Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 10 - 12. Derek Landy

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СКАЧАТЬ had anything even remotely resembling a plan. He was impossibly lucky that Nero had just walked off when they’d arrived. If he’d looked around, he would have seen Omen lying there on the ground with his hand outstretched. He might have accidentally trodden on him, which would have been a ridiculous way to be discovered.

      And, as Nero had walked away, did Omen spring to his feet, stealthy as a ninja? Or did he roll sideways into an empty cell, and then crawl under another bed to hide?

      The word repeated itself in his head, just for good measure. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

      He peeked out. The cell was old-fashioned, the kind he’d seen in movies like The Man in the Iron Mask. Rough-hewn walls. A door of thick metal bars. The only nods to any kind of civilised living were the toilet and the sink. Omen recognised binding sigils carved into the stone. They were dull, which meant inactive. That was good.

      He took out his phone. No signal. Omen, like most other sorcerers on the planet, had boosted it to work anywhere. It was a quick and easy procedure – not even he could have messed it up. But it seemed that prisons operated under different rules. Omen reckoned he was in a considerable amount of trouble now. Trapped, alone and with no way of calling for help, the only things he had to rely on were his own magic and ingenuity.

      He was, he realised, totally screwed.

      Crawling out from beneath the bed, he did his very best not to hyperventilate. He was suddenly freezing. His hands shook and he looked at the open cell door like it was a mouth waiting to spring shut the moment he passed through.

      Slowly, slowly, Omen got to his feet and peeked out. The other cell doors were open, too. Empty. They were empty. For the moment – for the fleeting moment he currently existed in – he was safe. Relatively.

      He tucked in his shirt, then walked quietly in the direction Nero had gone. The light out here wasn’t good, and he welcomed the cold shadows. All the better to hide in, my dear. He laughed a little, and the laugh died and his eyes widened. His laugh had sounded a lot like panic.

      He clamped both hands over his mouth as a high-pitched whine started up from somewhere within him. He shook his head, but the whine kept growing. The more he tried to stop it, the louder it got. He took a deep breath and balled his fists, thumped them against his forehead while he screwed his eyes shut.

      He would not panic. He would not panic. Auger wouldn’t panic in a situation like this and neither would Omen.

      The whine, amazingly, went away.

      Omen opened his eyes and let out his breath in a slow, controlled manner. He heard voices coming from one direction and so he went the other way. This was not a bad plan. If he could keep walking away from whoever was close, he’d stay safe and undetected until he found a way out. Of a prison. Which were notoriously difficult to leave.

      He came to metal stairs and went up, careful not to make too much noise. He took the tunnel, plunging from greasy yellow light into pitch-black with every third step. He came to a corner and peeked. Across a divide he saw a curved wall of cells, all occupied by prisoners, men and women, in yellow jumpsuits. Almost every single one of them was either sitting or lying on their bunk. They were so quiet in their solitude it was eerie. Omen actually felt sorry for them.

      He hurried on.

      He found another tunnel, which led to another corridor, which led to a row of open cells.

      Except the two cells at the end. Their doors were closed.

      Omen bit his lip. Going back would mean passing by all those prisoners again. It would mean risking being seen. There was no way out behind him – but for all he knew there could be an open door just ahead.

      He moved forward quietly. The cell on the left was dark, but there was a light on in the cell on the right.

      Step by silent step, Omen crept. He saw the bunk. Saw a pair of legs, clad in yellow. One was outstretched. The other bent. Omen craned his neck, saw thick fingers holding a battered paperback.

      Omen swayed back, and took a deep breath. Confidence. All he needed was confidence. He was going to stride onwards. If the convict looked up, Omen would nod tersely to him, like he was meant to be here. Like it was all normal. He’d be in view for maybe two seconds, and then gone. He could do this. This could be done.

      Omen squared his shoulders, and took his first big step.

      “You!” the convict roared, and Omen screamed and his knees went and he stumbled back as the convict leaped to his feet. “Who the hell are you? You’re a kid! What are you doing here?”

      Omen straightened, squeezing one hand in another, and he did his best to smile politely. “Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

      The convict pressed his face against the bars. He was big, with a shaved head, and looked mean. “What the hell are you wearing?”

      “It’s, um, it’s my uniform,” Omen told him. “I attend Corrival Academy.”

      “What’s that?”

      “A school,” said Omen. “In Roarhaven.”

      The convict blinked. “You on a – what do they call them? Field trip?”

      Omen made himself chuckle. “No, no, sir. To be honest, I’m not really supposed to be here. I should probably just go.”

      “Come closer.”

      Omen’s mouth went even drier than it already was. “I’m sorry?”

      The convict beckoned to him with a huge, hairy hand. “C’mere. Get closer.”

      “I … I don’t think that’s wise, sir. I think I’ll stay where I am, if you don’t mind.”

      “C’mere,” the convict said. His hand was poking out through the bars now, fingers curling. “I want to talk to you, but I don’t wanna raise my voice. I got a sore throat. I think I’m coming down with something.”

      “That’s awful,” said Omen. “But I don’t want to catch it.”

      “It’s not contagious.”

      “Still, though … Best to be safe.”

      “Come a little closer,” said the convict. “Just a little. I’m not gonna hurt you, for the gods’ sake. I just wanna talk. Could you at least do me the courtesy of treating me like a regular human being? Or is that too much to ask?”

      Omen swallowed thickly, and took a tentative step forward.

      “Do not move one more inch,” said a voice from behind.

      Omen turned, noticing the figure sitting on his bunk in the darkened cell.

      “You stay out of this,” said the convict.

      The figure ignored him. “You know it’s a bad idea,” he said to Omen. He was American. “You know he’s going to do you harm. He knows you know. But what do you do? You don’t wish to offend him, so you step closer. How dumb are you, slick?”

      Omen stayed quiet. He hoped that СКАЧАТЬ