Scepter of the Ancients (7 page)

“What’s the weapon?”

“To put it simply, agonizing death.”

“Agonizing death … on its own? Not, like, fired from a gun or anything?”

“He just has to point his red right hand at you and … well, like I said, agonizing death. It’s a necromancy technique.”

“Necromancy?”

“Death magic, a particularly dangerous Adept discipline. I don’t know how he learned it, but learn it he did.”

“And what does the Scepter thing have to do with all this?”

“Nothing. It has nothing to do with anything.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s a weapon of unstoppable destructive power. Or it would be, if it actually existed. It’s a rod, about the length of your thighbone. … Actually, I think I might have a picture of it. …”

He pulled the car over and got out, went to the Bentley’s trunk, and opened it up. Stephanie had never been to this part of town before. The streets
were quiet and empty. She could see the bridge over the canal in the distance. Moments later Skulduggery was back behind the wheel and they were driving again, and Stephanie had a leather-bound book on her lap.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the clasp and flicking through the pages.

“Our most popular myths and legends,” he said, turning on the interior car light so she could see. “You just passed the Scepter.”

She flicked back and came to a reproduction of a painting of a wide-eyed man reaching for a golden staff with a black crystal embedded in its hilt. The Scepter was glowing and he was shielding his eyes. On the opposite page was another picture, this time of a man holding the Scepter, surrounded by cowering figures, their heads turned away. “Who’s this guy?”

“He’s an Ancient. In the legends, they were the very first sorcerers, the first to wield the power of the elements, the first to use magic. They lived apart from the mortal world, had no interest in it. They had their own ways, their own customs, and their own gods. Eventually, they decided that they wanted to have their own destinies, too, so they
rose up against their gods, rather nasty beings called the Faceless Ones, and battled them on the land, in the skies, and in the oceans. The Faceless Ones, being immortal, won every battle, until the Ancients constructed a weapon powerful enough to drive them back—the Scepter.”

“You sound like you know the story well.”

“Tales around the campfire might seem quaint now, but it’s all we had before movies. The Faceless Ones were banished, forced back to wherever they came from.”

“So what’s happening here? He’s killing his gods?”

“Yep. The Scepter was fueled by the Ancients’ desire to be free. That was the most powerful force they had at their disposal.”

“So it’s a force for freedom?”

“Originally. However, once the Ancients no longer had the Faceless Ones to tell them what to do, they started fighting among themselves, and they turned the Scepter on each other and fueled it with hate.”

The streetlights played on his skull as they passed in and out of darkness, flashing bone white in a hypnotic rhythm.

“The last Ancient,” he continued, “having driven his gods away, having killed all his friends and all his family, realized what he had done, and hurled the Scepter deep into the Earth, where the ground swallowed it.”

“What did he do then?”

“Probably went for a snooze. I don’t know, it’s a legend, it’s an allegory. It didn’t really happen.”

“So why does Serpine think it’s real?”

“Now that
is
puzzling. Like his master before him, he believes some of our darker myths, our more disturbing legends. He believes the world was a better place when the Faceless Ones were in charge. They didn’t exactly approve of humanity, you see, and they demanded worship.”

“The ritual that he’s been looking for—is it to bring them back?”

“It is indeed.”

“So he might think that the Scepter, which drove them away, could somehow call them back, right?”

“People believe all kinds of things when it comes to their religion.”

“Do you believe in any of it? The Ancients, Faceless Ones, any of it?”

“I believe in me, Stephanie, and that’s enough for now.”

“So could the Scepter be real?”

“Highly unlikely.”

“So what does any of this have to do with my uncle?”

“I don’t know,” Skulduggery admitted. “That’s why they call it a mystery.”

Light filled the car, and suddenly the world was bucking, the only sounds a terrifying crash and the shriek of metal on metal. Stephanie lurched against her seat belt and slammed her head against the window, and the street outside tilted wildly and she realized the Bentley was flipping over. She heard Skulduggery curse beside her, and for an instant she was weightless, and then the Bentley hit the ground again and jarred her in her seat.

The car rocked back onto its tires. Stephanie looked at her knees, her eyes wide but her brain too stunned to think.
Look up
, said a faint voice in her head.
Look up to see what’s happening
. The Bentley was still, its engine cut out, but there was another engine. A car door, opening and closing.
Look up
. Footsteps, running footsteps
. Look up now
. Skulduggery beside her, not moving.
Look up, there’s
someone coming for you. Look up NOW.

A window exploded beside her for the second time that night, and the man from the house was grabbing her and hauling her out of the car.

H
IS CLOTHES WERE
ragged and charred, but his skin had been untouched by the fireball that had enveloped him at Gordon’s house. She glimpsed his face as she was dragged through the yellow beams of the Bentley’s headlights, a face that was twisted in anger and hatred, and then she was lifted and slammed onto the hood of the car that had hit them. His hands had her collar bunched, his knuckles digging into her throat.

“You will die,” he snarled, “right here and now if you do not give me that damned key.”

Her hands were on his, trying to break his grip.
Her head felt light, blood pounding in her temples. “Please,” she whispered, trying to breathe.

“You’re going to make me look bad,” the man growled. “My master is going to think I’m a fool if I can’t get one stupid little key off one stupid little girl!”

The street was empty around them. Shop fronts and businesses had closed for the night. No one was going to hear her. No one was coming to help her. Where was Skulduggery?

The man lifted her off the hood and slammed her down again. Stephanie cried out in pain, and the man leaned in, his right forearm pressed beneath her chin. “I’ll snap your scrawny neck,” he hissed.

“I don’t know anything about a key!” Stephanie gasped.

“If you don’t know anything, you’re of no use to me and I’ll kill you here.”

She looked up at that horribly twisted face, and she stopped trying to pull his hands away and instead dug her thumb into the bullet hole in his shoulder. He screamed and let her go and staggered back, cursing, and Stephanie rolled off the car and ran to the Bentley. Skulduggery was pounding at the door, but it had buckled under
the impact, trapping his leg.

“Go!” he shouted at her through the broken window. “Get away!”

She glanced back, saw a figure loom up, and pushed herself away from the car. She slipped on the wet road but scrambled to her feet and ran, the man right behind her, clutching his injured shoulder.

He lunged. She ducked, caught a streetlight, and swung herself from her course, and the man shot by her and sprawled onto the pavement. She took off the opposite way, passing the two cars and running on. The street was too long, too wide, and there was nowhere she could lose him. She turned off into a narrow lane and sprinted into the shadows.

She heard him behind her, heard the footsteps that seemed to be moving much more quickly than her own. She didn’t dare look back; she didn’t want the fear that was lending her speed to suddenly sabotage her run. It was too dark to make out anything ahead of her; she couldn’t see one arm’s length ahead. She could be about to run smack into a wall and she wouldn’t—

Wall.

She twisted at the last moment and got her
hands up and hit the wall, then pushed away, kicking off without losing too much momentum, continuing around the corner. The man couldn’t see in the dark any better than she could, and she heard him hit the wall and yell out a curse.

Up ahead was a break in the darkness. She saw a taxi pass. The man slipped and stumbled behind her—she was getting away. All she had to do was run up to the nearest person she could find, and the man wouldn’t dare follow her.

Stephanie plunged out of the shadows and screamed for help, but the taxi was gone and the street was empty. She screamed again, this time in desperation. The streetlights tinted everything orange and stretched her shadow out before her, and then there was another shadow moving up behind. She threw herself to one side as the man barreled past, narrowly missing her.

The canal was ahead, the canal that flowed through the city. She ran for it, aware that the man was once again behind her and gaining fast.

She felt his fingers on her shoulder. The first touch was fleeting, but the second was a grip. His hand curled around her shoulder and tightened just as she reached the edge of the canal, and she
managed to throw herself forward before he could drag her back. She heard a panicked shriek from behind and realized she had pulled him after her, and then the freezing water enveloped them both.

The cold stunned her for a moment, but she fought it and kicked out.

She clutched at water and dragged it down to her sides, just the way she had done countless times off the Haggard beach. Now she was moving up, up to where the lights were.

She broke the surface with a gasp and turned her head, saw the man struggling, flailing his arms in terror.

For a moment she thought he couldn’t swim, but it was more than that. The water was hurting him, working through him like acid, stripping pieces of him away. His cries became mere guttural sounds, and she watched as he came apart and was silent and most dead.

She turned from the bits of him that floated to her and plowed through the water. Her hands and feet were already numb with the cold, but she kept going until his remains were far behind.

Shivering, Stephanie reached the edge of the canal and managed to haul herself out. Arms
crossed over her chest, running shoes squelching with every step and her hair plastered to her scalp, she hurried back to the Bentley.

When she got there, the Bentley was empty. Stephanie hung back, out of the light. A truck passed, slowing when it approached the crash. When the driver didn’t see anyone, he drove on. Stephanie didn’t move from her spot.

A few minutes later, Skulduggery emerged from the narrow lane she’d been chased down. He was walking quickly, looking up and down the street as he returned to his car. Stephanie stepped out of the shadows.

“Hey,” she said.

“Stephanie!” Skulduggery exclaimed, rushing over to her. “You’re all right!”

“I went for a swim,” she said, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

“What happened?” he asked. “Where is he?”

“Here and there.” The light breeze was passing through her soaking garments. “The water kind of … took him apart.”

Skulduggery nodded. “It happens.”

He held out his hand, and she felt herself drying and saw the water drifting off her, collecting as
mist in the air over her head. “You’re not surprised?” she asked.

He moved the cloud away and released it. A faint shower fell to the street. “Certain types of Adept magic don’t come cheap. As we saw at Gordon’s house, your attacker had made himself impervious to fire, and was probably very proud of himself for doing so. Unfortunately for him, the cost of that little spell was that a large amount of water would be lethal. Every big spell has a hidden snag.”

He clicked his fingers and conjured fire, and Stephanie started to feel warm again.

“Neat trick,” she said. “You’ll have to teach me it sometime.”

With quite a bit of effort, Stephanie pulled open the car door. She wiped the broken glass from her seat, got in, and buckled the seat belt. Skulduggery went around the other side to his own broken window and climbed in behind the wheel. He twisted the key, and the engine turned, complained, and then came to life.

Her body was tired. Her mind was tired. Her limbs felt heavy and her eyes wanted to close. She dug her mobile phone out of her pocket—miraculously,
the canal water hadn’t ruined it. She pressed a button and the time flashed up. She groaned, then looked outside as the first light of the morning started to seep into the sky.

“What’s wrong?” Skulduggery asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said, “but I will be if I don’t get back to Gordon’s house. Mum will be picking me up soon.”

“You don’t look too happy.”

“Well, I don’t want to go back to that world—a boring old town with nosy neighbors and nasty aunts.”

“You’d rather stay in a world where you get attacked twice in one night?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but yes. Things
happen
here.”

“I’m going to see a friend later today, someone who might be able to help us out. You can come along if you want.”

“Really?”

“I think you might have a real instinct for this line of work.”

Stephanie nodded and gave a little shrug, and when she spoke, she fought hard to keep the sheer joy out of her voice. “And what about magic?”

“What about it?”

“Will you teach me?”

“You don’t even know if you’re
capable
of doing magic.”

“How do I find out? Is there a test or something?”

“Yes, we cut off your head. If it grows back, you can do magic.”

“You’re being funny again, aren’t you?”

“So glad you noticed.”

“So will you teach me?”

“I’m not a teacher. I’m a detective. I already have a career.”

“Oh, right. It’s just—I’d really like to learn, and you know it all.”