Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 4 - 6. Derek Landy

intelligent, but I fear I lacked some basic and fundamental sense. My outlook on things was different. My philosophy was different. Different things interested me. The Desolation Engine for instance. I wanted to see if I could build it. It existed in theory, but then it had always existed in theory. It was my goal to turn magic-science theory into magic-science fact. Which was what I did.

      “I don’t think I cared about who would use it, or where, or on whom. These things were immaterial. When I was told about the detonation in Naples, I can’t recall being affected by it one way or the other. It worked. I built it, I knew it would work and it did. Project over – start another.

      “It was only years later that I understood what I had done and took responsibility for my actions. I didn’t take the human equation into account, you see. I was all about the magic and the science. Everything else…slipped by unnoticed.”

      “And you’ve been making up for it ever since,” Ghastly said.

      Kenspeckle looked even more annoyed. “No, no, no, that’s not it at all. I merely learned from my mistake and made a decision never to hurt anyone ever again. This isn’t about redemption. I’m not seeking forgiveness. I did what I did and I will suffer for it for the rest of my life, which is no less than I deserve.

      “And I’m not telling you all this because I’m after absolution or your understanding. I’m telling you this because I need you to appreciate just how clever I really am. I took an abstract concept of magic-science theory and I made it real. I am very, very clever and I am telling you that something is wrong. There are too many pieces left over.”

      “So what does it mean?” Skulduggery asked.

      “I think there is only one thing it could mean,” Kenspeckle said, “and it is something that has only occurred to me as I’ve been speaking. It’s not just about the excess parts, it’s about the parts that should be there, but aren’t. I don’t think I – or the Remnant within me – only repaired the Desolation Engine that Detective Marr has in her possession. I think Scarab got me to build him an entirely new one.”

      Skulduggery was the first to speak. “Are you sure?”

      “No,” Kenspeckle said at once. “But there is a very big possibility that Scarab has a second Engine.”

      “I’ll alert the Sanctuary,” Guild said, taking out his phone.

      “Do you have any idea of a kill zone?” Skulduggery asked Kenspeckle while Guild made the call.

      “I estimate a lethal radius of 150, maybe 200 square metres,” said Kenspeckle.

      “I can’t get through to Marr,” Guild said, putting away his phone, “but the Sanctuary is being evacuated. Again.”

      Skulduggery cocked his head. “What if the target isn’t the Sanctuary? If Scarab’s plan was for two bombs all along, he’d have two targets. What’s the second target?”

      Ghastly said, “Set it off in a crowded street and we’re looking at a couple of thousand dead.”

      Valkyrie frowned. “What would be the point of that? Scarab wants revenge on the Sanctuary, not ordinary people.”

      “But attacking ordinary people would be an attack on the Sanctuary,” Ghastly argued. “That’s what it’s there for, isn’t it? To shield the non-magical population from us?”

      “So you think Scarab is just going to slaughter thousands of innocent people?” Kenspeckle asked.

      Ghastly turned to him. “Why not? The Sanctuary frames Scarab for a crime he didn’t commit, and in response, he commits a crime the Sanctuary will never recover from. You think the other Sanctuaries around the world will ignore something like this? They’ll descend on us and devour everything. They’ll tear this country apart and fight over the remains.”

      “It won’t be a street,” Skulduggery murmured. “But it will be somewhere public. Somewhere densely packed. Like a…sports stadium.”

      Valkyrie looked at him. “The All-Ireland Championship. My dad was trying to get tickets. But that’s today. It must have already started by now.”

      “Good God,” Ghastly said in a quiet voice. “He’s going to kill 80,000 people live on air.”

      Skulduggery turned to Fletcher. “Please,” he said, “tell me you’ve been to Croke Park before.”

      “Of course,” Fletcher said. “The VIP area, mostly.”

      “Perfect. That’s where we’re going.”

      “And I’m coming with you,” snarled Guild.

       44 REVENGE

      alkyrie was eleven years old the last time she’d been to Croke Park. Her father had taken her to the Dublin Kildare game. She had worn her blue jersey and shouted and screamed and cheered along with the thousands of other people in the stands. The sun had been beating down and she remembered it as a day when everyone around her was smiling and laughing. She’d been buzzing with positivity and had talked non-stop all the way home, a rare feat even back then. Her dad had promised to take her again, but they’d never got around to it.

      They teleported on to a wide concrete ramp and immediately Valkyrie was hit by the roar of the crowd inside the stadium. Out here though they were alone, high up off the streets and looking out over Dublin. Fletcher led the way down to a set of doors just as they opened and a security guard came out.

      “This is the Executive Area,” he informed them politely but firmly, in the tone of a man who had already dealt with dozens of people who had strayed from where they were meant to be. “VIPs only.”

      “We are VIPs,” Ghastly smiled. His façade was up, covering his scars. He walked up to the security guard, reaching his hand into his pocket. “I have our tickets here somewhere. Say, you wouldn’t have seen some friends of ours, would you? An odd-looking bunch, with an old American man?”

      “Haven’t seen anyone like that,” said the guard, waiting for the tickets to be produced.

      “Pity,” Ghastly said and hit him, catching the guard as he fell. He laid the unconscious man on the ground then rejoined the others as they walked through the doors.

      Cream walls and wooden floors, framed photographs and tasteful art. Everything in the VIP area was clean and new and nice and safe. The door to one of the Executive Boxes was open and Valkyrie could see past the people gathered inside to the huge windows that overlooked the stadium. It was packed to capacity – over 82,000 people cheering and singing and waiting to die.

      “We’re going to need a Sensitive with us,” Ghastly said as they walked on. “We need someone with psychic abilities to sort through this crowd.”

      “Scarab’s gang don’t exactly blend in,” Skulduggery responded. “If they’re anywhere, they’ll be somewhere like this, away from the masses. We have Caelan coming in on foot. The rest of us will have to split up and search different areas.”

      “We shouldn’t be trusting a vampire,” said Fletcher.

      “But you can trust vampire nature,” Shudder told him. “For whatever reason, Caelan has a grudge against Dusk. You can trust him to see that through.”

      “Fletcher,” Skulduggery said, “it’s important you understand this. If you see the enemy, do not engage. You might be the difference between success and mass murder.”

      “Fine,” Fletcher responded grudgingly.

      “Guild, you might want to call in some of your operatives – try to get in touch with Davina Marr again. We