Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

Skulduggery said. “We’re detectives.”

      “She’s a child,” the Torment said. “And you’re a dead man.”

      “Technically speaking, you may well be right, but we are more than we appear. We believe you have information that may aid us in an investigation.”

      “You say that as if I am obligated to help you,” the old man responded, the gun not wavering. “What do I care of your investigations? What do I care of detecting and Sanctuary business? I hate the Sanctuary and the Council of Elders, and I loathe all they stand for. We are sorcerers. We should not be hiding from the mortals, we should be ruling them.”

      “We need to find out how to stop the Grotesquery,” Valkyrie said. “If it opens the portal and lets the Faceless Ones back in, everyone suffers, not just—”

      “The child is addressing me,” the Torment said. “Make her stop.” Valkyrie narrowed her eyes, but shut up.

      Skulduggery tilted his head. “What she says is true. You had no love for Mevolent when he was alive, and I’m sure you have no wish to see the Faceless Ones return. If you help us, there might be something we can do to help you.”

      The Torment laughed. “Favours? You wish to trade favours?”

      “If that will make you help us, yes.”

      The Torment frowned suddenly, and looked at Valkyrie. “You. Child. You have tainted blood in your veins. I can taste it from here.” She said nothing.

      “You’re connected to them, aren’t you? The Ancients? I despise the Ancients as much as I despise the Faceless Ones, you know. If either race were to return, they would rule it all.”

      “The Ancients were the good guys,” Valkyrie said.

      The Torment scowled. “Power is power. Sorcerers have the power to run the world – the only reason we don’t is weakness of leadership. But if the Ancients were to return, do you really think they’d make the same mistake? Beings of such power have no place on this earth. I had hoped the last of your kind had died out.”

      “Sorry to disappoint.”

      The Torment looked back to Skulduggery. “This information, dead man, must be worth a lot to you. And this favour you are promising – this too would be equally substantial?”

      “I suppose it would be.”

      The Torment smiled and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “What do you need?”

      “We need to know where Baron Vengeous has been keeping the Grotesquery since his imprisonment, and we need to know how he plans to raise it.”

      “I have the information you seek.”

      “What do you want in return?”

      “My needs are modest,” the Torment said. “I would like you to kill the child.”

      

      ack couldn’t spring. Even if he could, even if this cell, with its narrow bed and its toilet and its sink, was big enough, he still wouldn’t have been able to spring. The cell was bound and dampened his powers.

      Springheeled Jack sat on his bed and contemplated life without springing. He also contemplated life without killing, which was twisting him up inside, without his favourite foods, without dancing about on rooftops and without everything he loved. They’d throw away the key, he knew they would. The English Council, once they finally got the chance to put him away, wouldn’t be lenient. His trial would be over in a flash and he’d be looking at hundreds of years in prison.

      Jack lay down, resting his forearm over his eyes to block out that dreadful artificial light. No more open sky for him. No more stars. No more moon.

      “You’re uglier than I remember.”

      Jack catapulted off the bed. A man was standing in the cell, leaning against the wall and grinning.

      “Sanguine,” Jack said, his own mouth twisting. “Come ’ere to gloat,’ ave you? I’d like to say I’m surprised, but naw, that kinda behaviour is what I’ve come to expect from you.”

      “Jack, my old friend, your words, they sting.”

      “You’re no friend of mine,” Jack said.

      Sanguine shrugged. “We may have had our differences over the years, but the way I see it, all that’s behind us now. I’m here to help you. I’m here to get you out.” He tapped the cracked wall. Loose chips crumbled and fell, trailing dust.

      Jack frowned. “What gives?”

      “I just want you to do a little favour for me, is all.”

      “Don’t much like the idea of doin’ you a favour.”

      “You’d prefer to sit in a cell for the rest of your life?” Jack didn’t answer.

      “Just a little favour. Somethin’ you’d enjoy actually. I want you to cause some trouble.”

      “Why?”

      “Never you mind. Think you’d be able to help me?”

      “Depends. What kind of trouble?”

      “Oh, nothin’ much. Just want you to kill some folks.”

      Jack couldn’t help it. He smiled. “Yeah?”

      “Easy as pie for someone of your talents. You agree to do this, I take you with me right now and we scoot on outta here.”

      “Killin’, eh?”

      “An’ lots of it.”

      “And that’s all? Once I do it, we’re even? Cos I know who you’ve worked for in the past, Tex, an’ I ain’t gonna start workin’ for the Faceless Ones or nothin’.”

      “Did I mention the Faceless Ones? No, I did not.”

      “It’s got nothin’ to do with them?”

      “Cross my heart and hope to die. So, you in?”

      Jack put on his coat and picked up his battered top hat. “Let’s go.”

      

      racing his left hand against the wall and gripping the chain with his right, Scapegrace heaved. The pipe was begging to give. He could feel it. He could hear it. Every other pipe in the place would have broken by now – he should know, he’d had them installed. Just his luck that the skeleton would shackle him to the only secure pipe in the building.

      He gritted his teeth. His face was red from exertion and he really needed to start breathing again sometime soon. And then the pipe broke and Scapegrace went flying backwards, his whoop of triumph cut short when he hit his head on the floor. He lay there for a moment, free at last and trying not to cry, and then he got up, the shackle dangling from his wrist. There was nothing he could do about the shackles around his ankles, so he quickly shuffled to the door.

      Making sure the skeleton and the girl weren’t anywhere close, he stepped out. His steps were ridiculously short, and he probably looked like some sort of demented penguin as he made his way away from the pub. He’d find