Читать книгу Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 10 - 12 - Derek Landy - Страница 25

“Surprise,” said Never, taking the seat beside Omen in the Dining Hall and flicking the hair out of her eyes. “Someone is actually sitting beside you for breakfast. Wonders – will they never cease?”

Omen frowned. “People sit beside me all the time.”

“Rarely by choice, though. Admit it, Omen, you’re delighted to have someone to talk to this early in the morning, aren’t you?”

Omen didn’t answer. But he was.

“However, the truly amazing thing,” Never continued, “is that I’m sitting beside you even though you’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“It’s … first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t deny it, Omen. When you deny a truth, a kitten dies.”

The din in the hall – chattering voices, clinking utensils, the heavy tread of feet and the tortured scrape of chairs – had not yet reached deafening proportions, so, when Never leaned in and lowered her voice, Omen could hear her perfectly.

“You better tell me what’s going on and you better not lie. You’re a terrible liar. I always know when you’re lying because your ears go red. Are you going to eat that?”

“It’s my breakfast,” said Omen.

“I know. Are you going to eat it?”

“I’m eating it now.”

Never sighed. “Then are you going to finish it?”

“Probably. Where’s your breakfast?”

“In my stomach, where all breakfasts belong. Can I have that sausage?”

“The one on the end of my fork? No. It’s mine. Look.” Omen took a bite. “See?”

Never turned her head, so she was looking at Omen out of the corner of her eyes. “You’re definitely acting weird.”

“No, I’m not,” said Omen. “I’m acting normal because I am normal.”

Never flicked her hair again. She liked flicking her hair. It was one of her things. “You couldn’t be normal if you tried. Not with your family.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. But I’m not acting weird.”

“You were walking around yesterday, peering at everyone and trying to listen in to their conversations.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Whatever.” She used the air to lift a bread roll from the basket. Even though teleportation was her natural gift, and she was the only one in Mr Renn’s class who could actually teleport, Never was pretty good at everything, Elemental magic included. She was definitely better at it than Omen.

Omen hesitated. “Do you, uh, do you think they noticed?”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

“That you were spying on them? Naw.” She dropped the bread roll back. “People tend to ignore you. It’s a gift you have. So what were you up to?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Never glared. “Since when do we keep secrets from each other?”

“We keep loads of secrets from each other,” Omen said, frowning. “Literally, loads.”

She shrugged. “We should stop that. A friendship like ours is a friendship that relies on one hundred per cent honesty at all times.”

“Then is it true what I heard about you and Rasure Cross?”

“One hundred per cent honesty from this moment on,” said Never, smoothing down her skirt. “Hey, did you hear? Skulduggery Pleasant was here yesterday.”

Omen stuffed some egg into his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Chocolate said she was in French and she happened to glance out the window and there he was.”

“That’s cool.”

“She said Valkyrie Cain was with him.”

“Right.”

Never’s face had already soured. “I thought they’d split up.”

“I, uh, I don’t think they were ever together in that way …”

“You know what I mean. I thought she’d gone off to live out her life in America. That’s what I was hoping. She probably missed the limelight too much, had to come back to get everyone talking about her again.”

“OK.”

“Chocolate said that she looked just like Darquesse.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Yeah, I know. I just expected her to look a little different from all the videos, you know? You’d think she’d have dyed her hair a different colour or something. It’s like she’s proud of what she did.”

“Ah … I don’t think that’s fair …”

“She’s walking around the same city she half destroyed, Omen. What else would you call it? And why are you defending her?”

“Because it wasn’t her, was it? It was Darquesse.”

Never had that look on her face.

“Stop,” Omen said quickly. “We’re not talking about this again. We have different opinions and I know how angry you get when we talk about it, so let’s not, OK? Not today. I have too much on my mind.”

She stared at him. “You have what?”

He blushed. “I, uh, I have a lot to think about.”

Never laughed. “You have too much on your mind? Oh my God.”

“Please forget I said that.”

“I will never, ever forget you said that. Oh my God, you sound just like my mother.”

He sagged. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No. I’m not. At all. Mum.”

Omen sighed, and swallowed the last mouthful of his breakfast before putting his knife and fork on his empty plate. “I’m going to go get ready for class now, because at least in class no one laughs at me quite as much as you do.”

Never grinned. “Bet you don’t even know what class we have.”

“Actually, I do,” said Omen. “We have history, with Mr Lilt.”

“A man gets in his car,” said Parthenios Lilt, perched on the edge of his desk. “It’s night. The drive home is going to take him an hour. His favourite TV show starts in forty minutes. He starts driving. He goes a little faster than he really should. It starts to rain. His windscreen wipers aren’t that great. The road is slippery. He’s tired. He hasn’t slept well. He’s thinking about an argument he’s had with his boss. He gets to a sharp bend. He skids and crashes. What caused the accident?”

The class was silent. Lilt looked around, eyebrow raised expectantly. After a few moments, Megan Epithet put up her hand.

“He’s never heard of the Internet?”

Lilt frowned. “Sorry?”

“He can watch his show online whenever he wants,” Megan said. “He doesn’t have to hurry.”

“Ah,” said Lilt. “No, I think you’re missing the point a little.”

“The sharp bend,” said Never. “If it’d been a straight road, he wouldn’t have had to turn and he wouldn’t have crashed.”

“But he’s taken that bend every day for twenty years and he hasn’t crashed before tonight. Can you really say the bend is the problem?”

“The rain,” said someone else.

“The speed,” said another.

Lilt held up his hand. “I’ll put you all out of your misery. There is no one thing that caused the accident. It’s a combination of things. Each factor, on its own, didn’t make him crash. But put together … the crash looks inevitable. And so it was for World War Two. Reparations. The rise of nationalism. Appeasement. Europe’s reluctance to—”

The door opened and Jenan stepped in. Lilt glanced at the clock.

“Three minutes left of class, Mr Ispolin.”

“Yeah.”

“‘Yeah’?”

Jenan straightened. “Yes. Sir.”

“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?”

“I was called in to the Principal’s Office.”

Lilt sighed. “Misbehaving again, Jenan? What did you do this time?”

Jenan scowled. “Didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure Mr Rubic invited you in for a friendly chat about the weather.” Lilt waved him to his seat. “Go on, you may as well sit down. Try not to cause any more disruption.”

Jenan went to his desk and Lilt chewed his lip. “Where was I?”

“World War Two,” said Megan.

“Yes, thank you. And what were the Sanctuaries doing during all this escalating tension? Were we getting involved? No? Why not?”

“The Scandza Accord,” Jenan said as he slouched into his chair.

Lilt nodded. “You are on your way to redeeming yourself already, Jenan.”

The thought occurred to Omen that naming Lilt as a suspect was one thing, but if he really wanted Skulduggery and Valkyrie’s approval he’d be better off getting some actual proof. He smiled, liking that idea immensely.

“Can someone remind me what the Scandza Accord is?” Lilt asked. “Omen?”

God, no. Not again. Omen sat up a little straighter in his chair. He knew the answer. He knew he did. It was there, in the clutter of his mind. He just had to find it. “It’s the, uh, the thing.”

A few people laughed.

“The thing, Omen?”

“The agreement,” Omen said, blushing. “The agreement that Sanctuaries would never interfere in mortal affairs.”

“The official agreement,” Lilt corrected. “It was unofficial policy for centuries before the Elder Councils of the world thought it’d be a good idea to put it down on paper. So, if we weren’t to get involved and prevent a war and a Holocaust that killed millions, what were we to do? Anyone?”

“Observe and protect the mortals from magical threats,” said Never.

“That’s right.”

“Babysit,” Jenan muttered. That got a few laughs.

“Let’s not be mean,” Lilt said, barely suppressing a smile.

The bell went. Lilt stood.

“No homework tonight,” he said, “but you still have the essay on Archduke Ferdinand to hand in tomorrow. No less than six pages. I want some effort put into this one.”

Omen and Never squeezed out of the room, joining the throng of students in the corridor. “Do you know how to join Arcanum’s Scholars?” Omen asked, trying his best to sound casual.

Never frowned at him. “Why?”

“My mum has been on at me to do better,” Omen said. A Fifth Year barged into him on his way past, nearly spun him round. He winced, rubbing his shoulder. “I thought a study group might be a good way to get ahead.”

“A study group is a great way to get ahead,” said Never, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “but not that one. You know who’s in it, right? Ispolin and his cronies. Why the hell would you want to join them?”

“Ah, they can’t be all bad.”

“I’m sure they have their good points,” she said, “but being decent people is not one of them. Omen, you’re a great guy. Why would you ever want to be part of something they’re involved in?”

“I just … Jenan missed nearly the whole class and Lilt didn’t even bat an eyelid. I could really do with having a teacher on my side like that.”

Never stopped walking and turned to him. “Is this because of Peccant? Omen, Lilt isn’t going to stand up to Peccant for you. Nobody stands up to Peccant. Except maybe Miss Wicked.”

“Still, though …”

“And you’ve seen what they have to wear. You’ve seen how dumb they look, with their little masks.”

“The secret society Arcanum was part of, they wore those masks.”

“I know the history, Omen. Unlike you, I actually pay attention in class. But even that annoys me. Wearing the masks implies a grand old tradition, right? This school is less than five years old. It has no traditions. This isn’t Yale. They aren’t the Skull and Bones Society.”

“The what?”

“My point is: do you really want to wear the stupid mask and go to their secret meetings?”

“Secret?”

“Secret,” said Never. “As in behind-closed-doors secret.”

“I thought they met in the West Library.”

“Not for ages. I swear, do you pay attention to anything? These days they meet in one of the back rooms of the fifth-floor library.”

“Huh,” said Omen. “And they close the doors?”

“Yes, they do.”

“Ever wonder what they talk about?”

“Oh, I know what they talk about.”

“You do? What?”

Never rolled her eyes. “History, Omen. They talk about history.”

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, yeah.”

High heels clacked behind them, and Omen only realised that the corridor had emptied as they turned.

“Where are you two supposed to be?” Miss Wicked asked.

“Chemistry,” said Never.

“I’m not sure,” said Omen.

“Never, run off to chemistry, there’s a good girl. Omen, find out where you’re going and go there.”

“Yes, miss.”

She moved on, and Omen smelled her perfume as she went.

“Catch you on the flip-flop,” said Never, and sauntered away, her skirt swishing.

“What class do I have now?” Omen called after her.

“Look up your timetable,” she called back.

“Where’s my timetable?”

“In your bag.”

Omen frowned at his empty hands. “Where’s my bag?”

“You left it in history,” Never said, and disappeared round the corner.

“Dammit,” said Omen.