Kingdom of the Wicked

“Perfectly understandable. I’m heading to the security room. I’ll be able to see you on the monitors soon enough. You should be seeing three doors ahead of you.”

“Yeah, I’ve just reached them.”

“Take the second one to your left.”

She tried it. “It’s locked.”

“Kick it open.”

“It’s a sturdy door, Skulduggery.”

“But it’s not reinforced. It’s not designed to keep any prisoners in or out, it’s designed to keep unauthorised personnel from going places they don’t have clearance for. It’s just a simple door with a simple lock. And you’ve got very strong legs.”

She looked at the door. “See, this is where a gun would come in really handy.” She kicked. “Ow! Oh, God!”

“Are you OK?”

“Kicking doors hurts! Even with Ghastly’s boots!”

“Put your weight behind it. Pretend the door is someone who has really annoyed you recently.”

“Can I pretend it’s you?”

“I really don’t see how that would—”

She kicked it, and the door burst open. “I’m in,” she said, closing the door behind her. “And that really hurt my foot. I’m in a room with machines along the walls. Lots of blinking lights.”

“Do you see the ventilation duct along the floor?”

She froze. “Please tell me I don’t have to crawl through that.”

“I’m afraid you do.”

“No. I can’t. It’s too small.”

“The measurements are—”

“I get claustrophobic! You know I do! Especially after the caves last year, with all those things and I couldn’t move my arms and they were in my hair and—”

“Calm down.”

“I’m not getting in there, I’m just not.”

“You’ll be able to fit,” he said, his voice gentle. “You will have space to move. You won’t be trapped.”

“I can’t.”

“Valkyrie, listen to my voice. I know you don’t want to, I know you don’t think you can, but you don’t have a choice. I’m in the security room now and I can see the monitors. The prisoners are swarming the building. You can’t let them catch you.”

She dropped to her knees at the duct. “How do I even open it? It’s screwed in place.”

“You’re going to have to prise it open. Is there anything you could use?”

She looked around. “There’s a bench here with things on it, bits of machinery and stuff. And some tools. There’s a screwdriver! I could use the screwdriver to prise it open!”

“Yes,” Skulduggery said, “or you could use it to unscrew the screws.”

“Oh, yeah,” she muttered. She grabbed the screwdriver, hurried back to the duct and got to work.

“The Cleavers are doing a good job with the riot,” Skulduggery said, “but there are prisoners running everywhere. How are you doing?”

“One almost … OK, it’s out. Three left.”

“The prisoners have reached the security door.”

The screwdriver kept slipping out of the groove. “The glass door?”

“Yes.”

“So they’re really close.”

“Yes.”

Her mouth was dry. “The moment they realise they can’t break through that door they’re going to turn around, find their way through here.”

Skulduggery hesitated. “They’ve turned around, Valkyrie.”

Two screws left.

“They’re heading towards you.”

The screwdriver slipped again.

“Valkyrie …”

“I’m going as fast as I can.” Her heart hammered. The third screw fell. “One left.”

“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said, “you’re going to have to be really, really quiet.”

She heard voices, and running footsteps. She turned, screwdriver clutched like a knife, waiting for the door to burst open.

The voices passed the door, started to grow distant.

“They’re carrying on to the end of the corridor,” Skulduggery said. “There’s no way out there. They’ll have to double back. You don’t have long.”

She spun, screwdriver working, twisting and twisting until—

“Done,” she said, the last screw joining the others on the ground. She dug the screwdriver in at one corner and prised the covering loose, then got her fingers in there. She bit her lip and pulled, ignoring the pain as the metal dug into her skin. It came free all of a sudden and she lifted it away. She looked at the square hole. It was dark, and looked too small to fit in.