Ghastly braked beside the Bentley and jumped out of his van, hurrying up to Skulduggery as he stalked through the Sanctuary doors. “I just heard,” he said. “Any idea what happened?”

“None,” said Skulduggery, not slowing down. “She called Fletcher, said she was on the cliffs. She lost consciousness as soon as he arrived.”

Sanctuary officials dodged out of their way, flattening themselves against the corridor walls.

“She’ll be OK,” Ghastly told his friend. “We have a new doctor. Apparently he’s brilliant on a level with Kenspeckle Grouse. Madame Mist brought him in.”

“Fletcher said she’s cut deep. Kenspeckle would take care not to leave scars.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Fletcher paced outside the operating theatre. His head snapped up when he saw them. “She’s still in there,” he said. He was pale. His voice shook.

Skulduggery barged through the doors, Ghastly and Fletcher behind him. Ghastly froze. Valkyrie lay on the table, eyes closed, covered in a blood-drenched surgical sheet. Above her stooped a creature dressed in a smock, with arms and legs longer than Ghastly’s whole body. Its eyes were small and yellow, the lids punctured with black thread where they had once been sewn shut. Its mouth had received similar treatment, and its nose had been cut off. There was a scab there now that refused to fully heal.

“What the hell is going on?” Skulduggery snarled, his gun suddenly in his hand.

“Kill me if you must,” Doctor Nye said in its high voice, “but if you do so, your friend will bleed to death. Make up your mind. I have a lot on my plate tonight.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Fletcher. “Who is that?”

“Step away from her,” Ghastly commanded. “We’ll get another doctor in here.”

“Another doctor would not be able to save her life,” Nye responded, sounding bored. “These are wounds inflicted with abandon. No method, no design, no finesse. But they are severe, and they are many, and organs have been sliced and arteries nicked. I have completed my examination and I know exactly how to proceed. If you call in another doctor, they would need to start over. By that time, she would be dead.”

“You can save her?” Skulduggery asked.

“Undoubtedly. And if I am allowed to get back to work immediately, there won’t even be any scarring.”

Skulduggery looked at Ghastly, then nodded.

“Get back to work, Doctor,” Ghastly said. “Skulduggery, I’m sure you’ll want to stay, to make sure he behaves.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Skulduggery said. He didn’t put his gun away.

“Me neither,” said Fletcher.

Ghastly left, anger quickening his step. He found Madame Mist in her chambers.

“Nye?” he said, barging in. “You have Doctor Nye working here? Are you out of your mind? Nye is a monster!”

Mist observed him from behind her veil. “Just because the Doctor is a being without specification does not make it a monster.”

“Without specification? You mean because it isn’t male or female? You mean because it isn’t strictly human? No, that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s a monster because it conducts medical experiments on its captives!”

“That’s all in the past.”

“Nye is a war criminal!”

“Who has been punished for the crimes it committed. Elder Bespoke, I was tasked with equipping this Sanctuary with the very best medical staff available. Kenspeckle Grouse is dead. Doctor Nye was next on the list.”

“And you didn’t think to run it by us first? You didn’t think we’d object?”

“When you say we, are you referring also to the Grand Mage? Because I did confer with him, and he agreed that this facility would benefit from Nye’s expertise.”

Ghastly frowned. “Ravel agreed to this?”

“Yes. If you have a problem, maybe you should take it up with him.”

“Yeah,” Ghastly said, “maybe I should.”

Ghastly walked the corridors, his pace slower now. Ravel was like him – he was a soldier. He’d fought in the war, fought against Mevolent, and he’d had friends who were captured. They’d all heard the stories, about the torture and the sick experiments. They’d all heard of the doctor with the long arms and legs and the scabrous nose. Everyone had heard of Doctor Nye.

“Ghastly,” Ravel said, looking up from his desk, “is Valkyrie OK?”

“She’s hurt,” Ghastly replied, “but she should pull through. She’s in the Medical Bay now. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Ah,” Ravel said, sitting back. It was three in the morning and he was looking tired. “Nye.”

“How could you agree to this? That thing killed some of our best friends.”

“Sorcerers live a long time, Ghastly – how long are we going to hold grudges for things we did in wartime?”

“Fighting on the battlefield is one thing. Torturing prisoners to death is quite another.”

“Do you know what Nye has been doing for the past hundred years? It’s been working alone, secluded, cut off, doing research on the human soul.”

“It wants to torture that too?”

“No, it wants to find it. Ghastly, can you imagine what that could mean? The soul is our essence – it’s the strongest, most pure part of ourselves. The link between the soul and our true names has been discussed but never proven – but think what we could achieve if we harnessed that power. Think what we could become if we allowed ourselves to be the best we could possibly be.”

“Erskine, all due respect, but what on earth are you talking about? If Nye did find the soul, what would it do then? Poke it? With what? It’s a soul, not a plate of jelly. The soul should be left where it is – it causes enough problems without us adding to them. Angry souls can become ghosts, powerful souls can become Gists and evil souls can become Remnants. It’s a dark and dangerous business, and we should leave it alone.”

“We didn’t recruit Nye so he could find the soul, Ghastly. I’m just telling you what he’s been doing for the past century. He hasn’t been hurting anyone, he hasn’t been torturing anyone. He has repented.”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“He’s the best there is, damn it, and you know it. Do you think I like having him here? He’s creepy as hell and if you think I don’t remember the things he did to our friends, you’re nuts. But with Kenspeckle gone, with Vile on the loose and with Darquesse coming our way, we need to put our issues aside and surround ourselves with the best people for the job.”

“Even if that includes a known sadist and murderer?”

Ravel closed his eyes, and sat back in his chair. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I really didn’t. I thought every decision I’d have to make would be how many operatives to send on a rescue mission. I don’t know how Meritorious did it.” He opened his eyes. “Is Valkyrie conscious?”

“No. That’s probably a good thing.”

“Do we know what happened to her? Who did this?”

“I don’t need Skulduggery’s skills to recognise Necromancy when I see it.”

“Speaking of Skulduggery,” Ravel said slowly, “does he need to be contained?”

“Contained?”

“Don’t play innocent. You know what he’s like. Once she wakes up, he’ll be going after every Necromancer in the country.”

“Maybe we should let him.”

“We’re in charge now, Ghastly. We don’t have that luxury. This has to be done right.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll make sure he understands.”

“And listen,” Ravel said, “I know this goes against every fibre in your body, but Doctor Nye is the best man-woman-whatever for the job. It will save Valkyrie’s life.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just… Things got complicated around here awfully fast, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they did. But we’re in charge now, my friend. We’ve got to be the ones to make the hard decisions. It’s inevitable that people are going to start hating us, sooner or later.”

“They can form a queue behind me, then.”

Ravel smiled sadly. “Yeah. Let me know when she regains consciousness, OK? Oh, any news on Tanith?”

Ghastly hesitated. “She was in Berlin last week. With Sanguine. They almost got her. But no. No real news.”

“You’ll find her.”

“Yeah,” Ghastly said, and left.

He went back to talk to Madame Mist, who had a surprisingly good grasp of Sanctuary law and procedures. Once he had been sufficiently briefed, he walked back to the Medical Ward. Skulduggery was sitting outside the Operating Theatre, his head down, his hat on the chair beside him. His skull gleamed under the light. He looked up as Ghastly approached.

“Nye predicts a full recovery,” Skulduggery said, his velvet voice sounding disturbingly hollow. “She’ll wake in an hour or two. There’s a nurse in there with her now.”

“Where’s Fletcher?”

“I sent him home. He seemed traumatised.”

“Seeing your girlfriend slashed to ribbons will probably do that to you,” Ghastly said. “And how are you?”

“Meaning?”

“She was almost killed.”

“I am aware. You’re waiting to see if I’ll get angry.”

“I already know you’re angry. You’re sitting very still and you’re talking very quietly. You’re getting ready to kill someone.”

“I just need a name.”

“You know the name. A Necromancer did that to Valkyrie, and there’s only one out there who’d be motivated enough to do it.”

Skulduggery’s head tilted. “You’re going to tell me that I can’t go after her?”

“Not at all. I’m telling you that if you do go after her, she’ll kill you. She’s the Death Bringer.”

Skulduggery picked up his hat, and stood. “I’ll take my chances.”

“No you won’t,” said Ghastly, standing in front of him. “You think your brief encounter with Vile five months ago has prepared you? That was nothing. I went up against him during the war. I saw him slaughter dozens of sorcerers, including my mother – a woman, you’ll remember, who had proved herself to be very hard to kill. He killed her with barely a wave of his hand.”

Skulduggery was silent for a moment. “Melancholia is not Lord Vile.”

“If she’s the Death Bringer, their power levels will be similar. Skulduggery, you know as well as I do, if Melancholia had wanted to kill Valkyrie, Valkyrie would be dead. But she didn’t. She just wanted to inflict some pain. And she won’t get away with it. I’ve spoken with Erskine and Mist, and they agree. An attack on one Sanctuary agent is an attack on the Sanctuary as a whole. Melancholia has just handed us the excuse we needed to take that Temple apart.”

“Then give me an army, and I’ll take it apart and drag her out.”

“We have to do this right. Before we go in, we issue a warrant for her arrest.”

“She’s not going to give herself up,” Skulduggery said.

“No, but we have to give her the chance. Maybe High Priest Tenebrae will see it as an opportunity to bring his Order in from the cold. Maybe he’ll co-operate.”

“I doubt it.”

“I doubt it too. So if she doesn’t turn herself in within twenty-four hours, then yes, we go after her, and you get all the back-up you need.”

“If Melancholia resists?”

Ghastly looked at him. “Then you do what needs to be done.”