22

      Bad things happen all the time.

      That’s the number-one lesson Valkyrie had learned in the last twelve years. Bad things happen, and they generally happen to good people. Innocent people. Passers-by, caught in the crossfire, consumed by the madness. Like Fletcher.

      She stood by his bed in Reverie Synecdoche’s private medical practice, a three-storey building in one of the more affluent parts of town, and watched him. He didn’t move. A machine helped him breathe.

      She reached out, touched his arm.

      “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We were stupid and you saved us. It’s our fault you’re here.” She leaned down. Spoke softer. “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I’m able to do this any more. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to tell him.”

      Voices reached her – Reverie talking to a nurse passing in the corridor outside. Valkyrie squeezed Fletcher’s hand. “Please get better,” she said.

      Reverie walked in and Valkyrie turned.

      “He’s stable,” Reverie told her. “We’ve stopped the bleeding. There is some nerve damage that we’re correcting. It’s a slow process, repairing nerves always is, but he’s going to be fine. Would you like to stay? I can have a chair brought in for you.”

      “Thank you,” said Valkyrie, “but no. The Supreme Mage has requested a meeting. How’s Skulduggery?”

      “We’re putting him back together. Again. His jaw has been reattached, so he just has to wait for his arm to set. He’ll be out within the hour.”

      “Thank you, Reverie. Sincerely.”

      “It’s what we do. I’ll let you know if there’s any change to Fletcher’s condition.”

      Valkyrie thanked her again and left the clinic, taking a tram to the High Sanctuary. For a fleeting moment, she entertained the idea that maybe she’d skip the meeting, get in her car and drive home. She quite liked the thought of forgetting about all of this and just living a normal life, her and her dog. The twenty-four hours she’d promised Skulduggery had ended that morning, after all. She didn’t owe it to him to do this. She didn’t owe it to anyone.

      But she flashed her badge at the door to the High Sanctuary and walked in, leaving the sounds of the city behind her, along with fanciful notions of a quiet life.

      The Room of Prisms had changed since she’d been here last. There were still those slivers of angled glass that dropped from the ceiling and rose from the floor like stalactites and stalagmites. Some of them met in the middle, forming thin pillars she had to slip between. The change had come at the far end of the room, where the steps rose to the ornate throne on which sat the Supreme Mage.

      Another image from the vision blossomed in Valkyrie’s mind, this time of China Sorrows lying on the ground, blood staining a blouse that looked remarkably similar to the one she was wearing now, the one that went so well with the black, high-waisted trousers. Over that blouse she wore her chain of office, fitted with three glittering jewels. Her hair was black. Her face was perfect. Her eyes were closed.

      Two bodyguards flanked her, standing to attention. On China’s left, a woman with a mask covering everything but her eyes. Her arms were bare and muscled, skin like dark chocolate. A weapon of some sort was strapped to her back.

      To China’s right stood a man in an identical uniform – a sleeveless robe, belted at the waist. His head was uncovered, however. He was a handsome man, looked Indian. He had two metal discs hanging from his belt.

      There was movement reflected in the angled glass, but Valkyrie had to look around a bit before she pinpointed the source. Tipstaff worked his way over to her.

      “Detective Cain,” he said, keeping his voice low, “it’s good to see you. How are your injuries?”

      Valkyrie’s shoulder throbbed dully. “Fine,” she said. “I got off lightly.”

      Tipstaff nodded, looking suitably concerned, then he motioned to the throne. “You’ll have to forgive the Supreme Mage,” he said. “She will be with you in a matter of moments.”

      Valkyrie looked up the steps. “What’s she doing?” she asked. “Power nap?”

      The briefest of smiles on Tipstaff’s lips. “Ha. No. She is accessing the Whispering. A recent development, inspired by your travels in alternate dimensions, actually.”

      She looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

      “When you reported back on the city controlled by the alternate version of Mevolent,” Tipstaff said, “you mentioned the World Well. The Supreme Mage was intrigued by the idea of what is essentially a psychic Internet, and so has had her best people working on one for Roarhaven. We call it the Whispering – a way to connect people and share information. It should be ready to be released to the citizenry in less than a year. Right now, the Supreme Mage is the only one with access. It is a much more efficient way of taking the pulse of the city than endless hours of briefings.”

      “All the information is downloaded directly into her mind?”

      Tipstaff nodded, then shrugged. “We’re trying to find a better term for it than downloaded, though.”

      “Something that sounds more magicky?”

      Another smile. “I suppose. Yes.”

      “Just because it’s a mortal term doesn’t mean sorcerers can’t use it,” Valkyrie said. “Isn’t it one of the purposes of the Sanctuaries to remind us that we’re not above them?”

      “Indeed it is,” Tipstaff said. “Although it’s hard not to feel superior when they have people like Martin Flanery as American president.”

      “Flanery’s an idiot,” Valkyrie admitted, “but, as far as I know, he hasn’t tried to take over the world or kill everyone in it. Can I ask you something, in the spirit of sharing potentially catastrophic global events? Have you guys had any encounters with, or warnings of, a woman with silver hair?”

      “Not that I’m aware of,” said Tipstaff. “Do you have a name I could check for?”

      It would have been so easy to tell him, to mention the Princess of the Darklands, but something stopped her. Maybe it was Skulduggery’s newfound caution with information, or maybe it was simply the fact that she didn’t work for the Sanctuary any more. Whatever the reason, she gave a weak shrug and a weaker smile. “I’m afraid not.”

      “I’ll check our records,” Tipstaff said, “see if anyone with silver hair has raised a flag lately.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Anything to help the Arbiter Corps.” Tipstaff looked at his watch. “The Supreme Mage should be surfacing any moment now …”

      Valkyrie looked up as China’s pale blue eyes fluttered open.

      “I’ll leave you to it,” Tipstaff said softly, and left.

      “Valkyrie,” China said, taking a moment to get orientated. “What’s Skulduggery’s condition?”

      “He’s fine,” said Valkyrie. “Annoyed, but fine.”

      China sat forward, focusing fully on Valkyrie. “And Fletcher?”

      Valkyrie hesitated. “They don’t know. There have been complications.”

      China