Erskine Ravel and Skulduggery Pleasant.”
Someone barked a laugh. Valkyrie turned to Skulduggery, really wishing he was wearing a face so she could see his reaction.
“Ah,” said Ravel.
“Oh,” said Skulduggery.
“Sorry, fellas,” Corrival said, “but if I have to suffer through this ridiculousness, then so do you. Both of you are controversial figures, but I fought with your unit on the battlefield, and I’ve never known such bravery and honour. Erskine, you like spending money way too much, but you’ve been my trusted confidant for the last hundred years, and I don’t think there is anyone who is going to deny that you would make an excellent Elder. You’re wise when you need to be, and impulsive when you have to be.
“Skulduggery, my old friend, I daresay a lot of people are going to object to your nomination.”
“Myself included,” Skulduggery answered.
“You make more enemies than friends, which isn’t saying an awful lot, but you also make the difficult decisions. You always have. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. The rest is up to the voters. As duly elected Grand Mage, I now call a halt to proceedings, as I have a crossword to do and some cakes to eat.”
Without waiting for a response, Corrival turned and walked from the room.
“I was not expecting that,” Ravel said in a low voice.
“I’ll vote for you,” Skulduggery said, “so long as you promise not to vote for me.”
Ravel grinned. “And let you miss the fun? Not on your life, dead man.”
As they were walking for the Bentley, Valkyrie caught sight of a pretty blonde girl standing by a long, black car. “Back in a minute,” she said to Skulduggery, and jogged over to the girl, trying her best not to smile too broadly.
“Hi Melancholia,” she said brightly.
Melancholia scowled. She was four years older than Valkyrie, tall, and she wore black Necromancer robes. From the very start, Melancholia had never made a secret of the fact that she despised Valkyrie utterly. Valkyrie, for her part, thought this was astonishingly amusing, and revelled in the many opportunities she had to annoy the older girl.
“What you doing?” Valkyrie asked, smiling a friendly smile.
“I’m standing here,” Melancholia responded, not looking at her.
“And a fine job you’re doing of it, too. Do you know where Solomon is? He said he was going to come today, but I didn’t see him.”
“Cleric Wreath is on an assignment.”
“Cool. What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it exciting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Right. So you’re just waiting here for the others, then? Waiting for ol’ Tenebrae?”
Melancholia stiffened. “You should show more respect for the High Priest. You should use his full title when referring to him.”
Valkyrie shrugged. “High Priest Tenebrae just takes so long to say, you know? I usually just call him Tenny. He likes that.”
“If you were truly one of us, you would be severely disciplined for such behaviour.”
Valkyrie frowned. “Do you really talk like that, or are you just putting it on?”
Melancholia finally looked at her. “You are mocking me?” she snarled.
“Is that a statement or a question?”
Melancholia was taller than Valkyrie, and she loomed over her. “I should punish you myself, on behalf of the High Priest.”
“I don’t think Tenny would like that very much.”
“You are not our saviour.”
“Solomon seems to think I am.”
“Cleric Wreath has spent too long out in this decadent world. He’s lost his objectivity. He looks at you and he sees the Death Bringer, whereas everyone else looks at you and sees a pathetic little child.”
Valkyrie grinned. Despite how sinister it sounded, the Death Bringer was a title that she was beginning to actually like. She found Necromancers creepy on a very fundamental level – Solomon Wreath aside – but even so, it was nice to be thought of as a possible saviour. Certainly, it was a change from having to think of herself as Darquesse. The chance, no matter how slim, that instead she might turn out to be the Death Bringer was a source of comfort to her. Two possible destinies – one where she saves the world, and one where she ends it. Her future couldn’t get any starker than that. “Maybe I am the Death Bringer,” she said.
“Don’t be absurd. You’ve been studying Necromancy for just over a year. I’ve been studying death magic since I was four years old. You’re nothing compared to me, or anyone like me.”
“And yet,” Valkyrie interrupted, “I’m the one they’re all making a fuss of.”
Melancholia scowled. “You’re nothing but an Elemental playing at being a Necromancer.”
“And you’re a Necromancer, through and through. You’ve wanted to be nothing else your entire life. And yet, I’ve been invited to all the important meetings and you get to stay out here and mind the car. I’ve been told things about your art and your religion that you won’t be told for another year or two.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Is it? When were you told about the Passage?”
Melancholia hesitated. “I learned about the Passage when I was ready, when I had completed my studies on over three dozen—”
“It was pretty recently, wasn’t it?”
Melancholia gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“See, I was told about it ages ago. Now, I’m not saying I’m an expert. In fact, I have loads of questions about the whole thing. You must have noticed that some of it just doesn’t seem to make any sense. Your religion is based on the idea that when you die, your energy passes from this world to another one, right?”
“It’s not an idea,” Melancholia said tersely. “It’s a scientific fact.”
“It’s little more than a theory,” Valkyrie countered. “But I’m OK with that. So you guys are waiting for the Death Bringer to come and collapse the wall between the two worlds, so the living and the dead can exist in the same place, at the same time, meaning that there will be no more strife, no more war, and everyone will live, or at least exist, happily ever after.”
“Yes,” Melancholia said.
“And
