First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollins Childrenâs Books in 2018
HarperCollins Childrenâs Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
HarperCollins Publishers
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London SE1 9GF
The HarperCollins website address is:
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Skulduggery Pleasant rests his weary bones on the web at:
www.skulduggerypleasant.co.uk
Derek Landy blogs under duress at
www.dereklandy.blogspot.com
Text copyright © Derek Landy 2018
Skulduggery Pleasant⢠Derek Landy
Skulduggery Pleasant logo⢠HarperCollinsPublishers
Skulduggery Pleasant © ⢠Derek Landy
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Cover illustration © Tom Percival 2018
Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.
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Source ISBN: 9780008284565
Ebook Edition © ISBN: 9780008284602
Version: 2018-05-04
This book is dedicated to Reggie.
What is there left to be said about you, my friend?
Youâre smart, and yet wilfully stupid. Youâre good-looking, yet kind of ugly. Youâve got wonderful hair, yet youâre always wearing hats.
Youâve saved my life three times now â in contrast to the measly once that Iâve saved yours â and youâve taught me more about Icelandic cuisine that I ever wanted to know (seriously dude â hákarl? Seriously?), but there is something that Iâve been meaning to tell you for years, but Iâve never found the right opportunity.
Remember that girl, your pen pal, back when we were kids? Remember how you kind of loved her?
That was me. Sorry, dude.
The old castle stood dark against the star-filled sky, its tall windows empty, its battlements jutting like teeth. Upon those battlements, and indifferent to the cold winds that scoured the mountaintops, stood Wretchlings, monstrous things of scabs and sores whose insides boiled with poisoned blood and decaying meat.
Lying on a blanket on a snow-covered perch 809 metres west and 193 metres up, Skulduggery Pleasant put his right eye socket to the scope of his rifle and adjusted the dial.
He wriggled slightly, settling deeper into the blanket, then went perfectly still. His gloved finger began to slowly squeeze the trigger, and Valkyrie raised her binoculars, training them on the closest Wretchling.
The gun went off with a loud crack that the wind snatched away, but they were so far from the target that it took a few seconds for the bullet to hit.
The Wretchling jerked slightly, and looked down at its chest. A moment later, it started to tremble. The stitches that held it together unravelled, and the Wretchling came undone, its body parts falling, its stolen entrails spilling out, and it collapsed on top of itself, a pile of meat steaming in the cold air.
Skulduggery moved on to the next target and adjusted the scope once more.
âYou think they feel pain?â Valkyrie asked.
Skulduggery paused for a moment, and looked at her. âIâm sorry?â
âThe Wretchlings,â she said. âDo you think they feel pain?â
âNot really,â he answered, and went back to aiming his rifle.
âBut they have brains, right? Fair enough, they might not be thinking great thoughts, but they do still think. And if they think, they might be able to feel. And if their body can feel physically, canât their minds feel emotionally?â
Skulduggery fired again. Valkyrie didnât bother looking to see if the bullet hit its target. Of course it did.
âThey do have brains,â Skulduggery said. âTheyâre stolen from the dead, along with the limbs and the internal organs, and theyâre twisted and warped and attached to the Wretchling like the parts of a machine â because thatâs what they are. They look alive, but itâs all artificial. Are you feeling guilty about what weâre doing?â