his reach. But something else had changed, apart from what he called himself. He wasn’t the obsessed man that I’d walked out on. He had a new name, but he was his old self again. Full of wonder and joy. I was so happy to see that his gentleness had returned, but I was also nervous. Only a handful of people had ever discovered their true names. I didn’t know what would happen, what he’d become. I wasn’t … You must understand, I wasn’t scared of him, but I was scared of what it might mean.”
Greta was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was sad. “I wasn’t the only person to feel that way. Somehow, they heard about what was happening, and they came to my door asking questions.”
Valkyrie frowned. “They?”
“Sorcerers. There were four of them, three men and a woman, but I only remember one name, the leader’s – Tyren Lament. The woman was a Sensitive. Lament said she’d had a vision of the future or some such rubbish. I’ll tell you honestly, I’ve never trusted those people.”
“But this Sensitive,” Skulduggery said, “she saw a future where Walden had done something wrong?”
Greta looked flustered. “She saw nonsense, that’s what she saw. Walden D’Essai was a pacifist. He’d lost his mother to violence at an early age and it affected him deeply – he couldn’t stand to inflict pain on anyone. But this Sensitive, this psychic, had a little nightmare where there’s violence and death and suffering and Walden is apparently the cause of it all. After they’d left, I called Walden, told him they were looking for him. He told me not to worry, he’d explain everything and they’d understand that he wasn’t a threat. That was the last time I ever spoke to him.”
“You think they killed him?”
“I do. Can you arrest them?”
“Tyren Lament disappeared thirty years ago,” Skulduggery said. “If Walden is dead, it sounds like he wasn’t the only one to die that day.”
“If they died,” said Greta, “it was their own doing. Walden would never raise a finger to hurt anyone.”
“Maybe not directly,” Skulduggery said, “but we’ve been dealing with a lot of unexplained phenomena where people have been hurt and killed – and someone called Argeddion would seem to be behind it.”
“Wait. You think my Walden is alive? No. I’m sorry, but no. If Walden were still alive, he’d have contacted me long before now. He’s dead. I know he is.”
“And theoretically that would be enough to keep him down,” Skulduggery said, “but in our line of work death is seldom an obstacle.”
The Council of Elders had never convened faster. They dropped whatever it was they were doing and immediately met Skulduggery and Valkyrie in the throne room. Ravel and Mist wore their traditional robes, but Ghastly was fresh out of the shower and sat there with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Skulduggery filled them in on what Greta Dapple had told them.
“So you think Argeddion is still alive,” said Ravel, “just hiding somewhere, and has unimaginable power from discovering his true name, which allows him to enter people’s dreams and give them magical abilities?”
“In a nutshell,” said Skulduggery.
“Well, now I’m conflicted. On the one hand, it sounds like things are progressing quickly, which is wonderful news. On the other, it means that there’s a sorcerer out there who could kill us all with a wave of his hand – which dampens my mood somewhat. I’m assuming that Ghastly has already broken with protocol and told you about the Supreme Council and their deadline?”
“He has,” said Skulduggery.
“Then let’s focus on the positive. A quick solution is what we need to get them off our backs. Whatever you need from us, just ask.”
“That’s why we’re here, actually,” said Skulduggery. “We need to know about Tyren Lament.”
Ravel nodded. “All right, then. Good.”
Skulduggery waited. “So?”
“So what?”
“So what can you tell us about him?”
Ravel laughed. “Me? I knew him as well as you did, which wasn’t very well. Why don’t you look up his file?”
“We did. His files are missing.”
“Missing? Then why would you think I’d know anything?”
“Because you’re the Grand Mage,” Skulduggery said. “You have access to the Elders’ Journals.”
“Oh,” said Ravel. “Oh, yeah.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “You have read them, haven’t you? One of the requirements for taking a seat on the Council is you have to read the Journals of those who have gone before.”
“I was getting around to it,” Ravel said, a little defensively. “I was about to start, but … Listen, being an Elder is not an easy job. I rarely sleep, did you know that? I go to bed late, I get up early. Every day I’m in meetings or briefings or I’m doing this or that. I would love the opportunity to take a few afternoons off and read those Journals, I really would. The chance to learn from the wisdom of past Elders … It would be an honour, and I’m looking forward to it.”
Skulduggery nodded. “There are three hundred and forty-four Journals.”
Ravel blanched. “Seriously?”
“All big leather-bound books, a thousand pages long. Single-spaced.”
“Dear God.”
“It’s going to take more than a few afternoons to get through them.”
“So it would appear.” Ravel scowled. “OK, you caught me out, I haven’t read the dusty old diaries. Big deal. I’ll get to it. Ghastly, you’ve read them, what can you tell us about Lament?”
“Uh,” said Ghastly.
Skulduggery shook his head. “Oh, not you, too.”
“One of them is on my bedside table,” Ghastly said quickly. “I started it. I did. But my God it was boring. It was all ‘forsooth’ and ‘verily’ and ‘forthwith’. Did we really speak like that back then?”
“So no one has actually read the Journals,” Skulduggery said. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Ravel and Ghastly both looked sheepish. Finally, Madame Mist spoke.
“I have read them.”
Ravel looked startled. “You have? You didn’t find them … boring?”
“I find many things boring,” Mist said in that quiet way of hers. “It does not mean I’m going to forsake my duty.”
“Well, good,” Skulduggery said, “at least someone here is doing what they’re supposed to. What can you tell us?”
Madame Mist observed him through her veil. “Nothing,” she said.
“Lament wasn’t mentioned?”
“He was mentioned, but I cannot tell you in what context. Only Elders are allowed to know what those Journals contain.”
“Well, we can tell Skulduggery and Valkyrie,” Ravel said.
“No. We can’t.”
Ghastly sat forward so as to look at Mist better. “Yes, we can. They’ve earned that right.”
“It is not for us to decide,” said Mist. “It is a rule.”
“We’re breaking the rule,” said Ravel. “Today that rule is broken. I’m Elder Mage, I decree it. The rule is no more. So tell them what the Journals said.”
“If we want to change