Читать книгу The Dying of the Light - Derek Landy - Страница 19

anguine moved through the wall, stepping into the quiet kitchen. A man sat at the table. His name was Levitt. The chatty one, Maksy, was missing. That could mean one of two things – either Tanith had killed him out of sheer irritation, or Darquesse had needed Maksy’s Remnant to inhabit someone she wanted to talk to. Sanguine didn’t know what would have become of Maksy after that. Darquesse had probably killed him.

He moved on. The safe house was quickly becoming his least favourite place to be. Sure, it had its upsides. It was where Tanith was, so that was nice, even if she’d barely spoken to him the entire time they’d been hiding out there. But it was enough to be close to her, he reckoned. And once they were married, all this awkward tension would just drain away and leave them with the rest of their lives to get on with. Assuming the rest of their lives meant anything longer than a week.

And then there was the downside.

Darquesse.

Every time he returned to the place, he had to steel himself before he saw her. It was a good thing she usually stayed in the spare room these days, conducting her terrifying little experiments. Sanguine didn’t think he’d be able to handle it if she took to roaming about the—

Goddamn.

Darquesse was in the living room, sitting in the armchair with her legs crossed. The man on the sofa across from her would have looked like a normal, middle-aged college professor were it not for the black lips and all those black veins that he wasn’t bothering to hide.

“Billy-Ray,” Darquesse said, smiling brightly. “Allow me to introduce Nestor Tarry, my new best friend. Nestor was just telling me about his work in quantum mechanics.”

“That so?” said Sanguine, leaning against the doorframe, trying to appear casual and not at all intimidated. “Just your average, ordinary, everyday conversation about quantum mechanics, huh? You managing to keep up?”

“Actually,” Tarry said, “Darquesse is quite well versed in quantum theory.”

“I read a lot,” Darquesse said, shrugging, “and absorb information instantly. It’s a talent.”

Tarry smiled. “One of many, it seems. But I have taken you as far as I am able. The answers you seek are, I’m afraid, beyond me.”

“So who takes me further?”

“I could give you a list of names – but it would be a short list, made even shorter by events over the last few years. Actually, I think your next port of call is a book, not a person. The Hessian Grimoire is a collection of, essentially, theories about the next stages of magic. Where we can go from here, how we can expand our knowledge, the ways in which we can use what we know to delve deeper into the source of all magic. I don’t know who is currently in possession of the book, unfortunately, but if you can find it, I think it could help you.”

“The Hessian Grimoire,” Darquesse said, nodding. “OK then, sounds good. And after that? The list of names you were going to give me?”

Tarry raised his chin and moved his head from side to side, acknowledging the request, but see-sawing between options. “There are two or three people left alive who could help you. Really, the person who could have helped you the most would have been Walden D’Essai.”

“Argeddion.”

Tarry nodded. “His work was just … it was far beyond any of his contemporaries. I never liked the man, I was always far too jealous of his accomplishments. That’s something I could never have admitted without this Remnant inside me, by the way.” He chuckled, and didn’t seem to notice when Darquesse didn’t join in. “But his mind was an astonishing thing. His work, his research … Even the questions he posed in his field outshone the answers I got in mine. If you truly wanted to master this thing called magic, if you truly wanted to touch infinity … I would have said talk to D’Essai. Talk to Argeddion. But, of course, now it’s too late.”

“Argeddion is alive,” said Darquesse.

Tarry frowned. “No. He’s dead. Skulduggery Pleasant killed him when—”

Darquesse spoke over him, her words calm. “Officially, Argeddion died following the confrontation with those super-powered hooligans he’d created. Skulduggery finished him off. That’s the story that was circulated.”

Tarry sat forward. “It’s a lie?”

“They couldn’t kill him,” Darquesse said. “They didn’t know how. So they rewrote his personality, convinced him he was normal, and hid him away. Even I don’t know where he is now.”

Tarry was quiet for a moment. “The Hessian Grimoire,” he said. “That should help you find him.”

“How?”

“You have a deep understanding of energy, Darquesse. Your understanding might even surpass my own.”

“Oh,” said Darquesse, “it does.”

A faint flicker of irritation crossed Tarry’s features. Sanguine noticed it. And if Sanguine noticed it, then Darquesse certainly did. That faint flicker of irritation had most likely just signed Mr Tarry’s death warrant.

“But once you read that book,” Tarry continued, “you will know how to detect and track energy. Argeddion found out his true name, the same as you. For all intents and purposes, he is lit up like a beacon – providing you know how to look for him.”

“The Hessian Grimoire sounds like the answer to all my prayers,” Darquesse said. “Thank you, Nestor. You have been most helpful.”

Tarry stood, but wavered. Finally, he plucked up the courage to ask, “Can I come with you? When you find Argeddion, I mean. You’ll need a Remnant to possess him, won’t you? So he’ll talk? I would do anything for the opportunity to peek inside his mind. He is … astonishing.”

“He is,” said Darquesse. “But I’ll just have to use my other Remnant to possess him. I’ve kind of grown bored with you.”

Tarry paled, making his black veins stand out even more. “What?”

“You’ve just rubbed me up the wrong way,” Darquesse explained.

“I … I’m sorry. I apologise. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not your fault,” said Darquesse as she got to her feet. “It’s mine. I’m probably just overly sensitive. I’ve only been studying quantum mechanics for a few days, and … I don’t know. Any kind of criticism or – what’s the word? – irritation shown is just … it’s more than I’m prepared to accept right now.”

Tarry backed away. “I wasn’t irritated. I wasn’t, I swear. And I would never criticise you. Never. The amount you’ve learned in such a short space of time is hugely, hugely impressive.”

Darquesse narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I do not like being patronised.”

She raised her hand and Tarry exploded into nothingness.

Sanguine jerked back in astonishment. No blood, no meat, no bones. Nothing.

“There,” Darquesse said, a smile on her face once again. “I feel so much better now.”

“What did you do to him?” Sanguine asked. “Where is he?”

“He’s still here,” said Darquesse, her fingers playing lightly against the air. “His atoms are spread out around the room. It’s funny, isn’t it? Group all those atoms together and Nestor has a body. Separate them, and you have to ask where he’s gone. I can put him back together, if you’d like.”

“You could do that?”

“Sure. I think. Putting things back together is a lot harder than pulling them apart, but I’ll do my best.”

Darquesse chewed her bottom lip as she focused. A moment passed, and she closed her fist, and Tarry reappeared, blurring into existence. He staggered, eyes glassy, and dropped to his knees.

“He’s in shock,” said Darquesse. “Either that or he’s a vegetable. The brain is tricky. I can see how the body reassembles, how the nervous system fits, but the brain will take a little more practice. Want a seat?”

Sanguine looked at her. “Sorry?”

“A seat,” she said. “You want one? You look tired.”

Before he could answer, she had splayed her hand and Tarry exploded into nothingness once more. This time when she closed her fist, however, a chair blurred into being.

“There,” Darquesse said.

“Did you … did you just turn him into a chair?”

“Yes I did,” said Darquesse, grinning. “Atoms are atoms. It’s all about what you do with them and how you arrange them. Man gets turned into a chair. Chair gets turned into a glass of water. It’s still Nestor, though. He’s still there. I haven’t killed him.”

“You turned him into furniture.”

“It’s just another form to take.”

“I’m gonna have to disagree with you on that one, Darquesse. He’s dead. You killed him. Where are his memories? His personality? Where are all the things that define him?”

Darquesse tilted her head. “None of that stuff defines us, Billy-Ray. Memories can be lost. Personalities can be changed. Who we are, our true essence, is our energy. If I wanted to kill him, I’d just do it.”

She clicked her fingers and the chair was incinerated in a burst of black flame.

“There,” said Darquesse. “Happy now? Nestor is dead. Every last trace of him. His atoms, his energy – gone. He can’t be brought back now. That’s how you kill someone, Billy-Ray. You wipe them from existence. Stopping a heart from beating, cutting off thoughts, turning someone into something … that doesn’t mean anything. Consciousness doesn’t mean anything. Are you any more valuable than a rock, just because you have sentience? No you’re not.”

“But you’re still punishing Erskine Ravel for killing Ghastly Bespoke.”

“That’s different,” said Darquesse. “I’m punishing him out of anger.”

“So what about your friends?” Sanguine said. “Tanith, or China Sorrows, or Skulduggery Pleasant? You’ve formed attachments to them, right? You value them more than you’d value a rock.”

Darquesse shrugged. “Not really. That was my old way of looking at things. Personalities are fun for a while, but when you think about it, and I mean really think about it, they’re just side effects of brain function. I don’t mean I don’t value them at all, it’s just not so much of a big deal to me any more.”

“So … so you’d turn them into furniture, too?”

“Sure. I could turn you into a cushion, if you want.”

“Please don’t. I don’t wanna be a cushion.”

She laughed. “If you were a cushion, you wouldn’t know any better. What would you miss? Your thoughts? Cushions don’t sit there missing their thoughts, Billy-Ray. Your thoughts seem important to you now, but I’m here to tell you … they don’t mean anything.”

“They mean something to me.”

“Well, now you’re just being silly. What you’re saying, basically, is that your thoughts mean something to your thoughts. It’s a loop of nonsense. Go off and think about it, OK? It took me a while to come to terms with all this, too. But I’ve learned so much. And not just about how to mix and match atoms and particles and molecules and stuff. Other things. Fun things. You know the God-Killers?”

“Uh … yeah, like the Sceptre …”

“Actually, no, I’m talking about the sword and the dagger and the stuff you and Tanith stole.”

Sanguine felt the blood drain from his face. She knew. Oh, God, she knew. And he didn’t even have the dagger with him. He’d been worried that she’d notice it under his jacket. Why the hell hadn’t he just brought it anyway? “Sure, right,” he said. “What about them?”

“Do you know how they were made?” Darquesse asked. “Those four? Other God-Killers were made in different ways, of course. The Sceptre was forged by the Faceless Ones somewhere, but these four weapons started out as ordinary objects. Nothing special about them. But then they were left in this pool of water, deep inside the caves under Gordon Edgley’s house. Whatever qualities that water had, it made the weapons soak up magic, made them acquire the ability to kill a god. Isn’t that fascinating? It goes against everything we’ve been told about how magic works. I’d love to find that pool. Don’t you think that’s fascinating?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty fascinating.”

“Billy-Ray?”

“Yes?”

“You look nervous.”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“You think I’m going to turn you into a cushion, even though I told you it wouldn’t matter if I did?”

“That’s why I’m nervous, Darquesse.”

She chuckled. “You’re funny. I don’t know how I didn’t see that when Valkyrie was in charge.”

“Maybe my humour is an acquired taste.”

“Maybe.”

“I just popped by to make sure everything was, y’know, hunky-dory. I’m actually heading out again.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Just out. Just headed out. Errands to run. I’ll be back later, so … OK, well, I gotta go.”

“See you soon,” Darquesse said, smiling, and Sanguine smiled back. He walked out and immediately sank into the ground.

He turned, moving deeper through the darkness. The familiar rumble of shifting rocks filled his ears. It used to make him feel safe. There were only a handful of people in the world who could do what he did – even fewer now, after what had transpired during the War of the Sanctuaries – and that little fact had transformed the dark and the cold into a refuge. Down here, he couldn’t be touched. Down here, he couldn’t even be found.

But Darquesse could find him. There would be no escape from her down here, not if she were coming after him.

He piled on the speed.

He didn’t pay attention to how fast he was going. Sometimes he liked to time himself. Not tonight. He got to his place in Dublin, rose up through the cracking, crumbling floorboards. The first blush of dawn brightened the house, not that he needed light to see. There weren’t even any bulbs in this small house on this quiet street. No one knew about this place. Not even Tanith. The only people he’d brought back here were—

“Move and I shoot.”

Sanguine yelled and spun.

Skulduggery Pleasant was sitting in Sanguine’s favourite arm-chair, the one in the corner. His hand was on the armrest. In his hand was a gun.