Читать книгу Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12 - Derek Landy - Страница 114

kulduggery had a home. When Valkyrie had first discovered this, her initial reaction had been surprise. Her second reaction, following hot on surprise’s heels, had been logical acceptance. Of course he had a home; of course he had somewhere to live. Had she really thought that he just drove around all day in the Bentley? A part of her actually had thought that, but that was a silly part, and not very bright.

His house was the only residential building on Cemetery Road. There wasn’t an actual cemetery on Cemetery Road, but there were two competing funeral homes, situated directly opposite each other, and Skulduggery’s house sat proudly at the top, like a parent overseeing squabbling siblings. He told her stories of the arguments the funeral directors would get into as they stood just inside their gates and hurled abuse at each other from a safe distance.

One of the first things Valkyrie noticed about the inside of the house was that every room seemed to be a living room.

“I don’t need anything else,” Skulduggery had explained. “I don’t need a kitchen or a bathroom, and I don’t need a bed so I don’t need a bedroom.”

“Don’t you sleep?”

“I don’t have to, but I’ve developed the skill and I quite like it. Though I suppose you’d call it meditation. The effect’s still the same – I shut down completely, let my mind wander where it wants to wander, totally unhindered by conscious thought. It’s good. It’s relaxing.”

He’d shown her the chair he liked to sit in while he ‘slept’. It was an armchair, nothing particularly impressive about it. Valkyrie had looked at it, felt pretty bored and gone snooping.

There were a lot of books and a lot of files. The biggest room in the house had a large sofa, and whenever Valkyrie had to spend any time on Cemetery Road, this was where she’d usually end up.

The front door opened and Valkyrie walked in, dropped her coat on the floor and sprawled on the sofa. Skulduggery walked in after her, picked up her coat, folded it neatly, and put it on the table.

“Will you be OK there?” he asked. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

“You never have anything to eat or drink,” Valkyrie said, her words muffled by the cushion her face had sunk into.

“I think I have some leftover pizza from last time you were here.”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“You think it’s gone off?”

“I think it’s walked off. Really, I’m fine. Have you figured out what the Isthmus Anchor is yet?”

“I’m … working on it.”

“You might want to work faster. When are we going to look for the gate?”

“First thing in the morning.”

Valkyrie sighed. “In that case, I need to get some sleep.” Friday came, with a morning that threatened rain, and they drove out of Dublin, took the motorway and turned off at Balbriggan. Half an hour later, they pulled up beside a sign that announced, in faded red letters, that this was Aranmore Farm and that it was private property. The land was vast, with hills and meadows that stretched deep into the woodland that bordered it.

“So this is where the world ends,” Valkyrie said, putting the map away. “Certainly prettier than I’d imagined.”

Skulduggery put the Bentley in gear and they started up the hill. Long grasses grew on either side of the track and the wheels rumbled heavily. A white farmhouse came into view, with a slate roof and large windows. Behind it, stone sheds of varying sizes surrounded a yard on which old farm machinery stood in neat lines.

They reached the house and Skulduggery turned off the engine. He made sure his disguise was in place and then they both got out.

They approached the front door and Valkyrie knocked. She knocked again and looked back at Skulduggery.

“Who do you think lives here?”

“At a guess? A farmer.”

“You’re amazing,” she said dryly.

“A single farmer,” Skulduggery continued, “living alone. Never married, by the looks of things. No children. I’d say he’d be in his early seventies, judging by the clothes on the line we passed.”

“We passed a clothesline?”

“What have I told you about keeping your eye out for details?”

“You said I shouldn’t worry about that because I have you to do it for me.”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s the exact opposite of what I said.”

“Maybe he’s taking an afternoon nap or something.” Valkyrie peered in through the window. “I don’t think there’s anybody around.”

“That’s lovely, that is,” said a voice from behind them, and they turned to see an elderly man striding towards them. He had wiry grey hair, bald on top, and a large nose. He was dressed in a tattered shirt with black braces holding up his trousers, which were in turn tucked into mucky wellington boots. “Reach a certain age and suddenly you’re a nobody, suddenly you’re not even worth counting. You know the problem with people your age, young lady?”

Valkyrie remembered her talk with Kenspeckle. “We think we’ll live forever?” she answered hopefully.

“You have no respect for your elders.”

She scowled, wondering how she could ever get that one right if the answer kept changing.

“So what do you want?” the farmer continued. “Why have you come all the way down here? And you,” he said, turning his attention to Skulduggery, “why are you all wrapped up like the Invisible Man? You got something wrong with your face?”

“Actually,” Skulduggery said, “yes. My name is Skulduggery Pleasant. This is my associate, Valkyrie Cain.”

“What, do they give out prizes for silly names now?”

“And you are …?”

“Hanratty,” the old man said. “Patrick Hanratty.”

“Mr Hanratty—” Valkyrie began, but he shook his head. “Call me Paddy.”

“OK, Paddy …”

“Wait, I’ve changed my mind. Call me Mr Hanratty.”

Valkyrie smiled patiently. “Have you noticed any strange people in the area lately?”

“Strange how? Strange like you or just normal strange?”

“Any kind of strange.”

Paddy folded his arms and pursed his lips. “Well now, let me see. There was that O’Leary lad, from the village; he comes by every Wednesday with my bag of shopping. I’d call him strange, I suppose. He has a thing in his eyebrow. An iron bar. Haven’t a clue what it does. Maybe it picks up radio.”

“I think Valkyrie meant strange people that you haven’t seen before,” Skulduggery said.

“Apart from you two?”

“Apart from us two.”

Paddy shook his head. “Sorry, you’re the two strangest people I’ve never seen before that I’ve seen in a long time. Do you want to tell me what this is about, or do you want me to guess?”

“Mr Hanratty—” Valkyrie began.

“Call me Paddy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Probably not.”

Skulduggery took over. “We have reason to believe that a gang of criminals will be using your land as a rendezvous point.”

Paddy looked into Skulduggery’s sunglasses. “A gang of criminals, you say? Kidnappers? Jewel thieves?”

“Bank robbers.”

“Bank robbers,” Paddy repeated, nodding his head. “I see. Yes, that makes sense. I can see why they’d choose my land. The fact that the nearest bank is over half an hour’s drive from here would mean that this gang of criminals, after pulling off their daring heist, would need to make their way back through thirty miles of narrow roads, pulling in occasionally to allow tractors and assorted farm vehicles to get by, then pass unnoticed through the local village where the neighbourhood watch scheme is enforced with exceptional vigour, then—”

“Fine,” Skulduggery interrupted. “Your land is not going to be used by a gang of bank robbers.”

Paddy nodded, smug in triumph. “Well, that’s a relief to hear. I may as well save us all some time, all right? I have no interest in selling up. I’ve lived here for forty years and I’m not moving. Now, unless there is something vitally important you have to tell me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have to get back to work.”

Skulduggery didn’t answer for a moment, and Valkyrie thought he was actually getting angry, but his head turned like he’d suddenly remembered he was in a conversation.

“Of course,” he said quickly. “We are sorry we took up your time.”

He hurried back to the Bentley, Valkyrie right behind him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’ve figured it out,” he said as he walked. “It’s the Grotesquery.”

“What is?”

They reached the car and got in. Skulduggery turned the key and the engine roared to life.

“The Isthmus Anchor is something that keeps the gateway between realities from sealing over,” he said. “It’s something that is here, but belongs over there. That’s why Batu had to wait fifty years between murders – he needed Baron Vengeous to bring the Grotesquery back. The Grotesquery is the Isthmus Anchor.”

“But … Bliss cremated it. Right?”

Skulduggery’s voice was hollow as they sped back to the road. “He burned what he could. He burned its limbs and most of its organs, everything about it that had been added from another creature. But the torso comes from an actual Faceless One, or at least the human vessel it was inhabiting, and they’re a lot harder to destroy.”

Valkyrie was almost afraid to ask her next question. “So, like, where did he put it? Who has it? Skulduggery, who has the Grotesquery?”

“It’s being kept at the Sanctuary,” Skulduggery said, something new in his voice. “Thurid Guild has the Isthmus Anchor.”