Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 4 - 6

“Can’t you tell?”

“Not really.”

“Well, for future reference, this is my serious face.”

Fletcher looked at Valkyrie and she shrugged. “We’ll call you when some of us are feeling a little more…sensible,” she said.

“OK,” he said. “Then I’ll…I’ll go then.”

He vanished and Skulduggery turned to her. “Now,” he said. “Where is she?”

They went outside and Valkyrie opened the garage. She grabbed the tarp and pulled it off the car, a 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental, one of only 208 ever made, retrofitted with modern luxuries and the apple of Skulduggery’s eye. If he’d had an eye. Skulduggery ran his hand over the bodywork.

“Do you even need a car these days?” asked Valkyrie. “Aren’t you going to just fly everywhere from now on?”

“Flying takes a lot out of you,” he said, “and it’s not the most inconspicuous mode of transport.”

“But the Bentley is?”

She heard a sound that may have been a laugh and they got in. The Bentley tore out of the garage and raced to the top of the road, taking the turn at a speed that would have terrified Valkyrie were it not Skulduggery behind the wheel.

“Intriguing,” Skulduggery murmured and the Bentley abruptly slowed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“We’re being followed,” he said. “And not very well.”

He took a lazy left on to an empty side street then gunned the engine. Valkyrie was pressed back into her seat. He turned into the next left and stopped in the middle of the road. He made sure his scarf was securely wrapped around his face and got out, gun in his hand.

A blue Volvo roared around the corner and brakes squealed as it swerved to avoid the Bentley. It hit the wall and the engine cut out. Skulduggery crossed to it and smashed the window with the butt of his revolver, then dragged the red-headed driver out and dumped him on the road.

“I don’t appreciate being followed,” Skulduggery said, an edge to his voice.

“Don’t shoot me!” the driver yelled.

“I’ve had enough of being followed,” Skulduggery continued, like he hadn’t heard him. “I’m not in the mood for it any more.”

Valkyrie recognised the cowering young man on the ground. His name was Staven Weeper. She’d seen him in the Sanctuary a few times. His eyes were fixed on the gun at Skulduggery’s side.

“I usually kill people who follow me,” Skulduggery murmured, almost to himself.

Valkyrie frowned. “Skulduggery?”

“That’s what happens,” he continued softly. “They hunt me, they die. Simple. I like to keep it simple. Keep it clean.”

He raised the gun and Valkyrie darted forward. She grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing?”

He looked at her and cocked his head. “Valkyrie. What are you doing here?”

He didn’t move for a moment then shook his head and put the gun back in its holster. He walked over to the Bentley and stood beside it, looking up at the sky. Weeper was staring at him in terrified bewilderment and Valkyrie stepped up to block his view.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

He raised his eyes to her. “I’m here to arrest you.”

“What for?”

“You assaulted Detective Marr and you have obviously opened the portal, against the Grand Mage’s explicit orders.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m finding it hard to believe that they sent you to arrest us.”

“Well, originally, I was just supposed to watch Skulduggery Pleasant’s house,” Weeper admitted. “The other Detectives are busy.”

“With what?”

“They wouldn’t tell me. I heard one of the Sensitives had a vision that they were getting worried about…The Detectives don’t really tell me this stuff. I’m not exactly high on the, you know, the totem pole.”

Skulduggery wandered over, hands in his pockets, seemingly back to his old self. “You’re not here to arrest me, are you?”

Weeper shrank away. “I…I don’t know.”

“Because technically, I have broken no laws recently. I didn’t rescue myself, now did I?”

“I suppose not…”

“So it’s Valkyrie you’re after, is that right?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Excellent.”

“Although…” said Weeper hesitantly.

“Although?”

“Technically, you’ve just assaulted me and I’m a Sanctuary agent.”

“Well, yes,” Skulduggery said, “but you’re not a very good one, are you? I mean, they told you to watch my house. That’s not exactly a high-profile case you’re running. How long have you been watching my house?”

“Uh, three…three months.”

“Three months. And what is the result of your investigation? Has my house been involved in any illegal activities? Has it robbed a bank? Has it mugged anyone?”

“No…”

“Has it moved, even a little?”

“I don’t…think so…”