Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12
“You don’t see, do you?”
“No,” Ghastly said immediately. “I really don’t know what you want me to do.”
“We think Serpine is after the Sceptre of the Ancients,” Stephanie said and she felt Skulduggery sink lower into the cushion beside her.
“The what?” Ghastly said, his smile reappearing. “You’re not serious, are you? Listen, I don’t know what my dear friend here has been saying, but the Sceptre isn’t real.”
“Serpine thinks it’s real. We think that has something to do with my uncle’s death.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ghastly said, “I really am. I respected Gordon. He knew there was magic in the world and he wasn’t seduced by it. He just wanted to observe and to write about it. That takes a strength that I hope has been passed on to you.”
Stephanie didn’t answer. Skulduggery didn’t look at her.
“But,” Ghastly continued, “to say that his death has something to do with a legend that has been passed down from generation to generation, and that has changed with each telling, is just nonsense. He had a heart attack. He was mortal. He died. That’s what mortals do. Let him have his death.”
“I think my uncle knew where the Sceptre is, or he had it and Serpine killed him, and now Serpine knows where it is and that’s why he wants the key.”
“What key?”
“The key to get the Sceptre maybe. We’re not sure. What we do know is that he tried to kill me twice to get it.”
Ghastly shook his head. “This isn’t your world.”
“I’m a part of it now.”
“You’ve just stepped into it. You’ve seen magic and sorcerers and a living skeleton and I bet you’re having great fun – but you haven’t the slightest idea what’s at stake.”
Skulduggery didn’t say anything. Stephanie got to her feet.
“You know what?” she said. “For me, this is an adventure. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? Well, you’re right. I do look at all this as a big adventure, and I’m fascinated and excited and thrilled by it all. I’ve seen amazing people do amazing things, and I’ve been amazed.” Her eyes hardened. “But don’t you dare, for one second, think that this is just a game to me. My uncle left me a fortune: he left me everything I could ever want. He did all that for me, but he’s dead now. So now I’m going to do something for him. I’m going to find out who killed him, and I’m going to do what I can to make sure they don’t just walk away from it. He’s got to have someone on his side.”
“This is insane!” Ghastly said, leaning forward in his chair. “The Sceptre’s a fairy tale!”
“I believe it exists.”
“Of course you believe it exists! You’ve been dragged into a world where you think anything can happen, but that’s not how it works. Your uncle involved himself in this and if what you say is true, he got killed for it. Are you so eager to do the same? You’re playing with fire.”
“Everyone plays with fire around here.”
“This hasn’t gone the way I was expecting,” Skulduggery said.
“There are rules for things like this,” Ghastly said, ignoring her and speaking to Skulduggery. “There’s a reason we don’t tell everyone we’re out there. She is a prime example of why.”
Stephanie’s anger flared and she knew she couldn’t talk now without her voice cracking and betraying her, so she dashed past Ghastly. She walked through the shop, unlocked the door and walked out on to the street. She could feel the anger twisting in her insides, making her fingers curl. She hated not being treated as an equal, she hated being talked down to and she hated the feeling of being protected. She didn’t much like to be ignored either.
Skulduggery emerged from the shop a few minutes later, hat back on. He walked up to her as she leaned against the Bentley, arms crossed and staring at a crack in the pavement.
“So that went well,” he said eventually. When she didn’t answer, he nodded and said, “Did I tell you how I first met Ghastly?”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Ah. All right then.” Silence drifted down like smog. “It’s not very interesting anyway. But it has pirates in it.”
“I couldn’t care less,” Stephanie said. “Is he going to help us or not?”
“Well, he doesn’t think it’s a great idea to have, you know, to have you with me on this one.”
“Oh, really?” Stephanie responded bitterly.
“He seems to think I’m being irresponsible.”
“And what do you think?”
“I have been known to be irresponsible in the past. It’s entirely plausible that it’s happening again.”
“Do you think I’m in danger?”
“Oh, yes. Serpine still believes you are in possession of whatever key he’s looking for. The moment he learns who you are or where you are, he’ll send someone else. You’re in – and I don’t think I’m exaggerating here – especially grave danger.”
“Then let’s be absolutely clear on this, OK? I can’t leave this. I can’t go back to my dull, boring, ordinary life, even if I wanted to. I’ve seen too much. I’m involved here. It’s my uncle who was murdered, it’s my life that was in danger and I am not about to just walk away. That’s all there is to it.”
“Well, I’m convinced.”
“So why are we standing around?”
“My question exactly,” Skulduggery said, unlocking the Bentley. They got in and the Bentley rattled to life at the turn of the key. Skulduggery checked the rear-view, then the wing mirrors, then remembered that he didn’t have any wing mirrors any more, and pulled out on to the road.
“So we don’t get to look at his family’s collection?” Stephanie asked as they drove.
“Ghastly is a good man, and a good friend, and precisely the kind of person you want on your side, but he is also one of the most stubborn people I know. In four days, once he has had time to think, he will change his mind, and he will quite happily let us see what we need to see, but until then we don’t have a hope.”
“Wouldn’t the books be in China’s library too?”
Skulduggery made a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt. “China has been after those books for years, but they’re locked away where even she can’t reach them.”
“You know where they are?”
“In the Vault.”
“In a vault? So what?”
“Not a vault, the Vault. It’s a series of chambers housed beneath the Dublin Municipal Art Gallery, very well protected, where they don’t take kindly to trespassers.”
Stephanie took a moment then spoke. “Ghastly will change his mind in four days?”
“That’s how long it usually takes, yes.”
“But we don’t have four days, do we?”
“No, we don’t.”
“So you know what we have to do, right?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“We need to look at that collection.”
Skulduggery looked at her. “I knew you’d be good at this. The moment I saw you, I knew you had an instinct for this job.”
“So we break into the Vault?”
He nodded reluctantly. “We break into the Vault.”
The Dublin Municipal Art Gallery was situated in one of the more affluent parts of the city. A gleaming triumph of steel and glass, it stood alone and proud, its lush gardens keeping the other buildings at a respectable distance.
Stephanie and Skulduggery parked across the road as part of what Skulduggery was calling a preliminary stake-out. They weren’t going to break into the Vault yet, he assured her; they were just here to get some idea of what they were up against. They had just seen the gallery staff and a half-dozen security guards leave the building, their shift over for the day. Two people, a man and a woman, dressed in blue overalls, passed them on the steps and entered the gallery, locking the doors behind them.
“Ah,” Skulduggery said from beneath his scarf. “We may have a problem.”
“What problem?” Stephanie asked. “Them? Who are they?”
“The night shift.”
“Two people? That’s all?”
“They’re not exactly people.”
“So who are they?”
“It’s not so much who as what.”
“I swear, Skulduggery, you either give me a straight answer or I’m finding the biggest dog you’ve ever seen and I’m going to make him dig a hole and bury you in it.”
“Oh that’s charming, that is,” Skulduggery said, then made a sound like he was clearing his throat, though there was nothing to clear and no actual throat to clear it from. “Did you notice the way they moved?”
“Very, I don’t know… gracefully. What about it? Are they dancers? The Vault has ballerina security guards?”
“They’re vampires,” Skulduggery said. “The Vault has vampire security guards.”
Stephanie made a show of poking her head out of the window and looking up at the sky. “The sun’s still out, Skulduggery. It’s still bright.”
“Doesn’t matter to them.”
She frowned. “Doesn’t sunlight kill them? Doesn’t it turn them to dust, or make them burst into flames or something?”
“Nope. Vampires tan, just like you and me. Well, just like you. I tend to bleach.”
“So sunlight has no effect on them?”
“It binds them. It dampens their powers. During the day, they are for all intents and purposes mortal, but when the sun goes down, their powers flare up.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“And the Vault employs two of them as their nightshift. The ultimate guard dogs.”
“If sunlight doesn’t hurt them, I don’t suppose crosses will scare them off?”
“The best way to stop a vampire is with a whole lot of bullets, and since we don’t want to hurt anyone, this is that problem I was telling you about.”
“There must be a way to get by them. We could disguise ourselves as cleaning staff or something.”
“No one works when vampires are around – vampires don’t make a distinction between allies and prey. They can’t resist the bloodlust any more than a moth can resist a big bright light. They’re killers: the most efficient, deadly killers on the face of the planet.”
“Scary.”
“Yes, well, vampires aren’t known for being cute.”
“Well then, we’re going to have to come up with something really really clever.”
Skulduggery paused then shrugged. “I suppose I am good at that.”
9
THE TROLL BENEATH WESTMINSTER BRIDGE
“Hello?” she said. “Anyone down there?”
The Thames was dark and rushing beneath her, but no one answered. She glanced at her watch then looked around. It was seven minutes to midnight and Westminster Bridge was empty except for her. Perfect.
“Hello?” she said again. “I need to talk to you.”
A voice answered: “There’s no one down here.”
“I think there is,” she said.
“No,” came the voice. “No one.”
“I think there’s a troll down there,” the young woman said. “And I need to talk to him.”
A face rose up out of the shadows, small and wrinkled, with large ears and a shock of spiky black hair. Huge eyes blinked at her.
“What do you want?” the troll asked.
“I want to talk to you,” the young woman answered. “I’m Tanith Low. What’s your name?”
The troll shook his head. “No no, not telling. Not telling that.”
“Oh yes,” Tanith said, “trolls only have one name, isn’t that right?”
“Yes yes, one name. No telling.”
“But I can guess, isn’t that how it goes? If I guess your name correctly, what happens then?”
The troll grinned, showing lots of sharp yellow teeth. “You get to live,” he said.
“And if I get it wrong?”
The troll giggled. “You get eaten!”
“That sounds like a fun game,” Tanith said with a smile. “What time do you usually play?”
“Midnight, stroke of midnight, yes yes yes. When I’m strong.”
“And you pop out from under there at whoever’s passing, don’t you?”
“Three chances,” the troll said, nodding. “Three chances is what they get. Guess the name, don’t get eaten; get it wrong, come along.”
“Do you want to play it with me?”
The grin faded on the troll’s face. “Not strong yet. Need to wait, yes yes. Stroke of midnight.”
“We don’t have to wait, do we?” Tanith said with a pout. “I want to play now. I bet I can guess your name.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Bet I can.”
“No, you can’t!” the troll said, giggling again.
“Come on up out of there, we’ll see.”
“Yes yes, play the game.”
Tanith glanced at her watch and stepped back as the troll scampered up. Two minutes to midnight. He was small, up to her waist, with thin arms and legs and a bloated belly. His fingernails were hardened and pointed and he was grinning in anticipation, though keeping his distance.
She let her coat fall open a little and smiled at him. “You’re a handsome little fellow, aren’t you? Are you the only troll in London?”
“Only one,” he said proudly. “Now we play! Guess the name, don’t get eaten; get it wrong, come along. Guess guess guess.”
“Let’s see,” she said, taking a step closer. The troll narrowed its eyes and stepped back, towards the edge of the bridge. She stopped moving. “Is your name Bollohollow?”
The troll roared with laughter. “No no, not Bollohollow! Two guesses left, only two!”
“This is harder than I thought,” said Tanith. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”
“Best! Very best!”
“Not many people have guessed your name, huh?”
“No one,” the troll cackled. “Guess guess!”
“Is it… Ferninabop Caprookie?”
The troll whooped and hollered and danced, and Tanith moved a little closer.
“Not Ferninabop!” he laughed. “Not Caprookie!”
“Wow,” Tanith said, looking worried. “I’m not doing too well here, am I?”
“Gonna get eaten!”
“You eat a lot of passers-by?”
“Yes yes, yum yum.”
“You gobble them all up, don’t you? They scream and cry and run away—”
“But I catch them!” the troll giggled. “Stroke of midnight, I’m big and strong and fast, gobble them up, gobble them all up! They struggle and wriggle and tickle inside me!”
“I’d better get my last guess right then, eh?” said Tanith. “Is it… Rumplestilskin?”
The troll laughed so hard he fell on to his back. “No no!” he managed to say between gales of laughter. “They always say that! Always get it wrong!”
Tanith took one more step, and dropped her smile. The sword flashed from her coat but the troll saw it just in time and squealed and rolled.
Tanith cursed and swiped again, but the troll dodged beneath her and she spun and kicked out, sending him sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, hissing and spitting at her as she advanced, and then, in the warm London night, the sound of Big Ben. Midnight.
Tanith lunged but it was too late. The troll skipped back as his shoulders hunched and he snarled and started to grow.
“Nuts,” Tanith whispered to herself.
Muscles bulged in his arms and legs, stretching the skin so tight it looked like it might split. She moved forward again but he flipped back through the air, and when he landed he was as tall as she was. His chest broadened and his neck thickened and still he grew, and still he snarled. His bones popped and he finished growing. He was now almost twice her size.
Facing down a fully-grown troll was not what she had planned. She held the sword down by her leg and circled the creature.
“You cheated,” the troll said, his voice deep and guttural now.
“You’ve been a very naughty boy,” she said.
“Gobble you up. Gobble you all up, yes yes.”
Tanith shot him a smile. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough…”
The troll roared and lunged, moving fast despite his size, but Tanith was ready. She slipped to the side and then past him, her sword opening up his thigh. He hissed in pain and swung a massive fist that slammed into her back. She hit the ground hard. He went to stamp on her but she rolled, coming up on one knee and bringing the sword from her side to her shoulder and the blade found his arm.
The troll stumbled back and she got to her feet.
“Gonna bite you,” the troll growled, “gonna bite you into little pieces, yes yes.”
“The game’s not so much fun when you’re playing with someone who can fight back, is it?”
“My bridge,” he snarled. “My game.”
She smiled at him. “My rules.”
Another roar and he dived straight at her and she stood her ground. One swipe of the sword took the fingers on his left hand and he howled in pain and staggered back and she jumped. She planted her feet on his chest and swung, the blade flashing in the bridge’s lights as it took his head. The troll’s body stumbled back and she jumped off. The body hit the barrier and tipped backwards into the river.
Tanith stooped to pick up the head and moved to the barrier. She turned as a man walked up. She had never met him before but she knew who he was. He was tall and bald, and his face was lined and his eyes were a startling blue, the palest eyes she had ever seen. His name was Mr Bliss.
Mr Bliss nodded to the head in her hand. “Risky.”
“I’ve fought trolls before,” she said respectfully.
“I meant the risk you took with being seen.”
“It had to be done. This troll has killed many innocent people.”
“But that’s what trolls do. You can’t blame him for doing what nature intended.” She didn’t know how to respond. Mr Bliss smiled.
“I’m not berating you,” he said. “You’ve done a noble and selfless thing. That is to be admired.”
“Thank you.”
“You puzzle me, however. I have been keeping an eye on your progress over the last few years. It is unusual to find a mage, even an Adept like you, focusing as heavily on physical conflict as you have done. Yet you don’t seek power.”
“I just want to help people.”
“And that is what puzzles me.”
“My mother used to tell me stories about the war,” she said. “I think you may be forgetting some selfless acts of your own.”
Mr Bliss smiled softly. “There is no heroism in war – there are simply things that need to be done. The heroes come later. But I am not here to discuss philosophies.”
He looked at her with his startling blue eyes. “A storm is brewing, Miss Low. Coming events will threaten to turn the tide of power in this world, and so I have left my place of solitude and come here, searching for you. I have a need for someone of your ability and your outlook.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“The sorcerer Serpine is about to break the Truce. If I fail in my endeavours, we will once again slip into war. I need you on our side.”
“It would be an honour,” Tanith said.
“We have much to learn from each other,” Mr Bliss responded, bowing. “Make your way to Ireland,” he said, “and I will be in touch with you soon.”
She nodded and he walked away. Tanith threw the troll’s head into the Thames and, hiding her sword under her coat, walked off in the other direction.
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