Skulduggery Pleasant

Chapter Thirteen The Red Right Hand

HOW ARE YOU?"

Stephanie shrugged and managed not to wince. She handed the gun back to Skulduggery. Her entire body ached. "I'm good," she lied.

Skulduggery glanced at her as he drove. "Are you hurt? Are you injured?"

"No, just a bruise or two. I'm fine, really. You don't have to worry about me."

"Stephanie, you jumped off a building."

"Yes, but the branches broke my fall. Every one of them."

"And how were the branches?"

"A lot unlike pillows."

"You could have been killed."

"But I wasn't."

"But you could have been."

"But I wasn't."

"I'm not denying that you make a good point, but the fact is you could have been. I've already lost a dear friend to all this, and I don't want that to happen again."

She looked at him. "Are you saying you'd be very upset if I died?"

"Very is such a strong word. ..."

"Well, if you teach me some magic, maybe I won't get hurt as badly next time."

"You said you weren't hurt."

"Are you kidding? I jumped off a building — of course I'm hurt."

"Stephanie — "

"Yes, Skulduggery?"

"You can be really annoying at times."

"I know. So where are we going?"

"We're going to at least find the doorway to the caves. Then we'll concentrate on finding the key to open it."

Half an hour later they arrived at Gordon's estate. Stephanie climbed stiffly out of the Canary Car and followed Skulduggery inside.

The cellar was chilly and dark, and the single bulb hanging amid cobwebs wasn't doing its job very well. Countless years' worth of junk was collecting dust down here, and from somewhere in the dark corners came the occasional scuffle of rats. Stephanie wasn't scared of rats, as a rule, but she wasn't too keen on them either, so she stayed away from the corners.

Skulduggery had no such qualms. He examined the walls, scanning the surfaces as he moved sideways along them. Now and then he'd tap the wall, mutter to himself, and move on.

"Is this the same as the way into the Sanctuary?" she asked. "Are you looking for a secret passageway?"

"You watch too many haunted-house movies," he said.

"But are you looking for a secret passageway?"

"Yes," he admitted. "But that's just a coincidence."

She pulled up the sleeve of her coat, revealing an ugly bruise on her arm, and covered it up again before Skulduggery glanced over.

"Did Gordon build the passage?" she asked.

"No, it was included in the original designs. A few hundred years ago, this was a sorcerer's house."

"And he built a secret passageway to the caves? I thought you said the caves were a death trap for sorcerers."

"I did say that, yes."

"So why did he build himself a shortcut? Was he a stupid sorcerer?"

"No, he just wasn't a very nice one. He used to drag his enemies down there and leave them to whatever creatures were hungriest."

"What a charming history. I can see why my uncle bought the place."

"Aha."

Stephanie moved closer. Skulduggery's hand was flat against the wall. He moved it, and she could see a slight indentation, almost invisible to the naked eye.

"That's the lock?"

"Yes. This is one of those good old-fashioned key-required locks — the kind a spell won't open.

Damn it."

"Can you break it?"

"I could break it, but then it wouldn't work, and we couldn't get the door open."

"I meant break through it."

"That would work if the door was in the same place as the lock, but things are rarely that straightforward."

"So we need the key."

"We need the key."

"I don't suppose we'll find it on one of Gordon's key chains."

"Indeed. This is not a regular key we're looking for."

"We don't have to solve a puzzle to get to it, do we?"

"We may."

She groaned. "How come nothing's ever simple?"

"Every solution to every problem is simple. It's the distance between the two where the mystery lies."

They turned off the light and climbed the stairs out of the dank mustiness of the cellar. They walked into the living room, and a man in a suit — a suit that looked almost Victorian in design — turned to them.

He had black hair and thin lips, and his right hand, which was skinless, glistened with blood and wet muscle. Before Stephanie could even register her surprise, Skulduggery was pulling the gun from his jacket. The man moved as gunshots filled the room, stepping to one side and waving his right hand.

She didn't know what he did, but it worked, and no bullets hit him.

"Run!" Skulduggery said, pushing her out of the room.

She stumbled and something moved beside her, and she turned as another man came at her.

There was something wrong with him — something wrong with his skin, with his features: they didn't look real, they looked almost papery. She tried to hit it, whatever it was, but it was like hitting a bag of air. A fist swung at her, but unlike its body, the fist was heavy and solid, and it snapped her head back. She staggered and it reached for her, but then Skulduggery was there, hurling it away.

Three more of them came through the front door. Stephanie ran to the stairs, Skulduggery covering her escape. Halfway up, she looked back as the man in the suit strolled into the hall.

She shouted a warning and Skulduggery turned to face him, but it was too late.

Purple vapor gathered in the man's left palm, and he released it in a stream that flowed into Skulduggery and arced out behind him and above, flowing back into the man's other hand, forming a circle. Skulduggery dropped to his knees, trying to raise the gun but unable to hold it, and it fell to the floor.

"Take him," the man said, cutting off the purple stream. Skulduggery sagged, and three of the paper men grabbed him, started dragging him out of the house. The man motioned to the fourth.

"You, kill the girl."

And he walked out.

Stephanie sprinted to the landing, the papery thing clumping up the stairs behind her. She ran to Gordon's dark study, slammed the door, and pushed over one of the bookcases. It toppled and crashed, and books spilled across the floor.

The door opened an inch and hit the bookcase. Heavy fists started to pound on it from the other side.

She went to the window, opened it, and looked down. Even if she made the drop without breaking her legs, she'd land right in front of the man with the red hand. She backed off, looked around for a weapon.

The bookcase slowly scraped across the floor.

The door was opening wider.

Stephanie turned, moved behind the desk, and hid. The pounding continued. She peered out.

She could see a papery arm now, reaching around. Then a shoulder, and a head. She ducked back into hiding.

One last heave, and the door was open wide enough for the thing to step over the fallen bookcase. Stephanie stopped breathing.

She peeked out. It crossed to the window and leaned out, hands on the sill.

Stephanie rose and launched herself forward. It heard her and tried to turn, but she slammed into it. Its heavy hands slipped off the sill and dragged it through the window, and' Stephanie reached down, grabbed its lower leg, and hauled. The thing tried to turn, tried to reach back through the window, but it was too late, and out it went with a faint rustle of paper.

It landed in a heap, and she saw the man in the suit glare up at her. He waved his arm, and she threw herself away from the window as the air turned purple and the window exploded. Glass shards rained down on her back, but they didn't tear through the coat.

She lay where she was, hands over her head, until she heard a car start up. Then she got up, glass and splinters of wood falling from her, and reached the window just in time to see a silver car leave the estate. They'd left her, obviously deciding it wasn't worth the effort to make sure she was dead.

She pulled the crumpled business card from her pocket, got out her phone, and dialed the number. The call was picked up almost immediately. She spoke urgently.

"I need help. They've taken Skulduggery."

"Tell me where you are," China Sorrows said. "I'll send someone to pick you up."