The Faceless Ones. Derek Landy
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Valkyrie added. “You’re told a few of the rules, a few tricks you’ll need to survive.”
Fletcher’s shoulders made a slight movement, like they were too lazy to give another shrug so soon after the last one. “I’m doing OK.”
“So far. But how do you feel about being someone’s puppet? Because if you don’t take on a name of your own, any sorcerer who can be bothered might decide he wants a new pet.”
“Aha. So Valkyrie Cain isn’t your real name, that right?”
“That’s right. It’s the name I took, the name that stops anyone from controlling me.”
“Well I changed my name when I ran away from home, so I guess I’m safe too, right?”
He was enjoying this. That made her dislike him even more.
“Are we done?” he asked. “I’ve got places to go and people to see.”
“They’re not going to stop,” Skulduggery said. “No matter where you go, they will find you. And if they find you, they will force you to help them.”
“No one forces me to—”
“I’ve not finished talking yet,” Skulduggery interrupted.
Fletcher sighed and raised an eyebrow expectantly.
“As I was saying, if they find you, they will force you to help them. And if you help them, Fletcher, then you’re on their side.”
Fletcher frowned. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning you won’t have to worry about them. You’ll have to worry about us.”
Fletcher grew even paler than before. Skulduggery, Valkyrie reflected, could be a very scary person when he wanted to.
“You don’t want me as an enemy, Fletcher. You want to be my friend. You want to do as I say, and for your own good, you want to enter into protective custody. Am I right?”
For a moment, Valkyrie thought Fletcher was going to defy him again, just for the sake of it, but then his eyes softened and he nodded. “Yeah, OK.”
“Excellent news. And I have the perfect place for you to stay.”
“Elsewhere,” said the voice, distorted over the tinny old speaker that hung in the corner. “They are all elsewhere.”
The walls were cold stone. There was one door, no window and a mirror. Sanguine was fairly certain there was a camera behind the mirror, watching him.
“So who are you?” he asked.
“I’m nobody,” the voice said.
Sanguine smiled. “You’re Batu, ain’t you? You’re the one they keep talkin’ about.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you are. You’re the big boss. So how come you ain’t here in person? I been workin’ for you for over a year now. Ain’t it time we met, face to face?”
“I value my privacy.”
Sanguine shrugged. “I get that.”
“You failed me, Mr Sanguine. I paid you to do a job and you failed me.”
“You said nothin’ about the skeleton detective and the girl gettin’ involved. That’s what we call extenuatin’ circumstances. If I’d have known they’d be there, I could have prepared. Or at least charged double.”
“You will have a chance to redeem yourself.”
“Yippee,” Sanguine said, without enthusiasm.
“I’m going to need you to steal something for me, as soon as Gruesome Krav returns. There is a very good chance you will encounter opposition.”
“So you’ll double my rate?”
“Naturally.”
“Yippee,” Sanguine said and this time he smiled.
The darkness was replaced by the bright lights of the corridors that snaked between the laboratories, and the smell of disinfectant replaced the mustiness. Clarabelle, one of Professor Kenspeckle Grouse’s new assistants, drifted by them dreamily, humming to herself. She wasn’t, in Valkyrie’s opinion, all there.
They walked into a circular room with a high ceiling. There were spotlights on the wall, casting a hazy glow on to a statue of a man on his knees, one hand touching the ground. His bald head was ridged with scars and the expression on his face was one of resignation.
Ghastly Bespoke had used the final Elemental power – the earth power – to save himself while he held off the White Cleaver. Valkyrie still had dreams about that moment, looking back in time to see the concrete of the floor latch on to Ghastly’s body and spread, even as the White Cleaver swung his scythe. Tanith Low had thrown her into the back of the Bentley and they had escaped, but Ghastly had been left as a statue, and no one knew how long the effect would last.
Professor Kenspeckle Grouse stood behind the statue, hands glowing as he passed them over its surface. His eyes were closed, his white eyebrows furrowed in concentration. For two years now, Kenspeckle had worked to return Ghastly to a flesh and blood state. He had used all kinds of science-magic, brought in every sort of expert, tried everything he could think of and then went even further, with no success.
“Who’s the old guy?” Fletcher asked loudly. Kenspeckle scowled and looked up.
Valkyrie smiled and waved. Kenspeckle left the statue and came over.
“Valkyrie. You’re injured again.”
“A few little cuts; nothing to worry about.”
“I’m the medical genius, Valkyrie. I think I’ll make up my own mind about that.” He examined the cut on her face and then her hands. “Who’s the annoying boy?”
“I’m not—” Fletcher began.
“This is Fletcher Renn,” Skulduggery interrupted. “I was hoping he could stay here for a few days.”
“And why would you imagine that I would agree to that?” Kenspeckle growled.
“He needs to be kept somewhere safe, with someone responsible.”