Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

      “Who disturbs me?” the Sea Hag asked in a voice that sounded like someone drowning.

      “I do,” Skulduggery said. “My name is Skulduggery Pleasant.”

      “That is not your name,” the Sea Hag said.

      “It’s the name I’ve taken,” Skulduggery replied. “As my colleague beside me has taken the name Valkyrie Cain.”

      The Sea Hag shook her head, almost sadly. “You give power to names,” she said. “Too much of your strength lies in your names. Long ago, I surrendered my name to the Deep. Cast your eyes upon me now and answer truthfully – have you ever seen such happiness as this?”

      Valkyrie looked at her, all seaweed, wrinkled skin and dour expression, and decided it best to contribute nothing to this conversation.

      When it became clear that no one was going to answer, the Sea Hag spoke again.

      “Why have you disturbed me?”

      “We seek answers,” Skulduggery said.

      “Nothing you do matters,” the Sea Hag told them. “In the end, all things drown and drift away.”

      “We’re looking for answers that are a tad more specific. Yesterday, a sorcerer named Cameron Light was killed.”

      “On dry land?”

      “Yes.”

      “That does not interest me.”

      “We think the case may be connected to a murder, fifty years ago, that happened right here, by this lake. If the victim told you anything as he died, if you know anything about him or the one who killed him, we need to hear it.”

      “You want to know another’s secrets?”

      “We need to.”

      “The girl has not spoken a word since I appeared,” the Sea Hag said, turning her attention to Valkyrie, “yet she spoke, with scarcely a pause, before that. Have you nothing to say now, girl?”

      “Hello,” said Valkyrie.

      “Words travel far beneath the waves. Your words about my bell travelled far. You do not like it?”

      “Um,” said Valkyrie. “It’s fine. It’s a fine bell.”

      “It is as old as I am, and I am far too old for beauty to reach. I was beautiful once. My bell, the sound it makes, is beautiful still.”

      “It makes a pretty sound,” Valkyrie agreed. “Even if it is a bit small.”

      The Sea Hag swayed on her giant fish tail, or whatever it was, and leaned down until she was an arm’s breadth away from Valkyrie. She smelled of rotting fish.

      “Would you like to drown?” she inquired.

      “No,” Valkyrie said. “No, thank you.”

      The Sea Hag scowled. “What is it you want?”

      Skulduggery stepped between them. “The man, fifty years ago?”

      The Sea Hag returned to her original position and resumed her swaying. Valkyrie wondered how big the fish part of her actually was. It was more like the body of a snake than a fish. Or a serpent.

      “Your questions do not interest me,” the Hag said. “Your search for answers is of no importance. If you seek the knowledge of the dead man, you can ask him yourself.”

      The Hag waved her hand, and the remains of a man broke the surface of the lake beside her. This man of rot and bone, his clothes congealed into what was left of his skin and stained the same mud-brown colour, rose so that his feet were the only part of him still hidden beneath the small, choppy waves. His arms dangled loosely by his sides, and his eyes opened and water trickled from his mouth.

      “Help me,” he said.

      The Sea Hag looked annoyed. “They cannot help you, corpse. They are here to ask you questions.”

      “Why do you need our help?” Skulduggery asked.

      “I want to go home,” the corpse told him.

      “You are home,” the Hag interjected.

      The remains of the man shook his head. “I want to be buried. I want to be surrounded by earth. I want to be dry.”

      “Tough,” said the Sea Hag.

      “If you help us,” Skulduggery told the remains, “we’ll see what we can do. Fair enough?”

      The corpse nodded. “I will answer your questions.”

      “Are you Trope Kessel, the Teleporter?”

      “I am.”

      “We are here because four Teleporters have been killed in the past month. There is a possibility, however faint, that those murders are somehow linked to yours. How were you killed?”

      “With a knife, in my back.”

      Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. The other Teleporters had been killed in exactly the same way. Maybe there was a link after all.

      “Who killed you?” she asked.

      “He said his name was Batu.”

      “Why did he kill you?” Skulduggery pressed.

      “I was, I suppose, a scholar,” the dead man said. “Eons ago, the Faceless Ones were driven from this reality, and even though I had no wish to see them return, the mechanics behind their exile, the magic, the theory … It was a puzzle and I became obsessed trying to solve it. I died because of my curiosity and my blind trust. I believed people were, by nature, good and decent and worthy. Batu, it transpired, was none of those things. He killed me because I knew how to find the thing he desired, and once I had told him, he had to protect his secret.”

      “What did he desire?”

      “The gate,” the corpse said. “The gate that will open and allow the Faceless Ones to return.”

      There was a moment where nothing was said. Valkyrie realised she had taken a breath and had yet to release it. She made herself breathe again.

      “Such a gate exists?” Skulduggery asked. He spoke slowly, cautiously, as if the answers were a dog he didn’t want to disturb. He actually sounded worried.

      “It does, but I merely worked out how to find it – I never had the chance to put that theory into practice. The wall between our realities has weakened over time. Their darkness and their evil have bled through. A powerful enough Sensitive should be able to trace the lines of energy in our world to their weakest point. It is here that the gate will open.”

      “So why haven’t the Faceless Ones come through already?” Valkyrie asked.

      “Two things are needed,” the corpse told them. “The first is an Isthmus Anchor, an object bound by an invisible thread travelling from this reality into the next. This thread is what keeps the gate from closing forever. But the Anchor is useless without someone to force the gate open, and only a Teleporter can do this.”

      Valkyrie frowned. “But all the Teleporters are being killed.”

      Skulduggery looked at her. “So what does that suggest?”

      “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. Unless … I don’t know, unless the killer doesn’t want the Faceless Ones to return, so he’s killing all the Teleporters to make sure they never open the gate.”

      “Which would mean?”

      “It’d mean that maybe he’s not a bad guy at all – maybe he’s just a really twisted good guy.”

      Skulduggery was quiet and then nodded to the corpse. “Thank you. You have done the world a great service.”

      “And you will