Skulduggery Pleasant: Death Bringer Part 7

Chapter 8.

Friends in High Places.

oarhaven stood like a dirty inkblot on a nice clean page. A small town, barely even that, beside a dark and stagnant lake, it was hemmed in on two sides by steep banks of brown gra.s.ses. It had its main street and its offshoots, its houses and bars and grim-windowed shops. Sorcerers lived in this town, but only the truly bitter, the genuinely resentful. The outside world was a world gone wrong, a world of ignorant mortals with their squabbling ways. In the bars of Roarhaven, of which there were two, the citizens were known to whisper of some future time when the mortals would fall and the sorcerers rise. And when the drink gave them the courage, these whispers would grow louder, turn to muttered oaths punctuated by fists pounding on tabletops.

Change, they said, was coming.

Roarhaven, Valkyrie knew, was many things. One thing it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, was a tourist town. So when the Bentley pa.s.sed a rental car stopped outside what pa.s.sed for the town's corner shop, Valkyrie frowned.

"Pull over," she said.

Skulduggery looked at her as they slowed. "Here?"

"I've seen how this place treats strangers. I just want to make sure we're not going to need Geoffrey Scrutinous to come in and smooth things over."

The Bentley stopped and Valkyrie got out. Skulduggery continued on to the Sanctuary as she walked back to the rental car. A woman sat in the pa.s.senger seat. Three kids were squashed in behind. American accents.

She smiled at the woman, got a curt nod back, and then she entered the shop. A few newspapers on the racks. No magazines. Some food, confectioneries, stationery, a fridge with cartons of milk and ham slices, and a broad American man arguing over the counter with the tight-lipped shopkeeper.

Valkyrie smiled as she walked up. "Is there a problem?" she asked.

"This man won't leave me alone," said the shopkeeper.

The American frowned at him. "I'm trying to buy something."

The shopkeeper ignored him. "He just won't leave."

The American turned to Valkyrie. "We came into this store-"

"It's not a store," interrupted the shopkeeper, "it's a shop."

"Fine," the American growled. "We came into this shop ten minutes ago. My kids picked out what they wanted, brought them up to the counter to pay. This jerk stood there, right where he is now, looking up at the ceiling while we tried to get his attention."

"I was ignoring them," said the shopkeeper. "I had heard that if you ignore them, they go away. This one did not go away."

"You're d.a.m.n right I'm not going away. I'm a customer and you will serve me."

The shopkeeper sneered. "We don't serve your kind here."

"You don't serve Americans?"

"I don't serve mortals."

The American raised his eyebrows at Valkyrie. "And then he starts with this nonsense."

Valkyrie looked at the shopkeeper. "Wouldn't it be easier at this stage to just let him buy the stuff and leave?"

The shopkeeper shook his head. "You do that for one of them, you'll have to do it for all of them."

"For all of who? There isn't anyone else waiting out there."

"They'll hear about it, though."

"Hear about it?" the American said. "Hear about this little shop in the middle of nowhere where I actually bought something? First of all, I don't even know where we are! Far as I can tell, it's not on any of our maps. I can find that dirty lake out there, but there's not supposed to be any freaky little town beside it."

"If you didn't know there was anything here," the shopkeeper said, "then how did you find us?"

"We're sightseeing."

"Sightseeing," the shopkeeper said, "or spying?"

"Spying? On you? Why the h.e.l.l would we spy on you? You're a lunatic with a crummy little store who seems to have a pathological need to not sell anything to his customers."

"I'm sorry," said the shopkeeper, "I can't understand your ridiculous accent."

"My accent?"

"It is quite silly."

"So you can't understand me?"

"Not a word."

"Then how did you understand that?"

"I didn't."

"You didn't understand what I just said?"

"That's right."

"You understood that, though."

"Not at all."

The American glowered. "I swear to G.o.d, I will reach across this counter and I will punch you right in the mouth."

"Uh," Valkyrie said, "I think we should all calm down a little. Sir, as you may have guessed, this isn't the friendliest town in the world. You go to any other town in the area, I can guarantee that you will be greeted with the biggest smiles you've ever seen. But they do things differently here."

"We just stopped off for some soda for my kids. And I'm not leaving until this guy takes my money and gives me my change."

"Please," Valkyrie said to the shopkeeper, "take his money."

The shopkeeper lowered his eyes to the money on the counter. His lip curling distastefully, he placed a finger on the note and dragged it to the till.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" the American asked. The shopkeeper ignored him, and spilled a few coins on to the counter. With a sigh, he looked up. "Happy?"

The American stuffed the change in his pocket then picked up the drinks. "I heard the Irish were especially friendly."

"That was before anyone ever came here," the shopkeeper told him. "Now we're exactly as friendly as everyone else."

The American narrowed his eyes, but managed to restrain himself from slipping further into the argument. "I'm going to walk out of here. Someone as rude as you, you're not worth my time."

The shopkeeper didn't respond. He had gone back to looking up at the ceiling.

Valkyrie escorted the American to his car. "I'm really sorry about that," she said. "I've been visiting this town for almost a year now, and they still don't like talking to me, either."

Skulduggery walked over, a bright smile on his fake face. "h.e.l.lo there!" he cried. "Everything OK?"

The American frowned suspiciously, but Valkyrie nodded to him. "Just the shopkeeper being rude again, that's all."

"Ah," Skulduggery said, "yes. Very rude man, that shopkeeper. All's well, though? No harm done? Excellent." He crouched at the car window and looked in. "What a lovely family you have. What a charming family. They're all lovely. Except for that one." His finger jabbed the gla.s.s. "That one's a bit ugly."

The American stepped towards him. "What? What did you say?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure his personality makes up for his face."

Valkyrie jumped between them, keeping the American back. "He didn't mean it," she said quickly. "My friend is not right in the head. He just says things. Bad things. I'm really very sorry. You should probably go."

"Not before this creep gives my kid an apology."

"Oh, G.o.d," Valkyrie muttered.

"Have I offended you?" Skulduggery asked. "Oh, dear. I really am sorry."

"Don't apologise to me," the American snarled. "Apologise to my son."

"Which one? The ugly one?"

"Whichever one you were talking about."

"It was the ugly one," Skulduggery confirmed.

"Stop calling my kid ugly!"

Valkyrie elbowed Skulduggery in the ribs. "Apologise this instant," she said through gritted teeth.

"Of course," Skulduggery said, and leaned down to the window. "I'm very sorry!" he said loudly so they could hear. "Sometimes I say things and I'm not aware that I'm saying them until it's too late. It's entirely my fault. My sincerest apologies for any offence caused." He straightened up.

The American finally dragged his eyes off Skulduggery. "This," he said, "is the nastiest town I've ever been to."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Valkyrie said.

He glared at Skulduggery one final time, then got into the rental car and drove off.

"What," Valkyrie said, "was that?"

Skulduggery tilted his head. "What was what?"

"You called his kid ugly!"

"Did I?"

"It just happened twenty seconds ago!"

"Oh. I didn't notice, to be honest. My mind was elsewhere. I'm sure I was joking, though. And I'm sure he knew I was joking. It's all fine. It was an ugly kid, though. Did you see it? It's like it had two half-finished faces pushed together. Still, all that's in the past. I do hope they come back. They seemed nice. Come along."

He walked towards the Sanctuary. Valkyrie hurried to catch up.

"Are you feeling OK?" she asked.

"Me?"

"You."

"I suppose I'm feeling a little dis...o...b..bulated. A little out of sorts. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. Why are we here?"

She frowned. "We're meeting with the Elders about Melancholia."

He snapped his fingers. "Yes! Excellent. Good. So we are. Marvellous."

The Bentley was parked outside an ugly building of concrete and granite. The Sanctuary was round and flat and low, and squatted beside the stagnant lake like someone had dropped it from a great height. It had one main entrance and three hidden exits. No windows. No paint. No frills. Inside it was just as frugal, stone walls and curving corridors flowing in a concentric pattern to the middle. Cleavers stood guard and sorcerers and officials went about their business. No matter the weather outside, it was always cold in the Sanctuary.

The Administrator met them when they entered. "Detectives Pleasant and Cain, the Council is waiting for you."

Skulduggery nodded. "Lead the way, Tipstaff."

Tipstaff nodded politely. They followed him on a bisecting route through the ever-decreasing circles of corridors, straight to the Round Room at the building's core.

Pictures of dead Elders lined the walls, salvaged from the gloom by small spotlights. Three large chairs, like thrones, were placed in the middle of the room, and on those thrones sat the Elders. Ghastly Bespoke sat to the left, the light playing on the ridges of the scars that covered his entire head. In the middle sat Grand Mage Erskine Ravel, a handsome man with beautiful eyes and the slyest smile Valkyrie had ever seen, and on the right sat Madame Mist, a Child of the Spider, who looked at them through her veil. Out of all three Elders, she was the only one who didn't seem to mind the robes they had to wear.

"Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain seek an audience with the Council," Tipstaff announced, bowing before them. "Does the Council acquiesce?"

Ghastly sighed. "Is this really necessary?"

Tipstaff looked up. "Protocol must be followed, Elder Bespoke."

"But they're our friends."

"That may be so, yet rules exist to guard us from chaos. This is a new Sanctuary, and protocol must be established and followed."

"So we sit up here on these b.l.o.o.d.y thrones," Ravel said, "and they stand down there? We can't walk around or, I don't know, grab a coffee while we talk?"