and she whirled, lashing out, and Skulduggery caught her fist in his gloved hand.

“You’re not in any danger,” he said.

“There are people in here with us,” she whispered.

“Watch,” he responded and led her away from the wall, towards the middle of the room.

She turned her head as a figure ran through the steam towards her. She dodged back, but the water had made the metal grille slippery and her boot slid. She stumbled and Ghastly Bespoke ran at her, his body scattering in the steam right before he hit her.