Scapegrace towered over him. “It can be counted and it will be counted.”

“Sorry, Master,” Thrasher whimpered.

“Why do you want to see Doctor Nye?” Clarabelle asked.

“I think it can return me to full life,” Scapegrace said, “and end this accursed affliction.”

“What accursed affliction?”

“Uh, this. Being a zombie.”

“Oh. That’s a shame. I think zombies are kind of cute.”

“Seriously?”

“I may be thinking about bunnies. Which one has the fluffy little tail, zombies or bunnies?”

“Bunnies.”

“Then it’s bunnies I’m thinking of. Do you want to go with me to see Doctor Nye? I’m going to ask it to give me a job, and you can ask it to give you life, and your friend can ask it to give him a brain.”

“I already have a brain,” Thrasher said defensively.

“I mean a better one.”

“I like the brain I have.”

“Shut up,” Scapegrace said. He turned back to Clarabelle. “Do you know where this Sanctuary is? I heard they have a new one.”

“They do,” said Clarabelle. “It’s in a far-off place, away from the prying eyes of the mortal world. Wicklow, I think.”

“Then let’s go to Wicklow,” Scapegrace said. “Do you have a car?”

“I don’t know how to drive.”

“Don’t worry, Clarabelle. You can ride in our van.”

She looked over her shoulder. “It’s got a giant penguin on it.”

“Yes, it does.”

“We should call it the Penguin-Mobile.”

“OK.”

“Or Fred.”

“Penguin-Mobile is fine.”

She nodded. “All right then.”

Chapter 18 - The Arrest Warrant

Chapter 18
The Arrest Warrant

n the otherwise silent Temple, raised voices darted through the narrow corridors like unwelcome guests. Craven followed them back to their source and barged through into the Antechamber.

“What the hell is going on?” he thundered, and watched with extreme satisfaction as the crowd of Necromancers parted for him, suddenly quiet and subservient. In that crowd he saw the faces of men and women he had argued with over the years, people he had despised, who had despised him, who had called him petty and sycophantic and weak. Now they bowed, they practically prostrated themselves, in his presence. Never had Craven felt so powerful.

As the crowd parted, he saw the others. Sanctuary agents, Skulduggery Pleasant standing in front, a piece of paper in his gloved hand. The Necromancers had been blocking their entry into the main Temple.

“This is private property,” Craven said. He didn’t sneer. He didn’t snarl. He didn’t hide behind the biggest Necromancer and issue threats. He was beyond all that now.

“This is a warrant for the arrest of Melancholia St Clair,” Pleasant responded. “Either bring her out to us, or we’ll go in after her.”

“On what charge are you arresting her, Detective?”

“Assault on a Sanctuary agent.”