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 was a rhetorical question.
“Don’t listen to him,” said the convict. “I don’t think you’re dumb. What does he know? He was thrown into that cell a few days ago. He has no idea what the hell he’s talking about.”
The man stood up from his bunk and stepped into the light. He was good-looking, unshaven, with dried blood on his shirt.
“You just arrived?” Omen asked.
“Not by choice.”
“Um,” said Omen, “are you Temper Fray, by any chance?”
“I’m not Temper Fray by any kind of chance,” the man replied. “I’m Temper Fray by design. I’m Temper Fray because nobody else could handle the awesome responsibility of being me. But who I am is not the issue right now. The issue is what is a schoolboy doing in this particular prison at this particular time?”
Omen thought about it for a moment. “Well, I … I’m kind of here by accident, but since I am here I could, maybe, rescue you, if you’d like …?”
Temper Fray folded his arms. “I wouldn’t say no.”
“What about me?” the convict asked. “Can you rescue me, too?”
Omen turned to him. “I don’t really know you, sir.”
“My name’s Immolation Joe.”
Omen hoped that Immolation Joe could see the conflict on his face. “I’m not sure releasing you would be a good idea, though. You sound, just by your name, like you might be a threat to, you know, people. And, to be honest, also me.”
Immolation Joe frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I think you might kill me if I let you out, sir.”
“And?”
Omen took a moment, and nodded. “That’s a good point.”
Temper cleared his throat, loudly, and Omen turned to him again. “How about you ignore the multiple murderer you’re talking to and just focus on getting me out of here, how about that?”
“Yes,” Omen said at once. “OK. Sorry. Do you have the key?”
“Slick, if I had the key, I wouldn’t need to be rescued.”
“I mean, do you know where the key is?”
“I do not.”
“Then do you know how I can rescue you without it?”
Temper sagged. “My initial excitement is flagging, just to let you know. How did you get here?”
“I teleported,” said Omen.
“Ah! My man’s a Teleporter!”
“Well, no. I hitched a ride, actually. I know what’s going on, though. Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain brought me in to help.”
“They brought you in? They didn’t find Tanith Low or the Monster Hunters or any spare Dead Men that might be floating around? They brought you in? What age are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“What’s your name?”
“Omen Darkly.”
Temper brightened. “The Chosen One? Well, goddamn, I take it all back.”
“Uh … I’m not actually the Chosen One. I’m the Chosen One’s brother.”
Temper went quiet for a moment. “I didn’t know the Chosen One had a brother.”
“He does,” Omen answered. “And I’m him.” The look on Temper’s face didn’t change, so Omen kept talking. “You don’t have to worry, though. I was there for every step of my brother’s training, and I picked up a lot.” He wasn’t quite sure what he was saying any more. He wished his mouth would stop moving. “You’re in good hands. I can totally rescue you.” Omen gave another smile while his words caught up with him. Holy crap. He was talking gibberish. There was no way Temper was going to believe the stuff he was saying.
“OK, slick,” Temper said. “I believe you. Proceed with the rescuing.”
Omen couldn’t move for a moment. Then he nodded. When that didn’t do anything, he looked around. The solution didn’t jump out at him so he chewed his lip.
“Kid?” Temper said.
“Do you think they have a spare key, maybe, hidden somewhere?” Omen asked. “Behind a loose brick or something?”
“Probably not.”
“OK. That’s unfortunate. I’m not sure how I’m going to rescue you, then.”
Temper scratched his stubble. “Listen to me, you don’t need to. You just have to call Skulduggery and tell him what’s going on.”
“My phone