known as Oldtown: Roarhaven in its original incarnation, with its narrow streets and narrow houses. The city around it had been constructed in a parallel dimension, then dropped here, on top of and around the original. It was a masterpiece of design by its architect, Creyfon Signate, and a testament to his genius, if not his choice of associates. A lot of bad people were involved in the evolution of Roarhaven. Most of them were dead now.
The city had changed a lot since Valkyrie had been away, rebuilt after the battle with Darquesse. The eastern quarter had been obliterated in the fighting, but fortunately it had been mostly uninhabited at the time. It was still largely uninhabited, though, even with brand-new buildings and roads. Those who had to live there, because of the massive influx of residents over the last five years, reported crippling psychic stresses and traumatic dreams. Those sorcerers whose abilities lay on the Sensitive spectrum couldn’t go any further east than Testament Road, for fear of permanent neurological damage.
Just one more thing for Valkyrie to feel guilty about.
Roarhaven’s population had surged in the last few years. There were magical communities all around the world – some consisting of nothing more than a single street, and some as big as a mid-sized town. There were even three Mystical Cities that only appeared on earth every few decades, places of wonder and absolute freedom. But Roarhaven … Roarhaven was not only the biggest sorcerer city there ever was, it was the first to become part of the landscape. Mages came with their families, and they suddenly didn’t have to hide who they were or what they could do. Those who didn’t find jobs immediately worked at creating them. It may have been a city of mages, but it was still a city, and like any city it ran on its businesses. It had its shops and its stores and its restaurants and cafés, and it had cinemas and theatres and libraries and swimming pools. It had its own financial sector, albeit a small one, and it was all linked to – and dependent on – the mortal world beyond the wall. The highest salaries went to the people who integrated Roarhaven’s activities with the rest of the world without mortal accountants or lawyers or politicians noticing anything amiss. Roarhaven: the Invisible City.
Once they were through Oldtown, the traffic eased up. Travel here was mainly by silent trams that hovered centimetres off the ground, as any cars other than those with Sanctuary tags were forbidden to enter the Circle zone.
In the middle of the Circle stood the High Sanctuary, a palace by any other name, raised thirteen marble steps above street level. Its walls were thick, formidable, and its towers and steeples stretched for the sky as if rejoicing in their own splendour. Twelve years ago, the Sanctuary had been located beneath a waxworks museum in Dublin. When that had been destroyed, it had moved to a flat, unimpressive circular slab of a building that had once stood here.
Now, that slab was hidden deep within this majestic structure, an imperfection to be painted over and forgotten about.
A cathedral reared up on the east side of the Circle. This was new, and it worried Valkyrie. Black and grey, it had wide shoulders, and its towers were almost as tall as the High Sanctuary’s. In exchange for various concessions, including a vow of non-violence, the Church of the Faceless had been granted legitimacy before Valkyrie had left for America. Disciples of the Faceless Ones had been allowed to worship openly from that point on.
For centuries, the Faceless Ones had been regarded as little more than sadistic fairy tales – insane gods banished from this reality aeons ago by the Ancients, the first sorcerers – but Valkyrie herself had witnessed their attempts to regain a foothold in this reality. Their existence confirmed, sorcerers flocked to their teachings, and Church numbers had exploded. Otherwise good people attended this cathedral and the other churches throughout the city – and the world – and prayed to cruel gods whose very appearance would have driven them insane. Valkyrie didn’t understand it, but then she didn’t understand most religions. Faith, she had learned, just wasn’t for her.
The Bentley slowed to allow a tram to pass, then moved on to the entrance to the High Sanctuary’s underground car park. A City Guard, flanked by Cleavers, held up his hand, and they rolled to a stop. He came forward, eyes on the Bentley, an unimpressed curl to his upper lip. The dark blue uniform struggled to contain his gut, and the badge on his chest glinted in the sun. He had two stripes circling his shoulder, indicating his rank, and his thick belt, on which hung his gun and sword, was polished black leather. The City Guards hadn’t existed when Valkyrie had left. There had been a sheriff’s position and the Cleavers, of course, but they had been all that were needed to safeguard the streets. Apparently, those days were gone.
Skulduggery rolled down his window. “Corporal Yonder,” he said, “how are you this fine morning?”
“Identification, please,” the City Guard responded, hooking his thumbs into that belt of his.
Valkyrie frowned. “Being a living skeleton isn’t identification enough?”
“Corporal Yonder has always been a stickler for the little rules that make life worth living,” Skulduggery said, taking a wallet from his jacket and handing it over. “Though not so keen on the bigger rules, are you, Corporal?”
Yonder didn’t answer, just glared at them both before opening up the wallet and examining the credentials within. “State your business,” he said at last.
“We’ve come to pick up an ID just like that one, which has been delivered here for collection,” Skulduggery said. “My partner has finally agreed to accompany me on an investigation. It is truly a momentous day.”
Yonder closed the wallet with a flick of his wrist, but held on to it. “It doesn’t feel momentous to me,” he said. “It feels like a Tuesday. You can’t use the car park.”
Skulduggery’s tone was amused. “I can’t?”
“The car park is for Sanctuary staff only.”
“I have jurisdiction here, do I not?”
“The way it’s been explained to me,” Yonder said, “is that while you may technically have jurisdiction, we are not obligated to assist you in any way. So you can’t use the car park. It’s staff only. Also, there are no pets allowed.”
“Well,” said Skulduggery, “that’s quite rude. I mean, I wouldn’t call Valkyrie a pet so much as a—”
Valkyrie sighed. “He meant the dog.”
“Oh,” Skulduggery said. “Yes, the dog. I can assure you, Corporal Yonder, that the dog will be staying in the car.”
Yonder opened his mouth to argue, then turned, somewhat sharply, and Valkyrie watched a City Guard with three stripes around his shoulder striding towards them. Valkyrie recognised him from his time as a Sanctuary operative. His name was … dammit, what was it? Larrup? She was pretty sure it was Larrup. He was saying something she couldn’t hear, but it made Yonder flush a deep red. Yonder stepped back, jaw clenched, as Larrup reached them.
“Detective Pleasant,” Larrup said, snatching the wallet out of Yonder’s hand, “my apologies for the delay. You have business inside?”
“Yes, we do,” said Skulduggery.
“Go right in, sir.” Larrup returned Skulduggery’s ID to him, then waved for the Cleavers to stand aside. He bent down, looked in at Valkyrie. “Detective Cain,” he said. “Good to have you back.”
“I’m not back,” said Valkyrie. “I’m visiting.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Larrup. “Good to have you back, nonetheless.”
He gave them a quick salute and the Bentley moved forward smoothly, and took the ramp down, into the High Sanctuary.
“Explain,” Valkyrie said, a moment later.
Skulduggery steered them between the aisles of cars. “Explain what?”
“Why