Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy
This book is dedicated to you.
Whether you are a Minion or a Skuttlebug or just, you know, a normal person, it’s because of you that I get to do what I love and laughingly call it work.
I know some of you by name and some of you by sight (and some of you by smell, but let’s not get into that) but there are still countless others I have never met, and to all of you I say thank you for your support, your passion, and your lunacy.
Now please, for the love of whatever god you pray to, leave me alone.
War is the business of barbarians.
—Napoleon Bonaparte
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Five Years Ago
Three Months Ago
1. The Witches
2. Back in Roarhaven
3. The Big Day
4. The Secret Origin Of …
5. Unfair Advantage
6. Stark Realities
7. Saracen
8. Searching the Aisles
9. Roarhaven’s Number One Public House
10. The Thirteenth Floor
11. Big, Tough Man
12. The Deadline
13. Eye for an Eye
14. Seeing the Future
15. Spilling Blood
16. The Supreme Council
17. Muffins
18. Regis
19. Laken Cross
20. Off to War
21. Making Plans
22. Staying out of Trouble
23. The Dark and Stormy Knight
24. Stagnant Water
25. The Old Gang Back Together
26. The Pursuit Begins
27. Mantis
28. The Stick
29. Tanith’s True Love
30. Dead Men’s Tales
31. Wolfsong
32. The Ghost Town
33. Monster Hunters and Me
34. Rude Awakening
35. Sneaking in
36. Losing Blood
37. Charivari
38. The Keep
39. Enemy Combatants
40. Wolves at the Door
41. Gunning for Ode
42. Misdirection
43. Undercover
44. The Call to Action
45. Under Attack
46. The New Captain
47. Ajuoga
48. Assassins
49. Intimidation Techniques
50. The Battle at the Keep
51. The Man with the Golden Eyes
52. A Reasonable Reaction
53. In Her Head
54. Stephanie Edgley
55. Refuge
56. The Documentary
57. Sunburn
58. The Brides of Blood Tears
59. The Rise
60. One Little Word
61. The Real Girl
62. Roarhaven Revealed
63. The Trap
64. The Trap is Sprung
65. The Warlocks
66. The Siege at Roarhaven
67. Wraiths
68. Black Smoke, White Flame
69. Quiet Moments
70. Supercharged
71. In the Sanctuary
72. Rescue
73. War Despondent
74. The Thick of it
75. Uneven Odds
76. China’s Final Act
77. The Sacrifice
78. After the War
79. The Package
Also by Derek Landy
Copyright
About the Publisher
he camp was dark and quiet, and the Warlocks slept.
Up on the hill, watching them, a man with golden eyes pulled the collar of his coat tighter in a vain attempt to stave off the cold. His fingers and toes were already numb. His teeth were starting to chatter. How many times had he been in similar circumstances, enduring discomfort while he waited for the perfect time to strike? More than he could remember, that was for sure. It was worth it, of course. It was always worth it.
There was movement behind him, but he didn’t turn. He recognised the footsteps. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
The old man stopped beside him, cupped his hands and blew into them to warm them. “I had visitors,” he said. His voice was rough. Words scraped from his throat. “The Skeleton Detective and a girl. She has old blood in her. Ancient blood, I reckon. She’s dangerous.”
“She’s thirteen years old. She’s a child.”
“She won’t stay a child. A few more years and she’ll be a threat, you mark my words.”
“Consider them marked,” said the man with the golden eyes. What had Madame Mist said about the Torment? Once upon a time, he’d been formidable, he’d been dangerous, but he was an old man now, a good blade that had lost its edge. Maybe she was right.
“These plans of yours,” the Torment said, “the plans you’ve made with my fellow Children of the Spider. These are good plans. They will suffice.”
“You’re onboard, then? What changed your mind?”
The Torment’s lined faced was half hidden by the long grey hair and all that beard, but he didn’t look like a dulled blade any more. He looked suddenly sharp. “My visitors. Their arrogance has stirred me from my apathy. The mortals they protect have run this world long enough. It’s past time we took over.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” said the man with the golden eyes. “In that case, there are some Warlocks down there in need of killing, if you’re in the mood …?”
The man with the golden eyes approached the camp from the south, the Torment beside him, while the mercenaries closed in from all around. Mortals, in dark military clothing. Heavily armed. Not a sound was made, and yet one of the Warlocks stirred, woke, sat up, looked out into the night, a night that was suddenly lit up by the bright flashes of gunfire.
The three Warlocks leaped up, caught in the crossfire. Notoriously hard to kill, even they couldn’t survive the relentless barrage of bullets. Light spilled from every wound as they jerked and fell and stumbled, and then the light faded and they toppled.
Silence followed, broken only by empty magazines being replaced.
The Torment put his gun away. He didn’t like using mortal weapons. He didn’t like having to work by their side. But he was going to like what came next.
The mercenaries walked into camp, made sure that the Warlocks were really dead.
“You three,” said the man with the golden eyes, “take the jeep and go. I’ll be in touch to arrange payment.”
Three mercenaries faded into the darkness. The other two stayed close, waiting for orders.
The Torment grabbed the taller one’s head, twisted till the neck broke. The smaller one stumbled back, going for his weapon, but the Torment took it from him and used it to beat him to death.
While the mercenary was being killed, the man with the golden eyes surveyed the scene. The other Warlocks would return to find their brothers slaughtered, and they would find the bodies of two of the soldiers who did it. Mortal soldiers, wearing no uniform, with no insignias or identification.
“Why did you let the others live?” the Torment asked when he was done. “They can identify us.”
That was half right. The other mercenaries could identify the Torment, but the man with the golden eyes was already fading from their memories. “For this to work, they need to be able to boast about their missions. The three I let go have the biggest mouths. Their boasts will eventually reach the right ears.”
The Torment scowled. “There is a faster way to do this.”
“No,” said the man with the golden eyes. “We’re not ready yet. But we will be. Soon.”
f its estimations were corr
If it had been where it was supposed to be when the ping had sounded, the four-week countdown would have mattered not one jot. Unfortunately, the Engineer was not where it was supposed to be. A regrettable unfolding of events, to be sure. The Engineer felt most bad about that. Not that it was the Engineer’s fault. No one could possibly lay the blame at the Engineer’s mechanical feet. Had it not stood guard for almost three decades? Had it not fulfilled its duty for the most part? Was it really the fault of the Engineer that its advanced programming, a wonderful mixture of technology and magic, enabled it to experience the human phenomenon of ‘boredom’? Was it really the fault of the Engineer that it had decided to go for a walk, or that when the ping sounded, when the Engineer was finally needed to leap into action, instead of being right there, ready to help, it was on a beach in Italy looking for unusual shells?
No, the Engineer thought not.
It was making good time now, though. The magical symbols carved into its metal body erased it from the memories of mortals the instant they saw it, allowing the Engineer to travel in broad daylight, through busy city streets. The Engineer smiled (internally, for of course it had no mouth). It was feeling good. It was feeling optimistic. Moving at its current speed, it would arrive back in Ireland in plenty of time to shut everything down before a series of overloads and power loops inevitably led to a sequence of events which would, in turn, eventually lead to the probable destruction of the world. The Engineer wasn’t worried.
And then the truck hit it.
he sky was clear and the stars were bright and Gracious had fallen asleep on the grass. Donegan nudged him and he murmured and came round.
“You were supposed to be keeping an eye on the place,” Donegan said.
“I was,” Gracious yawned.
“You were asleep.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
“You were snoring.”
“I was exercising my lungs.”
“Get up.”
Grumbling, he got to his feet and stretched. He didn’t have to stretch very far. He wasn’t that tall. Still, what Gracious O’Callahan lacked in height he made up for in muscle and cool hair. “Hi, Valkyrie,” he said.
“Hi, Gracious.”
“So is this your first time meeting a witch?”
She nodded.
“You’ll do fine, don’t worry. Witches are more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“I thought that was bees.”
He blinked. “You might be right. Yes, you are right. Bees are fine, witches are horrible. Always get those two mixed up.” He was wearing baggy jeans and a faded Star Wars T-shirt. Valkyrie imagined that he had a special nerd room at home where he kept all of his weird clothes that referenced old movies, and she imagined him standing in the middle of that room for hours, slowly rotating on the spot, an unsettling smile on his face. By contrast, Donegan Bane, a tall and slender Englishman, favoured sports coats and narrow ties with his skinny jeans.
He glared at Gracious. “I can’t believe you fell asleep.”
“I didn’t fall asleep.”
“Then do you know if she’s home or not?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Gracious admitted. “I fell asleep.”
Valkyrie had first met them only a few months earlier, but she felt she knew them well enough by now to know that, if given the opportunity, they would stand on this hill and bicker for hours. So she turned and walked down to the cottage, and after a moment they followed her.
They arrived at the door and Donegan knocked three times. They waited and the door was opened by a frowning girl.
“Hello,” Donegan said with a smile she didn’t return.
“Do you know what time it is?” the girl asked. Valkyrie judged her to be around her age, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She had pale skin and full lips and luxuriant red hair that framed her face.
“Why no,” Donegan replied as if it were a game. “What time is it?”
She scowled. “What do you want?”
“My name is Donegan Bane and this is my colleague Gracious O’Callahan – we’re Monster Hunters. We’re here with our associate Valkyrie Cain, and we were wondering if your grandmother was home.”
“You’re Monster Hunters?”
“Indeed we are. You’ve probably heard of us. Writers of Monster Hunting for Beginners,The Definitive Study of Were-Creatures, and The Passions of Greta Grey, our first work of romantic fiction.”
“And you want my grandmother?”
“If your grandmother is Dubhóg Ni Broin, yes.”
“Are you going to kill her?”
“I’m sorry? Oh, no! No, nothing like that. We just want to talk to her.”
“So you’re not going to kill her?”
“No,” Donegan said with a laugh. “I assure you, she’s quite safe.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“We came here unarmed,” Donegan said cheerfully, and Gracious looked at him.
“You’re unarmed?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Donegan said. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, I suppose so. Apart from my gun.”
Donegan glared at him. “What? Why did you bring a gun? I told you to come unarmed.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
“I don’t know, I thought that’s what made it funny.”
Donegan looked like he might strangle his partner, but then forced the smile back on his face and turned once again to the girl.
“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t catch your name …?”
“Misery,” the girl answered, suspicious.
“Misery, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My friend here has many problems; he’s quite bright in his own way, but likes taking guns to inappropriate places. Let me assure you that we mean your grandmother no harm. We just want to talk to her.”
“Why?”
Valkyrie stepped forward before either of the Monster Hunters could make the situation worse. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. Maybe you’ve seen him? Tall? Skinny? Wears nice suits? Also he’s a skeleton? His name’s Skulduggery Pleasant and he’s wandered off on his own and we think your gran might know where he is.”
“Why would my grandmother know that?”
“Because he came to see her, and that’s the last we heard of him.”
“We don’t have much to do with sorcerers,” Misery said. “They don’t like us and we don’t like them. I don’t recall seeing your friend, either. What did you say he was? A zombie? A mummy?”
“A skeleton.”
“A skeleton, yeah. No, haven’t seen one of those in ages.”
“I think you’re lying,” Valkyrie said.
Misery smiled coldly. “What if I am? What are you going to do about it?”
“Whatever I have to.”
“Ah, there it is, the arrogance that my grandmother is always talking about. And what kind of sorcerer are you, then? Let me guess. Standing here, dressed all in black … Are they armoured clothes you’re wearing? They are, aren’t they? And that big ugly ring on your finger – that’s from that death magic thing, isn’t it? Necromancy? But you … you’re my age. You’re too young to have had the Surge. You’re probably still experimenting with your little sorcerer disciplines, like a good little girl. So I’d say you’re an Elemental. I’m right, amn’t I? See, witches
“Yeah,” said Valkyrie. “That’s really interesting. Is your granny home? Could we talk to her?”
“She’s home,” said Misery. “She’s busy, though.”
“Doing what?”
“Witchy things.”
“Could we come in?”
“Nope.”
“We’re coming in, with or without your permission.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“No, you really wouldn’t.”
“I think,” Gracious said quickly, “that the wrong foot has been gotten off of. Misery, you seem to me to be a lovely girl, and I sense a sort of kindness in your eyes which reminds me of a newborn fawn, or the noble hedgehog. We’ve been looking for your grandmother for days now, and yesterday our dear friend Skulduggery went missing. We’re very worried, as you can imagine, and some of us, without naming any names, might be a little more short-tempered than usual.”
“I’m not short-tempered,” said Valkyrie.
“Then how did you know I was referring to you?”
“Because you pointed.”
“Getting back to the subject at hand, Misery, we would really appreciate it if you’d let us in. Please?”
Misery looked at him, but didn’t respond.
“Um,” said Gracious, “hello?”
“Quiet,” she said, “I’m thinking.” She chewed a plump lip, then sighed. “I don’t really get along with my grandmother. She’s stuck in her ways and … I look at her and she’s all withered and stuff and I don’t want to end up like that, you know? I don’t want to live in a cottage in the middle of nowhere for the rest of my life. I want to live in the city. I want to wear high-heeled shoes every once in a while and do things that don’t all revolve around being a witch.”
Gracious nodded. “I understand and sympathise with everything you’ve just said, apart from the bit about the high-heeled shoes, which I wouldn’t know about.”
“Can you promise me you’re not going to hurt her?” Misery asked.
Valkyrie frowned. “Why would we hurt her?”
“Because she has your friend trapped in the cellar.”
Valkyrie stepped through the doorway. “He’d better be OK.”