Scepter of the Ancients (20 page)

“I’d say seventy if she’s a day.”

Stephanie stared. “Right,” she said firmly. “It’s time for you to tell me how you people live so long.”

“Diet and exercise.”

“Skulduggery …”

“Clean healthy living.”

“I swear …”

“Magic, then.”

She looked at him. “Do all sorcerers live forever?”

“Not forever, no. Not even close to forever. We do age; it’s just we do it slower than the rest of humanity. The regular use of a certain amount of magic rejuvenates the body, keeps it young.”

“So if I started learning magic now, I’d stay twelve?”

“It would take you a few years to reach the level when aging slows, but yes, after that, you would stay young for a lot longer than is strictly fair. I know it’s impolite to discuss a lady’s age, but China is the same age as I am, and even I have to admit that she wears it better!” He laughed, then stopped and peered at her. “Because I’m a skeleton,” he explained.

“Yes, I got it.”

“You weren’t laughing.”

“I didn’t think it was funny.”

“Oh.”

“So what are you going to do about her?”

“China? There is nothing
to
do. She behaved exactly as I would have expected her to behave. The scorpion stings the fox because that is its nature. You can’t deny your nature.”

“And what’s
your
nature?”

His head tilted. “Odd question.”

“China said some things about you. And Serpine. She said all you want is revenge.”

“And you’re wondering how far I’ll go to
get
that revenge, is that it? You’re wondering how much I’m willing to sacrifice in order to make him pay for killing me all those years ago.”

“Yes.”

He paused a moment, then slipped his hands into his pockets and spoke. “What China didn’t tell you, what
I
didn’t tell you, is that I was not the only one caught in Serpine’s trap.”

Stephanie didn’t say anything. She waited for him to continue.

“The trap was exquisite. A thing of beauty, it really was. You see, Valkyrie, a successful trap needs one important quality, the same quality any trick or illusion needs: misdirection. When your attention is focused on one thing, something else is happening behind your back.

“I didn’t even realize it
was
a trap until it was sprung. Serpine knew me, you see, and he knew how I’d react to certain stimuli. He knew, for instance, that if he murdered my wife and child right in front of me, I’d never even suspect that the handle of the dagger I reached for was barbed with poison.”

Stephanie stared at him, but Skulduggery just looked out over the city.

“I didn’t use magic, you see, and he knew I wouldn’t. He knew I’d be too angry, he knew my rage would fuel a
physical
attack, that I’d need to
kill him up close and personal. And the moment my hand closed around that dagger, I realized my mistake. Of course, by then it was too late. I was helpless.

“It took him a few days to finally kill me. I died hating him, and when I came back, the hatred came back with me.” He turned his head to her. “You asked me what is my nature? It is a dark and twisted thing.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Stephanie said softly.

“Not much you
can
say to a story like that, is there?”

“Not really.”

“Yep, I win on the ol’ dramatic-story front every time.”

They stood in silence for a while. Despite the warmth of the night, it was chilly up here, but Stephanie didn’t mind.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“The Elders go to war. They’ll find the castle empty—Serpine wouldn’t stay there after this—so they’ll be looking for him. They’ll also be tracking down his old allies to make sure they don’t get the opportunity to organize.”

“And what do we do?”

“We get to the Scepter before Serpine.”

“The key,” she said. “Where is it?”

He turned to her. “Gordon hid it. Clever man, your uncle. He didn’t think anyone should have access to that weapon, but he hid the key in a place where if we
truly
needed to find it, if the situation got so dire that we
truly
needed the Scepter, all it would take was a little detective work.”

“So where is it?”

“The piece of advice he gave me, in the lawyer’s office, do you remember what it was?”

“He said a storm is coming.”

“And he also said that sometimes the key to safe harbor is hidden from us, and sometimes it is right before our eyes.”

“He was talking about the key, literally? It’s right before our eyes?”

“It
was
, when those words were first spoken in the lawyer’s office.”

“Fedgewick has the key?”

“Not Fedgewick. He gave it away.”

She frowned, remembering the reading of the will, then remembering the lock in the cellar, no bigger than Skulduggery’s palm. She looked up at him. “Not the brooch?”

“The brooch.”

“Gordon gave the key—the key to the most powerful weapon in existence—to Fergus and Beryl?” she asked incredulously. “Why would he do that?”

“Would you ever have thought to look for it with them?”

She let the notion sink in, then started to smile. “They were left the most valuable possession Gordon had, and they didn’t even realize it.”

“It’s actually quite amusing.”

“It actually is.”

“So now all we have to do is get it.”

Stephanie smiled again and nodded. Then her smile dropped and she shook her head vehemently. “I’m not getting it.”

“You’re going to have to.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Just pay them a visit—”

“Why can’t you break in? You broke into the Vault.”

“That was different.”

“Yes, it had alarms and vampires—this’ll be so much easier!”

“There are times when extreme measures are unnecessary.”

“Extreme measures are
very
necessary here!”

“Valkyrie—”

“You can’t ask me to visit them!”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“But I
never
visit! They’ll suspect something!”

“Being a detective isn’t all about torture and murder and monsters. Sometimes it gets truly unpleasant.”

“But I don’t
like
them!” she whined.

“The fate of the world may depend on whether or not you can bring yourself to visit your relatives.”

She turned her head, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “It
may
depend?”

“Valkyrie—”

“Fine; I’ll go.”

“Good girl.”

She crossed her arms and didn’t respond.

“Are you sulking now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered curtly.

“Okay.”

T
HE
C
LEAVER LAY
strapped to the table. Fluids ran through the clear rubber tubes that pierced his skin, flowing into the quiet machine behind him. That which was unnecessary was removed, replaced with liquid darkness, with concoctions that mixed science with sorcery. The Cleaver’s face was unremarkable and expressionless. He had stopped struggling over an hour ago.

It was beginning to take effect.

Serpine stepped into the light, and the Cleaver’s eyes flickered to him. They were glassy and dull, without any of the fierceness that had met his gaze when the Hollow Men had brought the Cleaver to him and removed the
helmet. Even as Skulduggery Pleasant made good his escape, Serpine had been given a new captive, and he knew what he would do with him.

It was time. Serpine held up the dagger he was holding, let the Cleaver see it. No reaction. No wariness, no fear, no recognition. This man, this soldier, who had lived his entire life in blind obedience to others, was now about to enter into death, equally as blind. A pathetic existence. Serpine held the dagger in both hands and raised it above his head, then brought it down, and the blade plunged into the Cleaver’s chest and he died.

Serpine removed the blade, wiped it clean, and put it to one side. If this worked, some changes would obviously need to be made, some alterations, some improvements. The Cleaver was a test subject, after all, no more than an experiment. If it worked, a little refinement would be in order. It wouldn’t take long. An hour at most.

Serpine waited by the Cleaver’s corpse. The warehouse was quiet. He’d had to abandon the castle, but he had been well prepared for that eventuality. Besides, in a matter of days, his enemies would be dead, and there would be no one left to fight him, and he would have everything he would need to usher in the Faceless Ones—a feat his old master, Mevolent, had never managed.

Serpine frowned. Had it been a trick of the light, or
had the Cleaver moved? He looked closer, searching for the rise and fall of the chest, searching for a sign of life. But no, no sign of life. The Cleaver’s pulse, when he checked it, was absent.

And then the Cleaver opened his eyes.

S
TEPHANE HAD CLIMBED
through her bedroom window to find her reflection sitting on the bed in the darkness, waiting for her.

“Are you ready to resume your life?” it had asked.

Stephanie, who was finding it very disconcerting to hold a conversation with herself, merely nodded. The reflection went to the mirror and stepped through, then turned and waited. Stephanie touched the glass, and a day’s worth of memory flooded into her mind. She watched the reflection change, the clothes Stephanie was wearing
appearing on it. And then it was nothing more than a reflected image in a mirror.

Stephanie woke the next morning, not happy with what she had to do. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she thought about calling on the reflection to imitate her again, then decided against it. The reflection gave her the creeps.

Realizing that she could not put it off any longer, Stephanie trudged over to her aunt’s house and knocked on the door. The sun was shining and the birds were singing and Stephanie forced a smile onto her face, but it wasn’t a smile that was returned when the door opened and Crystal looked out at her.

“What do you want?” her cousin asked suspiciously.

“Just thought I’d call around,” Stephanie said brightly. “See how you all are.”

“We’re fine,” Crystal said. “We’ve got a stupid car and a stupid boat. How’s your
house
?”

“Crystal,” she said, “I know you’re probably angry about the inheritance and everything, but I don’t know why I was left all that either.”

“It’s because you were sucking up to him.” Crystal sneered. “If we’d known that all it took was
just to be all smiles and have conversations with him, then we’d have done that stuff too.”

“But I didn’t know—”

“You cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“You had an unfair advantage.”

“How? How could I have even known he was going to die?”

“You knew,” Crystal said. “You knew that sooner or later he was going to die, but you got in so early, the rest of us didn’t stand a chance.”

“Did you even like him?”

There was that sneer again. “You don’t have to like someone to get something from them.”

She resisted the urge to punch Crystal’s smirking face long enough for Beryl to pass the doorway. She saw Stephanie, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Stephanie,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“She thought she’d call around,” Crystal said, “to see how we are.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, dear.”

Crystal took this opportunity to walk away without saying good-bye. Stephanie focused on Beryl.

“You’re not wearing the brooch Gordon left you?”

“That horrid thing? No, I am not, and I don’t think I ever will. It doesn’t even sparkle, for heaven’s sake. People know something is cheap if it doesn’t sparkle.”

“That’s a shame. It looked pretty, though, from where I was standing. It would have looked nice with one of your cardigans—”

“We saw you yesterday,” Beryl interrupted.

“I’m sorry?”

“In a horrid yellow car, with that dreadful Skulduggery Pleasant.”

Stephanie felt the instant flutters of panic in her belly, but she made herself frown and give a puzzled laugh. “Um, I think you may be mistaken. I was home all day yesterday.”

“Nonsense. You passed right by us. We saw you quite clearly. We saw
him
, too, all covered up like last time.”

“Nope, wasn’t me.”

Beryl smiled piously. “Lying is a sin, did you know that?”

“I’d heard the rumor. …”

“Fergus!” Beryl shouted back into the house, and
a few moments later her husband walked out of the living room. He was at home every day now after suffering a “serious fall” at work. He was in the process of suing his employers, claiming that it was their negligence that resulted in his debilitating injuries. He didn’t look too debilitated as he approached the door.

“Fergus, Stephanie here says she wasn’t in the car with that awful Mr. Pleasant.”

Fergus scowled. “She’s calling us liars?”

“No,” Stephanie said with a half laugh. “Just that it must have been somebody else.”

“Stephanie,” Beryl chided, “let’s not play games. We know it was you. It’s such a tragic thing to see, a dear sweet innocent child like you falling in with the wrong crowd.”

“Wrong crowd?”

“Weirdos,” Fergus said with a sneer. “I’ve seen their kind before. Gordon used to surround himself with people like that, people with … secrets.”

“And why does he hide his face, anyway?” Beryl asked. “Is he
deformed
?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Stephanie said, fighting to keep her voice even.

“You can’t trust people like that,” Fergus continued. “I’ve been around them my whole life,
seen them coming and going. Never wanted anything to do with them. You never know who you’re dealing with, or what sordid little things they get up to.”