They parked and got out. The neighbourhood was dirty and run down, and people hurried by without even glancing at the battered car in their midst. A little old lady shuffled past, nodding to Skulduggery as she went.
“Is this one of those secret communities you were telling me about?” Stephanie asked.
“Indeed it is. We try to keep the streets as uninviting as possible so no casual passer-by will stop and have a look around.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded.”
“You should be realising by now that looks are, more often than not, deceiving. A neighbourhood like this, with its graffiti and litter and squalor, is the safest neighbourhood you could possibly visit. Open the door to any one of these houses around us and you walk into a veritable palace. Surface is nothing, Stephanie.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” she said as she followed him to a little shop perched on the corner. She looked around for a sign. “Is this the tailor’s?”
“Bespoke tailor’s, yes.”
“But there’s no sign. There aren’t any clothes in the window. How would anyone know it’s even open?”
“Ghastly doesn’t need to advertise. He has a very specific clientele, and he can’t really afford to let ordinary people wander in when he’s measuring out a new suit for an eight-armed octopus-man.”
“Are you serious? There’s an eight-armed octopus-man?”
“There’s a whole colony of octopus people,” Skulduggery said as they approached the door.
“Really?”
“Good God, Stephanie, of course not. That would be far too silly.”
He walked on before she could even try to hit him. The shop door was unlocked and he led the way in. Stephanie was surprised by how clean and bright and ordinary-looking it was. She didn’t know what she was expecting – mannequins that came alive and tried to eat you, perhaps. There was a nice smell in here too. Comforting.
Ghastly Bespoke walked out from the backroom and when he saw them he smiled. He shook Skulduggery’s hand warmly. He was broad-shouldered and his scars covered his whole head. When Skulduggery turned to introduce Stephanie, and he saw the way she was staring at Ghastly, he shrugged.
“Don’t mind her,” he said. “She stares. That’s what she does when she meets new people.”
“I’m quite used to it,” Ghastly said, still smiling. “Do you want to shake hands, Miss, or start off with something easy, like waving?”
Stephanie felt herself blush and she stuck out her hand quickly. His hand was normal, no scars, but tough and strong.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she admitted.
“Better make sure that you really want one before you think any more about it. This life isn’t for everyone.”
She nodded slowly, not sure what he was getting at. He took a moment, looking her up and down.
“There’s been some trouble?”
“Some,” answered Skulduggery.
“Then the proper attire is probably called for.” Ghastly took out a small pad, started jotting down notes. “Do you have a favourite colour?” he asked her.
“I’m sorry?”
“To wear. Any preference?”
“I’m not sure I understand…”
“Not all of the clothes I make are merely examples of exquisite tailoring. Sometimes, if the situation arises, special requirements are catered for.”
“Such as keeping you safe until this whole thing is over,” Skulduggery said. “Ghastly can make you a suit, nothing too formal, which could very possibly save your life.”
“Fashion,” said Ghastly with a shrug. “It’s life or death.” His pen was at the ready. “So, once more, do you have a favourite colour to wear?”
“I… I’m not sure I could afford it…”
Ghastly shrugged. “I’ll put it on Skulduggery’s tab. Go nuts.”
Stephanie blinked. To go from her mother buying most of her clothes to this was a step she hadn’t been expecting. “I don’t know, I’m not sure… Black?”
Ghastly nodded and scribbled in his notebook. “Can’t go wrong with black.” He looked up at Skulduggery. “Just let me lock up,” he said, “then we can talk properly.”
While they waited for him to do so, Skulduggery and Stephanie wandered into the back of the shop. Material and fabrics of all types and textures were arranged very neatly in massive shelves that lined the walls. There was a single workplace in the centre of the room and another doorway leading further back.
“He’s going to make me clothes?” Stephanie whispered.
“Yes, he is.”
“Doesn’t he need to take measurements or something?”
“One glance, that’s all he needs.”
They passed through into a small living room, and moments later Ghastly joined them. Stephanie and Skulduggery sat on the narrow sofa and Ghastly sat in the armchair opposite, both feet flat on the ground and fingers steepled.
“So what’s all this about?” he asked.
“We’re investigating Gordon Edgley’s murder,” Skulduggery said.
“Murder?” Ghastly said after a short pause.
“Indeed.”
“Who would want to kill Gordon?”
“We think Serpine did it. We think he was looking for something.”
“Skul,” Ghastly said, frowning, “usually when you want my help you just call and we go off and you get me into a fight. You’ve never explained what’s going on before, so why are you doing it now?”
“This is a different type of help I need.”
“So you don’t need me to hit anyone?”
“We’d just like your help in finding out what Serpine is after.”
“I see,” Ghastly said, nodding his head.
“You don’t see, do you?”
“No,” Ghastly said immediately. “I really don’t know what you want me to do.”
“We think Serpine is after the Sceptre of the Ancients,” Stephanie said and she felt Skulduggery sink lower into the cushion beside her.
“The what?” Ghastly said, his smile reappearing. “You’re not serious, are you? Listen, I don’t know what my dear friend here has been saying, but the Sceptre isn’t real.”
“Serpine thinks it’s real. We think that has something to do with my uncle’s death.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ghastly said, “I really am. I respected Gordon. He knew there was magic in the world and he wasn’t seduced by it. He just wanted to observe and to write about it. That takes a strength that I hope has been passed on to you.”
Stephanie didn’t answer. Skulduggery didn’t look at her.
“But,”