Skulduggery Pleasant_ Death Bringer - Derek Landy [106]
“I have just spoken with the Death Bringer,” Craven announced solemnly. Wreath watched as an expectant hush spread through the crowd. “Last night, the souls of our dead brothers and sisters spoke to her in a dream. They thanked her for her actions, told her they had never felt more powerful.” A woman appeared beside Wreath, her hood up to cover her face. She said nothing, just watched as Craven continued. “They explained that they were now a part of her, adding to her strength, adding to her wisdom, and that once the Passage happens, they will return to us and guide us towards our destiny. They asked her to tell you all not to worry, not to fear. Cast your doubts aside, they said. Embrace what is to come.”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, allowing the murmurs to ripple.
“I dreamed of no such thing,” said the woman beside Wreath, her voice low enough so that only he could hear.
He looked at her. The hood was still up but he could see the point of her chin, and the raised scars that crossed it.
“This is what he wanted all along,” Melancholia whispered. “He wanted everyone listening to him, paying attention to what he has to say. That’s why he did it.”
“That’s why he did what?” Wreath asked.
Melancholia moved slightly, and he saw a thin smile. “That’s why he made me who I am. That’s why he had Tenebrae killed.”
Wreath glanced around, making sure no one could overhear. “Craven had Tenebrae killed?”
“As good as,” said Melancholia. “He brought him to see me. What was I supposed to do?”
“And why are you telling me all this?”
“Why do you think?” Melancholia murmured, just as the crowd started to quieten down again. “Because he plans to kill you next.”
“Brothers and sisters,” Craven said, drawing everyone’s eyes back to him, “we are preparing to bid farewell to the world we know. This existence is a flawed thing. It needs to be improved. It needs us to do it. Because of us, because of you, the Death Bringer will usher in the Passage… tonight.”
The congregation of easily led idiots gasped. Someone at the back actually started sobbing with joy. Wreath turned to Melancholia, but she was gone. He spied her on the far side of the room, slipping out the door. Nobody noticed her. They were all watching Craven.
“Tonight, my friends, our destiny is at hand. No longer shall we grovel at the whim of forces beyond our control. Tonight, we seize control. Tonight, we become the masters of existence!”
There were cheers, and chanting, which would probably have been impressive if there had been more than thirty people in the crowd. But as it was, it sounded weak and a little silly.
“Prepare!” Craven roared, as if he were addressing an amphitheatre. “The day of reckoning is upon us!”
Thirty morons cheered, and Wreath started to look forward to the moment he used the knife.
“Rousing speech,” Wreath said.
Craven looked up, startled, as Wreath stepped out of the shadows. “Cleric,” he said, his hand patting his chest, “you shouldn’t do that. For a second there, I thought you were Lord Vile.”
“Lord Vile probably wouldn’t have cared how rousing the speech was,” Wreath pointed out.
“True, I suppose,” Craven said. “So, are you excited?”
“About?”
“Why, the Passage, of course. Weren’t you the one who said the sooner the better?”
“I suppose I was. And she’s ready, is she? Melancholia?”
“She fully expects to be.”
Wreath nodded, searching his peripheral vision for the White Cleaver. When he didn’t see him, he stepped a bit closer. “I expect that dream she had was a comforting one,” he said.
“Indeed it was,” Craven nodded. “It allayed a lot of her fears. One tends to forget