The Faceless Ones

  Skulduggery Pleasant

  THE FACELESS ONES

  BY

  DEREK LANDY

  THIS BOOK IS dedicated to my agent, Michelle Kass.

  I’m not going to be sappy here, okay? I’m not going to talk about how much you’ve done for me (which is a lot), or the impact you’ve had on my life (which is immense), and I’m not even going to talk about the advice, encouragement, and counsel you’ve given me since we met. And I’m not going to mention conversations on tractors either, or iPods at dinner tables, or the number of Yiddish words you’ve taught me that I’ve promptly forgotten.

  All of which, surprisingly, leaves me with nothing much to say.

  Sorry about that.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  One THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

  Two KILLER ON THE LOOSE

  Three THAT FIRST KISS

  Four THE SEA HAG

  Five TRACKING THE TELEPORTER

  Six FLETCHER RENN

  Seven BATU

  Eight THE CIVILIZED MAN

  Nine THE ENEMY

  Ten FINBAR’S LITTLE TRIP

  Eleven WREATH

  Twelve IN THE OFFICE OF THE GRAND MAGE

  Thirteen THE HOUSE ON CEMETERY ROAD

  Fourteen THE DIABLERIE

  Fifteen BREAKING AND ENTERING

  Sixteen STEALING THE GROTESQUERY

  Seventeen THE DARK LITTLE SECRET

  Eighteen IN THE FLESH

  Nineteen THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

  Twenty ARANMORE FARM

  Twenty-one OPPORTUNITY RINGS

  Twenty-two CONVERSATIONS WITH A LATE UNCLE

  Twenty-three A NATHEM MIRE

  Twenty-four THE CHANGING HOUSE

  Twenty-five THE RAID

  Twenty-six THE SCEPTER

  Twenty-seven BLINK

  Twenty-eight SAYING GOOD-BYE

  Twenty-nine CELL MATES

  Thirty BERYL

  Thirty-one OLD FRIENDS

  Thirty-two THE TRADE

  Thirty-three JAILBREAK

  Thirty-four THE BATTLE OF ARANMORE

  Thirty-five THINGS OF IMPOSSIBILITY

  Thirty-six ENEMIES

  Thirty-seven FALLING INTO PLACE

  Thirty-eight FROM ALL SIDES

  Thirty-nine CRISIS OF FAITH

  Forty KILLING GODS

  Forty-one THE MOMENT

  Forty-two BLACK LIGHTNING

  Forty-three THE GATEWAY

  Forty-four THE TASK

  About the Author

  ALSO BY DEREK LANDY

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  One

  THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

  THE DEAD MAN was in the living room, facedown on the floor beside the coffee table. His name had been Cameron Light, but that was back when his heart had a beat and his lungs had breath. His blood had dried into the carpet in a large stain that spread outward from where he lay. He’d been stabbed, once, in the small of the back. He was fully clothed, his hands were empty, and there was no other sign of disturbance in the room.

  Valkyrie moved through the room as she had been taught, scanning the floor and surfaces, but managing to avoid looking at the body. She felt no compulsion to see any more of the victim than she absolutely had to. Her dark eyes drifted to the window. The park across the street was empty, the slides glistening with the rain and the swings creaking in the chill early-morning breeze.

  Footsteps in the room, and she turned to watch Skulduggery Pleasant take a small bag of powder from his jacket. He was wearing a pin-striped suit that successfully filled out his skeletal frame, and his hat was low over his eye sockets. He dipped a gloved finger into the bag and started to stir, breaking up the smaller lumps.

  “Thoughts?” he said.

  “He was taken by surprise,” answered Valkyrie. “The lack of any defensive marks means he didn’t have time to put up a fight. Just like the others.”

  “So the killer was either completely silent …”

  “Or his victims trusted him.” There was something odd about the room, something that didn’t quite fit. Valkyrie looked around. “Are you sure he lived here? There are no books on magic, no talismans, no charms on the walls, nothing.”

  Skulduggery shrugged. “Some mages enjoy living on both sides. The magical community is secretive, but there are exceptions—those who work and socialize in the so-called mortal world. Mr. Light here obviously had a few friends who didn’t know he was a sorcerer.”

  There were framed photographs on a shelf, of Light himself and other people. Friends. Loved ones. From the photos alone, it seemed like he’d had a good life, a life filled with companionship. Now it was over, of course. There was no Cameron Light anymore, just an empty shell on the carpet.

  Crime scenes, Valkyrie reflected, were rather depressing places.

  She looked over at Skulduggery as he sprinkled the powder into the air. It was called rainbow dust because of the way any residual traces of magic in an area would change its color. This time, however, the powder remained the same color as it drifted all the way down to the floor.

  “Not one trace,” he muttered.

  Although the couch was obscuring her view of the body, Valkyrie could still see one foot. Cameron Light had been wearing black shoes and gray socks with worn elastic. He had a very white ankle. Valkyrie stepped to the side so that the foot was out of view.

  A bald man with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes joined them in the room. “Detective Crux is nearby,” Mr. Bliss said. “If you are caught at a crime scene …” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

  “We’re going,” Skulduggery said. He pulled on his coat and wrapped his scarf around the lower half of his skull. “We appreciate you calling us in on this, by the way.”

  “Detective Crux is unsuited to an investigation of this nature,” Bliss responded. “Which is why the Sanctuary needs you and Miss Cain to return to our employ.”

  There was a slight hint of amusement in Skulduggery’s voice. “I think Thurid Guild might disagree with you there.”

  “Nevertheless, I have asked the Grand Mage to meet with you this afternoon, and he has promised me he will.”

  Valkyrie raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Bliss was one of the most powerful men alive, but he also happened to be one of the scariest. He still creeped her out.

  “Guild said he’d talk to us?” Skulduggery asked. “It’s not like him to change his mind about something like that.”

  “Desperate times” was all Bliss said.

  Skulduggery nodded, and Valkyrie followed him outside. Despite the gray skies, he slipped a pair of sunglasses into place above his scarf, hiding his eye sockets from passersby. If there were any passersby. The weather, it seemed, was keeping most sensible people indoors.

  “Four victims,” Skulduggery said. “All Teleporters. Why?”

  Valkyrie buttoned her coat, struggling a little. Her black clothes had saved her life more times than she wanted to count, but every move she made reminded her that she had grown since Ghastly Bespoke made them for her, and she wasn’t twelve anymore. She’d had to throw away her boots because they’d gotten too small, and buy a regular pair in an ordinary, average shop. She needed Ghastly to change from a statue back to a man and make her a new outfit. Valkyrie allowed herself a moment to feel guilty about being so selfish, then got back to business.

  “Maybe Cameron Light, along with the other Teleporters, did something to the killer, and this is his—or her—revenge.”

  “That’s Theory One. Anything else?”

  “Maybe the killer needed something from them.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Teleporter
stuff.”

  “So why kill them?”

  “Maybe it’s one of those items where you have to kill the owner to use it, like the Scepter of the Ancients.”

  “And so we have Theory Two.”

  “Or maybe the killer wanted something that one of them had, so he was just working his way through the Teleporters until he found whoever had it.”

  “Now that’s a possibility, and so becomes Theory Two, Variation B.”

  “I’m glad you’re not making this needlessly complicated or anything,” Valkyrie muttered.

  A black van pulled up beside them. The driver got out, looked up and down the street to make sure no one was watching, and slid open the side door. Two Cleavers stepped out and stood silently, dressed in gray, faces hidden behind visored helmets. They each held a very long scythe. The last occupant of the van emerged and stood between the Cleavers. Wearing slacks and a matching blazer, with a high forehead and a goatee beard pointing down in an effort to give himself a chin, Remus Crux observed Skulduggery and Valkyrie with a disdainful expression.

  “Oh,” he said, “it’s you.” He had a curious voice, like a spoiled cat whining for its dinner.

  Skulduggery nodded to the Cleavers on either side of him. “I see you’re going incognito today.”

  Immediately, Crux bristled. “I am the Sanctuary’s lead detective, Mr. Pleasant. I have enemies, and as such, I need bodyguards.”

  “Do you really need them to stand in the middle of the street?” Valkyrie asked. “They look a little conspicuous.”

  Crux sneered. “That’s an awfully big word for a thirteen-year-old.”

  Valkyrie resisted the urge to hit him. “Actually, it’s not,” she replied. “It’s fairly standard. Also, I’m fourteen. Also, your beard’s stupid.”

  “Isn’t this fun?” Skulduggery said brightly. “The three of us getting along so well.”

  Crux glared at Valkyrie, then looked at Skulduggery. “What are you doing here?”

  “We were passing, we heard there’d been another murder, and we thought we could get a peek at the crime scene. We just arrived, actually. Is there any chance … ?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Pleasant,” Crux said stiffly. “Because of the international nature of these crimes and the attention they’re getting, the Grand Mage expects me to conduct myself with the utmost professionalism, and he has given me strict instructions as regards you and Miss Cain. He doesn’t want either of you anywhere near Sanctuary business.”

  “But this isn’t Sanctuary business,” Valkyrie pointed out. “It’s just a murder. Cameron Light didn’t even work for the Sanctuary.”

  “It is an official Sanctuary investigation, which makes it official Sanctuary business.”

  Skulduggery’s tone was friendly. “So how’s the investigation going? You’re probably under a lot of pressure to get results, right?”

  “It’s under control.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is. And I’m sure the international community is offering help and pooling resources—this isn’t just an Irish problem, after all. But if you need any unofficial help, we’ll be glad to—”

  “You may break the rules,” Crux interrupted, “but I don’t. You no longer have any authority here. You gave that away when you accused the Grand Mage of treason, remember?”

  “Vaguely …”

  “You want my advice, Pleasant?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Find a nice hole in the ground somewhere and lie in it. You’re finished as a detective. You’re done.”

  Wearing what he probably thought was a triumphant sneer, Crux, and the two Cleavers, entered the building.

  “I don’t like him,” Valkyrie decided.

  Two

  KILLER ON THE LOOSE

  THE BENTLEY parked in the rear of the closed-down Waxworks Museum, and Valkyrie followed Skulduggery inside. A thick layer of dust had collected on the few remaining wax figures who stood in the darkness. Valkyrie waited while Skulduggery searched the wall for the panel that opened the hidden door.

  Idly, Valkyrie examined the wax figure of Phil Lynott, the lead singer from Thin Lizzy. It stood nearby, holding a bass guitar, and was actually a pretty good likeness. Her dad had been a big Thin Lizzy fan back in the 1970s, and whenever “Whiskey in the Jar” came on the radio, he’d still sing along, albeit tunelessly.

  “The panel is gone,” Skulduggery announced. “The moment we left, they must have changed the locks on us. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.”

  “I get the feeling you’re going to decide on flattered.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a fuzzier feeling.”

  “So how do we get in?”

  Someone tapped Valkyrie on the shoulder, and she yelped and leaped away.

  “I am sorry,” the wax figure of Phil Lynott said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

  She stared at it.

  “I am the lock,” it continued. “I open the door from this side of the wall. Do you have an appointment?”

  “We’re here to see the Grand Mage,” Skulduggery said. “I am Skulduggery Pleasant and this is my associate, Valkyrie Cain.”

  Phil Lynott’s wax head nodded. “You are expected, but you will need an official Sanctuary representative to accompany you through the door. I have alerted the Administrator. She should be arriving shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  Valkyrie stared at it for a few more seconds. “Can you sing?” she asked.

  “I open the door,” it said. “That is my only purpose.”

  “But can you sing?”

  It considered the question. “I do not know,” it decided. “I have never tried.”

  The wall rumbled behind them, and a door shifted and slid open. A woman in a somber skirt and white blouse stood there, smiling politely.

  “Mr. Pleasant,” the Administrator said, “Miss Cain, welcome. The Grand Mage is expecting you. Please follow me.”

  The figure of Phil Lynott didn’t say good-bye as the Administrator led them down a spiral staircase, their way lit by burning torches in brackets. They reached the bottom and passed into the foyer. It felt weird, walking into a place that had once been so familiar and now seemed so alien. The irrational part of Valkyrie’s brain was certain that the Cleaver guards were glaring at them from behind their visors, even though she knew they were far too disciplined and professional to display such petty behavior.

  The Sanctuary, she had only recently realized, was shaped like a massive triangle that had toppled over, and was now lying flat beneath the surface of Dublin City. The foyer marked the dead center of the triangle’s base, with long corridors stretching out to either side and a central corridor running straight. The side corridors turned in at forty-five-degree angles and eventually met the central corridor at the triangle’s point. Smaller corridors bisected these in a seemingly random pattern.

  The rooms along the main corridors were mostly used for the day-to-day running of the Sanctuary and the Council of Elders’ business. But down some of those narrower corridors lay rooms that were a lot more interesting—the jail, holding cells, the Repository, the armory, and dozens more that Valkyrie had never even seen.

  The Administrator chatted amicably with Skulduggery as they walked. She was a nice lady, brought in as a replacement for the Administrator who had died during Nefarian Serpine’s raid on the Sanctuary two years before. Valkyrie closed her mind to the memory of the carnage. She had lived through it once—she saw no reason to do so again.

  The Administrator showed them into a large room with no furniture. “The Grand Mage will be with you in a moment.”

  “Thank you,” Skulduggery said, nodding politely, and the Administrator left.

  “Do you think we’ll be waiting long?” Valkyrie asked, keeping her voice low.

  “The last time we were in this building, we accused the Grand Mage of being a traitor,” Skulduggery said. “Yes, I think we’ll be waiting long.�
��

  Almost two hours later, the doors opened again and a gray-haired man strode in, his face lined and serious and his eyes cold. He stopped when he saw Valkyrie, who was sitting on the floor.

  “You will stand when I enter the room,” he said, barely managing to keep the snarl out of his voice.

  Valkyrie had been getting up before he spoke, but as she got to her feet, she kept her mouth shut. This meeting was too important to risk ruining because of something stupid.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Skulduggery said. “We understand you must be very busy.”

  “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t allow you to waste another moment of my time,” Guild said. “But Mr. Bliss continues to vouch for you. It is out of respect for my fellow Elder that you are even here.”

  “And on that positive note …” Skulduggery began, but Guild shook his head.

  “None of your jokes, Mr. Pleasant. Say what you came here to say and leave the sarcastic comments to one side.”

  Skulduggery’s head tilted slightly. “Very well. Six months ago, while preparing to bring down Baron Vengeous, you fired us over a disagreement. Later that same day, we defeated both Vengeous and the Grotesquery, and the threat they posed was averted. And yet our role in that operation was overlooked.”

  “You’re looking for a reward? I have to say, I’d be disappointed if I didn’t already think so little of you. I didn’t think money interested someone like you. Or perhaps you’d like a medal?”

  “This isn’t about a reward.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “Four Teleporters have been murdered in the past month, and you still have no idea who is responsible. You know we should be in on this.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with civilians. I assure you, Detective Crux has matters well in hand.”

  “Remus Crux is a second-rate detective.”

  “On the contrary, there is no doubt in my mind that Crux is the best man for the job. I know him and I trust him.”

  “And how many more people have to die before you realize your mistake?”