“I don’t know yet, but it would be somewhere out of the way. Isolated. Somewhere without a magical presence.”
“Do we have any leads?” she asked.
“Just one. A freight company that Lament used was mentioned in the notes. There are companies all around the world, either run by or owned by sorcerers, that operate for both the mortals and the magical. Their dealings with other sorcerers are, as you can imagine, completely under the radar. Dagan Logistics is one such company.”
“So we just talk to them about their dealings with him, where they shipped whatever supplies he needed, and we have where he’s keeping Argeddion. Right?”
“Right.”
“Right. So why aren’t you looking pleased?”
He tilted his head. “How do you know I’m not?”
“I just know. What’s the catch?”
Skulduggery sighed. “Dagan Logistics is not the most reputable of companies, or the most co-operative. I’d imagine that’s the reason Lament used them – they’re used to keeping certain dealings secret. It’s owned by one of Mevolent’s old supporters. Arthur Dagan.”
“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Him. He doesn’t like me.”
“He’s not too fond of me, either. He didn’t fight in the war, he was always far too timid for that kind of thing, but he worshipped the Faceless Ones as fervently as any fanatic, and he aided Mevolent whenever he could.”
“I can’t really see him helping us.”
“Me neither. His son, on the other hand...”
“Hansard? Would he be able to help us?”
“He’s in the family business. He’d have access to his father’s files. And you two seemed to really hit it off at the Requiem Ball.”
“He was very hot,” Valkyrie murmured. “But why would he help us?”
“Hansard Kray is twenty-two years old. He wasn’t around for the war, and he’s been brought up in a very pro-Faceless Ones environment. Do you know what happens to people like that? They tend to rebel against their parents’ beliefs. Besides, he seems to have a good head on his shoulders, and if you ask him really nicely, how could he refuse you?”
“I am very hot,” Valkyrie murmured.
“We just have to get you close to him without his father finding out. I made a few calls, asked a few people, and it seems that Hansard will be personally overseeing the transport of a large cargo on the invisible railroad tomorrow morning.”
“The invisible railroad?”
“I never told you about the invisible railroad?” Skulduggery asked, walking to the Bentley. “Then you’re in for a treat. So long as you like trains. And invisible things.”
“I love invisible things.”
“What are your feelings towards trains?”
“Meh.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
It was a small growth, but a steady one, and it made the Church stronger with every passing month. For Eliza Scorn it was a point of pride to be now in a position of some influence. Certainly, from the moment she had taken control from the weak-willed and ineffectual Jajo Prave the Church’s fortunes had started to lift, so much so that now representatives of Nocturnal’s church were calling her, pleading with her, begging her to help them. And of course she felt compelled to do so. Were they not all followers of the Faceless Ones, after all? Were they not all brothers and sisters? Granted, Nocturnal’s people were a notoriously conservative bunch of prim and proper puritans who sought to drain the fun out of living, but their hearts were in the right place, all things considered.
She heard Prave’s voice on the other side of the door, insisting quite strenuously that Miss Scorn must remain undisturbed. Unsurprisingly, he was completely ignored, and Tanith Low and Billy-Ray Sanguine walked into her office like they owned the place. Prave trailed behind them.
“Some people here to see you,” he whined.
“Tanith,” said Scorn, rising from her desk, “Billy-Ray. So good to see you. Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, no,” Tanith said. “We don’t do time-wasting, Miss Scorn. We are a busy, upwardly mobile kind of couple. Things to do, people to kill, that sort of thing.”
“Of course, of course. Prave, you may leave us.”
He wanted to stay. Of course he wanted to stay. But he backed out of the room and closed the doors after him, because of course he would do as he was told.
“Mission accomplished,” said Tanith. “Valkyrie Cain saved, would-be assassin eliminated. A good day, all in all. And now comes the bit where you hand over our reward.”
Scorn sat. “I’m afraid I don’t have it.”
Tanith fell silent. She looked at Sanguine, who took out his straight razor.
Scorn smiled, and held up her hands. “Now, now, before we say some things or kill some people that we might regret, I don’t have the information you’re looking for but I do know someone who does.”
“That,” said Sanguine, “reeks to me a little of time-wastin’.”
Tanith nodded. “Indeed it does, honey-bunny. Miss Scorn, I am prepared to cut you a little slack, seeing as how you beat the hell out of China Sorrows and blew up her library. When I heard that, I have to admit, I laughed. But that is the only thing preventing Billy-Ray from sliding his razor across your pale little throat.”
“Your understanding is appreciated,” said Scorn. “But our initial arrangement was not that I hand over the information you were after, only that I find it. And I did find it. I just don’t have it.”
“Semantics,” Tanith said, unimpressed. “How I love semantics. OK then, Miss Scorn, you tell us who does know where the dagger is and we’ll leave you with all your blood on the inside.”
Scorn smiled. “Christophe Nocturnal.”
Sanguine took off his sunglasses to wipe them. The holes where his eyes used to be seemed to drag in the darkness of the room. “The same Christophe Nocturnal who is now in Sanctuary custody?”
“The very same.”
“You’ve made things awkward for us,” Tanith said. “I don’t like awkward.”
