Scepter of the Ancients (5 page)

“I’m okay,” she said.

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

He abandoned the door and guided her to the kitchen, and 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,” she said, and he gave a little shrug. It was hard discerning some of his meanings 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 that 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, internal 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 counter, 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 than 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 a thing until it was too late.

“So I died. He killed me. The twenty-third of October, it was, when my heart stopped beating. Once I was dead, they stuck my body up on a pike and burned it for all to see. They used me as a warning; they used the bodies of all the leaders they had killed as warnings, and to my utter horror, it worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“The tide turned. Our side starting losing ground. Mevolent got stronger. It was more than I could stand, so I came back.”

“You just …
came back
?”

“It’s … complicated. When I died, I never moved on. Something was holding me here, making me watch. I’ve never heard of it happening before that, and I haven’t heard of it happening since, but it happened to me. So when it got too much, I woke up, a bag of bones. Literally. They had gathered up my bones and put them in a bag and thrown the bag into a river. So that was a
marvelous new experience right there.”

“Then what happened?”

“I put myself back together, which was rather painful, then climbed out of the river and rejoined the fight, and in the end, we won. We finally won. So, with Mevolent defeated, I quit that whole scene and struck out on my own for the first time in a few hundred years.”

Stephanie blinked. “Few
hundred
?”

“It was a long war.”

“That man, he called you Detective.”

“He obviously knows me by reputation,” Skulduggery said, standing a little straighter. “I solve mysteries now.”

“Really?”

“Quite good at it too.”

“So, what, you’re tracking down your head?”

He looked at her. If he’d had eyelids, he might well be blinking. “It’d be nice to have it back, sure, but …”

“So you don’t need it, like, so you can rest in peace?”

“No. No, not really.”

“Why did they take it? Was that another warning?”

“Oh, no,” Skulduggery said with a little laugh. “No,
they
didn’t take it. I was sleeping, about ten or fifteen years ago, and these little goblin things ran up and nicked it right off my spinal column. Didn’t notice it was gone till the next morning.”

Stephanie frowned. “And you didn’t feel that?”

“Well, like I said, I was asleep. Meditating, I suppose you’d call it. I can’t see, hear, or feel anything when I’m meditating. Have you tried it?”

“No.”

“It’s very relaxing. I think you’d like it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on you losing your head.”

“I didn’t
lose
it,” he said defensively. “It was stolen.”

She was feeling stronger now. She couldn’t believe that she’d fainted.
Fainted
. It was such an old-woman thing to do. She glanced up at Skulduggery. “You’ve had a very unusual life, haven’t you?”

“I suppose I have. Not over yet, though. Well,
technically
it is, but …”

“Isn’t there anything you miss?”

“About what?”

“About living.”

“Compared to how long I’ve been like this, I was only technically alive for a blink of an eye. I can’t really remember enough about having a beating heart in my chest to miss it.”

“So there’s nothing you miss?”

“I … I suppose I miss hair. I miss how it … was. And how it was there, on top of my head. I suppose I miss my hair.”

He took out his pocket watch and his head jerked back. “Wow, look at the time. I’ve got to go, Stephanie.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Things to do, I’m afraid. Number one is finding out why that nice gentleman was sent here, and number two is finding out who sent him.”

“You can’t leave me alone,” she said, following him into the living room.

“No,” he corrected, “I can. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“The front door’s off!”

“Well, yes. You’ll be perfectly safe as long as they don’t come through the front door.”

He pulled on his coat, but she snatched his hat away.

“Are you taking my hat hostage?” he asked doubtfully.

“You’re either staying here to make sure no one else attacks me, or you’re taking me with you.”

Skulduggery froze. “That,” he said eventually, “wouldn’t be too safe for you.”

“Neither would being left here on my own.”

“But you can hide,” he said, gesturing around the room. “There are so many places to hide. I’m sure there are plenty of good solid wardrobes your size. Even under a bed. You’d be surprised how many people don’t check under beds these days.”

“Mr. Pleasant—”

“Skulduggery, please.”

“Skulduggery, you saved my life tonight. Are you going to undo all that effort by leaving me here so someone else can just come along and kill me?”

“That’s a very defeatist attitude you’ve got there. I once knew a fellow, a little older than you. He wanted to join me in my adventures, wanted to solve mysteries that beggared belief. He kept asking, kept at me about it. He finally proved himself, after a long time, and we became partners.”

“And did you go on to have lots of exciting adventures?”

“I did. He didn’t. He died on our very first case
together. Horrible death. Messy, too. Lots of flailing around.”

“Well, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, and I’ve got something he didn’t.”

“And that is …?”

“Your hat. Take me with you, or I’ll stand on it.”

He looked at her with his big hollow eye sockets, then held out his hand for his hat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

S
KULDUGGERY
P
LEASANT’S CAR
was a 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental, one of only 208 ever made, a car that housed a six-cylinder, 4.5-liter engine and was retrofitted with power locks, climate control, satellite navigation, and a host of other modern conveniences. Skulduggery had told her all of this when she’d asked. She’d have been happy with “It’s a Bentley.”

They left Gordon’s land via a back road at the rear of the estate to avoid the flooding, a road that Stephanie hadn’t even seen until they were on it. Skulduggery told her he was a regular visitor here,
and knew all the little nooks and crannies. They passed a sign for Haggard, and she thought about asking him to drop her at home but quickly banished that idea from her head. If she went home now, she’d be turning her back on everything she’d just seen. She needed to know more. She needed to
see
more.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they drove.

“Into the city. I’ve got a meeting with an old friend. She might be able to shed some light on recent events.”

“Why were you at the house?”

“Sorry?”

“Tonight. Not that I’m not grateful, but how come you happened to be nearby?”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “Yes, I can see how that question would arise.”

“So are you going to answer it?”

“That’s unlikely.”

“Well, why not?”

He glanced at her, or at least he turned his head a fraction. “The less you know about all this, the better. You’re a perfectly normal young lady, and after tonight you’re going to return to your perfectly normal life. It wouldn’t do for you to get
too involved in this.”

“But I am involved.”

“But we can limit that involvement.”

“But I don’t want to limit that involvement.”

“But it’s what’s best for you.”

“But I don’t want that!”

“But it might—”

“Don’t start another sentence with
but
.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“You can’t expect me to forget about all this. I’ve seen magic, and fire, and
you
, and I’ve learned about wars they don’t tell us about in school. I’ve seen a world I never even knew
existed
.”

“Don’t you want to get back to your own world? It’s safer there.”

“That’s not where I belong.”

Now he completely turned his head toward her and cocked it at an angle. “Funny. When I first met your uncle, that’s what he said too.”

“The things he wrote about,” she said, the idea just dawning on her, “are they true?”

“His books? No, not a one.”

“Oh.”

“They’re more
inspired
by true stories, really. He just changed them enough so he wouldn’t insult
anyone and get hunted down and killed. Your uncle was a good man, he really was. We solved many mysteries together.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, you should be proud to have had an uncle like him. Of course, he got me into a hundred fights, because I’d bring him somewhere and he wouldn’t stop pestering people, but … Fun times. Fun times.”

They drove on until they saw the lights of the city looming ahead. Soon the darkness that surrounded the car was replaced with an orange haze that reflected off the wet roads. The city was quiet and still, the streets almost empty. They pulled into a small outdoor car park, and Skulduggery switched off the engine and looked at her.

“Okay then, you wait here.”

“Yes.”

He got out. Two seconds passed, but she hadn’t tagged along just to wait on the sidelines—she needed to see what other surprises the world had in store for her. She got out, and he looked at her.

“Stephanie, I’m not altogether sure you’re respecting my authority.”

“Yes, I’m not.”

“I see. Okay then.”

He put on his hat and wrapped his scarf around his jaw, but did without the wig and the sunglasses. He clicked his key chain and the car beeped and the doors locked.

“That’s it?”

He looked up. “Sorry?”

“Aren’t you afraid it might get stolen? We’re not exactly in a good part of town.”

“It’s got a car alarm.”

“Don’t you, like, cast a spell or something? To keep it safe?”

“No. It’s a pretty good car alarm.”

He started walking. She hurried to keep up.

“
Do
you cast spells, then?”

“Sometimes. I try not to depend on magic these days; I try to get by on what’s up here.” He tapped his head.

“There’s empty space up there.”

“Well, yes,” he said irritably, “but you know what I mean.”

“What else can you do?”

“Sorry?”

“With magic. Show me something.”

If he’d had eyebrows, they would most likely
have been arched. “What, a living skeleton isn’t enough for you? You want more?”

“Yes,” Stephanie said. “Give me a tutorial.”

He shrugged. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. There are two types of mages, or sorcerers. Adepts practice one branch of magic, Elementals practice another. Adepts are more aggressive; their techniques are more immediately powerful. In contrast, an Elemental, such as myself, chooses the quieter course, and works on mastering command of the elements.”

“Command of the elements?”

“Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. We don’t command them, as such; we manipulate them. We influence them.”