Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 10 - 12. Derek Landy
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What happened to who?
Omen had liked being special. It had been a good feeling. A warm feeling. He’d mattered. He wasn’t alone. He could see now why brave people did the things they did. Brave things, selfless things … they connected you. They plugged you into the world. He wasn’t plugged in any more. He was adrift.
Byron Grace passed, walking quickly like he had somewhere to be. A few seconds later, Lapse and Gall stalked by, going in the same direction. Heading for the stairs.
Omen stood up from the bench. He tucked in his shirt and watched Colleen Stint, clutching her golden mask, dart through the crowd after them. A meeting. The Arcanum’s Scholars had called a meeting without Mr Lilt.
Omen’s feet were moving. He was walking – no, running – for his locker. His mind caught up to the decision the rest of him had made, and he took the gold mask and stuck it under his blazer, then ran back, taking the long way to the fifth-floor library. He arrived out of breath, his heart thudding, as Perpetua Darling joined the rest of the Arcanum’s Scholars in their usual spot, lounging about on the chairs. Omen spotted the librarian struggling to restock the higher shelves on the other side of the library.
Omen did his best to get his breathing under control, then sneaked behind a fern and crouched down, watching. The Scholars chatted among themselves for a bit, nobody making anything more than small talk. Jenan had his usual seat, just an everyday chair that he managed to make look like a throne.
“What are we even doing here?” asked Isidora Splendour, one of Colleen Stint’s best friends. “Mr Lilt’s been arrested. They’ve probably killed him by now.”
“They don’t kill people they’ve arrested,” said Gall.
“Shows how much you know,” Isidora responded. “They killed the American Grand Mage, didn’t they? Shot him in his cell.”
“That was different.”
“How? Exactly how was it different? Cypher plotted against the Sanctuary and they arrested him and murdered him.”
“It’s different because they killed him after he’d told them everything,” said Gall, sounding annoyed that he was being asked to explain himself. “Lilt won’t have told them a thing.”
“They’ve got Sensitives, idiot.”
“And Lilt’s got psychic defences, moron.”
Isidora’s voice rose. “What did you call me?”
“I called you a moron.”
“You take that back!” she screeched. “You take that right back!”
Gall frowned. “You called me an idiot.”
“Take it back, Gall,” said Colleen, glaring at him while she comforted her friend.
“She called me an idiot first,” said Gall.
“You don’t call girls morons!” Isidora wailed. Actually wailed. With tears.
“Jesus Christ,” Gall said.
Jenan sighed. “Say you’re sorry.”
Gall’s face was a mask of confusion. “But she called me—”
“I know what she called you,” Jenan said. “It was ten seconds ago and I was sitting right here. Apologise anyway before she gets any louder.”
Gall stared at him, the confusion giving way to resentment, and then he shrugged. “Fine, whatever. Sorry.”
“You shouldn’t call people that,” Isidora said, her voice shaky with emotion.
“Right.”
“There are real morons out there and to use the word as a derogatory term is insulting to them, not just to me.”
Gall blinked at her. “What?”
“You’ve just got to think before you yell insults at people. Words hurt, Gall.”
Byron sat forward. “So let me get this straight. Calling you a moron, Isidora, is insulting to morons?”
Isidora sighed. “Yes.”
Colleen hugged her friend. “Stop talking now, Izzy.”
Jenan stood up, bringing an end to the conversation. “We’re here because the fact that they grabbed Lilt changes nothing. I got a message last night telling us not to worry. As long as we don’t do anything stupid, we’re safe. We haven’t done anything wrong. We haven’t broken any laws. Not yet.”
“Who sent the message?” Colleen asked.
“You’ll find out in a moment,” said Jenan. “OK, it’s time to move to less salubrious surroundings. Ceremonial masks on.”
The Scholars took out their masks and slipped them on, and Jenan led the way to the back room.
Omen’s feet wouldn’t budge. His body had frozen. This was a bad idea. This was a supremely bad idea.
His hands moved, slipping the golden mask over his head, fixing it in place, and the moment it was secure his legs woke up. He covered the distance in three seconds, joining the group as they squeezed through the doorway into a room with a large glass door that opened out on to a balcony.
Jenan, the tallest of them, shut the door once they were all in. He didn’t glance twice at Omen, and he didn’t do a headcount. There was a table in the middle of the room with chairs all around it. If they sat, Omen’s ruse would be over before it had truly begun.
One of the Scholars went to sit.
“Don’t bother,” said Jenan. “You’ll want to be standing for this.”
“For what?” somebody asked. Sounded like Gall.
Jenan didn’t answer. He just took out his phone and checked the time. “Any moment now,” he said. “Clear a space there.”
There was a little shuffling as everyone crowded into the same side of the small room.
“Somebody close the curtains,” Jenan instructed.
People turned their heads, gold masks revolving, but nobody actually moved. Finally, Omen went to do it, and the Scholars looked away. The curtains were heavy, and when they were closed the room darkened considerably. Omen stayed where he was, at the back.
“What are we waiting for?” Byron asked.
“You’ll see,” said Jenan, and then, like it had all been rehearsed, three people teleported into the room before them.
The masked man in the middle wore an outfit of black rubber. The man to his left had platinum hair and a smile. The woman to his right was drop-dead gorgeous, and wore a tuxedo. Omen didn’t have the first idea who they were, but the others certainly did. There was a collective gasp.
“Hello, my friends,” said the masked man. His voice was distorted, soft and loud at the same time, like he was whispering into a microphone. “It’s an honour to finally meet you. Parthenios has told us so much about you all.”
Jenan spoke up, his own voice tight with excitement. “Mr Lethe, it is a huge honour for us, too. We just want you to know that we are ready, we are so ready, to fight for the cause. Blood has to be spilled and we, all of us here, we are ready to spill that blood for you, sir.” Crazily, he saluted.
“Jenan, is it?” Lethe asked, and shook his head. “We don’t salute here, Jenan, and there are no sirs in our group. I’m not above you. I’m not issuing orders. I’m a soldier, just like you are. We’re partners. Comrades.”
“Comrades,” repeated Jenan, nodding like this was the greatest word in recorded history.
“I know we’ve suffered some setbacks,” Lethe continued. “Losing Mr Lilt to