sure about him?” she asked.
Vespers looked surprised. “Oh, yes, Supreme Mage. Damocles Creed was our ideal candidate from the very start. Devout, respected and strong. There is no one with a voice worth listening to who could possibly object to him replacing Eliza Scorn.”
“I seem to recall objecting,” Drang said.
Vespers allowed himself a wry smile. “My apologies, Grand Mage. I discounted the atheists among us.”
“We’ve avoided considerable controversy with Creed,” Praetor said. “Holding the Cathedral ransom while we forced Scorn out was a risky move, especially with how quickly the Church is growing here.”
China ran her tongue slowly along the back of her teeth. Her brother had once told her, during one of the many conversations they’d had about her faith, that religion was a virus. It spread fastest when the conditions were right. Endorsing the Church and building the Dark Cathedral was China’s way of controlling that virus, of directing it and containing it. Once she could keep an eye on it, she could stamp it out if needed.
“We’re done for the day,” she said. “You’re dismissed.”
Vespers and Praetor offered her their usual gratitude and praise. Drang merely nodded. Then they left the room. Her life consisted of meetings, both long and short, and she was always grateful for the short ones.
She walked to her apartment, and slipped her chain of office on to the blank-faced bust set into the alcove beside the door. A pretty piece of jewellery, and expensive, though completely meaningless. She’d had it made just to have something different from the brooches that other Grand Mages wore. A token of power, that’s all it was, but China had learned a long time ago that power perceived is power nonetheless. Tokens were important.
She undressed and slipped her robe on. It was late, and she was tired, but there was still work to be done. The activation of a sigil and the fireplace roared to life. She settled into her favourite armchair, her feet tucked under her, and began to read the topmost file that Tipstaff had left for her. For every advantage that power had brought, it had delivered to her ten times more pressures and responsibilities. The burden of leadership, she had discovered, was a heavy one.
Sleep would have to wait.
Omen woke up, and tried to remember his dream.
He could never remember his dreams. They swam immediately out of reach upon surfacing. The glimpses he could snatch came back to him at odd times throughout the day, nonsensical images and feelings of déjà vu. His dreams weren’t like Auger’s. Auger dreamed of bad people doing bad things. Sometimes his dreams had actually come true. Sometimes he could decipher them, adding this piece to that piece, forming a picture, a crazy jigsaw of future events. Vivid dreams, Omen supposed, were just another part of being the Chosen One, while vague nonsense and logical dead ends were part of being the Chosen One’s brother.
The morning light was pale, and lit up the small dorm room without enthusiasm. Outside it was cold. There was a wind, and it pushed at the window – not enough to rattle the pane, but enough to make it flex with a broken rhythm, like a weak heartbeat.
In the bed along the far wall, Gerontius still slept, and in the one nearest the door, Morven snored, the sheets twisted around his lanky body like they’d attacked him during the night. Omen couldn’t call either boy a friend, but they were nice enough to him, and he felt obliged to keep out of their way as much as possible. Moving quietly, he got out of bed, tried and failed to find his slippers, and padded out into the hall, the floor cold on his bare feet.
He used the toilet and went to the window, not really expecting to see anything, but his eyes widened when he saw the red ribbon tied around the drainpipe across the way. Suddenly he wasn’t sleepy any more. Wishing now that he’d bothered to find his slippers, and really wishing he’d put his dressing gown on over his pyjamas, Omen hurried to the end of the boys’ block. The door, as promised, had been left unlocked. He sneaked through, hid from Mr Stymie as he passed, the old man muttering to himself like he was asking a question and expecting an answer, and carried on. Finally, he came to another door and knocked once and entered.
Skulduggery Pleasant sat in the store cupboard on an elegant chair he’d undoubtedly taken from somewhere else. He looked up from what he was reading, a file of some sort, and folded it over before slipping it into his jacket.
“I’m here,” Omen whispered.
“So I see,” Skulduggery said, speaking at a normal volume. “Nice pyjamas.”
“Thank you.”
“I was joking.”
“Oh.”
“They’re terrible.”
“I like the colour.”
“It clashes with itself.” Skulduggery was wearing a black three-piece suit with a black shirt and tie. His cufflinks were silver. His shoes were polished. It was all so cool. “How are you, Omen? Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” said Omen. “Did you check out Mr Lilt?”
“We did,” Skulduggery said.
“I’ve done a little more snooping,” Omen said. “I spied on them, on Mr Lilt and the study group. I think Mr Lilt is going to kill Byron.”
“Who’s Byron?”
“One of the Arcanum’s Scholars. Byron Grace. He’s all right, actually. He’s not that bad.”
“Is he part of the group that wants to kill all mortals?”
“Yes,” Omen admitted, “but I don’t think his heart’s really in it. Mr Lilt was saying he’ll probably have to kill him. Mr Lilt, that is, killing Byron. Anyway, I was thinking maybe you could take Byron into protective custody? Maybe he’s got information we could use. Do we do protective custody, or is that a mortal thing?”
“We do it,” said Skulduggery, “but I doubt we’ll have to. Parthenios Lilt has been arrested.”
Omen blinked. “Because of me?”
A nod. “Directly because of you, Omen. I passed on your suspicions to the City Guard and they wasted no time in kicking down his door. They do so love to kick down doors. Lilt’s involvement opened up a fresh list of suspects, and I have a very strong feeling that we’ll put a stop to whatever the anti-Sanctuary is planning because of it. We owe you a huge debt of gratitude.”
Omen blushed. “It was nothing. I mean, I just … I just kept my eyes open, like you asked.”
“What you did was very brave. Never forget that.” Skulduggery stood up.
“Are you OK?” Omen asked him.
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Excuse me?”
“I heard you were hurt.”
“Ah. Yes, I was, but
