The Faceless Ones

  “Never do anything like that again. You could have been turned to dust, and then I’d have to explain to your parents why they were burying their beloved daughter in a matchbox.”

  “Kenspeckle would never let you hear the end of it either.”

  Skulduggery looked at her as he led the way back to the door. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, with everything Kenspeckle has been saying: Do you think I should treat you differently?”

  “No,” she said at once.

  “Don’t be so quick to answer.”

  “Nooo …” she said slowly.

  “You are amusing to me, but the question remains. Maybe I should leave you in the car on occasion.”

  “But I never stay in the car,” she reminded him.

  “That’s because I’ve never insisted before.”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference.”

  “I can be very commanding when I want to be.”

  “Yeah, but not really though.”

  He sighed, and they emerged into the living room. Mire’s body was still on the ground near the overturned chair, and his ghost was standing, looking at them.

  “You’re not dead,” he said. “That is a surprise.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Skulduggery said. “Is there anything we can do for you in exchange?”

  “Waking me was enough.”

  “What will you do now?” Valkyrie asked.

  Mire smiled. “I will be happy, I think. Yes, I think I will.”

  “I hope we meet again, Anathem,” said Skulduggery. “You are an … interesting being.”

  Mire bowed, and as he did so, he caught Valkyrie’s eye. She gave him a polite nod in return and followed Skulduggery to the front door.

  “China owns the Scepter,” he said as he stepped out of the house, “so she’ll be the only one able to use it. Assuming it works when we replace the crystal.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “If it doesn’t, I’m sure I’ll come up with something brilliant to—”

  The front door slammed shut just as Valkyrie reached it, and she whirled. Mire drifted to her, a smile that had been neglected for centuries struggling to form on the memory of his face.

  “You are not leaving,” he said. “The skeleton can return to the surface, but you are mine.”

  Twenty-four

  THE CHANGING HOUSE

  SHE HEARD Skulduggery slam his fist against the door from the other side. “Valkyrie?” he called. “Open the door.”

  “I’m not yours,” she said to Mire. “I have to leave now.”

  “You will never leave me,” Mire responded.

  She stalked by him, into the living room, reaching the first window just as the wall melted into it. The other windows followed, enveloped by the walls, sealing off her escape.

  She turned angrily. “You can’t keep me here!”

  “But I can. You are living. You are breathing. This house hasn’t seen a living, breathing person for centuries.”

  “This house doesn’t exist! You don’t exist! You’re a ghost!”

  Valkyrie clicked her fingers, summoning fire.

  “You cannot hurt me,” the ghost said.

  She went over to Mire’s body and held the flame close. “If you do not let me out, I’ll burn your corpse. I will.”

  “You will stay here with me?” the ghost asked. “You will keep me company? Tell me of the world above? You will be queen of this darkness?”

  “I’ll burn you.”

  Mire smiled, and the body reached out and grabbed her wrist. Valkyrie cried out in shock, losing the flame. The body got to its feet and forced her back against the wall. She swung a punch, her fist colliding with the left side of the body’s face, and the cheekbone collapsed into the head. She withdrew her hand in disgust. Bits of the face were stuck to her knuckles.

  “I can feel your life,” Mire said, ignoring her actions. “It fills me, too. Together we will rule the cold and the empty places.”

  Valkyrie looked at the ghost and struggled to keep her voice even. “I don’t want to,” she said. “I’m still alive, and I want to go back.”

  The ghost shook his head, and the body did likewise. “The light hurts you. The sun burns you. Once you are my queen, you won’t have to worry about these things.”

  She tore herself away and ran through the ghost as his form scattered and regrouped. The body spun on its heel and lurched after her.

  Valkyrie got to the hall and took the stairs two at a time. She glanced back as the body clutched the banister and started climbing, its feet clumsy on the shallow steps. When she reached the landing, the ghost was already there, watching her.

  “There is nowhere for you to run,” he said. “I am master of this house and I will make you safe. You are my guest.”

  She went to Gordon’s study, but the door was locked. She kicked it, but it didn’t even rattle in its frame. The ghost smiled at her.

  Valkyrie clicked her fingers and hurled a fireball at Mire’s body. The fireball struck its chest, and the body stumbled. It beat at the flames and lost its balance, hitting the banister and falling through. Mire’s ghost hissed, and he was forced to divert his attention away from Valkyrie. The moment he did so, she slammed her shoulder against the door, and this time it burst open. She fell in, then pushed at the air and the window smashed.

  “You do not want to be my enemy,” Mire warned.

  Valkyrie lunged, but the window moved, sliding up the wall and across the ceiling until it was raining broken glass down on top of her. The wallpaper changed, becoming a thousand faces, all Mire’s, glaring at her and echoing his words.

  “My enemies suffer,” the ghost and his thousand faces said. “My enemies bleed. They scream and beg and cry.”

  The window slid from the ceiling and then down one wall, offering glimpses of the rooms that lay beyond, as it moved to the floor and zipped toward Valkyrie. It stopped under her feet and she fell through, but managed to grab the edge. Her legs dangled. Mire’s body was below her in the kitchen, reaching up to try to grab her boots.

  She kicked away its hands and pulled herself up. The room was changing like crazy. Colors swept through the walls, which moved in and then out again, like the lungs of a great beast. The window shrank to the size of an eye. Carpets sprang up from between the floorboards and then withered and died. Anathem Mire was angry and losing control of his house.

  The blank wall, the wall that led to the secret room in Gordon’s house, grew a doorway, and Valkyrie ran through it. The corridor was dark and much too long. She had visions of the exterior of this building, the whole thing mutating to accommodate the spasmodic needs of its master.

  “You are my enemy!” Mire screamed after her. “You are not my queen! You are my enemy!”

  She took a turn, not knowing where she was going, and stumbled into a well-lit room with a large table set for a banquet. Candles flickered, and wine was already poured into goblets. There were no windows and no doors.

  Part of the floor sagged and fell away to steps. The body climbed the staircase, and Valkyrie backed away. The ghost came in as smoke and took shape before her.

  “I tried being nice,” he snarled. “I was glad to see you. I was happy you were here.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Anathem.”

  “But you have rejected me. Me!”

  The banquet melted on the table, turning to slop that dripped off the edges. The candles melted but still burned. The carpet stretched over the staircase, and the floor sealed itself.

  Valkyrie needed a way out. She needed a door or a window, and she needed to get Mire angry enough to make one.

  “I’ll be your queen,” she said suddenly.

  The ghost’s face contorted. “I am no fool.”

  “I’ll stay here with you and be your queen. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “You make bargains,” the ghost said as the body advanced, “because you are scared. You tell lies because you fear
the death that is to be visited upon you.”

  Valkyrie splayed her hands, and the air rippled. The body sprawled on the ground and then clambered back up.

  “Your last moments will be memorable ones,” the ghost said, and floated sideways, disappearing into his ravaged body.

  Unlike when she had first seen him, when spirit and body were aligned to look like a normal man, this new form had no such vanities. Here its function was simple, the ghost possessing the body, steering it as a vessel of destruction. The head moved, looked up, saw her with eyes that were no longer there.

  “It has been a long time,” Mire said, his new voice a harsh thing of scrapes and sandpaper, “since I spilled the blood of a living being.”

  He moved suddenly and quickly, took Valkyrie off her feet, and slammed her down onto the table. She twisted and drove her knee into his side, but his nerve endings had long since deadened and withered away. She gripped his wrist and kicked, and when he released her to strike, she rolled off the table.

  She barely had time to stand before the table melted between them and he strode through. She clicked her fingers and threw a fireball. It exploded against his arm, and she pushed at the air and he staggered.

  The walls were melting, and the floor lurched, and the whole room began to slip slowly down through the house.

  “I am Anathem Mire,” he said. “I am master of reality.”

  “You’re losing control.”

  “I am master of reality,” he insisted angrily, “and you are a fool to oppose me.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Shut up!” he roared, and knocked her back.

  The carpet turned into a puddle that latched onto his feet and formed shoes, polished to a gleam. It rose up his body, covering his rags with a new suit of clothes, covering his dead skin with a new layer that looked fresh and alive.

  “I am whole again,” he said, once his new face had settled into position.

  The room dropped suddenly, and for a second Valkyrie had nothing beneath her feet but air. She hit the ground again and tumbled. The room had collapsed into the living room, the geography of both squashing together. As each room tried to assert its own form and retain its own integrity, the walls rippled and a window was revealed.

  Skulduggery appeared and fired his gun, the bullets shattering the glass and driving into Mire, who bellowed in rage. Valkyrie ran to the window and jumped through. Skulduggery caught her, and they sprinted across the cavern.

  She glanced back. The house shifted, all but two of the windows disappearing and the front door widening. The two windows formed a pair of gigantic eyes that glared at them, and the door grew teeth and shrieked its rage. Mire stood in the mouth but dared not cross its boundary.

  “I’ll find you!” he screamed. “I’ll find you, girl!”

  They reached the tunnel and ran through, and even though Valkyrie knew he couldn’t follow, she didn’t slow down.

  Twenty-five

  THE RAID

  AT A LITTLE after nine that evening, a large bread van pulled up at the back of the Hibernian Cinema. It attracted no attention. A car with tinted windows followed and parked beside it. Again, nobody noticed.

  Tanith was leaning against the door frame of a spare room at the front of the medical bay. Ghastly had brought some of his equipment there so he could work while Kenspeckle carried out whatever tests he had to carry out. Tanith watched Ghastly, sitting at a table, making Valkyrie’s new clothes. He was telling Tanith about his mother.

  The rear doors of the bread van opened, and the men who jumped out did so silently and without fuss. They were dressed in gray and had scythes strapped to their backs.

  “My mother was a boxer,” Ghastly said, testing the stitching on a sleeve. “Her nose was broken four times, but according to my dad, she was still the prettiest woman in any room.”

  “I’ve heard some of the stories,” Tanith said. “She sounds like a remarkable woman.”

  Ghastly smiled. “I fought alongside her at the Battle of Black Rock, and I saw some of Mevolent’s best men just turn and run. She fought both Serpine and Vengeous and beat them both into retreat. Remarkable doesn’t even begin to describe her. She was magnificent, right up to the end.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She made a mistake,” he said. “She went up against Lord Vile.”

  * * *

  An old man who moved more like a young man got out of the car. He had an air about him of someone who was accustomed to wielding authority. His eyes were cold. The man who got out after him had a weak chin and no such authority, but his eagerness was evident to any who wished to see.

  The man with the cold eyes walked into the cinema, and the eager man gestured to the men in gray. They moved like liquid, seeping into the building through windows and side doors and skylights, the eager man scurrying along behind.

  High on a rooftop beside the cinema, a figure stood in the darkness and watched.

  Ghastly put the coat to one side and went to work on the tunic. “There was a rule we had back then. You don’t go up against Vile alone. You wait until your army is gathered behind you, you all attack together, and you pray someone gets in a lucky shot.”

  “Vile was that dangerous?”

  Ghastly shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s hard to separate the fiend from the legend, you know? He appeared from nowhere, became Mevolent’s most fearsome general, and then disappeared—all in the space of a few years. He had that armor, and that Necromancer power, and wherever he went, he left a trail of destruction in his wake. My mother went up against him and he killed her, and he would have killed me but for—”

  Clarabelle stepped in and Ghastly fell silent. “Have you seen the professor?” she asked.

  “Sorry,” Tanith said. “Anything wrong?”

  “There’s a man in the cinema. He insists on speaking with Professor Grouse, and he refuses to give his name. He is quite rude.”

  “Why don’t you look for the professor?” Ghastly suggested. “We’ll have a talk with whoever it is, find out what he wants.”

  “That would be much appreciated,” Clarabelle responded, suddenly smiling widely. She walked on, humming a little tune to herself.

  Tanith and Ghastly set off toward the cinema, descending the steps into gloom. They passed through the door in the screen and emerged onto the stage. A man stood in the center aisle between the rows of musty seats.

  “Mr. Bespoke,” Thurid Guild said, his voice echoing slightly, “welcome back to the land of the living.”

  “Guild. What brings you here?”

  “It’s Grand Mage, actually,” Guild corrected. “But you’ve been a statue for two years—I’m sure I can forgive you one little slip.”

  “It wasn’t a slip.”

  “What can we do for you?” Tanith asked, making her voice as cold and unwelcoming as possible.

  “You can do nothing for me,” Guild said. “I’m here to speak with the owner of this facility.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Sanctuary business, I’m afraid.”

  Tanith looked around. The cinema was pitched in gloom and shadow. “You’re here alone?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? I am among friends, am I not?”

  “That depends,” Ghastly said. “Do you count Skulduggery Pleasant as a friend?”

  Guild smiled tightly. “Pleasant is a traitor.”

  “That’s what he said about you,” Tanith pointed out.

  “Skulduggery Pleasant is working with the Diablerie. Along with the girl, he aided in stealing the remains of the Grotesquery for unlawful purposes, and when confronted, he resisted arrest, assaulted Sanctuary personnel, and evaded capture. He is an enemy of the Sanctuary and an enemy of all right-thinking people.”

  Kenspeckle emerged from the door in the screen to join Tanith and Ghastly. “What do you want, Grand Mage?”

  “Ah, Professor. I require a mere moment of your time.”

  “My mere moments ar
e precious. Say what you have to say.”

  Guild nodded graciously. “You are aware, I presume, of the threat posed by the Diablerie. You are aware of their plans involving the Grotesquery’s remains and the last Teleporter, a boy called Fletcher Renn.”

  “I am.”

  “I have reason to believe that this boy is being kept on these premises. I would like you to turn him over to me, if you please.”

  “Grand Mage, I assure you I do not—”

  Guild held up a hand. “Professor. I hold you in great regard. I admire your work and your principles. I implore you, do not do yourself the injustice of attempting to lie to me, when I know the boy is here. I would prefer it that you stay silent rather than fumble with a clumsy half-truth. Such things are beneath you.”

  Tanith glanced at Kenspeckle and saw the color rise in his cheeks.

  “Grand Mage,” Kenspeckle said, “do not presume to know a person on the basis of a handful of meetings. This can instill irritation, and an immediate unwillingness to cooperate. Likewise, do not flatter in the hope of shaming that person into cooperation, and do not, under any circumstances, condescend. The fact of the matter is that while I do know of Fletcher Renn, I do not know of his whereabouts. I’m sorry, I cannot help you.”

  Guild shook his head. “You disappoint me, Professor.”

  A high-pitched alarm shrieked through the door in the screen, and Tanith and Ghastly spun.

  “I’d stay here if I were you,” Guild advised.

  “What have you done?” Kenspeckle asked, but from the look in his eyes Tanith could tell he already knew the answer. Guild wasn’t standing here to request that Fletcher Renn be handed over—he was standing here to distract them.

  “My Cleavers have penetrated your facility’s defenses,” Guild responded, almost lazily. “They have orders to subdue, not to harm—but they will use force if they deem it necessary.”

  “You have no right!” Kenspeckle thundered.

  “We came here for the boy and we’re not leaving without him.”