Derek Landy - Kingdom of the Wicked

“What about Argeddion?” asked Valkyrie. “Was he ever mentioned?”

“No. Neither was the disappearance of Lament and his group.”

“So they vanish off the face of the earth,” Skulduggery said, “and none of the Elders even bother to make a note of it. It sounds like Lament and his friends were Black Ops, the same as our Dead Men, or Guild’s Exigency Mages, but in peacetime. The dirty jobs that have to be done. They went in to take down Argeddion and whatever happened has been wiped from official records. Meritorious covered it up.”

“Not the first time,” Ghastly murmured.

“But wouldn’t that mean Argeddion is dead?” asked Valkyrie. “If they went in and failed, Meritorious would have just sent someone else. He’d probably have sent you. But he didn’t.”

Skulduggery nodded. “Which would seem to indicate that it was mission accomplished.”

Ravel shifted in his chair. “So if everyone who knew about this mission is now dead, where does that leave us?”

“Maybe not everyone,” Skulduggery countered. “Lament may have been killed, maybe most of the others, but there’s no reason to think there wasn’t a survivor who reported back to Meritorious when it was done.”

Valkyrie looked at him. “So we need to find out who else was in Lament’s group. How do we do that?”

Skulduggery put his hat on. “In order to find a man’s friends, who are the best people to ask?”

Valkyrie smiled. “His enemies.”

ammer Lane Gaol was, to all outside appearances, a small house on the border of Laois and Offaly that stood with its front door open. There were a few dead trees out front, and a garage in the back, and plenty of mud all around. And inside was one of the last men arrested by Tyren Lament.

The Bentley splashed through puddles on the uneven road and pulled up. They got out, and Skulduggery didn’t bother with his façade as an old man wandered over.

“Hi there,” the old man said. “Lost, are you?”

“You really think we’re lost?” Skulduggery asked. “You really think we’re civilians just passing through, one of whom happens to be a skeleton?”

“Oh, yeah,” said the old man. “Yeah, that kind of gives the whole game away, doesn’t it? Suppose you’re wanting to visit the prison, then.”

“I suppose we are.”

“Stay right here, I’ll put the call through. What’d you say your names were?”

“Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain.”

“Pleasant and Cain,” said the old man, nodding. “And you have an appointment?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Be right back.”

He shuffled off into the garage, and Valkyrie looked at the little house with its open door. It shimmered slightly, like it was caught in a heat haze.

“Why’s it doing that?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Skulduggery said. “It could be some kind of projection, or it could be an energy shield of some description.”

“It’s a little small and, I don’t know, accessible to be a prison, isn’t it? Unless it’s a prison for really tiny criminals who aren’t too bright and who don’t really want to escape.”

“Just the regular-sized criminals, I’m afraid. And the house would merely be the entrance – the prison is underground.”

Valkyrie sighed. “Everything is underground. I’m sick of things being underground. Sanctuaries are underground, gaols are underground …” She faltered.

“Wow,” said Skulduggery. “Two things that are underground. That’s a pretty exhaustive list.”

“Shut up. All I’m saying is, it’d be nice if there were a base or a headquarters of something that had big windows and a nice view and maybe even a little sunshine every now and then.”

The old man wandered back. “The warden is ready for you,” he said. “You ever been to Hammer Lane before? The only tricky bit is getting through that front door there. The important thing is not to touch the sides as you walk through. For slender people such as yourselves, this should pose no particular problem. But for other people …” He shook his head, like he was remembering a personal tragedy.

“What happens if we touch the sides?” Valkyrie asked, but he was already walking away. She looked at Skulduggery, and motioned to the open door. “Age before beauty.”

“So kind,” he said, and walked through. He looked back at her. “Well? Are you coming?”

Valkyrie hesitated. The doorway shimmered. She licked her lips, then turned sideways and inched forward into the house.

Skulduggery stood watching her. “What are you doing?”

“Being careful,” she said under her breath.

“You walk through doorways every day and manage not to bounce off one side or the other.”

“Stop distracting me.”

“You could walk in with your hands on your hips and you still wouldn’t touch the sides.”

She took a deep breath and took the last step as a hop, then gasped in relief.

“You puzzle me,” Skulduggery said.

It was a one-room house. There was a tattered armchair and a tattered rug and peeling wallpaper. Something beeped, and the floor started to descend.

“Cool,” Valkyrie whispered.

They left the peeling wallpaper above them and descended through a brightly lit steel shaft, picking up speed as they went. Just as Valkyrie was beginning to enjoy the experience, it was over, and a door slid open to reveal a man in a suit and tie and a smile.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Delafonte Mien, I’m the warden here. Can I get you folks some lemonade?”

Their tour through Hammer Lane Gaol took them through gleaming corridors and steel doors. The main body of the prison was a vast cylinder, at the base of which was the mess hall and social area. There were five levels of cells built into the walls, each one with a circular perimeter walkway that was bordered with a clear material that sounded like glass when Valkyrie knocked on it. They were standing on the Observation Deck, the sixth and highest level, allowing them to overlook the whole structure.

“It sounds like glass,” Mien told her, “because it is glass. Reinforced, of course. It’d take a rocket launcher to even make a crack in one layer of this thing – and it’s four layers thick. Impenetrable.” He waved his hand along the metal barrier, and a section of glass retracted. They leaned over, looking straight down. Valkyrie felt a touch of vertigo.

“Your prisoners are very well behaved,” said Skulduggery. Far below them, the convicts sat in their bright orange jumpsuits at their tables in perfectly ordered groups.

Mien chuckled. “Ah, I wish I could say they’re always like that, but any minute now one of the inmates is going to be rejoining them from a month in solitary confinement. He’s a bit of a troublemaker, so I have extra security down there to deal with any messing.

“You know, before I came here, this was the worst gaol in Europe. Disruptive behaviour, riots, inmates escaping … I was assigned here seventeen years ago, I looked around at what we had at our disposal, and I made changes. Within two years, this place had become a fortress. No prisoner has escaped in fifteen years. Even attempted breakouts have dropped to almost zero.”

“How did you manage it?” Skulduggery asked, stepping back from the barrier, casting his eyeless gaze to the pipes that ran in crazy zigzags across the high ceiling.