43

      He was going to kill her. He was going to torture her. He’d make Valkyrie Cain scream and cry and beg. He’d draw it out. Make it last. He was going to enjoy it, too. Killing her would be his most enjoyable murder since the first, all those years ago.

      Cadaverous sipped from his glass of water. Thoughts like that made his mouth dry and his heart beat faster.

      The others talked. They sat around the table, located in Coldheart’s only conference room, and chatted – Nero and Memphis and Razzia – but Cadaverous stayed quiet. It wasn’t that he couldn’t chat – he could chat with the best of them. He was the master of small talk. He’d had to be, back when he’d been mortal, having to go to all those insufferable social engagements. Book launches for stale academic tomes. Office parties. After-work drinks. He’d been pretending the whole time, of course, hiding his hatred behind a smile or a witty remark. That’s how he’d blended in. That’s how nobody suspected anything – not until the very end.

      But these days he just wasn’t in the mood to talk, to chat. Not since Valkyrie Cain had killed Jeremiah.

      Skulduggery Pleasant walked in, went right up to Nero. “May I?”

      Nero laughed, and the chatter died down. “May you what?”

      “Sit.”

      Nero indicated around him. “There are two free chairs.”

      Pleasant nodded. “And I want your chair. May I?”

      Cadaverous watched. Such an obvious alpha-male ploy. If Nero had any sense, he’d call it out for what it was and refuse to budge.

      But after a long moment of hesitation Nero got up, and Pleasant sat, leaned back and put his feet up on the table. Nero chose one of the other chairs, blushing impotently.

      “Now then,” Pleasant said, “you probably dislike me intensely – I can understand that – but let’s try to move past it as quickly as possible. Who’s in charge here? Anyone? It doesn’t matter. Allow me to put my name forward as leader of this anti-Sanctuary of yours. It’ll save time and prevent a lot of arguments later on. Really, a lot. All those in agreement say aye.”

      “Aye!” shouted Razzia.

      “Thank you,” said Pleasant.

      “No worries,” Razzia said, grinning. “What were we talking about? I wasn’t listening.”

      “That barely matters,” Pleasant said, taking off his hat. “A vote from you, a vote from me, and the rest have abstained out of sheer respect. I thank you all. It has been decided.”

      “I’d heard you didn’t quit talking,” said Memphis, in that half-slurred, half-drawl way of his. “I just didn’t believe it.”

      “Ah-ah, young man,” Pleasant said, wagging his finger, “I hold the Speaking Hat. You may not speak without holding the Speaking Hat. That’s one of the new rules I’m introducing as leader.”

      “You ain’t our leader.”

      “Again – Memphis, is it? – who holds the hat? Who does? Me, that’s who. Talking privileges are mine. This way we’ll all get a chance to be heard eventually. It’s called being civilised, which is something else I’m introducing.”

      Memphis shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”

      Cadaverous had to hand it to the skeleton, he had style. He didn’t even take his feet down. He used the air to boost himself up to a standing position on the table, whipping his gun out as he did so, and took two steps before pointing the gun right between Memphis’s eyes. It all took less time than a hiccup.

      There was shouting and roaring and consternation – and much laughter from Razzia – but Memphis remained very still, the colour draining from his face.

      Finally, everyone else stopped making idiots of themselves, and things quietened down.

      “The only thing ridiculous,” Pleasant said softly, “aside from your garish jacket and uneven pompadour, is the blatant disregard for the rules of debate. When I am finished talking, you may retort. Otherwise it ceases to be about the content of our conversation, and becomes little more than a contest in volume. Would you agree?”

      Memphis didn’t say anything. Pleasant let go of his hat, and it floated slowly down to the table. Memphis swallowed, and picked it up. “Yes,” he said.

      Pleasant put away his gun. He walked back, jumped down and retook his seat, then indicated to Memphis that he should continue.

      Memphis cleared his throat. “Not many folks get to pull a gun on me, man. Most who try end up deader than disco. I’m going to kill you for that, just so you know.”

      Pleasant nodded.

      Memphis cleared his throat and adjusted his position. “What I was saying was that you ain’t our leader. We don’t even trust you. Smoke can do his thing and compel you to obey and all, but I’m sure someone like you, someone who reckons he’s the smartest guy in the room, could find loopholes in his orders. You want a vote? My vote is we take care of business, and kill you now.”

      “I agree,” said Cadaverous.

      Pleasant flicked his hand, and his hat leaped from Memphis’s hands and whirled across the table, landing in Cadaverous’s lap. It was a good hat. Expertly made, like the black suit he wore. Cadaverous threw it behind him, aware that it didn’t even touch the ground before Pleasant used the air to catch it.

      “There are plenty of ways to kill a dead man,” Cadaverous said. “Give me a day. I’ll figure it out.”

      “Crush his bones,” said Memphis.

      “Dump him on the moon,” said Nero.

      Pleasant shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re all finding so hard to grasp about the principle of the Speaking Hat.”

      The door opened and Lethe walked in. He stopped when he saw their new addition. “Ah,” he said. “You’re here. Welcome.”

      Pleasant plucked his hat from the air. “Thank you.”

      “It’s an honour to have you here,” Lethe went on, sitting at the table. “You are a legend, Skulduggery. The things you’ve done, the feats you’ve accomplished … It humbles me. I may have beaten you in single combat, but please know that I am in awe of you. You have my utmost respect.”

      “That’s nice of you to say.”

      “You know everyone here, I take it? Small talk has been exchanged?”

      “To a degree. So do I get to see it?”

      “See what, Skulduggery?”

      “The little box,” said Pleasant,