a corpse,” Valkyrie said. “Where were you going to go?”
He glared at her, but didn’t answer.
He started walking, shuffling off his grave, up towards the ruined church. She followed.
“I thought the skeleton would be with you,” the dead man said as they walked.
“We’re quite busy at the moment, so Skulduggery had to stay behind. I said I’d take care of this one on my own.”
He looked back, and she was thankful the moon was only a sliver, for his face was mostly hidden. “Maybe you underestimate what awaits.”
“No, I think I’ve got it. Three babies snatched from their cots, being held by a family of goblins who want to exchange them for gold. Fairly straightforward.”
“If you fully realised the danger you are walking into, you would not be so calm.”
“Ah, I’m sure I would. They’re goblins, you know? How bad can they be?”
“They were not always goblins,” the dead man said, irritation in his voice. “The Muldoons were sorcerers, descended from a long line of the most powerful mages the world had ever seen. They were rumoured to be descended from the Ancients themselves.”
“That was disproved,” Valkyrie said.
“What?”
“I asked Skulduggery about that. He said the Muldoons reinvented their own family tree in a sad attempt to appear threatening, and then they actually started to believe their own lies.”
“If you know so much,” the dead man scowled, “then why are you asking me?”
“Oh, right, sorry. Please go on.”
The corpse muttered something under his breath, then resumed. “The father died, and the mother went insane, but the children maintained the belief that, because of their heritage, they should be the rulers of the world. They believed in the inherent superiority of those who wield magic, and they despised the mortals, whom they saw as pedestrian and drab.”
“Why are they called mortals?” asked Valkyrie.
“What?”
“I’ve been wondering that. Non-magical people, I mean, why are they called mortals? Sorcerers are mortal, too.”
“Sorcerers don’t claim any different.”
“But by calling non-magical people mortal, it’s like they’re implying that they themselves are immortal. And they’re not – magic just makes them live longer.”
The dead man stopped suddenly and turned. His brows were furrowed across his unblinking eyes. “Do you want to hear the story of the Muldoons or not?” he asked.
“Sure. Sorry.”
He grunted, then turned and carried on towards the church. The breeze caught the mustiness of his clothes and brought it down to her. “The Council of Elders identified the Muldoons as the sorcerers behind a spate of attacks on mortals. In an effort to keep the mortals safe, and to keep the magical communities hidden, the Muldoons were ambushed, and although they escaped, they were not unharmed.”
“This is my favourite bit,” Valkyrie said. “This is when they get turned into goblins, right?”
“Correct. Over the years they have amassed a collection of gold, for gold is the only thing that could return them to human form, but it has not been enough.”
“So they started stealing babies.”
“Yes.”
They arrived at the ruined church. The dead man looked at her “My role is almost fulfilled. I agreed to make the introductions and witness that both parties keep their side of the bargain. There are innocent lives at stake.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Earlier, I was with the goblins, and I saw that the three babies were safe and well. Thus far, they have kept their word. And you, Valkyrie Cain, are you here with gold?”
“Yes, I am.”
“May I see it?” the dead man asked.
“No, you may not.”
“And why not?”
“Because it’s not for you to see.”
The dead man looked at her, and he gave the slightest of nods. “Very well.”
He turned to the open door of the church, and spoke loudly. “It is I, and I stand with the girl, the Elemental and the partner of the skeleton detective, and although she is late she is here, which is the important thing, and we are moving on. I ask that the exchange take place, the three innocent lives for the gold she claims to possess, though as of yet I have not seen it. If it makes a difference, she has an honest face, although her eyes are as dark as her hair. Will you bid her enter?”
Torches flared in wall brackets inside the ruin, beating the darkness back. The dead man stepped away.
“You may enter,” he said.
“You’re not coming?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t be letting me walk into a trap, would you?” asked Valkyrie.
“Why would I do that? I’m dead. What do I have to gain? I can’t leave this graveyard. There is nothing that brings me joy any more, there is no pleasure to be had, there is nothing I can use so there is nothing that I want. I am empty. My existence is a shallow thing of coldness and—”
“OK,” Valkyrie interrupted, “I get it. You’re miserable, fine. I’ll go in now.”
The dead man shrugged. Valkyrie left him there and stepped into the church.
Part of the roof had caved in, and her boots brushed rubble as she walked. Her boots, like the trousers she wore, and the tunic and the coat, were made of impenetrable materials that had saved her life on numerous occasions. Everything she wore was black, and it was a black that melted into the shadows and hid her from unsuspecting eyes. It wasn’t hiding her tonight, however. Every move she made was being watched. She could feel eyes on her.
There were a few broken pews in the church, but no altar, and no decoration. The flickering torches reflected off wet patches on the stone walls where the rain had fallen.
Valkyrie stopped walking.
“Hello?” she called. “Goblins?”
“Gold,” came the voice from behind her.
She turned slowly, making no sudden moves.
The goblin was maybe up to her shoulder, short and squat and distressingly ugly. He had large bulbous eyes and a long bulbous nose, and his nostril hair mingled with a moustache
