Derek Landy - Skulduggery Pleasant

HarperCollins Children’s Books A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Skulduggery Pleasant rests his weary bones on the web at: www.skulduggerypleasant.com

First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2007

Copyright © Derek Landy 2007

Cover illustration © Tom Percival;

Illuminated letters © Tom Percival;

Skulduggery Pleasant™ Derek Landy; Skulduggery Pleasant logo™ HarperCollins Publishers

Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007241613

Ebook Edition © JULY 2013 ISBN: 9780007279005

Version: 2019-06-17

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

Change of font size and line height

Change of background and font colours

Change of font

Change justification

Text to speech

This book is dedicated to my parents, John and Barbara.

Dad – this is for your bizarrely unwavering support and unflinching faith.

Barbs – this is for that look on your face when I told you the good news.

I owe you absolutely everything and, y’know, I suppose it’s entirely possible that I feel some, like, degree of affection towards the two of you…

Title Page Copyright Note to Readers Dedication Chapter One: Stephanie Chapter Two: The Will Chapter Three: Little Girl, All Alone Chapter Four: The Secret War Chapter Five: Meeting China Sorrows Chapter Six: A Man Apart Chapter Seven: Serpine Chapter Eight: Ghastly Chapter Nine: The Troll Beneath Westminster Bridge Chapter Ten: The Gal In Black Chapter Eleven: The Little Bit Of Crime Chapter Twelve: Vampires Chapter Thirteen: The Red Right Hand Chapter Fourteen: Elemental Magic Chapter Fifteen: The Torture Room Chapter Sixteen: What’s In A Name? Chapter Seventeen: A Fabulous Rescue Indeed Chapter Eighteen: On The Roof, At Night Chapter Nineteen: The Experiment Chapter Twenty: The Family Curse Chapter Twenty One: The Cave Chapter Twenty Two: The Sceptre Of The Ancients Chapter Twenty Three: Thoughts On Dying Horribly Chapter Twenty Four: Planning For Murder Chapter Twenty Five: The White Cleaver Chapter Twenty Six: The Last Stand Of… Chapter Twenty Seven: No Calm Before The Storm Chapter Twenty Eight: Carnage Chapter Twenty Nine: Deep In Dublin, Death Chapter Thirty: An End, A Beginning About the Author Also by the Author About the Publisher

1

Gordon Edgley’s sudden death came as a shock to everyone – not least himself. One moment he was in his study, seven words into the twenty-fifth sentence of the final chapter of his new book And The Darkness Rained Upon Them , and the next he was dead. A tragic loss , his mind echoed numbly as he slipped away.

The funeral was attended by family and acquaintances but not many friends. Gordon hadn’t been a well-liked figure in the publishing world, for although the books he wrote – tales of horror and magic and wonder – regularly reared their heads in the bestseller lists, he had the disquieting habit of insulting people without realising it, then laughing at their shock. It was at Gordon’s funeral, however, that Stephanie Edgley first caught sight of the gentleman in the tan overcoat.

He was standing under the shade of a large tree, away from the crowd, the coat buttoned up all the way despite the warmth of the afternoon. A scarf was wrapped around the lower half of his face and even from her position on the far side of the grave, Stephanie could make out the wild and frizzy hair that escaped from the wide brimmed hat he wore low over his gigantic sunglasses. She watched him, intrigued by his appearance. And then, like he knew he was being observed, he turned and walked back through the rows of headstones, and disappeared from sight.

After the service, Stephanie and her parents travelled back to her dead uncle’s house, over a humpbacked bridge and along a narrow road that carved its way through thick woodland. The gates were heavy and grand and stood open, welcoming them into the estate. The grounds were vast and the old house itself was ridiculously big.

There was an extra door in the living room, a door disguised as a bookcase, and when she was younger Stephanie liked to think that no one else knew about this door, not even Gordon himself. It was a secret passageway, like in the stories she’d read, and she’d make up adventures about haunted houses and smuggled treasure. This secret passageway would always be her escape route, and the imaginary villains in these adventures would be dumbfounded by her sudden and mysterious disappearance. But now this door, this secret passageway, stood open, and there was a steady stream of people through it, and she was saddened that this little piece of magic had been taken from her.

Tea was served and drinks were poured and little sandwiches were passed around on silver trays, and Stephanie watched the mourners casually appraise their surroundings. The major topic of hushed conversation was the will. Gordon wasn’t a man who inspired, or even demonstrated, any great affection, so no one could predict who would inherit his substantial fortune. Stephanie could see the greed seep into the watery eyes of her father’s other brother, a horrible little man called Fergus, as he nodded sadly and spoke sombrely and pocketed the silverware when he thought no one was looking.

Fergus’s wife was a thoroughly dislikeable, sharp-featured woman named Beryl. She drifted through the crowd, deep in unconvincing grief, prying for gossip and digging for scandal. Her daughters did their best to ignore Stephanie. Carol and Crystal were twins, fifteen years old, and as sour and vindictive as their parents. Whereas Stephanie was dark-haired, tall, slim and strong, they were bottle-blonde, stumpy and dressed in clothes that made them bulge in all the wrong places. Apart from their brown eyes, no one would guess that the twins were related to her. She liked that. It was the only thing about them she liked. She left them to their petty glares and snide whispers, and went for a walk.

The corridors of her uncle’s house were long and lined with paintings. The floor beneath Stephanie’s feet was wooden, polished to a gleam, and the house smelled of age. Not musty exactly but… experienced. These walls and these floors had seen a lot in their time, and Stephanie was nothing but a faint whisper to them. Here one instant, gone the next.