Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 3. Derek Landy

that would have been enough to do it.”

      “To do what?”

      “To give him some influence over you, to get you to do what he asked. If he had your name and he knew what to do with it, sometimes that’s all it takes. That’s a scary thought now, isn’t it?”

      “What’s going on?” Stephanie asked. “Who was he? What did he want? Just who are you?”

      “I’m me,” Skulduggery said, picking up his hat and wig and placing them on a nearby table. “As for him, I don’t know who he is, never seen him before in my life.”

      “You shot him.”

      “That’s right.”

      “And you threw fire at him.”

      “Yes, I did.”

      Stephanie’s legs felt weak and her head felt light.

      “Mr Pleasant, you’re a skeleton.”

      “Ah, yes, back to the crux of the matter. Yes. I am, as you say, a skeleton. I have been one for a few years now.”

      “Am I going mad?”

      “I hope not.”

      “So you’re real? You actually exist?”

      “Presumably.”

      “You mean you’re not sure if you exist or not?”

      “I’m fairly certain. I mean, I could be wrong. I could be some ghastly hallucination, a figment of my imagination.”

      “You might be a figment of your own imagination?”

      “Stranger things have happened. And do, with alarming regularity.”

      “This is too weird.”

      Skulduggery put his gloved hands in his pockets and cocked his head. He had no eyeballs so it was hard to tell if he was looking at her or not. “You know, I met your uncle under similar circumstances. Well, kind of similar. But he was drunk. And we were in a bar. And he had vomited on my shoes. So I suppose the actual circumstances aren’t overly similar, but both events include a meeting, so… My point is, he was having some trouble and I was there to lend a hand, and we became good friends after that. Good, good friends.” His head tilted. “You look like you might faint.”

      Stephanie nodded slowly. “I’ve never fainted before, but I think you might be right.”

      “Do you want me to catch you if you fall, or…?”

      “If you wouldn’t mind.”

      “No problem at all.”

      “Thank you.”

      Stephanie gave him a weak smile and then darkness clouded her vision and she felt herself falling and the last thing she saw was Skulduggery Pleasant darting across the room towards her.

      Stephanie awoke on the couch with a blanket over her. The room was dark, lit only by two lamps in opposite corners. She looked over at the broken window, saw that it was now boarded up. She heard a hammering from the hall, and when she felt strong enough to stand, she slowly rose and walked out of the living room.

      Skulduggery Pleasant was trying to hang the door back on its hinges. He had his shirtsleeve rolled up on his left forearm. Ulna, Stephanie corrected herself, proving that her first year of Biology class had not gone to waste. Or was it radius? Or both? She heard him mutter, then he noticed her and nodded brightly.

      “Ah, you’re up.”

      “You fixed the window.”

      “Well, covered it up. Gordon had a few pieces of timber out back, so I did what I could. Not having the same luck with the door though. I find it much easier to blast them off than put them back. How are you feeling?”

      “I’m OK,” Stephanie said.

      “A cup of hot tea, that’s what you need. Lots of sugar.”

      He abandoned the door and guided her to the kitchen. She sat at the table while he boiled the water.

      “Hungry?” he asked when it had boiled, but she shook her head. “Milk?” She nodded. He added milk and spoonfuls of sugar, gave the tea a quick stir and put the cup on the table in front of her. She took a sip – it was hot, but nice.

      “Thank you,” Stephanie said, and he gave a little shrug. It was hard discerning some of his gestures without a face to go by, but she took the shrug to mean “think nothing of it”.

      “Was that magic? With the fire, and blasting the door?”

      “Yes, it was.”

      She peered closer. “How can you talk?”

      “Sorry?”

      “How can you talk? You move your mouth when you speak, but you’ve got no tongue, you’ve got no lips, you’ve got no vocal cords. I mean, I know what skeletons look like, I’ve seen diagrams and models and stuff, and the only things that hold them together are flesh and skin and ligaments, so why don’t you just fall apart?”

      He gave another shrug, both shoulders this time. “Well, that’s magic too.”

      She looked at him. “Magic’s pretty handy.”

      “Yes, magic is.”

      “And what about, you know, nerve endings? Can you feel pain?”

      “I can, but that’s not a bad thing. Pain lets you know when you’re alive, after all.”

      “And are you alive?”

      “Well, technically, no, but…”

      She peered into his empty eye sockets. “Do you have a brain?”

      He laughed. “I don’t have a brain, I don’t have any organs, but I have a consciousness.” He started clearing away the sugar and the milk. “To be honest with you, it’s not even my head.”

      “What?”

      “It’s not. They ran away with my skull. I won this one in a poker game.”

      “That’s not even yours? How does it feel?”

      “It’ll do. It’ll do until I finally get around to getting my own head back. You look faintly disgusted.”

      “I just… Doesn’t it feel weird? It’d be like wearing someone else’s socks.”

      “You get used to it.”

      “What happened to you?” she asked. “Were you born like this?”

      “No, I was born perfectly normal. Skin, organs, the whole shebang. Even had a face that wasn’t too bad to look at, if I do say so myself.”

      “So what happened?”

      Skulduggery leaned against the worktop, arms folded across his chest. “I got into magic. Back then – back when I was, for want of a better term, alive – there were some pretty nasty people around. The world was seeing a darkness it might never have recovered from. It was war, you see. A secret war, but war nonetheless. There was a sorcerer, Mevolent, worse then any of the others, and he had himself an army, and those of us who refused to fall in behind him found ourselves standing up against him.

      “And we were winning. Eventually, after years of fighting this little war of ours, we were actually winning. His support was crumbling, his influence was fading, and he was staring defeat in the face. So he ordered one last, desperate strike against all the leaders on our side.”

      Stephanie stared at him, lost in his voice.

      “I went up against his right-hand man who had laid out a wickedly exquisite trap. I didn’t suspect