Scepter of the Ancients (9 page)

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?”