“The scar should be gone completely in two or three days,” she said. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t nick an artery, though. It could have been a lot worse.”

“Hear that?” Darquesse said. “You’re a lucky girl.”

Valkyrie stuffed her feet into her trainers and crouched to tie the laces. Her jeans were new. The old ones, bloodstained, with the left leg slit up the middle, were in a plastic bag somewhere, waiting to be thrown out or burned or whatever it was they did with ruined clothes here in Reverie’s clinic.

“I don’t know why she bothered, though,” Darquesse continued. “Wouldn’t it have been better to just let you die? I mean, it’s not like Skulduggery is not going to kill you. Your death is as inevitable as it is imminent.”

One of the nurses passed in the corridor and Valkyrie straightened and focused her attention on Reverie. “Clarabelle not working here any more?”

“Fine,” Darquesse sighed. “Ignore me.”

“Clarabelle?” Reverie said, finally looking up. “No, no. She’s busy being the worst bartender in the world. She stares into space half the time and for the other half cannot, for the life of her, remember what anybody ordered.”

“Everyone’s thinking it,” Darquesse said. “I’m just the only one brave enough to say it.”

“How are Scapegrace and Thrasher?” Valkyrie asked.

Reverie shrugged. “They come in here two or three times a year and I sew bits of them back on. Thrasher is still besotted, Scapegrace is still oblivious, and Clarabelle loves them both without measure. The pub’s quiet, but does OK. Thrasher is surprisingly good at bookkeeping, as it turns out.”

“I’m glad,” said Valkyrie, pulling on her coat. “I’m glad things are working out for them.”

“The doctor raises an interesting point, though,” Darquesse said, folding her arms. “About talking to yourself being the first sign of madness. Maybe you are mad.”

“By the way,” said Reverie, “I got a call from the High Sanctuary enquiring as to why you were not availing yourself of their medical facilities. I get the impression that Supreme Mage Sorrows would rather you spend your time where she can keep a closer eye on you.”

“I’m sure she would,” Valkyrie responded. “Thank you, Reverie.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” Reverie said, and Valkyrie shook her hand and limped from the room.

“Maybe you should ask her to take a look at your head,” Darquesse said, trailing after her. “Perform a brain scan or something. I just don’t think you’re playing with a full deck of cards, that’s all.”

Valkyrie limped on. Darquesse stayed right behind her.