Deadfall was up again, preparing to swing his hammer-fists, but the Russian just stepped close and pressed his hand against him. Every bone that comprised the skeleton of Hieronymus Deadfall gave a slight tremor, and then came apart with a violence that ruptured his body. Bone shards burst both organs and skin, spraying blood into the air. His corpse dropped, contorted and disfigured beyond recognition. The Russian turned to look at Scapegrace, his eyes red beneath his mask.
“I’ll tell you,” Scapegrace said, hands high above his head. “I’ll tell you where Skulduggery Pleasant lives. Just please, don’t explode me.”
THE ROARHAVEN MAGES
The man with the golden eyes stood by the stagnant lake, his coat buttoned up against the cold. “Marr?” he asked.
“Still alive,” said the old man behind him.
The veiled woman in black spoke quietly. “I thought we hired the best.”
The old man didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice. “We did.”
“She needs to die,” said the woman. “She’s far too dangerous to be languishing in chains.”
“Tesseract assures me she will be dead soon.” The old man looked away from the woman. “Do they still think the Americans are to blame?”
The man with the golden eyes shrugged. “Who knows what Skulduggery Pleasant thinks? We can only stick to the plan. If he begins to suspect us, we’ll deal with him then. For the moment, though, we’re on schedule. This town will hold the new Sanctuary. From here, we’re going to change the world.”
KEEPING A STRAIGHT FACE
Valkyrie followed Skulduggery down the dank staircase. His façade was up, but still refused to settle. She watched as his face started to drift round to the back of his head.
“Where are we going?” she asked. A pair of dull green eyes floated slowly through Skulduggery’s hair.
“To the basement.”
“I didn’t know this place had a basement.”
“There wasn’t one until China bought this building and commissioned the work to add a sub-level. Even the people living here don’t know about it.”
“You’ve got eyes in the back of your head, you know, and I don’t mean that as compliment.”
“I know,” said Skulduggery sadly.
“How can you even see right now?”
He glanced back at her. The mouth of the façade was gaping wide over his left eye socket.
“That is so wrong,” she murmured.
They continued walking.
“There’s only one reason why China ever goes down into the basement,” Skulduggery said. “Well, it’s also where she keeps her car. OK, so there’s only two reasons why she ever goes down there, apart from the fact that it’s secure and dry and it works well as a storage area. So that’s three, only three reasons why she ever goes down there, and apart from the car and the storage, the main reason is privacy. Seclusion. Why does she need privacy and seclusion?”
“Don’t know.”
“She needs privacy and seclusion when she catches someone trying to steal from her.” They reached the ground floor.
“How do we get there?” Valkyrie asked. “Is there an invisible elevator? A trapdoor? Oh, is it one of those fire station poles that we get to slide down?”
Skulduggery went to the broom closet, and opened the door. There were no brooms in there, and no floor. There were only—
“Stairs,” Valkyrie said, disappointed.
“Not just ordinary stairs,” Skulduggery told her as he led the way down. “Magic stairs.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
She followed him into the darkness. “How are they magic?”
“They just are.”
“In what way?”
“In a magicky way.”
She glared at the back of his head. “They aren’t magic at all, are they?”
“Not really.”
The basement was cold. A dim bulb struggled valiantly against the darkness. They walked down a narrow corridor between chain-link walls, passing stacks of boxes and crates. Rusted pipes crossed the ceiling, the failing light making them look like boa constrictors, liable to drop down and snatch the pair of them up and slowly squeeze the life out of them. Out of her. Skulduggery had no life to squeeze.
They heard voices ahead. Finally, the chain-link maze came to an end, and they stepped into a wide-open space, illuminated only by the headlights from an idle car. A man was on his knees, doing his best to shield his eyes. Whether he was shielding his eyes from the blinding light or the blinding beauty of the woman who stood above him was hard to tell.
China Sorrows was cast in half-shadow. Her raven hair was tied off her face in a simple ponytail. The light hit her back and made her clothes shine and her skin glow. She held a book by her side. Skulduggery and Valkyrie stayed where they were, watching silently.
“I’m sorry!” the man sobbed. “Oh God, Miss Sorrows, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it!”
“You didn’t mean to hide this book under your jacket and leave without telling me?” China clarified. “This is a very valuable edition, and would be sorely missed from my collection.”
“Please. Please, I have a family. They’re starving.”
“And so you planned to feed them the book?”
“No … No, but …”
“You planned to sell it then. To whom, I wonder?”
“I don’t … I can’t …”
“If you tell me who the interested party is, I will let you go.” At a wave of her hand, a section of wall opened up at the top of a concrete ramp – obviously the means of exit for her car – and daylight flooded the gloom. “You will never be allowed back here, and you will cross the street and run away to avoid me, but I will take no further action. Against you.