Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 - 9. Derek Landy
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was going on, surely a Sensitive would pick it up?”
“Not necessarily. It’s possible to throw up a false reading. It’s been done before.”
“But only by the most powerful of psychics.”
“And is Argeddion not the most powerful of everything right now?”
Lament hesitated.
“You’re right,” Skulduggery said. “There has not been one single Sensitive around the world who has even heard of Argeddion. But we visited a prison where the more unstable inmates, those more susceptible to this kind of thing, were scrawling his name on the walls. He visits people in their dreams, Tyren. He’s doing something to the mortals, something to do with a Summer of Light. We have less than four days to figure out what that is. He has to be stopped.”
“And I told you, I don’t know how to do that.”
“What about telling the Elders?” Valkyrie asked. “I know it wasn’t safe in the past, but now Ghastly Bespoke and Erskine Ravel are in charge, and you can trust them.”
“And can we trust Madame Mist, a Child of the Spider?”
“Well,” said Valkyrie, “no, but she can be kept at a distance. You can get back-up there. The Sanctuary can support you. It’d mean you wouldn’t have to live here any more, you could go back to your lives. We could all share the responsibility and, I don’t know, maybe make the Cube stronger.”
“That’s an idea,” Skulduggery said slowly. “If we do make the Cube stronger, it would block Argeddion’s subconscious from wandering off and infecting anyone else. I’ve seen the blueprints, and it seems to me that there’s absolutely no reason why the Cube couldn’t be reinforced two, three times over.”
“Now, just wait a second,” Lament said. “You’re both speeding on ahead.”
“It’s possible, though, isn’t it?” Skulduggery asked.
Lament hesitated. “Yes.”
“And a reinforced Cube would mean Argeddion does not wake up.”
“But the risk involved with acknowledging his existence...”
“Would immediately be overshadowed by the risk of Argeddion opening his eyes.”
“I don’t know. You’re asking us to abandon our plan.”
“The moment you realised he wasn’t ageing, that plan became null and void. The Cube can be reinforced, right?”
“Yes, of course it can, but the power needed to maintain a reinforced Cube would kill anyone who charged it. The Tempest would drain them in an instant of both their magic and their lives, and then you’d need another mage to charge it. No, sorry. It’s impossible.”
“I don’t see how the process would be any different to the way it is now. The Tempest is just a storage chamber, after all.”
Lament shook his head. “Not when you’re dealing with this level of power. There’d be no more storage – everything would be instant. The magic would be donated, sucked through the Tempest, and within nanoseconds it would be crackling around the Cube. In order for your plan to succeed, the Cube would have to be hooked up to a constant source of massive, massive power. And I’m sorry, but that cannot...”
He faltered.
“What?” Valkyrie asked.
“Nothing,” Lament said. “It can’t be done.”
“You were going to say something. What was it?”
Lament looked away. “I need to talk to my colleagues.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked out.
Valkyrie looked at Skulduggery, and shrugged. “That’s promising.”
Through the liquid all around him, Scapegrace heard the idiot’s slow, plodding footsteps, back with another few containers. Nye was going to have some job putting all this back together. Still, if there was one creature who’d probably appreciate a new hobby like that, it was Doctor Nye. And then suddenly Scapegrace was sliding over the edge of the table.
“Hey!” he screamed. “Stop!”
The jar started to topple, the liquid tilting him upside down, and then Thrasher was there, diving to catch him.
“Oh, Master!” the idiot wailed, clutching the jar to his bosom. “I’m so sorry! Are you OK? Oh, Master, please speak to me! Please say something!”
“I will,” Scapegrace growled, “as soon as you shut up.”
Thrasher was practically weeping with joy. “Oh, thank heavens. Oh, thank heavens.”
“Find somewhere else to put me,” Scapegrace said, “as far away from you as possible.”
Thrasher looked around, eventually deciding on a room in the back of the Medical Bay. There was an area that was curtained off, but beside that was a table. He put the jar there, and then plodded off, probably to cry. Scapegrace bobbed around a bit before coming to a stop. The curtain wasn’t pulled over all the way, and he could see a patient lying on a bed, his midsection wrapped in bandages and soaked in mud. He was wearing sunglasses indoors. Even before he turned his head Scapegrace knew who he was.
Billy-Ray Sanguine looked at him without expression, so Scapegrace returned the favour. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by the man who’d killed him. He was beyond that now. He’d changed. Grown. He was the Zombie King, and who was Sanguine? Just some annoying American with a stubble-covered jawline and good muscle tone. So what? At least Scapegrace had eyes, and one of them even worked.
He looked right at Sanguine and Sanguine looked right at him. Neither man looked away. It was a matter of pride now. It had become something more than a mere staring contest. Now it was about dominance. It was about superiority. It was about strength. And Scapegrace was damned if he was going to be the one to look away first. Although he did feel that wearing sunglasses was technically cheating.
Moving slowly, Sanguine sat up. Pressing an arm to his bandages, he got off the bed. He groaned slightly with the effort, pulled the curtain open wider, and walked the few paces to the table. Scapegrace’s mind churned with possible insults and comebacks. The first words out of Sanguine’s mouth were going to be nasty, he knew that much.
Sanguine leaned down and they looked at each other, face to face. Then Sanguine tapped the glass with his finger. “Ugly little critter, ain’t ya?”
“Takes one to know one,” Scapegrace retorted triumphantly, and Sanguine screamed and leaped back, hit the bed and fell backwards over it, collapsing into a heap on the other side.
Scapegrace stared.
Nye and Thrasher rushed in and immediately went to Sanguine’s aid. They picked him up and laid him back on the bed. He was obviously in a great deal of pain.
“What happened?” Nye asked, checking the bandages. “I told you no movement.”
Sanguine pointed. “You got a head in a jar.”
“So?”