Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

face, Valkyrie stepped in. The room immediately lit up with candles.

      Like the study, the secret room was lined with shelves, and on those shelves were objects both alien and familiar. Among those she could categorise were ornate musical boxes, intricate statuettes, silver daggers and golden goblets. Before her was a table, and on that table was a blue jewel, nestled in a golden claw centrepiece. A faint light within the jewel started to glow as she stepped closer, and a man faded up from nothing on the other side of the room.

      Portly. Wearing brown slacks and a matching waistcoat over a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Sandy hair that perched on top of his head like a loose bale of straw, shot through with grey. He turned and his eyes widened when he saw her.

      “Stephanie,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

      She stared. “Uncle Gordon?”

      Her dead uncle put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “What are you doing sneaking around this house? I always said you were far too inquisitive for your own good. Admittedly, it’s a trait we share, but I for one am not above the occasional bout of hypocrisy to get my point across.”

      Valkyrie just stood there, mouth open. “Is that … is that really you?”

      He stopped, like he’d been caught out in a lie, and then he started waving his hands and bobbing his head from side to side. “This isn’t me,” he said, “this is all a dream …”

      “Stop that.”

      “Go back the way you came,” he continued, drawing out his words, “and try to wake up. Remember, this is all a dreeeammmm …”

      “I’m serious, Gordon; quit it.” He stopped bobbing his head and dropped his hands to his sides.

      “Fine,” he said. “Then get ready for a shock. Stephanie: the world isn’t what you think it is. There is magic here, real magic, and it is—”

      “I know about the magic,” she interrupted. “Just tell me what’s going on. How are you here?”

      “You know about the magic? Who told you?”

      “Are you going to answer my question?”

      “I suppose. What was it again?”

      “How are you here?”

      “Oh, well, I’m not. Not really. This isn’t me. I mean, I am me, but I’m not. See the blue jewel? It’s very rare, it’s called an Echo Stone and generally it’s used—”

      “I know about Echo Stones.”

      “You do?”

      “People sleep with the stone close by for three nights to imprint it with their personality and memories.”

      “Oh. Yes, you’re quite right,” he said, and looked a little disappointed. “It’s generally used by the dying, and then given to loved ones to help comfort them through their grief. For me, however, it was more like a writing aid.”

      “A writing aid?”

      “I imprinted my consciousness on to the stone. Or rather, the real Gordon imprinted me on to the stone. He comes in whenever he’s stuck on a plot point or when he needs a new perspective on a story, or when he just wants a conversation with someone who can actually challenge him intellectually. We have some pretty interesting talks, let me tell you.”

      “That’s … that’s so …”

      “Narcissistic?”

      “I was going to say weird, but OK, we’ll go with yours. How long do we have before it runs out of power?”

      Gordon, the Echo-Gordon, shook his head and gestured to the centrepiece which held the stone. “When the Echo Stone is in its cradle, it’s constantly recharging. I could stay out here forever – providing there was someone around, of course. It’d be pretty boring if it was just me.

      “I have to say, Stephanie, while I welcome the chance to talk to you, and I would give you a hug only I’d pass right through you and that would be strange, Gordon himself is going to be a mite annoyed that you found your way in here.”

      “Um, actually … I don’t think he will be. Do you remember the last time you spoke with Gordon – the other Gordon, the real Gordon?”

      His eyes narrowed. “Why? Stephanie, what’s wrong?”

      She hesitated. “My name is Valkyrie.”

      “Valerie?”

      “Valkyrie. With a K. Valkyrie Cain. You left this house to me in your will.”

      He stared at her. “Oh. Oh, no.”

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, my God I’m … I knew, I mean, I knew I might be in danger once I had the Sceptre of the Ancients, but, but … Tell me the truth, OK? Just be totally, brutally honest, just tell me flat out … Am I dead?”

      “Yes.” He covered his face with his hands.

      She waited for him to look up. When he didn’t, she searched for words to fill the silence. “I understand that this must come as a shock …”

      Finally, he raised his head. “How did I die?”

      “Nefarian Serpine killed you,” Valkyrie said, as gently as she could under the circumstances. “Well, killed Gordon. Killed you, I suppose …”

      “Serpine killed me? Then he has the Sceptre! Quickly, Stephanie, we have no time to lose—”

      “Don’t worry, he’s dead. Skulduggery killed him last year.”

      “Oh,” Echo-Gordon said, his impetus interrupted. “I see. You know Skulduggery then?”

      “He’s been showing me the ropes.”

      “And the Sceptre?”

      “It’s not a threat to anyone any more.”

      “Did you solve the clues I left? The brooch and the caves?”

      “Yes we did. That was very clever of you.”

      “The riddle was my idea,” he said proudly. “Gordon, the real Gordon, just wanted to leave clear instructions in case anything bad happened to him, but I convinced him to do it all in a riddle. It gives the whole thing an extra flair, don’t you think?” His lower lip quivered for a moment.

      “Are you OK?” asked Valkyrie.

      “Not really. I’m the memories of a dead man. I’m struggling to find the purpose of my existence. Was there uproar? When I died, I mean? Was there a national day of mourning?”

      “Uh … not a day, I don’t think …”

      He frowned. “But I was a bestselling author. I mean, I was loved. What about a minute’s silence, observed throughout the country?”

      Valkyrie rubbed her arm. “A minute? I’m not sure if, you know, if it was an official minute, but I’m sure I noticed that people were … quieter than usual …”

      “What about sales?”

      “Oh, well, your last two books went straight back into the top ten.”

      “What about my last book? What’s happening with that?”

      “The release date is three months away.”

      “That’ll sell well,” he said, stroking his chin. “Now that I’m dead.”

      “There were loads of people at your funeral,” Valkyrie said. “Crying, saying how great you were, how much you’ll be missed.”

      Echo-Gordon digested this and nodded. “I will be missed. And I was pretty great.” His face suddenly turned sour. “Was Beryl there?”