Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 10 - 12. Derek Landy

meant to do it all along.

      He got to the fourth floor without uncovering any evidence of enemy conspiracies. He saw Peccant coming the opposite way and dived round the corner. He waited there, back pressed flat against the wall. Students passed, ignoring him. He didn’t care about them. All he cared about was that Peccant should pass by, too.

      Peccant turned the corner, stopped suddenly and glared. “Mr Darkly.” His voice was deep, his eyes narrow, his face lined. His hair was grey and his suit was tweed. “I’ve been looking for you.”

      Omen stepped away from the wall, and tried smiling. “Yes, sir?”

      “Where were you this morning, Mr Darkly? You were supposed to be in my class, were you not?”

      “I got mixed up, sir.”

      “Mixed up?”

      “I got my timetable mixed up, sir. I’m really sorry.”

      Peccant loomed over him. “And where were you?”

      “In a study class, sir.”

      “Supervised by whom?”

      “Miss Ether.”

      “And do you usually have a study class supervised by Miss Ether on a Tuesday?”

      Omen swallowed. “No, sir.”

      “Who usually supervises your Tuesday study class?”

      “Uh … you do, sir.”

      “And did it not strike you as odd, Mr Darkly, that I was not supervising this study class? Did it not occur to you that, maybe, you had got your timetable ‘mixed up’? Or did you think that I had suddenly become younger, and a woman?”

      “No, sir.”

      “None of that struck you as odd?”

      “No, I mean, yes, I mean … I didn’t think, sir.”

      Peccant leaned down. “There we have it. The crux of the problem. You didn’t think. That’s how you operate, after all, is it not? That’s how you work your way through life.”

      Omen swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

      “Yes, sir,” said Peccant, mocking his voice. “So polite. So benign. I find it hard to believe you share even the flimsiest strand of DNA with your brother. Even when he’s caught breaking the rules, at least he does it with gusto. There’s no gusto with you, is there?”

      “No, sir.”

      Peccant took another moment to glare at him, then straightened up. “You have detention tomorrow. Be there on time or you get double.”

      Peccant strode away and Omen stood with shoulders slumped.

      “He hates you.”

      Omen looked up as Filament Sclavi strolled over, hands in his pockets and an amused smile on his face.

      “I have seen him take a dislike to people before,” Filament said, “but that was … what is the word, for the thing? That was malicious. It was as if he were gaining personal satisfaction from it.”

      Omen didn’t know what to say, so he just said, “Yeah.”

      “You are Omen, yes? Auger’s brother? My name is Filament. How is it going?”

      “Going fine,” said Omen without thinking. “Well, I mean, apart from the detention I just got.”

      “That does suck, yes,” Filament said. He was only a Fourth Year, but he looked older, about eighteen. He was tall and strong and handsome, like an Italian version of Omen’s brother. The only other thing Omen knew about him was that he was a member of the Eternity Institute, a self-help organisation that had posters up all over the school. “Do you play any sports, Omen?”

      “Me?” Omen asked, even though it was obvious that it was him Filament was talking to. “No, I don’t. Never really understood it.”

      “You have, um, never understood any sport in particular, or just sports in general?”

      “In general,” said Omen. “Could never wrap my head around the, y’know, the point.”

      Filament grinned. “So, if I suggested that maybe you try to join the rugby team, you would have no interest?”

      Omen frowned. “I’d get squashed.”

      Filament laughed. “You would not get squashed.”

      “I would, though. Those guys are all huge.”

      “Not all of them. Not even most of them, actually. I am not huge, am I? Yet I play rugby. There are some positions, in fact, where being a smaller player is an advantage.”

      “Yeah,” said Omen, “for the opposite team. So you can squash them. I don’t think, if I did take up a sport, that rugby would be it, to be honest.”

      “Ah, very well,” said Filament. “We play against mortals. We pretend to be like them, pretend to be a normal school, and we are not allowed to use magic, obviously … and sometimes we do well, and sometimes we get our asses kicked. I just thought that having a Darkly on the team would boost morale.”

      “I’m really not the Darkly you want. Maybe if you ask Auger …?”

      “I have,” said Filament, laughing. “He was really nice about it, but there was no way he would ever say yes. He is probably too busy having his adventures, yes? Hey, is it true, what he did last year? He stopped that human sacrifice guy?”

      “It’s true,” said Omen. “At least, I think it’s true. He doesn’t really talk about that stuff, not even to me.”

      Filament shook his head admiringly. “It must be some life to live, huh?”

      “Must be.”

      “And it must be a lot to live up to, as the twin brother.”

      “You’d imagine so,” Omen said, “but I try not to try too hard. I’d hate to disappoint anyone.”

      “That is probably wise, Omen.” There was a shout from down the corridor, and Filament waved, then turned back. “So hey, it was very good to meet you. I have passed you loads of times, but never had a reason to say hi. So … hi.”

      “Hi.”

      “And if you ever change your mind about the rugby …”

      “The only way that’d happen is after a concussion playing rugby, so …”

      Filament laughed. “Very well. I will see you around, then, Omen.”

      The dinner bell rang, and Omen took one of the smaller staircases down. Never was sitting with his other friends, so Omen sat alone and watched people as they ate in their groups. The Sixth Year boys scared him, so he didn’t spend too long looking at them. The Sixth Year girls intimidated him, so he didn’t spend too long looking at them, either. The Fifth Year girls intimidated him, too, and so did the Fourth Years, so he pretty much stayed away from the girls completely.

      His eyes settled on Jenan and his friends. They sat at the table at the far side of the hall, smirking to each other because that’s what they did – they smirked and felt superior. It was their favourite pastime.

      It wasn’t a big deal, slagging off mortals. Omen didn’t like it, but it was everywhere, it happened in every part of the school, all the way up through the Years. Even some of the teachers indulged in it for a cheap joke and an easy laugh. But Jenan and his friends – Lapse and Gall, Sabre and Disdain – their comments were made of harder stuff, of sharper words. Their jokes were jagged, edged in bitterness. If a recruiter was to start recruiting in Corrival, Jenan Ispolin would be the obvious place to start.

      And they were all part of a history study group, Arcanum’s Scholars, formed by Mr Lilt – a passionate teacher who, now that Omen thought