Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

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      She turned. “Why not?”

      “I abandoned it actually.”

      “Why?”

      “You ask an awful lot of questions.”

      “When I grow up I want to be a detective just like you.”

      He looked over and saw her grinning. He laughed. “I suppose you do share my penchant for raising Cain.”

      “Raising what now?”

      “It’s an old expression. It means to make trouble.”

      “Well why can’t you say ‘make trouble’? Why do you always have to use these words that I don’t know?”

      “You should read more.”

      “I read enough. I should get out more.”

      Skulduggery held a small box up to the light, turning it over in his hands and examining it from every angle.

      “What’s that?” she asked.

      “It’s a puzzle box.”

      “Can’t you play with it some other time?”

      “The purpose of a puzzle box, its whole raison d’être, is to be solved.”

      “What kind of raisin?”

      “Raison d’être. It’s French for reason to be.”

      “There you go again. Why didn’t you just say reason to be? Why do you have to complicate things?”

      “My point is, leaving a puzzle box unsolved is like leaving a song unsung. It may as well cease to exist.”

      “There’s a crossword in the paper my dad gets every single day. He starts it, ends up making up nonsensical words to fill in the blanks, and abandons it. I’ll give you every paper we have lying about the house if you put that down and get back to searching.”

      “I’ve given up searching.”

      She stared at him. “And they say my generation has a short attention span.”

      “That painting you were looking at, notice anything strange about it?”

      “There were a lot of paintings.”

      “The man reaching for the Sceptre.”

      “What about it?”

      “Did you notice anything unusual about it?”

      Stephanie went over to the wall again, moved the frames one by one till she came to the painting he was talking about.

      “OK, unusual like how?”

      “Describe it to me.”

      She moved the others out of the way so she could take a better look. “There’s this man, he’s reaching for the Sceptre, it’s glowing… and that’s it.”

      “Nothing strange about him?”

      “No, not really…” She frowned. “Well…”

      “Yes?”

      “The Sceptre’s really bright and he’s got one hand shielding his eyes, but both eyes are wide open.”

      “So?”

      “So if it’s really that bright, you’d kind of expect him to be squinting at least. Even if it is just a picture.”

      “Anything else strike you as a little off?”

      She scanned the painting. “The shadows.”

      “What about them?”

      “He’s got two of them.”

      “So? The Sceptre is magical, remember. It could be casting two shadows as easy as one, for whatever bizarre magical reason.”

      “But the Sceptre isn’t casting these shadows. The angles are wrong.”

      “So what would cause that?”

      “Two different light sources.”

      “And what is the primary source of light?”

      “The sun?”

      “If it is the sun, what time of day would it be?”

      “Well, the shadow at his feet would make it noon, when the sun is directly overhead, but the shadow behind him would make it either morning or evening.”

      “Which one?”

      “How should I know? It’s behind him, so it might be morning.”

      “So what you’re looking at is a painting of a man reaching for the Sceptre, seeing everything, at a time when it is both the past and the present?”

      “I suppose so. What does this have to do with the puzzle box?”

      “Who painted it?”

      Stephanie peered at the bottom corner. “There’s no name, only a crest. A leopard and crossed swords.”

      Skulduggery raised the puzzle box for her to see what was carved into its base – a leopard and crossed swords.

      “Right,” she said, standing, “guessing games are over.”

      “That painting tells us that the painter, or the painter’s family, can offer us a glimpse into the past, and that is what we in the profession call a clue. A clue is part of a mystery, a mystery is a puzzle. I hold in my hands a puzzle box.”

      Skulduggery’s fingers played over the surface of the box and Stephanie saw his head tilt. He pressed his hands against opposite sides, making subtle rotations until something clicked. There was a noise, like the whirring of a motorised part, and the top of the box opened to reveal a blue gemstone.

      “Ah,” Skulduggery said.

      Stephanie peered closer. The gem was a little bigger than a golf ball. “What? What is it?”

      “It’s an Echo Stone,” he said. “Very rare. Generally, it’s used by people who are dying. They sleep with the stone close by for three nights, and in doing so they imprint it with their memories and personality. It’s given to loved ones to help comfort them through their grief, or to answer any lingering questions they might have, things like that.”

      “How does it work?”

      “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. СКАЧАТЬ