Armageddon Outta Here - The World of Skulduggery Pleasant (8 page)

BOOK: Armageddon Outta Here - The World of Skulduggery Pleasant
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“Oh, Scaramouch,” Pleasant said, disappointment in his voice.

“I just got it!” Scaramouch said defensively. “Literally, I just got it three hours ago!”

“And you haven’t checked it?”

“I didn’t have
time
. I had to capture
you
.”

Pleasant looked back at the box, and his head tilted thoughtfully. “If that
is
the box from the Lost Artifacts, and it certainly does
look
like it might be authentic, then it contains an insect with the power to drain magic at a bite.”

“Exactly.”

“Providing that insect is still inside.”

Scaramouch looked at the box. “There are no holes in it.”

“It’s been lost for three hundred years.”

“But the insect’s meant to live forever, right? It doesn’t need food or anything?”

“Well, that’s the legend. Can you hear it? You should be able to hear it buzzing around in there.”

Scaramouch shook the box, and held it up to his ear. “Nothing,” he said.

“Well, it’s a thick box,” Pleasant said. “You probably wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway.”

Scaramouch shook it again, then listened for any buzzing. Even a single buzz. Anything.

“Did you pay much for it?” Pleasant asked.

“The guy who found it, he needed to mount expeditions and things. It wasn’t cheap.”

“How much did he charge?”

“I, uh, I gave him everything I had.”

The detective went quiet.

“But I’m going to be ruler of the world!” Scaramouch explained. “What difference does it make to me?”

“He made an awful lot of money by just handing over a box, without even verifying that it contained what you hope it contains.”

“How will I know?”

“There’s only one way. You have to open it.”

“But the insect will fly away!”

“Let it out near me,” the skeleton suggested. “You’re going to kill me anyway, right? So what do I care if it drains my powers before I die?”

Scaramouch narrowed his eyes. “Why would you make this offer?”

“Because I’m
curious
. Scaramouch, I’m a detective. I solve mysteries. If my final act in this world is to establish whether or not a mythological insect could still be contained in one of the Lost Artifacts, then that, to me, would be a good death.”

Scaramouch looked at him, and nodded. “OK.”

“Put it on the ground, open it, and stand back. When it’s finished draining me, it’ll be sluggish. That’s when you recapture it.”

Scaramouch nodded. He licked his lips nervously, and placed the box on the floor. He undid the metal clasp, felt his heart pound in his chest, and he opened the lid.

He scampered back into the shadows.

The detective gazed down into the box.

“Well?” Scaramouch asked from the corner.

“Can’t see anything,” Pleasant said. “It’s a little dark… wait.”

“Yes? What?”

And then, the most beautiful sound Scaramouch had ever heard – a buzzing.

“Amazing,” Pleasant said in a whisper.

Something rose from the box, rising into the air after centuries of being trapped. It was unsteady, and weak, but it flew. It
lived
.

“One little insect,” Pleasant was saying. “The legends say it rose from the carcass of a slain demon. An insect borne of evil, and wickedness, the demon’s last attempt to destroy its enemies.” The insect flew up, dancing in a shaft of light. “One little insect, and it could be responsible for bringing this world to its knees.”

“Wonderful,” Scaramouch breathed.

The insect landed on the ground in front of its box, its prison for all those years. Pleasant looked down at it, then moved slightly and knelt on the insect and squished it.

Scaramouch screamed and the door burst open and Valkyrie Cain stepped into the dungeon.

“What the hell is going on here?” she asked.

Scaramouch charged at her and the girl closed her eyes and flexed her fingers. Her eyes and hand snapped open and the air around her rippled. Scaramouch was hurled back off his feet. He crashed into the far wall, hitting his head and collapsing with a groan. He heard the girl and the detective talking, and he heard the chains being unlocked. Moaning, he turned over and looked up at them.

“It was a trick,” he said. “You really
were
here to stop me, weren’t you? You really
were
here to foil my plan. This is the last time, you hear me? I will escape whatever prison you send me to, and the next time we meet you will pay for—”

“Who’s this?” Valkyrie Cain asked.

Scaramouch paled. “What? What do you mean, who am I?”

“His name’s Scaramouch Van Dreg,” Pleasant told her.

“She knows who I am!” Scaramouch shrieked. “I am your deadliest enemy!”

Cain raised an eyebrow but ignored him. “Has he got anything to do with Fines and Nocturnal?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are we wasting our time? Come on, we’ve got real bad guys to stop.”

Cain walked out. Skulduggery Pleasant looked down at Scaramouch and shrugged.

“I’ll just chain you up for the moment, but the Cleavers will be around soon to take you into custody. Is that all right with you?”

Scaramouch started crying.

“Good man. Don’t let this get you down, though. We all need goals, and I fully expect to do battle with you again, OK?”

Scaramouch wailed.

“We need more villains like you, you know that? We need more bad guys who want to take over the world. There aren’t enough of them. The others think it’s just, you know…
silly
.”

Scaramouch felt the shackles on his wrists. He had to look up to watch Skulduggery Pleasant leave the dungeon.

he cemetery was cold and dark, and the dead man was standing on his grave, watching her as she approached.

“Hello,” she said.

The clothes he had been buried in were torn and musty, his shoes caked with mud. He stood with a slight stoop and he had, for the most part, skin and hair. The middle of his face had rotted, however, robbing him of lips and nose and eyelids.

“You’re late,” he grumbled. “Midnight has come and gone.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Lives hang in the balance. You’re lucky I stayed.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You are Valkyrie Cain.”

“That’s right.”

“Thirteen years old, Elemental by power, partner of the skeleton detective, and late.”

“I suppose.”

“You’re lucky I stayed.”

“So you said.”

“I could have left, you know. One minute past midnight, when you weren’t here, I could have walked away. I didn’t have to wait here for you. I was under no obligation. But I stayed, because I have no wish to see innocent lives taken.”

“You’re a corpse,” Valkyrie said. “Where were you going to go?”

He glared at her, but didn’t answer.

He started walking, shuffling off his grave, up towards the ruined church. She followed.

“I thought the skeleton would be with you,” the dead man said as they walked.

“We’re quite busy at the moment, so Skulduggery had to stay behind. I said I’d take care of this one on my own.”

He looked back, and she was thankful the moon was only a sliver, for his face was mostly hidden. “Maybe you underestimate what awaits.”

“No, I think I’ve got it. Three babies snatched from their cots, being held by a family of goblins who want to exchange them for gold. Fairly straightforward.”

“If you fully realised the danger you are walking into, you would not be so calm.”

“Ah, I’m sure I would. They’re goblins, you know? How bad can they be?”

“They were not always goblins,” the dead man said, irritation in his voice. “The Muldoons were sorcerers, descended from a long line of the most powerful mages the world had ever seen. They were rumoured to be descended from the Ancients themselves.”

“That was disproved,” Valkyrie said.

“What?”

“I asked Skulduggery about that. He said the Muldoons reinvented their own family tree in a sad attempt to appear threatening, and then they actually started to believe their own lies.”

“If you know so much,” the dead man scowled, “then why are you asking
me
?”

“Oh, right, sorry. Please go on.”

The corpse muttered something under his breath, then resumed. “The father died, and the mother went insane, but the children maintained the belief that, because of their heritage, they should be the rulers of the world. They believed in the inherent superiority of those who wield magic, and they despised the mortals, whom they saw as pedestrian and drab.”

“Why
are
they called mortals?” asked Valkyrie.

“What?”

“I’ve been wondering that. Non-magical people, I mean, why are they called mortals? Sorcerers are mortal, too.”

“Sorcerers don’t claim any different.”

“But by calling non-magical people mortal, it’s like they’re implying that they themselves are
im
mortal. And they’re not – magic just makes them live longer.”

The dead man stopped suddenly and turned. His brows were furrowed across his unblinking eyes. “Do you want to hear the story of the Muldoons or not?” he asked.

“Sure. Sorry.”

He grunted, then turned and carried on towards the church. The breeze caught the mustiness of his clothes and brought it down to her. “The Council of Elders identified the Muldoons as the sorcerers behind a spate of attacks on mortals. In an effort to keep the mortals safe, and to keep the magical communities hidden, the Muldoons were ambushed, and although they escaped, they were not unharmed.”

“This is my favourite bit,” Valkyrie said. “This is when they get turned into goblins, right?”

“Correct. Over the years they have amassed a collection of gold, for gold is the only thing that could return them to human form, but it has not been enough.”

“So they started stealing babies.”

“Yes.”

They arrived at the ruined church. The dead man looked at her “My role is almost fulfilled. I agreed to make the introductions and witness that both parties keep their side of the bargain. There are innocent lives at stake.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Earlier, I was with the goblins, and I saw that the three babies were safe and well. Thus far, they have kept their word. And you, Valkyrie Cain, are you here with gold?”

“Yes, I am.”

“May I see it?” the dead man asked.

“No, you may not.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s not for you to see.”

The dead man looked at her, and he gave the slightest of nods. “Very well.”

He turned to the open door of the church, and spoke loudly. “It is I, and I stand with the girl, the Elemental and the partner of the skeleton detective, and although she is late she is here, which is the important thing, and we are moving on. I ask that the exchange take place, the three innocent lives for the gold she claims to possess, though as of yet I have not seen it. If it makes a difference, she has an honest face, although her eyes are as dark as her hair. Will you bid her enter?”

Torches flared in wall brackets inside the ruin, beating the darkness back. The dead man stepped away.

“You may enter,” he said.

“You’re not coming?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t be letting me walk into a trap, would you?” asked Valkyrie.

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