Skulduggery Pleasant_ Death Bringer - Derek Landy [107]
Wreath was close now, close enough to take the knife from his coat and plunge it into Craven’s soft belly. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure everyone else was walking the other way. “Do you think our brothers and sisters are ready?” he asked.
“I think so,” Craven said. “Don’t you?”
Wreath smiled at him. “I think they’re dumb enough to do whatever they’re told. How about you, Cleric Craven? Are you ready?”
“I am, Cleric Wreath. This is what we have been living our lives for, is it not?”
“True enough, I suppose.”
“Forgive me, but you don’t look like a man whose dreams are about to come true.”
Wreath looked him right in the eyes, right in those soft, wet eyes that looked like drops of blue ink swimming in milk, and he let himself smile. “How about now, Craven? Now do I look like a man whose dreams are about to come true?”
He took the knife from his pocket and Craven saw it, stepped back, mouth open to scream, then there was a blur of white and Wreath ducked, barely avoiding the scythe that swooped towards his head. He raised his cane, blocking the scythe handle as the Cleaver spun, tried to stab with the knife but a boot came from nowhere, sent him pinwheeling back.
Craven had found his voice and he used it to scream for help. The Cleaver darted towards Wreath and he darted back, cursing himself for his impatience. He brought the shadows in around him and stepped through them to the next room, moving quickly, shadow-walking again to the other side of the walls, emerging into the morning sun. He ran, took off before they could follow him. He’d left a car out there for a quick escape, but even as he jumped in and gunned the engine, he realised he had only one place left to go – and it wasn’t going to be pretty. Roarhaven never was.
He parked off Roarhaven’s main street, if it really could be called that, and waited for the Bentley to show up. The town was small and withered and nasty, and the Sanctuary was big and grey and ugly. He was hungry, but he didn’t dare step into the squalid café that jutted from the street beside him like an uneven tooth. Apart from all the obvious concerns regarding his personal safety, the place just didn’t look sanitary.
An hour or so after his stomach first started rumbling, the Bentley swept by, and parked outside the Sanctuary. Wreath got out, wondered about the likelihood of Skulduggery Pleasant shooting him before he got halfway across the road, and then decided to shadow-walk over to them. The shadows curled around him, and when they dissipated, he was standing by the rear wheel as Valkyrie closed the passenger door.
“Now, before you do anything rash—” Wreath started, and she spun and hit him, cracked her knuckles painfully along his jaw. He went back a step, one hand to his face, nodding. “OK, that’s fair, but before this gets out of control—”
Skulduggery jumped and slid across the roof of the Bentley, the heel of his shoe slamming into the side of Wreath’s head. Valkyrie snapped her palm at the air and his cane flew from his grip. Wreath staggered, waving his hands.
“Please,” he gasped, “stop hitting me for five seconds.”
Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery, who paused. Wreath spat blood and straightened up. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve come to discuss—”
Skulduggery punched him and Wreath’s head rocked back, and he dropped.
“There,” Skulduggery said as his consciousness left him. “That’s five seconds.”
When Wreath opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor of a room in the Sanctuary with his hands shackled behind his back. Skulduggery sat on a chair with his legs crossed, looking down at him. Valkyrie stood beside him.
“Interesting,” Wreath said. “You haven’t killed me.”
Skulduggery took off his hat, flicked something from the brim, and put it on his knee. “There’s still time,” he said.
Wreath grunted slightly as he sat up without the use of his arms. Valkyrie waited till he was sitting straight, then stepped over and put