They waited around for two hours for their chance. It was getting dark by then. Valkyrie, clad once again in her black clothes, kept watch. Ravel stood beside her. His hands were still shackled, and the shock stick was on her back and fully charged. If he tried anything, she was ready. Minutes passed.

Skulduggery emerged from the doorway, the magic-sucker wrapped in a blanket. Not a word was spoken. They moved through the village quickly. They got to the stables.

“Stop.”

Valkyrie froze. Ever so slowly, she turned, saw Skulduggery and Ravel do the same, as Serpine walked up. Behind him, a squad of sorcerers armed with shotguns and automatic weapons.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” Serpine said. “I knew this would prove just too tempting. You come in here, cause trouble, then disappear with something that belongs to us. Well … not this time. This time you fail. Hand it over.”

“Why?” Skulduggery asked. “It’s not like you can get it to work.”

“We will,” said Serpine. “And if we don’t, so be it. But you’re not taking it with you.”

“We just want to borrow it, really. We’ll bring it right back.”

“Drop it at your feet, or I’ll give the order and all three of you will be blasted apart.”

Skulduggery put the weapon on the ground slowly, then straightened up, hands in the air.

“If I ever see you again,” said Serpine, “I’ll assume you’re here to try and steal something else, and you will be treated as an enemy. You can leave now.”

Valkyrie and Skulduggery backed away from the magic-sucker, taking Ravel with them. At any moment, Valkyrie expected Serpine to give the order to shoot, but as soon as it became clear that he’d already lost interest, she relaxed. She watched him gesture to one of his sorcerers, instructing him to fetch the weapon. Instead, another sorcerer went to get it, a man in a tattered coat and hood. She glimpsed his face, frowned, and reversed her course.

“Valkyrie,” said Skulduggery, but she ignored him, stepped closer, peering under that hood as the sorcerer bent to pick up the weapon. His face was unshaven, his lips stretched into a grin. In fact, his whole face was stretched, like it was a mask pulled too tight. The sorcerer raised his head, she saw blackness curling from his empty eyes, and she knew it was a mask – a face cut from another man’s head.

“Lord Vile!” she cried, and Vile straightened, tendrils of shadow tearing his clothes to shreds as they lashed out at the startled sorcerers. Bullets raked his armour, either bouncing off or being absorbed into it, and Serpine cursed and dodged back, stumbling to avoid a shadow that would have taken his head off.