now I’m curious as to what trinket you’ve misplaced. Oh, look where we are. What a nice coincidence.”
They had arrived at a small chamber with wooden shelves at odd angles. The two Necromancers within fell silent immediately. Skulduggery went to step inside, but Wreath took hold of his arm.
“We didn’t ask for your help,” he said firmly. “This is a Necromancer affair.”
“It was here though?” Skulduggery asked. “Your trinket? Why don’t you tell us what has gone missing and I’ll tell you who took it.”
Wreath smiled thinly. “You’ve worked it out already?”
“I am a detective.”
Wreath took a moment then nodded to the two Necromancers and they left. He stepped back as Valkyrie joined Skulduggery in examining the room. “The missing object is a sphere, about the size of your fist, set inside a cradle of obsidian.”
“A Soul Catcher,” Skulduggery said.
“One of the last in existence,” Wreath nodded.
Valkyrie frowned. “Does that do what it sounds like it does? Why would you need to catch souls?”
“The Soul Catcher was used to trap and contain an individual energy,” Wreath told her, “to stop it from rejoining the stream. It was a barbaric punishment that we have long since outlawed.
“The last time an inventory was carried out was a month ago. If it was indeed stolen, it could have been stolen a month ago or it could have been stolen yesterday. The simple fact is, however, I can’t see how any thief could have got this far into the Temple without being seen.”
“Oh, it was definitely stolen,” Skulduggery said. “But the thief didn’t use the door.”
Valkyrie looked at him. “So who stole it?” Skulduggery pointed up. She clicked her fingers and raised her hand, the flames flickering across the patch of cracked and crumbled ceiling, large enough to fit a man through.
“Sanguine,” Valkyrie said.
Wreath frowned. “Billy-Ray Sanguine? What would he want with a Soul Catcher?”
“This is just a guess,” Skulduggery said, “but maybe he wants to use it to catch a soul.”
aurien Scapegrace was dead and Billy-Ray Sanguine had killed him.
Scapegrace was pretty sure that’s what happened anyway. He couldn’t remember all of it.
He remembered Sanguine taking him to one side, and telling him that he’d made a few calls and asked a few people, and nobody could vouch for Scapegrace as a remorseless killer of unparalleled skill, like he’d claimed. Scapegrace had tried to explain then that, fair enough, he hadn’t actually killed anyone yet, but it was only a matter of time, and if Sanguine and Scarab could just give him a chance, he’d prove himself worthy to be included in their plans.
At least, that’s what he’d planned to say. He dimly remembered getting as far as “Fair enough” and then…nothing.
Sanguine had killed him.
He opened his eyes, in a dark and dank dungeon, and looked up to see his Master’s face.
“Finally,” Scarab said and it was the greatest word Scapegrace had ever heard uttered. Finally. Here is my loyal companion, never to leave my side. Scapegrace smiled as he lay there.
“Stop grinning,” Scarab ordered. “You look deformed.”
“Sorry, Master,” Scapegrace said, sitting up. Why was he calling Scarab Master? He didn’t know, but it seemed so right, so he just continued. “Master, what’s happened to me?”
“You’re dead,” Master Scarab said. “You lied to us, Scapegrace. You’re not a killer. Knew it from the moment I saw you.”
“Was it because I fell off the chair?”
“It doesn’t matter what it was. But because you lied to us, wasted our time, made us rethink some of our plans, we decided to put your death to good use. We killed you and brought you back. Do you know what you are?”
“Very lucky?”
“You’re a zombie.”
Scapegrace laughed. “No, Master. Not me.”
Scarab took a knife from his pocket and stabbed it through Scapegrace’s arm. Scapegrace stared.
“You feel no pain,” Scarab continued.
“Oh.”
“Your corpse is being sustained by magic.”
“I’m a…I’m a zombie.”
“Yes.”
“Am…am I like that White Cleaver person?”
“I’ve been in prison for 200 years. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You are, to be blunt, a fairly basic zombie. You’re not one of those fully reanimated, self-healing zombies. You’re a lower class. Best I could do with the stuff I know.”
“Oh, I do appreciate it, Master.”
“Shut up. Do you know anything about zombies?”
“Not really…”
“You have no magic. The magic you did have is being used to keep your body moving and your brain thinking – I wouldn’t imagine much magic is required for that particular feat.”
“I wouldn’t say so, sir.”
“The advantage of being such a basic zombie, however, is that you can pass on your condition with simply a bite. See, I want you to go out there and recruit.”
“Recruit?”
“One bite’ll do it. These people you recruit do not need to be sorcerers – in fact, it would be best if they weren’t. The thing is, you’re the only one who can bite, you get me? None of the others, and I mean none, can even taste human flesh.”
“Why can’t they?”
“Because I’m telling you they can’t. You are the only one who’ll be immune to its effects. They’ll be sustained by trace amounts of magic, though they’ll decompose
