The Faceless Ones
Skulduggery motioned to the wall and all three of them stepped over to it. From here they could talk without being seen.
“Do you have any idea who could be behind the murders?” he asked.
Peregrine made a visible effort to calm down. “None. I’ve been trying to think of what anyone could have to gain by killing us all and I’ve come up with nothing. I don’t even have any random paranoid conspiracy theories to fall back on.”
“Have you noticed anyone watching you, following you …?”
“No and I’ve been looking. Skulduggery, I’m exhausted. Every few hours I teleport somewhere else. I haven’t slept in days.”
“We can protect you.”
Peregrine’s laugh was brittle. “No offence, but you can’t. If you can guard me, the killer can get to me. I’m better off on my own, but I can’t run forever.” He hesitated. “I heard about Cameron.”
“Yes.”
“He was a good man. The best of us.”
“There is a way to draw the killer out.”
“Let me guess – you want me to act as bait? You want me to sit still and let him come to me, and then you’ll pounce and save the day? Sorry, I’m not in the habit of waiting to be killed.”
“It’s our best shot.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Then you need to help us. Even when they knew their lives were in danger, Cameron Light and the others still let down their guard. They knew the killer, Emmett, and you probably do too.”
“What are you saying? That I can’t trust my friends?”
“I’m saying you can’t trust anyone but Valkyrie and myself.”
“And why should I trust you?”
Skulduggery sighed. “Because you literally have no other choice.”
“Is there one person that all the Teleporters would know?” Valkyrie asked. “One person who you’d think you’d be safe with?”
Peregrine thought for a moment. “Sanctuary officials,” he said, “a handful of sorcerers probably, but nobody that stands out. Teleporters don’t tend to be well liked, maybe you’ve heard. Our social circles really aren’t that wide.”
“Have you made any new friends?” Skulduggery asked. “Any new acquaintances?”
“No, none. Well, apart from the kid.”
Skulduggery’s head tilted. “The kid?”
“The other Teleporter.”
“I thought you were the last Teleporter.”
“No, there’s a seventeen-year-old English kid, turned up a while back. Renn his name is. Fletcher Renn. No training, no discipline, no clue to what he’s doing – a right pain in the neck. Wait, you think he’s the killer?”
“I don’t know,” Skulduggery murmured. “He’s either the killer or the killer’s next victim. Where is he?”
“He could be anywhere. Cameron and myself went to talk to him a few months ago, to offer to teach him. Cocky little sod laughed in our faces. He’s one of those rare sorcerers, natural-born, magic at his fingertips. He has power, but like I said, no training. I doubt he could teleport a few miles at a time.”
“He doesn’t sound like a killer. But that means he’s out there alone, with no idea what’s going on.”
“I think he’s still in Ireland,” Peregrine said. “He grunted something about planning to stay here for a while, and how we should leave him alone. He doesn’t need anybody apparently. Typical teenager.” Peregrine glanced at Valkyrie. “No offence.”
“Valkyrie’s not a typical anything,” Skulduggery said before she could respond. “We’ll track him down, but if you see him first, send him to us.”
“I doubt he’ll listen to me, but OK.”
“How will we contact you if we need you?”
“You won’t, but I’ll check back every few days for an update. This would all be over a lot quicker if you’d take over the investigation. I don’t trust Crux and I don’t trust Thurid Guild. You’re in close with Bliss, aren’t you? Maybe you could get a message to him. Just tell him that there are a lot of us out here who would back him as the new Grand Mage, if he were interested. All he has to do is say the word.”
“You’re not talking about a coup, are you?”
“If a revolution is what it takes to get the Sanctuary back on track, Skulduggery, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“A little drastic, one would think. But I’ll relay the message.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s nothing else? Nothing you can think of to help us? No matter how small or insignificant?”
“There is nothing, Skulduggery. I don’t know why the other Teleporters were killed, and I don’t know how. We are exceptionally hard to kill. The instant we think something’s wrong, we’re gone. Until last month, the only time I can remember a Teleporter being murdered was fifty years ago.”
“Oh?” said Skulduggery, suddenly interested. “And who was that?”
“Trope Kessel. I barely knew the man.”
“Who murdered him?” Valkyrie asked.
“No one knows. He told a colleague he was going to Glendalough, and he was never seen again. They found his blood by the shore of the Upper Lake, but his body was never recovered.”
“Could Kessel’s murder have anything to do with what’s going on now?”
Peregrine frowned. “I don’t see why it should. If someone wanted the Teleporters dead, why wait fifty years between the first murder and the rest?”
“Still,” Skulduggery said, “it might be somewhere to start.”
“You’re the detectives,” Peregrine said with a shrug, “not me.”
“You know Tanith, don’t you?”
“Tanith Low? Yes. Why?”
“If you’re in London and need someone to watch your back, you can trust her. It might be your only chance to catch some sleep.”
“I’ll think about it. Any other advice for me?”
“Stay alive,” Skulduggery said and Peregrine vanished.
Still, at least it wasn’t yellow.
They approached the pier. Six months earlier, Valkyrie had leaped from it, followed by a pack of the Infected – humans on the verge of becoming vampires. She’d led them to their doom, since salt water, if ingested, was fatal to their kind. Their screams of pain and anguish, mixed with rage and then torn from ruined throats, were as fresh in her memory as if it had all happened yesterday.
The Bentley stopped and Valkyrie got out. It was cold, so she didn’t linger. She hurried to the side of her house and let her hands drift through the air. She found the fault lines between the spaces with ease and pushed down sharply. The air rushed around her and she was rising. There was a better way to do it – to use the air to carry, rather than merely propel, but her lessons with Skulduggery hadn’t reached that level yet.
She caught the windowsill and hauled herself up, then opened the window and dropped into her room.
Her reflection looked up from the desk, where it was doing Valkyrie’s homework. “Hello,” it said.
“Anything to report?” Valkyrie asked as she slipped off her coat and began changing out of her black clothes into her regular wear.
“We had a late dinner,” the reflection said. “In school, the French test was postponed because half the class were hiding in the locker area. We got the maths results back – you got a B. Alan and Cathy broke up.”
“Tragic.”
Footsteps approached the door and the reflection dropped to the ground and crawled under the bed.
“Steph?” Valkyrie’s mother called, knocking on the door and stepping in at the same time. She held a basket of laundry under her arm. “That’s funny. I could have sworn that I heard voices.”
“I was kind of talking to myself,” Valkyrie said, smiling with what she hoped was an appropriate level of self-conscious embarrassment.
Her mother put a pile of fresh clothes on the bed. “First sign of madness, you know.”
“Dad talks to himself all the time.”
“Well, that’s only because no one else will listen.”
Her mother left the room. Valkyrie stuck her feet into a pair of battered runners and, leaving the reflection under the bed for the moment, clumped down the stairs to the kitchen. She poured cornflakes into a bowl and opened the fridge, sighing when she realised that the milk carton was empty. Her tummy rumbled as she dumped the carton in the recycle bag.
“Mum,” she called, “we’re out of milk.”
“Damn lazy cows,” her mother muttered as she walked in. “Have you finished your homework?”
Valkyrie remembered the schoolbooks on the desk and her shoulders sagged. “No,” she said grumpily. “But I’m too hungry to do maths. Do we have anything to eat?”
Her mother looked at her. “You had a huge dinner.”
The reflection had had a huge dinner. The only things Valkyrie had eaten all day were some bourbon creams.
“I’m still hungry,” Valkyrie said quietly.
“I think you’re just trying to delay the maths.”
“Do we have any leftovers?”
“Ah, now I know you’re joking. Leftovers, with your father in the house? I have yet to see the day. If you need any help with your homework, just let me know.”
Her mother walked out again and Valkyrie went back to staring at her bowl of cornflakes.
Her father walked in, checked that they weren’t going to be overheard, and crept over. “Steph, I need your help.”
“We have no milk.”
“Damn those lazy cows. Anyway, it’s our wedding anniversary on Saturday, and yes, I should have done all this weeks ago, but I’ve got tomorrow and Friday to get your mother something thoughtful and nice. What should I get?”
“Honestly? I think she’d really appreciate some milk.”
“The milkman always seems to bring her milk,” her dad said bitterly. “How can I compete with that? He drives a milk truck, for God’s sake. A milk truck. So no, I need to buy her something else. What?”
“How about, I don’t know, jewellery? Like, a necklace or something? Or earrings?”
“A necklace is good,” he murmured. “And she does have ears. But I got her jewellery last year. And the year before.”
“Well, what did you get her the year before that?”
He hesitated. “A … a certain type of clothing … I forget. Anyway, clothes are bad because I always get the wrong size, and she gets either insulted or depressed. I could get her a hat, I suppose. She has a normal-sized head, wouldn’t you say? Maybe a nice scarf. Or some gloves.”
Valkyrie nodded. “Nothing says ‘happy anniversary’ more than a good pair of mittens.”
Her dad looked at her. “That was a grumpy joke. You’re grumpy.”
“I’m hungry.”
“You’ve just eaten. How was school, by the way? Anything interesting happen?”
“Alan and Cathy broke up.”
“Are either of them anyone I should care about?”
“Not really.”
“Well, OK then.” He narrowed his eyes. “How about you? Do you have any … romances I should know about?”
“Nope. Not a one.”
“Well, good. Excellent. There’ll be plenty of time for boys when you leave college and become a nun.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you have such ambitious dreams for me.”
“Well, I am the father figure. So, anniversary present?”
“How about a weekend away? Spend your anniversary in Paris or somewhere? You can book it tomorrow, head off on Saturday.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. That’s a really good idea. You’d have to stay with Beryl though. Are you all right with that?”
The lie came easily. “Sure.”
He kissed her forehead. “You’re the best daughter in the world.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“You know the way I love you so much?”
“I do.”
“Will you go out and get some more milk?”
“No.”
“But I love you.”
“And I love you. But not enough to get you milk. Have some toast.”
He walked out of the kitchen and Valkyrie sighed in exasperation. She went to put on some toast, but they were out of bread, so she took some hamburger buns and slid them into the toaster. When they popped up, she covered them with freshly microwaved beans and took the plate up to her room, closing the door behind her.
“OK,” she said, putting the plate on her desk, “you can go back in the mirror.”
The reflection slid out from beneath the bed and stood. “There are a few homework questions still to do,” it said.
“I can do them. Are they hard? Never mind. I can do them. Anything else happen today?”
“Gary Price kissed me.”
Valkyrie stared. “What?”
“Gary Price kissed me.”
“What do you mean? Like, kissed you kissed you?”
“Yes.”
Her anger made her want to shout, but Valkyrie kept her voice low. “Why did he do that?”
“He likes you.”
“But I don’t like him!”
“Yes, you do.”
“You shouldn’t have kissed him! You shouldn’t be doing anything like that! The only reason you exist is to go to school and hang around here and pretend to be me!”
“I was pretending to be you.”
“You shouldn’t have kissed him!”
“Why?”
“Because I’m supposed to!”
The reflection looked at her blankly. “You’re upset. Is it because you weren’t around for your first kiss?”
“No,” Valkyrie shot back.
The reflection sighed and Valkyrie looked at it sharply. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You sighed, like you were annoyed.”
“Did I?”
“You did. You’re not supposed to get annoyed. You don’t have any feelings. You’re not a real person.”
“I don’t remember sighing. I’m sorry if I did.”
Valkyrie opened the wardrobe to show the reflection the mirror.
“I’m ready to resume my life,” she said, and the reflection nodded and stepped through. It stood there in the reflected room, waiting patiently.
Valkyrie glared at it for a moment, and then touched the mirror and the memories came at her, flooding her mind, settling alongside her own memories, getting comfortable in her head.
She had been at the lockers, in school, and she’d been talking to … No, the reflection had been talking to … No, it had been her, it had been Valkyrie. She’d been talking to a few of the girls, and Gary had walked up, said something that everyone laughed at, and the girls had walked off, chatting. Valkyrie remembered standing there, alone with Gary, and the way he smiled, and she remembered smiling back, and when he leaned in to kiss her, she had let him.
But that was it. There was the memory of the thing, of the act, but there was no memory of the feeling. There were no butterflies in her stomach, or nerves, or happiness, and she couldn’t remember liking any of it because there was no emotion to accompany it. The reflection was incapable of emotion.
Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. Her first kiss and she hadn’t even been there when it happened.
She left the beans on toasted buns on the desk, her hunger fading, and sorted through the rest of the memories, sifting through to the most recent. She remembered watching herself climb through the window, then she remembered sliding beneath the bed, waiting under there, and then crawling out when she was told.
She remembered telling herself that Gary Price had kissed her, and the argument they’d just had, and then she remembered saying, “You’re upset. Is it because you weren’t around for your first kiss?”, and the sharp “No” that followed. And then a moment, like the lights had dimmed, and then she was saying, “I don’t remember sighing. I’m sorry if I did.”
Valkyrie frowned. Another gap. They were rare, and they never lasted for more than a couple of seconds, but they were definitely there.
It had started when the reflection had been killed in Valkyrie’s place, months earlier. Maybe it had been damaged in a way they hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t want to get rid of it and she didn’t want to replace it. It was more convincing than ever these days. If all Valkyrie had to worry about was a faulty memory, she figured that wasn’t too high a price to pay.
They arrived in Glendalough a little before ten. They were here to talk to someone who may have witnessed the murder of the Teleporter fifty years ago. Valkyrie had been complaining about the cold and Skulduggery told her she didn’t have to come along, but there was no way she was going to pass up this opportunity. After all, she’d never even seen a Sea Hag before.
Skulduggery parked the Bentley and they walked the rest of the way. He was wearing a dark blue suit, with a coat he left open and a hat pulled low over his brow. His sunglasses were in place and his scarf was wrapped around the lower half of his skull, obscuring his skeletal features from the hikers and tourists they passed.
Valkyrie, for her part, was once again dressed in the all too snug black clothes that Ghastly had made for her.
They got to the Upper Lake. It was like someone had reached down and scooped out a huge handful of forest, and then the rain had come and filled it with liquid crystal. The lake was massive, stretching back to the far shore, where the mountains rose again.
They walked along the edge, between the water and the trees, until they came to a moss-covered stump. Skulduggery hunkered down and dipped his gloved hand through the hollow at its base, while Valkyrie looked around, making sure they weren’t being watched. But there was no one around. They were safe.
From the tree stump, the skeleton detective withdrew a tiny silver bell, the length of his thumb, then straightened up and rang it.
Valkyrie arched an eyebrow. “Think she heard that?”
“I’m sure she did,” he nodded as he removed the sunglasses and scarf.
“It’s not exactly loud though, is it? I barely heard it and I’m standing right next to you. You’d think the bell to summon a Sea Hag would be big. You’d think it would be the kind of bell that tolls. That was more of a tinkle than a toll.”
“It was rather unimpressive.”
Valkyrie looked at the lake. “No sign of her. She’s probably embarrassed because her bell is so rubbish. What kind of a Sea Hag lives in a lake anyway?”
“I think we’re about to find out,” Skulduggery murmured as the waters churned and a wizened old woman rose from the surface. She was dressed in rags, and had long skinny arms and hair that was indistinguishable from the seaweed that coiled through it. Her nose was hooked and her eyes were hollow, and instead of legs she had what appeared to be a fish’s tail that stayed beneath the water.
She looked, in Valkyrie’s opinion, like a really old, really ugly mermaid.
“Who disturbs me?” the Sea Hag asked in a voice that sounded like someone drowning.
“I do,” Skulduggery said. “My name is Skulduggery Pleasant.”
“That is not your name,” the Sea Hag said.
“It’s the name I’ve taken,” Skulduggery replied. “As my colleague beside me has taken the name Valkyrie Cain.”
The Sea Hag shook her head, almost sadly. “You give power to names,” she said. “Too much of your strength lies in your names. Long ago, I surrendered my name to the Deep. Cast your eyes upon me now and answer truthfully – have you ever seen such happiness as this?”
Valkyrie looked at her, all seaweed, wrinkled skin and dour expression, and decided it best to contribute nothing to this conversation.
When it became clear that no one was going to answer, the Sea Hag spoke again.
“Why have you disturbed me?”
“We seek answers,” Skulduggery said.
“Nothing you do matters,” the Sea Hag told them. “In the end, all things drown and drift away.”
“We’re looking for answers that are a tad more specific. Yesterday, a sorcerer named Cameron Light was killed.”
“On dry land?”
“Yes.”
“That does not interest me.”
“We think the case may be connected to a murder, fifty years ago, that happened right here, by this lake. If the victim told you anything as he died, if you know anything about him or the one who killed him, we need to hear it.”
“You want to know another’s secrets?”
“We need to.”
“The girl has not spoken a word since I appeared,” the Sea Hag said, turning her attention to Valkyrie, “yet she spoke, with scarcely a pause, before that. Have you nothing to say now, girl?”
“Hello,” said Valkyrie.
“Words travel far beneath the waves. Your words about my bell travelled far. You do not like it?”
“Um,” said Valkyrie. “It’s fine. It’s a fine bell.”
“It is as old as I am, and I am far too old for beauty to reach. I was beautiful once. My bell, the sound it makes, is beautiful still.”
“It makes a pretty sound,” Valkyrie agreed. “Even if it is a bit small.”
The Sea Hag swayed on her giant fish tail, or whatever it was, and leaned down until she was an arm’s breadth away from Valkyrie. She smelled of rotting fish.
“Would you like to drown?” she inquired.
“No,” Valkyrie said. “No, thank you.”
The Sea Hag scowled. “What is it you want?”
Skulduggery stepped between them. “The man, fifty years ago?”
The Sea Hag returned to her original position and resumed her swaying. Valkyrie wondered how big the fish part of her actually was. It was more like the body of a snake than a fish. Or a serpent.
“Your questions do not interest me,” the Hag said. “Your search for answers is of no importance. If you seek the knowledge of the dead man, you can ask him yourself.”
The Hag waved her hand, and the remains of a man broke the surface of the lake beside her. This man of rot and bone, his clothes congealed into what was left of his skin and stained the same mud-brown colour, rose so that his feet were the only part of him still hidden beneath the small, choppy waves. His arms dangled loosely by his sides, and his eyes opened and water trickled from his mouth.
“Help me,” he said.
The Sea Hag looked annoyed. “They cannot help you, corpse. They are here to ask you questions.”
“Why do you need our help?” Skulduggery asked.
“I want to go home,” the corpse told him.
“You are home,” the Hag interjected.
The remains of the man shook his head. “I want to be buried. I want to be surrounded by earth. I want to be dry.”
“Tough,” said the Sea Hag.
“If you help us,” Skulduggery told the remains, “we’ll see what we can do. Fair enough?”
The corpse nodded. “I will answer your questions.”
“Are you Trope Kessel, the Teleporter?”
“I am.”
“We are here because four Teleporters have been killed in the past month. There is a possibility, however faint, that those murders are somehow linked to yours. How were you killed?”
“With a knife, in my back.”
Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. The other Teleporters had been killed in exactly the same way. Maybe there was a link after all.
“Who killed you?” she asked.
“He said his name was Batu.”
“Why did he kill you?” Skulduggery pressed.