Skulduggery Pleasant: The End of the World (2 page)

T
he skeleton’s jaw moved when he talked, but he had no tongue. He had no lungs, or vocal cords. There was nothing at all to give him a voice, and yet Skulduggery still talked. Good God, did he talk.

“The short version,” he said as they drove, “is that magic exists. Monsters exist. Sorcerers, like myself and Valkyrie, fight to stop other sorcerers, like Foe and his friends, from doing bad things. We’re the heroes, if you really must give us a title. They’re the villains. We try to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. It’s really quite straightforward if you don’t think about it too hard.”

“But I don’t understand,” Ryan whispered.

“That’s the spirit,” Skulduggery said. “We don’t have an awful lot of time, so there are some things you’re just going to have to accept.”

“You’re a skeleton.”

“Like that.”

“But how can you move?”

Valkyrie undid her seatbelt and climbed into the back. “Ryan,” she said when she was settled, “the world is an amazing place. It’s full of wonderful things and fascinating people and deep mysteries just waiting to be uncovered. In order to not annoy me, though, you’ve really got to put all of that to one side and concentrate on what we tell you. He’s a walking skeleton. I wear tight trousers. Do you have any questions so far?”

“Uh, no.”

“Excellent.”

“You can feel safe with us,” Skulduggery said. “We’ve saved the world a few times and we’ve become quite good at it. Really, if I were you, there’s no one else I’d rather be with at a time like this.”

“Skulduggery,” Valkyrie said, “your façade.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, and his gloved fingers tapped his collarbones. A face flowed up, covering his skull with skin and hair and features. He smiled at a lady in a car they passed and she frowned at him.

“He can only wear a face for half an hour every day,” Valkyrie whispered to Ryan. “So he tends to overdo it on the sociable front.”

“But all that went on in a library,” Ryan said, finally confident enough to form a complete sentence without gibbering. “It’s going to be all over the news.”

“Actually,” Valkyrie responded, “it’s not. We have people for that sort of thing. Sometime within the next hour a very nice man called Geoffrey is going to convince everyone who witnessed that fight that they didn’t see what they thought they saw. He’s kind of a Public Relations officer, in a way – making sure the civilian world doesn’t notice the rest of us as we go about our business.”

Skulduggery glanced at Ryan over his shoulder. The face he wore was dark-haired and sallow-skinned. “Some people, like Geoffrey, find they are suited to non-combative roles. He’s what we call a Sensitive – someone with psychic abilities. Some Sensitives read minds, some see the future – Geoffrey just makes you believe whatever he tells you. Another Sensitive was a man called Deacon Maybury. Which is where you come in.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Ryan said.

“Of course not,” said Valkyrie. “I hadn’t either, up until a few days ago. I’d heard of his brother, Davit, who died. There were sextuplets, apparently. Six identical Mayburys. Only four now, though.”

“This Deacon Maybury, he’s dead too?”

Skulduggery turned the Bentley off the busy road, down a quieter street. “Deacon was a Sensitive who worked for the Sanctuary – where we work. Sometimes we arrest criminals for whom there is no redemption. If they’re susceptible, it’s possible to enter their mind and insert a new personality. It’s always been a controversial procedure, and it only works if the criminal’s will is weak, but the old personality would be subdued, the new one would have a life and a history and memories, and the criminal would get a chance at a normal life. Inserting new personalities was Deacon’s job.”

“But he got bored,” Valkyrie said. “We spoke to people who knew him. He wanted adventure and excitement. He wanted money and power. So he fell in with the wrong crowd – Foe and his gang.”

Skulduggery nodded. “A very bad lot. Vincent Foe was a mercenary during the war. I won’t tell you what war, I don’t want to complicate things. Mercy Charient is, for all intents and purposes, a serial killer. Obloquy, I doubt you’ll disagree, is something of a moron – but a savage moron. And then there’s Samuel.”

Valkyrie made a face. “Bloody vampires.”

Ryan sat forward. “That was a vampire? That guy who looked like an accountant?”

“We don’t talk about vampires,” Skulduggery warned.

“But it was daytime. How could he have been out during the—”

“We don’t talk about vampires!” Valkyrie said sharply.

Ryan shrank back. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Skulduggery told him. “Valkyrie used to date a vampire, that’s all.”

“We didn’t
date
,” Valkyrie said immediately.

Skulduggery held a hand up. “I’m not judging.”

Valkyrie scowled, and looked back at Ryan. “Anyway, Deacon Maybury fell in with Foe’s gang, and Foe’s gang are nuts. Some people want to take over the world. Some people want to change the world. Foe and his mates want to destroy the world.” She shook her head. “They’re idiots.”

“Nihilists,” Skulduggery corrected.

“Idiots,” Valkyrie repeated. “There’s something called a Doomsday Machine, Ryan. Yes, I know how that sounds. And yes, it is as stupid as it appears. Some genius went ahead and built a bomb that could blow up the planet. He said he built it so that if the Faceless Ones ever returned, we could kill ourselves and kill them at the same time so that they could never travel to and infect other realities.”

Ryan frowned. “Faceless Ones?”

“Don’t complicate things,” Skulduggery said.

“Yeah, sorry Ryan,” said Valkyrie. “Anyway, that’s why it exists. So it was sitting there, existing, not harming anyone, and then a few years ago it was stolen. Foe and his gang stole it and hid it – which wouldn’t be an easy thing to do because the Machine is bigger than a house.”

“Why did they hide it?” Ryan asked. “Why not just set if off?”

“Because they didn’t have the key,” Skulduggery said. “They spent the next few years searching for it. That’s when Deacon joined them. They finally found it, nine days ago. But Deacon had no intention of activating the Machine. He hid the key, shaped like a clasp, to sell to the highest bidder.”

“But Foe’s gang caught up with him before the auction could take place,” Valkyrie said. “They chased him and he accidentally fell into a wood chipper.”

Ryan winced.

“Yeah,” said Valkyrie.

“So now Foe is hunting for the key,” Skulduggery said. “Their hunt led them to the library, and our hunt led us to them. And both hunts have led to you, Ryan.”

Ryan looked at his hand. “But the key’s gone. It crumbled when I held it. It’s just dust now.”

“The key wasn’t what you held,” Skulduggery said. “It’s the imprint it left on your skin. I’ve got good news and bad news for you, Ryan. The bad news is that you’re the only one in the world who can activate the Doomsday Machine, and Foe and his gang are never going to stop coming after you. The good news is that with myself and Valkyrie protecting you, you stand a very good chance of emerging from this relatively unscathed.”

Valkyrie looked at the back of Skulduggery’s head. “You said they’d probably try to cut his hand off.”

“I said relatively,” Skulduggery reminded her.

D
eacon Maybury’s apartment was trashed.

Skulduggery and Valkyrie went first, to check if it was safe, and Ryan crept in after them. Papers littered the bad carpet. The ugly couch had been slashed open and its stuffing had been pulled out like fluffy intestines. Chairs were overturned, picture frames smashed and every drawer taken from its slot, the contents dumped and scattered.

“What exactly are we looking for in this mess?” Valkyrie asked.

“Foe secured the Doomsday Machine somewhere,” Skulduggery said, picking through the debris. “We need to find out where. Maybe we’ll get lucky and discover that Deacon was an avid journal keeper. But if we can’t find a solid lead to take us to the Machine, there might be something else here, a clue or a name, something that will take us a step further.”

Valkyrie sighed. “I hate looking for clues.”

Ryan smiled at the cuteness of Valkyrie’s sulk.

“Looking for clues is an integral part of detective work,” Skulduggery told her.

“I prefer the part where we hit people.”

“That’s just because you have a violent nature. You should endeavour to be more peace-loving, like Ryan.”

Ryan stopped admiring Valkyrie and frowned. “Why am I peace-loving?”

“Hmm?” Skulduggery said, looking up. “Oh, I meant nothing by it. I just assumed you were peace-loving because you seem to be terrible at violence. Plus, you scream a lot.”

“Just because I don’t go around getting into fights every day doesn’t mean I can’t fight,” Ryan said, his face growing warm.

“Not being good at violence is nothing to be ashamed of,” Skulduggery said, standing a filing cabinet upright and sifting through it. “If there were more people like you in the world, there’d be less need for people like us.”

“I don’t have a violent nature,” Valkyrie growled.

“And I’m not peace-loving,” Ryan insisted.

“But you do scream a lot,” Skulduggery said.

“How can you know that?” Ryan asked. “You’ve known me for, like, two hours.”

“And in those two hours, you have spent most of your time screaming.” Skulduggery shrugged. “I really can’t see how my logic can be faulted.”

“I don’t have a violent nature,” Valkyrie repeated.

“Of course you don’t,” Skulduggery said, as he continued to sift the files in the cabinet. “Entirely my mistake.”

Valkyrie scowled and started sorting through the papers on the floor. She hadn’t been too interested in Ryan’s defence of his manliness. He couldn’t say he blamed her. She was a sorcerer who battled evil villains every other day. He was a chubby loser who needed girls to fight his battles for him. The only way he was going to change how she thought of him was to do something so brave and noble that she couldn’t fail to be impressed. He turned and screamed at a middle-aged woman who stood in the doorway.

The middle-aged woman was startled by the scream, but not half as startled as Ryan himself. It had been a surprisingly high-pitched scream this time, and to make matters worse, it resulted in Valkyrie leaping in front of him protectively.

“Oh,” said the middle-aged woman. She wore a floral dress and a cardigan. As middle-aged women went, she wasn’t particularly frightening.

Skulduggery walked forward, a new false face smiling broadly. “Hello there,” he said. “How are you on this fine day? Come in, come in. And you are…?”

“Francine,” the woman said, a little flustered. “I live down the hall… What are you doing in Deacon Maybury’s apartment?”

“You know Deacon?” Skulduggery asked. Valkyrie walked behind her, checked the corridor for anyone else, then stepped back in and closed the door.

“Well, yes,” said Francine, frowning at Valkyrie and then looking at Skulduggery. “He’s my neighbour and he’s a good man. If you’re robbing him, I must warn you – we don’t take kindly to that sort of thing here.”

“We’re not robbing him,” Skulduggery said. “But I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“Is it Deacon?” Francine asked, her eyes wide.

“It is.”

“Is he sick?”

“It’s a little worse than that.”

She gasped. “He’s dying?”

“He was briefly dying,” said Skulduggery. “Now he’s dead.”

Francine’s mouth dropped open. “What? Deacon… Deacon is
dead
?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no.” She sagged, and Valkyrie caught her before she collapsed. “My Deacon… My poor Deacon…”

Valkyrie staggered over to the only upright chair, and dumped Francine into it.

“He was so strong,” Francine sobbed. “So proud. So much dignity. How did he die?”

“Wood chipper,” said Valkyrie.

Francine wailed again, pounding the table with her little fists. “Why?” she cried. “Why did you take him, Lord?”

Valkyrie looked at Skulduggery, and Skulduggery shrugged.

“Uh,” Valkyrie said. “I’m sorry for your, you know, your loss. I’m sure he was a great… I’m sure…” She faltered, and gave a shrug of her own. Ryan looked at Skulduggery, but he showed no signs of offering any real comfort to the poor woman.

“You obviously loved him very much,” Ryan said, surprising himself by stepping forward.

“I did,” Francine sobbed.

“I’m sure he loved you back.”

Francine looked up, her eyes red and puffy and pleading. “Did he ever mention me?”

Ryan hesitated, and Valkyrie smirked at him from behind Francine. “All the time,” he said. “Yes. God, every time I spoke to him he was all, Francine this and Francine that and… ohh, how I love Francine.”

“He said that?”

“Uh, something along those lines, definitely…”

Francine clasped her hands to her chest. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew he loved me. All those long silences. All those awkward moments. I should have told him I felt the same way. Then we could have… Then we could have…”

She broke off into a fit of sobbing. Behind her, Valkyrie gave Ryan the thumbs up. He had a feeling she meant it sarcastically.

“Did you talk to Deacon much?” Skulduggery asked, leaning down to gently pat her hand. “Did you tell each other about your days? Did you confide in each other…?”

“With a love like ours,” Francine warbled, “we didn’t need words.”

“How inconvenient,” Skulduggery muttered, straightening up immediately and walking away.

“Francine,” Ryan said, “we’re looking for something that Deacon was keeping for us. Do you know where it is? It’d be big, now, as big as a house.”

Francine blinked away tears. “What could he have had that was as big as a house?”

Ryan frowned. He really had no answer to that.

“A house,” Valkyrie said quickly. “He had a house. He was keeping it for us. One of those mobile houses, you know the kind.”

“A mobile home?” Francine asked.

“Something like that. A little bigger. Do you remember if he ever mentioned a warehouse, or some kind of big storage facility that he visited?”

Francine frowned. “Well, I… I heard him on the phone once. I remember him saying something about having the paperwork for a warehouse that was cluttering up his files.”

“It has to be here somewhere,” Skulduggery said, going back to the filing cabinet. Valkyrie went into the bedroom, started pulling the place apart.

“Did I say something wrong?” Francine asked.

“No,” Ryan said. “Actually, you’ve been a big help. Would you like something? A cup of tea or…?”

“I should get back to my apartment,” Francine said, standing slowly. “I need a lie-down. This is all… this is all a big shock to me.”

“I’m really sorry,” Ryan said.

She smiled weakly, took a step and swayed. Ryan jumped for her, wrapping one of her arms round his neck.

“I’ll help you,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied. A tear rolled down her cheek. “You’re very nice.”

While Skulduggery and Valkyrie searched, Ryan hobbled along with Francine out of the apartment and down the corridor. She was light but awkward.

“Your friends are a little odd,” Francine said.

“I know.”

“The girl’s pretty, though. Is she your girlfriend?”

Ryan gave a laugh, realised he was blushing. “No, she’s not. We’ve just met, actually.”

“My apartment’s around the corner,” Francine said, gesturing ahead of them and sniffling. “Do you want my advice? Don’t make the same mistake I made with Deacon. Tell her how you feel.”

“I really just met her.”

“But you like her, don’t you?”

“I, yeah, I suppose.”

He helped her round the corner.

“Seize the moment,” Francine said. “You never know when you might get another chance at happiness.”

“I’ll think about it,” he promised, hoping that she’d change the subject before anyone overheard them.

“My apartment’s just up ahead,” Francine said, standing a little straighter. “You really are very nice. Such good manners, helping me all the way to my door.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“Unfortunately,” Francine said, “it will be.”

“Sorry? It will be what?”

“Trouble,” Francine said. “It will be a lot of trouble.”

Vincent Foe walked out of the apartment ahead of them.