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The Dying of the Light
Stephanie looked at Skulduggery. “If I don’t wear it, will the future we’ve seen be averted?”
“Not wearing the gauntlet will more than likely have no impact whatsoever on the vision coming true,” Skulduggery said. “We’ve seen details of the vision change, but the result is always the same.”
“Well, I’m not wearing it,” said Stephanie. “There. I’ve decided. Can we go see Cassandra? Check if the vision still ends the same way?”
Skulduggery nodded, his voice suddenly brighter. “I’ll tell Cassandra to expect us. Doctor, thank you for your efforts, but it appears we won’t be taking the gauntlet.”
“OK,” said Synecdoche. “But I’ll put it aside for you, Stephanie, just in case.”
“Don’t bother,” Stephanie said, already moving away. “I’ll never wear it.”
Behind China’s throne – for that’s what it was – the Black Cleaver stood with silent menace.
“Here they come,” China said, smiling. “The only two people who ever bring me any good news. Do you know how depressing that can be? If I were delicate, I’d surely faint with the pressure.”
“You wanted the job,” said Skulduggery.
“I wanted the title, the power, and all those lovely books. The stress I could do without. I think I’m close to getting a worry line on my forehead.”
“How dreadful,” said Skulduggery.
“See? You understand. And so here you are, with good news. Congratulations, by the way, on taking down Ferrente Rhadaman without alerting one single member of the public. Scrutinous and Random have been working overtime to cover up some very sloppy displays. I’m amazed we’re not splashed all over the news. Did Rhadaman have any information on the remaining renegade sorcerers?”
“He didn’t have specifics, but he did say they’re grouping together.”
“Because there is safety in numbers?”
Skulduggery shook his head. “He said someone has been in contact with them. Sounds like a refuge is being offered.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Do you mean another Sanctuary?”
“I have no more information.”
China sat back, and said nothing for a few moments. “If it’s another Sanctuary offering them asylum, we have to find out which one it is. Since the War of the Sanctuaries, international relations are … precarious. The last thing we need is one of them going rogue and upsetting everyone else.”
The door opened, and Tipstaff walked in. He whispered in China’s ear, and she nodded. When he left, she glanced at Skulduggery and Stephanie.
“Bear with me one minute,” she said.
A man walked in. Tall and lean, unshaven, with dark hair that needed a cut and faded jeans that needed a wash. He exuded an air of menace that was as natural to him as breathing.
“Mr Foe,” said China. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever get here.”
Vincent Foe looked at them all warily. “Apologies, Grand Mage. I was working on my bike.”
“Well,” said China, smiling, “if your motorcycle has broken down the next time I call for you, I expect you to catch the next available bus.”
Foe’s lip curled at the thought.
China continued. “You would do well to remember that, on a whim, I could have the Cleavers round you up and throw you in a cell and nobody, and I do mean nobody, would raise a single objection.”
Foe brushed the hair out of his eyes. “That kind of strikes me as a potential abuse of power.”
China’s smile deepened. “As I always say, what’s the point of power if you can’t abuse it? You owe me, Mr Foe, and until your debt is paid, you are mine. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry?”
Foe cleared his throat. “Yes. I understand. And how, I wonder, will I know when the debt has been paid?”
“Oh, I’ll be sure to tell you.”
Foe smiled thinly, then looked over at Skulduggery and Stephanie. “You’re OK with this, are you? This is how tyrants are created.”
“What do you care?” Stephanie asked. “You’re a nihilist.”
He shrugged. “Just pointing it out.”
“Mr Foe,” said China, “I’m not done abusing my power.”
Foe gave a little bow. “Once again, my apologies. What enemy is in your sights, may I ask?”
“An old one,” said China. “Eliza Scorn has her Church of the Faceless up and running. I’ve watched her take it over, gather support, build it up, and I’ve waited for the perfect moment to tear it all down. I want to do it properly – not just here in Ireland, but around the world. So I need access to every little secret she has.”
“You want us to break in somewhere, steal her files?”
“I said I wanted this done properly. Above board. No breaking, no stealing. I need a reason to confiscate every last scrap of paper that woman has.”
“So?” Foe asked.
“She wants you to join the Church,” Skulduggery said.
Foe frowned. “But we don’t worship the Faceless Ones.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said China. “One of the rules that were set down when the Church was given official status was that no one with a criminal background could be a member.”
“Ah,” said Foe. “And me and my little gang are all ex-cons.”
“Precisely. You join, we swoop. Eliza loses it all.”
“And then we’re square?”
China laughed. “Mr Foe, you tried to kill me. We are a long way from being square. Leave.”
Foe hesitated, then nodded and walked out.
When he was gone, Skulduggery spoke. “It would be a mistake to trust that man.”
“Just as it would be a mistake for him to cross me,” China responded. “Now where were we? Oh, yes, congratulating you on taking Ferrente Rhadaman into custody. Very good work, both of you. Of course, it’s not the work you should have been doing. I assigned Dexter Vex and Saracen Rue to track down these renegades with the aid of the Monster Hunters.”
“And they’re doing very well,” said Skulduggery. “Out of the nineteen, we’ve taken down one, they’ve caught six, two more have burned out all by themselves, and various Sanctuaries around the world have dealt with a further four. Which leaves us with six renegades still at large.”
“And you’re wilfully missing the point,” said China. “Rounding up the renegades is hugely important, I accept this. But I assigned the two of you to the task of finding and stopping Darquesse. I’ve given you access to whatever resources you need to get this done, as it remains our number-one priority. If the renegades are not corralled, they will alert the world to our existence. But if Darquesse is not stopped, there will be no world to alert. So tell me, how are things progressing on that front?”
“As expected,” said Skulduggery.
“Really? We expected no progress?”
“Just because we have no results doesn’t mean we’ve made no progress. We’re looking for one person who could be literally anywhere in the world. At this early stage, it’s a process of elimination.”
“I see,” said China. “And where have you eliminated so far?”
Skulduggery looked around. “Here. Darquesse is not here, therefore this room can be eliminated from the list of places she could be. Unless she enters this room after we’ve gone, in which case, we’d be foolish to rule it out completely.”
China sighed. “So what you’re saying is that it’s impossible to track her down.”
“No, not at all. In fact, we have two ways of finding out where she is. The first is quite simple – we bring her to us.”
“And how do we do that?”
“She’s punishing Erskine Ravel for the murders of Anton and Ghastly. For twenty-three hours of every day, he’s subjected to unimaginable agony. If the doctors try to alleviate his suffering, the pain increases. If he grows somewhat tolerant, the pain increases. This link between them is something we can exploit. If we shunt Ravel into another reality, the link could break.”
“And how does this help us?”
“Once the link is severed, Darquesse will come looking for answers. When we bring Ravel back, he’ll be her first target. Naturally, we’ll have to be ready, because we’re only going to get one shot at luring her in.”
China pursed her lips. “Risky.”
“Oh, yes,” said Skulduggery. “Hugely risky. Possibly suicidal. But we should probably get started on finding a reality to shunt him into.”
China sighed. “Very well. And the second way?”
“That’s a little trickier, but it’s also more straightforward. We don’t have to track her – we just have to track the people with her.”
“You mean Tanith Low.”
Skulduggery nodded. “Yes I do. Tanith Low and Billy-Ray Sanguine.”
Sanguine took off his coat, dumped it on a straight-backed chair, the only piece of furniture in the room. It was cold outside, but hot in here, all that heat generated from the eighteen-year-old girl slowing rotating in mid-air. What was going on inside her mind, he had no idea. Were they human thoughts she was thinking, or something else? Something beyond human?
Someone that powerful, he reckoned, would only take a short while to start thinking thoughts that had no place in a human head.
A whisper of leather behind him, but he didn’t turn. Tanith Low was quiet when she did her patrol of this little house in this little ghost estate. Were he to glance out of that window, he’d see a dozen identical houses to this one, but all hollow and empty. Years back, they were set to be sold to the affluent Irish and the lucky immigrants who came here for a better life. Then the money went away and immigrants sought better lives elsewhere, took a good chunk of the Irish with them.
Sanguine was tired of Ireland. It was coming to the tail end of winter, but the winds were still bitter and the rain was still mean. He wanted to go home, back to the heat of East Texas. He was sick of living the life of an outlaw. He wanted to sit on the porch in the evenings and not have to worry about the world ending, or how to play his part in it.
He watched Tanith slip out of the window and walk up the outside wall towards the roof. She had binoculars up there she could use to sweep the full 360. She hadn’t said much since they’d arrived here, and she barely slept. The Remnant inside her kept her going, kept her strong and alert. Sometimes he’d catch her looking at him and wonder if today was the day she’d kill him.
Because she had to kill him. He knew that much.
Darquesse, that god-in-a-girl’s-body that had once been known as Valkyrie Cain, was the Remnant’s messiah, destined to decimate the earth and reduce civilisation to cinders for some reason yet to be discovered. When Darquesse had asked Tanith to look after her while she “hibernated” – her words – Tanith had been overjoyed. Sanguine had tagged along, of course he had. Tanith was his fiancée, after all. He loved her. But no matter how much he loved Tanith, Darquesse had never been his messiah, and he had no wish to see the world burn.
Tanith knew that, given enough time, he’d go on to do something drastic to avert that apocalypse, and the only reason she hadn’t killed him yet was because she obviously didn’t think he’d be up to it. But even now there was a dagger tucked into his belt, one of four God-Killer weapons he’d hidden away from her that were more than capable of ending this god-girl’s life. He’d heard what Darquesse could do. He’d heard her head had once been pulled off, and she’d put herself back together in those last few moments before brain death.
Yet Darquesse was killable. Darquesse was very killable. But in order to kill her, he needed to plunge this dagger into her before she had a chance to formulate any thoughts on the matter. He could do it now. Tanith was on the roof, Darquesse had her eyes closed, and here he was, standing with one hand already sneaking round behind his back to the dagger. He lifted it from his belt with great care, and when he held it he pointed it down and away from his body. These weapons killed whatever they nicked, and if they could kill a god they could certainly kill Momma Sanguine’s favourite son.
The dagger felt good in his hand. Well-balanced. Three steps and he’d be next to her, then all he’d have to do would be to reach up, drive the blade through her skull. It’d be the easiest kill of his life, and the most important. Hell, he’d be saving the damn world. How many other hitmen could say that? Course, by killing Darquesse he’d be destroying the dreams of Tanith Low, the only woman he’d ever loved, and in doing that he’d be inciting her rage to the point where he’d have to kill her before she killed him.
Darquesse hovered there, head down and eyes closed, turning ever so slowly, and Sanguine put the dagger back in his belt. He reckoned he could allow his warm and fuzzy feelings to stay alive a little longer.
It always made her smile to go home. Those awkward days filled with awkward silences and occasional, maddening bursts of friendship were made bearable by the fact that Stephanie had a home to go to at the end of it all. The smile began when she got out of the Bentley, and it broadened to a grin when she pushed open the front door.
Comfort.
No, more than comfort. Belonging.
Her dad was in the living room, her mum moving round the house, and at this time of night Alice was already in bed. Her whole family, alive and safe. Shoving the knowledge of their possible fates into a dark corner of her mind, Stephanie went up to her room, changed into jeans and a hoody, and stowed the Sceptre and the stick under her bed. In her bare feet, she crept into Alice’s room, looked down at her as she slept.
“Hey there,” she whispered. “Sorry I didn’t get to play with you today. Doing important stuff. When it’s all done, I’ll be able to play with you every single day, I promise.”
Alice lay there, eyes closed and mouth open, looking beautiful. Stephanie felt such an overwhelming sense of love and, not for the first time, sheer thrilling excitement that this was her life now. She had a family. Parents and a sister. She was a normal girl living a normal life. Or it would be a normal life, just as soon as she escaped all the weirdness.
She crept back out and went downstairs. Her first stop was the kitchen. She’d been starving for hours, but hadn’t bothered to tell Skulduggery. She’d started to feel that these biological needs of hers – to eat, to pee – were complications he could do without knowing about. Things were fraught enough between them as it was – she didn’t want to annoy him any further.
She heated some leftovers in the microwave and washed them down with a glass of cold milk. Her belly no longer rumbling, she cleaned the plate and took her glass into the living room. Her dad didn’t even glance up from the TV.
“Muh,” he said, waving a hand.
“Hi, Dad. Whatcha watching?”
“TV.”
“What’s on?”
“Film.”
“What’s it called?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dad? What’s it called?”
“Three Days of the Condor.”
“Is it good?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Is it complicated?”
“Very.”
“What’s it about?”
“Not sure,” he said. “I think it’s about a bird.”
Stephanie left him to his movie, and picked up a sealed envelope from the side table. Someone had written Edgleys across it, in handwriting she didn’t recognise. Something slid around inside. She dug a fingertip in, ripped it open, and a memory stick fell out on to her palm.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“What’s what?”
She turned, showed him.
“Oh, that,” he said, looking back at the TV. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a memory stick,” she said.
“If you knew, why did you ask?”
“It was in an envelope addressed to us.”
“Was it?” her dad asked. “That’s odd. That’s very odd. Well, it’s sort of odd, but not really.” He paused the movie. “I have no idea what’s going on in this film.”
“Who sent the envelope?”
“Hmm? Oh, someone knocked on the door, handed it over, said something and walked away. The strangest thing I’ve ever seen except, again, it wasn’t really.”
“Who was it?” said Stephanie.
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
“What did he say?”
“Can’t really remember. It was weeks ago. He stood there and I remember thinking, This is unusual. It looked like he was about to cry, or hug me, or both. I think he said something like, It’s an honour to meet you. Which, of course, it is, though most people don’t usually say it out loud.”
“And you didn’t open the envelope?”
“I was going to,” said her dad, “but I got bored. Is that the only thing in it? It didn’t come with a covering note?”
“Just this.”
“Are you going to see what’s on it?” he asked. “I don’t know if that’s wise. It might be a virus, or an artificial intelligence like Skynet who just wants to usher in nuclear war so that our robot overlords can take over. I don’t know if I’d like the responsibility of setting all that in motion. I mean, I probably would, because at least then I’d be famous, but seeing as how it would lead to everyone dying … I don’t know. I’m conflicted.”
“I doubt it would usher in Armageddon.”
“But you can’t be sure, can you? I’m not equipped to survive Armageddon, Steph. Maybe once upon a time I could have led the resistance, but I’ve gone soft. I’ve lost my edge. I wear slippers now. I never used to wear slippers.”
“What’s this about slippers?” Stephanie’s mum said, walking in.
“Dad’s just saying he could never lead the resistance against a robot army because he wears slippers.”
“This is very true,” her mum said.
“Then it’s decided,” Stephanie’s father said. “When the robot army makes itself known, I will be one of the first traitors to sell out the human race.”
“Wow,” said Stephanie.
“Now that’s an about-turn,” said her mum.
“It’s the only way,” said her dad. “I have to make sure my family survives. The two of you and that other one, the smaller one—”
“Alice.”
“That’s her. You’re all that matter to me. You’re all I care about. I will betray the human race so that the robot army spares you. And then later, I will betray you so that the robot army spares me. It’s a dangerous ploy, but someone has to be willing to take the big risks, and I’ll be damned if I’m about to let anyone else gamble with my family’s future.”
“You’re so brave,” Stephanie’s mum said.
“I know,” said her dad, and then, quieter, “I know.”
Stephanie grinned, left the memory stick on the side table and went to the couch, sank into it and curled her feet up under her. They all watched the rest of Three Days of the Condor and then Stephanie and her mum explained the plot to her dad. When he was satisfied, they said goodnight and Stephanie went up to bed. She climbed beneath the covers and closed her eyes, and a few seconds later her phone beeped. She read the text, sent back an answer and turned on her bedside lamp as she sat up, holding the covers close.
Fletcher Renn emerged from thin air in the middle of her room. “Hi,” he whispered.
“Hey.”
He sat on the bed. He looked good and strong and healthy. He looked tanned. His hair was awesome. He leaned in and they kissed.
“You taste yummy,” she said.
“I’ve just been in New Zealand, eating strawberries. Do you want some? We could pop over …?”
“I’m in bed,” Stephanie said, smiling. “It’s bedtime now. And Skulduggery’s picking me up early to drive over to Cassandra Pharos, so no quick jaunts for me.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Were you in New Zealand with the Monster Hunters or just for the strawberries?”
“Strawberries,” said Fletcher. “There’s a little shop in Wellington that I love. They always have the best strawberries, for some reason.”
She leaned back against the headboard. “So how is life as a big, bad Monster Hunter? Is it official yet?”
He grinned. “It is, and I’m actually enjoying it. Donegan and Gracious are pretty cool. Gracious is such an unbelievable geek, though. It’s like everything he’s ever loved is now on a T-shirt. They asked Dai Maybury to join, too, did you hear that? He said he couldn’t, he was too much of a lone wolf – those were his exact words – but he agreed to be an Emergency Monster Hunter, to be called on only when needed. And now he just won’t go away.”
Stephanie laughed softly. “Sounds like you’re all getting on well.”
“We are,” said Fletcher, nodding. “It’s nice to be a part of something that … changes things, you know? We go after the renegade sorcerers with all their supercharged powers, and we beat them, we shackle them, we throw them in a cell. We stop them from killing innocent people, we stop them from exposing magic, and we move on to the next one. It’s just … it’s a wonderful feeling. To be useful.”
“Look at that,” Stephanie said. “My boyfriend is taking pride in his work.”
“Boyfriend, am I?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
Her smile vanished. “Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to be?”
“Well … yes.”
He leaned closer. “OK. Then I suppose I’m your boyfriend. Are you my girlfriend?”
“That’s usually how these things go.”
He kissed her again. “Good.”
“Sorry,” Stephanie said, buckling her seatbelt. “Dad wouldn’t get out of the shower.”
Skulduggery nodded, didn’t answer, and they pulled out on to the road. Stephanie sat back in her seat. Great. Another one of those days.
Cassandra Pharos was ready for them when they arrived. The door to her cottage was open, and Skulduggery led the way inside. They went down into the cellar, where the coals beneath the floor grille were already glowing orange, filling the chamber with a close, muggy heat. Cassandra sat on the chair, umbrella open and held comfortably over her head. Her lined face, framed by a cascade of grey hair, broke into a smile when she saw them.
