Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 4 - 6. Derek Landy

“Our beliefs are private. They are not discussed with…”

      “With?” Skulduggery prompted.

      “Non-believers,” Wreath said.

      “You can make an exception for me, can’t you?” Skulduggery pressed. Somehow, he was now in the lead and Valkyrie realised they were heading for the source of the quiet commotion. “And as for Valkyrie, don’t her lessons with you entitle her to hear this?”

      “Valkyrie,” Wreath said, “you could be considered one of our indoctrinates, one of our trainees, and as such you could expect to be taught these things gradually, over the coming years.”

      “But you’ll skip the formalities,” Skulduggery said. “Yes?”

      Wreath sighed and spoke to her. “Death is a part of life. You’ve undoubtedly heard that before. It’s meant as a platitude, to comfort the bereaved and the scared. But the truth is, life flows into death and death flows back into life.

      “The darkness we use in our magic is a living energy. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? It almost has a life of its own. It is life and death. They’re the same thing – a constant, recycling stream that permeates all universes.”

      “Tell her about the Death Bringer,” Skulduggery said, looking around.

      “The Death Bringer is not relevant to—”

      “Well, you can’t hide it from her now, can you? So you may as well.”

      Wreath took a breath to keep his temper in check. “We’re waiting for a Necromancer strong enough to break down the walls between life and death. Some people call this person the Death Bringer. We have conducted tests; we’ve researched; we’ve taken a very clinical approach to all of this. This isn’t a prophecy. Prophecies mean nothing, they’re merely interpretations of possibilities. This is an inevitability. We will find someone powerful enough to break down the wall, and the energy of the dead will live alongside us, and we will evolve to meet it.”

      “They call this the Passage,” Skulduggery said. “What Solomon here is neglecting to tell you of course are the names of a few people whom the Necromancers have proclaimed to be the Death Bringer in the past.”

      “She doesn’t need to know this,” Wreath said, anger in his eyes.

      “I think she does.”

      “Tell me,” Valkyrie said to them both.

      Wreath hesitated. “The last person we thought was powerful enough to possibly become the Death Bringer came to us during the war. Within two years of starting his Necromancy training, Lord Vile was the equal to any of our masters.”

      “Vile?” Valkyrie said. “Lord Vile was your saviour?”

      “We thought he could be,” Wreath replied quickly. “His ascension through the ranks was unheard of. It was impossible. He was a prodigy. The darkness was…it wasn’t just in him. It was him.”

      They turned a corner and followed a passageway to its end, Skulduggery leading the way without appearing to.

      “And then he left,” Skulduggery said. “And joined Mevolent’s army. I bet that still rankles.”

      “So you’ve been without a Death Bringer ever since?” Valkyrie asked.

      “Yes,” Wreath said. He looked at Skulduggery. “Is that why you are here then? So you could make this clumsy attempt to embarrass me?”

      “At first,” Skulduggery said. “But now I’m curious as to what trinket you’ve misplaced. Oh, look where we are. What a nice coincidence.”

      They had arrived at a small chamber with wooden shelves at odd angles. The two Necromancers within fell silent immediately. Skulduggery went to step inside, but Wreath took hold of his arm.

      “We didn’t ask for your help,” he said firmly. “This is a Necromancer affair.”

      “It was here though?” Skulduggery asked. “Your trinket? Why don’t you tell us what has gone missing and I’ll tell you who took it.”

      Wreath smiled thinly. “You’ve worked it out already?”

      “I am a detective.”

      Wreath took a moment then nodded to the two Necromancers and they left. He stepped back as Valkyrie joined Skulduggery in examining the room. “The missing object is a sphere, about the size of your fist, set inside a cradle of obsidian.”

      “A Soul Catcher,” Skulduggery said.

      “One of the last in existence,” Wreath nodded.

      Valkyrie frowned. “Does that do what it sounds like it does? Why would you need to catch souls?”

      “The Soul Catcher was used to trap and contain an individual energy,” Wreath told her, “to stop it from rejoining the stream. It was a barbaric punishment that we have long since outlawed.

      “The last time an inventory was carried out was a month ago. If it was indeed stolen, it could have been stolen a month ago or it could have been stolen yesterday. The simple fact is, however, I can’t see how any thief could have got this far into the Temple without being seen.”

      “Oh, it was definitely stolen,” Skulduggery said. “But the thief didn’t use the door.”

      Valkyrie looked at him. “So who stole it?” Skulduggery pointed up. She clicked her fingers and raised her hand, the flames flickering across the patch of cracked and crumbled ceiling, large enough to fit a man through.

      “Sanguine,” Valkyrie said.

      Wreath frowned. “Billy-Ray Sanguine? What would he want with a Soul Catcher?”

      “This is just a guess,” Skulduggery said, “but maybe he wants to use it to catch a soul.”

       17 DEAD MAN TALKING

       aurien Scapegrace was dead and Billy-Ray Sanguine had killed him.

       Scapegrace was pretty sure that’s what happened anyway. He couldn’t remember all of it.

      He remembered Sanguine taking him to one side, and telling him that he’d made a few calls and asked a few people, and nobody could vouch for Scapegrace as a remorseless killer of unparalleled skill, like he’d claimed. Scapegrace had tried to explain then that, fair enough, he hadn’t actually killed anyone yet, but it was only a matter of time, and if Sanguine and Scarab could just give him a chance, he’d prove himself worthy to be included in their plans.

      At least, that’s what he’d planned to say. He dimly remembered getting as far as “Fair enough” and then…nothing.

       Sanguine had killed him.

       He opened his eyes, in a dark and dank dungeon, and looked up to see his Master’s face.

      “Finally,” Scarab said and it was the greatest word Scapegrace had ever heard uttered. Finally. Here is my loyal companion, never to leave my side. Scapegrace smiled as he lay there.

       “Stop grinning,” Scarab ordered. “You look deformed.”

      “Sorry, Master,” Scapegrace said, sitting up. Why was he calling Scarab Master? He didn’t know, but it seemed so right, so he just continued. “Master, what’s happened to me?”

       “You’re dead,” Master Scarab said. “You lied to us, Scapegrace. You’re not a killer. Knew it from the moment I saw you.”

       “Was it because I fell off the chair?”