Skulduggery Pleasant_ Death Bringer - Derek Landy [119]
“I don’t hate you,” said Fletcher. “I may not like you all that much right now, but I don’t hate you. And I really don’t think it’d be a good idea to be around you any more. I’m moving.”
Something yanked at Valkyrie’s heart. “Where to?”
“Australia. I like it there. It’s warm, and they talk funny.”
“But what about your training?”
“Australia’s a Cradle of Magic, just like Ireland. There’ll be plenty of boring old people over there who can offer me useless advice, same as here. What’s wrong?”
“I just… I don’t want you to go. We weren’t just boyfriend and girlfriend. We were friends, too. I don’t… I don’t have many friends. I don’t want to lose another one.”
“Well, you break a heart, that’s what happens.”
“Yeah,” she muttered.
“Besides,” he said, “I’m a Teleporter. We’re never really that far away, wherever we are. Take care, Valkyrie.”
She went to speak but he vanished mid-step.
She turned round, walked home.
Chapter 44
Mission Accomplished
or once, Scapegrace didn’t mind the midday sun, or how harsh it was on his skin. He would gladly let the seasons rot him away if that was the Master’s wish – although he sincerely hoped it wasn’t. He climbed down from the Penguin-Mobile to the dirt track, and hurried over to where High Priest Craven and the White Cleaver were waiting. Secret meetings were exciting.
“Sire,” Scapegrace said, dropping to one knee and holding the gold disc up to him with both hands. “I have returned.” Thrasher fell to both knees beside him, hands clasped in prayer.
“I see that,” High Priest Craven said, snatching up the disc. “You did as I instructed?”
“Oh yes, Sire.”
“Exactly as I instructed?”
“I located Ghastly Bespoke’s quarters, let myself in—”
“Let ourselves in,” Thrasher corrected.
“– and then I located the disc. I substituted—”
“We substituted,” Thrasher corrected.
“– the fake disc you had given me, and returned here to you, now, with the real disc. So now he has the fake disc and you have the real disc. I live only to serve.”
“We live only to serve,” Thrasher corrected.
“You don’t live,” the Master said, examining his prize. “And nobody saw you?”
“Nobody, Sire. I was like the wind.”
“We were like the wind,” said Thrasher.
“But I was like the wind more.”
“I was more breeze-like,” Thrasher said, and bowed forward until his forehead was touching the ground. It was, once again, an unsurprisingly pathetic display, and one that Scapegrace would have no problem surpassing.
He laid himself flat on the ground, face stuck into the dirt, and waved his arms in the air. “Give me another order, Master, I beg of you.”
“Me too,” Thrasher said, lying beside Scapegrace, doing his best to wriggle deeper into the dirt. Furious, Scapegrace started wriggling alongside him.
“If you were not already dead,” the Master said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I would gladly kill you both. Stop wriggling, and listen very closely. I want you to gather more like you.”
“More zombies?” Thrasher asked, spitting out a small stone.
“I said listen, not talk. I want twenty by this time tomorrow. If you fail me…”
“I won’t,” said Scapegrace.
“I won’t,” said Thrasher.
“He might,” said Scapegrace.
“Shut,” the Master said, “up.”
Scapegrace stayed where he was until the Master and the White Cleaver were gone, and then he got up. Thrasher stood beside him, brushing the dirt from his clothes. “You’re pathetic,” Scapegrace sneered.
“I know,” Thrasher said meekly. “But whenever the Master is around, nothing else matters but him. It’s like he said, zombies are made to serve Necromancers. That… that doesn’t mean I still don’t value your leadership, sir.”
“Yeah, well,” Scapegrace said, curling what was left of his lip, “just don’t you forget it.”
Chapter 45
The Nicest Town in Ireland
eoffrey had been the key.
It was a good trick, all right, getting people to believe whatever he told them. He hadn’t reckoned on Kenny’s journalism training being able to renew his interest in the story, but that wasn’t Geoffrey’s fault. It was a fluke, nothing more. Kenny had no trouble believing that Geoffrey