“The problem,” Vex said, picking up the story, “was that it was getting close to Go Time. There was a squad of Mevolent’s men we’d been tracking for days, and we had to take them out without raising the alarm. But now, suddenly, Larrikin was insisting on a birthday cake and a sing-song. The rest of us were focusing on not cracking up, but Shudder was taking it seriously, and couldn’t understand why Larrikin would want to do something so dangerous.”
“We were sitting in a hole we’d dug,” Ghastly said, “with the wind howling and the rain falling, and Larrikin squirmed up beside Shudder and kept trying to hug him.”
“And Shudder’s not a hugger,” Vex said.
“It developed into an extraordinarily quiet wrestling match,” said Ghastly, grinning. “They rolled over and over in the mud, Larrikin with this enormous smile on his face and Shudder silently furious.”
“Shudder got him in a choke hold,” Vex said. “Larrikin started digging around inside his clothes for something. He was going purple by this stage, though still smiling. And then he brought out a bun.”
Valkyrie laughed. “A bun?”
“A very crushed bun,” Ghastly said. “Crumbs now, mostly. Barely held together. He’d kept it hidden for days. And with his other hand he stuck a candle in it.”
“Only time I’ve ever seen Anton Shudder smile while on a Dead Men mission,” Vex said, eyes sparkling with approval. “That was a good day.”
“That’s why we won,” Ghastly said, a little quieter.
Valkyrie looked at him. “That mission?”
“Hmm? No, no. The mission was just a mission, the latest in a long line. No, the reason we won was friendships like that. They called us the Dead Men because they said we weren’t afraid of dying. Mevolent’s lot? They wanted to bring the Faceless Ones back, but the main thing was that they wanted to be there when it happened. After all, what’s the point of going to all that trouble if they weren’t around to enjoy the results? So there were no sacrifices to save their friends, none of that. And that’s one of the main reasons they lost. It got to the point where they couldn’t trust each other, because it was all about personal survival. Whereas with us… we were fighting, and dying, for each other.”
“Larrikin saved my life,” Vex said. “We were in Wales, and Serpine had sneaked right up behind me, about to use that red right hand of his. Larrikin pushed me away, shielded me. He died screaming.” Vex shook his head sadly. “Never forget those screams. You were there when Skulduggery killed Serpine, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Valkyrie answered.
“I would have liked to have seen that.”
“Larrikin was a good man,” Skulduggery said, and they turned as he led China off the dance floor towards them. “As was Hopeless. They died for what they believed in.”
“Hopeless tried to kill me once,” China said, almost wistfully. “This was back when I was fighting for the other side, of course. We had some good, good times.”
“Hopeless and Larrikin,” Ghastly said, raising his glass.
“Hopeless and Larrikin,” they echoed.
Chapter 48
Going Underground
own deep in the caves below Gordon Edgley’s house, the zombie horde moved in silence. Twenty recruits to Scapegrace’s undead army, all with bite marks and blood splatters, all waiting for the order to charge into battle. Holding flashlights to penetrate the darkness, they looked slightly bewildered, but Scapegrace didn’t mind that. In his experience, zombie hordes always looked bewildered. This was his second horde, so he reckoned himself to be something of an expert.
Shards of moonlight somehow found their way through cracks and fissures in the cave ceiling to bathe parts of the tunnels in a hazy silver blue. Master Craven had been so kind as to provide him with a map. If this map were by anyone else’s hand, Scapegrace would have dismissed it as crudely drawn – but the Master’s work was a deceptively childlike scrawl that implied more than it showed. As such, even though Scapegrace was having trouble working out where exactly they were going, he had a much deeper cultural understanding of where he had been.
Thrasher hurried up, looking anxious. “Master Scapegrace,” he whispered. “I think we have a problem.”
Scapegrace scowled and shone his flashlight straight into Thrasher’s face.
“It’s one of the zombies,” Thrasher said, blinking quickly. “Reggie. You remember him, don’t you, sir? He has a little beard? I… I think he’s been eaten.”
Scapegrace froze. “Eaten? Someone’s eaten him?” He turned to the horde. “What did I tell you? What did I tell you about eating human flesh?” The horde looked at him dumbly. “Only I can do that and keep my thoughts intact! If any of you try it, you become a mindless, shambling zombie right out of a movie. How many times did I warn you? Eh? Well, come on. Own up. Who did it? Who ate Reggie?”
“Uh,” said Thrasher. “It wasn’t one of them, sir.”
“What? What do you mean?”
Thrasher led him back down the tunnel. The horde followed. “Reggie was walking behind us,” Thrasher said. “He was lagging a bit and I told him to hurry up, and he ignored me. I kept walking, and he was lagging even more, and I heard something, something chattering, and I looked around and…”
“Chattering, huh?”
“Very distinct chattering,” Thrasher said, shaking his head at the memory. “So I walked over, searched around a little, about to call his name, and then… I came here. I believe this to be the scene of the crime.”
“You don’t say.”
“Judging from the signs of disturbance, sir, I think he’s been eaten.”
“The signs of disturbance?”
“Yes.”
“And what would these signs of disturbance be, I wonder?” Thrasher pointed with his flashlight. “Well, I mean… the foot.” In the middle of the tunnel before them, illuminated by the flashlight, a single foot, still in its shoe, was sitting quietly.
“You worked that out all on your own?” Scapegrace said. “I’m very impressed.”
Thrasher didn’t seem capable of appreciating sarcasm, so he smiled gratefully. “Just doing my job, sir.”
Scapegrace hunkered down beside the upright foot, examined it more closely. It was severed just above the ankle, with what looked an awful lot like a big bite mark. Scapegrace couldn’t tell for sure. That stupid skeleton was the detective, not him.
Thrasher suddenly screamed and Scapegrace leaped up and whirled in circles until he was sure there was nothing creeping up behind him.
“There!” Thrasher gasped, pointing off into the darkness. Scapegrace looked into the gloom. “There what?”
“I saw it!” Thrasher said. “The thing that ate Reggie! I saw it! It was right there!”
Anxious mutterings spread through the horde like a bad smell. Scapegrace needed to take control of the situation, and fast.
“What did it look like?” he asked. “For God’s sake, calm the hell down and tell me what it looked like.”
Thrasher took a deep breath, even though zombies didn’t need to breathe. “It looked like, it looked like a cross between a monster and an alien.”
Scapegrace stared at him. “Yeah, OK, that is absolutely no help at all. Did it have arms?”
“Oh yes.”
“Two arms?”
“At least,” Thrasher nodded. “Maybe less.”
“What about legs?”
“It had a few of those.”
“What was its body like?”
Thrasher concentrated. “It was, it was either really hairy, with thick black hair all over it, or it didn’t have any hair, and it was just the way the light fell.”
“Its head, then. Did you get a good look at its head?”
“What, like, would I be able to pick it out in a line-up?”
“I’m just looking for basics here.”
“OK, well, let’s see. It had… I’m not too sure if it had any eyes, and I didn’t see a nose, as such. But it had a mouth. A ve
ry big mouth, with teeth, teeth as sharp as needles. But I may have imagined that bit.”
“The teeth bit?”
“No, I may have imagined the mouth. I’m not sure if it had a mouth. It probably did. Everything has a mouth, right?”
“Unfortunately,” Scapegrace muttered.
“It would need a mouth if it was going to eat Reggie. That only makes sense, doesn’t it? Yes. It had a mouth. I’m sure of it now.”
One of the zombies held up his hand.
“What?” said Scapegrace irritably.
“Hi,” the zombie said. “Uh, I’m Keith? From the…? You bit me?”
“I can’t remember every single person I bite,” Scapegrace said, even though he could, because it really wasn’t very many, all things considered. “What do you want, Keith? Why is your hand up?”
“I was just wondering,” Keith said, “if there really are monsters down here?”
“There are a few, yes,” Scapegrace said. “No one knows how many, or what they’re called. All anyone knows is that they’re pretty impervious to magic, so… so don’t use magic. Not that you could, because you’re mortal. Or, you used to be. Anyway, magic attracts them.”
“Um,” said Keith.
“What now?”
“When you… remember when you bit me? And I woke up, and I was all, oh, what’s happening? And your friend explained it?”
“He’s not my friend,” said Scapegrace.
“I’m his second-in-command,” explained Thrasher.
“Oh, OK, sorry,” said Keith. “Anyway, he told me I was a zombie now, and that magic was now sustaining me and everything, and all that’s fine, but does that mean that now we will attract all the monsters because we have magic inside us, or am I just talking complete nonsense?”
Scapegrace looked at him. Oh, hell.
“Right,” Scapegrace said loudly. “Everyone fall in, and pay attention.”
Thrasher joined the horde, and Scapegrace looked at them like a general might survey his troops.
“We have been charged with a mission. We are deep in enemy territory. In order to achieve our objective, we must pass through hostile terrain. Keith is absolutely right. Our very presence here will attract the monsters.”
The horde gaped at him, suddenly terrified. Scapegrace pressed on.
“So we will move! Like lightning! And we will arrive at our destination and we will engage the enemy! In years to come, they will speak of this battle and they will speak of the sacrifice we made here! They will speak of the brave Army of the Undead, the horde that turned back the tide, who fought with everything that is in them to make this world our world! I have seen the faces of our enemies! I have looked into the eyes of our foes! Do you know what I have seen?” Scapegrace snarled, making them wait for the revelation. “Faces and eyes, gentlemen. Faces… and eyes.”
The horde frowned at him, and Scapegrace realised he had lost track of his speech. Panicked, he continued. “We do what we must. We do what we can. We do what we will. We do what we… we don’t do what we won’t.”
“Uh…” someone said.
“What will you give?” Scapegrace roared. “What will you give for one chance, just one chance, to say to your enemies this far, and no further?”
“Who are our enemies again?” someone asked.
“Are you with me?” Scapegrace screeched.
“Not really.”
“Are you with me?”
“I’m with you!” Thrasher squeaked excitedly.
“Is anyone apart from Thrasher with me?” Scapegrace hollered. He decided it was best not to wait for an answer. “Then let’s go! Let’s fight! Let’s show them what it means to die!”
Roaring, Scapegrace charged for the tunnel, Thrasher at his heels. After a moment, the horde started jogging after them. They ran through the darkness and the swaying light, and now some of the horde were joining in with the roars, and by the time they reached the end of the tunnel they were a charging mass of fury and violence, waiting to be loosed upon their enemies. Their feet thundered on the rocky ground, fists pumped the air, their cries turning animalistic, inhuman, a wave of death about to crash down on whoever they found in their way.
They came to a dead end and there was some jostling, and Scapegrace led them back a bit, took the first turn they came to, and the roars started up again and the thunder echoed in the caverns and Scapegrace waved his hand in the air. “Back,” he said, “back. It must be the next turn,” and they turned round again and charged back the way they had come.
Chapter 49
The Pre-Emptive Strike
e crouched in the bushes with the others, all fourteen of them, black-robed and scared, watching the people come and go from the Requiem Ball. Craven refused to allow his own fear to show through. Great leaders did not get scared, after all. Plus, he had an advantage that none of the others did – he had the White Cleaver to protect him should anything go wrong.
“This is highly dangerous,” Cleric Solus whispered. “We must leave now. If they find us—”
“We are done discussing this,” Craven snapped. “I have made my decision, Solus. You will obey.”
“You are not the High Priest,” Solus said.
“Do you wish to test me? Do you wish to test my resolve? You say we are surrounded by the enemy. I say we have the enemy right where we want them.”
“And how do you plan to get us inside the house?” Solus asked. “Did you happen to have the zombies steal another disc that would make the Rippers abandon their posts?”
“Of course not,” Craven answered. “I have something much more rudimentary planned.”
There was a gunshot from inside the house. They watched the Rippers run towards the sound. Once the path was clear, the White Cleaver led the way from the bushes to the side door of the house. Craven darted back through the trees, found her waiting there with her back to him.
“It’s time,” he said softly.
She turned slowly, and took down her hood, releasing her blonde hair, letting the moonlight fall across her scars. Melancholia allowed him to take her hand, and he guided her into the house behind the other Necromancers.
Once they were inside, and the music started up again in a far-away room, the White Cleaver killed two Rippers and four guests, and the only sound was the soft splatter of blood on walls. The bodies were hidden and they continued on, Craven keeping Melancholia close to him as they moved.
They found the cellar empty. Craven led them down the steps, three Necromancers remaining behind, dressed in ill-fitting tuxedos. They were Temple-born and got nervous easily, but all they had to do was stop anyone from entering. Even they couldn’t mess that up.
The cellar was filled with glorious darkness. The caves were beneath them, and provided a last-resort exit in the unlikely event of things going disastrously wrong. There was a secret door somewhere in here, he knew, but it was so well disguised it would take a less intelligent man weeks to find. But Craven had all the angles covered. He took a stone from his robes, gave it to Adrienna Shade.
“Walk with this held close to the ground,” he instructed her. “When it glows blue, tell me.”
“Yes, Your Eminence,” she said, and did as she was told.
Amid the junk that had been collected in the cellar, there was an old table upon which Melancholia sat. She closed her eyes and breathed, preparing herself for what was to come. Craven considered it best to leave her alone. He turned to find Solus looking at him.
“Your Eminence?” Solus said, mocking. “Is that how we address you now? You’re a Cleric, Vandameer. The same as me.”
“Be careful, Cleric Solus,” Craven said. “The last man to question me like you do was Solomon Wreath, who then tried to assassinate me. If you continue to act like him, I might start to fear for my life. And then the White Cleaver would be forced into action.”
At the mention of the Cleaver, Solus’s face went slack. To cover his fear, he nodded to Shade. “And what do you have her d
oing? Walking around with a stone?”
“Below us,” Craven said patiently, “the zombies are standing at the secret door, having made their way through the caves. Once the stone comes into close proximity with its twin, in the possession of the zombies, it will glow. In the case of an emergency, therefore, we know where to blast through in order to make our escape.”
“It’s still reckless,” Solus said, but speaking without gusto. “If they find us here, all our plans will be for nought.”
“No matter where the Death Bringer is when she initiates the Passage,” said Craven, “the Sanctuary forces will converge on her. They may even stop her before the Passage is complete. We can’t risk that. All my plans have been born out of necessity. We needed someone to tip them off as to our whereabouts, so Melancholia told Wreath he was in danger. We needed to make them think Melancholia was dead, so I killed her reflection before any seasoned sorcerer could get a good look at her. We need to take out our enemies before the Passage begins, so we come to them, and allow the Death Bringer to use her wonderful new talents to snatch their lives away. No fighting. No violence. No chance of defeat. I have thought of everything, Cleric Solus. All you need to do is trust me. So I ask – do you trust me?”
The White Cleaver stepped beside Craven, and Solus swallowed thickly.
“I trust you,” he said.
“You trust me…?”
Solus cleared his throat. “I trust you, Your Eminence.”
Craven smiled. “I thought you might.”
Chapter 50
China’s Ally
hina hated mingling, but it was a necessary evil to which she had grown both accustomed and excessively proficient in. Even without her ability to make people fall in love with her, she could charm a room as easily as shrugging. A little light laugh, a touch on the arm, a lingering look, the right words at the right time, they could all get her what she wanted, providing she had an agenda she wished to fulfil.