Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 - 9. Derek Landy
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he just waited until Sult removed his hand, and then he walked away.
He gave Valkyrie an armful of files and told her to go through them while he went off to find Ghastly. She wanted to be there as they discussed what had just transpired, but reluctantly accepted that she’d probably be able to offer very little insight into what their next move might be. So she found an empty room and settled down and started reading.
It took twenty minutes before she threw the first file back on to the desk in disgust. Nothing was going in. She’d read the words and seen the words but there was a room full of blood and a middle-aged woman with a poisoned ring to keep the words from sinking in. And if that wasn’t enough, there was also the man who’d tried to stop them coming down here and there was Sult, impossibly smug Sult and his stupid face. And her arm still throbbed. She didn’t know what Nadir had done to her, but whatever it was, it was irritating.
She put her feet on the desk, pushed the chair back on to two legs and stared up at the ceiling. She thought about poor Ed Stynes the werewolf man and poor Jerry Houlihan the butterfly man, and how they were both downstairs, sedated, being poked and prodded by the Sanctuary medical staff. How many were down there now? Forty-three? Forty-three mortals lying in beds, bubbling over with magic they didn’t understand and couldn’t control. Sooner or later, one of these outbreaks was going to take place right in the public eye where there’d be no denying what had happened, and then what? Then everything would change.
She went for a walk. She passed sorcerers and Cleavers and didn’t speak to any of them. There were a group of American mages who quietened down when she walked by. Things were tense enough as it was without the Supreme Council and their little army wandering around whispering to each other.
She went outside, looked out over the dark stagnant lake to the wasteland beyond, to where dead trees clawed at the sky like the land itself was screaming. Valkyrie wondered if the whole world would end up looking like that when she was through with it. Would there even be dead trees? Would she leave any sign of life, even as a memento? She didn’t think so. If and when she ever did give in and allow Darquesse to take over completely, she imagined that she’d just burn the planet to a crisp. Do the job and do it properly, sort it out and put it away, then move on to the next thing. Whatever the next thing was. Maybe hunt down the Faceless Ones.
She smiled. She liked that idea. After she killed everyone here, hunting down the Faceless Ones would be the logical progression.
Her smile faded.
There was a shout and she turned. A mage was on his back next to a Cleaver van, and a man was running into the streets of Roarhaven, his hands shackled. Valkyrie recognised him as Christophe Nocturnal, the man who’d tried to have her killed. A Cleaver walked after him, not in any hurry.
Nocturnal grabbed a woman, spun her around, started shouting threats, issuing demands. The woman he’d grabbed was unimpressed, and Nocturnal didn’t notice that the street behind him was beginning to fill with Roarhaven citizens.
The woman waved her hand casually and the air rippled, flinging Nocturnal backwards. He scrambled up and a man stepped out of the crowd, laid a hand on Nocturnal’s shoulder and made him scream in absolute agony.
An old lady shuffled by, took hold of him and hurled him to the ground with astonishing strength. Valkyrie couldn’t hear his words as Nocturnal crawled back to the waiting Cleaver, but she imagined he was doing a lot of apologising.
Roarhaven was not a town to make trouble in.
She stayed out of sight as Nocturnal was hauled to the Sanctuary. She just wasn’t in the mood for yet another confrontation, not with the day she was having. Even so, she was pleased to see him in shackles.
Just as the Cleaver and Nocturnal reached the main doors, Skulduggery emerged. Nocturnal turned to glare but Skulduggery completely ignored him, and strode up to Valkyrie.
“Did you talk to Ghastly?” she asked.
He waved the question away. “Forget Ghastly. Forget Sult. Forget all that. I’ve just figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“They’re not dead.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Who aren’t dead?”
“Lament and his missing sorcerers. They’re not dead, Valkyrie. Neither is Argeddion. Maybe they couldn’t find a way to kill him, maybe for some reason they didn’t want to, but they knew how to imprison him. That’s where they are. They’re guarding him.”
Valkyrie didn’t say anything, and he continued.
“Tyren Lament was, above all else, a scientist. Some of his research remains in the archives, enough to tell me that he had been working on a containment system. From the levels recorded, his theory was that it could contain something – or someone – of immense power. I think he was designing a prison for Argeddion. A prison capable of holding a sorcerer who knows their own true name.”
“But you said that wasn’t possible.”
“Lament found a way, I’m sure of it.”
“Then this is it,” she said, excited and nervous at the same time. “This is what we need to hold Darquesse. We could build one for me.”
Skulduggery looked at her. “Exactly. It’s for you, Valkyrie. Don’t forget we’re talking about building a prison to contain you.”
She swallowed. “But what choice do I have? Go to a prison cell until I learn how to control myself, or kill my own parents and probably my little baby sister? Not to mention the rest of the world? I think I’ll choose the prison cell, thank you very much. Are you sure about this?”
“It’s the only thing that answers all the questions. Why were their files destroyed? Why weren’t their disappearances mentioned in the Journals? Meritorious was doing his best to hide Argeddion’s existence from anyone who might go looking.”
“So where are they?”
“I don’t know yet, but it would be somewhere out of the way. Isolated. Somewhere without a magical presence.”
“Do we have any leads?” she asked.
“Just one. A freight company that Lament used was mentioned in the notes. There are companies all around the world, either run by or owned by sorcerers, that operate for both the mortals and the magical. Their dealings with other sorcerers are, as you can imagine, completely under the radar. Dagan Logistics is one such company.”
“So we just talk to them about their dealings with him, where they shipped whatever supplies he needed, and we have where he’s keeping Argeddion. Right?”
“Right.”
“Right. So why aren’t you looking pleased?”
He tilted his head. “How do you know I’m not?”
“I just know. What’s the catch?”
Skulduggery sighed. “Dagan Logistics is not the most reputable of companies, or the most co-operative. I’d imagine that’s the reason Lament used them – they’re used to keeping certain dealings secret. It’s owned by one of Mevolent’s old supporters. Arthur Dagan.”
“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Him. He doesn’t like me.”
“He’s not too fond of me, either. He didn’t fight in the war, he was always far too timid for that kind of thing, but he worshipped the Faceless Ones as fervently as any fanatic, and he aided Mevolent whenever he could.”
“I can’t really see him helping us.”
“Me neither. His son, on the other hand...”
“Hansard? Would he be able to help us?”
“He’s in the family business. He’d have access to his father’s files. And you two seemed to really hit it off at the Requiem Ball.”
“He was very