Armageddon Outta Here - The World of Skulduggery Pleasant (15 page)

In 2011 Derek ran a competition for German fans to come up with a new character who would feature in a one-off Skulduggery short story. The response was staggering, making it especially difficult to pick a winner – however, there was something special about Myosotis Terra that made her stand out from the rest.

Here is how Alena Metz described her character’s abilities:

“… Her magical quality is more of a curse than a gift. The ability to make everyone forget her immediately after meeting her makes her feel very lonely. However, it is a very useful gift for spies and thieves, and at least it helps her to earn her bread and butter. People will only be able to remember Myosotis if they have got an item which belongs to her or if they get the chance to touch her. However, dementia sufferers are able to remember her perfectly.”

aves,” Valkyrie Cain muttered. “I hate caves.”

She reached the bottom of the stone steps, stepping into the light cast by the flame in Skulduggery Pleasant’s hand.

“This isn’t a cave,” he told her. “At least, not a natural one. This has been carved out of the rock. Manmade. From what I can gather, we’re about to enter a series of interlocking caverns that could stretch on for as much as tweleve miles. Quite impressive when you think about it.”

“And do I have to think about it?”

“Well, no, not really…”

“Good,” she said. “It’s freezing down here. Far too cold to be thinking about things.”

She clicked her fingers, summoning her own flame, and started walking through the darkness. “So we’re here on a rescue mission?”

He sighed as he walked after her. “Yes.”

“What was that? What was that sigh? Why are you sighing?”

They walked side by side. “Do you remember who we’re here to rescue?” Skulduggery asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Wait. No. I mean, I do, it’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t… I just can’t…”

“We’re here to rescue Myosotis Terra.”

She shook her head. “No, we’re not. That’s not the name. I’ll know the name when I hear it, but that’s not it. I’ve never heard that name before.”

“That’s not strictly true. She’s actually a friend of yours.”

“Nope. I think I’d know if I had a friend called Myo-Something Whatsit.”

“Myosotis Terra. And you wouldn’t know, actually. Or to be more precise, you wouldn’t remember.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I’m used to it.”

Rock walls appeared in the gloom around them, signalling the narrowing of the cavern. They headed for a gap and Skulduggery went first, squeezing through.

“There is a sorcerer named Myosotis,” he said, “from Germany. You first met her a few months ago, and got along very well, I have to say. You both get quite annoying when you talk, but again, I’m used to
that
, too. Myosotis is, amongst other things, a spy. What makes her so very good at her job is the fact that once she moves out of sight, you forget all about her. The human mind can’t retain any information concerning Myosotis at all. We’ve actually had this conversation eleven times over the past few hours. You always have the same reaction.”

“Bull.”

“That’s the one.”

“You’re serious?”

“Quite serious.”

They emerged on the other side. Torches hung in rusted brackets on the walls, and they followed the flickering trail of light through the darkness.

“Her power doesn’t work on me because of my fabulous mind – and the fact that I have no physical brain,” Skulduggery continued. “And if she could turn her power off, I’m sure she would.”

“You’re sure who would?”

“Myosotis.”

Valkyrie frowned. “Who?”

“Ah,” Skulduggery said. “You’re forgetting about her already.”

“That’s amazing,” Valkyrie said. “Forgetting about who?”

“The spy, the girl who’s been taken captive.”

“Right,” Valkyrie said, “the rescue mission. Gotcha. Who has taken her?”

“The inhabitants of this place. It was once a prison of sorts, hundreds of years ago. Now it’s a refuge for sorcerers who can’t bear to live on the surface. The people down here are… damaged. Some are quite dangerous.”

“And what was…”

“Myosotis.”

“And what was Myosotis doing down here?”

“The Sanctuary in Berlin sent her over to investigate the disappearance of one of their own. He was last seen around these parts, so the natural assumption would be that he found his way down here. And disappeared.”

Valkyrie nodded. “And we’re here to rescue him.”

“No, we’re here to rescue Myosotis, the operative sent to rescue him. If we happen to rescue him along the way, it’s a bonus. But she is our main priority.”

“Who is?”

“Oh dear God,” Skulduggery muttered. “This is astonishingly aggravating.”

He froze and she stopped, splayed her hand, felt the air move against her skin, and then she heard something, a whisper from behind.

They spun, but there was a rush of dark figures and Skulduggery went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Someone hit Valkyrie and she stumbled, couldn’t do anything to stop the boot that smashed into her. She went back, rolling on the hard ground. Rough hands grabbed her, hauled her up. There was a crowd around Skulduggery, lashing in kicks, throwing down punches. Valkyrie’s arms twisted and she cried out, feeling them twist almost to the point of breaking.

The crowd stopped kicking Skulduggery. They stepped away, and through the gaps she saw him, on the ground and not moving. All eyes turned to her.

They were dirty. Filthy. Unshaven. They wore ragged clothes, worn thin. They were skinny, all of them. Sunken cheekbones, sunken eyes, eyes that glittered in reflected firelight.

“We’re not here to fight you,” Valkyrie said.

One of the men observed her for a moment before opening his mouth. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You come down, invade our home, and you expect us to just stand by and let you? You think we’re not ready to do battle? You think we’re weak?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t think that at all, but we’re not your enemy—”

“We’re not weak!” the man roared, and the others joined in. “We eat moss and mushrooms. We drink from stagnant pools. We survive.”

All around her, mutterings. “We survive,” over and over.

“We like new people,” the man said, and everyone laughed. “Yes, we do. Too bad for you.”

“Too bad,” said one of the men holding her.

“You’re tall,” said the leader. “We like tall. Your clothes might fit us. Some of us. Enchanted, are they? Protected? They’ll last. They’ll last forever. But you. Tall. Strong. Pretty. You won’t last as long.”

Skulduggery moaned, and someone kicked him.

“The skeleton detective,” said the leader, looking down at him. “We’ll take him apart. Use his bones as weapons. He won’t last, either. But we can’t eat him.” The leader looked back at her. “We
can
eat you.”

There was a woman holding Valkyrie’s left arm. Valkyrie pulled her in, smashed her forehead into the woman’s face. She yanked her right arm free, reached for the shadows, but the air rippled and she flew back. More hands grabbed her. Someone started to hit her and she turned her head, eyes closed, mouth tightly shut. They dropped her and she latched on to a leg as others kicked. She held that leg and didn’t let go, letting her clothes soak up most of the impacts. A bare foot came in, caught her on the side of the jaw and the strength left her arms. She collapsed, sounds growing dim, her vision darkening.

“She’ll do,” she heard the leader say. “We’ll divide her up. We get half. The Beast gets half.”

She heard someone laughing and she slipped downwards, away from it all, plummeting into unconsciousness.

They had managed to get a set of shackles to close tightly enough to secure Skulduggery’s hands to the frame of old wood and hardened root. He hung there, arms above his head, feet tied below, in the centre of what could be considered the village. Small huts of stone and rock emanated outwards from a large campfire. The frame on which Skulduggery hung was on one side of the fire. The frame on which Valkyrie hung was on the other.

The villagers milled around, talking amongst themselves. She watched them through one half-open eye, feigning unconsciousness. Her jaw ached and her head throbbed. Some of the villagers were talking about who should get which item of clothing. Others were talking about how best to cook her.

Even if her own power hadn’t been dimmed by the chain that bound her to the frame, she doubted she’d be able to do much. Everyone down here was a sorcerer of some description, be they Necromancer or some other Adept discipline. They couldn’t have snuck up on someone like Skulduggery if they weren’t using the air to hide their approach, so there had to be more than a few Elementals around, too.

A scuffle broke out amongst the villagers. There were curses and raised voices, and then a man broke through.

“Mine!” he roared. The crowd came after him and he spun, snarling, “She’s mine!”

The crowd parted and the leader came forward. “We share our food, Josef.”

Josef shook his head. “You’re not in charge any more, Owain. I am. I’m leader. I say she’s mine!”

“And what about the Beast?” Owain asked. “Do you cheat the Beast out of it’s meal, too?”

Josef hesitated. “Beast can eat,” he said at last. “After I have fed!”

Owain narrowed his eyes. “You would anger the Beast?”

Josef faltered. “I… I need to feed… and I will! I am leader!”

Owain signalled, and a man walked up and handed him a heavy wooden club. “Then we battle. Battle for leadership. Like the old ways.”

“Yes,” Josef said, “like the old ways. Where is my weapon?”

“Bring Josef his weapon,” Owain commanded. Another man moved through the crowd, and handed Josef a twig.

“Um…” Josef said.

Owain whacked the club into Josef’s head, and Josef sprawled on to the ground.

“Cook him first,” Owain said. “Save her for later.”

There were protests from the crowd.

“But Josef’s scrawny!” cried a woman. “Not enough to go around!”

Owain sighed. “Fine. Cook Josef,” he said, then nodded to Valkyrie, “and we give the Beast one of her legs. Tonight, the Beast eats well.”

The crowd cheered.

Over the next few hours, they chopped up Josef and slow-roasted him over the fire. Valkyrie did her best not to look.

A shadow moved between the stone huts, steadily sneaking towards her. She closed both eyes, slowed down her breathing…

“Hello.” Someone nudged her leg. “I know you’re awake. You can stop pretending.”

She thought about it for a moment, then opened her eyes and looked down at him. He was thin and filthy, with long matted hair and a wispy beard. He looked to be in his early twenties.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

He looked wild, dishevelled, but otherwise harmless. “Valkyrie,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Baffle. How are you?”

“Not doing too well, to be honest.”

He nodded, grabbed the frame and clambered up until they were at eye level. He stank of bad breath and body odour.

“I don’t like eating people,” he said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do it.”

“Can’t say no. It’d be a waste, wouldn’t it? We kill you and cook and serve you – you’d want us to eat you, wouldn’t you? Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Baffle, I really don’t want to die. It’s not fair. I never did anything to hurt any of you.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“You could help me.”

“I could?”

“Sure. You just said you don’t want to eat me, right? So you could help me, couldn’t you?”

“I… I suppose.”

“You’d have to be really sneaky about it.”

He nodded. “That’s true. If the others found out, they’d be very cross.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“If I do, will you be my friend?”

“Of course.”

“Then, yes,” he said, and smiled, “I’ll help you.” Then he threw his head back and started singing.

“Stop!” she hissed. “Shush!”

His eyes were closed, and he sang louder. It was ‘Be My Baby’, by The Ronettes. Her mum used to sing that to her all the time when she was a kid. She strained against the ropes.

“Hey! Shut up!”

Baffle stopped singing.

She glared at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”