Skulduggery Pleasant: Kingdom of the Wicked (8 page)

“It was a
stick
.”

“I thought you liked the stick. You laughed.”

“I laughed because I thought the stick was a joke and you were about to give me my real present, but then you went home and I was standing there with a stupid stick with a stupid bow on it.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Skulduggery stopped, turned his head. “Hear that?”

“What?”

He didn’t answer, he just changed direction and she followed. Gradually she heard the rhythmic slap of flesh on leather, and they walked into a sparse room with only a punchbag hanging from the ceiling. Ghastly Bespoke moved around it, wearing jogging bottoms and nothing else, sweat running over his scars as he made the punch bag regret the day it had come into existence. They stood watching him until he saw them, and he finished with a flurry and stepped away, breathing hard.

“Hello, underlings,” he said.

“Elder Bespoke,” Skulduggery responded, leaning against the doorframe. “Did that bag do something to upset you in any way?”

Ghastly wiped his face with a towel. “It was mocking my choice of friends.”

“Aha, so you were defending our honour.”

“Actually, I was trying to make it shut up before someone passed by. I’m a respected member of the Council of Elders, I can’t be seen to be taking advice from large bags of sand.”

Skulduggery shrugged. “I can see how that might give the wrong impression.”

“I heard you’ve the word out for someone called Argeddion,” said Ghastly. “Any luck?”

“None so far.”

“Any idea how he’s mixed up in all this? We’re getting a lot of pressure from the international community to get this solved and squared away.”

“Is that who the VIPs were last night?” Valkyrie asked.

Ghastly looked at her. “That was official Sanctuary business. I’m sorry, but I can’t be talking about that with you. I can’t say, for instance, that Quintin Strom turned up on our doorstep as the voice of the Supreme Council, elected by a virtual conglomerate of other Councils around the world, to voice their concerns over matters of Irish security.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Simply to voice their concerns?”

“Oh, yes,” Ghastly said. “No other agenda than that, he assured us. And please ignore the fact that he brought a small army of mages with him as bodyguards, an army that stands ready to act at a moment’s notice, or that we have a week to resolve this situation with the mortals or something unspecified will happen.”

“Ah,” said Skulduggery. “An unspecified threat. The worst kind.”

“Indeed,” said Ghastly. “Thank God we’re all friends, that’s all I can say. A more suspicious man than I might grow paranoid with all these foreign agents hanging around, especially with most of our own operatives spread out around the country to try and contain this magical outbreak. Why, if the Supreme Council got it into their little heads to launch an attack, we’d be completely defenceless.”

“It’s a good thing we’re all friends, then,” Skulduggery murmured.

“Indeed it is. So you see how finding this Argeddion person is suddenly very high up on our list of things to do and do quickly.”

“Then we’ll get back to it,” Skulduggery said. “Oh, did you get that jacket I left in to be repaired?”

Ghastly’s eyes narrowed. “I told you to be especially careful with that suit, didn’t I? I told you I was especially proud of my work on that suit. And what did you do? You wore it werewolf-hunting.”

“I only did it to help you, Ghastly. I fear this job robs you of the simple pleasures of tailoring that you need to remain true to your roots.”

“You’re so thoughtful.”

Skulduggery doffed his hat. “Always thinking of others, that’s me.”

They left Ghastly and headed for the main doors. Valkyrie chewed her lip a moment before asking, “Are we in danger?”

“Constantly,” Skulduggery replied.

“I mean from the Supreme Council.”

He looked at her. “Why would we be in danger from them?”

“Something Ravel said last year. If the other Sanctuaries try to take over, you and me would be the first people they’d kill.”

“Ah, yes, because of our wonderful propensity for causing trouble.”

“So? Are we in danger?”

They passed a Cleaver standing guard. “I honestly don’t know,” Skulduggery said. “If they do want to take over, and I’m confident they do, there are different ways to go about it. If they had chosen a hostile takeover, then absolutely, one of their first moves would be to have us killed. But the route they appear to have chosen is far more insidious – they’re using logic and reason against us. The fiends.”

“But they
do
want to take over?”

“They’ve wanted to for some time now.”

Valkyrie kept her voice down so passing sorcerers wouldn’t hear. “So do you think they’re behind this Argeddion stuff? If they wanted an excuse to stick their noses in, mortals turning magical would seem to be a great one.”

“I don’t think so. This is far too uncontrollable. One mistake and magic is revealed to the world. That’s too much of a risk for them to take. No, I think they’re doing what every good invading force does – simply taking advantage of an obvious weakness.”

“Do you think we’ll go to war with them?”

“I hope not,” Skulduggery said. “War doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me.”

“Detectives.”

They turned as the Sanctuary Administrator approached.

“There’s a woman here to see you,” Tipstaff said, “one Greta Dapple. She claims to be familiar with this person you’re looking for.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “She knows Argeddion?”

“Knows him?” Tipstaff said. “From what she says, she used to date him.”

reta Dapple was old. Valkyrie was used to old people – Skulduggery was somewhere over 400, after all – but very rarely did she meet someone who
looked
old. Greta had white hair, tied in a bun. She was small and frail and it was like she’d been left out in the sun too long. She sat in the interview room with her hands folded across her purse, and smiled at them when they entered.

“Miss Dapple,” Skulduggery said, “thank you for coming in. We were told you know a man named Argeddion – is this true?”

“Yes, it is,” Greta said, “although he was Walden D’Essai when I first met him. Lovely man. Had the kindest eyes I ever did see. We fell in love one summer. The kind of love you have to hold on to. But I didn’t, because I was young and I didn’t know any better. I’ve never regretted anything so much.”

“Walden D’Essai,” Skulduggery murmured. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”

“I’m not surprised, Detective – aren’t the people you
do
hear of mostly criminals or terrorists or troublemakers? Walden was none of those things. He was a pacifist. He was so gentle, he’d never hurt another living thing. That’s what I loved about him most. He believed in the goodness of people. That’s probably what got him killed.”

Valkyrie frowned. “He’s dead?”

“Of course he is. Isn’t that why you want to talk to people who knew him? To solve his murder?”

“That’s exactly it,” Skulduggery said. “We just want justice. Tell us what you know.”

“Magic was never that strong with me,” said Greta. “I’ll be two hundred years old this week and I look one hundred. My magic has never been strong enough to slow my ageing to any great degree. Not that I have any cause to complain. I’ve lived twice as long as I should have, and I’m grateful for it. But Walden was strong, and he loved magic. Not in a bad way, though. He didn’t get like some people get – it wasn’t the power he loved. It was simply the magic. He said it was the most beautiful thing in existence. Well, actually, he said that
I
was the most beautiful thing in existence, but magic came a close second.” She chuckled and Valkyrie smiled.

“When we weren’t together,” Greta continued, “he was studying. Reading. Researching. He went on vision quests, looking for answers. He wanted to find the source of magic – where it came from, how it worked. He wanted to know why Ireland was a Cradle of Magic, and Australia and Africa. He wanted to know if there were any other Cradles that we didn’t know about. Oh, the things he discovered. The secrets he learned.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Did he happen to tell you any of these secrets?”

Greta laughed. “A few. But it’s not my place to repeat them. These answers came to him after years of searching – you’ll forgive me if I don’t cheapen his achievements by simply blurting them out.”

“Annoying,” Skulduggery said, “but completely understandable. Go on.”

“Thank you. One of Walden’s overriding beliefs was that our true names are not actually the source of our magic, but rather they are directly
connected
to the source – it is through them that magic flows.”

“Flows from where?”

“He was never that specific, I’m afraid. He talked about the source as a place, but didn’t explain how it fitted into his theory. I suppose he would have, if I had asked, if I had even pretended to understand the things he got excited about. But as I said, I was young, and my mind was elsewhere.

“He became obsessed with learning his own true name. He poured all his energies into it. Vision quest after vision quest. He withdrew from the world. Withdrew from me. I know now that I should have fought him, that I should have refused to let him go, but... I didn’t. He grew more distant and I left. I don’t think he even noticed I was gone for the first few weeks.”

“Argeddion was Walden’s true name,” Skulduggery said slowly, and Valkyrie’s mouth went dry. Argeddion was like her – a sorcerer who knew his own true name. The most dangerous thing imaginable.

Greta nodded. “A year after I left him, he got in touch. He told me he’d finally discovered it, that he was now Argeddion, and that all the answers were within his reach. But something else had changed, apart from what he called himself. He wasn’t the obsessed man that I’d walked out on. He had a new name, but he was his old self again. Full of wonder and joy. I was so happy to see that his gentleness had returned, but I was also nervous. Only a handful of people had ever discovered their true names. I didn’t know what would happen, what he’d become. I wasn’t... You must understand, I wasn’t scared of him, but I was scared of what it might
mean
.”

Greta was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was sad. “I wasn’t the only person to feel that way. Somehow, they heard about what was happening, and they came to my door asking questions.”

Valkyrie frowned. “They?”

“Sorcerers. There were four of them, three men and a woman, but I only remember one name, the leader’s – Tyren Lament. The woman was a Sensitive. Lament said she’d had a vision of the future or some such rubbish. I’ll tell you honestly, I’ve never trusted those people.”

“But this Sensitive,” Skulduggery said, “she saw a future where Walden had done something wrong?”

Greta looked flustered. “She saw nonsense, that’s what she saw. Walden D’Essai was a pacifist. He’d lost his mother to violence at an early age and it affected him deeply – he couldn’t stand to inflict pain on anyone. But this Sensitive, this psychic, had a little nightmare where there’s violence and death and suffering and Walden is apparently the cause of it all. After they’d left, I called Walden, told him they were looking for him. He told me not to worry, he’d explain everything and they’d understand that he wasn’t a threat. That was the last time I ever spoke to him.”

“You think they killed him?”

“I do. Can you arrest them?”

“Tyren Lament disappeared thirty years ago,” Skulduggery said. “If Walden
is
dead, it sounds like he wasn’t the only one to die that day.”

“If they died,” said Greta, “it was their own doing. Walden would never raise a finger to hurt anyone.”

“Maybe not directly,” Skulduggery said, “but we’ve been dealing with a lot of unexplained phenomena where people have been hurt and killed – and someone called Argeddion would seem to be behind it.”

“Wait. You think my Walden is
alive
? No. I’m sorry, but no. If Walden were still alive, he’d have contacted me long before now. He’s dead. I know he is.”

“And theoretically that would be enough to keep him down,” Skulduggery said, “but in our line of work death is seldom an obstacle.”