Skulduggery Pleasant

Chapter Eight Ghastly

Stephanie went to bed as soon as she got home, and woke at a few minutes past two in the afternoon. She padded to the bathroom and showered, her body aching as she stood under the spray. Her knees were scraped and cut from when she'd been dragged along the road. Her skin was mottled with deep bruises. Her neck was stiff.

She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, and pulled on fresh jeans and a T-shirt. Barefoot, she took her old clothes downstairs and threw them into the washing machine, added the powder, and turned it on. It was only after she'd had something to eat that she allowed herself to think about the previous night.

Well, she said to herself, so that happened.

She tied her shoes and went out, the sunshine warm on her face. At the end of her road, she passed the old pier and started toward Main Street. Normality. Kids playing football, riding bikes, and laughing; dogs running about, tails wagging; neighbors talking to neighbors and the world being as she'd always thought it was. No living skeletons. No magic. No men trying to kill her.

A crazy laugh escaped her lips when she reflected on how much her life had changed in the space of a day. She had gone from being a perfectly ordinary girl in a perfectly ordinary world to being a target for water-soluble weirdos and a partner with a skeleton detective out to solve her uncle's murder.

Stephanie faltered. Her uncle's murder? Where had she got that from? Gordon had died of natural causes; the doctors had said so. She frowned. But these were doctors who lived in a world without walking, talking skeletons. But still, why assume he'd been murdered? What on Earth had made her think that?

There are items that cannot be taken, China had said, possessions that cannot be stolen. In the case of such an item, the owner must be dead before anyone else can take advantage of its powers.

Her attacker and whoever had sent him — they wanted something. They wanted something badly enough to kill her to get it. And if they wanted it that badly, would they really have waited for her uncle to die of natural causes before they went looking for it?

Stephanie felt cold. Gordon had been murdered. Someone had killed him, and no one was doing anything about it. No one was asking the questions, no one was trying to figure out who did it.

Except for Skulduggery.

She narrowed her eyes. He must have known Gordon was murdered. If he hadn't already suspected it when they first met, he must have worked it out in the library. China probably knew as well, but neither of them had told her. They didn't think she could handle it, maybe. Or maybe they didn't think it was any of her business. It had to do with their world, after all, not hers. But Gordon was still her uncle.

A car pulled up behind her. People stared. She looked back and saw the Bentley.

The driver's side was still badly buckled from where the car had rammed it, and the windshield was cracked. Three of the windows were without glass, and the hood had a series of ugly dents running up its left side. The usual purr of the engine was replaced by a worrying rattle that cut out abruptly when the engine turned off. Skulduggery — in hat, scarf, and sunglasses — went to get out, but the door wouldn't open.

"Oh boy," she muttered.

She watched him lean away from the door and raise his knee, and then he kicked it open and got out, adjusting his coat as he walked over.

"Good afternoon," he said brightly. "Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it?"

"People are staring," Stephanie whispered as he neared.

"Are they really? Oh, so they are. Good for them. So, are we ready to go?"

"That depends," she answered, speaking softly and keeping a smile on her face. "When were you going to tell me that my uncle was murdered?"

There was a slight hesitation. "Ah. You worked that out, then?"

Stephanie turned down a narrow lane between two buildings, moving away from the prying eyes of Haggard's gossipmongers. Skulduggery hesitated a moment, then caught up to her, walking fast.

"I had a very good reason for not telling you."

"I don't care." Now that no one could see her, she dropped the smile. "Gordon was murdered, Skulduggery. How could you not have told me?"

"This is a dangerous business. It's a dangerous world that I'm part of."

She stopped suddenly. Skulduggery kept walking, realized she wasn't beside him anymore, and turned on his heel. She crossed her arms. "If you don't think I can handle it — "

"No, you've certainly proven yourself capable." She heard the tone of his voice change slightly.

"I knew from the moment I met you that you're just the type of person who would never walk away from danger, simply out of stubbornness. I wanted to keep you out of it as much as I could. You've got to understand — Gordon was my friend; I thought I owed it to him to try to keep his favorite niece out of harm's way."

"Well, I'm in harm's way, so it's not your decision anymore."

"No, apparently it isn't."

"So you won't keep anything from me again?"

He put his hand to his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Okay."

He nodded and led the way back to the Bentley.

"Though you don't actually have a heart," she said.

"I know."

"And technically, you've already died."

"I know that too."

"Just so we're clear."

"What's he like?" Stephanie asked as they drove.

"What's who like?"

"This guy we're going to see. What's his name?"

"Ghastly Bespoke."

She looked at Skulduggery to make sure he wasn't joking, then realized there was no way she could tell. "Why would anyone call themselves Ghastly?"

"All manner of names suit all manner of people. Ghastly is my tailor, and also happens to be one of my closest friends. He first taught me how to box."

"So what's he like?"

"Decent. Honorable. Honest. But more fun than I'm making him sound, I swear. Also, he's not magic's biggest fan. ..."

"He doesn't like magic? How could he not like magic?"

"He just doesn't find it interesting. He prefers the world he reads about in books and sees on TV, the world with cops and robbers and dramas and sports. If he had to choose, I expect he'd choose to live in the world without magic. That way, he could have gone to school and gotten a job and been . . . normal. Of course, he's never been given the choice. I suppose, for him, there could never really be a choice. Not really."

"Why not?"

Skulduggery hesitated for only a moment, as if he was choosing how best to say it, then told her that Ghastly was born ugly.

"Not just unattractive," he said. "Not merely unappealing, but really, honestly ugly. His mother was jinxed when she was pregnant with him, and now his face is ridged with scars. They tried everything to fix it — spells, potions, charms, glamors, various and sundry creams, but nothing worked."

He explained that as a child, Ghastly had always told his friends that he got his love of boxing from his father, and his love of sewing from his mother. The truth was, his father was the one who was constantly making alterations to hemlines and such, and his mother was a bare-knuckle boxing champ, who boasted twenty-two consecutive wins. Skulduggery had seen her fight once. She had a right hook that could take a head clean off. And according to legend, it had once, too.

Regardless, Ghastly was brought up in these two separate disciplines and, figuring he was ugly enough already, decided to try a career as a tailor rather then a boxer.

"And I for one am glad he did," Skulduggery said. "He makes extraordinary suits."

"So we're going to see him because you need a new suit?"

"Not quite. You see, his family has amassed a unique collection of artwork, paintings, and literature about the Ancients, from all over the world. Included are a couple of rare volumes that could be very useful indeed. All anyone knows about the Scepter is based on half-forgotten myths. Those books, and whatever else is in Ghastly's collection, will hold a far more detailed description of the legends, about what the Scepter is and, in theory, how one would go about defending oneself against it."

They parked and got out. The neighborhood was dirty and run-down, and people hurried by without even glancing at the battered car in their midst. A little old lady shuffled past, nodding to Skulduggery as she went.

"Is this one of those secret communities you were telling me about?" Stephanie asked.

"Indeed it is. We try to keep the streets as uninviting as possible, so no casual passerby will stop and have a look around."

"Well, you've succeeded."

"You should be realizing by now that looks are, more often than not, deceiving. A neighborhood like this, with its graffiti and litter and squalor, is the safest neighborhood you could possibly visit. Open the door to any one of these houses around us, and you walk into a veritable palace. Surface is nothing, Stephanie."

"I'll try to remember that," she said as she followed him to a little shop perched on the corner.

She looked around for a sign. "Is this the tailor's?"

"Bespoke Tailors, yes."

"But there's no sign. There aren't any clothes in the window. How would anyone know it's even open?"

"Ghastly doesn't need to advertise. He has a very specific clientele, and he can't really afford to let ordinary people wander in when he's measuring out a new suit for an eight-armed octopus man."

"Are you serious? There's an eight-armed octopus man?"

"There's a whole colony of octopus people," he said as they approached the door.

"Really?"

"Good God, Stephanie, of course not. That would be far too silly."

He walked on before she could even try to hit him. The shop door was unlocked, and he led the way in. Stephanie was surprised by how clean and bright and ordinary-looking it was. She didn't know what she was expecting — mannequins that came alive and tried to eat you, perhaps. There was a nice smell in here too. Comforting.

Ghastly Bespoke walked out from the back room and smiled when he saw them. He shook Skulduggery's hand warmly. He was broad shouldered, and his scars covered his whole head.

When Skulduggery turned to introduce Stephanie, and he saw the way she was staring at Ghastly, he shrugged.

"Don't mind her," he said. "She stares. That's what she does when she meets new people."

"I'm quite used to it," Ghastly said, still smiling. "Do you want to shake hands, miss, or start off with something easy, like waving?"

Stephanie felt herself blush, and she stuck out her hand quickly. His hand was normal — no scars — but tough, and strong.

"Do you have a name?" he asked.

"Not yet," she admitted.

"Better make sure that you really want one before you think any more about it. This life isn't for everyone."

She nodded slowly, not sure what he was getting at. He took a moment, looking her up and down.

"There's been some trouble?"

"Some," answered Skulduggery.

"Then the proper attire is probably called for." Ghastly took out a small pad, started jotting down notes. "Do you have a favorite color?" he asked her.

"I'm sorry?"

"To wear. Any preference?"

"I'm not sure I understand. ..."

"Not all the clothes I make are merely examples of exquisite tailoring. Sometimes, if the situation arises, special requirements are catered to."

"Such as keeping you safe until this whole thing is over," Skulduggery said. "Ghastly can make you a suit, nothing too formal, that could very possibly save your life."

"Fashion," said Ghastly with a shrug. "It's life or death." His pen was at the ready. "So, once more, do you have a favorite color to wear?"

"I. . . I'm not sure I could afford it. ..."

Ghastly shrugged again. "I'll put it on Skulduggery's tab. Go nuts."

She blinked. To go from her mother buying most of her clothes to this was a step she hadn't been expecting. "I don't know; I'm not sure. . . . Black?"

Ghastly nodded and scribbled in his notebook. "Can't go wrong with black." He looked at Skulduggery. "Just let me lock up," he said. "Then we can talk properly."

While they waited for him to do so, Skulduggery and Stephanie wandered into the back of the shop. Fabrics of all types and textures were arranged very neatly on massive shelves that lined the walls. There was a single workplace in the center of the room and another doorway leading farther back.

"He's going to make me clothes?" Stephanie whispered.

"Yes, he is."

"Doesn't he need to take measurements or something?"

"One glance, that's all he needs."

They passed through into a small living room, and moments later Ghastly joined them.

Stephanie and Skulduggery sat on the narrow sofa, and Ghastly sat in the armchair across from them, both feet flat on the ground and fingers steepled.

"So what's all this about?" he asked.

"We're investigating Gordon Edgley's murder," Skulduggery said.

"Murder?" Ghastly said after a short pause.

"Indeed."

"Who would want to kill Gordon?"

"We think Serpine did it. We think he was looking for something."

"Skul," Ghastly said, frowning, "usually when you want my help, you just call and we go off and you get me into a fight. You've never explained what's going on before, so why are you doing it now?"

"This is a different type of help I need."

"So you don't need me to hit anyone?"

"We'd just like your help in finding out what Serpine is after."

"I see," Ghastly said, nodding his head.

"You don't see, do you?"

"No," Ghastly said immediately. "I really don't know what you want me to do."

"We think Serpine is after the Scepter of the Ancients," Stephanie said, and she felt Skulduggery sink lower into the cushion beside her.

"The what?" Ghastly said, his smile reappearing. "You're not serious, are you? Listen, I don't know what my dear friend here has been saying, but the Scepter isn't real."

"Serpine thinks it's real. We think that has something to do with my uncle's death."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ghastly said. "I really am. I respected Gordon. He knew there was magic in the world, and he wasn't seduced by it. He just wanted to observe and to write about it.

That takes a strength that I hope has been passed on to you."

Stephanie didn't answer. Skulduggery didn't look at her.

"But," Ghastly continued, "to say that his death has something to do with a legend that has been passed down from generation to generation, and that has changed with each telling, is just nonsense. He had a heart attack. He was mortal. He died. That's what mortals do. Let him have his death."

"I think my uncle knew where the Scepter is, or he had it, and Serpine killed him, and now Serpine knows where it is, and that's why he wants the key."

"What key?"

"The key to get the Scepter, maybe. We're not sure. What we do know is that he tried to kill me twice to get it."

Ghastly shook his head. "This isn't your world."

"I'm a part of it now."

"You've just stepped into it. You've seen magic and sorcerers and a living skeleton, and I bet you're having great fun — but you haven't the slightest idea what's at stake."

Skulduggery didn't say anything. Stephanie got to her feet.

"You know what?" she said. "For me, this is an adventure. That's what you're saying, isn't it?

Well, you're right. I do look at all this as a big adventure, and I'm fascinated and excited and thrilled by it all. I've seen amazing people do amazing things, and I've been amazed." Her eyes hardened. "But don't you dare, for one second, think that this is just a game to me. My uncle left me a fortune — he left me everything I could ever want — he did all that for me, but he's dead now. So now I'm going to do something for him — I'm going to find out who killed him, and I'm going to do what I can to make sure they don't just walk away from it. He's got to have someone on his side."

"This is insane!" Ghastly said, leaning forward in his chair. "The Scepter's a fairy tale!"

"I believe it exists."

"Of course you believe it exists! You've been dragged into a world where you think anything can happen, but that's not how it works. Your uncle involved himself in this, and if what you say is true, he got killed for it. Are you so eager to do the same? You're playing with fire."

"Everyone plays with fire around here."

She felt Skulduggery at her side.

"This hasn't gone the way I was expecting," she heard him say.

"There are rules for things like this," Ghastly said, ignoring her and speaking to Skulduggery.

"There's a reason we don't tell everyone we're out here. She is a prime example of why."

Her anger flared and she knew she couldn't talk now without her voice cracking and betraying her, so she barged past him. She walked through the shop, unlocked the door, and walked out onto the street. She could feel the anger twisting in her insides, making her fingers curl. She hated not being treated as an equal, she hated being talked down to, and she hated the feeling of being protected. She didn't much like to be ignored, either.

Skulduggery emerged from the shop a few minutes later. He walked up to her as she leaned against the Bentley, arms crossed and staring at a crack in the pavement.

"So that went well," he said eventually. When she didn't answer, he nodded and said, "Did I tell you how I first met Ghastly?"

"I don't want to know."

"Ah. All right then." Silence drifted down like smog. "It's not very interesting, anyway. But it has pirates in it."

"I couldn't care less," Stephanie said. "Is he going to help us or not?"

"Well, he doesn't think it's a great idea to have, you know, to have you with me on this one."

"Oh, really?" Stephanie responded bitterly.

"He seems to think I'm being irresponsible."

"And what do you think?"

"I have been known to be irresponsible in the past. It's entirely plausible that it's happening again."

"Do you think I'm in danger?"

"Oh, yes. Serpine still believes you are in possession of whatever key he's looking for. The moment he learns who you are or where you are, he'll send someone else. You're in — and I don't think I'm exaggerating here — especially grave danger."

"Then let's be absolutely clear on this, okay? I can't leave this. I can't go back to my dull, boring, ordinary life, even if I wanted to. I've seen too much. I'm involved here: It's my uncle who was murdered, it's my life that's in danger, and I am not about to just walk away. That's all there is to it."

"Well, I'm convinced."

"So why are we standing around?"

"My question exactly," Skulduggery said, unlocking the Bentley. They got in, and the Bentley rattled to life at the turn of the key. Skulduggery checked the rearview, then the side mirrors, then remembered that he didn't have any side mirrors anymore, and pulled out onto the road.

"So we don't get to look at his family's collection?" she asked as they drove.

"Ghastly is a good man, and a good friend, and precisely the kind of person you want on your side, but he is also one of the most stubborn people I know. In four days, once he has had time to think, he will change his mind, and he will quite happily let us see what we need to see, but until then we don't have a hope."

"Wouldn't the books be in China's library too?"

Skulduggery made a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt. "China has been after those books for years, but they're locked away where even she can't reach them."

"You know where they are?"

"In the Vault."

"In a vault? So what?"

"Not a vault, the Vault. It's a series of chambers housed beneath the Dublin Municipal Art Gallery, very well protected, where they don't take kindly to trespassers."

She took a moment, then spoke. "Ghastly will change his mind in four days?"

"That's how long it usually takes, yes."

"But we don't have four days, do we?"

"No, we don't."

"So you know what we have to do, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"We need to look at that collection."

He looked at her. "I knew you'd be good at this. The moment I saw you, I knew you had the instinct for this job."

"So we break into the Vault?"

He nodded reluctantly. "We break into the Vault."

The Dublin Municipal Art Gallery was situated in one of the more affluent parts of the city. A gleaming triumph of steel and glass, it stood alone and proud, its lush gardens keeping the other buildings at a respectable distance.

Stephanie and Skulduggery parked across the road as part of what he was calling a preliminary stakeout. They weren't going to break into the Vault yet, he assured her; they were just here to get some idea of what they were up against. They had just seen the gallery staff and a half dozen security guards leave the building, their shift over for the day. Two people, a man and a woman dressed in blue overalls, passed them on the steps and entered the Gallery, locking the doors behind them.

"Ah," Skulduggery said from beneath his scarf. "We may have a problem."

"What problem?" Stephanie asked. "Them? Who are they?"

"The night shift."

"Two people? That's all?"

"They're not exactly people."

"So who are they?"

"It's not so much who as what."

"I swear, Skulduggery, you either give me a straight answer or I'm going to the biggest dog you've ever seen and making him dig a hole and bury you in it."

"Oh, that's charming, that is," Skulduggery said, then made a sound like he was clearing his throat, though there was nothing to clear and no actual throat to clear it from. "Did you notice the way they moved?"

"Very, I don't know . . . gracefully. What about it? Are they dancers? The Vault has ballerina security guards?"

"They're vampires," Skulduggery said. "The Vault has vampire security guards."

Stephanie made a show of poking her head out the window and looking up at the sky. "The sun's still out, Skulduggery. It's still bright."

"Doesn't matter to them."

She frowned. "Doesn't sunlight kill them? Doesn't it turn them to dust, or make them burst into flames or something?"

"Nope. Vampires tan, just like you and me. Well, just like you. I tend to bleach."

"So sunlight has no effect on them?"

"It binds them. It dampens their powers. During the day, they are for all intents and purposes mortal, but when the sun goes down, their powers flare up."

"I didn't know that."

"And the Vault employs two of them as their night shift. The ultimate guard dogs."

"If sunlight doesn't hurt them, I don't suppose crosses will scare them off?"

"The best way to stop a vampire is with a whole lot of bullets, and since we don't want to hurt anyone, this is that problem I was telling you about."

"There must be a way to get by them. We could disguise ourselves as cleaning staff or something."

"No one works when vampires are around — vampires don't make a distinction between allies and prey. They can't resist the bloodlust any more than a moth can resist a big bright light.

They're killers: the most efficient, deadly killers on the face of the planet."

"Scary."

"Yes, well, vampires aren't known for being cute."

"Well then, we're going to have to come up with something really, really clever."

Skulduggery paused, then shrugged. "I suppose I am good at that."