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.”