The Dying of the Light (21 page)

He blinked. “They were the most boring jobs I could think of. I wasn’t going to turn him into a cop or a firefighter or a jet pilot or—”

“Yeah. Fair enough. But what about, like, an office worker or something?”

“What kind of office?”

“Who cares? Give him a desk and a stapler and a meaningless, inconsequential career with zero responsibility and no stress.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Deacon. “I didn’t really think of jobs like that. Maybe I should have.”

Darquesse shook her head, amused. “Please tell me he’s teaching at a good school, at least.”

“I don’t know, actually,” Deacon said. “The details were filled in later by Grand Mage – or ex-Grand Mage – Ravel. He picked where Argeddion worked and where he lived. Don’t think he told anyone else. It’s like Witness Protection, you know? The fewer people know about it, the safer it is.”

Darquesse nodded. “So you don’t even know whereabouts he’s living?”

Deacon chuckled. “I don’t even know his last name!”

“Ah. Right then. Suppose I should kill you now, so …”

The chuckle dried up. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, not
kill
, exactly. I mean, yes, I’m going to end your life and this, this
person
I see before me will not exist any more, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Physical death means nothing. We’re all just energy, after all, aren’t we? Poor little Deacon Maybury. One of six identical brothers, only two of which remain alive. How did the others die, Deacon? Remind me?”

“I don’t … Valkyrie, what’s going on? Why are you—”

“Davit locked himself into a room, but forgot to provide ventilation, I know that much. Dafydd fell into a wood-chipper. That one’s my favourite. How did the other two die?”

Deacon backed away slowly. “Intestinal distress and rabid goat.”

Darquesse clapped her hands. “Eaten by a rabid goat, that’s right! I think that might be my new favourite, to be honest. So now there’s just Dai and you left alive.”

“You’re not … you’re not Valkyrie …”

Darquesse gave him a smile. “No I’m not. So, how am I going to kill you, Deacon? What is the amusing fashion in which you’ll die? It is a family tradition, after all.”

“You … you don’t have to kill me. Why do you have to? I’m no threat to you.”

“You’re the only one who can do what you do to people’s minds, Deacon. Given the chance, I’m sure Skulduggery would think up a way to use your skills against me before I built up a defence.”

Tears ran down Deacon’s face, and he clasped his hands before him. “Please … I don’t want to die …”

“It’s OK,” said Darquesse. “You won’t feel a thing.”

She waved her hand and he exploded into atoms.

Now was the tricky part. She still had control over those atoms and she spun some of them, manipulated them, changed them as much as she was able, as much as her limited knowledge allowed, and she took them and brought them together and a little yellow rubber duck appeared in mid-air and fell to the floor.

It bounced with a slight squeak.

Darquesse grinned, and left.

larabelle gave them the signal, and Scapegrace and Thrasher hurried into the Medical Wing.

They were but minutes away from uncovering the Sanctuary’s dark little secret. If what Clarabelle said was true, if their old bodies were still here, then questions had to be answered. Questions like, why? What for? When? Where? Fair enough, the last two questions were probably immaterial and the first two meant the same thing, but Scapegrace was going to find answers to, essentially, that one question, and he was going to find answers today.

When they were sure that none of the busy doctors and medical personnel were looking, Scapegrace and Thrasher clambered on to a gurney and lay flat. Clarabelle immediately threw a white sheet over them. They lay very still as she wheeled them along.

This was the risky part. They were out in the open. If someone noticed Clarabelle acting strangely, it’d all be over. What would happen to them then? Would China Sorrows order their ‘disappearance’? Would all three of them mysteriously vanish? How deep did this secret go? How far did this conspiracy spread?

As she wheeled them, Clarabelle hummed that song from
Frozen
. Thrasher started humming along with her and Scapegrace glared at him. Funny – now that he had a purpose once more, he found his capacity for becoming irritated with Thrasher was growing. He hadn’t had the energy to tell him to shut up in weeks. He felt all that about to change.

Clarabelle stopped humming. So, thankfully, did Thrasher. Then it was the gurney that stopped.

“Clarabelle,” said a woman’s voice.

“Hello, Doctor Synecdoche,” said Clarabelle.

Scapegrace held his breath. They were going to be discovered. Oh dear God, they were going to be discovered.

“What do you have there?” Synecdoche asked.

“Body parts,” said Clarabelle.

“I’m sorry?”

“Body parts. Parts of a body. All gross and icky. I put the sheet over them because they’re far too disgusting to look at.”

Synecdoche was silent for a moment. “Where are you taking them?”

“Through there.”

“I see. And where did you get them?”

Scapegrace looked at Thrasher out of the corner of his eye. Thrasher was sweating. He felt it, too. This was it. This was the end.

“Skulduggery Pleasant told me to put them somewhere safe,” Clarabelle said. “He told me they’re part of a very important case he’s working on. These are the remains of Lewis Holmes.”

Clarabelle said that name like it was supposed to mean something.

“Who?” Synecdoche asked.

“Lewis Holmes. You haven’t heard of him?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Lewis Holmes died horribly while saving the world,” said Clarabelle. “He went up against an evil Warlock and the Warlock tricked him, drugged him and dismembered him. That means he cut off his limbs.”

“I know what dismembered means, Clarabelle.”

“The evil Warlock left him for dead,” Clarabelle continued, “but Lewis survived. According to Skulduggery, Lewis attached and tied four tourniquets, using only his teeth, and then he rose athletically to his buttocks and tracked down the Warlock with his keen sense of smell. Cornered, with no way out, the Warlock dived for his weapon, intending to use it to destroy the world. But Lewis bravely rolled into his path.”

“Is any of this true?”

“Skulduggery said they fought for eight days and eight nights. The Warlock’s blade separated Lewis from several body parts, including his favourite ear, but Lewis gave as good as he got.”

“Clarabelle, I’m really quite busy.”

“On and on they fought. The Warlock may have thought it would be an easy battle, but he didn’t know that Lewis had been trained in more fighting arts than he’d ever heard of. And the more injuries Lewis got, the more dangerous he became. It would be accurate to say that after his dismemberment, Lewis Holmes became a true master of unarmed combat.”

“Oh dear God, Clarabelle.”

“The Warlock fell backwards, impaling himself upon his own weapon, and Lewis Holmes lay there, panting, gazing up at the night sky. Triumphant.”

Scapegrace waited. It seemed unlikely that anyone would believe such a story, especially someone as intelligent as a doctor, but Clarabelle had told it quite convincingly. He’d almost been convinced himself.

“And how did Lewis end up here?” Synecdoche asked.

Hell.

“Hmm?” Clarabelle said.

“If he survived eight days of fighting and blood loss without any arms or legs, what killed him in the end?”

“Oh,” Clarabelle said. “Oh, yes. Well, he was lying there, being all triumphant and out of breath, and, like, a pack of wolves found him and ate him.”

“Wolves.”

“Yes.”

“And where did all this happen?”

“A land far, far away. Britain.”

“Clarabelle … you made that story up, didn’t you?”

Scapegrace waited for Clarabelle’s cunning reply.

“
Nnnnno
,” she said slowly.

“There is no Lewis Holmes, is there?”

“There is,” Clarabelle insisted. “His remains are under this sheet. I can show them to you if you want, but they’re so disgusting you’ll probably explode your brain in horror.”

“Lewis Holmes doesn’t exist, does he?”

The sheet covering Scapegrace bunched suddenly as Clarabelle gripped it. “He does. He’s right here. I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”

Oh dear lord, she was going to pull the sheet off. She believed her own story. She was going to pull the sheet off and then it would all be over.

“Clarabelle, wait,” Synecdoche said. “You don’t have to. It’s OK. You’ve been working really hard to fit in and … I believe you. I do. Go on now, you’d better put those remains somewhere safe.”

“I will,” said Clarabelle.

Scapegrace heard Synecdoche walk away, and suddenly the gurney was moving again.

“She believed me!” Clarabelle whispered.

Scapegrace was too relieved to answer.

The subdued bustle of the Medical Wing quietened, and the light beyond the sheet changed. They were in a new room. The gurney’s wheels squeaked. Clarabelle turned them into another room, and the light changed again.

“OK,” Clarabelle said, pulling the sheet away, “we’re here.”

Scapegrace and Thrasher sat up. It was a large room filled with electronic equipment that beeped and chattered. The centre of the room was taken up by a water tank in which floated Scapegrace’s old body. Beside it was Thrasher’s corpse.

Scapegrace got off the gurney and approached the tank. It was surreal, seeing his old self like this. The body was rotten and burnt, though not as rotten and burnt as he’d remembered. In fact, it wasn’t looking half bad, all things considered. His eyes refocused on his reflection in the glass. Within the tank, Scapegrace was dead and decrepit and decomposing. Outside the tank, he was tall and strong and beautiful. But as he looked from his new face to his old one, he realised that the old one was home, and it always would be.

“So these are Lewis Holmes, are they?”

They turned. Doctor Synecdoche came forward, sighing. “Clarabelle, for the last time, this is a restricted area. That means unauthorised people cannot just wander in. We have a lot of sensitive projects being researched and we have to be strict about this. I’ve told you before about this kind of thing.”

“But these are my friends,” said Clarabelle, blushing. “They miss their old bodies.”

“That’s not the point, it’s just …” Synecdoche shook her head. “Oh, Clarabelle, what am I going to do with you?”

Clarabelle hung her head.

Scapegrace stepped up, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t blame her. We found out about this and forced her to take us here. It’s time you answered a few of our questions, Doctor. What are you doing with our bodies? Nye told us that once our brains were taken out of them, they’d be destroyed. Burned.”

Synecdoche nodded. “That was the plan, but then one of the other doctors requested that they be kept intact to study the effects certain procedures have on necrotic tissue.”

Scapegrace jabbed his finger at her. “So
that’s
your dark little secret!”

“I’m sorry?”

“The secret you’ve been keeping! The conspiracy!”

She looked genuinely puzzled. “Uh, there is no conspiracy, and it’s not a dark little secret. You should probably have been informed that your old bodies were still intact, but apart from that administrative oversight, everything that has occurred here has been above board.”

“Oh.”

Thrasher peered more closely at the glass. “They don’t seem as rotten as they were.”

“They’re not,” said Synecdoche, turning away from Scapegrace. “We’ve actually been able to reverse a lot of the damage done by simple day-to-day wear and tear. It’s been hugely beneficial to work on such a fine pair of zombie specimens as these. Usually this sort of research is conducted on slabs of meat. The work we’re doing here could have far-reaching benefits across a whole array of medical and scientific areas.”

Thrasher raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” said Synecdoche. “You two should be proud of yourselves. You’re going to make a real difference in the world.”

Thrasher looked back at Scapegrace. “Do you hear that, Master? We’re going to make a difference.”

Was this it? Was this what Scapegrace had been searching for? The chance to do something important, the chance to make a difference … Sure, it wasn’t what he’d had in mind. In truth, it had nothing to do with him. It was his old body that was doing all the work. But still … it was something.
He
was something. He
mattered
. Maybe this could be it. Maybe this could be his pathway to contentment. He wasn’t going to save the world, but by contributing to the world of science, well … That was something to be proud of. Finally.

An odd thing happened to his face. His facial muscles contracted and pulled and his mouth twisted.

“Master!” Thrasher exclaimed. “You’re smiling! And it’s beautiful!”

exter Vex was talking with Saracen Rue when she walked in, and they both turned and Vex smiled and came over, arms out for a hug.