The Faceless Ones

There were a lot of books and a lot of files. The biggest room in the house had a large sofa, and whenever Valkyrie had to spend any time on Cemetery Road, this was where she’d usually end up.

  The front door opened and Valkyrie walked in, dropped her coat on the floor, and sprawled on the sofa. Skulduggery walked in after her, picked up her coat, folded it neatly, and put it on the table.

  “Will you be okay there?” he asked. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

  “You never have anything to eat or drink,” Valkyrie said, her words muffled by the cushion her face had sunk into.

  “I think I have some leftover pizza from last time you were here.”

  “That was two weeks ago.”

  “You think it’s gone off?”

  “I think it’s walked off. Really, I’m fine. Have you figured out what the Isthmus Anchor is yet?”

  “I’m … working on it.”

  “You might want to work faster. When are we going to look for the gate?”

  “First thing in the morning.”

  Valkyrie sighed. “In that case, I need to get some sleep.”

  * * *

  Friday came, with a morning that threatened rain, and they drove out of Dublin, took the motorway, and turned off at Balbriggan. Half an hour later, they pulled up beside a sign that announced, in faded red letters, that this was Aranmore Farm and that it was private property. The land was vast, with hills and meadows that stretched out till the woodland that bordered it.

  “So this is where the world ends,” Valkyrie said, putting the map away. “Certainly prettier than I’d imagined.”

  Skulduggery put the Bentley in gear, and they started up the hill. Long grasses grew on either side of the track, and the wheels rumbled heavily. A white farmhouse came into view, with a slate roof and large windows. Behind it, stone sheds of varying sizes surrounded a yard in which old farm machinery stood in neat lines.

  They reached the house and Skulduggery turned off the engine. He made sure his disguise was in place, and then they both got out.

  They approached the front door and Valkyrie knocked. She knocked again and looked back at Skulduggery.

  “Who do you think lives here?”

  “At a guess? A farmer.”

  “You’re amazing,” she said dryly.

  “A single farmer,” Skulduggery continued, “living alone. Never married, by the looks of things. No children. I’d say he’d be in his early seventies, judging by the clothes on the line we passed.”

  “We passed a clothesline?”

  “What have I told you about keeping your eye out for details?”

  “You said I shouldn’t worry about that because I have you to do it for me.”

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s the exact opposite of what I said.”

  “Maybe he’s taking an afternoon nap or something.” Valkyrie peered in through the window. “I don’t think there’s anybody around.”

  “That’s lovely, that is,” said a voice from behind them, and they turned to see an elderly man striding toward them. He had wiry gray hair, bald on top, and a large nose. He was dressed in a tattered shirt with black suspenders holding up his trousers, which were in turn tucked into mucky Wellington boots. “Reach a certain age and suddenly you’re a nobody, suddenly you’re not even worth counting. You know the problem with people your age, young lady?”

  Valkyrie remembered her talk with Kenspeckle. “We think we’ll live forever?” she answered hopefully.

  “You have no respect for your elders.”

  She scowled, wondering how she could ever get that one right if the answer kept changing.

  “So what do you want?” the farmer continued. “Why have you come all the way down here? And you,” he said, turning his attention to Skulduggery, “why are you all wrapped up like the Invisible Man? You got something wrong with your face?”

  “Actually,” Skulduggery said, “yes. My name is Skulduggery Pleasant. This is my associate, Valkyrie Cain.”

  “What, do they give out prizes for silly names now?”

  “And you are … ?”

  “Hanratty,” the old man said. “Patrick Hanratty.”

  “Mr. Hanratty—” Valkyrie began, but he shook his head.

  “Call me Paddy.”

  “Okay, Paddy—”

  “Wait, I’ve changed my mind. Call me Mr. Hanratty.”

  Valkyrie smiled patiently. “Have you noticed any strange people in the area lately?”

  “Strange how? Strange like you, or just normal strange?”

  “Any kind of strange.”

  Paddy folded his arms and pursed his lips. “Well now, let me see. There was that O’Leary lad, from the village; he comes by every Wednesday with my bag of shopping. I’d call him strange, I suppose. He has a thing in his eyebrow. An iron bar. Haven’t a clue what it does. Maybe it picks up radio.”

  “I think Valkyrie meant strange people that you haven’t seen before,” Skulduggery said.

  “Apart from you two?”

  “Apart from us two.”

  Paddy shook his head. “Sorry, you’re the two strangest people I’ve never seen before that I’ve seen in a long time. Do you want to tell me what this is about, or do you want me to guess?”

  “Mr. Hanratty—” Valkyrie began.

  “Call me Paddy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Probably not.”

  Skulduggery took over. “We have reason to believe that a gang of criminals will be using your land as a rendezvous point.”

  Paddy looked into Skulduggery’s sunglasses. “A gang of criminals, you say? Kidnappers? Jewel thieves?”

  “Bank robbers.”

  “Bank robbers,” Paddy repeated, nodding his head. “I see. Yes, that makes sense. I can see why they’d choose my land. The fact that the nearest bank is over half an hour’s drive from here would mean that this gang of criminals, after pulling off their daring heist, would need to make their way back through thirty miles of narrow roads, pulling over occasionally to allow tractors and assorted farm vehicles to get by, then pass unnoticed through the local village, where the neighborhood watch is enforced with exceptional vigor, then—”

  “Fine,” Skulduggery interrupted. “Your land is not going to be used by a gang of bank robbers.”

  Paddy nodded, smug in triumph. “Well, that’s a relief to hear. I may as well save us all some time, all right? I have no interest in selling up. I’ve lived here for forty years and I’m not moving. Now, unless there is something vitally important you have to tell me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have to get back to work.”

  Skulduggery didn’t answer for a moment, and Valkyrie thought he was getting angry, but his head turned like he’d suddenly remembered he was in a conversation.

  “Of course,” he said quickly, giving the man his number. “Call me if you see anything. We are sorry we took up your time.”

  He hurried back to the Bentley, Valkyrie right behind him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’ve figured it out,” he said as he walked. “It’s the Grotesquery.”

  “What is?”

  They reached the car and got in. Skulduggery turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

  “The Isthmus Anchor is something that keeps the gateway between realities from sealing over,” he said. “It’s something that is here, but belongs over there. That’s why Batu had to wait fifty years between murders—he needed Baron Vengeous to bring the Grotesquery back. The Grotesquery is the Isthmus Anchor.”

  “But … Bliss cremated it. Right?”

  Skulduggery’s voice was hollow as they sped back to the road. “He burned what he could. He burned its limbs and most of its organs, everything about it that had been added from another creature. But the torso comes from an actual Faceless One, or at least the human vessel it was inhabiting, and they’re a lot harder to destroy.”

  Valkyrie was almost afraid to ask her next question. “So, lik
e, where did he put it? Who has it? Skulduggery, who has the Grotesquery?”

  “It’s being kept at the Sanctuary,” Skulduggery said, something new in his voice. “Thurid Guild has the Isthmus Anchor.”

  Fourteen

  THE DIABLERIE

  BATU TOOK THE vial in his right hand and carefully let the liquid drip onto the inside of his left forearm.

  The liquid burned like acid and carved its way through his skin, forming a symbol of blood and scorched flesh.

  When the symbol was complete, he put down the vial and examined his arm. The pain was excruciating. The Diablerie looked at him. “This will protect you,” he said. “When the Dark Gods come, this symbol will mark you out as a believer.”

  “And Sanguine?” asked Gruesome Krav. “Do we tell him about this mark?”

  “Sanguine is a mercenary. He has no faith, and as such deserves no special treatment.”

  “Good,” Krav said. “I don’t like him.”

  Batu left the room as they began tattooing the symbol into their own arms, and went to the adjacent building to check on his army.

  He slid open the door and turned on the light. The rows of Hollow Men looked back at him, awaiting his orders.

  “Soon,” he promised.

  Fifteen

  BREAKING AND ENTERING

  THEY HURRIED UP to the wax figure of Phil Lynott, standing there holding its bass guitar with a frozen half smile on its face.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Bliss,” Skulduggery said.

  For a moment nothing happened, and then the figure turned its head and looked at them. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “We don’t, but we need to see Bliss. It’s urgent.”

  “I’m afraid I have strict instructions regarding you and your partner. You are not to be allowed into the Sanctuary without—”

  “Call the Administrator,” Skulduggery interrupted. “Let me speak with somebody human.”

  “As you wish.” There was a pause. “The Administrator has been informed of your presence. Please wait here, and she will be with you shortly.”

  They looked at the wall, waiting for it to open up. Skulduggery pressed the call button on his phone and listened for a few seconds, then shoved the phone back into his pocket without saying anything. He’d been trying to call Bliss for the last twenty minutes, but Bliss wasn’t answering.

  The wall rumbled and the hidden door opened. The Administrator stepped into the corridor.

  She smiled politely. “I’m afraid the Grand Mage is too busy to speak with anyone at the moment, but if you’d state your business—”

  “We’re not here for Guild,” Skulduggery said. “We’re here for Bliss.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Pleasant, Elder Bliss is away.”

  “Away? Where?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information.”

  “We don’t have time for this. The remains of the Grotesquery need to be moved now.”

  For the first time since Valkyrie had known her, the Administrator frowned. “How did you know about that? The removal of the Grotesquery is a classified operation, Mr. Pleasant. Only two people in the Sanctuary are even aware of it.”

  “Those two people,” Skulduggery said, “that’s you and the Grand Mage? Why does he want to move it?”

  “We move items around all the time, for matters of storage, space, or suitability. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “When is it being moved?”

  “I’m not—”

  “Where is it being moved to?”

  The Administrator bristled slightly. “I don’t know, actually. The Grand Mage will instruct the transport team personally.”

  “How big a transport team?”

  “I’m not going to—”

  “Let me guess. Guild doesn’t want to attract attention, so it will be low-key. Two or three Cleavers, is that it? In an armored van?”

  “The Grand Mage assures me it will be perfectly adequate.”

  “The van’s going to be attacked,” Valkyrie said.

  The Administrator’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”

  “We’re not going to attack the van,” Skulduggery told her. “But we are going to have to steal the Grotesquery.”

  There was a pause, and then the Administrator turned to run. Skulduggery held up a hand. Valkyrie felt the faint ripples as a bubble formed around the Administrator’s head, robbing her of oxygen. She gasped for a breath that wouldn’t come, and Skulduggery caught her as she staggered.

  “I’m very sorry,” he murmured.

  Valkyrie clicked her fingers and whirled to the figure of Phil Lynott, holding a fireball close to his wax face.

  “If you sound the alarm,” she warned, “I’ll melt you.”

  “No need,” the wax figure said. “My communications link is to the Administrator only. They keep promising to extend my link to the entire Sanctuary, but they haven’t. As long as I open and close this door, I think they’re quite happy to forget about me.”

  Skulduggery laid the unconscious Administrator on the ground. “She’ll wake up in a few minutes,” he said. “Please apologize to her for me.”

  The wall rumbled behind them, but they darted through the doorway before it closed up.

  “Nice try,” Valkyrie called back.

  The Phil Lynott figure shrugged, then looked down at the Administrator, and right before the door sealed, she heard it start to sing “Killer on the Loose.” Another one of her dad’s favorites.

  Skulduggery led the way down the stone staircase.

  “How are we going to get out again?” she asked. “The two of us walking around down here is going to look suspicious enough, but walking around while carrying the Grotesquery?”

  “We’re not coming back this way.”

  “But this is the only way in.”

  “But it’s not the only way out.”

  They slowed as they reached the bottom of the stairs, then entered the foyer. Skulduggery walked calmly, while Valkyrie’s knees shook. The Cleaver guards turned their heads, watching them as they walked through the nearest set of doors, but did not move to intercept.

  They walked side by side through the corridor, like they had every right to be there. They drew surprised looks from sorcerers, but nobody questioned their presence. They left the main corridor and walked deeper through the narrower ones, their footsteps picking up pace.

  They approached the Sanctuary jail, where some of the sickest criminals in the world were imprisoned. Skulduggery had told her about some of them. Serial killers, mass murderers, sociopaths, and psychopaths of every description were kept in these cages. Valkyrie could almost feel the evil seeping out through the door like a cold damp, chilling her as she passed.

  Ahead of them was the Repository, the giant room that housed mystical and magical artifacts, including the remains of the Grotesquery. But today, unlike every other time Valkyrie had been here, there were two Cleavers standing guard at the double doors. Skulduggery and Valkyrie stepped into an adjoining corridor and stopped, just out of the Cleavers’ sight.

  “Okay,” he said, “that’s good.”

  “It’s good? What’s good? What’s good about it?”

  “If the Cleavers are still guarding the room, it means the Grotesquery is still in there. We have a little time. So what we need now is a distraction.”

  “Maybe we should release one of the criminals from the jail and have them chase after him.”

  “Do you really want to release a magical serial killer back into the world?”

  “I was only joking,” she muttered defensively.

  He paused. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. But we don’t need anyone from the jail. They’re just too dangerous. Someone languishing in the holding cells, however, might be more suitable.”

  Valkyrie grinned. “See? Even my jokes are brilliant.”

  Skulduggery started walking, and she struggled to keep up. “But won’t the cells be guarded by Cleave
rs too?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “After the events of the last two years—first Serpine’s attack on the Sanctuary, then taking down the Grotesquery—Cleaver numbers have been decimated. These days, Cleavers are being treated like the precious commodities they are, and used only where absolutely necessary.

  “For the minimum-security holding cells, I doubt there’d be any Cleaver presence at all. We’ll probably encounter a Sanctuary agent, and if things go our way, the agent will know us and might even allow us our pick of the prisoners.”

  “When do things ever go our way?”

  “Think positive—that’s the spirit.”

  They reached the holding area without encountering anyone who realized they shouldn’t be there. The corridor became narrow, with steel doors on either side. A gangly young man with bright red hair stood up from behind his desk, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “You’re Skulduggery Pleasant,” he said.

  “Yes, I am. And this is my partner, Valkyrie Cain. And you are?”

  “My name is Staven Weeper. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Skulduggery waved his hand airily. “We have full cooperation, don’t worry about that.”

  “The Grand Mage has warned us about you.”

  “You’re sure it was me he warned you about? Not someone else?”

  “You are not allowed to be here without supervision,” Weeper said, forcing some authority into his tone. “Who let you in?”

  “The door was open.”

  “I’m calling my superior.”

  Weeper reached for the button on the desk, but Skulduggery grabbed his wrist and twisted. Weeper howled in pain. Skulduggery moved around and slammed him against the wall.

  “Handcuffs,” he said.

  Valkyrie opened one of the desk drawers. Inside were half a dozen clear plastic bags containing the personal effects of the prisoners. She opened another drawer and found a pair of shiny new handcuffs, which she tossed to Skulduggery. He cuffed Weeper’s hands behind his back and let him go.

  Weeper stumbled away, eyes wide. “You attacked me!”

  “We just want to borrow one of your prisoners,” Valkyrie assured him.

  “I can’t allow that to happen,” Weeper snarled, settling into a combat stance that Valkyrie had never seen before.