Midnight

  He came to a rolling stop, and below them he heard a door close.

  Tanith’s eyes widened, and she hurried to the balcony and looked over. Sebastian watched her stiffen with fury, and she stalked over, standing above him.

  “You made me miss my target,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you—”

  “Who are you to stop me from doing anything? You’d have been hauled off in shackles if it wasn’t for me. You’d have been interrogated and tortured. That stupid mask of yours would have been cut from your face, and, when they were done with you, they’d have dumped your body in a shallow grave somewhere. I saved your life, you little toad.”

  “I need China to stay alive.”

  “She’s a tyrant.”

  “I’m sorry. I am.”

  “I should kill you for what you’ve done.”

  “Are you going to?”

  She looked so mad that he was actually surprised when she shook her head. “This was my chance,” she said. “China never leaves the High Sanctuary.”

  “You know there was no guarantee you’d have actually been able to kill her, right? She’s pretty powerful. Plus, you’d have had to deal with Creed as well, and he’s … formidable.”

  “You know him?”

  “We’ve crossed paths.”

  Tanith took a moment, and shook her head. “You owe me, Sebastian Tao.”

  “I know.”

  “Go on,” she said, pulling him up. “Go back and grab the scythe and get out of here.”

  “Thank you for your help. Seriously.”

  “I wish I hadn’t met you.”

  “Yeah.”

  She walked over to the balcony and jumped it as easily as Sebastian would take a breath, and she was gone.

  He hurried back the way he’d come. As he moved, he sent Bennet and Tantalus a message, telling them to meet him at the tunnel. He put his phone away when he reached the glass case.

  He prepared himself, going over the escape route in his head. And then he grabbed the scythe.

  The alarm split the air and he was off, sprinting through corridors, barging past clerics, staying ahead of the Cathedral Guards who gave chase. He lost them, took the stairs down, his legs burning. He found Tantalus in the tunnel, waving him on.

  He ran in and Tantalus pulled the lever and the wall closed, sealing them in darkness.

  Sebastian doubled over and fought to get his breath back.

  “Is that it?” Tantalus asked, summoning a flame into his hand. “Let me see.”

  Sebastian let him take the scythe, and straightened. He took out his torch, swung it around. “Where’s … Bennet?”

  “I sent him on ahead,” Tantalus said, examining the blade. “There was no point in both of us risking our lives to wait for you.”

  Sebastian didn’t say it, but that little bit of nobility surprised him. Tantalus guessed what he was thinking. “I don’t like it that we don’t know your name or your face,” he said. “But you’re one of us, and we look out for each other.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I still don’t like you.”

  “Understood.”

  “At all.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “OK,” Tantalus said. “This seems to be the genuine article.” He hesitated, then handed it back.

  “I’ve got a very good reason for hiding my identity, you know,” Sebastian said, his breathing under control. “I can only imagine how hard it must be to trust me, but it will all make sense eventually. I promise.”

  “Trust isn’t easy,” said Tantalus. “Especially for us. Once most people find out that we worship Darquesse, they … they’re quick to judge.”

  “I get that.”

  “But you’ve come through for us,” Tantalus continued. “Tracking Darquesse through dimensions is your idea. And when you arrive back with the scythe, when Bennet and I both failed to find it … Any remaining doubts will be swept away.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You’ll establish yourself as a guiding light. They’ll probably want you to lead us.”

  “I’m no leader.”

  “What’s that line, about how some people are born great, while others have greatness thrust upon them?”

  “I think that’s it, yeah.”

  “That’s you. The reluctant leader.”

  Sebastian shone the torch at Tantalus, about to reassure him that he had no intention of replacing him, and the light glinted off the knife. He tried dodging but Tantalus grabbed him, jabbed the blade at his belly. Sebastian felt the sharpness through his clothes, but they were tough and the blade didn’t get through. He dropped the scythe and the torch, the light spinning crazily across the ground, and seized Tantalus’s wrist with both hands and they tripped over each other. Sebastian fell with Tantalus on top.

  They rolled into darkness, rolled back into light. All those years Sebastian had trained for this and all he could do was hold Tantalus’s knife hand away from him. If that blade cut through his suit, his mission would be over, followed quickly by his life.

  Sebastian jerked his head up, the point of his beak stabbing Tantalus in the eye. Tantalus cried out and Sebastian heaved, turned them over, one hand pinning Tantalus’s knife hand to the ground while he punched with the other. His fist twisted with the first impact, but he hissed against the pain and kept going.

  Finally, Tantalus dropped the knife, and Sebastian swiped it away, then fell back as Tantalus scrambled up.

  Sebastian grabbed the torch and straightened up. “What the hell, man?”

  Tantalus, one eye squeezed shut, had both hands pressed to his nose as blood ran between his fingers. “I’ll tell the others of this! They’ll know what you’ve done!”

  “You attacked me with a knife, you nutball!”

  Tantalus shook his head. “You’ve got no witnesses. And I didn’t even do that.”

  “Just stop, all right?” said Sebastian. “You can’t pretend you didn’t attack me when the attack fails. That’s not how this works. I know what you did and you know what you did.”

  “You attacked me for no reason.”

  “There’s only the two of us here! Why are you lying about this?”

  “You’re the one who’s lying.”

  “You actually tried to kill me! Why? Because I’d be the one bringing back the scythe?”

  Tantalus shook his head again.

  “Are you so insecure? Are you so lonely?”

  Tantalus pointed a trembling finger. “You arrive with your stupid mask and your stupid ‘Call me the Plague Doctor’, and all your plans and direction, and what am I supposed to do? This is my group! I started it! I’m not going to let you take that away from me! When the others hear what you’ve done, that you attacked me for no reason, they’re going to kick you out.”

  “You’re insane, you know that? You’re deluded.”

  “I … I cast you out.”

  “What?”

  “From the group. As leader, I cast you out. You’re gone. You’re not allowed to come to our meetings any more.”

  “Tantalus, stop embarrassing yourself.”

  “No.”

  Sebastian sighed, and rubbed his wrist. He was afraid he might have sprained it. “Fine. Do what you like. You’re an idiot.” He bent to retrieve the scythe.

  “Leave that,” Tantalus said.

  Sebastian paused, then slowly picked it up. “I found it. I’m taking it.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “Not a chance. What, are you going to attack me again? That didn’t work out too well for you last time, did it?”

  Tantalus clicked his fingers, summoning another flame.

  “My suit’s fire-resistant,” Sebastian said. “Do yourself a favour – walk away. We’ll each give our version of events to the others, and see who they believe. That sound good to you?”

  Tantalus looked around, his eyes settling on the knife.

  “Don’t do it,” Sebastian said. “Dud
e, seriously, don’t. I’ve got a scythe.”

  “It’s been in a glass case for years.”

  “It’s a Cleaver blade. They stay sharp forever. Everyone knows that.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then you’re the only person who doesn’t. It’s woven razor.”

  Tantalus took a step towards the knife.

  Sebastian sighed. “You know what? This is the second fight I’ve been in today, and I’ve had enough. I’m taking the scythe, and I’m going home.” He turned away from Tantalus, and started running.

  42

  It was dark by the time they got to Roarhaven, and they wasted twenty minutes driving around before they found The Iron Bar. Omen sat very quietly while Valkyrie cursed. She was scary when she was angry, and right now she was raging. And, of course, it was all his fault.

  He hadn’t done anything. He’d just let Cadaverous take Alice. He’d allowed it to happen without even putting up anything remotely resembling a fight.

  No one else would have done that. Auger would have already saved the day by now.

  “Finally!” Valkyrie said, yanking the wheel to the left. The car mounted the pavement and she jumped out, ignoring the angry beeps of the cars behind. Omen reached over, turned off the engine and took the keys, then ran after her into the pub.

  “Palter,” she was saying loudly. “I’m looking for Palter.”

  It was a small place, with a stage in the corner that was obviously never used and a handful of surly patrons. Omen counted eight, plus the bartender.

  “Palter!” Valkyrie said again.

  “Don’t know anyone of that name,” the bartender told her, talking slowly. “Maybe you should run along home before someone recognises you.”

  Valkyrie walked up to him. “I don’t have time for this. Palter. Where is he?”

  The bartender chuckled without humour. “I swear I don’t know who you might be talking about.” He raised his voice. “Anyone here know anyone by the name of … Palder? Walter? What was it again?”

  Valkyrie put one hand on the bar and sprang over it.

  “Hey,” the bartender said, “you can’t come back here!”

  She hit him. It whipped his head round and he stumbled back, broke a few glasses. She kicked him in the shin and he howled, and she grabbed him, smashed his head into the fridge. The bottles inside were still rattling as he collapsed.

  “Palter!” she called.

  Out of the corner of his eye Omen saw a hand light up. He was about to shout a warning, but Valkyrie was already ducking the stream of energy that smashed the mirror behind her. She threw a bolt of white lightning in return, caught the guy in the chest, sent him flying backwards.

  It all went to hell after that.

  Valkyrie sprang back over the bar. Omen watched as fists flew and Valkyrie caught them, dodged them, blocked them or got hit by them. She threw her own in return, along with some elbows, along with some headbutts. There was a tussle, and they were on the ground, and she snarled and snapped and bit and they yelped and cried out and gave way, one by one, falling while she kept going, a whirlwind of rage. She smashed and cracked and bashed them. She sent them to the floor, to the wall, sent them over the bar.

  The last one ran to his coat, tried pulling a gun from one of the pockets. Omen charged at him, got shoved away, hit a broken bar stool and fell even as Valkyrie blasted the guy and he went down, the gun spinning across the floor.

  “Palter!” Valkyrie screamed. “Palter!”

  “I’m Palter,” said a man with long hair, stepping in through the door, frowning at the carnage. “I’m Palter Grey. Sorry I’m late. The traffic was … What happened here?”

  Valkyrie grabbed him, pinned him against the wall. He dropped the bag he was holding and looked terrified.

  “Where’s my sister?” she snarled.

  “I don’t know anything about a sister!” he said. “I was just … Listen, I think there’s been a misunderstanding, OK? I’m just here because this old guy paid me! I don’t even know his name!”

  Omen scrambled up and hurried over. Keeping his voice soft, he said to Valkyrie, “He’s who we came here to see. Maybe you should let him speak.”

  Valkyrie took a moment, and stepped back. “Gant,” she said. “The guy who paid you is Cadaverous Gant.”

  Palter gave a cautious shrug. “Cool. You’re Valkyrie Cain, aren’t you? I recognise you. You look just like Darquesse.”

  “What did Cadaverous pay you to do?”

  Palter frowned. “He … he didn’t tell you? Aw, man … he said he told you. He said you were OK with it.”

  “OK with what?”

  “Um, well …”

  Valkyrie stepped closer and he flinched. “I don’t have time for a big long thing. When I ask a question, you give me an immediate answer. Got it? What did he pay you to do?”

  “I have to carve two sigils into you,” Palter said immediately.

  “A tattoo?” Valkyrie said, frowning. “You’re here to give me a tattoo? What does it do?”

  “It … I don’t really know how to say this …”

  “Better say it quickly.”

  “I’m really sorry, this isn’t how it should go, but … he wants me to carve sigils into your eyes.”

  Valkyrie stared. “What?”

  “I thought you were cool with it.”

  Omen stepped forward. “He wants you to tattoo her eyelids?”

  “Not her eyelids. Her eyes.”

  “Jesus,” said Valkyrie.

  “I mean, I can do it,” Palter said. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to blind you. They won’t interfere with your vision at all, and they won’t be visible when they’re done.”

  “What’ll they do? The sigils?”

  “Um … they’ll let him see what you see.”

  Omen looked at her. “He wants to spy on you.”

  “It’s not, as you can imagine, it’s not a very common sigil to carve,” Palter said. “A few hundred years ago, they’d be carved into the eyes of convicts released from gaol, so that Sanctuaries could make sure they were staying out of trouble. But these days that’s looked on as being a little barbaric, so …”

  “Right,” Valkyrie said. “Fine. How long will it take?”

  Palter frowned. “Not long. Not long at all. About … I don’t know, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. But wait – if you didn’t know about this until just now, why would you go through with it?”

  “He wants to make sure I don’t break the rules. Come on, where do we do this?”

  “We just need a chair.”

  Valkyrie picked one up and sat down. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Palter hesitated, then opened his bag and took out his tools.

  “Omen,” Valkyrie said, “stand at the door. Make sure nobody comes in.”

  Omen nodded dumbly and did as he was told. He was glad she’d sent him away. He didn’t think he’d have been able to watch something like that.

  He wished Auger was here. Auger would know what to do. Or even Never. Never could teleport straight to Skulduggery and Skulduggery would sort this out.

  Valkyrie was too close to it. She was panicking too much to think straight. Her love for her sister put her in danger of making a mistake that might cost her or even Alice their lives.

  Nobody tried coming into the pub, and by 7.30 it was done. Omen walked back as Palter packed his instruments away. “How are you feeling?”

  Valkyrie blinked. “Eyesight’s blurry.”

  “That’ll pass,” said Palter. “I think.”

  Omen frowned at him. “You think?”

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “But you did it right, didn’t you? You haven’t damaged her eyes or anything?”

  “I didn’t damage anything, I promise. I did everything the way I was supposed to. Her eyesight should clear in a few minutes.”

  Valkyrie stood, and went to the broken mirror behind the bar. “So he can see what I’m see
ing now, is that it?”

  “Yes,” said Palter. “I’ve already carved a corresponding sigil on to him which will basically receive what you’re transmitting. I doubt he’ll be watching every single second, though – he has to focus on you in order to see through your eyes.”

  “But he can’t hear us, can he?”

  “No,” said Palter. “It’s visual only.”

  Valkyrie glared at her reflection, glared right into her own eyes, and Omen knew she was hoping Cadaverous could see the anger boiling behind them.

  “This isn’t cool,” said Palter. “I get the feeling that you’re being coerced into all this. Do you want me to call someone? You hang around with the Skeleton Detective, don’t you? Want me to call him?”

  “Don’t call anyone,” Valkyrie said.

  Something in Palter’s bag started beeping.

  “Is that a bomb?” Omen said, backing away.

  Palter took out a metal box. “It’s my money. He’s unlocked it remotely. Now I just have to …” He tapped in a code on the keypad and the lid clicked, and he opened it. A thick bundle of cash lay inside. “I don’t feel right about taking this.”

  “Take the money and go back to your life,” Valkyrie said. “He didn’t say anything, did he? About where I have to go next? About where my sister might be?”

  “He didn’t mention anything about that, sorry.” Palter took out the cash, shoved it in his pocket – then frowned, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together like he was wiping off residue. “Aw, man,” he mumbled, and collapsed.

  Omen stared.

  Valkyrie hurried over, checked Palter’s pulse. “He’s dead,” she said. “Money must have been poisoned.”

  “Oh my God.”

  The phone rang. Valkyrie took it out of her pocket. “I’m here,” she said. “Give me my sister.”

  She paced away from Omen, and stopped.

  “Sir,” she said, struggling to be polite. “Yes, sir. Yes.” Another pause. A longer one. “What? You can’t … I can’t do that.”

  She looked round, locked eyes with Omen. He didn’t say anything.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, then hung up.

  “Valkyrie?” Omen said.