The Faceless Ones
His eyes flickered to something behind her. She turned to see a million little cracks appear in the plaster on the wall. Sanguine passed through into the room, his lip bleeding and his sunglasses missing.
Fletcher saw the black holes where Sanguine’s eyes used to be and swore under his breath.
Valkyrie ripped the bandage off her right hand and clicked her fingers, felt the spark generated by the friction and fed it her magic. The spark ignited into flame and grew, swirling in her palm. She hurled the fireball and Sanguine threw himself to one side, barely avoiding it.
The blade of his straight razor gleamed wickedly. Valkyrie took one step forward and extended her arm, hand open. She sank into the stance, knees bending slightly, as she snapped her palm against the air and the space in front of her rippled. Sanguine dived to one side and the displaced air hit the couch where he had just been standing and sent it crashing against the wall.
Sanguine threw a lamp at Valkyrie and the base struck her cheek. She stumbled and he moved straight towards her. Even as she was ducking the swipe of the razor, she knew it had been a feint, and he grabbed her and hauled her back as the hotel room door was kicked open and Skulduggery stormed in. His hat and scarf were gone, and Fletcher gaped as he caught his first real glimpse of the skeleton detective.
“Let her go,” Skulduggery said, the revolver in his hand, ready to fire.
“But then you might shoot me,” Sanguine said. “An’ getting’ shot hurts. Drop the gun, gimme the kid with the freaky hair-do or I kill the girl.”
“No.”
“Then I reckon we got ourselves a good old-fashioned stand-off.”
The blade of the straight razor pressed deeper into Valkyrie’s throat and she didn’t even dare swallow. Her cheek throbbed with pain and she felt a trickle of blood run down her face where the lamp had struck her.
Nobody moved, or said anything, for the next few moments.
“Old-fashioned stand-offs are mighty borin’,” Sanguine muttered.
Fletcher was staring at Skulduggery. “You’re a skeleton.”
“Get behind me,” Skulduggery said.
“What’s going on? There’s a guy with no eyes and a razor versus a skeleton in a suit with a gun. Who’s the good guy here?”
Valkyrie clicked her fingers, but had to do it softly or else Sanguine would hear. She tried again, but still couldn’t summon a spark.
“Fletcher,” Sanguine said, “unlike these two, I came here to make you an offer. My employers are very generous people and they’d like to pay you a lot of money to do one little job for them.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Skulduggery warned.
“Why would I need money?” Fletcher asked. “I teleport wherever I want to go and I take whatever I need. I don’t have to pay for anything.”
“There are other rewards,” Sanguine tried. “We can work something out.”
Fletcher shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what any of you want, or why guns and knives are being waved around, and why the girl has just been taken hostage, but everyone seems to be acting like having a talking skeleton in the room is perfectly normal. And you, where are your eyes? How can you see? How come the only people with eyes in this room are me and her?”
“Very good questions,” Sanguine nodded. “If you come with me right now, I’ll give you all the answers you want.”
“This man’s a killer,” said Skulduggery. “You can’t trust anything he says.”
“I’m not planning on it,” Fletcher replied, and he picked up his jacket and put it on. “I don’t care why you or your bosses want me to work for you,” he said to Sanguine. “The fact is, nobody tells me what to do any more. I’m going to go ahead and say no.”
“That’s a mistake, boy.”
“Come with us,” Skulduggery said. “We can protect you.”
“Don’t need protection,” Fletcher shrugged. “Don’t need anything from anyone. I’ve got this really cool power and I intend to use it to do whatever I want.”
“You’re in danger,” Skulduggery insisted. “Most of the other Teleporters in the world are dead.”
Fletcher frowned. “So I’m one of the last?” He took a moment to absorb this information, and when he shrugged, it was with the beginnings of a smile. “Then that just makes me even cooler.”
He vanished with a soft pop, as the air around him rushed in to fill the sudden vacuum.
“Damn it all to hell,” Sanguine muttered.
Valkyrie clicked her fingers and summoned a single flame into her palm, then pressed it into Sanguine’s leg. He yelped and his hold loosened. She grabbed his right wrist and held the straight razor away from her as Skulduggery moved in. Sanguine cursed and pushed Valkyrie into Skulduggery’s path.
“I really hate you guys,” he said, sinking down into the ground.
They waited for a few moments, making sure he wasn’t going to jump out at them from somewhere.
“Are you all right?” Skulduggery asked as he crossed to Valkyrie and tilted her chin to one side. “Did he cut you?”
“Not with his razor,” Valkyrie said, reclaiming her chin. She knew she’d been lucky. Scars left from that blade never healed. “We lost Fletcher. He’s probably miles away by now. After this, how are we ever going to find him again?”
There was a sound from the bathroom and they both looked at the closed door. Skulduggery walked over and knocked. A few seconds later it opened, and Fletcher Renn looked out at them sheepishly.
“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Well, that was easy.”
Valkyrie sat opposite Fletcher, neither of them saying anything. He had adopted an air of complete boredom on the drive over, and this obvious attempt at nonchalance was starting to bug her. She dabbed a wadded clump of napkins to her cut cheek, making sure the bleeding had stopped. Her hands still stung from the dozen splinters that had lacerated them.
The diner they’d come to was a tacky attempt at 1950s America – blue and pink, miniature jukebox on every table and a neon Elvis jerking his hips from left to right on the wall. It was a little past three on a Thursday afternoon and there were more than a few curious glances at the tall, thin man with the scarf, sunglasses and hat, who joined them at the table. Skulduggery waved away the waiter even before he approached.
“The man with the razor was Billy-Ray Sanguine,” he said. “We believe that he is either working with or working for a man named Batu. Have you ever heard this name?”
Fletcher shook his head lazily.
“In the last month, there have been four murders – all Teleporters like you. Now there are only two of you left.”
“But that guy wasn’t after me to kill me. He said he wanted my help.”
“And I can assure you that if you did help him, you’d be dead soon after.”
“He’d try to kill me,” Fletcher said with another one of his shrugs, “but I’d just teleport a hundred miles away.”
“If that were true,” Skulduggery said, “then why did you only teleport as far as the bathroom?”
Fletcher hesitated. “Sometimes, like, I have to be calm to teleport more than a few metres …” He brushed his hand through his hair, like he was checking that it was still ridiculous. Valkyrie could have saved him the effort. “Anyway, you’re wasting my time here, all right? So let’s get this over with.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Excuse me?”
“You want to give me the talk, don’t you? Just like those old guys?”
“What old guys?”
“Two old guys came up to me a few months back, and they were all, ‘you’re one of us, you have power and blah, you can now join this magical community and something else about wonder and awe,’ I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. They were trying to recruit me into this little world within a world that you guys have and they were none too happy when I told them I wasn’t interested. And I’m still not interested.”
“Did they tell you their names?”
“One of them was, I think, Light something.”
“Cameron Light.”
“That was it, yeah. He dead too?”
“Yes, he is.”
“That’s a shame. I’m sure somebody, somewhere, cares.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“They said that without the proper training I could be dangerous. Said I could attract the wrong kind of attention.”
“We usually try not to attract any kind of attention,” Valkyrie said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
Fletcher looked at her. “Is that what we try?”
“Fletcher,” Skulduggery said, and once again Fletcher’s eyes flickered to him. “I’m sure that the idea that known killers are after you is one that, at the very least, is causing you some worry.”
“Do I look worried?”
“No, but neither do you look intelligent, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
Fletcher glared at him, and sat back and said nothing.
“If Batu is behind these murders,” Skulduggery continued, “then he wants to use your powers to open a gateway that will enable the Faceless Ones to return. Do you know about the Faceless Ones?”
For a moment, Valkyrie thought Fletcher might be too sullen to respond, but eventually he nodded. “The old guys told me about them. But that’s just a story, right? None of that stuff ’s real.”
“I used to think the same way,” Skulduggery said. “But my mind has been changed.”
“So if these Faceless Ones come back, the world ends?”
“It probably won’t end immediately. They’ll come back, inhabit indestructible human bodies, tear down the cities and the towns, burn the countryside, kill billions, enslave billions more, work them until they die, and then the world will end. Are you OK, Fletcher? You’re suddenly looking very pale.”
“I’m fine,” Fletcher mumbled.
Skulduggery went quiet for a moment, thinking it all through. “But if Batu needs a Teleporter to make this all happen, why didn’t he go for someone with experience? You don’t even have any formal training. You may be a natural, as I’ve heard, but compared to Cameron Light, your powers are practically nothing.”
“If Cameron Light’s so bloody good,” Fletcher said with a sneer on his lips, “how come he’s so bloody dead?”
There was nothing Valkyrie wanted more in the world than to reach across that table and smack Fletcher Renn. Skulduggery, for his part, remained as impassive as ever.
“Even though this will go against your instincts,” he said, “for your own safety I think you should be put in protective custody.”
Fletcher’s grin was back. “Ground me, you mean? Not a chance, skeleton-man.”
Valkyrie scowled. “He has a name.”
“Oh, yeah, Skulduggery, right? Skulduggery. That’s an unusual one. Were you born a skeleton or were your folks just disturbingly hopeful?”
“Skulduggery is my taken name,” Skulduggery said evenly.
“That’s the advantage of being in this little ‘world within a world’ of ours,” Valkyrie added. “You’re told a few of the rules, a few tricks you’ll need to survive.”
Fletcher’s shoulders made a slight movement, like they were too lazy to give another shrug so soon after the last one. “I’m doing OK.”
“So far. But how do you feel about being someone’s puppet? Because if you don’t take on a name of your own, any sorcerer who can be bothered might decide he wants a new pet.”
“Aha. So Valkyrie Cain isn’t your real name, that right?”
“That’s right. It’s the name I took, the name that stops anyone from controlling me.”
“Well I changed my name when I ran away from home, so I guess I’m safe too, right?”
He was enjoying this. That made her dislike him even more.
“Are we done?” he asked. “I’ve got places to go and people to see.”
“They’re not going to stop,” Skulduggery said. “No matter where you go, they will find you. And if they find you, they will force you to help them.”
“No one forces me to—”
“I’ve not finished talking yet,” Skulduggery interrupted.
Fletcher sighed and raised an eyebrow expectantly.
“As I was saying, if they find you, they will force you to help them. And if you help them, Fletcher, then you’re on their side.”
Fletcher frowned. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning you won’t have to worry about them. You’ll have to worry about us.”
Fletcher grew even paler than before. Skulduggery, Valkyrie reflected, could be a very scary person when he wanted to.
“You don’t want me as an enemy, Fletcher. You want to be my friend. You want to do as I say, and for your own good, you want to enter into protective custody. Am I right?”
For a moment, Valkyrie thought Fletcher was going to defy him again, just for the sake of it, but then his eyes softened and he nodded. “Yeah, OK.”
“Excellent news. And I have the perfect place for you to stay.”
“Elsewhere,” said the voice, distorted over the tinny old speaker that hung in the corner. “They are all elsewhere.”
The walls were cold stone. There was one door, no window and a mirror. Sanguine was fairly certain there was a camera behind the mirror, watching him.
“So who are you?” he asked.
“I’m nobody,” the voice said.
Sanguine smiled. “You’re Batu, ain’t you? You’re the one they keep talkin’ about.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you are. You’re the big boss. So how come you ain’t here in person? I been workin’ for you for over a year now. Ain’t it time we met, face to face?”
“I value my privacy.”
Sanguine shrugged. “I get that.”
“You failed me, Mr Sanguine. I paid you to do a job and you failed me.”
“You said nothin’ about the skeleton detective and the girl gettin’ involved. That’s what we call extenuatin’ circumstances. If I’d have known they’d be there, I could have prepared. Or at least charged double.”
“You will have a chance to redeem yourself.”
“Yippee,” Sanguine said, without enthusiasm.
“I’m going to need you to steal something for me, as soon as Gruesome Krav returns. There is a very good chance you will encounter opposition.”
“So you’ll double my rate?”
“Naturally.”
“Yippee,” Sanguine said and this time he smiled.
The darkness was replaced by the bright lights of the corridors that snaked between the laboratories, and the smell of disinfectant replaced the mustiness. Clarabelle, one of Professor Kenspeckle Grouse’s new assistants, drifted by them dreamily, humming to herself. She wasn’t, in Valkyrie’s opinion, all there.
They walked into a circular room with a high ceiling. There were spotlights on the wall, casting a hazy glow on to a statue of a man on his knees, one hand touching the ground. His bald head was ridged with scars and the expression on his face was one of resignation.
Ghastly Bespoke had used the final Elemental power – the earth power – to save himself while he held off the White Cleaver. Valkyrie still had dreams about that moment, looking back in time to see the concrete of the floor latch on to Ghastly’s body and spread, even as the White Cleaver swung his scythe. Tanith Low had thrown her into the back of the Bentley and they had escaped, but Ghastly had been left as a statue, and no one knew how long the effect would last.
Professor Kenspeckle Grouse stood behind the statue, hands glowing as he passed them over its surface. His eyes were closed, his white eyebrows furrowed in concentration. For two years now, Kenspeckle had worked to return Ghastly to a flesh and blood state. He had used all kinds of science-magic, brought in every sort of expert, tried everything he could think of and then went even further, with no success.
“Who’s the old guy?” Fletcher asked loudly. Kenspeckle scowled and looked up.
Valkyrie smiled and waved. Kenspeckle left the statue and came over.
“Valkyrie. You’re injured again.”
“A few little cuts; nothing to worry about.”
“I’m the medical genius, Valkyrie. I think I’ll make up my own mind about that.” He examined the cut on her face and then her hands. “Who’s the annoying boy?”
“I’m not—” Fletcher began.
“This is Fletcher Renn,” Skulduggery interrupted. “I was hoping he could stay here for a few days.”
“And why would you imagine that I would agree to that?” Kenspeckle growled.
“He needs to be kept somewhere safe, with someone responsible.”
“You want me to stay here?” Fletcher asked, clearly appalled.
“Shut up,” Kenspeckle said, his eyes never leaving Valkyrie’s cut. “Are you trying to bring trouble to my door, Detective?”
“No, I am not, Professor.”
“Because the last time you brought trouble to my door, people died.”
He looked at Skulduggery and Skulduggery looked at him.
“It’s not safe for him out there. He’s untrained, doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s basically an idiot. I need to know he’s somewhere safe. I need him kept out of harm’s way. You’re the only one I can trust to do that.”
“And this has to do with the Teleporter murders that everyone is talking about?”
“Yes.”
Kenspeckle turned back to Valkyrie. “Come with me to the Infirmary.”
He walked out without glancing at Skulduggery and she followed. When they got to the Infirmary, he told Valkyrie to hop up on the bed, then dabbed at her hands and cheek with a sweet-smelling cloth.
“It seems like every second day you come here,” he said, “mortally wounded, bones broken, bleeding to death, hanging on by a thread, and you expect me to perform some amazingly astounding miracle cure.”
“These are mortal wounds?” she asked sceptically.
“Don’t be cheeky.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugged, then shuffled off to the small table beside the bed. The medical department in Kenspeckle’s science-magic facility was small, but perfectly formed, and usually quiet – except for the times when one of Kenspeckle’s experiments went impressively wrong, or when old gods awoke in the Morgue. But nothing like that had happened in months.
“Do you know the problem with people your age, Valkyrie?”
“We’re too pretty?” she answered hopefully.
“You think you’ll live forever. You rush into situations without considering the consequences. You’re thirteen …”
“Just gone fourteen.”
“… and how do you spend your days?”
He came back to the bedside and started dabbing ointment on the cuts on her hands.
“Well, usually we’re on a case, so we’re tracking down suspects, or we’re doing research, or I’m training, or Skulduggery’s teaching me magic, or, you know …”
“And how, pray tell, do other just gone fourteen-year-old girls spend their days?”
Valkyrie hesitated. “Pretty much the same as me?”
“Amazingly, no.”
“Ah.”
“Once you become an adult, you can endanger yourself as much as you want and I promise I will not admonish you, but I’d hate to see you miss out on all the things normal teenagers do. You’re only young once, Valkyrie.”
“Yeah, but it goes on for ages.”
Kenspeckle shook his head and sighed again. He took a black needle and started to stitch the cut on her face. The needle went through her flesh without drawing blood, and instead of pain, she felt warmth.
“Has there been any progress?” she asked. “With Ghastly?”
“I’m afraid not,” he sighed. “I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing I can do. He will emerge from his current state when he emerges, and there is nothing anyone can do to speed up the process.”
“I miss him,” said Valkyrie. “Skulduggery misses him too, although he’d never say it. I think Ghastly was his only friend.”
“But now he has you, yes?”
She laughed. “I suppose so, yes.”
“And apart from him, do you have friends of your own?”
“What? Of course I do.”
“Name three.”
“No problem. There’s Tanith Low …”
“Who joins you on investigations, trains you in combat and is over eighty years old.”
“Well, yeah, but she looks, like, twenty-two. And she acts like a four-year-old.”
“That’s one friend. Name two more.”
Valkyrie opened her mouth, but no names came out. Kenspeckle finished the stitching.
“I can afford to have no friends,” he told her. “I am old, and cranky, and I have long ago decided that people are an annoyance I can do without. But you? You need friends and you need normality.”
“I like my life the way it is.”
Kenspeckle shrugged. “I don’t expect you to take my advice. Another problem with young people like you, Valkyrie, is that you think you know everything. Whereas I am the only one who can make a claim like that without fear of ridicule.” He stood back. “There. That should keep your face from falling off. The splinters should be out now too.”
She looked at her hands, just in time to see the last splinter rise from her skin into the clear ointment. She didn’t even feel it happen.
“Wash your hands in the basin, there’s a good girl.”
She got up, went to the basin and put her hands under the tap. “Will you help us out?” she asked. “Can Fletcher stay here?”
Kenspeckle sighed. “There is nowhere else to keep him?”
“No.”
“And he truly is in danger?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Kenspeckle. Really.”
“You’ll probably be back to see me again before the day is out,” he said as he walked to the door. “You’ll no doubt want me to sew your head back on or something.”
“And you’ll be able to do it, right?”
“Naturally. I’m just going to fetch you a bandage, then you can go.”
He left and Clarabelle breezed in.
“Hello,” she said brightly. “You got into another fight. Did it hurt much?”
Valkyrie smiled faintly. “Not really.”
“The Professor is always going on about how you’d be dead if it wasn’t for him. Do you think that’s true? I think it’s probably true. The Professor’s always right about things like that. He said one of these days he’s not going to be able to save you. He’s probably right about that too. Do you think you’ll die one of these days?”
Valkyrie frowned. “I hope not.”
Clarabelle laughed like she’d just heard the funniest thing ever. “Of course you hope you won’t die, Valkyrie! Who would hope to die? That’s just silly! But you probably will die, that’s what I’m saying. Don’t you think so?”
Valkyrie dried her hands. “I’m not going to die any time soon, Clarabelle.”
“I like your coat by the way.”