Armageddon Outta Here - The World of Skulduggery Pleasant (40 page)

“A silly box that has been in your head for your entire life,” said the man.

“But now it’s out,” said Conor. “It’s not in my head any more. It’s gone. I don’t have to… I don’t have to think about it any more.”

“How’s your mother, Conor?”

The smile faded from Conor’s face.

“She’s doing well, from what I gather,” the man continued. “Responding to the treatment. She still draws on the wall, of course. Strange symbols. Strange designs. Gears and levers and a big red button.”

“My mother is ill.”

The man nodded his head in the shadows. “Like her father before her. And his father before him. Stretching back through the generations. And all of you with this design in your minds. This box. That button. But you, Conor, you’re the only one who saw it clearly enough to construct it.”

“I’ve broken the cycle,” said Conor. “I’m not going to end up in an asylum like the rest of them. I’ve done it. I’ve made it. Now I get to have a normal life. Now that my duty is almost done, I get to be free of it.”

“What duty?” asked the girl.

The headache was getting worse. He was getting hotter. He probably had a fever. “Did I say duty? I don’t know. That’s not the word I meant to use.”

“But it’s the one you did use,” said the man. “Do you have a duty, Conor? Is that what it feels like?”

“I’m not sure I… I…”

“That box has cursed your bloodline for hundreds of years,” the man said. “Maybe more. You were compelled to construct it, weren’t you? You didn’t have a choice. You may not even have been fully aware of what you were doing. You have a duty to that box, don’t you, Conor?”

Conor nodded. “An obligation,” he whispered.

“An obligation to that box. Why is your finger on the button, Conor? Is that part of your obligation? Once you build it, you set it off?”

Something broke in Conor’s heart, and tears came to his eyes. “I have to press it,” he said, his face crumpling. “I just have to press it once and it’ll all be over. I’ll be able to walk away and never think about it again.”

“Pressing that button will hurt a lot of people.”

“It’s just a box,” Conor sobbed.

“It’s more than a box.”

“It’s just a box, I’m telling you. It doesn’t do anything. I’m not a scientist or an engineer. I’m just a man. I’m just ordinary. I wouldn’t know how to build anything that would hurt people. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to be able to walk away.”

There was a sound outside. A car pulling up. A line of light swept in through the crack in the curtains and brushed by the man’s jaw. It looked like his skin was white as chalk, or he was wearing a mask or something.

“Be right back,” said the man, and slipped through the door.

“Who’s out there?” Conor asked.

“Some people,” said the girl. “There’s been a race to find you. We got here first.”

“What do they want?”

There was a cry from outside, and a sudden light like a bursting flame, and then it was gone again.

“They want the box,” said the girl. “They want to sell it, or use it, or worship it. I don’t know. Some of these people just don’t make any sense to me. You look tired.”

“I feel sick.”

Outside there was another sound. Loud. Abrupt.

“Was that a gunshot?” asked Conor.

“It was,” said the girl.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“You’ve got your finger on a button that will end the world,” the girl said. “Why should I be scared of guns that aren’t even aimed at me?”

“I’m not going to end the world.”

“You’ve got your finger on the button.”

“I can barely work out how to make calls on my own phone – why do you think I know how to destroy the planet? This is ridiculous. Please leave me alone.”

“I wish we could. But if we do, you’ll press that button, and you’ll kill us all. You’ll kill my friends and my parents and my little sister. I can’t let you do that, Conor.”

“I won’t be hurting anyone. The box doesn’t do anything. It’s just a stupid box with a stupid button, but it’s been in my head for my entire life, like a constant whine in my ear. All I have to do to be rid of it is just press the thing. That’s all. Easy as that. I’ll press it, no one will get hurt, the world won’t end, and I won’t have to listen to that whine any more. I won’t have to dream about gears and symbols. I’ll be able to close my eyes and not see how one cog fits into the other. I’ll be able to live in the kind of peace that my mother never could.

“You don’t… you don’t know. You don’t know what it was like, seeing her… seeing what happened to her. Seeing how bad it got. When I was ten years old, she sat me down and told me these dreams I had would only get worse. She told me they’d consume my life, like they were consuming hers. This is my chance to escape that madness. Please, just leave me alone. This is the only chance I’ll ever have.”

“It isn’t madness you’re suffering from,” said the girl. “My friend, the one that’s out there right now fighting on your front lawn, told me what you are. You’re a conduit for an idea, an idea that was planted centuries ago. It’s grown inside the minds of your ancestors, been added to, been improved… and here, tonight, it’s finally ready. You’re not mad, Conor. Your mother isn’t mad. You’re just open to a stream of information that the rest of us aren’t.”

“So who planted it?” Conor asked. “This idea you’re talking about. Whose idea was it? The Mayans?”

“The Mayan people just foresaw the end,” said the man from beside the door. Conor hadn’t even heard him come back in. “They had nothing to do with this. We don’t know who started it. We don’t even know if ending the world was what was originally intended. All we know is that our Sensitives had visions of a man in a dark room, building a box, and when he pressed the button everything just… ended.”

“Then how did you know it was me?”

“They heard a train in the distance.”

“That’s it? That’s all?”

“That narrowed it down,” said the man. “A few other hints. A few other clues. Why haven’t you pushed the button?”

“Why haven’t I…? But you don’t want me to.”

“That’s not why you haven’t pushed it. Your finger’s on it. There’s nothing stopping you. Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t… I’m not sure.”

“It’s because you know that it isn’t just a silly box and that isn’t just a silly button. You believe us, don’t you?”

“No, I… Oh, God. I don’t know.”

“Will you give us the box, Conor?”

“What will happen then?”

“We’ll take it somewhere safe,” said the girl. “We can’t dismantle it and we can’t destroy it – something might go wrong. But we’ll take care of it. We’ll hide it away where no one will ever find it.”

“It won’t be used to hurt anyone,” the man said. “I promise.”

“And me?” said Conor. “What will happen to me?”

The man hesitated. “I won’t lie to you. You’ll probably always feel that urge to push the button. That won’t go away. You’ll have to live with it for the rest of your life.”

“But I’m so close. I’m so close to leaving it behind.”

“We’re asking you to make a sacrifice,” the girl said. “We’re asking you to continue living with this so that the rest of the world can continue living. Please, Conor.”

More tears now, but they came silently. Conor lifted his finger from the button, and with his other hand he pushed the box slowly across the table. The girl came forward to take it. She wore a black ring, Conor noticed. For a moment it seemed to play with the shadows, and then the girl was lifting the box and stepping back, taking great care.

The last remaining dregs of strength drained from Conor’s body. He was exhausted, confused, scared, and all he wanted to do was lunge across the table and push that big red button before the girl took it away.

“Thank you,” said the man, and Conor just nodded.

The man looked down at something – a pocket watch? – and opened the door. “Two hours until midnight,” he said. “Should be loads of time.”

“Loads of time for what?” Conor asked, even though he knew the man hadn’t been speaking to him.

The girl walked slowly out, taking the box with her. Conor forced himself to remain where he was.

“There’s a woman who believes the souls of all her dead lovers are trapped in the centre of the earth,” said the man. “She wants to crack the world open to free them.”

Conor frowned. “Can she do it?”

“Yes. So we have to stop her before she kills us all.”

“But… but didn’t your psychics say that
I’d
be responsible for the end of the world?”

“Some of them did, yes. And some others said that she would. We’ve averted eight potential apocalypses already today, and she’ll be our last. Once midnight comes, we can relax. Then we just have to hope the Americans don’t mess up.”

“The Americans?”

“A day can last forty-nine hours around the world,” said the man, walking out and leaving Conor sitting there at his kitchen table. “A lot can happen in a day.”

I’m writing this little introduction on March 17th, 2014, and I’m taking a break from
The Dying of the Light
to do it. This here is the second chapter of the ninth book, and there really isn’t a whole lot for me to say about it except, y’know, if you like this, the rest is just as good!

Or if you don’t like this, the rest is better. I swear.

Um.

he flickering lights of the trashed supermarket threw deep shadows from dark places, and Stephanie stepped through it all with one hand wrapped tightly round the golden Sceptre. Rows of shelves lay toppled against each other in a domino-sprawl of scattered food tins and ketchup bottles. She caught the scent of a small ocean of spilled vinegar and glanced to her right in time to catch a flash of pinstripe. Then she was alone again in this half-collapsed maze, the only sound the gentle hum from the freezers.

She edged into the darkness and out again into the light. Slow steps and quiet ones and once more the darkness swallowed her in its cold hunger. Ahead of her, a man hovered, a metre off the ground, as if he were lying on an invisible bed. His hands were clasped on his belly, and his eyes were closed.

Stephanie raised the Sceptre.

One thought would be all it’d take for a bolt of black lightning to turn him to dust. One simple command that, less than a year ago, she wouldn’t have even hesitated to give. Davos Rhadaman was a threat. He was a danger to her and to others. He had stepped into the Accelerator and the boost to his powers had turned him violent. Unstable. He was now the enemy. The enemy deserved to die.

And yet… she hesitated.

She was not one to second-guess herself. She was not prone to introspection. For the majority of her existence, Stephanie had been all surface. She was the reflection, the stand-in, the copy. While Valkyrie Cain was out playing hero, Stephanie went to school, sat at the dinner table, carried on with normal life. People viewed her as an unfeeling object. She had been an
it
.

But now that she was a
she
, things were murkier. Less clean. Now that she was a person, now that she was actually alive, she found that she didn’t want to deprive any other living thing of that same opportunity – not if she could at all help it. Which was, she openly admitted, hugely inconvenient.