Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

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СКАЧАТЬ hear him. She didn’t hear his footsteps, not even when he was so close he could have reached out and stroked her hair. She didn’t catch a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, and she didn’t notice his shadow or see a reflection, because if he didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t be seen. But as he was moving behind her she felt his presence, she felt the air shift slightly and brush against the skin of her hands and she didn’t even have to turn her head – she just knew.

      She launched herself forward and Skulduggery and Tanith looked back as she rolled and came up.

      The White Cleaver stood there, silent as a ghost, deadly as a plague.

      Tanith turned to see Valkyrie coming up out of her roll and saw the White Cleaver standing behind her.

      “Valkyrie,” Tanith said, keeping her voice low and steady, “get behind me.”

      Stephanie moved backwards and the Cleaver attempted to stop her.

      “I’ll hold him off,” Tanith said, not taking her eyes off her adversary. “You stop Serpine.”

      Tanith drew her sword, and she heard Skulduggery and Stephanie hurry away. The White Cleaver reached over his shoulder and pulled out his scythe.

      Tanith stepped towards him.

      “I ordered you to distract the Hollow Men, didn’t I?” she said. “You were one of the Cleavers assigned to us.”

      He didn’t answer. He didn’t even move.

      “For whats it’s worth,” Tanith said, “I’m sorry about what happened to you. But it was necessary. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what is going to happen to you. But that’s necessary too.” He started twirling his scythe and she raised an eyebrow. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

      He lunged and she blocked and sprang at him, her sword slicing through the air. He ducked back and blocked, spinning as the scythe whistled over Tanith’s head. Her sword clashed with his blade and then the handle of the scythe, and his blade clashed with her sword and then the lacquered scabbard she still held in her left hand.

      She ducked under his guard, staying in close, where she had the advantage, where he couldn’t manoeuvre the scythe.

      His blocks were lightning fast but he was on the defensive and one of her strikes would get through eventually. Her sword sliced through his side and he stumbled back, out of range. Tanith looked at the blood on his white coat and gave him a smile. Then the blood started to darken and a black stain moved over the red.

      Her smile dropped and the bleeding stopped altogether.

      She backed away. There was a door behind her and she waved it open as the Cleaver advanced.

      The room she backed into was filled with cages, and in these cages, men and women stood and sat. She realised instantly where she was – the Sanctuary’s Gaol. The people in these cages were the worst of the worst, criminals of such a sickening and grotesque order that they had to be held here, in the Sanctuary itself. The cages bound their powers while at the same time sustaining their bodies, keeping them healthy and nourished. It meant neither the Elders nor the Cleavers had to bring them food and water – these criminals only had themselves for company. And when the person in the cage next to each of them was as maniacal and as egotistical as they were, that was hell itself.

      The Cleaver pursued her steadily down the steps, sparks flying as their blades clashed.

      The prisoners watched, and for the first few moments, they were confused. The Cleavers were their jailers, yet this Cleaver wore white, and they recognised something within him, something that identified him as one of them. They started to shout and cheer as Tanith was forced back, enemies all around her.

      She blocked a strike and her bruised wrist gave way. The Cleaver took full advantage, his blade passing along her belly, drawing blood. She grimaced in pain and retreated under the Cleaver’s impossibly fast onslaught, barely managing to keep up her defence.

      The prisoners laughed and jeered, reaching through the cage bars at her, pulling at her hair, trying to scratch her. One of them snagged her coat and she spun out of it, throwing her sword and scabbard into the air as she freed her arms from the sleeves and catching them again before the Cleaver could close the gap.

      He swung and she blocked with the scabbard and flicked up with the sword but he was twisting the scythe, deflecting the strike and coming back with one of his own.

      Tanith dodged back, lost her footing and went into a backwards roll as he brought the scythe down, the point of the blade striking the ground where she had just been.

      The prisoners howled with laughter as she turned and ran to the wall, the Cleaver right behind her. She jumped to the wall and kept going till she was upside-down, and she crossed the ceiling, trading strikes with the Cleaver below her. He was forced to walk backwards, to defend and attack over his own head.

      The Cleaver slashed and missed and she saw her chance and took it. She struck his left hand with her scabbard and his fingers opened. She dropped and flipped, landing before he could recover, and snatched the scythe from his grasp. She kicked out and he stumbled back and she drove her sword into him.

      The prisoners stopped jeering. The Cleaver took a step back.

      Tanith swung the scythe, burying the blade in his chest. He fell to his knees, black blood dripping on to the floor.

      She looked down at him, felt his eyes through his visor, looking back at her. Then his weight fell back onto his haunches, his shoulders sagged and his head lolled forward.

      The prisoners were muttering now, cheated out of seeing her die. Tanith gripped her sword and pulled it from the Cleaver’s body, snatched up the scabbard and ran for the steps.

      She heard a crash from elsewhere in the Sanctuary – the Repository – and urgency lent her speed. Just as she neared the top step, however, one of the prisoners laughed.

      She turned and, to her horror, saw the White Cleaver standing, pulling the scythe from his chest. He can’t be stopped, she said to herself. Just like Serpine, he can’t be stopped. She ran the last few steps to the door and just as she reached it the breath went out of her.

      She stopped, frowning, willing her body to move, but it wouldn’t listen. She looked down, at the tip of the scythe that protruded through her chest.

      She turned, cursing herself, saw the Cleaver walking up the steps toward her. That was some throw. She almost laughed. Her right arm was numb and her sword fell from her grip. He stepped up beside her and took hold of the scythe. He circled, moving her around, looking at her like he was observing her pain, remembering what it was like.

      A twist of his hands and she was forced to her knees. She gasped when he removed the weapon, saw her own blood, deep red, mix with the black blood already on the blade. Her body was shutting down. She wasn’t going to be able to defend herself.

      He raised the scythe. Tanith looked up, ready to die, then realised that when he had circled her he had passed through the doorway, and was now standing out in the corridor.

      She lunged, slamming the door in his visored face. She pressed her hand against it and whispered “Withstand.” The sheen spread over the door СКАЧАТЬ