Kingdom of the Wicked
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“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.”
The Council of Elders had never convened faster. They dropped whatever it was they were doing and immediately met Skulduggery and Valkyrie in the throne room. Ravel and Mist wore their traditional robes, but Ghastly was fresh out of the shower and sat there with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Skulduggery filled them in on what Greta Dapple had told them.
“So you think Argeddion is still alive,” said Ravel, “just hiding somewhere, and has unimaginable power from discovering his true name, which allows him to enter people’s dreams and give them magical abilities?”
“In a nutshell,” said Skulduggery.
“Well, now I’m conflicted. On the one hand, it sounds like things are progressing quickly, which is wonderful news. On the other, it means that there’s a sorcerer out there who could kill us all with a wave of his hand – which dampens my mood somewhat. I’m assuming that Ghastly has already broken with protocol and told you about the Supreme Council and their deadline?”
“He has,” said Skulduggery.
“Then let’s focus on the positive. A quick solution is what we need to get them off our backs. Whatever you need from us, just ask.”
“That’s why we’re here, actually,” said Skulduggery. “We need to know about Tyren Lament.”
Ravel nodded. “All right, then. Good.”
Skulduggery waited. “So?”
“So what?”
“So what can you tell us about him?”
Ravel laughed. “Me? I knew him as well as you did, which wasn’t very well. Why don’t you look up his file?”
“We did. His files are missing.”
“Missing? Then why would you think I’d know anything?”
“Because you’re the Grand Mage,” Skulduggery said. “You have access to the Elders’ Journals.”
“Oh,” said Ravel. “Oh, yeah.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “You have read them, haven’t you? One of the requirements for taking a seat on the Council is you have to read the Journals of those who have gone before.”
“I was getting around to it,” Ravel said, a little defensively. “I was about to start, but … Listen, being an Elder is not an easy job. I rarely sleep, did you know that? I go to bed late, I get up early. Every day I’m in meetings or briefings or I’m doing this or that. I would love the opportunity to take a few afternoons off and read those Journals, I really would. The chance to learn from the wisdom of past Elders … It would be an honour, and I’m looking forward to it.”
Skulduggery nodded. “There are three hundred and forty-four Journals.”
Ravel blanched. “Seriously?”
“All big leather-bound books, a thousand pages long. Single-spaced.”
“Dear God.”
“It’s going to take more than a few afternoons to get through them.”
“So it would appear.” Ravel scowled. “OK, you caught me out, I haven’t read the dusty old diaries. Big deal. I’ll get to it. Ghastly, you’ve read them, what can you tell us about Lament?”
“Uh,” said Ghastly.
Skulduggery shook his head. “Oh, not you, too.”
“One of them is on my bedside table,” Ghastly said quickly. “I started it. I did. But my God it was boring. It was all ‘forsooth’ and ‘verily’ and ‘forthwith’. Did we really speak like that back then?”
“So no one has actually read the Journals,” Skulduggery said. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Ravel and Ghastly both looked sheepish. Finally, Madame Mist spoke.
“I have read them.”
Ravel looked startled. “You have? You didn’t find them … boring?”
“I find many things boring,” Mist said in that quiet way of hers. “It does not mean I’m going to forsake my duty.”
“Well, good,” Skulduggery said, “at least someone here is doing what they’re supposed to. What can you tell us?”
Madame Mist observed him through her veil. “Nothing,” she said.
“Lament wasn’t mentioned?”
“He was mentioned, but I cannot tell you in what context. Only Elders are allowed to know what those Journals contain.”
“Well, we can tell Skulduggery and Valkyrie,” Ravel said.
“No. We can’t.”
Ghastly sat forward so as to look at Mist better. “Yes, we can. They’ve earned that right.”
“It is not for us to decide,” said Mist. “It is a rule.”
“We’re breaking the rule,” said Ravel. “Today that rule is broken. I’m Elder Mage, I decree it. The rule is no more. So tell them what the Journals said.”
“If we want to change the rules, we must vote on it. It need not be unanimous. A simple majority would suffice.”
“So you’re looking for a two-to-one majority,” sighed Ghastly, “when you know exactly how myself and Ravel are going to vote? What’s the point?”
“It is the rules, Elder Bespoke.”
“Fine. All in favour of telling Skulduggery and Valkyrie what the Journals say, raise your hand.” Ghastly and Ravel voted. “There. Two-to-one. We win. Now, if you would be so kind – what did the Journals say about Lament?”
“Tyren Lament was a detective under Meritorious,” Mist said, “specialising in science-magic.”
“That much I know,” said Skulduggery.
“There were others, but their names weren’t mentioned and a definitive number was never given. Lament and his colleagues were a specialist group, tasked with dealing with global threats in as quiet a manner as possible. Meritorious and the Elders spoke very highly of them, but provided few details as to their assignments. There were notes on some low-profile arrests at the beginning of Lament’s Sanctuary career, but even that tailed off.”
“What about Argeddion?” asked Valkyrie. “Was he ever mentioned?”
“No. Neither was the disappearance of Lament and his group.”
“So they vanish off the face of the earth,” Skulduggery said, “and none of the Elders even bother to make a note of it. It sounds like Lament and his friends were Black Ops, the same as our Dead Men, or Guild’s Exigency Mages, but in peacetime. The dirty jobs that have to be done. They went in to take down Argeddion and whatever happened has been wiped from official records. Meritorious covered it up.”
“Not the first time,” Ghastly murmured.
“But wouldn’t that mean Argeddion is dead?” asked Valkyrie. “If they went in and failed, Meritorious would have just sent someone else. He’d probably have sent you. But he didn’t.”
Skulduggery nodded. “Which would seem to indicate that it was mission accomplished.”
Ravel shifted in his chair. “So if everyone who knew about this mission is now dead, where does that leave us?”
“Maybe not everyone,” Skulduggery countered. “Lament may have been killed, maybe most of the others, but there’s no reason to think there wasn’t a survivor who reported back to Meritorious when it was done.”
Valkyrie looked at him. “So we need to find out who else was in Lament’s group. How do we do that?”
Skulduggery put his hat on. “In order to find a man’s friends, who are the best people to ask?”
Valkyrie smiled. “His enemies.”
The Bentley splashed through puddles on the uneven road and pulled up. They got out, and Skulduggery didn’t bother with his façade as an old man wandered over.
“Hi there,” the old man said. “Lost, are you?”
“You really think we’re lost?” Skulduggery asked. “You really think we’re civilians just passing through, one of whom happens to be a skeleton?”
“Oh, yeah,” said the old man. “Yeah, that kind of gives the whole game away, doesn’t it? Suppose you’re wanting to visit the prison, then.”
“I suppose we are.”
“Stay right here, I’ll put the call through. What’d you say your names were?”
“Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain.”
“Pleasant and Cain,” said the old man, nodding. “And you have an appointment?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Be right back.”
He shuffled off into the garage, and Valkyrie looked at the little house with its open door. It shimmered slightly, like it was caught in a heat haze.
“Why’s it doing that?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Skulduggery said. “It could be some kind of projection, or it could be an energy shield of some description.”
“It’s a little small and, I don’t know, accessible to be a prison, isn’t it? Unless it’s a prison for really tiny criminals who aren’t too bright and who don’t really want to escape.”
“Just the regular-sized criminals, I’m afraid. And the house would merely be the entrance – the prison is underground.”
Valkyrie sighed. “Everything is underground. I’m sick of things being underground. Sanctuaries are underground, gaols are underground …” She faltered.
“Wow,” said Skulduggery. “Two things that are underground. That’s a pretty exhaustive list.”
“Shut up. All I’m saying is, it’d be nice if there were a base or a headquarters of something that had big windows and a nice view and maybe even a little sunshine every now and then.”
The old man wandered back. “The warden is ready for you,” he said. “You ever been to Hammer Lane before? The only tricky bit is getting through that front door there. The important thing is not to touch the sides as you walk through. For slender people such as yourselves, this should pose no particular problem. But for other people …” He shook his head, like he was remembering a personal tragedy.
“What happens if we touch the sides?” Valkyrie asked, but he was already walking away. She looked at Skulduggery, and motioned to the open door. “Age before beauty.”
“So kind,” he said, and walked through. He looked back at her. “Well? Are you coming?”
Valkyrie hesitated. The doorway shimmered. She licked her lips, then turned sideways and inched forward into the house.
Skulduggery stood watching her. “What are you doing?”
“Being careful,” she said under her breath.
“You walk through doorways every day and manage not to bounce off one side or the other.”
“Stop distracting me.”
“You could walk in with your hands on your hips and you still wouldn’t touch the sides.”
She took a deep breath and took the last step as a hop, then gasped in relief.
“You puzzle me,” Skulduggery said.
It was a one-room house. There was a tattered armchair and a tattered rug and peeling wallpaper. Something beeped, and the floor started to descend.
“Cool,” Valkyrie whispered.
They left the peeling wallpaper above them and descended through a brightly lit steel shaft, picking up speed as they went. Just as Valkyrie was beginning to enjoy the experience, it was over, and a door slid open to reveal a man in a suit and tie and a smile.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Delafonte Mien, I’m the warden here. Can I get you folks some lemonade?”
Their tour through Hammer Lane Gaol took them through gleaming corridors and steel doors. The main body of the prison was a vast cylinder, at the base of which was the mess hall and social area. There were five levels of cells built into the walls, each one with a circular perimeter walkway that was bordered with a clear material that sounded like glass when Valkyrie knocked on it. They were standing on the Observation Deck, the sixth and highest level, allowing them to overlook the whole structure.
“It sounds like glass,” Mien told her, “because it is glass. Reinforced, of course. It’d take a rocket launcher to even make a crack in one layer of this thing – and it’s four layers thick. Impenetrable.” He waved his hand along the metal barrier, and a section of glass retracted. They leaned over, looking straight down. Valkyrie felt a touch of vertigo.
“Your prisoners are very well behaved,” said Skulduggery. Far below them, the convicts sat in their bright orange jumpsuits at their tables in perfectly ordered groups.
Mien chuckled. “Ah, I wish I could say they’re always like that, but any minute now one of the inmates is going to be rejoining them from a month in solitary confinement. He’s a bit of a troublemaker, so I have extra security down there to deal with any messing.
“You know, before I came here, this was the worst gaol in Europe. Disruptive behaviour, riots, inmates escaping … I was assigned here seventeen years ago, I looked around at what we had at our disposal, and I made changes. Within two years, this place had become a fortress. No prisoner has escaped in fifteen years. Even attempted breakouts have dropped to almost zero.”
“How did you manage it?” Skulduggery asked, stepping back from the barrier, casting his eyeless gaze to the pipes that ran in crazy zigzags across the high ceiling.
Mien waved his hand again, and the glass sealed over. “You may have noticed a slight flickering on your way in. That was the entire building oscillating between dimensions.”
Valkyrie looked at him. “I’m sorry?”
“As we’re talking here,” Mien said, “we’re travelling through eight dimensions a second. Forty dimensions in all, and then back again. A continuous loop. If anyone were to breach the walls, they’d be torn to pieces and scattered through half a dozen realities. There really is no escape except through the front door. The inmates know this. They know it’s hopeless. Because of that, I’ve been able to cut back on the amount of sorcerers and Cleavers needed to run this facility. We operate with a skeleton staff, if you’ll excuse the expression, Detective.”
“Expression excused,” Skulduggery murmured. “So how do you do it?”
“Ah,” Mien said, laughing, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.” They started walking back the way they’d come. “Every warden of every gaol around the world has tried to find out, but I’m keeping it to myself for now. It won’t be long before I’m assigned to one of the bigger prisons, though, and maybe then I’ll share the secret of my success.”
Skulduggery looked at him. “An ambitious man, are you, Mr Mien?”
“I suppose you could say that. Nothing wrong with ambition, is there?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Skulduggery said, “so long as it’s channelled the right way.”
“I assure you, all of my ambition is channelled to enable me to better perform my duties.”
They passed through another steel door, and a uniformed man handed Mien a touch-screen device the size of a brick.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Skulduggery said, taking out his phone and stepping away.
Mien took the opportunity to show Valkyrie the device in his hand. “I control the entire building with this,” he said, his fingers tapping and sliding over the screen. “My own design, actually. I hope to get it smaller, but with the amount of power it has to generate this is the best I can do at the moment.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked. “To have everything centralised in something someone could run away with?”
Mien smiled. “I’m the only one who can operate it, and it’s kept here, within the confines of the main facility. I never bring it outside that door. Security is my business, Detective Cain. I know a thing or two about it.”
Skulduggery came back. “It all looks very impressive, I have to say. It’s certainly a unique set-up. Were you told which prisoner we’re here to see?”
“I wasn’t,” said Mien, “but it doesn’t matter. With the protocols I’ve installed, any inmate can be accessible within minutes. Just give me a moment to call up the proper screen … OK. Name of prisoner?”
“Silas Nadir.”
Mien’s fingers hesitated over the device.
“N,” he said. “N … where’s the N? I can’t … can’t find the … Oh, here we are. Nadir. And what was the first name?”
“Silas,” said Skulduggery.
Mien nodded, tapped the name in, and waited.
“Oh,” he said.
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Oh?”
“I’m terribly sorry, it looks like you’ve had a wasted trip. Silas Nadir died two years ago.”
Skulduggery stopped walking. “What?”
“Oh, this is awful,” said Mien. “I’m terribly sorry. He had a heart attack. The staff here weren’t even aware he had a medical condition. He died in his sleep.”
“So why wasn’t his death reported?”
Mien blinked. “It was. I … I’m sure it was. It would have had to have been. Our Chief Medical Officer would have been required to process all of the appropriate paperwork.”
“Can we speak to him?” Valkyrie asked.
Mien looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. Doctor Taper no longer works at this gaol. Can I ask why you wanted to speak with Nadir? Maybe someone else could help you?”
“We needed Nadir,” Skulduggery said curtly. “Do many prisoners die while in your custody, Mr Mien?”
Mien’s look of embarrassment faded quickly as his mouth set into a straight line. “No, Detective Pleasant. They do not.” He started walking again. Skulduggery and Valkyrie kept up.
“How many prisoners have died here in the last year?” Skulduggery asked.
“None. The inmates may be convicted criminals but they are nonetheless entitled to the best care we can provide.”
“How many prisoners have died here in the last ten years?”
Mien bristled. “Three. Nadir and two others – Evoric Cudgel and Lorenzo Mulct. Should I have personally informed you of their deaths as well?”
“Mulct and Cudgel,” Skulduggery said. “Never heard of them. What were they in for?”
Mien turned to them, jabbing irritably at the device. “Mulct was … Mulct was found guilty of multiple counts of robbery. Cudgel was one of Mevolent’s men. Just another low-level sorcerer.”
“And yet,” said Skulduggery, “you remembered the names of these unexceptional inmates without a problem. But when you heard the name Silas Nadir, a notorious serial killer with murders in the double digits, you had to look him up.”
“After a hesitation,” said Valkyrie.
“Indeed,” Skulduggery nodded. “After a very telling hesitation that seemed for all the world like you were frozen for a moment at the mere mention of his name.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mien, “I have no idea what either of you are talking about.”
“What happened to Silas Nadir, Mr Mien?”
“I told you what—”
“And I think you’re lying.”
“This is preposterous. Why would I lie? I’m not a criminal. The criminals are the ones in the cells.”
“The prisoners are the ones in the cells,” Skulduggery corrected. “Criminals can be anywhere.”
“I’m very sorry but I can’t help you,” Mien said, his voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a gaol to run. The way out is just ahead of you, but I’ll have the Cleavers escort you just to be sure.” Mien turned, started walking away.