Seasons of War, page 37
“Yes, miss.”
She waved him away. “That will be all, Mr Darkly.”
Omen left the office, left the building, left the campus and took a tram to Oldtown. He found the darkest, dingiest café, and the man behind the counter obviously hated him with every fibre of his being as he very grudgingly accepted an order for a mug of hot chocolate.
“It’s not very good,” he growled.
“OK,” said Omen.
“I won’t bring it to you.”
“That’s fine.”
The man glared at him, then walked away, muttering insults. He eventually came back with a cracked mug of scalding-hot, bitter chocolate that left the weirdest aftertaste. Omen smiled and thanked him and the man recoiled, and Omen took his mug to the table in the corner, where he proceeded to tell Crepuscular Vies what was going on.
“That,” Crepuscular said, “is quite the dilemma.”
“I can’t just hand over the Obsidian Blade,” said Omen.
Crepuscular took off his hat. His black hair was shiny, and parted in the middle. “Why not? I mean, I understand why you wouldn’t want to give away a weapon like that, but it would appear to be the easiest way to get your brother back alive.”
“If Auger faces the King of the Darklands without the Obsidian Blade, he’ll die.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He’ll probably die.”
Crepuscular shrugged. “Yes. Probably. Well, I’ll help however I can.”
“You will? You’ll help?”
“Of course I will. Helping people is what I do. So what’s the plan? I’m assuming you have one. Do you have a way of tracking your brother down?”
“I’ve tried a psychic link,” Omen said. “That’s worked before. But I can’t reach him. I can’t even sense him out there.”
“He’s the Chosen One,” said Crepuscular. “The first thing Rake would have done is bind his magic.”
“Then I go to the meeting place tomorrow night and when Reznor Rake shows himself … you grab him. Do you think you can do that?”
“I’m sure I can try.”
“He’s pretty dangerous …”
“He’s dangerous, I’m dangerous, we’re all dangerous. But, if he spots me before I get to him, it’s over. He’ll disappear and you’ll never see your brother again.”
“I thought about that. You’ll need to be in disguise.”
“As who?”
“A Cleaver.”
Crepuscular looked sceptical. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Omen. If I’m wearing a disguise, you want me pretending to be someone non-threatening.”
Omen shook his head. “Cleavers are everywhere. They’re always patrolling. I walk down the street and I don’t even notice how many I’ve passed. They fade into the background.”
“I can guarantee you that they do not fade for bad guys. If he sees me, he’ll think he’s walking into an ambush.”
“You’re not getting it. Cleavers are scary, right? They’re scary because they’re so good.”
“Right.”
“So, if they were to plan an ambush, you wouldn’t suspect a thing, would you? You wouldn’t see them anywhere around the ambush site.”
Crepuscular blinked slowly. “Omen Darkly, you mischievous mastermind. He’ll see me, dressed as a Cleaver, and that’ll reassure him that nothing weird is going on.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“That is something approaching genius, I have to say.”
“So, midnight comes, you’re close. You might even walk by me. The moment you’re gone, he’ll pop out, and then you, like, grab him and stuff. If he has Auger with him, we take Auger and run. If he doesn’t, we’ll make him tell us where he is.”
“That’s definitely a plan.”
“Do you think it’ll work?”
“I have no idea, but I’ll tell you – I’m very excited to find out.”
It was surprisingly easy to sleep while hanging from chains, and unsurprisingly uncomfortable.
Tanith woke, immediately felt the strain on her wrists and the ache in her back. She did her best to adjust her position as she looked up.
Mevolent stood there, watching from behind his veil.
“He’s been like that for the last twenty minutes,” Skulduggery said. “Sometimes he watches me. Sometimes he watches you.”
“It’s creepy,” Tanith said.
“I told him you’d say that.”
Mevolent leaned back, so he was sitting on his desk, and observed them both. He actually looked like he was going to say something.
And then he said something.
“I miss having enemies. When I was younger, I had enemies aplenty. I had an army of enemies. One by one, I killed them all. As the years went by, the war got easier. Our victories became … tedious. I think it started when the Skulduggery Pleasant of this world vanished. Whether he was killed, whether he ran, I simply don’t know. But, once he was gone, things got easier.”
Skulduggery shrugged. “I’ll take that as a—”
“When the war ended,” Mevolent continued, as if Skulduggery hadn’t spoken, “I turned my attention to the mortals. We killed most of them. Enslaved the rest. Our culture flourished. Technology, art, the economy, our religion … they blossomed. It was a time of peace, prosperity. We built our grand cities across the world. But I had no enemies.
“And then you arrived, emissaries from a world not too dissimilar from our own. A world where you had gone one way, and we had gone another. And suddenly I had enemies again.”
The doors to his office opened just before Skulduggery could issue a response, but nobody came through. Mevolent turned. Waited.
“Reveal yourself,” he said.
A torrent of light emerged from empty space and hit him, knocking him back. Then two men appeared, strong and hairy, one holding a weird-looking rifle, the other an axe and a cloaking sphere. The one with the axe stuffed the sphere back into his coat and the other dropped the gun, took out his sword.
Mevolent held out his hand, and nothing happened. Tanith looked back at the rifle. What had Valkyrie called it once? A magic-sucker.
The men charged. They were tall, but Mevolent was taller. They were strong, though – thickset and muscled – whereas Mevolent was lean. If this descended into a contest of strength, Tanith doubted he’d survive.
He easily avoided the slash of the sword, however. The axe came for his chest and he took a single step and the axe hit nothing but air. The sword chopped, swirled and whirled and came at him again. He kept moving. Utterly calm. Watching.
Mevolent got in close and his fist sank into the axeman’s belly. He stepped into the swordsman as he lunged and disarmed him somehow, the sword clattering to the ground.
The axeman hefted his axe. The swordsman took out a knife. Movement at the door, and Sergeant Assegai slammed into the axeman from behind and he went stumbling. The thug with the knife dived on her and they staggered against the wall, hissing and snarling.
Mevolent turned as the axe came for him. He caught it, his hand closing around the handle. The axeman cursed, went to pull it back. He strained, veins popping, but it didn’t budge.
There was fear in his eyes as he released his hold and stepped away, leaving Mevolent to examine the weapon.
The thug with the knife squealed as Assegai snapped his wrist. She caught him with a beautiful elbow that weakened his knees, then kicked his legs out from under him and slammed her palm into his face until she was sure he was unconscious.
She froze when she saw Mevolent holding the axe. “Sir?”
Mevolent looked round. “Sergeant,” he said. “Yes. These men tried to kill me. Please task the Redhoods with taking them to the dungeons. They’ll need to be interrogated.”
“I’ll see to the interrogation myself, sir,” Assegai said. She snapped a pair of shackles on to the axeman’s wrists, and Mevolent passed her the axe.
Assegai had marched the axeman halfway to the door when Mevolent spoke again.
“Sergeant,” he said.
She turned. “Yes, Master?”
“Your search for Valkyrie Cain.”
Assegai stood straighter, as if she was remembering why she was here. “Yes, Master. I’m … I’m sorry, Master. I haven’t been able to find her yet. I’m still looking.”
“She’s intelligent,” said Mevolent. “And she has a city to hide in. You may not be able to complete your mission.”
“I’ll keep trying.”
“No. My Chief of Security has gone missing. I’d like you to take his place – Captain Assegai.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Your primary responsibility is to protect the portals.”
“Yes, Master. What about Cain, Master?”
“She’ll come to you. Skulduggery Pleasant and Tanith Low are her colleagues. Friends. We shall let it be known that they are to be executed, alongside the Necromancers we have in our dungeons, to mark the opening of the portals. If she wants to save them, and she will, she will have to make the attempt in broad daylight, in front of our entire army. And you will be waiting.”
“Yes, Master.”
Mevolent nodded, dismissing her. Assegai resumed marching the axeman out.
“Oh,” Mevolent said, like he’d just remembered. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Uh … you’re welcome, Master,” Assegai said, and left.
The rain passed through the shield covering Tahil na Kurge. The people hurried by on the streets below. The trams rang their bells to get them to look up, for God’s sake. The rain made a quiet city even quieter. It subdued the hubbub, kept it down there, at street level. Didn’t let it rise to the rooftops.
Valkyrie’s hood was up. The suit kept her dry and warm. She didn’t much mind standing out there on a bloody roof while it lashed. She remembered those winter mornings in Haggard, waiting for the bus, her schoolbag heavy on her shoulder, her uniform sodden, her mood miserable. And yet the memory was a comforting one. She closed her eyes and imagined herself back there, remembering the sounds the cars made as they drove through puddles, remembering the feeling of relief as she climbed into the bus. Sitting there, talking with her friends. Then the walk from the bus stop at the school gate, up the drive, merging into the crowd. The smell of the hallways. The feeling of walking through the corridors on a wet day, of sitting in class beside the radiator. Writing. Reading, Daydreaming of something else. Another life. A life of adventure.
And here she was, standing on a rooftop in a parallel dimension. Valkyrie was pretty sure that counted as a life of adventure, and yet all she wanted to do was be at home. She wanted to laugh with her parents, chat with her sister, kiss her girlfriend, play with her dog. Would her dog even recognise her, after seven months away? Would her sister?
The door opened behind her and Valkyrie put her game face on, and turned.
“Could we not have met indoors?” Nye asked, the wind tugging at its umbrella.
She gave it a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “I don’t think I want to be in an enclosed space with you, Professor. You have a tendency to spring ambushes.”
“A single act is not a tendency,” it protested. “But we must be quick. I have been assigned a bodyguard, a dreadful man named Cark. I think, perhaps, that Mevolent may suspect me of some degree of betrayal. He claims that Cark is simply there for my protection, but, if this is indeed the case, he has neglected to inform Cark of this. The man’s eyes follow me everywhere. He scrutinises everything I do. It is a most outrageous move on Mevolent’s part.”
“Yeah,” said Valkyrie. “Although you have technically betrayed him.”
Nye rolled its small eyes. “But despite Cark’s best efforts, I managed to slip away. I fear, however, that we do not have much time. What do you want?”
She didn’t answer.
It smiled weakly. “I mean … how can I help you?”
“That’s better,” she said. “I need an update on how we’re going to disable the portals. You said you were working on something.”
“Yes,” said Nye. “But I still don’t understand why you’re bothering with this. If you disable those portals, Mevolent will simply build more.”
“And that’ll take time. In that time, me and my friends can go home and warn everyone about what’s coming.”
“Do you also have a way to kill him?” Nye asked. “Because, if he finds out that I aided in the destruction of the machines, Mevolent will do unspeakable things to me.”
“He’ll do unspeakable things to you if he finds out that you sent those two idiots to kill him. Either way, things get unspeakable, so what d’you say you just do what I tell you and we’ll both hope for the best?”
Nye sighed. “You habitually put me in unenviable positions.”
“That I do.”
“The portal machines are delicate things,” it said. “It would be useful if you viewed them as organic entities that have cables of both Shunter and Teleporter magic running through their veins. Shunters, Miss Cain, possess the ability to travel across dimensions, but they are restricted to passing from a location in one reality to that exact location in another. Mevolent, however, seeks to transport his army from here to a different location, to your city of Roarhaven, so I have used Teleporter abilities to shift the corresponding—”
Valkyrie clicked her fingers in front of its face. “Hey. Hey. I don’t care. You can mansplain, or Nyesplain or whatever, all you want, but I sincerely don’t care how it works. I only care about how to stop it working.”
Nye bristled. “Of course. If you continue to view the portal machines as organic, then there is the possibility of introducing an illness into their architecture.”
“OK, cool.”
It frowned. “I’m not sure you understand …”
“No, I do. You want to infect the machines with a computer virus.”
Nye appeared confused, and Valkyrie smiled, and patted its cheek. “You just focus on looking pretty, yeah? Looking pretty, and making the virus. When will you have it finished?”
“I do not know,” Nye responded. “I am very busy at the moment, reinforcing the shield.”
“Yeah,” Valkyrie said, glancing up. “It looks like it’s straining a little.”
“The draugar and the Necromancers are applying constant pressure that the shield is not designed for.”
“Will it fail?”
“Unless I reinforce it? Yes.”
“And can you reinforce it?”
Nye sighed. “The old languages of magic are not my area. If I had an expert with me, maybe somebody of the calibre of China Sorrows, then I am confident I would be able to. As it stands … I rate my chances at no more than seventy per cent.”
“Well, that’s pretty good, considering. The virus, Professor. The portals open at noon, four days from now.”
Another sigh. “I’ll have something for you that morning.”
She raised an eyebrow. “The morning of the invasion? That’s cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?”
“It is,” said Nye. “But that is how long it will take.”
Valkyrie chewed the inside of her cheek. “OK,” she said. “But, if you can get it done faster, that’s what—” She froze.
Nye peered at her. “Is everything all right?”
She whirled, ran for the edge of the roof and dropped, skidding over, gripping the edge with her fingertips. Her body swung against the wall as the door opened.
A male voice. “Professor.”
“Mr Cark,” said Nye. “Can I not have a moment to myself?”
Valkyrie hung there. Not looking down.
“What are you doing out here, Professor?”
“Thinking, Mr Cark. Something of a habit of mine. Maybe you should try it one day.”
People below her. Far below her. Her fingers burned.
“Thinking in the rain, Professor? That doesn’t seem very smart. It’s my job to protect you, sir. I can’t do that if you wander away from me.”
Nye scoffed. “I believe I am quite safe all the way up here.”
If Valkyrie lost her grip, she’d have to fly, and all those people would definitely notice a trail of white lightning arcing through the air.
“Just the same, Professor, I’d appreciate it if you stayed where I can see you at all times.”
“Very well, very well. Here, hold this.” The sound of the umbrella.
“I’m your bodyguard, Professor. Not your servant.”
Nye gave the most irritated of sighs. The umbrella flapped. Footsteps moved away.
Valkyrie pulled herself up just in time to see Cark following Nye through the door. He was a big man. Solid. The door closed behind him and she pulled herself up the rest of the way.
The underground car park on Cut-throat Street was mostly empty by a quarter to midnight. Omen arrived through the south entrance and started walking the levels, passing through patches of utter blackness and swathes of warm electric light. He took the ramps down, the knife heavy in his jacket.
By Level Three, he had yet to meet Reznor Rake, or even glimpse Crepuscular Vies. He began to fear that his plan – as precarious as it was ill-conceived – was about to implode. He walked down another ramp.
Footsteps, and Omen scuttled behind a car. A Cleaver, coming this way, one of those new scythe staffs across his back. He was as tall as Crepuscular, but he was marching briskly, like he really was on patrol. There were no hidden signals. No indications that he had any suspicion at all that Omen was lurking in the shadows.
And then the Cleaver slowed, and his head turned ever so slightly towards where Omen was hidden, and Omen breathed in relief. It was Crepuscular. Either that or it was a real Cleaver who’d heard Omen move, and was about to leap into the shadows to investigate.
The Cleaver started walking towards him.
His mouth suddenly dry, Omen stepped forward, into the light. He gave what he hoped was a friendly, casual smile, but the Cleaver didn’t stop until he was maybe a scythe-length away from him.
